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alphaflyerA/N: Written in response to a prompt from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ericadawn16 in the course of a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. (Go figure.) The prompt was: stuck-in-an-airport-because-the-flights-w
Elliot Randolph and Darcy Lewis.
I have taken liberties with the flight times between Tromso and Oslo, and when Darcy would have to be leaving town to make a connection to LaGuardia. But if you believe in Asgard, I suppose some warping of reality can be forgiven. ;-)
Oh, and lest you think there’s any attitudinal meta hidden in my pseud, that’s got something to do with my other fandom, Star Trek Voyager, not my travelling habits.
The Joy of Flying
“Tromso sucks.”
The man sitting across from Darcy looks up briefly, but instead of making some sort of sympathetic noise, he turns his attention back to his notebook. It’s not even a real notebook, but one of those spiral-bound manual things, and his eyebrows are pulled over his eyes like a curtain, presumably so he can pretend he doesn’t see Darcy, and her attempts for find a conversation.
She lets out a sigh and tries again.
“I mean, seriously. This has got to be the world’s suckiest airport, and I’ve been to LaGuardia. At least LaGuardia didn’t smell of smoked fish.”
The man continues to ignore her, which would be bad enough but he’s the closest life form around and Darcy is just so freakin’ tired of sitting here and not talking to anyone and just waiting. And waiting. She hated Tromso the first time, and really should have known better than go back there. (The things you do for science and a teeny share of Jane’s latest research grant.)
Darcy bounces her heel against the leg of her chair. (Are they chairs when they’re all nailed together like that, or is that a bench?) Ouch, that hurt.
If at least Jane was still here. Jane isn’t the world’s chattiest person, but she would probably at least say something like, so sorry Darcy, and doesn’t air travel suck the big one? And then they could roll their eyes at each other and maybe trash Tromso for a bit. With words, of course, not for real – Darcy has enough of that kind of trashing to last her a lifetime; she wouldn’t do that, even to Tromso.
But now she doesn’t even have Jane for company anymore. Jane’s going home via some stupid conference in Helsinki, the one Darcy had decided would kill her of boredom at if she went, but which is beginning to look pretty good, all things considered. At least there’d be booze, assuming there’s a reception, not just a pathetic duty-free that closes at eleven.
Of course, the Helsinki plane got away hours ago, right on schedule, with Jane on it. Bye-bye, company.
The Oslo plane, the one Darcy was supposed to get on, that’s the one that broke or died or got eaten by Dark Elves or whatever. And what’s worth, by the time she’ll get to Oslo, her connection to the good old U.S. of A. and a Starbucks on every corner will be long gone.
To top it all off, her iPhone death-beeped just after that last plaintive text to Jane, and the charger is in her suitcase which the troll at the check-in won’t let her have back ‘for security reasons’. Security reasons? Seriously, when has Darcy Lewis ever been a threat to anyone, except maybe with a Taser, which they won’t let you bring on airplanes anyway?
She tries again.
“I think they should just bring us a new plane rather than try and fix the old one, don’t you? I mean, isn’t that what they do when one breaks? Bring a new plane?”
The man looks up briefly.
“I’m sure they’re working on it,” he says. “We just have to be patient. A few hours are nothing in the face of eternity.”
Oh, hello, it talks. Intellectualizes, even.
Darcy decides to go for it. She crosses the aisle, plunks herself down beside the man and looks over his shoulder.
“You a philosopher, or something?” she asks, because asking people about what they do makes them feel good about themselves, and is usually a good conversation starter. (PoliSci student, dontcha know.) It always works with Jane, except more often than not you end up wishing you hadn’t asked. But Jane’s not here, so where’s the harm? “Whatcher working on?”
The man gives her a sideways look, but he doesn’t make a move to cover up his paper. Instead, he looks just a bit contemptuously, like he’s convinced Darcy wouldn’t have a clue what she’s looking at.
“I doubt you would understand.”
Prick. Except – ha! -- she does. The stuff on the page? Looks totally familiar. Runes. Like the way Thor explained the BiFrost thing to Jane: Norse for Einstein-Rosen.
For a moment a small chill creeps down Darcy’s spine. Seriously, what are the odds? What sort of karma must be sticking to her that she keeps attracting this Asgardian stuff? But if there’s one thing she’s learned from hanging around Jane Foster and S.H.I.E.L.D. is that when you see a mystery, you better go shine a flashlight at it right away, or else it comes back and bites you in places you’d rather it didn’t.
“Those scribbles,” she says, stubbing her finger on the man’s note pad with just the right amount of accusation in her voice. “They look like those little pictures Thor keeps drawing for Jane, the ones that he says are writing of some sort and she thinks are, like, the formula to open a door to the universe or some such thing. Not that we need another door to the universe, I mean really? Century 21 in Manhattan is still closed from the last one, which really sucks because they had the best sales. So, what are you using those for?”
The man stares at her like he’s seen a ghost, but that doesn’t translate into an actual answer. He asks her a question instead.
“You know Thor?”
Is that what he got from her question? Maybe she should take interrogation lessons from those S.H.I.E.L.D. guys, like that Coulson dude, the one who still owes her an iPod? Anyway.
The guy sounds a little strange when he asks his question -- actually a lot strange, but at least he’s looking at her now and seems ready for some information-gathering. Of course, there’s a little alarm bell going off, in Darcy’s head, because hello, stranger, so she decides to be diffident.
“Yes, of course I know Thor. I mean, doesn’t everybody? He’s been all over TV, saving the world twice now – or is it three times? Not sure that robot thing counts, does it? Punta whatsit was way to small for world threatening. New York and London, well, that would have been awkward if they’d gone down. Anyway, he’s, like, a public figure.”
Apparently the guy doesn’t buy diffident.
“You recognized runic writing,” he says. “They have never shown that on TV in connection with Thor.”
Shit. Time to be brave, and counter-attack.
“So why do you have it, then?” Darcy challenges. He doesn’t look particularly threatening -- balding, some fuzz left (thank goodness no comb-over) -- out of shape, pudgy. Like a professor-type, or maybe an accountant.
The man gives her a calculating look. He has obviously figured out that she’s not going to divulge anything more without at least a formal introduction, so that’s something.
“Elliot Randolph,” he says, extending his hand. Darcy takes it cautiously; it’s warm and firm, not clammy. (Not obviously evil, then. Those Death Head elves? Cold, like fish that’s been in the fridge too long.) “Professor of Norse Mythology at the University of Oslo.”
“Norse mythology? That’s, like, the study of Thor and that horrible no-good brother of his? And I don’t care what Jane says about him having redeemed himself a bit, he’s still a total shit and almost got us all killed in New Mexico. Not to mention what he did to Manhattan.” Darcy fixes Randolph with her best stare. “Why would anyone here want to study Thor and his family?”
He cocks his head a little, and goes all sincere and official.
“The historical influence of Asgard on this world is fascinating to many,” he says. “Especially now that people know it’s real, not myth. I am trying to bring the two worlds together, reduce misconceptions through learning and understanding.”
“You mean, like, Earth-Asgard relations? Because, you know, those could really use some improving after what Loki did. Thor keeps having to explain how he’s adopted.”
Darcy can’t help herself. Politics is her field, a lot more than that door into other universes stuff, although she’s getting pretty good at that, too. She hasn’t really thought that those things might go together, so, like, fascinating. Future job opportunities?
“In a way, yes,” Randolph says, and for a moment there’s something sad in his voice. Probably because whatever he’s been teaching for the last few years must be getting jossed on a daily basis now, what with actual Asgardians and other Nine Realm types turning up basically in droves. He’s probably just making it up as he goes along now. But he’s definitely interested in what she’s got to say now, and Darcy isn’t quite sure whether she should fret about that, or preen. “I do hope to meet Thor one day. The future King of Asgard. You do know him, don’t you, Miss …?”
“Lewis. Darcy Lewis.”
Great. Now why did she give him her name? Not a spy, is Darcy Lewis. But polite.
“Miss Lewis.” Randolph smiles encouragingly. Oh, now it becomes clear. He’s a Thor fan boy, and she’s the closest he’s ever come to the object of his worship. “So what’s he like?”
Darcy s spared the need for an immediate answer by a public announcement in Norwegian. Of course she doesn’t understand a word, but it says Oslo in there somewhere, so maybe it’s about their flight? She holds up her hand and waits for the lispy English version.
“To the passengers for Scandinavian Flight 4591 to Oslo, we apologize for the delay. A new aircraft is on its way and is expected shortly. We will transfer your luggage and expect to be able to board at approximately one thirty a.m. All passengers who had connecting flights in Oslo will be asked to report to customer service on the ground upon arrival, where you will be given options for your onward journey, and hotel vouchers for the night. Again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”
Great. Darcy looks at her watch. Another hour and a half without food, caffeine or access to the internet. And that flight to LaGuardia is definitely toast.
She tosses Randolph a calculating look. He seems harmless, and interested, so.
“Thor’s a nice guy. Bit like a great, big teddy bear when he’s not out smashing things up with that hammer or closing up holes in the universe. Also, built? I mean, you should see him in a t-shirt, not with the cape and chain mail. The guy’s got man boobs of solid steel. I’m actually a bit scared for Jane, because, you know, that whole fragile Earth flower thing? But she seems to be okay with it. Me, I like my guys a bit smaller. Muscly, but not totally bulked up. Like that one S.H.I.E.L.D. guy that used to hang around the pub Punta Antigua, the one with the dartboard? Oh, and he likes pop tarts and beer. Thor, that is. Not that other guy.”
There’s a sudden commotion in the hall, shouting, which sounds pretty much like Norwegian for “hold it right there” and “where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Darcy looks over and …
“Well, looky here, speak of the Devil! I mean, speak of the God.” She snorts a little at her own wit.
Thor comes striding through the waiting area like he owns the place – which he totally could, because he’s carrying Mew-mew and has that flowing red cape and, let’s face it, because – and he’s heading straight for Darcy with a big smile on his face.
“Darcy,” he booms. “My Lady Jane says your transport has been delayed, and you are anxious to return home. May I render assistance and take you to your next destination?”
Darcy can’t believe her ears. Thor is a good guy, and helpful around the house, but this?
“You’re offering me airlift to Oslo?”
She absolutely tries not to squeak, but she probably does, because flying with Thor? At least it’s not raining and the midnight sun is a bonus, and so she decides to be more excited than panicky.
“If you wish.”
Thor waits for her to nod, and turns imperiously to the gaggle of people in uniform who have come running when he crashed through security, as if they could actually do something about it.
“Guards. Ensure that the Lady Darcy’s belongings are sent to New York.”
The security dudes kind of mill around a little projecting cluelessness, so Darcy hands them her boarding card.
“You heard the man,” she says, happy to notice that the squeak is gone and she manages to sound almost imperious.
But then she remembers Elliot Randolph, who has gone very, very quiet and looks a little seasick.
“Professor,” Darcy says airily. “Meet Thor. Thor, meet Professor Randolph. He studies Asgardian stuff and has been dying to meet you.”
“My Prince,” Randolph stammers. “It is an honour beyond my station, and my wildest dreams to meet you here, in Midgard.”
Thor frowns, and that whole jovial look drains from his face. He grips his hammer a little differently and it’s like there is a sudden chill in the air. Thor does menace as well as he does affable.
“You,” he growls. “You are of Asgard?”
Holy shit. Darcy swallows. Not another one …? Darcy Lewis, alien magnet. Her mother would be so proud.
Randolph answers in a language Darcy doesn’t understand, but it’s pretty clear that Thor isn’t particularly pleased by this latest development; he looks pretty put out actually. And who could blame him, really, what with the havoc that everyone from Asgard who isn’t him seems to be wreaking as soon as they come to Earth.
But then Darcy hears the name Coulson coming from Randolph and Thor looks thunderstruck (Ha! Must remember that one) and he exclaims, in English, “The Son of Coul lives?”
The conversation gets a lot more animated and friendly after that, which is funny, because why wouldn’t Coulson be alive? He certainly was the last time she saw him, in New Mexico.
They seem to have reached some kind of understanding, and Thor reaches out to clasp Randolph’s arm with his huge hand in some form of Asgardian secret shake, turns to Darcy and everything after that is pretty much a blur, because flying without a plane is really kind of nerve-wrecking, especially holding on to your hand luggage so it doesn’t brain someone on the ground.
Darcy makes her connection in Oslo, and yes, her hair needs some serious work. But all things considered, she sure isn’t bored anymore, and that’s a total win.
ericadawn16 in the course of a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. (Go figure.) The prompt was: stuck-in-an-airport-because-the-flights-wElliot Randolph and Darcy Lewis.
I have taken liberties with the flight times between Tromso and Oslo, and when Darcy would have to be leaving town to make a connection to LaGuardia. But if you believe in Asgard, I suppose some warping of reality can be forgiven. ;-)
Oh, and lest you think there’s any attitudinal meta hidden in my pseud, that’s got something to do with my other fandom, Star Trek Voyager, not my travelling habits.
The Joy of Flying
“Tromso sucks.”
The man sitting across from Darcy looks up briefly, but instead of making some sort of sympathetic noise, he turns his attention back to his notebook. It’s not even a real notebook, but one of those spiral-bound manual things, and his eyebrows are pulled over his eyes like a curtain, presumably so he can pretend he doesn’t see Darcy, and her attempts for find a conversation.
She lets out a sigh and tries again.
“I mean, seriously. This has got to be the world’s suckiest airport, and I’ve been to LaGuardia. At least LaGuardia didn’t smell of smoked fish.”
The man continues to ignore her, which would be bad enough but he’s the closest life form around and Darcy is just so freakin’ tired of sitting here and not talking to anyone and just waiting. And waiting. She hated Tromso the first time, and really should have known better than go back there. (The things you do for science and a teeny share of Jane’s latest research grant.)
Darcy bounces her heel against the leg of her chair. (Are they chairs when they’re all nailed together like that, or is that a bench?) Ouch, that hurt.
If at least Jane was still here. Jane isn’t the world’s chattiest person, but she would probably at least say something like, so sorry Darcy, and doesn’t air travel suck the big one? And then they could roll their eyes at each other and maybe trash Tromso for a bit. With words, of course, not for real – Darcy has enough of that kind of trashing to last her a lifetime; she wouldn’t do that, even to Tromso.
But now she doesn’t even have Jane for company anymore. Jane’s going home via some stupid conference in Helsinki, the one Darcy had decided would kill her of boredom at if she went, but which is beginning to look pretty good, all things considered. At least there’d be booze, assuming there’s a reception, not just a pathetic duty-free that closes at eleven.
Of course, the Helsinki plane got away hours ago, right on schedule, with Jane on it. Bye-bye, company.
The Oslo plane, the one Darcy was supposed to get on, that’s the one that broke or died or got eaten by Dark Elves or whatever. And what’s worth, by the time she’ll get to Oslo, her connection to the good old U.S. of A. and a Starbucks on every corner will be long gone.
To top it all off, her iPhone death-beeped just after that last plaintive text to Jane, and the charger is in her suitcase which the troll at the check-in won’t let her have back ‘for security reasons’. Security reasons? Seriously, when has Darcy Lewis ever been a threat to anyone, except maybe with a Taser, which they won’t let you bring on airplanes anyway?
She tries again.
“I think they should just bring us a new plane rather than try and fix the old one, don’t you? I mean, isn’t that what they do when one breaks? Bring a new plane?”
The man looks up briefly.
“I’m sure they’re working on it,” he says. “We just have to be patient. A few hours are nothing in the face of eternity.”
Oh, hello, it talks. Intellectualizes, even.
Darcy decides to go for it. She crosses the aisle, plunks herself down beside the man and looks over his shoulder.
“You a philosopher, or something?” she asks, because asking people about what they do makes them feel good about themselves, and is usually a good conversation starter. (PoliSci student, dontcha know.) It always works with Jane, except more often than not you end up wishing you hadn’t asked. But Jane’s not here, so where’s the harm? “Whatcher working on?”
The man gives her a sideways look, but he doesn’t make a move to cover up his paper. Instead, he looks just a bit contemptuously, like he’s convinced Darcy wouldn’t have a clue what she’s looking at.
“I doubt you would understand.”
Prick. Except – ha! -- she does. The stuff on the page? Looks totally familiar. Runes. Like the way Thor explained the BiFrost thing to Jane: Norse for Einstein-Rosen.
For a moment a small chill creeps down Darcy’s spine. Seriously, what are the odds? What sort of karma must be sticking to her that she keeps attracting this Asgardian stuff? But if there’s one thing she’s learned from hanging around Jane Foster and S.H.I.E.L.D. is that when you see a mystery, you better go shine a flashlight at it right away, or else it comes back and bites you in places you’d rather it didn’t.
“Those scribbles,” she says, stubbing her finger on the man’s note pad with just the right amount of accusation in her voice. “They look like those little pictures Thor keeps drawing for Jane, the ones that he says are writing of some sort and she thinks are, like, the formula to open a door to the universe or some such thing. Not that we need another door to the universe, I mean really? Century 21 in Manhattan is still closed from the last one, which really sucks because they had the best sales. So, what are you using those for?”
The man stares at her like he’s seen a ghost, but that doesn’t translate into an actual answer. He asks her a question instead.
“You know Thor?”
Is that what he got from her question? Maybe she should take interrogation lessons from those S.H.I.E.L.D. guys, like that Coulson dude, the one who still owes her an iPod? Anyway.
The guy sounds a little strange when he asks his question -- actually a lot strange, but at least he’s looking at her now and seems ready for some information-gathering. Of course, there’s a little alarm bell going off, in Darcy’s head, because hello, stranger, so she decides to be diffident.
“Yes, of course I know Thor. I mean, doesn’t everybody? He’s been all over TV, saving the world twice now – or is it three times? Not sure that robot thing counts, does it? Punta whatsit was way to small for world threatening. New York and London, well, that would have been awkward if they’d gone down. Anyway, he’s, like, a public figure.”
Apparently the guy doesn’t buy diffident.
“You recognized runic writing,” he says. “They have never shown that on TV in connection with Thor.”
Shit. Time to be brave, and counter-attack.
“So why do you have it, then?” Darcy challenges. He doesn’t look particularly threatening -- balding, some fuzz left (thank goodness no comb-over) -- out of shape, pudgy. Like a professor-type, or maybe an accountant.
The man gives her a calculating look. He has obviously figured out that she’s not going to divulge anything more without at least a formal introduction, so that’s something.
“Elliot Randolph,” he says, extending his hand. Darcy takes it cautiously; it’s warm and firm, not clammy. (Not obviously evil, then. Those Death Head elves? Cold, like fish that’s been in the fridge too long.) “Professor of Norse Mythology at the University of Oslo.”
“Norse mythology? That’s, like, the study of Thor and that horrible no-good brother of his? And I don’t care what Jane says about him having redeemed himself a bit, he’s still a total shit and almost got us all killed in New Mexico. Not to mention what he did to Manhattan.” Darcy fixes Randolph with her best stare. “Why would anyone here want to study Thor and his family?”
He cocks his head a little, and goes all sincere and official.
“The historical influence of Asgard on this world is fascinating to many,” he says. “Especially now that people know it’s real, not myth. I am trying to bring the two worlds together, reduce misconceptions through learning and understanding.”
“You mean, like, Earth-Asgard relations? Because, you know, those could really use some improving after what Loki did. Thor keeps having to explain how he’s adopted.”
Darcy can’t help herself. Politics is her field, a lot more than that door into other universes stuff, although she’s getting pretty good at that, too. She hasn’t really thought that those things might go together, so, like, fascinating. Future job opportunities?
“In a way, yes,” Randolph says, and for a moment there’s something sad in his voice. Probably because whatever he’s been teaching for the last few years must be getting jossed on a daily basis now, what with actual Asgardians and other Nine Realm types turning up basically in droves. He’s probably just making it up as he goes along now. But he’s definitely interested in what she’s got to say now, and Darcy isn’t quite sure whether she should fret about that, or preen. “I do hope to meet Thor one day. The future King of Asgard. You do know him, don’t you, Miss …?”
“Lewis. Darcy Lewis.”
Great. Now why did she give him her name? Not a spy, is Darcy Lewis. But polite.
“Miss Lewis.” Randolph smiles encouragingly. Oh, now it becomes clear. He’s a Thor fan boy, and she’s the closest he’s ever come to the object of his worship. “So what’s he like?”
Darcy s spared the need for an immediate answer by a public announcement in Norwegian. Of course she doesn’t understand a word, but it says Oslo in there somewhere, so maybe it’s about their flight? She holds up her hand and waits for the lispy English version.
“To the passengers for Scandinavian Flight 4591 to Oslo, we apologize for the delay. A new aircraft is on its way and is expected shortly. We will transfer your luggage and expect to be able to board at approximately one thirty a.m. All passengers who had connecting flights in Oslo will be asked to report to customer service on the ground upon arrival, where you will be given options for your onward journey, and hotel vouchers for the night. Again, we apologize for the inconvenience.”
Great. Darcy looks at her watch. Another hour and a half without food, caffeine or access to the internet. And that flight to LaGuardia is definitely toast.
She tosses Randolph a calculating look. He seems harmless, and interested, so.
“Thor’s a nice guy. Bit like a great, big teddy bear when he’s not out smashing things up with that hammer or closing up holes in the universe. Also, built? I mean, you should see him in a t-shirt, not with the cape and chain mail. The guy’s got man boobs of solid steel. I’m actually a bit scared for Jane, because, you know, that whole fragile Earth flower thing? But she seems to be okay with it. Me, I like my guys a bit smaller. Muscly, but not totally bulked up. Like that one S.H.I.E.L.D. guy that used to hang around the pub Punta Antigua, the one with the dartboard? Oh, and he likes pop tarts and beer. Thor, that is. Not that other guy.”
There’s a sudden commotion in the hall, shouting, which sounds pretty much like Norwegian for “hold it right there” and “where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Darcy looks over and …
“Well, looky here, speak of the Devil! I mean, speak of the God.” She snorts a little at her own wit.
Thor comes striding through the waiting area like he owns the place – which he totally could, because he’s carrying Mew-mew and has that flowing red cape and, let’s face it, because – and he’s heading straight for Darcy with a big smile on his face.
“Darcy,” he booms. “My Lady Jane says your transport has been delayed, and you are anxious to return home. May I render assistance and take you to your next destination?”
Darcy can’t believe her ears. Thor is a good guy, and helpful around the house, but this?
“You’re offering me airlift to Oslo?”
She absolutely tries not to squeak, but she probably does, because flying with Thor? At least it’s not raining and the midnight sun is a bonus, and so she decides to be more excited than panicky.
“If you wish.”
Thor waits for her to nod, and turns imperiously to the gaggle of people in uniform who have come running when he crashed through security, as if they could actually do something about it.
“Guards. Ensure that the Lady Darcy’s belongings are sent to New York.”
The security dudes kind of mill around a little projecting cluelessness, so Darcy hands them her boarding card.
“You heard the man,” she says, happy to notice that the squeak is gone and she manages to sound almost imperious.
But then she remembers Elliot Randolph, who has gone very, very quiet and looks a little seasick.
“Professor,” Darcy says airily. “Meet Thor. Thor, meet Professor Randolph. He studies Asgardian stuff and has been dying to meet you.”
“My Prince,” Randolph stammers. “It is an honour beyond my station, and my wildest dreams to meet you here, in Midgard.”
Thor frowns, and that whole jovial look drains from his face. He grips his hammer a little differently and it’s like there is a sudden chill in the air. Thor does menace as well as he does affable.
“You,” he growls. “You are of Asgard?”
Holy shit. Darcy swallows. Not another one …? Darcy Lewis, alien magnet. Her mother would be so proud.
Randolph answers in a language Darcy doesn’t understand, but it’s pretty clear that Thor isn’t particularly pleased by this latest development; he looks pretty put out actually. And who could blame him, really, what with the havoc that everyone from Asgard who isn’t him seems to be wreaking as soon as they come to Earth.
But then Darcy hears the name Coulson coming from Randolph and Thor looks thunderstruck (Ha! Must remember that one) and he exclaims, in English, “The Son of Coul lives?”
The conversation gets a lot more animated and friendly after that, which is funny, because why wouldn’t Coulson be alive? He certainly was the last time she saw him, in New Mexico.
They seem to have reached some kind of understanding, and Thor reaches out to clasp Randolph’s arm with his huge hand in some form of Asgardian secret shake, turns to Darcy and everything after that is pretty much a blur, because flying without a plane is really kind of nerve-wrecking, especially holding on to your hand luggage so it doesn’t brain someone on the ground.
Darcy makes her connection in Oslo, and yes, her hair needs some serious work. But all things considered, she sure isn’t bored anymore, and that’s a total win.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-10 04:18 pm (UTC)Probably because whatever he’s been teaching for the last few years must be getting jossed on a daily basis
Hee.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-10 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 04:18 am (UTC)I have wondered this before though...does Buffy the Vampire slayer exist, either real or in media form in the Marvel Universe?
Because I don't remember anyone ever mentioning watching Buffy or anyone else and Joss had wanted to connect Buffy with the Summers clan of Scott, etc.
And if Buffy and the various media properties don't actually exist in the Marvel universe, how might Jossed exist in verb form? Is there a Joss Smith? Unless they use Joshed, like the 1830s?
I know, I'm over-thinking things.
There was also part of me that was pleased that Doctor Who lost to Sherlock for being mentioned in The Winter Soldier.
If Doctor Who isn't directly mentioned in MCU, maybe we can still pretend that the Doctor and Marvel co-exists together and Jack Harkness really is somehow related/married to Agatha Harkness....
Whereas in the 616 comics continuity, they've had a person with a Tardis cellphone cover so that seems less likely...
no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 05:35 am (UTC)------
As for what exists in a given universe, fandom can differ wildly, I've found. I was once excoriated by a reader of my Star Trek: Voyager stories for claiming that the Jeffries tubes on Starfleet vessels were the work of an otherwise obscure 22nd century engineer named Lance Jeffries, when it is a "well-known fact" that they were named after a Star Trek production designer. clears throat I think there is a reasonable expectation that shows that ostensibly take place in our world use our cultural references (I mean, seriously -- what's the difference between referencing flying monkeys, War Games, Sherlock .... and Buffy or Firefly? (I have Clint say in one of my pieces that whoever cancelled Firefly ought to be terminated with extreme prejudice ...)
no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 04:05 am (UTC)Thank You, Thank You!
This was perfect. I was waiting for my ride Wednesday night, pressing Refresh on my phone browser for new comments to appear but just as Thor appeared, then you commented how it wasn't working out and you'd make a new entry.
Then, LJ never emailed me how another user had mentioned me by name...stupid LJ, but I checked your journal and it's here, yay!
I really do love it, it's just as wonderful as I imagined it to be and I love that Elliot is the one to accidentally tell Thor about Phil...I can just imagine him immediately tracking him down even if he and his team are in some remote place like The Fridge.
Also, Hawkeye mention!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-12 05:37 am (UTC)As for the non-notification, I left out the "16" in your pseud at first, and then I corrected it. Guess there is no notification for a correction, and some other ericadawn is wondering who the hell wrote her a story, and why ... ;-)