x-posted to the Three Tits. Awesome group
Title: I feel a Bit Different
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, mild violence, and eventual slash
Pairings: Paul/Tara, Graeme/Clive, with mentions of Graeme/Ruth
Note: I happen to really like Ruth, so don't expect me to toss her aside just because she had the audacity to exist :D
Summary: All did not exactly go back to normal after Paul left.
December 12th, 2010
“Paul” manuscript, chapter seven, panel two:
“We’ve only just met, we don’t know where we’re going or why--” Brian heaves a heavy sigh, disdain with a hint of fear written all over his face. “Don’t you think we’re owed an explanation?”
Zoom in on Paul in silhouette, large eyes downcast. “The less you know, the better. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Feel free to go nuts on the backgrounds here, mate.
True, Clive was a little unorthodox with his artistic directions, and Graeme was going to edit it a bit. But for the most part, the book had flowed smoothly from Clive’s mind to his pen, and the rough draft storyboards were quite smashing, if he did say so himself. It really was the best damn thing they’d ever written.
Mostly because it was based on a true story.
Graeme stretched slightly, clasping and unclasping his tired hands. He’d only do a few more pages before calling it a night, he figured. After all, you could only draw for so long, and it was nearing two in the morning. It was getting to the point of ridiculousness, really. He was far too sleepy to be drawing. It was worse than drawing drunk.
But he couldn’t stop. It was too exciting.
How long had it been since Paul left? Five, six months? It had been roughly the beginning of august or so. Graeme could still see his smirking face clear as day, saying something incredibly rude but you couldn’t hate him because he was a fucking ALIEN. Graeme smiled sleepily, carefully etching out the outline of the alien’s head, bowed low in the back of an RV that was totally not based on their own. He wondered what Paul would think of this, of them telling his story, and came to the conclusion that he’d be pleased. Slowly, sleep seemed to find him, and Graeme closed his eyes.
Yelping in pain, Graeme shot up like a rocket, clutching his hand. Rule number one of being a graphic artist? Never fall asleep and lean in the tip of your pen, because it hurts like a bitch. Pulling the offending tip out, he groaned slightly, wiping the oozing blood away with a stray napkin. On top of this, he’d ruined the page he was working on.
“Alright Graeme, it’s definitely your bedtime,” he grumbled under his breath, cleaning the ink up and discarding the black and red splotched napkin away. This was gonna be hard to explain in the morning, but he was too tired to care.
His bed found him, and before he knew it, he was asleep again.
“What do ya think, Tara? Is it beautiful or what?”
Tara leaned tentatively over the side of the rail, straining her eyes to see the ground of the planet below, but through the slightly cloudy glass and the slowly whirling green clouds, she couldn’t see anything yet. But it was still a sight that took her breath away, one of many she’d had on the voyage over. “Oh Paul,” she wiped her eyes and took the shorter alien’s hand. “It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”
He smiled gently, rubbing her arm affectionately and holding back tears of his own. “Wait till we land, baby. The view will blow your mind, if it’s anything like the way I remember it.” Paul sighed slightly. “Course, things change in 60 years. I’m probably so far behind the times, I should be sporting bell bottoms and a big afro.”
Tara chuckled, leaning over again. They were close now, well into the atmosphere of the planet, whose name she couldn’t pronounce but Paul said that in English, it meant “Bringer of Light”. It was a lovely name, she thought. It certainly had brought her some.
Turning to her companion, it was all too clear that Paul was far more emotional than she was. Not that she could blame him. Six decades away from home, she would be too. He wasn’t even bothering to hide the fact he was crying, leaning on his scrawny elbows and pointing excitedly to landmarks as they whizzed by. “Ooh, and there’s where I grew up! Christ, it hasn’t changed a bit!” He broke out into a huge grin, bouncing slightly in his sandals. “Wonder if Mom and Pop are still there. I bet they are, they HAVE to be---”
A very apologetic looking alien tapped him on the shoulder and said something in their strange language that made Paul laugh and nod. Tara wished she could understand them, but that would come later, wouldn’t it? He grabbed her hand and tugged hard. “C’mon, we’re about to land, and baby, you ain’t seen nothing y-- OUCH!!” Paul staggered back a bit, suddenly grabbing at his hand in confused panic.
“Paul? Paul, what happened?!” Tara leaned down, gently looking at his hand. A large puncture wound had appeared, and green blood was seeping from it. But where had it come from? “How did this happen?”
He shook his head, staring as the wound closed and healed just as fast as it had appeared. “I have no fucking clue.” Paul turned his hand over and over, lost in thought as the ship touched down on the ground.
Millions of light years away, Graeme Willy slept peacefully, a bandage over his wounded hand.
It would be morning before he discovered that the wound was no longer there.