Watching Sharpe's Mission, Or: Why I Love Rifleman Harris.
Dinner party: Sharpeâs wife Jane on the left, dandy poseur Shellington next to her, Badass Harris next to him, and some other people including Sharpe (and the glorious Mark Strong).
Dandy poseur hits on Jane and makes botched Shakespeare reference: âGoodnight, dear prince.â
Harris, actual nerd, points this out to Sharpe:Â
âHis quotation from Shakespeare was incorrect. The phrase is from Hamlet, but itâs not goodnight dear prince, itâs goodnight sweet prince.â
âWhatâs your point, Harris?â
âMy point, sir, is that Shellington does not know a lot about literature, but he knows a lot about women.â
And later, while Sharpe is gone, Harris messes with Shellingtonâs attempts to seduce Jane Sharpe. âWhoops, we dropped a tray QUIT OGLING EACH OTHERâ
Then when Shellington is reciting a poem to Jane that he claims he wrote, Harris totally finishes the poem for him:
âNo beauty she doth miss, when all her robes are on, but - â
â - but beautyâs self she is, when all her robes are gone. A fine poem. First published as a poetical rhapsody in 1602, originally attributed to Anonymous, of all people, but personally I think it was written by Frances Davison.â
Oh snap. Donât mess with the bookworm.
Jane reflects: âI nearly got my wings burnt, didnât I, Harris?â
His reply?
âI donât think so. Heâs not that hot.â
You sassy ginger you.
edit: my gifs werenât working. Took them out.
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What the frinx is a dog???
Headcanon: dogs are super confusing to non-humans
Nog has no idea what a dog is, really. Sure, heâs seen dogs before, but what are they?
Every time he and his squadmates venture off campus, they seem to encounter one, and they never look the same. Two days ago there was the poofy brown one that was less than half a meter tall, but last week there was the one with flat hair that was taller than him when it stood up and put its front feet on his shoulders.
Heâs not sure if other offworlders feel the same way he does, but all the human cadets are extremely nonchalant about dogs. They can recognize a dog no matter how strange it looks, whether itâs small enough to fit in a shoulder bag or nearly large enough to be ridden; whether its ears are pricked, upright triangles or long, drooping flaps; whether it has a spiral-liked, curled-over tail or none at all.
They can even identify what type of dog it is, and heâs heard them use dozens of names to refer to them when heâs just struggling to realize itâs a dog at all. He tried asking why there were so many kinds, only to be inundated by explanations of what dogs could do even if they donât actually do those things most of the time any more.
Every time Nog comes up with a new rule in his head for How To Tell If Itâs A Dog, some new kind of dog comes along and breaks it. At first it had seemed easy; dogs love people and will greet any stranger, heâd concluded. But then there had been that sort of cream colored one with the pointed-up ears who had refused to dignify he and his friends with any attention despite the cajoling voice Daniels used that dogs usually responded to eagerly.
He had amended his ideas about dogs accordingly to allow for aloofness of certain individuals (or types??), and thought he was beginning to understand until he met the woman at Golden Gate Park with the tiny cha-wa-wa and the massive sane burnart, who she revealed was mistakenly pregnant by the miniature fellow at her side. Nog had been rendered speechless at the impossibility of such a vastly dissimilar pairing resulting in viable offspring, though he was somewhat heartened at seeing the little guy get the girl (until the woman mentioned that heâd shortly after been âfixedâ [and what fixed meant]).
Dogs have different colors and markings and faces and bodies and ears and tails and behaviors and Nog canât make any sense of what a dog is, but he thinks heâs gotten better at guessing. Now when he sees people with animals that appear to be dogs (the presence of a leash is often helpful), he has learned to say the same kinds of things his human friends say.
âWhat kind of dog is that?â is always a good bet because if thereâs anything humans apparently love, itâs explaining what kind of dog theirs is, as if Nog understands the nuances of mixes and breeds. He doesnât mind, though; heâs gotten the comm info for a number of women who were very happy to talk to a âfellow dog lover,â and itâs not like the creatures are unpleasant (except the smell sometimes). Theyâre a little invasive and have the tendency to stick their noses in very unwelcome places, but overall heâd rank them as being very genial creatures, and itâs not like any of the (still extant) animals on Ferenginar are particularly personable.
Heâs fresh out of class when he sees a woman lounging on the quad with a blanket spread out beneath her and her dog on a leash nearby nibbling at the grass. Itâs a new behavior he hasnât seen before; but then, heâs observed them eat trash and bugs and unidentifiable things, so why not grass? The dogâs owner is not in uniform, so it must be her day off class or duty, but she appears to be about his age so he approaches her.
âI like your dog,â he says to the woman, who looks up from her padd to give him an odd look. He presses on despite that. âWhat kind is it?â
Now she is obviously suppressing a laugh and he wonders if his opening line is too transparent. She picks up the fuzzy little beast â one of the long-eared varieties â and he sees that it only has a tuft for a tail.
âYou need to read up on native Earth species, cadet,â she says, holding her pet aloft, bright red leash dangling. âThis is what we call a rabbit.â
Nog flushes at his mistake. Really, what the frinx is a dog?
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seven & tuvok, when not engaging in their mutual affinity for silence, discuss matters incomprehensible to most. you just would not get it
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Salvo (Italian, 1947-2015), Senza titolo, 1996. Oil on canvas, 60 x 80 cm.
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I'm having a neurodivergent hell day. I'm having so many sensory, stomach, and headache issues that I wish I could put my brain in a robot body for a few hours, just for a break. Or transform into a cute lil axolotl swimming in a lovely aquarium where someone else is in charge of taking care of me. I wish I knew what to do to make myself feel better. I can't even play PokĂ©mon đ
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SetsurĆ Takahashi - Constellation Kirameki    (lacquer, chinkin, 1988)
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Some bats and things for this most spookiest of days. Happy Halloween everyone!
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