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Leave character and one-word prompt for ficlet. Ficlet will be at least 100 words but prob'ly not over 500.
Check the comments before leaving your prompts. If there are still two 'active' prompts for a character (ie. I haven't yet written the ficlet) then pick someone else.
Will try to be humourous, but am feeling distinctly blah, so cannot guarantee frivolity.
ETA:
Rodney: cheddar, Seattle
Ronon: retrieve, haircut, ballroom dancing
John: high heels
Michael: decades
Elizabeth: headache
Teyla: hickey, peace
Check the comments before leaving your prompts. If there are still two 'active' prompts for a character (ie. I haven't yet written the ficlet) then pick someone else.
Will try to be humourous, but am feeling distinctly blah, so cannot guarantee frivolity.
ETA:
Rodney: cheddar, Seattle
Ronon: retrieve, haircut, ballroom dancing
John: high heels
Michael: decades
Elizabeth: headache
Teyla: hickey, peace
Tags:
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The rush of emotion, hot and cloudy through his mind, as they fought the rival hive. Buzzing voices in his head; the dizzying overlay of the queen's battle of the minds: taunts traded, weaknesses waylaid.
Their kind do not co-operate unless the prize was significant.
The stunner buzzes in his hands, shot after shot of debilitating power, while the skitter of the drones' emotions - they had nothing so advanced as thought - flit through his head.
When they emerge victorious, the winners drain life and living from the losers.
The strong survive.
--
Gritty soil grinds beneath his feet as he hunts his prey. The woods are no place for the flight craft. The woman and man are fleet of foot and their minds are oddly closed to him, but it matters little. They are food, nothing more.
He pauses in the shadow of a tree, frowning. Something does not feel right about this place, this hunt.
Instinct is all the warning he had, as a man somersaults out of the tree nearby and levels a weapon at him. Thick snakes of hair curl around a bronze throat as white teeth bare in challenge and triumph. "Sleep sweet."
The stun blast hurts, and everything fades.
--
He wakes in hell.
Cold air, too dry, the thick tang of salt-salt-salt, the rustle and tap of technology unknown, and the silence in his head - devoid of thought, devoid of consciousness - empty.
Rage stirs in him. Who would dare to touch one of his kind - a warrior, precious of his hive's Queen?
He hisses when they come to him in groups, afraid to confront him singly. But he is helpless here - a prisoner, at their whim and delight.
Pain stabs at his arm - again! again! - as the echoing emptiness resounds in his mind, driving him mad. There is no-one here; nothing left but the aching hollow of abandonment.
Time means nothing, days might have passed - or decades; they are doing things to him and he does not know what they are or what they mean.
One night, he opens his eyes and beholds a woman looking down at him - dressed like and unlike the others. And he feels the faintest brush of a mind where there has been only emptiness.
The hiss rises from this throat, a last, futile defiance. This woman is no queen - too weak, yet strangely strong. And the dark eyes that look down on him with shadowed wariness - enemy to him as he is enemy to her.
He remembers hatred.
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