Supernova is a wonderful show, joint BBC and an Australian tele channel and I don't own it, although I wouldn't mind owning Jude or Rachel. And probably Bill would make a good drinking mate. First in a series of random, unconnected snippets prompted by rcg so that I can learn to write again. Here's hoping she feeds me another :) Or anyone does, of course. This was rather fun.



Paul Hamilton had enjoyed sketching for most of his life. It had started in primary school--grade one or two, perhaps--and had been nothing more than just doodles of Winnie the Pooh. It had continued up through university, all those annoying lectures in the humanities when he'd have rather been doing ANYTHING but especially flow measurment recordings about Jupiter's storms, and still kept him sane out in the wilds of Unagatta. Rachel's buttocks and legs were a favorite subject, while she bent over an instrument, but his favorite was a quick sweep of chalk entitled 'Jude the Obscure.' It depicted the eponymous astronomer lost in thought over a plate of tofu. Having done even more poorly in the humanities than him--and that was impressively unimpressive--Jude had no idea what the epigram could have been referring to. She took it in stride, though, and now it hung above her bed, one more sign of affection from an adopted older brother.

This, though... this... THIS. No swirling pencil lines could have hoped to capture it. Max had just strode in. The buffalo hide digger was the same, but as to the rest? The shoes were excusable--heavy clogs not unlike Max's work boots--but the rest was more unnerving than when Rachel's mad sister had marked him for a bunny boiling. The skirt hung just below Max's well muscled, heavy thighs. The sleeves were puffed and a series of laces ran down the belly, straining under the bush man's powerful torso. A pair of leggings, alternatingly striped in white, yellow, brown, green and orange, crept up his legs. "Just get back from the Hotel?" Paul asked. Max's sometimes girlfriend, the settlement seamstress, and unusual notions of perfection.

"Don't you look at me like that," Max grumbled. "I am a rare and beautiful flower. And I deserve your respect." It was, of course, equally possible that Pip had forgotten to mash up the pills in Max's cereal that morning. "I'm the Candy Corn bloody Witch, son! And don't you dare forget it."

Okay, so that was the probable answer unless there was some harvest festival that Paul was--blissfully--unaware of. The more things changed, he mused, the more they stayed the same. But did they really? Even a man in a dress, here, seemed cleaner, more honest, than any of the 'sane' folk back home. If he, Dr. Paul Hamilton, PhD, went back to London, what would he find? He was just another mad astronomer in Unagatta, now, and he would remain among his people.

At least until Max picked up on the craze for thongs.

Tags: fanfiction, supernova