rec: möbius trip
Aug. 23rd, 2011 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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calufraxStory: Möbius Trip
Author: Dune
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 915
Author's Summary: Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to stand in the middle of that circle of creepy statues, Jack mused.
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness, Toshiko Sato
Warnings: None
Recced because: Jack meets Weeping Angels. This is a fic I never knew I needed in my life until it was written for me. I love the premise alone, but Dune writes it with deft touches and little details that make it laugh-out-loud funny.
Apparently blinking or turning his back on these angel creatures was a bad idea. It had taken him four more time jumps before he'd worked that out, of course. Jack huffed, walking through that now far too familiar field towards the nearest - now disgustingly familiar - village, in 1967.
That old lady watching the street from her window was drinking something that looked suspiciously like whiskey, taking a large gulp as she saw Jack enter the village once more. She'd been staring since the beginning, seeing him walk over the fields and down the street out of her view every five minutes for the last half an hour or so. It must look quite impossible for someone ignorant of time travel. Jack assumed that this kind of déjà-vu justified alcohol that early in the day. At least he was clearly not the only one who had a very bad day.
Author: Dune
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 915
Author's Summary: Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to stand in the middle of that circle of creepy statues, Jack mused.
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness, Toshiko Sato
Warnings: None
Recced because: Jack meets Weeping Angels. This is a fic I never knew I needed in my life until it was written for me. I love the premise alone, but Dune writes it with deft touches and little details that make it laugh-out-loud funny.
Apparently blinking or turning his back on these angel creatures was a bad idea. It had taken him four more time jumps before he'd worked that out, of course. Jack huffed, walking through that now far too familiar field towards the nearest - now disgustingly familiar - village, in 1967.
That old lady watching the street from her window was drinking something that looked suspiciously like whiskey, taking a large gulp as she saw Jack enter the village once more. She'd been staring since the beginning, seeing him walk over the fields and down the street out of her view every five minutes for the last half an hour or so. It must look quite impossible for someone ignorant of time travel. Jack assumed that this kind of déjà-vu justified alcohol that early in the day. At least he was clearly not the only one who had a very bad day.
