Laura and Billy- 33

Soft noises woke him from sleep. For a moment, he thought he had overslept the alarms that screamed across the fleet every thirty-three minutes. Then he realized it was dark all around him, the only light pale specks of stars outside the windows and the glow of Galactica's engines, not so far away. It had been three hours since the Olympic Carrier had disappeared. He lay on his makeshift bed for a minute, holding perfectly still and trying to locate the noise.

It was coming from the other side of the room, beyond the curtain that separated his space from the President's.

After only a moment's hesitation, Billy carefully peeled his blankets back and rose soundlessly. He was clothed only in his boxers, as he had no other clothing, save his suit. He drew the topmost blanket over his shoulders. It was thin blue-gray fleece, with the Eversun logo embroidered in the corner. He clutched it tight and padded past the edge of the curtain dividing their space.

He could make out Laura Roslin's outline on her chair-bed. Her red hair was dark maroon in the night, and it lay swirled across her pillow. The rest of her was hidden under several blankets. They rose and fell with jagged breaths, and he could just barely hear her crying softly.

"Madam President?"

BfLC....sooo long agooo what was I thinking?

A whole ff novel? Goodness.... I have it mostly in my head. I'll be home for a few days this week, so I'll try to pound it out for you. (:

Graphic Novel- update

I just drew some stuff out. It's going along the lines of "there was a storm warning or something, they've been underground for three days, they come back up and their world is actually a laboratory experiment."

3 pages?
 maybe....

Minigraphicnovel

I'm doing a 3-page graphic novel for the school lit mag, the Mixed Metaphor.

I need a plot.

Ideas....

-take off on the ira in ireland. people making bombs. girl walking out of school. explosions. papers everwhere like snow. dust settling. hears someone yelling. finds a person. comforts her. sirens. hope.

-dreaming. are you alive? white. people. coming back. here. empowerment. new strength. walks out. sunrise.

-river styx

-nerdy person in high school. awkward. goes to college. learns something cool.... idk? super secret spy school haha. comes to class reunion. bomb there. wait why would someone.... ah watching news as getting ready, string of mysterious bombings. dammit haven't caught him yet. defuses bomb, saves their.... yeah. suckers. too cool for ya.

-dark. person creeping out of shadows. spray paints wall with masterpiece of peace. creeps out.

Full Spectrum

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief. "There's too much confusion; I can't get no relief." - Brennen McCreary, All Along The Watchtower

I don't see the point of sleep anymore. I know the scientific reasoning, but artistically, adventurously, there's no point. I'm seventeen now, and I'm only twelve. I've spent a third of my life submerged in the blackness of dreams.

I've been living more, staying up later, and it's wondrous. It's like someone tinted my world Prismacolor. I think it's letting me go free.

Now there's always a beat in my blood. Drums, strings, and flutes roar in my ears, and colors are dancing at my fingertips. I tell myself I want a science-math major, but it's hard to believe when I'm trying to sit still in calc. The music in my head is screaming for me to dance, spin, jump over the desks.

Crossover!!

Battlestar Greylactica. Or Battlestar's Anatomy. Haha, that one sucked. Um... Grey's Battlestar. Grey's Galactica. Hahaaa, no. 

Let's just say Battlestar Greylactica.

:)

This is what I was thinking of for Living Circle, vaguely. This would be such a legit setting for something....

Battlestar Galactica: Sixteen Now

A/N- Laura's mother is called Judith. She's referred to as 'Jude' here a couple times.

Laura Roslin stepped onto the fleet's newest battlestar, Galactica. It was painted dark gray with florescent lights and metal furniture. She clicked down the hall in her newest heels, following the others. She was a runner-up in a political essay contest, and this was the prize.

She hadn't wanted to come, but Jude Roslin had insisted it was a good opportunity. They had gone shopping for clothes the day the letter had come. Now she was the only one dressed fancier than un-ripped jeans and a sweater. White eyelet dress, nylons, four-inch black heels, smooth black suit jacket. On top of that, her mother had curled her hair.

I look ridiculous. I just have to make the best of it, though. Knees bent, toe to heel. Shoulders straight, chin up. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, taking pride in her head-and-a-half over the others and the professional click of her heels on the floor. She carefully kept her eyes on the ship and her fighters.