Woodward Dream Cruise
Aug. 16th, 2008 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillIt's this Thing that happens every year. Woodward is this LONG street that runs all the way from downtown at one end to Waterford at the other, a total distance of probably forty miles. The Woodward Dream Cruise is when all the car people in Detroit (and there are a lot of care people in Detroit) bring out their Hot-rods and Street-rods and Muscle cars and restored old things and . . . cruise. And if you don't have that kind of car, then you go sit at the side of the road and watch the pretty.
Of course, it turns Woodward, aka "The Street that Moves" into a parking lot, but [drools] so pretty.
I mean, really pretty. And one day, when Dad actually finishes his Packard (which is named Bath) and turns it into his blissmobile, we shall cruise too. In the meantime, we watch.
Also, I spent a few hours in the sun today. It was hot.
Title: Oceans
Fandom: Prince of Persia: Sands of Time
Rating: G
Warnings: This ignores the canon of Warrior Within and Two Thrones, mainly because I haven't played those games.
Farah looks down at the dagger in her hand, and . . .
She's kind of stunned right now. Not because the Vizier turned out to be a traitor; anyone with eyes and a brain should loathe the man, if only because since he did such a good job of blinding people. No, she was stunned by the man-presumably the Persian prince-who had betrayed his own father to save her. By the knowledge that the tale he'd told was, however fantastic, also true. And by the memory of his lips on hers, even if he had changed time so that kiss never happened.
Even if he had . . . used the dagger.
He loved her. He really did, and she couldn't remember any of it because she had, for some definition of 'had,' died. She'd loved him enough to die for him. And the sake of the world, of course.
But. She looks at the dagger in her hand, aware that with every second that passes her prince is moving farther away from her. Aware that the Sands in the hourglass in her father's vault hold those lost memories, and that she is holding the key to them.
Aware that, as the last of her father's line, it is her duty to keep those Sands confined.
She's holding the dagger, looking at it in the murky light of dawn, and . . .
He was prepared to let it go. He was. He wouldn't have undone that kiss if he wasn't. He wouldn't, in the most extreme case, have come to warn her if he wasn't.
She has the dagger.
She could have kissed back.
She-
She makes her choice.
And closes her hand around the dagger.
Of course, it turns Woodward, aka "The Street that Moves" into a parking lot, but [drools] so pretty.
I mean, really pretty. And one day, when Dad actually finishes his Packard (which is named Bath) and turns it into his blissmobile, we shall cruise too. In the meantime, we watch.
Also, I spent a few hours in the sun today. It was hot.
Title: Oceans
Fandom: Prince of Persia: Sands of Time
Rating: G
Warnings: This ignores the canon of Warrior Within and Two Thrones, mainly because I haven't played those games.
Farah looks down at the dagger in her hand, and . . .
She's kind of stunned right now. Not because the Vizier turned out to be a traitor; anyone with eyes and a brain should loathe the man, if only because since he did such a good job of blinding people. No, she was stunned by the man-presumably the Persian prince-who had betrayed his own father to save her. By the knowledge that the tale he'd told was, however fantastic, also true. And by the memory of his lips on hers, even if he had changed time so that kiss never happened.
Even if he had . . . used the dagger.
He loved her. He really did, and she couldn't remember any of it because she had, for some definition of 'had,' died. She'd loved him enough to die for him. And the sake of the world, of course.
But. She looks at the dagger in her hand, aware that with every second that passes her prince is moving farther away from her. Aware that the Sands in the hourglass in her father's vault hold those lost memories, and that she is holding the key to them.
Aware that, as the last of her father's line, it is her duty to keep those Sands confined.
She's holding the dagger, looking at it in the murky light of dawn, and . . .
He was prepared to let it go. He was. He wouldn't have undone that kiss if he wasn't. He wouldn't, in the most extreme case, have come to warn her if he wasn't.
She has the dagger.
She could have kissed back.
She-
She makes her choice.
And closes her hand around the dagger.
