Not that it matters but most of what follows is true

New Pros fic - Reciprocation

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 16:47:57 GMT

Just another teeny tiny ficlet, only about 400 words. Hope you like it. Here's a very quick explanation, for anyone who may be interested:

So, I read the Doyle character study that recently went up at the safehouse here:

http://community.livejournal.com/the_safehouse/772138.html#cutid1

And I got to the bit where it says that Bodie's very real affection for Doyle is not reciprocated, and my lip went all wibbly. Of course, I'm a slasher so I kept thinking "but, but, but Doyle adores Bodie!" And then I felt so bad for Bodie, I had to write something that would make me feel better.

Many thanks to byslantedlightfor the brilliant and extremely quick beta, you're a diamond.

Doyle pulled a clean tea towel from the drawer and picked up a wet mug, wiping the cloth over it absent mindedly before placing it on the kitchen counter. Beside him, Bodie handed him another soapy mug and then picked up an egg stained plate from the pile of washing up on the table, plunging it underneath the bubbles.

Doyle waited for the clean plate to be handed to him, then another plate followed by a frying pan and the first of the cutlery. He shook his head silently as he reached up to put away a saucepan in the cupboard over the cooker. It was bloody amazing, really. Just a few hours ago he hadn’t known if Bodie was dead or alive. Now here they were, having egg and chips back at his flat as if nothing had ever happened.

Well, almost as if nothing had ever happened. Doyle returned to the drying up and cleared his throat.

“I’m crazy about you, you know.”

The wooden spoon clutched in Bodie’s wet hands fell back into the bowl of water with a small splash.

Doyle waited until the retrieved spoon was silently handed to him for drying. He shrugged in apology, and tried to offer some kind of explanation. “After what happened today, I thought it was about time I actually said it.” He returned the dried spoon to its spot on the left hand side of the cutlery drawer. “And I know you’re head over heels about me as well, so don’t try and deny it.”

Bodie tipped the dirty washing up water down the sink, wiping his hands slowly on the tea towel Doyle was holding. Finally he spoke.

“I wasn’t going to deny it.” He leaned back against the sink and folded his arms. “But I was always under the impression my feelings weren’t exactly reciprocated.”

Doyle’s eyes widened. Not exactly reciprocated? He looked down at the deep marks carved into the flesh of his palm, red and crusted with blood where he had stabbed his nails into his hand, sheer frustration and anxiety numbing the pain while he waited to find out what was happening to Bodie inside that bloody flat. Two hours while Bodie was stuck inside with a half-crazed, strung out radical holding a shaking knife to his jugular, and all Doyle could do was stand outside and wait for the cavalry to arrive.

Unreciprocated? Like hell... Doyle took a step closer.

“God Bodie, you’re an idiot. Come here. I’ll show you reciprocation.”

New Pros fic - Christmas Morning

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 16:17:18 GMT

It's not much, just a trifle really and written in a short space of time this morning. Hope you like it.

Bodie blinked as the bright morning sun broke its way through the curtains, bathing the room with a soft red glow. He closed his eyes and turned his body away from the emerging daylight, wrapping the warm bedsheet more closely around him. The unfamiliar bed creaked underneath him, and he held his breath, waiting for any sign that he had disturbed the person who was sleeping so soundly next to him. He lay perfectly still, not daring to make any more movements that might wake him up, that would mean they had to talk, to look at each other - to remember. Doyle, however, did not stir, completely oblivious to Bodie’s fidgeting. Bodie let out a silent breath of relief and rested his head on the pillow, his back to the sun and the world outside.

He waited as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. On the far wall above the closed door, the distorted shadow of an enormous sprig of mistletoe hovered and danced in the flickering light. He looked up at the original, hanging innocently above the bed and flushed at the memory. One measly sprig of mistletoe and he’d given in. He’d let the seduction happen and allowed himself to be taken to the one place where there was no turning back.

He could feel the heat coming from the still body sleeping beside him, could see the dim outline of Doyle’s arm above the bedclothes. Bodie swallowed drily. Doyle’s hands on his body, Doyle’s mouth on top of his. Doyle’s words whispered in his ear, echoing again and again inside his head…

Bodie kicked the bedsheet away from his feet and lifted the covers, rolling over towards the end of the bed. One foot had nearly touched the floor when he felt a strong arm wrap itself around his waist, felt Doyle’s breath hot on his neck.

“Don’t go.”

Bodie froze, his foot hovering above the floorboards. He didn’t answer, couldn’t find a single word to say in response. Doyle spoke again, his voice soft and sleepy against Bodie’s shoulder. “You can’t go - it’s Christmas.”

Bodie blinked and opened his mouth to reply. There was no logic in Doyle’s statement, no sense in his argument whatsoever. But the grip around his waist tightened, and the lips against his neck pressed a warm kiss under his ear.

Bodie lifted his foot into the bed, turned his body back towards the sunlight and into the waiting embrace.

It was Christmas, after all.

The last day of my Pros-y writing holiday has produced another fic, yay! This was written this morning out of the prompt box, with each of us choosing a character and picking a prompt from the box that would somehow 'save' that character. I chose Bodie and my prompt was a picture of a Christmas tree with lots of presents under it. We then had an hour and a half to write something. This is what I came up with!

New Pros fic - Not on holiday

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 15:33:59 GMT

My Pros-y writing holiday has produced fic! Yay! I'm just cross posting here on my journal, it's up at discoveredinaljover here:

http://community.livejournal.com/discoveredinalj/157257.html#cutid1

Many wonderful thanks to byslantedlightand jojosimcofor their beta help and encouragement. I shall down some gin and tonic in your honour tonight. :D

As requested - some Lads for BSL's flist

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 18:48:03 GMT

So, in accordance with the request we've all recently received for more Lads, I thought I'd offer up a couple of pictures from a calendar my friend made for me way back in December last year. This is a physical calendar which is on my wall, which is why the scans aren't that great - the paper she printed the pictures on is very thin. Anyway, my Christmas present from my wonderful friend last year was a multi-fandom calendar, with two months devoted to my favourite CI5 agent. I meant to share them earlier but never got round to it, so I thought this was a good opportunity to take up the call to arms and spread more Lads around lj (well, one of them at least). Next year, I'll ask for more Doyle. :D

New Pros fic - "Wet"

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 21:15:13 GMT

Just a little trifle, written for the "wet" prompt at teaandswissroll . It aint much and was written and posted in haste before I bottled out, but after my near melt-down a few days ago, I'm not complaining. Hope y'all like it. :D

Beta help was from the awesome byslantedlight and jojosimco . Thanks guys, I hope the finished product meets with approval.

Doyle wiped a warm, sticky hand over his face and forehead, closing his eyes briefly against the blazing afternoon sun. He pulled at the neck of his sweat-covered t-shirt, wincing as the wet cotton peeled away from his skin. In the distance, a couple lucky enough to have found a table under the shade of a large oak tree laughed and clinked their glasses together.

Beside him, Bodie took a long swig of beer, setting his glass down with a sigh of appreciation and stretching his legs out in front of him. Doyle plucked at his t-shirt once more, desperate for the feel of cool air against his skin. Bodie glanced up and smirked, slowly rolling back the sleeves of his immaculate black poloneck.

Doyle glared across at him and drank thirstily from his own beer, ignoring the warmth of the liquid as he swallowed it down. Typical Bodie. Un-bloody-flappable, even at 95 degrees and rising. He ran a hand through his dripping wet hair and let out a long sigh. Four days of the highest temperatures London had seen for a decade, and Bodie didn’t even break into a sweat. Doyle scowled as he raised his glass to his dry lips. Downright unnatural, that’s what it was.

Except there - at Bodie’s temple, just over the crooked eyebrow. Doyle sucked in a sudden breath. He leaned forward slightly, shifting in his chair to get closer. There it was - a single bead of sweat, a tiny glistening drop of moisture shining on Bodie’s skin.

Doyle swallowed, his throat painfully dry in the humid air. He watched as Bodie took another long swig of beer, tilting his head back as he drank it down. Doyle licked his lips unconsciously as the tiny bead of sweat began to move, tracing its way slowly down Bodie’s face.

Without thought Doyle lifted his hand, reaching out to stop it on its path, wanting to catch the traitorous drop of water on his finger, to touch that too-cool, smooth face. His fingertips had nearly brushed against the pale cheekbone, were just a fraction of an inch away from their destination when with a jerk, Bodie suddenly turned his head. Doyle snatched his hand away, suddenly appalled as Bodie raised a single eyebrow in acknowledgement of the outstretched fingers that had been hovering so close to his skin.

Doyle waited, his hand frozen in mid air between them. Slowly, Bodie reached up and wiped the drop of moisture away from his face, his eyes not breaking contact with Doyle’s. He swallowed again as Bodie opened his mouth to speak, eyes wide and mouth turned up in an almost-smile. Then, in the distance, the woman in the shade snorted and laughed, a shrill sound that cut through the silence of the motionless air. Bodie closed his mouth and blinked once. He shoved his empty glass across the table towards Doyle. “Your round, mate.”

Doyle let his frozen hand drop to his side. He stood up, fumbling in his jeans pocket for his wallet, trying to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his eardrums. He nodded, turned and walked back towards the pub.

Typical Bodie. Absolutely un-bloody-flappable.

The great land of Liverpuddle

Mon, 08 Jun 2009 16:36:42 GMT

I'm back from my weekend in and around Liverpool, and I come bearing pictures. Quite a few pictures, actually. We got completely rained on during the day on Saturday, we couldn't get tickets for the Magical Mystery bus tour and it turns out our tickets to see the Bootleg Beatles were for a general 1960's music extravaganza and the Bootlegs were only the last act on, rather than being a full Bootleg Beatles concert with all the trimmings. I got cold, wet and tired and all in all I had a great time. :D

It was a shame that it rained so much when we were walking around Liverpool, but I did get to see lots of cool Beatley things and a certain other scouse charmer certainly found his way into my thoughts, particularly when I was down on the waterfront looking at the Mersey and seeing all the ships and boats.

We arrived in Liverpool quite early on Saturday morning and I'm not lying, as soon as we walked towards the town centre we started hearing Beatles songs everywhere. I think it must be a law or something that there always has to be a Beatles song played in the city centre at any given time of the day. All the buskers were playing Beatles songs, the shops had them playing on their sound systems, every Beatle related place we visited had their back catalogue on permanent shuffle. Must be quite a bummer if you're local and not a fan, you must just end up thinking "if I hear one more frickin' Beatles song..."

Anyway, we walked up to Mathew Street and we saw this:

the Eleanor Rigby statue which I thought was pretty brilliant actually, especially the way they've sculpted her face which as we all know she keeps in a jar by the door.

Then we found all of this, all in one teeny-tiny street:

Sadly they don't actually sell the Beatles, just Beatle related stuff. Wasted opportunity, if you ask me.

The amazing Cavern Club. I actually got goosebumps climbing down all those stairs, going deeper and deeper undergound and then finally seeing that stage.

Yes, I did have my picture taken with John Lennon. :D

Then it was down to the docks, which I somehow now think of as Bodie-land:

Pretty grim, isn't it? Of course, the rain and wind helped with the bleak atmosphere. By the way, I know that LC is from Birkenhead rather than the city of Liverpool itself, but do we ever find out specifically where Bodie is from? Anyway, the view may be a bit grim but it was ok because when you turn around and look the other way, you get this:

And finally, although we had such rotten luck with the weather and our magical mystery tour plans, it turns out that the Lord Mayor's Parade was on so we saw some very cold but very grand looking Liverpudlians marching through the city. Including this bloke and his moustache:

And this bloke in a rather cool Liver bird costume:

All in all, I had a thoroughly lovely Liverpudlian fangirly weekend, although my cousin and I both agreed that we would be going back again when the weather forecast is good and after we buy tickets for the Magical Mystery Tour in advance. :D

Nattercon?

Sun, 19 Apr 2009 20:06:39 GMT

Hi guys

I was just wondering who else is going to Nattercon next month? It's my first one and I'm getting very excited and feeling quite guilty because I really should be spending that weekend revising instead of traipsing across the country out of love for Bodie and Doyle. If/when I fail this exam, I'm blaming the lads.

Also, I've decided to drive up rather than taking the train. I have Jeremy, my trusty little Ford Fiesta and I have Daphne, my shiny new satnav but I'm a very nervous driver. Has anyone ever driven there before, coming from the west/south west? What's it like driving through Milton Keynes? Lots of roundabouts, right? Is it easy? Please someone, say it's easy.

Writing question

Tue, 27 Jan 2009 21:44:16 GMT

OK, firstly I'm sorry if I'm spamming people's friends list. I guess I'm just so happy to be back online that I feel particularly chatty!

I've posted a question at a writing message board I belong to called Scribalings, about fanfiction and original stories. I really want to contribute over at scribalings but I am absolutely rubbish at writing anything that isn't fanfiction. I'd be interested to hear if anyone has any thoughts on this

And by the way, if anyone would like to join scribalings, please head over here:

http://scribalings.prophpbb.com/

Ok, I have a question about fanfiction and original fiction. I’ve been getting increasingly frustrated that I just can’t seem to write any kind of original stories, which means I struggle to take part in the scribalings challenges. I seem to be only capable of writing fanfiction, so my question is this – is there something wrong with me? What’s the difference between writing fanfic and writing something that is completely original?

At first, I was inclined to think it was just because I don’t have a good enough imagination. With fanfiction, you have characters that are ready-made and handed to you on a plate, you get a setting and a context, a backstory and other characters for them to interact with. With original fiction, you’re just on your own which, to me, makes it just that much harder.

Or is it laziness? Have I just decided to take the easy option by stealing someone else’s characters and creations and just making them do what I want them to do? You know, part of me thinks this might be the case but I’d be interested to know what other people think. Is it harder to write characters that other people have created, because then you have the constraints of having to keep them “in character” and making your fanfic read like it could be part of the show, or is it harder to create your own world completely? Should a fanfiction writer even care about keeping their work in character, or should they have free range to make the characters do whatever the hell they like, even if it means dressing Bodie in a pink frock and giving Doyle a double life as a transvestite accountant. If not, what’s the point of writing a piece fanfiction based on characters on tv when you’ve gone so far outside the realms of the source tv show itself.

And with original fic, how do you know it’s truly original? Is there always an element of “borrowing” from other things you may have read or seen? When you write an original character, does that character come fully formed in your imagination, or do you change them and work on them?

Is there anyone out there who writes fanfic and original stories? Which do you prefer? Which is easier? Are either easy? And most of all, any suggestions for how I can tackle the issue of how to write a completely original story?

New Pros fic - Emmanuel

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 18:32:53 GMT

Just cross posting a new Pros fic which is over at discoveredinalj here:

http://community.livejournal.com/discoveredinalj/138870.html?#cutid1

Thank you to byslantedlight and jojosimco for their help and hand-holding and for being so extraordinarily quick on the beta. Thanks to msmoat as well - even though she was quite possibly flying over the Atlantic as I was writing, I could still hear a voice in my head saying "show, don't tell." Although I think I'm a bit rubbish at that, so there is a lot of telling in this one. Still, I'm trying!

Happy New Year

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 16:48:15 GMT

Happy New Year to everyone and anyone, I hope that 2009 is a wonderful year for all of us and I hope it's been off to a cracking start for everyone so far. Perhaps some of you guys in earlier time zones can let me know what's going to happen, you know I'm a sucker for spoilers.

I'm not one for making new year's resolutions, I always feel that if you're going to resolve to do something (or not do something, or stop doing something etc), you can do that at any time of the year. Instead, I thought I'd take a look back at the best things for me about 2008 .

1. Our family holiday to Bad Harzburg and Dresden in March. Looking for easter eggs in the garden under a thick blanket of snow that fell the night before. Seeing my family in Germany. Spending 3 days in Dresden, which is one of the most amazing cities in the world. Seeing so much meissen that it made my mouth water, standing outside the re-built Frauenkirche and then lighting a candle inside. I soooo want to go back to Dresden this year.

2. I moved house! A good thing and a bad thing really, because I love my new house and housemate but I left behind a very soured friendship with my previous housemate. Perhaps 2009 is a year to make a peace offering and be friends again. I hope so, anyway.

3. I passed my first set of law exams. God, I got so stressed about them. And I have more exams to look forward to in May this year. Be prepared for almost complete meltdown.

4. I discovered Pros! I watched my first episode, bought the entire series on dvd and wrote and posted my first fanfic all within a one month period! Honestly, the Pros fandom is the best I've ever come across. So many people being warm and friendly, and although I haven't written much I really feel like Pros has opened up my own creativity in a way that nothing else has for a long time.

So, there you go. I suppose that list doesn't amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but just reading it makes me happy! Here's to 2009 and next year's list!

My Christmas so far

Sun, 28 Dec 2008 14:21:55 GMT

Hi everyone,

I hope that everyone is having a wonderful xmas break so far. I haven't been able to catch up on lj much lately, but in the next couple of days I'm going to be glued to my computer catching up with everyone and especially reading all the Pros fics that have been posted. I've been desperate to get to the computer for more than ten minutes! My friend Dawn was with us for xmas and she left this morning, but my brother and his family are still here so it's still quite chaotic, to say the least! Dawn and I managed to go out for a few walks, which was nice - pictures below.

It's been a great xmas so far. A bit cold, but then I'm a southern nancy so I struggle with any slight dip in temperature! I got a TomTom for xmas, which is perfect for me, I have no sense of direction whatsoever. My niece got lots of High School Musical stuff including a microphone karoake, and my nephew got a toy guitar and saxophone so it's been quite a noisy xmas this year!

Dawn and I spent a lot of time watching dvds, alternating between Pros and Life on Mars and then Ashes to Ashes and I have to say - I bloody loved Ashes to Ashes! Ok, I do have a guilty and dirty passion for Gene Hunt, but the whole series was awesome. And the possibilities for fics are endless!...

Anyway, I will be catching up with all the lovely fics and things that have been posted and I hope everyone has enjoyed their holidays so far. :D

Hundreds of presents underneath the tree on Christmas Eve. Ooh, and my mum's dancing lady art deco type lamp in the background appeared in an episode of LoM we watched, except my dad bought it back in 1999 so it's not really very 1970's at all...

We didn't really manage to think of many 1970's/80's drinks apart from babycham, so we took that idea and ran with it. Ah, "nothing sparkles like a babycham..."

Dawn and I usually go for a walk to Goodrington Sands on Christmas Day if she's down. Here are a few photos, it was cold and windy but very bracing! (and it generally looks much more inviting in the summer, honest).

Then on Boxing Day we went to Stover Country Park, which was lovely. Lots of woods, streams and a big lake with all sorts of wildlife that I couldn't possibly hope to be able to name:

Christmas starts here

Mon, 22 Dec 2008 21:13:34 GMT

Hi everyone,

I'm off to my parents' after work tomorrow for the Christmas break so I thought I would take this chance to wish everyone a merry Christmas in case I don't have time or energy to post before Christmas Day!

My mum and dad have got a full house this year - my Nan lives with my parents and my brother, his wife and their two children, as well as me and my friend Dawn who is coming down from Kent, will all be crammed in the house. Which means my brother and his family will be in my old flat underneath the house and me and Dawn are on mattresses in the loft. I can't wait! :D

Dawn and I are going to have a real seventies Christmas this year - our scheduled dvd viewing excess this year is Life on Mars and Pros, with a bit of the Mighty Boosh to provide comic relief and a counter balance to the decade that fashion forgot. Hmmm, what drinks are classically seventies? (Alcoholic, of course...)

If I don't get to post for a few days, I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas. I'll be thinking of my lovely friends list, and will raise a glass to everyone at Christmas dinner. :D Bottoms Up.

Scarsdale, Locations and Pros fans - oh my!

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 19:55:18 GMT

Part 1, anway.

Well, here I am. Back from my Pros weekend at the Scarsdale.  Goodness me, where do I start? There's so much to say. Be warned, this one is long and involves lots of pictures...

My train left at 6.30 in the morning on Saturday and I didn't get home until after 11.00 on Sunday night so it was a looong weekend for me, but completely worth it. I got to the Holland Court Hotel at about 11.00 on Saturday morning, and just as I was checking in another lady arrived. I was due to meet greengerbil and byslantedlight at the hotel and greengerbil warned me that she would be wearing her green Pros shirt. So, after I checked in I noticed that this other lady was wearing a bright green t-shirt underneath her jacket so I kind of lurked in the lobby for a while as she checked in, torn between being pretty convinced it was greengerbil and not wanting to approach a complete stranger and ask her to flash her t-shirt at me!

Anyway, we managed to establish our identities and headed downstairs to the hotel lounge/bar. We waited there for about an hour or so, drinking lots of tea and talking non stop about Pros, Lewis Collins, Martin Shaw, The Scarlet Pimpernel, stargate, The Avengers and all sorts of general rubbish! Then after a while byslantedlight arrived with erushi and we headed off to the Scarsdale.

We were in the Scarsdale from about 12.30 p.m. to about 9ish. And I swear, I only had two glasses of wine and two gins the whole time. The pub was great and it was so lovely to meet up with so many Pros fans. I honestly don't think I've talked so much in my life. I'm usually very shy when it comes to meeting people for the first time, but this time I couldn't shut up! Everyone was just so nice. :D

On Sunday, greengerbil, erushi, comein_45, jojosimco, byslantedlight and I lurked suspiciously around Holland Park to check out locations. Ah, to have walked the streets that Bodie walked - bestill my heart. In the afternoon, jojosimco very kindly drove us out to Hammersmith Bridge to have lunch at the Blue Anchor.

It was great to hang out with those guys and to be able to meet up, thank you to all of you, you were all so lovely and I was so pleased that you all let me tag along. :D We even managed to watch an episode and watch some music videos over the weekend. All in all, I had a wonderful time and can't wait to to do it again. I could type for hours and write about absolutely everything we did and how much I enjoyed it, but I'm guessing you all get the picture! :D

So, here are some of my pictures:

Pros xmas crackers at the Scarsdale! Does this mean I can say I've pulled Bodie?! ; D

Outside the pub:

See the tree on the right hand side of the picture?  I thnk that's the tree that Bodie is sitting with his back towards, only thirty years older. :D

Off to Holland Park next, which was really pretty. The gates are a bit less shiny now and the pedestrian railings have gone, but it's definitely the same place:

Look, you can even see the little white bollard thing is still there. :D

Inside the park:

This building looks a little bit different now, but you can see the windows and doors in pretty much the same place:

Here's the whole building with the park in the foreground. Pretty.

Here's that funny little spiral in the background.



So there you go, that was my weekend. I'm still pooped, so I think I'll end this post now before I end up completely rambling. I'll just say thank you so much to everyone who met and who was so nice to me and made me feel so at ease and un-shy!

Off to the Scarsdale tomorrow

Fri, 05 Dec 2008 21:01:52 GMT

... and feeling excited and nervous at the same time.

I've only been into Pros since May this year, I'm a complete newbie, and here I am getting ready to travel to London tomorrow and meet up with a bunch of people I've never met before! I think I might be a little bit crazy. :D I'm looking forward to getting the pub and downing a stiff gin and tonic to help with the nerves! I hope we get to do some location scouting on Sunday as well, I love that kind of stuff. I'm really not sure what to expect apart from that, which makes it all the more exciting.

Anyway, wish me luck! Will report all about it when I get back. :D

Happy St Nicklaus Day

Thu, 04 Dec 2008 19:24:41 GMT

I know it's early, but I'm going to be in London for December 6th, and I've just put my Christmas tree up, so I thought I would put up a few pictures and say "yay", it's really starting to feel like Christmas.

I used to love St Nicklaus Day when I was a kid. Every year on 5th December my brother and I would polish our shoes and put them outside our door at night, ready for St Nick. Then when we woke up in the morning our shoes would be filled with sweets and oranges and one or two early Christmas presents. I remember one year getting a tiny china tea set and I would nearly always get a book, often one of the Pippi Longstocking series or something by Enid Blyton. Christmas in our family has always been celebrated the German way, with St Nicklaus instead of Santa Claus, pfefferkuchen to eat, wooden windmills that spin when you light the candles and we always open our presents underneath the tree on Christmas Eve.

And just because my tree is now up, here are a few pictures. It's always so hard to get a good picture of the tree, they never quite do it justice. This tree was made by my parents and I just love it. My mum bought the tree in Germany in the 1960's, and they still use theirs. They basically copied the design and made their own version for me and my brother, so we all have the same tree. And then two of my friends liked it so much, they made a tree each for them as well.

All in all, I'm now feeling very Christmassy for the first time and want to extend a Christmassy hug to everyone and say Happy St Nicklaus Day. I hope everyone's been good and that no one gets sticks and coal in their shoe. :D

Dartington Hall - no ghosts, and no Martin Shaw

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 08:37:10 GMT

So, a week or so ago I saw an article about Martin Shaw and his new programme Apparitions and he said that he had once seen a ghost at Dartington Hall in Devon:

http://www.mirror.co.uk/celebs/celebs-on-sunday/2008/11/16/martin-shaw-i-used-to-shovel-sh-t-for-a-living-115875-20895536/

Naturally, I got very excited about this passing reference as I live only 15 minutes away from Dartington Hall and it is one of my favourite places. The Hall is the base for an arts college and there are often outdoor plays in the park, and the gardens are lovely in the summer.

Anyway, I had a couple of friends staying with me last week and we visited Dartington Hall and it was so lovely, even in November, I thought I would put some pictures up. There is a little graveyard there which I just love, in the shade of the biggest, oldest, gnarliest tree I've ever seen. I've always loved old graveyards and reading the headstones and the little rhymes they sometimes have on them. Sadly there were no sightings of any ghosts or any tv actors and it rained a little bit, but here are some pictures anyway.

This grave in particular was interesting. There is no reference to the person who is buried here, but the headstone reads something like -

"Reader. All you who here do cast an eye
Take care, live well and learn to die."

I can't quite see what the word after "you" is though, it looks just like the letter "y" with a letter "l" over the top. I don't know if you can see it clearly in this picture, but perhaps someone else can help me out?

Another piece of poetry in the wall along one of the pathways:

Happy Guy Fawkes Day

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 20:15:12 GMT

I couldn't let one of my favourite days of the year pass without mentioning it. I bloody love Guy Fawkes day. I love standing in my back garden with my family, all dressed in hat, coat and scarves braving the November weather and setting off cheap fireworks and writing my name with sparklers. This year, I bought myself a ten quid box of fireworks and my housemate and I have spent the last half hour setting off the small explosives in our back yard. Awesome. I love the pfft-putt-putt-putt sound they make, the sheer amount of smoke that a tiny little fountain can set off, wondering whether the catherine wheel has set fire to the garden shed. Plus, there are fireworks everywhere so I get to enjoy everyone else's as well.

Ooh, and Barack Obama is the new president - awesome!

And after a rubbish two weeks at work and visits to 3 prisons in one week, I have Friday and Monday off for my Stargate convention in London this weekend. Geeks rule!

I have fireworks, a new president and a weekend away. I am experiencing contentment. I hope it lasts!

Poppy Day Thoughts

Sun, 02 Nov 2008 10:46:07 GMT

Last night I signed up for the new dialj challenge, discovered in remembrance. I obviously went to sleep thinking about my prompt because when I woke up this morning, I was thinking about poppy day.

About 6 years ago I worked in a bookshop and we sold poppies at the front till. One day, one of my colleagues put her one pound in the box, picked up her poppy and then said "the only good German is a dead German." I know, I know this is wrong for so many reasons but it was honestly like being slapped in the face. Firstly, nobody should be thinking like that in this day and age. They just shouldn't. Secondly, comments like that take so much away from the meaning and importance of remembrance day. And thirdly, she said it right to my face and I'm half German. I have a German name, my mum is German and half my family are German, and I've always been so proud of that fact.

Ever since that day and that comment, I haven't worn a poppy. Every time I looked at a poppy or thought of pinning one to my coat, all I could hear were those words. It was horrible, because ever since I was a child and understood what the poppies were all about, I wore one. I know that remembrance day commemorates all the dead in all wars, but because I am half German, it always meant such a lot to me. Poppy day was a big, big deal to me. When I was at university in Durham I used to go to the remembrance service at Durham Cathedral which was always so moving and so lovely, and now all I can think about at this time of year are those damn words and the horrible, trite, throwaway, vicious sentiment behind them. God, it hurt me when she said that. I honestly don't know what she was thinking to say something like that to me. And I'm so mad at her for taking the nobility of remembrance day away from me, and making me not want to wear a poppy anymore

So, the point of all of that, is that I am determined to buy a poppy this year. And when I put my money in the box and put the poppy on, I'm going to think of some other words to replace the words my old colleague said. My all time favourite war poet is Charles Sorley, who was at university in Jena before WWI broke out. So, I'm blowing a big raspberry to the person who said things she should never had said, and replacing her with Charles Sorley, who wrote this poem in 1914:

To Germany

You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed,
And no man claimed the conquest of your land.
But gropers both through fields of thought confined
We stumble and we do not understand.
You only saw your future bigly planned,
And we, the tapering paths of our own mind,
And in each other's dearest ways we stand,
And hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind.

When it is peace, then we may view again
With new-won eyes each other's truer form
And wonder. Grown more loving-kind and warm
We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,
When it is peace. But until peace, the storm
The darkness and the thunder and the rain.

Pros at Christmas

Fri, 31 Oct 2008 07:10:39 GMT

Just a quick question, I hope some people out there can help me. I've noticed a couple of people have mentioned the Pros fandom at xmas and said that it's an especially good time of year. Well, this will be my first xmas as a pros fan and I was wondering exactly what happens at this time of year? Are there specific challenges given out, a secret santa kind of thing, an advent calendar, do we all get Bodie clones dressed up as Santa Claus delivered to our door? I'm intrigued to know what's going to be happening in December, I almost feel like a child waiting for Father Christmas to arrive!

New Pros fic - Good Company

Mon, 27 Oct 2008 18:11:12 GMT

Again, just cross posting a new fic. It's at dialj here:

http://community.livejournal.com/discoveredinalj/118068.html#cutid1

My first dialj challenge fic! I feel quite proud for actually managing to write something. And quite nervous! It was fun to write, it took my mind off the dreadful week at work I have looming over me.

Nope, not thinking about work. Thinking about the lads...

New Pros fic - Interlude

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 13:29:40 GMT

Just cross posting here, so I have my new fic at my lj as well. It's over at the safehouse here:

http://community.livejournal.com/the_safehouse/484209.html#cutid1

I hope that link works! And I didn't say it at the safehouse, but I wanted to say it here - a big thank you to msmoat and jojosimco for all their help on this one. I know I'm needy, but you two have no idea how much you help me with my writing. Tea and smoochies for both of you, thank you. :D

My German history

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 19:15:29 GMT

I'm staying with my parents for a long weekend, and I spent most of today looking through old family photos with my mum. I've always kind of known my mum's stories about growing up in post war Germany, but somehow today listening to these stories again and seeing pictures of my great great grandparents has really touched me. My mum has lots of pictures and mementos from her side of the family and it was so fascinating to look through them. I mean, she has a bracelet made out of a piece of a WW1 hand grenade and engraved with the name of my great grandfather, who was killed in the trenches in 1917. She has a two million mark note from the hyper inflation in the 1920's, and she has a ton of amazing photographs.

My mum was born in 1941 and she has some very hazy memories of Oma (my grandmother) trekking across Germany and away from the advancing Russian Army towards the end of the war, without her husband but with five children in tow and heavily pregnant with a sixth. This weekend, I've listened to my mum telling me about her and her family being forty miles away from Dresden and watching the city burn on the horizon, and about my grandfather being helped past the Russian patrols in the village by the Russian workers who used to work on his farm before the war. I've heard the stories before, but somehow I feel the need to record a few of the mementos and pictures for myself, so I'm posting them here, a little bit of my German history.

This is Oma and Opa and their nine children in 1948. My mum is the first child in the back row from the left, in a dark dress. She looks so German with her hair plaited around her head like that

These are my great great grandparents, Paul and Johanna on their wedding day in 1888:

This is a two million mark note from the hyper inflation.  If you look, you can see it was originally 1000 marks but they just stamped it to make it up to two million just to keep up with the inflation.  Oma made her own confirmation dress and the material cost about two million marks, she used to joke that it was the most expensive dress she would ever own!


This my great grandmother Liesel in her own wedding picture. I think she's beautiful. It was her husband Emil who died in WW1.


This is my grandmother, Erna, and her two brothers Helmut and Heinz. I just love their outfits.

And finally, this is my grandmother in the 1930's. She made this dress herself and the pattern is painted on rather than embroidered!

Pros fic - The Leaving of Liverpool

Sun, 05 Oct 2008 18:54:15 GMT

Last one, I promise!

Professionals fic

Title: The Leaving of Liverpool
Author: Foxcat

Bodie touched his forehead to the cold glass, watching as the air from his breath clung to the window and misted over. He let out another long sigh, and another puff of breath turned into a welcoming smudge of cloud, obscuring the view below. He placed a hand on the window pane, waiting as the glass slowly cleared and the terraced street was once again revealed through the streaked surface of the window.

Below him, a uniform row of houses stretched out along a narrow one way street. Front doors in varying stages of disrepair lined up side by side, facing out blankly onto a grey, empty pavement. When he’d last been in Liverpool, most of those front doors would be left open and all the different sounds of people’s lives could be heard in the street – kids playing, televisions softly blaring, fathers shouting – angry sounds that were spat out of those rotting front doors for everyone to hear and enjoy, and soft sounds that would drift out into the road and invite others to join in. Now the doors were all closed and locked, and the street was silent. Not like in his day.

Bodie shifted at the window as Mrs Turner from number 27 appeared at the end of the road. He looked at his watch. Three o’clock. Mrs Turner always came back from visiting her husband in the nursing home at three o’clock. Bodie knew that much from watching the activities in George Street for the last ten days. Now for the last time he counted the steps it took her tiny frame to make it from the corner of the road to her front door. One hundred and three, today. She must be tired. Her worst day had been a hundred and twenty. It had taken all of Bodie’s will power to stop himself bursting out into the street and carrying her the rest of the way.

Mrs Turner fumbled in her handbag for her key, and turned it in the lock with a trembling hand. Bodie watched silently from his window above. For the first time he noticed the effort it took her frail hands to push open the heavy front door, the tiny stumble she took trying to step over the threshold into her empty house. Then the door shuffled closed behind her and she was gone. He’d never see her again. Just like the rest of the city, he hoped.

Behind him, he heard the floorboard in the middle of the room creak and he smiled as Doyle’s image appeared at his shoulder, reflected in the window.

“All packed up, mate.” Doyle folded his arms over his chest and gave a quick shiver. He spoke to Bodie’s reflection. “The others have gone on ahead. I’ll be glad to get back to London, I can tell you. Ten days in a rotting two up-two down council house in Liverpool with no hot water and no central heating is not my idea of a good time.”

Bodie let out another breath and drew a vague pattern on the window with his finger. “Yeah.” Another wayward gang member accounted for, another stakeout successfully completed. “At least we got what we came for though, eh?” He cringed as his scouse accent bled into the room. Ten days and he’d been able to keep the accent under control. Now they were leaving and he sounded just like some scally scum who’d never been away.

Doyle took a step forward and stood next to him, looking down at the grimy street that was occupying Bodie’s attention.

“How did it feel?” Doyle indicated the scene in front of them. “To leave Liverpool, I mean. You were just a kid, after all.”

Yeah. Just a kid. Bodie closed his eyes, removing George Street from his vision, blacking it out and soaking up the darkness that replaced it.

He saw himself walking down a similar street with just a bag over his shoulder and not even a coat on his back. It had been freezing cold then as well. Did the sun ever shine in bloody Liverpool?

How did it feel to leave? Terrifying. Confusing. Exciting. As if he’d gambled with something and lost everything.

“Unexpected.” He answered Doyle’s question.

Doyle turned his head at the response, shifting almost imperceptibly closer. Bodie watched their reflections in the window, saw the frown on Doyle’s face and the hesitation before he asked the next question.

“So how does it feel to be back?”

Bodie sighed and scowled at Doyle in the glass.

Uncertain. Like being in mourning for something you never really wanted in the first place. Like coming home and not knowing if the place has changed or if you have. Like being sixteen all over again and desperate to get away but terrified of leaving at the same time. He thought of the familiar grey street they’d been watching for ten days, all the people they’d seen come and go, and of Mrs Turner and her daily struggle. It felt -

“Predictable.”

Bodie pulled on his jacket and turned to look at Doyle, shrugging in apology. I don’t want to talk about it, mate.

He shivered and zipped up his coat, shoving his hands into the deep pockets. “You’re right about this dump. It’s bloody freezing.”

Doyle nodded and grinned, stuffing his own hand into Bodie’s pocket, his fingers warm and sticky. He rubbed his thumb along Bodie’s palm and gave a small tug, pulling him away from the window. Using his free hand, he flicked out the light and opened the door, allowing Bodie one last look before they walked down the stairs and out of the house, side by side.

“Come on then, mate. Let’s go home...”

Pros fic - Death Takes a Holiday

Sun, 05 Oct 2008 18:52:29 GMT

Professionals fic

Title: Death Takes a Holiday
Author: Foxcat

First things first. Let me introduce myself. Are you quite comfortable? Get ready for it. I am -

Death.

That’s right. Death.

Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you, but it’s practically impossible to say who I am without people being afraid. And don’t worry, I’m not here for you. Honestly, I’m not.

Although you do know you and I will meet at some point, don’t you? It’s inevitable. I meet everyone in the end, it’s the only thing you can be certain of from the moment you’re born.

Sorry.

I’m really not trying to scare you, I just thought I’d get that little point out of the way from the very beginning, to clear the air, if you like. I promise, there are no bells tolling for thee, I’m not here for that today. You see, this is kind of a hobby of mine – collecting things. There’s not a soul who ever lived on this earth that I don’t know, that I didn’t carry away and guide onwards. When you’ve met that many people and seen and felt so many things, it’s only natural to find yourself collecting things. I collect anything that people care to give me when I come for them. I collect dreams and anger and love and pain, despair and memories and hope. One person even gave me the packet of polo mints they had in their pocket when I came calling for them. I developed a taste for mints after that. If any of you would care to come prepared when I arrive for you, a packet of After Eights would go down a treat.

Sorry, I’m digressing. I do that sometimes. Like I said, I like to collect things. Most of all, I collect stories. That’s the wonderful thing about you people, your lives are all one long, wonderful story. Of course, I know how all the stories end, but my goodness the things that happen along the way are breathtaking. The love, the joy, the pain, even the boring parts are fascinating to me. And no two stories are ever the same. You all have different hopes and fears, and each life has different supporting characters and diverging and converging plotlines, all coming together to make the most fantastic, glorious never-ending novel the world has ever seen.

This is one of my favourite stories and it’s about two men, called Bodie and Doyle.

By the way, don’t worry - it has a happy ending, I promise, even though I am the narrator. There are a few nasty patches along the way, and the more squeamish of you may need to look away during those bits, but rest assured the ending is positively bursting with happiness. This is the story of the day I took my holiday.

Let me show you…

*********

It was a sunny day, and Bodie and Doyle were arguing in the kitchen of an old farmhouse when I arrived. It was a lovely house, 16^th century, I think. I knew it well, I’d been there lots of times over the years and collected a lot of people from that building. There was a beautiful fireplace in the kitchen, all solid wood and ornate carvings. I always liked that fireplace, so when I got there and saw the blood all over it, I was a bit pissed off to say the least.

The two men were really shouting at each other, although I wasn’t concentrating on anything they were saying at that point. Things have to be done in a certain order, so I looked around the room for my first pick-up. He wasn’t hard to find. He was lying in the corner of the kitchen, having crawled part way under the table. A single bullet wound to the chest. Nasty, that. Not a nice way to die, unless it gets the heart and then it’s instant.

I carried him away as gently as I could. It wasn’t easy. With people like that, there’s always some resistance, as though they can’t believe it’s all really over and they didn’t actually win. I didn’t collect anything nice from him either, just a bit of hatred and a lot of confusion.

The second pick-up was a bit easier. He was on the stairs leading to the kitchen. Another gunshot wound, this time to the head. Poor soul, the only thing he gave me was his regret. Even so, I carried him away a bit less gently this time, because I was still pissed off about the ruined fireplace and I wanted to take it out on someone.

So, then I went on to pick-up number three. He was in a pretty bad way, shot in the stomach and bleeding all over the floor and still arguing with Doyle when I finally got to him.

Ah.

I didn’t mention that Bodie was dying, did I?

You see, when I said they were arguing, this was while Bodie was lying on the floor by the fireplace and Doyle was pushing his hands into Bodie’s stomach so the blood would stop running all over the floorboards. I remember it so clearly, watching Doyle crying and those hands turning red while the two of them kept on shouting at each other. That’s their story in a nutshell, you see – death, love and violence.

I had to stick around for a while, because Bodie wasn’t ready yet. And while I waited, I watched and listened.

“You fucking moron! You should have bloody well waited, like you were supposed to.” That was from Doyle, who was now shoving his jacket into Bodie’s stomach because his hands weren’t enough to stop the bleeding.

“Waited?” A cough, and then there was more blood, this time spilling from his lips. “Not bloody likely. How could I secure the front, and watch your back after those bastards went in?”

“I had them secured!”

“Like hell you did. That’s why Otzen is lying dead under the table, is it?”

I have to concede Bodie’s point. I can tell you for a fact that if Bodie had waited outside then I’d have had four pick-ups that day instead of three. But of course, Doyle couldn’t have known that, not for sure.

“I could have taken him, you bastard. I could have taken him and you should have waited outside.”

There was no reply from Bodie. I crept a bit closer.

“The ambulance is coming. It’ll be here soon, I promise. Come on, mate.”

By this time, Bodie’s head was resting in Doyle’s lap, the red fingers now running through his hair. I went a little bit nearer, just to hear what they were saying. It still wasn’t quite time for the pick-up yet but it was getting closer and closer.

“Come on, mate. You know you’re not going to leave me now. Remember what we always said? Even death can’t separate us.”

I had to smile a bit at that. I can, you know.

That’s another thing I love about you people – your romanticism. I can and do separate lovers all the time. People in love always believe that even death can never part them, but the sad fact is, it just isn’t true. It doesn’t work that way.

“It doesn’t work that way, mate.”

OK, that was odd. I’m not used to having my thoughts repeated out loud by the people I’ve come to pick up. It freaked me out a bit, I don’t mind telling you.

Doyle wasn’t having any of it, I could tell. His grip on the dying body underneath him tightened. It still wasn’t as strong as my grip, though.

As I said before, one advantage of being me is the fact that I know from the beginning how each story is going to end. I like that, I like having those kind of spoilers. It helps prepare me for what I have to do to every soul in the end.

I can tell you Doyle’s ending, as it was at that particular point in time. When Bodie was dying on the kitchen floor, at the point I arrived for collection, I was due to come back in exactly fifty-two years, four months and one day for the survivor.

“I couldn’t live fifty years without you.”

Ok, that was very odd. There was no way Doyle could have known what I just told you and yet there he was, saying it out loud. And even stranger than that, was the fact that he was right. He wouldn’t live that long without Bodie. I could feel it going down even while Bodie was lying there. Fifty-two years became forty years, which became ten years, which became just a few months. It was making my head spin.

Bodie just snorted. I think it was all getting too mushy for him. It was quite a sight, I must admit, him lying there with his blood covering both of them, his anguished lover holding him in his arms and begging him not to leave him behind. It was just about killing me, if such a thing was possible. But then Bodie has never been overtly sentimental, and it looked as though his deathbed scene wasn’t going to be any different. You have to know him really well to understand it’s all an act, though.

Ah, I forgot to mention something again. I’ve known Bodie and Doyle for years.

The first time I met Bodie was when his dad died when he was eleven. Cancer, if you’re curious. When Bodie’s father died I collected belligerence, a nice thick scouse accent, quite a few decent swear words, and good honest hard work. They brought young Bodie to hospital on visiting days and he was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room when I carried his dad away. I barely looked at him, and he certainly didn’t notice me at the time.

I met Doyle when he was a police officer. London is one of my favourite cities, but it keeps me busy. Drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes, children, innocent victims, not so innocent victims – I picked them all up when Doyle was around. Sometimes I was picking them up because of him, but not often. He didn’t use his gun much in those days, that came later when he joined CI5. Most of the time, the poor sod just happened to be there when I was doing my job. He noticed me. For a while, he became obsessed with me, but he moved on in the end, like he always does.

While all that was happening with Doyle, I also got better acquainted with Bodie in Africa. I don’t like to talk about those days. Unless you were there, you can’t possibly know what it was like. All I collected there was carnage.

I liked them both, though - Doyle in London and Bodie in Africa. They treated me differently, but respectfully. Doyle had a tendency to mope after I’d been around whereas Bodie would simply acknowledge my presence and then wait for me to come round again. But like I said, it was all an act with him. I was there when he held May Li’s hand in the ambulance so I know.

I’m digressing again. Back to the kitchen floor.

Of course, they’d stopped shouting at each other by now. The bleeding had even stopped, although by then it really was too late. They were just lying there; Bodie wrapped in Doyle’s arms, Doyle rocking him backwards and forwards. I wasn’t even angry about the fireplace anymore, I was just sad that it was Bodie’s blood that was spilled on it.

I could tell it was nearly time for the collection. I think they could sense it too, because they were clutching at each other now as if that was enough to stop me. Sometimes, I wish it was.

But then another strange thing happened. And I mean really, really strange. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t.

Let me just take a moment. I don’t want to labour the issue, but I have to point out just how strange this thing that happened actually was. It was something that had never happened before. Ever. And as a matter of fact, it hasn’t happened since.

Doyle kissed him.

Ok, technically, that wasn’t the strange part. Doyle had kissed Bodie plenty of times before that day, and he’s done it again plenty of times since. The strange part was the fact that when he kissed him, I felt his lips on my face.

It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced. In all my years, in all the souls I’ve carried away, I’ve never been kissed before. I could feel the softness of his mouth, the gentle press of his lips on my face, how they trembled against my skin when they delivered that final, tender kiss.

It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever collected, and the worst. That kiss still haunts me even now. Whenever I close my eyes, it’s all I can feel. One kiss, and it changed everything.

It changed Bodie’s ending, that’s for sure. After that kiss, I was no longer needed that day. You see, I only go where I’m told to go. There’s someone much more powerful than me pulling the strings around here. I hope I haven’t let out a secret by telling you that.

After Doyle kissed us, I was told to leave and I went more than willingly. I may be Death, but it turns out I do have a heart and I love those two boys. Don’t be shocked. There are worse things in this world than being loved by Death. After all, it saved their lives that day.

So I guess that’s the end of the story, or at least the part I’m allowed to tell you. Love conquers Death, if you like. I hope you enjoyed it. I certainly enjoyed my holiday that day. Days like that don’t happen often, you have to cherish them when they come around.

I’ll say goodbye then, until we meet again.

Actually, before you go, I’ll tell you another secret, in case you’re interested. I’m due back for Bodie and Doyle in fifty-one years, eight months and thirteen days. And I stole some mint humbugs from Bodie’s pocket before I left that day.

You won’t tell them, will you?

Pros fic - Nine Tenths

Sun, 05 Oct 2008 18:50:30 GMT

The Professionals fic

Title: Nine Tenths
Author: Foxcat

Doyle balanced the two cardboard boxes he was carrying on his hip as he carefully nudged the front door open with his shoulder. The movement made the boxes wobble precariously and for a few seconds they threatened to spill their contents all over the front steps but with a grunt of effort and an ungainly little shuffle to settle the equilibrium, he was able to make it safely into the living room and deposit them rapidly onto the floor next to the others. He heard the distinctive sound of rattling crockery as the boxes hit the ground and winced, hoping nothing was actually broken.

He turned round as Bodie appeared in the doorway, hands empty but with a small and decidedly un-heavy table lamp tucked under his arm. He tutted loudly and placed the lamp slowly and carefully on top of the desk which Doyle had lugged into the flat earlier in the day.

“Careful with those boxes, mate. That’s my best china, you know.”

Bodie studied the lamp and the desk for a few moments and then moved the lamp a few centimetres to the right. “That’s better. Hard work, this moving house business.”

He waltzed past Doyle and flashed him a lopsided grin as he made his way back out. The grin made Doyle smile in spite of himself, but he still gave the box of crockery a mean little kick as he followed him towards the car. Aggravating little bugger. Best china, my arse.

Doyle tucked himself in to the hallway as Bodie sailed past him again, this time carrying the kettle. Even from the front steps, Doyle could see the last and largest box of Bodie’s belongings still sitting in the car. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Tell you what, Bodie mate, you take it easy, I’ll get the last one...”

The final box was the heaviest of all and the flimsy cardboard struggled to hold the weight of the books that had been crammed inside it. Doyle carried the box up the steps and let it drop as soon as he was inside the flat. He propped himself against the wall and took a few deep gasps as he tried to get his breath back. In the living room he could hear Bodie trying to find BBC1 on the television set, the soft crackle of the signal giving way to the sound of Manchester United versus Arsenal on Match of the Day.

“Oi, your lordship. What the hell did your last slave die of? I hope you’ve at least got that kettle boiled, I’m bloody parched. ”

Launching himself off the wall, Doyle looked down in order to kick the box out of his path when he noticed the edge of a black and white photograph sticking out from the pages of one of the paperbacks. He plucked the picture from the book and peered closely at it. It was a school photograph showing a bunch of grey faced children aged about eight or nine lined up neatly, their teacher sitting straight backed on a bench at the front. On either side of the teacher were four or five little girls sitting primly in a row, their knees together and their hands clasped politely in their laps. Behind them stood three more rows of boys and girls, hands held rigidly by their sides, all wearing the same school uniform in varying stages of disarray. A few of the children had dared to smile for the camera, although the stout and middle aged female teacher was scowling from the front of the photograph, obviously taking the yearly ritual of the school photo very seriously indeed.

Doyle wandered into the living room, where Bodie was sprawled on the sofa in front of the football. He picked up the cup of tea that was already waiting for him, and took a sip before waving the picture casually in front of Bodie’s face.

“Found this. I presume you’re in amongst this shabby looking lot somewhere?”

Bodie eyed the photo briefly and turned his attention back to the football. “Can’t you find me?” His mouth turned upwards in a small grin. “I’m hurt Doyle. Are you saying you can’t pick me out from the crowd?” He gave a small wink. “Just look for the handsomest little devil in the class.”

Doyle raised an eyebrow and looked at the photo again properly. He scanned the picture from the front row to the back and stopped when his eyes came to rest on two boys standing in the third row, one fair haired and the other dark. Unlike the rest of the children, these two lads weren’t standing compliantly to attention with their hands at their sides, but had their arms draped around each other’s shoulders. They were leaning into each other slightly, their heads almost touching and grinning at the camera with cheeky delight. And even though the dark haired boy was no more than nine years old and the photograph was small and slightly dog eared, the tiny black and white face smiling up at him was undeniably Bodie.

Ray grinned. Gotcha. He poked Bodie in the ribs. “Who’s your friend?” His finger jabbed at the boy standing next to Bodie in the picture. Bodie took the photo out of his hands for a moment and gave a small chuckle.

“That’s Eddie Kidd. My best mate when I was a kid. He lived a couple of doors down the lane from us. Our mams used to go to bingo together every Thursday night.”

Bodie smiled down at the boy in the photograph. “Haven’t seen this picture for years, didn’t even know I still had it. Inseparable, me and Eddie were.” There was a pause and another low chuckle. “We were a right couple of ratbags, mind you. Used to drive old battleaxe Hodges round the bend, the pair of us did.” He indicated the sour faced teacher in the photograph.

Ray tugged at the picture, wanting to see the face of Eddie Kidd again, and Bodie relinquished it without protest.

“Inseparable, eh?”

Bodie nodded, his eyes now back on the television set. “Absolutely. Us against the world it was. We were even blood brothers, you know.”

That remark made Doyle look up from the battered photo. “Blood brothers? That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Bodie smiled, apparently in indulgent amusement at his nine year old self. “Hey, don’t knock it, meant a lot that did. We did it properly, as well. Took the oath and everything. We used his dad’s old penknife. S’a bloody miracle we didn’t both get tetanus.” He tore his eyes away from the television screen and looked down at the palm of his right hand as if searching for the mark that Eddie Kidd had left behind.

“Hm. Never noticed that before. Scar’s gone now.”

Doyle looked down at the face of the blond boy in the photo. “So what happened to Eddie then?”

Bodie shrugged. “Dunno. They moved down to the Midlands a couple of years after that picture was taken. Never saw him again after that.” Bodie’s attention returned to the television set as the ref blew the whistle for half time. “Fancy another cuppa?” He took the mug from Doyle’s hand and made his way towards the kitchen, sighing theatrically as he picked his way through all the boxes Ray had carried into the flat. “Don’t know about you, but I reckon I deserve one after all that heavy lifting today.”

Doyle snorted under his breath and fixed his attention on the photograph again. Eddie Kidd was an unremarkable looking boy, his finer features impossible to make out in the small photograph. His hair was long and uncombed and very fair. His eyes looked light grey in the black and white image - probably pale blue in reality. His uniform was decidedly more dishevelled than Bodie’s, his school tie hanging rather loosely around his neck and his shirt not quite tucked in to his trousers. His left hand clutched possessively at Bodie’s shoulder, white fingers spread starkly across the dark grey of Bodie’s school shirt. In contrast Bodie’s arm was slung around Eddie’s neck, his hand resting easily in the space around his friend but not actually touching him. Bodie’s smile, however, matched Eddie’s, and the two boys positively beamed out of the picture, enjoying whatever secret joke had passed between them seconds before the photograph was taken.

Doyle frowned at the two children in front of him. They were clearly best friends, that much was obvious from the affectionate pose and the laughing faces. They were standing close together, completely at ease in each other’s space, so close that their heads were almost touching. Doyle couldn’t help but marvel at the little piece of Bodie’s childhood he held in his hands, a moment frozen in time when William Bodie and Eddie Kidd had been best mates, blood brothers, together forever. Only it hadn’t stayed that way, had it?

Bodie had spoken fondly enough of the vanished Eddie Kidd when questioned, but there had been no regret in his voice. Never saw him again after that. His best mate, and Bodie had just let him drift away. The Midlands weren’t even that far from Liverpool, it wasn’t as if the poor little sod had left the country or emigrated, or as if they didn’t have telephones and post boxes south of Birkenhead.

Doyle couldn’t take his eyes off the smiling face of Eddie Kidd, the poor little bastard who’d been Bodie’s best friend and then forgotten. Even the scar made by the penknife had faded without Bodie realising it, removing one of the last traces that Eddie had ever been around in the first place. Poor Eddie Kidd - gone, just like that.

And Bodie was his, now. Eddie Kidd might have had laid claim to the nine year old boy that Bodie was in the photo, but the living, breathing, grown up version of Bodie belonged to Doyle now. Or maybe Doyle belonged to Bodie, it didn’t really matter which way round it went. He ran his thumb over Eddie Kidd’s hopeful smile. Sorry, Eddie. Possession’s nine tenths of the law, you know…

He was startled out of his reverie when Bodie reappeared beside him and placed a mug of steaming hot tea in his hand.

“Still gazing at that picture?” Bodie sat down next to him and leaned in close to peer at the photo, his breath puffing on Doyle’s shoulder. “Told you I was born tall, dark and beautiful, didn’t I?”

Doyle placed the photograph on the table in front of him and looked across at Bodie. As far as Doyle was concerned, the smug bastard sitting next to him was already nine of his tenths. But it wasn’t easy to keep ownership of someone like Bodie. Eddie Kidd had tried it, and Bodie had still slipped away from him. Doyle wanted to make damn sure the same thing wasn’t going to happen to him.

*****

Doyle moved the photograph from the table when the takeaway arrived and propped it up safely on the mantelpiece, away from the food and the beer. Tucking in to the food, they ate in comfortable silence, the tv droning quietly in the background. Apparently Bodie had found ITV at some point during the day, as Doyle found himself vaguely watching Michael Parkinson interviewing some distinguished looking actor he didn’t recognise while they guzzled their food and beer.

Bodie leaned over and plucked two more cans of lager from the sixpack Doyle had fetched from the off-licence. He passed one to Doyle and raised his own in salute. “Bottoms up, mate.” Bodie belched and patted his stomach without apology, taking another long swig of lager and stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.

Doyle sniggered and let his head fall backwards towards the spot where Bodie’s hand was resting, and immediately felt Bodie give his hair a gentle ruffle. He closed his eyes in tipsy contentment as Bodie’s arm came to rest companionably on the edge of the sofa behind his head, almost but not quite touching him. Just like Bodie was almost but not quite holding on to Eddie Kidd in that photograph.

Eyes still shut, the black and white face of Eddie Kidd floated in and out of Doyle’s mind. It seemed that with the benefit of three cans of lager, Eddie cut an even more tragic figure in Doyle’s fond imagination. Eddie Kidd must have thought he’d have his place by Bodie’s side forever, he probably never dreamed he could be forgotten so quickly and replaced so remorselessly. Doyle tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Bodie slip out of his life like that but it was just unthinkable. Leaning back on the sofa, he could feel the tingle at the back of his neck where Bodie was almost touching him, feel the warmth of the body sitting next to him. He’d die if he lost that.

With sudden determination, he lurched towards the kitchen and began fumbling in the drawers until he found a small but sharp pocket knife. He sat back down next to Bodie, who watched him with a raised eyebrow and a wary smile playing about his lips. “Whassat for?”

Doyle perched at the edge of the sofa and fixed his gaze on Bodie. “We’re gonna be blood brothers,” he announced seriously. “You and me.”

Bodie snorted inelegantly and rolled his eyes. “Come on Ray.” He looked at Doyle pointedly “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Doyle shook his head and reached for Bodie’s hand. “It’s important. ” He squinted at Bodie and raised his chin in challenge. “You’re not chicken, are you?”

Another derisive snort from Bodie answered that question but he didn’t pull his hand away from Ray’s grasp. “You’re mad, you know,” he sniffed. “I dunno, I fling myself in front of bullets for you, save you from crazed terrorists and dodgy girlfriends, and you still reckon we need to do this.” He wiggled their joined hands in front of Doyle and nodded his head towards the knife on the table.

Doyle wrapped his fingers tightly around Bodie’s hand, willing him to understand and give in, to let Doyle stake his claim. “It’s important.” Doyle could feel the sticky sweat of their hands where their palms were touching, the warmth of the contact spreading through the rest of his body like it always did when Bodie was this close to him. There was a long pause and for a terrible moment Doyle thought Bodie was going to pull away, that he was going to take all that warmth away from him and leave him cold and empty handed. But then he felt Bodie’s fingers clasp briefly around his in silent response. “Come on then.” He nudged Doyle gently with his knee, and gave another small nod at the knife. “I suppose you always hurt the ones you love...”

Doyle smiled, relieved that Bodie saw things the way he did. He picked up the small blade and ran his fingers along the fleshy heel of Bodie’s palm, hesitating. Should he go first, or should Bodie? He’d never done this before and he was suddenly unsure of the procedure. He ran his thumb over the pulse point on Bodie’s wrist, pressing down so he could count the slow and steady beats. Beats which could so easily stop the next time an assignment went wrong, or if Doyle wasn’t there to watch his back. Suddenly feeling very sober, Doyle looked up to find Bodie staring intently back at him, his blue eyes clear and serious.

“This is daft, you know.” Bodie said softly.

“I know. But I want us to do it.” Bodie nodded once and Doyle took a deep breath and pressed the sharp blade into his skin.

The knife was clean and sharp, so Doyle knew it wouldn’t really hurt but as he saw the line of crimson that marked out the path of the blade across Bodie’s palm, he found himself pressing the knife a little harder into the pale flesh. He wanted his mark to leave a permanent scar. He wasn’t going to be erased as easily as Eddie Kidd had been. Bodie winced, but didn’t pull away, and Doyle almost regretted the extra force he had used to make the wound. But then it was fitting, really. There had always been something slightly cruel about the way they needed each other.

Bodie sucked his hand to his mouth when Doyle was finished, and watched without comment whilst Doyle made a similar smooth cut across his own right palm. He offered his wounded hand back to Doyle who grasped it strongly. They both let out a small hiss of pain as their tender, bloodied palms met and Doyle found himself almost smiling in satisfaction. He looked up at Bodie attentively. See. Love hurts.

Bodie’s eyes met Doyle’s unblinkingly and he nodded slightly, as though he had read Doyle’s mind. Doyle held the blue gaze for several long moments, the flickering lights and soft drone of the tv set the only sound and movement in the room. Doyle swallowed and opened his mouth to break the silence, but at the same time Bodie’s fingers moved slightly under his. Seizing on the distraction, Doyle broke the gaze and then frowned as a new thought occurred to him. “Are we supposed to say something?” Bodie looked back at him blankly and gave a small shrug. “You said you took an oath before.” Doyle pulled their joined hands towards him and leaned forward. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. “We should say something.”

Bodie looked at their joined and bloodied hands and merely giggled.

“No, come on.” Doyle wasn’t having any of that. He gave Bodie’s hand another tug, drawing him even closer. “You’re the one who’s good with words. Think of something proper to say, something fitting to the occasion.”

Bodie shifted on the sofa and turned so that he was directly facing Doyle, their knees touching and their hands still clasped together. Doyle looked at him expectantly, watching the gears in Bodie’s head turning as if he was searching for just the right words to seal their pact. Then Bodie gave a small but wicked grin and squeezed their hands more tightly together, shaking his head and pressing his forehead lightly against Doyle’s. When he finally spoke, it was just to say one word.

“Berk.”

Doyle blinked in surprise, then let out a loud bark of laughter and squeezed Bodie’s hand back in response. “Tosser.”

Bodie laughed out loud, the insult earning Doyle a sharp kick in the shins at the same time. Doyle grinned back at him, basking in the open affection behind the amusement he saw in Bodie’s eyes. Neither of them attempted to let go of their joined hands.

Eddie Kidd be damned, thought Doyle. He had the last tenth now.