Just found out about this

or, at least I found out about it last night but LJ freaked out on me.

To celebrate the 60th anniversary of Singin' in the Rain TCM - which is awesome - is getting it out into theaters on 7/12.  Go here for tickets.

I'm currently waiting on word if KR can call off band practice or if I'm attending on my own.

Just found out about this

or, at least I found out about it last night but LJ freaked out on me.

To celebrate the 60th anniversary of Singin' in the Rain TCM - which is awesome - is getting it out into theaters on 7/12.  Go here for tickets.

I'm currently waiting on word if KR can call off band practice or if I'm attending on my own.

In which I am amused and very happy

For those who may have been wondering, I am going with:  Simon was so angry that he very imprudently dropped his (bloody gorgeous antique [the complete and utter tosser]) rifle in a fit of temper, then began to screech and hop about like the proverbial March hare attempting to mate with the proverbial box of frogs.  John didn’t even register the report of the gun going off until after he’d begun this bizarre and fascinating behaviour.

---

And because I am still so very happy that Singin' in the Rain - litlover12, I'm putting you in here specifically to draw your attention to this on the off chance you both wouldn't find it on your own and missed my last post - is coming to theaters on 7/12, that I'm celebrating by giving you John's portrait.

---

The painted figure of John lounged, at ease, upper back flat against the bark of a broad tree trunk; an oak for strength, Sherlock noted with approval.  The leaves of the tree formed a dancing dome of worshipful autumnal colour over him.  Dark denim trousers rode low on his hips, button undone; hands thrust into pockets caused the crisp red dress shirt to gape open, offering a very admirable view of his chest.  His feet were bare in the green of the grass and nearby on the ground a snake curled itself round a stick to form a naturalistic Rod of Asclepius.  John’s head was tipped to the side, and Sherlock imagined Claude had contemplated long and hard when deciding which expression to immortalize.  That particular tip of the head could go one of only two ways.  His uncle had decided against, ‘Right, come and get me then, because you’ll have to go through me,’ protective John in favour of, ‘Content, and almost dreamy with it, lazily smiling John.’  Sherlock approved the choice because this John came with a glint in his eyes born not of defensive combat but of merrily chasing through the streets of London and giggling at crime scenes; this meant that the part of John which had been born when he met Sherlock was well represented in his portrait, and also that it shone through brightly enough in real life for it to be a defining aspect of his character.

In which I am amused and very happy

For those who may have been wondering, I am going with:  Simon was so angry that he very imprudently dropped his (bloody gorgeous antique [the complete and utter tosser]) rifle in a fit of temper, then began to screech and hop about like the proverbial March hare attempting to mate with the proverbial box of frogs.  John didn’t even register the report of the gun going off until after he’d begun this bizarre and fascinating behaviour.

---

And because I am still so very happy that Singin' in the Rain - litlover12, I'm putting you in here specifically to draw your attention to this on the off chance you both wouldn't find it on your own and missed my last post - is coming to theaters on 7/12, that I'm celebrating by giving you John's portrait.

---

The painted figure of John lounged, at ease, upper back flat against the bark of a broad tree trunk; an oak for strength, Sherlock noted with approval.  The leaves of the tree formed a dancing dome of worshipful autumnal colour over him.  Dark denim trousers rode low on his hips, button undone; hands thrust into pockets caused the crisp red dress shirt to gape open, offering a very admirable view of his chest.  His feet were bare in the green of the grass and nearby on the ground a snake curled itself round a stick to form a naturalistic Rod of Asclepius.  John’s head was tipped to the side, and Sherlock imagined Claude had contemplated long and hard when deciding which expression to immortalize.  That particular tip of the head could go one of only two ways.  His uncle had decided against, ‘Right, come and get me then, because you’ll have to go through me,’ protective John in favour of, ‘Content, and almost dreamy with it, lazily smiling John.’  Sherlock approved the choice because this John came with a glint in his eyes born not of defensive combat but of merrily chasing through the streets of London and giggling at crime scenes; this meant that the part of John which had been born when he met Sherlock was well represented in his portrait, and also that it shone through brightly enough in real life for it to be a defining aspect of his character.

Because I can't not share this

Thank you to 221b_hound and pargoletta who contributed wonderful suggestions for the contents of the attic! I must tell you all, though, that the astounding and haunting beauty of the attic is owed entirely to f_m_r_l’s astonishingly wonderful reply to my original request for assistance found here http://impulsereader.livejournal.com/18319.html. I worked almost all of it into this section verbatim, so I actually have to say that a lot of this isn’t actually my work. Thank you, f_m_r_l, so very, very much. This was a precious gift and I hope I’ve treated it well. I cannot even express how very much lesser this would have been if it were not for you. I thank you and my story thanks you!

Oh, weird thing, my uk Word auto-correct wanted wellies to be willies. *boggles*

Edited to add - I totally meant to credit natsuko1978 because she gave me the great word shufti which I gave John here - I'm so sorry I forgot to add you on! There are also some comma errors toward the end that need cleaning up - I was just so excited about it, I missed few things!

------

“Well surely this place has an attic? My mum had boxes stuffed with old school papers; people save every useless thing and shove it into the attic, so we’re in with a chance.” He stood decisively. “Come on, we’ll have a shufti and maybe we’ll find your lost symphony.”

“It was a sonata,” his friend corrected absently.

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, the lost sonata of ickle Sherlock Holmes. Come on, lead the way.” He tugged his companion up from his seat and propelled him out the door.

He really should have anticipated the attic being both unbelievably large and stuffed with undeniably mad objects. He hadn’t, however, so the stuffed dodo bird startled him terribly.
( Into the attic )

Because I can't not share this

Thank you to 221b_hound and pargoletta who contributed wonderful suggestions for the contents of the attic! I must tell you all, though, that the astounding and haunting beauty of the attic is owed entirely to f_m_r_l’s astonishingly wonderful reply to my original request for assistance found here http://impulsereader.livejournal.com/18319.html. I worked almost all of it into this section verbatim, so I actually have to say that a lot of this isn’t actually my work. Thank you, f_m_r_l, so very, very much. This was a precious gift and I hope I’ve treated it well. I cannot even express how very much lesser this would have been if it were not for you. I thank you and my story thanks you!

Oh, weird thing, my uk Word auto-correct wanted wellies to be willies. *boggles*

Edited to add - I totally meant to credit natsuko1978 because she gave me the great word shufti which I gave John here - I'm so sorry I forgot to add you on! There are also some comma errors toward the end that need cleaning up - I was just so excited about it, I missed few things!

------

“Well surely this place has an attic? My mum had boxes stuffed with old school papers; people save every useless thing and shove it into the attic, so we’re in with a chance.” He stood decisively. “Come on, we’ll have a shufti and maybe we’ll find your lost symphony.”

“It was a sonata,” his friend corrected absently.

John rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, the lost sonata of ickle Sherlock Holmes. Come on, lead the way.” He tugged his companion up from his seat and propelled him out the door.

He really should have anticipated the attic being both unbelievably large and stuffed with undeniably mad objects. He hadn’t, however, so the stuffed dodo bird startled him terribly.
( Into the attic )