[ooc; contact post]
So, if AIM is not the method to your madness, please use this post to get in touch with the mun of Elizabeth Weir. All comments are screened.
Jun. 17th, 2007
Jun. 12th, 2007
[prompt 001; who are you?]
Elizabeth Weir.
It's a relatively simple answer, and accurate as far as it goes.
I'm a diplomat and a leader. I like to think that I'm a good friend, and a trustworthy ally. I'm the person that my choices made me, and I believe that, with the usual exceptions, those choices were the right ones. Or at least the best ones I could make. That the right thing and the best thing aren't always the same wasn't a lesson I relished learning.
I'm a different person, in some ways, to who I was just three years ago. For this I can alternately thank and blame the variety of people in Atlantis who work with and under me; Teyla gets thanked and John and Rodney get blamed.
There's really only so much you can say about yourself without getting ridiculous or too autobiographical; I'm not quite ready to pen my memoirs. So:
My name is Elizabeth Weir, and I am exactly who I want to be -- with room for improvement.
It's a relatively simple answer, and accurate as far as it goes.
I'm a diplomat and a leader. I like to think that I'm a good friend, and a trustworthy ally. I'm the person that my choices made me, and I believe that, with the usual exceptions, those choices were the right ones. Or at least the best ones I could make. That the right thing and the best thing aren't always the same wasn't a lesson I relished learning.
I'm a different person, in some ways, to who I was just three years ago. For this I can alternately thank and blame the variety of people in Atlantis who work with and under me; Teyla gets thanked and John and Rodney get blamed.
There's really only so much you can say about yourself without getting ridiculous or too autobiographical; I'm not quite ready to pen my memoirs. So:
My name is Elizabeth Weir, and I am exactly who I want to be -- with room for improvement.
Jun. 10th, 2007
[writing sample]
Originally written for nexus100 on eljay; probably heavily influenced by what little Weir/Sumner fic exists on the big bad internets. I blame lj-smittywing for my obsession with the pairing.
Elizabeth hasn't thought about Marshall Sumner in a long time. It's been so much easier not to; his premature death had set the tone for the first days of Atlantis, and in the wake of it, there'd been no time for real mourning.
She hadn't known him well enough for real mourning, she tells herself, but it's not entirely true. They'd worked closely together to get the expedition ready to go -- they'd become a team before the IOA, presenting a united front when there was no more margin for error. He'd never been quite what she expected him to be.
The idea of working with him, when she first heard of the man, hadn't been one she relished. The feeling hadn't gone away after their first meeting, or their second, but by the third she was beginning to realise that there was more to him than she'd been entirely interested in seeing. It fascinated her, and she found herself finding excuses to ask for his opinion (ridiculous, given how many things actually required it). He brought an angle to conversations that she wouldn't have thought of on her own -- in and of itself, not a good or bad thing.
They'd been--almost friends, she thinks. Almost something else, too, and she knows she can't blame that all on the wine. She'd been warm and a little tipsy and he'd smiled at her and she'd--wanted. But there'd been Simon, and Atlantis, and a thousand other reasons that they couldn't, and so they'd laughed together and let the moment pass, pretending that it had never been there to begin with.
She hasn't thought about him in a long time because every time she does, she wonders what it would have been like to fall in love with him.
Elizabeth hasn't thought about Marshall Sumner in a long time. It's been so much easier not to; his premature death had set the tone for the first days of Atlantis, and in the wake of it, there'd been no time for real mourning.
She hadn't known him well enough for real mourning, she tells herself, but it's not entirely true. They'd worked closely together to get the expedition ready to go -- they'd become a team before the IOA, presenting a united front when there was no more margin for error. He'd never been quite what she expected him to be.
The idea of working with him, when she first heard of the man, hadn't been one she relished. The feeling hadn't gone away after their first meeting, or their second, but by the third she was beginning to realise that there was more to him than she'd been entirely interested in seeing. It fascinated her, and she found herself finding excuses to ask for his opinion (ridiculous, given how many things actually required it). He brought an angle to conversations that she wouldn't have thought of on her own -- in and of itself, not a good or bad thing.
They'd been--almost friends, she thinks. Almost something else, too, and she knows she can't blame that all on the wine. She'd been warm and a little tipsy and he'd smiled at her and she'd--wanted. But there'd been Simon, and Atlantis, and a thousand other reasons that they couldn't, and so they'd laughed together and let the moment pass, pretending that it had never been there to begin with.
She hasn't thought about him in a long time because every time she does, she wonders what it would have been like to fall in love with him.
