The Universes Across Space, This Second Right Here, Monday

[endsthegame]

The being that had released the Nothing could be happy with its progress: many universes had already fallen to its steady approach, many creatures that should not have been now never had. But that alone was just a drop in a bucket, and as some universes fell, others lost more of their tethers to memory and grew unstable, attracting the Nothingness where previously they had been overlooked.

In one universe, a once-beloved and then-forgotten janitor rounded a corner, and then simply never was. An accountant never filed his paperwork, and then never had filed any at all. A garden blinked and became wilderness in an eyeblink as its caretaker was ripped from the fabric of time and space.

All of them, nothing.

[[ for the dropped. ]]

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[woofbloodywoof.livejournal.com]

After leaving Fandom, Gaspode had tried to make his way in New York. It didn't take very long before he found himself suddenly back in Ankh-Morpork again, though, which just goes to show that the universe likes to have everything neatly where it belongs. And also that it's a cruel bastard.

Life under the Misbegot Bridge with his pet humans had been almost pleasant, which meant that of COURSE something had to go all wahoonie-shaped.

The Canting Crew were outside normal society, and used to being treated as if they didn't exist. So when people really DID stop existing, they were some of the first to notice. And when the Nothing swept in from the sea, they turned and ran through the streets.

Foul Ol' Ron was the first to fall. The Smell of Foul Ol' Ron lingered on long after Ron himself had technically ceased to exist, but in the end it couldn't waft fast enough to outrun the Nothing.

After Arnold Sideways hit a pothole, overturned his cart, and vanished, the rest of the group had decided to climb to higher ground. One by one they were picked off, too, and in the end it was only Gaspode left, running across the rooftops as fast as his short little legs could carry him.

Shingles scattered as he rounded a chimney, and then... he came up short. In front of him, dividing this roof from the next, was the yawning gap of a street that was far too wide. A larger dog might have been able to jump across -- or a younger one, or a less-diseased one. Or even, perhaps, one that was less out-of-breath from running. Gaspode whimpered, and risked a glance behind him. He couldn't see anything chasing him, which meant that the Nothing was right on his tail.

"Well, now, ain't this a wossname," he grumbled, peering down at the cobblestones below.

"Bugger it."

He backed up a few steps, ran forward, fixed his eyes on the roof he was aiming for, and jumped.

Buckingham Palace, The King's Private Parlour, 1815ish

[prof_of_cunning]

"This tea's rubbish; tastes like someone strained it through one of Emma Hamilton's cats," boomed the Iron Duke, matter-of-factly. Only Wellington could boom something matter-of-factly; everything from his bedtime prayers to the remains of the pork sausages he had for lunch thundered out of the man as if shot from a cannon.

"We'd best do something about that, then, hadn't we, Arthur." King George the 5th of England, nee Edmund Blackadder, butler, smiled tolerantly at the idiot who'd become his best mate -- he might be a psychotic, roaring wanker, but he still beat hell out of that Percy Percy fop who'd hung around his great-grandfather. "BALLLLLLLLLLLDRICK, get your worthless carcass up here this instant!"

"...Who?" Wellington asked, as Edmund's bellow, not as grand as his own, but certainly loud enough for government work, produced absolutely no response from the servants' hallway outside.

Edmund shot him a less tolerant look. "Getting senile already? I know he's only been Prime Minister for a few years, but he's been my tea-boy and footstool since before I took the throne."

"Pitt the Even Younger is your tea-boy?" Wellington looked down at his cup, then up at his king, then down at his cup again. "Well, that explains the privy-juice, at least."

"Don't be daft; Pitt went crying home to his mummy when I bought Baldrick the election." With about half the gold coins he'd collected in Fandom the weekend he'd had a raccoon tail; one of many stories the old prince's former butler would not be sharing with the new king's BFF.

"And I say again, who?"

Edmund didn't start to really worry until William Pitt the Even Younger finally arrived with replacement tea.

That still tasted like cat-crap.

[blonde-doctor.livejournal.com]

After Fandom, Dr. Reid had gone back to Sacred Heart, where "get Elliot to talk about that weird high school where she taught and pretend not to believe her until she freaks out" had been a favored sport for about ... three months, until somebody tossed something shiny in the air and it was forgotten.

Today was a typical day at Sacred Heart. Elliot had spent her morning seeing private care patients and would spend her afternoon doing the same and trying to dodge Turk and J.D.'s attempts to get her to join their protest against the removal of powdered sugar donuts from the vending machine. (She'd tried to point out to J.D. that he didn't even like donuts and Turk was diabetic, but apparently it was the principle of the thing.) It was a relief to be able to take a break from all of it in the supply closet.

And if she lingered over the medical tape in the closet, sorting it into neat stacks by width, well, no one would notice. Besides, the OCD was soothing.

A few minutes later, the Nothing rolled in, and the length of Dr. Reid's supply closet visit became decidedly immaterial; there was no Elliot, no medical tape, and no supply closet.

There was nothing there at all.

[scary-jeff.livejournal.com]

"No, I mean, you'd have lovely dental fillings! Obviously!"

This was not quite going as Jeffrey Murdock had intended. "I don't mean to say they'd go all gummy and black and fall out of your mouth. Of course not! I mean, who would do that to a lovely set of teeth like yours? That'd be a criminal act! People could go to prison for that! I'd go to prison for teeth like yours!"

This was really, really, really not going as Jeffrey Murdock intended.

"...Not that I'd keep them," he quickly amended. "I mean, I wouldn't take your teeth. Fillings or not. I think that's probably crossing the line somewhere, stealing teeth, even if they are very pretty. Don't you think they're pretty? You must do, you're a dentist--"

No, babbling at the gorgeous woman dentist currently holding the really sharp implement hadn't been the best idea Jeffrey Murdock had ever had. In fact, the sharp end was starting to hover rather close to his manly bits, and he needed those to-- "DO THINGS!"

The dentist tilted her head.

Jeff wished very fervently that the ground would come up and swallow him whole.

For one shining moment and then never again, Jeff got his wish: it just happened to come from the wrong direction. But that was all right.