Quite frankly, this fic is a pretext.
Rainbowswirl : if you give a damn about what I have to say, I've written a long reply to your review of the first Angry Drabble. If you're interested in having a conversation instead of pathlessly flaming each other with stereotypes and closemindness for all eternity and beyond, please send me an e-mail at adnesle@q-bec.net.
And the fic, if you might wonder, does not have a link at all with you : it IS a fic and thus inspired only by the show. I don't project myself in my writings. It's just plausibly fits Sandoval. Especially the vendetta part. He he.
There is no age for more or less valuable opinions, judge of the opinion first, then compare it to the age of the speaker. Not the reverse process, please. Being an adult does not confey you that your opinion will necessarily be righter than younger peoeple's. And on the reverse, being a teenager and stating your opinion does not mean you're a mindless rebel. Again, step out of stereotypes PLEASE.
Also, readers, yes I know this last one was supposed to be my last post. Well (and thanks to the one who informed me of this) I'll be soon forwarding my fics to www.fandomination.net, a site similar to fanfiction.net, only that it is NOT censored. If you're interested in reading me at another place than ezboard, which, I admit, is not exactly the best of archives, go there. It should be done by next week.
Again, this fic is pretty meaningless-.
¤
TRIPLE-DRABBLE
He forced his stare to be absorbed in the depth of the swirling and sparkling blue energy tendrils held within the bioslurry console. But, still, he could not tear his ears of the conversation he had earlier picked up. On the bridge of the mothership, all was relatively quiet now. In a corner, discussing with President Thomson, was Hubble Urick, both were waiting for an audience with Zo'or. He had seen it in their eyes, that scornful glare, brief and bitter, what he had seen so much more times before. Especially when he was young.
The implant's CVI prompted up before him what his human thoughts would have taken on a slower rhythm and presented in an hazier shade. In Manilla, his birthplace. Before Caya had become a protectorate held between Malaysia and Phillippines, and before his parents had moved there when they had realized that downtown Manilla was not the ideal place to raise children. He was four. His parents were not rich, but they did live decently, though occidental standards would have qualified this kind of life as direct poverty. On the other side of the street he lived on was a private school. A couple of blocks away was the diplomatic part of the town, the Embassies of France, United Kingdown, United States, Brasilia, China, Spain. The diplomats' children went to school there.
Some of the students used to throw rocks at him and his friends when they played outside while school finished, because they were poorer, because their skin color was of a darker shade.
Once, there was a reception in the school's gardens. He had slipped in and deposited a living snake in the punch bowl. Then, Ronald Sandoval had enjoyed the briefs cries of horror, the satisfied frustration and carried out vendetta bringing on his features a look that was much older than what was suitable for a four years old.
The man's lips curled in a smile as he remembered the event. He had had more difficult and more imposing experiences with racism later, especially in law school and later in the FBI, but this was a particularly cherished memory of his.
Still, today, he could not fathom how could one's darker or lighter tone of skin matter with the content of his persona.
¤
.- But the idea of the snake in the bowl punch was just TOO tempting to ignore.
A-
Rainbowswirl : if you give a damn about what I have to say, I've written a long reply to your review of the first Angry Drabble. If you're interested in having a conversation instead of pathlessly flaming each other with stereotypes and closemindness for all eternity and beyond, please send me an e-mail at adnesle@q-bec.net.
And the fic, if you might wonder, does not have a link at all with you : it IS a fic and thus inspired only by the show. I don't project myself in my writings. It's just plausibly fits Sandoval. Especially the vendetta part. He he.
There is no age for more or less valuable opinions, judge of the opinion first, then compare it to the age of the speaker. Not the reverse process, please. Being an adult does not confey you that your opinion will necessarily be righter than younger peoeple's. And on the reverse, being a teenager and stating your opinion does not mean you're a mindless rebel. Again, step out of stereotypes PLEASE.
Also, readers, yes I know this last one was supposed to be my last post. Well (and thanks to the one who informed me of this) I'll be soon forwarding my fics to www.fandomination.net, a site similar to fanfiction.net, only that it is NOT censored. If you're interested in reading me at another place than ezboard, which, I admit, is not exactly the best of archives, go there. It should be done by next week.
Again, this fic is pretty meaningless-.
¤
TRIPLE-DRABBLE
He forced his stare to be absorbed in the depth of the swirling and sparkling blue energy tendrils held within the bioslurry console. But, still, he could not tear his ears of the conversation he had earlier picked up. On the bridge of the mothership, all was relatively quiet now. In a corner, discussing with President Thomson, was Hubble Urick, both were waiting for an audience with Zo'or. He had seen it in their eyes, that scornful glare, brief and bitter, what he had seen so much more times before. Especially when he was young.
The implant's CVI prompted up before him what his human thoughts would have taken on a slower rhythm and presented in an hazier shade. In Manilla, his birthplace. Before Caya had become a protectorate held between Malaysia and Phillippines, and before his parents had moved there when they had realized that downtown Manilla was not the ideal place to raise children. He was four. His parents were not rich, but they did live decently, though occidental standards would have qualified this kind of life as direct poverty. On the other side of the street he lived on was a private school. A couple of blocks away was the diplomatic part of the town, the Embassies of France, United Kingdown, United States, Brasilia, China, Spain. The diplomats' children went to school there.
Some of the students used to throw rocks at him and his friends when they played outside while school finished, because they were poorer, because their skin color was of a darker shade.
Once, there was a reception in the school's gardens. He had slipped in and deposited a living snake in the punch bowl. Then, Ronald Sandoval had enjoyed the briefs cries of horror, the satisfied frustration and carried out vendetta bringing on his features a look that was much older than what was suitable for a four years old.
The man's lips curled in a smile as he remembered the event. He had had more difficult and more imposing experiences with racism later, especially in law school and later in the FBI, but this was a particularly cherished memory of his.
Still, today, he could not fathom how could one's darker or lighter tone of skin matter with the content of his persona.
¤
.- But the idea of the snake in the bowl punch was just TOO tempting to ignore.
A-