green's dorktastic adventure

dorktacular @ 2009-05-08T03:41:00

2009-05-08T05:07:26Z

SO AT SOME POINT somebody thought it would be a good idea to leave me and Rui alone in chan to coo over baby pictures (WE CAN NEVER CALL OURSELVES MANLY AGAIN :'() and Rui suggested that it might be fun to do a meme where we talked about childhood moments of our characters.

So I decided to jump the gun and drabble a few specific moments. Because I can. :D

August Saturdays in Oxford meant warm light streaming in through the wide windows of Rhea's nursery, sending dust specks dancing. Normally, Rhea would have been studiously trying to catch them, with the help of Benjamin Edward Jones, her partner in crime.

But right now, the only-just-four year old was sitting, legs crossed in front of her sister's bed, the wide-brimmed straw hat she had to wear during the summer on the floor beside her, and Benjamin hugged close to her chest, her solemn face rapt with attention.

"And that," Melody, her far older and wiser sister was saying, "is why you should never trust boys."

"Because they...don't...call?" Rhea repeated, wondering what they didn't call her sister.

"Yep," Mel was seated on the bed, carefully painting her toenails a shocking pink. "Never trust boys. They will break your heart."

"Ow," the little girl moved Benjamin slightly to press a sympathetic hand to her chest.

"Yeah, like that." Her sixteen year old sister slipped a hand into her desk drawer, rooting around for cigarettes. "But see, Dean isn't like that."

"Benjamin isn't like that, too."

"Benjamin is a bear," Mel said, dismissive. "Dean's really cool. He's twenty-one and he's got his own bike."

"I have a bike."

"Trike, tyke. Anyway, you should see his tattoo, it's of an angel and it's bloody massive. And," at this point she leaned forward, secretively. "He's got his own snake."

"What's a snake?" Rhea asked, wiggling Benjamin's paws. A little put out that he'd been put down so quickly.

"You don't know what a snake is? Fucking hell," Mel dropped the box back into the drawer after further struggles could not turn up a lighter and shrugged. "Well, it's..." she stopped, and beckoned her sister forward. The girl wriggled forward, and leaned close. "It's a monster which eats little girls," she whispered, consiprationally and grinned as the little girl pulled back with a squeak of terror. "Oh yes. First it waits until they're sleeping, and then it crawls down their throats and lays eggs in their stomachs. Then it crawls out again, and goes back in its cage, so nobody can tell what happened. Not until a week later when all the eggs hatch and then they explode out of the girl and the baby snakes eat her all up."

"What if she's still alive?" Rhea has started to lean back, terror etched across her features.

"It'll eat her anyway," Mel said, and then leaned over to go back to painting her nails, trying not to laugh at the baby's horrified expression. It was just a bit of fun after all, right? Right. Not like she wouldn't forget about it soon enough anyway.

Which was why Mel was so shocked when one night around a month later she came back to the sounds of screaming and her father's angry shouting. Shutting the door quietly, and hoping that this at least would be a distraction from the fact that she was two hours late and had alcohol on her breath, she hung up her leather jacket on the coat rack and was about to start sneaking upstairs when the screaming grew louder and closer. Until her little sister flew through the hallway, screaming, tears in her eyes and a knife from the kitchen in her hands. "Jesus," Mel said, as Rhea ran to hide behind her, grabbing a leg and sobbing into her ripped jeans as their father marched in, absolutely furious.

"Do you know what your sister did?" he thundered, and both girls shrank back towards the wall a little. Mel became vaguely aware that the baby was wiping her nose over her favourite pair of jeans, and kicked a little trying to knock her off. Rhea hung on like a trooper, still snivelling and burying her face into the back of her sister's knee.

"What happened?"

"Next door's gone on holiday, and they asked your mother to take care of their son's python while they were gone," he said putting his head in his hands. Mel somehow managed to hide the mixture of shock, horror and a strangely detached feeling of amusement that was churning inside of her in favour of a shrug, not daring to speak.

"It was going to kill me! I had to attack it first! Tell him Mel, tell him snakes always eat little girls!" Rhea pleaded, and for a second Mel drew in a breath. Then she removed the knife from her sister's small fingers with a tug and freed her leg before handing both to her father and continuing up the stairs. From the safety of her room, she slipped a cigarette into her mouth and left it there thoughtfully. She'd left the lighter downstairs, but judging by her father's shouts and her little sister's hysterical sobbing it was probably best if she did not venture down there for a little while.

For a second she felt a twinge of something resembling guilt, but then shrugged it off. It wasn't like Rhea'd be scared of snakes forever, right?

-

Adair stopped by the pond on the way home from school, to give himself a good looking over.

There was the scrape on the cheek, which could probably be explained away as him falling over on the tennis court. Small cut on his forehead which he could probably hide with his hair. Little bit of blood staining the cuffs of his shirt from the wounds on his hands. All in all, he didn't look too bad for someone who'd just spent half an hour being alternately beaten and chased by thugs. Luckily the nosebleed had cleared up, which meant he could ditch the paper he'd had wedged up his nose, and his black eye from last week had started to clear up a little. A little dab of rancid pond water here, a little spit there, and he didn't look half-bad.

Adjusting his jumper, he took pains to walk carefully the rest of the way home. He'd fallen roughly at one point, and his ankle twinged whenever he put too much weight on it. Still, he did his best to put a jaunty spring in his step, just in case his dad could see him from the window as he turned into his street. Continued to do so anyway when he noticed that the curtains to his father's room were shut tight, just in case any of the neighbours could see.

He'd gotten so much help from them recently, he had. That lady next door always brought food round, even though she had seven kids of her own to feed, and that nice girl from across the road had started doing dad's shopping for him, dropping off the meagre groceries that would have to last them all week. People had come round with adverts for young carers groups, had offered to move in and help out, but both Thomas men had refused more than the slightest of help. Pride, yes, but also because neither wanted to be a bother to the other people in their community - dad had always said that they should keep themselves to themselves, and that was how they stayed out of trouble.

His own body felt as though it was betraying him, adding to the strain. He was growing too fast, too soon. His feet were too big for dad's shoes and he'd outgrown his expensive grammar school uniform already, despite only being in his second year. He found it difficult to speak up to the boys in his year (as though the words turned sideways and stuck in his throat) and he couldn't chat it up with the girls for fear of being labelled a girl. Awkward fantasies in maths made him scared of talking to the teachers, and his legs were too long and clumsy to run properly from the older boys who taunted him; his arms were too slender and did not feel fully attached when he tried to defend himself with punches.

And through it all was his bad luck. Entrenched and forever there, a lurking viper.

He dropped his blazer on the floor of their house (this place felt too small for him as though his rapidly growing body would grow up and out of it; like the grandmother in that story he'd read as a little boy) and kicked his shoes off before he entered his father's sickroom. "I'm home."

"'Lo, Adair. How's school?"

"Same old, same old." The room was almost completely dark when he entered it, which was a bad sign. Adair's hand paused by the light switch, but he let it drop down to his side, navigating the way to his father's bedside. "How're you feeling?"

"Like shit." Dad coughed, and it sent vibration all through his wrecked, skeletal body. "Won't be long."

"Don't say that," Adair murmured absent-mindedly, searching for some pain-killers. His father held up a hand to stop him.

"Got something for you."

"Dad..." the boy started, but trailed off as the man shakily reached out to grab his son's hand and pull it out. With great effort, he leaned up in bed and dropped something into Adair's open hand, before closing it, wrapping both his hands around it.

"Sorry can't leave you anything better," he wheezed, as Adair opened his hand to reveal what he would later recognise as his father's last gift. "Maybe you c'n sell 'em. Get a few bob for yourself." He gave Adair a weak smile, but the blonde haired boy was staring forward solemnly, refusing to meet his eyes.

There was a picture on the mantelpiece across from the bed, of the Thomas family as they had been, once upon a time. His mother, pale and soon to depart, but still smiling, the newborn Adair in her arms. His father behind her, laughing, and the brother and sister he had never known on each side of him. Beside that, was a photo taken after the funeral; Adair in his brother's arms, his sister and father standing a little off to the side. There was another upstairs, of Adair as a toddler, hands held by his sister and father. The rest of the photos in the house were just of Adair and his dad, staring into the camera lens blankly, as though they had lost themselves.

Now it'd just be him alone in any photos, wouldn't it? Nobody to hold his hands, or squeeze his shoulders as the shutter clicked, or whisper to him to smile for the birdie. He thought about it as his hands gripped the things in his fist too tightly; the metal bit into his palm. His throat tightened, partly out of shame for missing moments like that (he was thirteen now, wasn't he? practically a man) and partly from tears.

"I'm not selling them. You should take them back," he managed, keeping his voice level.

"What use are they t'me? Earrings are to make you look nice," he said, twisting in his covers. "They're so your ears don't look bare when you go out. And believe me," he said, an edge of dark humour in his voice, "I ain't going anywhere."

"I wish," Adair said as he clutched the earrings tightly, staring at the tiny gleams of gold on his father's ears in what he could see of the photographs. "I fucking wish."

dorktacular @ 2009-04-10T15:27:00

2009-04-10T15:37:58Z

There are fifty minutes until d-day, go time.

No; when she checks the clock, she realises that there are actually forty-nine minutes to go, two elevens blinking insidiously at her, the clocks in on the conspiracy against her to keep time moving, even when she wished it'd stop.

But whatever nervousness might be manifesting itself in the fluttery feeling in her stomach, is nothing compared to Adam's reaction.

The big man has been swinging wildly from screaming battle cries and swearing he'll beat down as many shades as possible to hiding beneath the bed, sobbing.

dorktacular @ 2009-04-09T10:04:00

2009-04-09T20:43:16Z

"This is just absolutely and utterly not right," Aubrey Innes, aka England was saying, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "This is more than not right! This is terrible!"

"Chill, man." America, aka Kane Nastra, Leaned back in his chair, grinning at the other nations around the table.

"America, this is terrible," Korea (human name Zander) said, from the other end of the room. "We wouldn't have called a world conference, otherwise."

America looked at Canada for back up, and Canada began "I suppose it isn't...too bad..." before seeing the expressions of disbelief on the faces of the other countries and suddenly wishing he could hide under the table.

"I admit I am impressed," Russia started, sweeping a lock of her thick black hair away from her face. "I did not think you could reach that far."

"It's not anything to be impressed with! It's a disgrace!" England continued as Egypt crawled into his lap to doze off. "A travesty!"

"Makes the place look more festive," America continued, grinning to show off his white, white teeth.

"I guess I should stay neutral, huh?" Sieg said from the corner, smiling nervously.

"Seems like it," Ireland said, running a hand through his short hair.

Outside the conference hall, Italy (running late) stopped and blinked, pushing her long brown hair out of her eyes as she did so, staring at the side of the building, where someone had written "AMERICA FUCK YEAH" in forty-foot high letters. Someone had rigged up a pair of speakers in a tree near by and the theme from Team America was playing tinnily through the foliage.

"Don't look at me," Belarus said, from where he was lying under a tree, trying to ignore it. "I'm not cleaning it up."

dorktacular @ 2009-03-21T17:34:00

2009-03-21T18:42:52Z

Meredith Jones tapped her lit cigarette out of the window, so that the ashes fell and died on the side of the road, turned to her daughter and said, for the fortieth time that day "Are you really sure about this?"

"I'm sure, mother." Rhea tapped her finger on the page of her battered, tattered copy of National Geographic, not looking up.

"Oxford is closer...darling, you know I could support you better if you were closer."

"Countshire has the best scholarship program," her daughter pointed out calmly, carefully. "And I'll get a job, too. You and father won't have to support me."

"Del fach..."

"You only speak to me in Welsh when you want to emotionally manipulate me," Rhea replied in Welsh, coolly flicking through her magazine.

"You're so cold." Meredith kept her eyes on the road, on the traffic jam ahead of them. She stubbed out her cigarette in the cigarette tray and adjusted her overly-large sunglasses. Rhea closed her eyes and put her magazine down finally, feigning sleep beside her. "You know I didn't just mean financial support. Besides, you have that emergency debit card I gave you, yes?"

The emergency card she'd given her this morning in the kitchen while she was slicing sandwiches for lunch, along with a pin-number on a piece of paper. The girl had accepted with a smile that seemed too natural to be real, and hadn't pulled away when Meredith had hugged her after, which was a change. "I have it," Rhea said quietly, eyes closed and head against the window. Meredith barely held in a snort. She'd probably get back to find it neatly tucked into a kitchen drawer, with 'never write your pin number down' written beneath the code in Rhea's neat handwriting.

For somebody so clever, her daughter could be incredibly stupid sometimes.

She sighed instead, wishing she hadn't put out her cigarette. Pushed a hand through her short blonde bob. "Don't be like your sister, mm? Do call occasionally."

"Yes."

"Cyw. I'm going to miss you."

Silence, and then a quiet "I know." They were quiet for a few minutes more as the traffic began to move again, a silence hanging between them that was almost solid. And then her girl said "Mum, reporters."

"At the train station?" Meredith pulled a face. "They must have been tipped off...light mummy another cigarette, please, darling." Her daughter dutifully did so, and Meredith held it in her mouth as she pulled into one of the few spaces outside the station. Rhea hopped out even before the car had stopped, eager to get her bags and be on her way. Meredith herself pulled herself out, a stately, dignified figure wreathed gently in cigarette smoke, her facial expression unreadable beneath her overly large sunglasses. They would have been almost comical on anyone else, but somehow she made them work.

"Merry! Over here, Merry!" A reporter she dimly recognised as being from some big paper or another called, waving a microphone. "We heard you were sending your daughter off to university today" - a glance at Rhea, and her mussed-up black hair, scruffy sweater and scuffed trainers, and then a glance at Meredith with her immaculate bob and tailored suit - "is this her?"

Rhea shook her head, not looking at the reporters as she pulled her bags out of the backseats, and Meredith took her cue. "Oh no, I'm just doing a favour for my next-door neighbour's daughter. She needed a lift here, you see." She breathed out cigarette smoke into the face of the nearest reporter, accidentally on purpose. Without looking at her, Rhea began to walk into the station, tottering a little under the weight of her bags. "My youngest will be starting in September, of course."

"You have a very close-knit family, don't you?" Another reporter was in the way now, and Meredith found herself staring into his glasses rather than his eyes - she could see Rhea's back mirrored in them as she walked off to study the train time-table, root in her bag for her pre-bought ticket and hold it between her teeth as she set off towards her platform. "I suppose you must be very proud of your daughter's results!"

She watched her girl walk away, a faint reflection in the reporter's glasses. Then she dropped the cigarette and squished it flat under her shoe, crushing it. None of them could wait to leave her, could they? Her husband, always away in London with the lover he thought was a secret, Mel somewhere up north pretending to forget to call, and now even her little Rhea was running from her. Couldn't they tell she was lonely too? Couldn't they tell she was scared, sad without them?

"Well, obviously I've been busy with filming lately, we haven't been able to spend as much family time together as we'd like! But yes, we're all very proud of our youngest."

"Oh yes, you've been filming for your new show, haven't you? A continuation of the Colours series, right?"

"That's right! Ex-police woman turned painter, Sophia Dangerous - first we saw her framed for murder in the Colour of Blood mini series, next we saw her helping to track a serial killer in Colour of Murder, and now she's finally tracking down who wanted her behind bars in Colour of Justice! It's obviously a very exciting project, and I'm both thrilled and privileged to have been picked to play Sophia!"

"How does your family feel about you taking on the role?" Another reporter was jabbing a microphone at her, but she kept her eyes on the first one, watching as the reflection of the girl as she turned a corner, and she lost sight of her completely.

"My family support me in everything I do," Meredith smiled a smile that was far too natural to be fake, and got into the car. "I'm very lucky to have them. That's enough questions for today, lads. I have to get home to help my daughter pack up for university."

She drove off, and didn't look back. Not until she was a long, long way away.

dorktacular @ 2009-03-03T06:24:00

2009-03-03T06:41:44Z

"Technically, it's a science," Rhea leaned back in her seat in the coffee shop. "But it deals with people. Which makes it a humanity. But it uses science, which makes it a science..."

"I see," Vincent said, not really seeing.

"But you look at human history, don't you?" Simon pointed out, silently judging the students walking past the window.

"Which makes it a humanity. But we use scientific techniques to look at them, which makes it a science."

"How extraordinarily disorganised the whole thing seems," Simon said, flicking his long hair back with royal disapproval. Rhea gave a 'what can you do?' shrug, and went back to her scale model of a pyramid (using only sugar cubes).

Meetings like this were nice - a sort of escape from the usual boredom of studying alone. Even if they were doing radically (well, not that radical - they all studied a form of culture, didn't they?) different courses, there was something nice about getting together and trying to help each other out in the quiet buzz of the local cafe. Not a Starbucks, of course - Simon would have been mortified, Rhea probably couldn't afford regular coffee there and Vincent was happy to just go along with the other two because it was nice to have friends, it was nice to have people who liked him. Even if they were both a little odd.

Somewhere in the kitchen a kettle was boiling and the only waitress rushed past their table carrying drinks to people in the back. Fresh coffee seemed to permeate the air as they studied hard, occasional calling out questions like "oh...sorry, when was Catherine the great on the throne?" or "...Knees aren't balljoints are they." or perhaps "hmph, did they really expect to trip me up with such feeble questions? They should expect more from someone of my rank!"

And it was...nice.

92 on the cs drabble table

2009-03-02T04:02:37Z

Some people have very, very bad luck.

Like a certain Miss Rhea Jones, who was sitting down to dinner when she heard an impatient knock on her door and a familiar voice cry "Rhearhearhearhearhearhea!" In a Pavlovian response, she banged her head against the table and got up to let in her guest.

There in the doorway stood Hare, as she had expected. Flanking him were two very big and very angry looking men.

Which she had not expected.

"Hi, Quinten. Who are your...friends?" She asked, peering at them curiously. One of the men curled his lip and the other cracked his knuckles.

"Oh no these they aren't my friends! I found them!" Hare grinned at her.

"Your little brother or whatever has been saying some terrible things to us," the smaller, less growly man said, patting the little spirit's head.

"I told them that they looked really angry and that it was probably because they needed more tea!"

"Oh god," Rhea interjected.

"Do we look angry to you, lady?" The talkier one said in a 'I am a horrible horrible man pretending to be reasonable' voice. The man beside him snarled again. "See, I didn't think we looked angry."

"So I told them that I would make them some tea so that they could drink it and then they would feel better and not angry!"

"Oh god," Rhea said again. "Wh- what happened."

"He tripped me," Hare pointed at the talkative man, indignation on his face.

"He spilled hot water all over our nice new bikes," the man continued smoothly.

"He tripped me!"

"So we were saying that we were going to take measures. See to it that he didn't do that sort of thing again."

"So" Quin said, smiling a little more than somebody in that sort of position most likely should, "I told them that my Rhea would beat them up if they tried anything."

"I see," Rhea tapped her fingers together. And then said "oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god" as she realised what he'd just said. One of the bikers reached past Hare and grabbed her by the front of her sweater, dragging her outside.

"So we figured, we figured that we'd teach you a lesson and hope it got through to him."

"Go get 'em Rhea you can do it!" Hare cheered from the sidelines as he watched. Oh and there she went shouting the battle cry she always yelled in these situations, (although he did sometimes wonder why she chose "WHY" instead of something more battle-y but since it was Rhea's it was obviously the best!) "You can beat them I know it!"

And the sun set on yet another beautiful Countshire day.

Beauty in the breakdown

2009-03-01T07:48:06Z

Done for the CS drabble table

It seems to have been years since he last saw his baby brother, and now here he is.

There he is in that white shirt he gave him for his seventeenth birthday (it's ripped; there's blood on the chest and the collar and it is untucked - "how rebellious" he says, smiling a little like he used to) here is Richie wearing one of the last symbols of their bond, and here he is standing opposite him and here's the rain coming down on both of them, so hard it feels like pellets of ice.

Here he stands and there Richie stands and between them is the rain.

"Hello, Ri," he says, hands in his pockets. Richie's hair is plastered to his forehead and he can't see his eyes because he's looking down, staring hard at his shoes. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

"Seven years," Richie says finally. Then he looks up and Aidan raises his eyebrows in slight surprise. He'd expected his brother's eyes to be empty, or angry, but they're burning with an emotion that he doesn't quite recognise. The smaller man's hands have balled into fists and his stare is unfaltering.

And then suddenly he closes his eyes and turns his face up to the sky.

"You're going to catch cold," Aidan walks towards him slowly, ready to throw his jacket around him or something, but Richie is shaking his head.

"I know what I have to do to end this," he's saying. "I know what I have to do to end this war," he takes a step forward (one of his hands slips to his pocket and Aidan suddenly knows what he's planning; oh little brother, you were always too easy to read) and then those eyes are back meeting Aidan's and then they look straight past, at the compound the Lezards have retreated to. "Let me through. I need to see uncle," A slightly shuddering breath. "And father."

From somewhere above thunder rumbles and he is suddenly very aware of the rain again as it hits him.

Tiny pellets of ice.

Richie walks past him, his path clear and Aidan, Aidan waits.

He waits and then calls "but what will you do about me, brother?"

Richard doesn't answer.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-26T08:17:00

2009-02-26T08:37:47Z

365_Themes Table
1. Tragedy.	2. Serenity.	3. Heartbreak.	4. Euphoria.	5. Blessing.	6. Unbearable.	7. Stupid.	8. Jumbled.	9. Growl.	10. Forgotten.
11. Desperate.	12. Crave.	13. Abandonment.	14. Lust.	15. Apoplexy.	16. Spirit.	17. Destined.	18. Power.	19. Dying.	20. Born.
21. Magic.	22. Ghost.	23. Haunted.	24. Misery.	25. Terror.	26. Child.	27. Innocence.	28. Horror.	29. Birthday.	30. Missing.
31. Found.	32. Kidnapped.	33. Stolen.	34. Liar.	35. Devil.	36. Prayer.	37. Tears.	38. Hospital.	39. Laughter.	40. Grave.
41. Night.	42. Stalker.	43. Monster.	44. Blackout.	45. Stranded.	46. Alone.	47. Scream.	48. Stab.	49. Lost.	50. Ferocity.
51. Knight.	52. Savior.	53. White.	54. Midnight.	55. Crimson.	56. Horse.	57. Walk.	58. Unfamiliar.	59. 'Run!'.	60. Arms.
61. Lunge.	62. Fling.	63. Love.	64. Clasp.	65. Cling.	66. Leap.	67. Tantrum.	68. Explode.	69. Moan.	70. Crush.
71. Hard.	72. Soft.	73. Murmur.	74. Whisper.	75. Erie.	76. Wrong.	77. Shiver.	78. Burn.	79. Cold.	80. Tremble.
81. Drink.	82. Sing.	83. Kick.	84. Fight.	85. Sleep.	86. Gun.	87. Mafia.	88. Sneer.	89. Attached.	90. Tiny.
91. Foundling.	92. Planet.	93. Moon.	94. Stars.	95. Scare.	96. Joke.	97. Rain.	98. Water.	99. Caution.	100. Gone.
101. Breathe.	102. Suffer.	103. Agony.	104. Asphyxiation.	105. Intentional.	106. Accident.	107. Mistake.	108. Surprise.	109. Miniscule.	110. Iota.
111. Movie.	112. Favorite.	113. Slap.	114. Book.	115. Cuddle.	116. Curl.	117. Bite.	118. Nibble.	119. Caress.	120. Ego.
121. Stroke.	122. Sword.	123. Gleam.	124. Blinded.	125. Heard.	126. Blink.	127. Kitten.	128. Job.	129. Parents.	130. Sad.
131. Past.	132. Story.	133. Babble.	134. Ravage.	135. Welts.	136. Hole.	137. Wet.	138. Parched.	139. Hideous.	140. Horrific.
141. Putrid.	142. Sick.	143. Save.	144. Rescue.	145. Demolish.	146. Tease.	147. Hung.	148. Sneak.	149. Sweets.	150. Distortion.
151. Breathtaking.	152. Sigh.	153. Shaking.	154. Ruin.	155. Miracle.	156. Weather.	157. Trauma.	158. Disaster.	159. Storm.	160. Severe.
161. Numbers.	162. School.	163. Lessons.	164. Sobbing.	165. Wail.	166. Refusal.	167. Punishment.	168. Runaway.	169. Danger.	170. Capture.
171. Release.	172. Imprison.	173. Collar.	174. Cage.	175. Kajira (Gorean slave girl).	176. Whip.	177. Kiss.	178. Tongue.	179. Lick.	180. Kneel.
181. Command.	182. Master.	183. Play.	184. Bedroom.	185. Toys.	186. Blanket.	187. Smirk.	188. Roll.	189. Shove.	190. Push.
191. Thrust.	192. Pound.	193. Disguise.	194. Fool.	195. Shock.	196. Abyss.	197. Vast.	198. Startle.	199. Unmanageable.	200. Straight.
201. Emerald.	202. Sky.	203. Beginning.	204. Ending.	205. 'Whatever'.	206. 'Never'.	207. 'Finally'.	208. Swoon.	209. Collapse.	210. Faint.
211. Ruse.	212. Jitters.	213. Excitement.	214. Apprehension.	215. Spelling.	216. Disgusted.	217. Year.	218. E-mail.	219. Month.	220. Long.
221. Letter.	222. Correspondent.	223. Pathetic.	224. Illegible.	225. Dash.	226. Time.	227. Fantasy.	228. Relax.	229. Projection.	230. Astral.
231. Belief.	232. Strength.	233. Ravenous.	234. Island.	235. Wild.	236. Cruel.	237. Ocean.	238. Dune.	239. Waves.	240. World.
241. Roast.	242. Itch.	243. Need.	244. Bound.	245. Escape.	246. Self-loathing.	247. Figuratively.	248. Bonding.	249. Mask.	250. Snarl.
251. Vulnerability.	252. Broken.	253. Sunset.	254. Vacuum.	255. Chasm.	256. Horizon.	257. Vacant.	258. Latched.	259. Macadamia.	260. Antidisestablishmentarianism.
261. Kumquat.	262. Weakness.	263. Summon.	264. Glow.	265. FALSE.	266. Truth.	267. Bones.	268. Heat.	269. Thirst.	270. Destructive.
271. Nuisance.	272. Sister.	273. Bonkers.	274. Spaghetti.	275. Angel.	276. Demon.	277. Arch.	278. Thunk.	279. Bop.	280. Lavish.
281. Murder.	282. Rumor.	283. Groaning.	284. Smother.	285. Hide.	286. Scoop.	287. Debris.	288. Suck.	289. Favor.	290. Squeal.
291. Goodbye.	292. 'Why?'.	293. ’Mine'.	294. Gaze.	295. Grace.	296. ’Tomorrow'.	297. ’Someday'.	298. Amnesia.	299. Potion.	300. Medication.
301. Scrunch.	302. Message.	303. Lover.	304. Words.	305. Bombard.	306. Flood.	307. Haste.	308. Rush.	309. Gasp.	310. Shatter.
311. Shards.	312. Girl.	313. Silent.	314. Flame.	315. Healing.	316. Footprint.	317. Snow.	318. Waiting.	319. Hands.	320. Gentle.
321. Lie.	322. Warmth.	323. Coming.	324. Spring.	325. Breeze.	326. Ripple.	327. Lake.	328. Salty.	329. Billow.	330. Cloud.
331. Fly.	332. Grounded.	333. Wings.	334. Fallen.	335. Thread.	336. Limp.	337. Motionless.	338. Torture.	339. Insanity.	340. Revelation.
341. Astounding.	342. Lift.	343. Broken.	344. Worthless.	345. Comfort.	346. Seeking.	347. Annoy.	348. Exasperation.	349. Smile.	350. Game.
351. Smack.	352. Whack.	353. Peek.	354. Listen.	355. Box.	356. Poke.	357. Prod.	358. Upside.	359. Cocked.	360. Evil.
361. Bounce.	362. Misgivings.	363. Dread.	364. Over.	365. Rely.	366. Procrastinate.	367. Stall.	368. Snort.	369. Cigarette.	370. Fire.
371. Smoke.	372. Ash.	373. Cemetery.	374. Hold.	375. Cry.	376. Belch.	377. Typical.	378. Lord.	379. Survive.	380. Castaway.
381. Table.	382. Row.	383. Column.	384. Surrender.	385. Argument.	386. Indecision.	387. Lightning.	388. Acid.	389. Breakfast.	390. War.
391. Frown.	392. Spoil.	393. Morning.	394. Define.	395. Music.	396. Dance.	397. Scurry.	398. Cower.	399. Recoil.	400. Pounce.
401. Gathering.	402. Guide.	403. Guardian.	404. Flirt.	405. Flaunt.	406. Follow.	407. Inebriate.	408. Whine.	409. Forest.	410. Shower.
411. Arrow.	412. Eagle.	413. Grieve.	414. Anguish.	415. Territory.	416. Struggle.	417. Grope.	418. Inhale.	419. Exhale.	420. Final.
421. Spit.	422. Glass.	423. River.	424. Gold.	425. Servant.	426. Tarot.	427. Grumble.	428. Leech.	429. Nightingale.	430. Challenge.
431. Bereft.	432. Cover.	433. Undo.	434. Icy.	435. Wind.	436. Crack.	437. Toss.	438. Gathering.	439. Restrain.	440. Glide.
441. Stumble.	442. Deliverance.	443. Blurt.	444. Exhaustion.	445. Temptation.	446. Protect.	447. Cave.	448. Camp.	449. Accumulate.	450. Boat.
451. Victory.	452. Battle.	453. Loss.	454. Lather.	455. Care.	456. Tackle.	457. Tickle.	458. Obstacle.	459. News.	460. Benign.
461. Myriad.	462. Kaleidoscope.	463. Moving.	464. Prompt.	465. Name.	466. Daughter.	467. Warrior.	468. Fireworks.	469. Snuggle.	470. Fade.
471. Holiday.	472. Celebrate.	473. Nag.	474. Overcome.	475. Stiff.	476. Pillow.	477. Fireplace.	478. Fur.	479. Suspicion.	480. Trust.
481. Lack.	482. Dependent.	483. Scribe.	484. Significant.	485. Comet.	486. Roar.	487. Intervention.	488. General.	489. Romance.	490. Sprint.
491. Goad.	492. Flaw.	493. Multitude.	494. Gateway.	495. Sadistic.	496. Masochism.	497. Damaged.	498. Breathless.	499. Marshmallow.	500. Control.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-16T05:48:00

2009-02-16T07:02:57Z

Trains are incredibly boring; stalled trains even more so.

They pass the time trying to read the books he's bought with him, but theories of post-modernism in literature bore her and her constant correction of historical facts in his fiction novels bores him so they abandon that in favour of snap with a deck of cards purchased from the snack bar.

He wins nine games out of ten (the tenth is a draw). On the eleventh she shuffles the cards and puts them away instead of dealing again and says "Hey. Can you do that thing without water?"

"Wh-what thing?" Vincent blinks at her, confused.

"The...you know. Thing." Rhea taps the table unconsciously. "With the ice."

"Oh- um...no?"

"Will you show me it again?"

"...We're in public," he pointed out.

"Private carriage. ...I can lock the doors..."

"I-" he stops. "Um...if you want." He twists in his seat so that his back is to the windows and she gets up to lock the doors before sliding into the seat opposite him. He concentrates, and the little crystals of ice materialise between his fingers, taking form slowly.

It's like magic - probably because, well. It is magic. The ice sculpts itself almost, building up crystal by crystal into...

"A steam train? Haha," Rhea touches it gingerly with her finger tip. "It's really cute."

dorktacular @ 2009-02-15T15:36:00

2009-02-15T16:23:11Z

Rhea sits back in the cart as they bumble-bump along the dirt road to the next city, internally wishing she had not decided to come along on this adventure with Bernard. Up in front, she can hear him singing off-key - some ancient ballad re: fair maidens and their heroes - and she covers her ears with her hands, closing her eyes.

Which is probably why, when the first arrow hits she is taken completely by surprise. It lands next to her, digging into the soft wood of the cart and she moves instinctively to cover herself with her arms before doing anything else - the only thing which stops her from- well, dying, when the next one hits her.

The next ten or fifteen minutes are a sort of blur in her memory. She's aware that she must have shouted something along the lines of "bandits!" or "ambush!" (although, "banbush" or "amdits" seems more along the lines of the coherency levels she was probably at) and then, she knows, she must have fallen off the cart.

Somewhere along the lines, Bernard probably kicked her under it to shield her from the main battle. She lay under it for what felt like a long time, distantly listening to the clash of metal against metal and Bernard's occasional stupid war cry (stupid Bernard) and dimly aware that whoever shot her must have covered their arrows with something. She's taken arrows before (what respectable archer hasn't?) but they've never been like this. This hurts real bad - she can't remember where she's been shot, but her right side and arm are on fire and her mind feels like it's trying to dissociate itself from her body to save itself from pain. Like it's floating away.

And the blood.

Man.

The blood.

She can taste it in her mouth like a sting of iron and she can tell by the uncomfortable warmth spreading over her side and arm, the way her clothes are sticking slightly to her skin that she's covered in it. Every time she thinks about it her stomach churns a little.

For somebody afraid of blood, there is nothing so horrifying as to be covered in it, bleeding and in so much pain you cannot move. It's like being held a prisoner, and if there were room for it in her mind with the "pain", the "stupid Bernard" and the "ow" she'd be feeling utterly claustrophobic - stuck in her own body.

Outside she hears "HA! That's what you get for troubling the great knight Bernard!" And then the clomp of armoured boots towards her position. With absolutely no thought to what agony she's in, Bernard reaches under the cart and grabs her under the arms, tugging her out and lifting her up. "RHEA! Did you see me PUNISH those vile animals?"

"Under car'. Ow Bernard ow Bernard ow Bernard ow."

"What?" He asks, absent-mindedly, and then looks down at her to see the blood soaking through her thin dress, sticking to her pale skin and grimaces. "Ah, well. I may have miscalculated how well you had taken that hit."

"S'just go home. Ry'll- Ryan'll make it stop."

"He will, won't he?" Bernard's voice is surprisingly gentle. "Very well then! We shall head home for today." He picks her up carefully, balancing her in one arm (thank goodness she is a very small girl, and he a very tall boy) and using the other to cover her eyes and he steps over the messy, make-shift battlefield, trying to be sure she doesn't see anything that'll trigger her blood phobia.

"Come along, then," he says. "I'll be the one to take you home."

dorktacular @ 2009-02-15T14:16:00

2009-02-15T15:50:31Z

The archaeology department was always quiet in the evenings. It was something she took advantage of occasionally - wandering through the darkened hallways, tapping out quiet beats against the white-washed walls with her fingertips.

Right here, in the labs where they kept their display cabinets was her absolute favourite place in the school and she could spend hours here, curled up next to a fossil, counting the grooves on a skeleton's bones, or - as she had doing that evening - examining the small weapons cabinet.

There was something new there; an iron short sword of some sort , something she couldn't identify. She glanced around for a few seconds and listened out very hard for any footsteps (she always felt guilty sneaking in here after everyone had left - more because she felt like she was learning more than the rest of her class than anything else; the fact that she was trespassing never occurred to her) and then flipped the latch on the display case up and took the weapon out gingerly.

It was heavy. Heavier than she'd thought it would be. For some reason she'd expected it to feel like those foam swords kids always have, but this was almost difficult to hold. Still, she persevered, gripping it in two hands, taking a deep breath and swinging it, the way warriors do in movies.

It was exhilarating, feeling the wind woosh over the sharp edge and for a moment she fancied she felt a little of the blade's last owner within her. Would he have swung it like this, once upon a time? To protect his homeland in some ancient skirmish? Cutting down blood thirsty Vikings and their ilk to protect his friends and family - was the last person to swing this sword the way she was doing now a hero?

She stopped swinging it to stare at the blade, one hand holding the hilt and the tip balanced on the other. No. From her experience of people, he would more likely be the one cutting down innocents. She examined the notches, wear and tear in the metal and found herself picturing his victims - women and children, begging for mercy as the blade came down on them, crying and screaming and for a second she felt something - something almost primal from the blade itself, and for a second the room seemed to fill with the ghosts of its past; the lives it had taken. All sobbing and screaming in pain men women children a cacophony of voices-

She dropped the sword. It hit the floor with a dull clang and she jumped, startled from her thoughts.

She nudged it with the toe of her shoe, just to make sure it was her over-active imagination playing tricks on her and then picked it up, returning it gingerly to its place in the display cabinet. It had been lying, she decided (even though it was completely preposterous), about being the tool of a hero. It had been lying, and that was why she had reacted like that.

She walked back over to the display skeleton and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, taking his bony hand in her own. People were easier to read than tools; dead people even more so.

She'd stick with them in future.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-15T09:42:00

2009-02-15T10:22:40Z

Someone got to Tony.

That was clear enough Michael knew, adjusting his pinstriped suit as he walked into his office. Tito was there already waiting for him, sitting in his chair, shoes on his desk and smoking a cigarette.

Good thing for Tito he was Michael's brother; anyone else would have been shot just for smoking such a cheap brand of cigarette. "I see you heard the news," he said, noticing his grim face.

"Tony's dead," Michael nodded slightly. "Take your feet off my desk."

Tito sat up reluctantly, stubbing out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "You want to know who did it?"

"Tell me everything, Tito." Michael grabbed the back of his chair and tipped his brother off. Tito took the hint and moved to the seat in front of the desk - the one reserved for guests.

"Police did it. Caught him while he was moving the subject. They say he put up a struggle when they went to confiscate the parcel."

"Did he?"

"One clean shot to the back of the head," Tito mentally thanked his contacts in the morgue. "Execution style."

"They must have got lucky," Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose, one hand reaching for the bottle of good stuff he kept in his desk drawer. "You, me and Tony were the only ones who knew about this whole set-up."

He was pouring a glass when he noticed Tito's small, tight smile, and the way his eyes were sort of distracted - looking at the glass but not focused. His fingers were laced together like a small boy at his prayers, and he pressed them to his lips in a sort of half-kiss. "Not just us," he said.

"You told someone." Michael's glass overflowed, but he didn't seem to notice. Tito reached over and pushed the bottle in his hands up just slightly, stopping the waterfall of liqueur.

"Remember the raid last month on Paulo's place? And Alberto?" Tito made a satisfied noise as he gestured. "I think I've found our leak."

Michael felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. "Is that so?"

He got up and took down the instrument case from behind the door, picking up his fedora from the hat stand and paused by the entrance, waiting for his brother. "I think we should go pay them a visit in that case, huh, little brother?"

Tito stood up lazily, eyes half-closed and nodded. "Whatever you say, Mika," he drawled, hands in his pockets.

Together they walked into the fog of another New York night.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-15T08:53:00

2009-02-15T09:55:31Z

In the centre on Countshire town, there's a Christmas tree about a mile high.

Of course, it isn't really that tall; it's maybe ten metres - perhaps even a little smaller. But to Rhea, it's the biggest thing she's ever seen - bigger than the history building, bigger even than Adam. Couple that fascination with the fact that its (branches? leaves? branchey-leaf things?) fronds are excellent snow protectors and you had a sport for her to hang out during lunch hours and between shifts at work.

Which was why, on his way back home from the antique store, Wang found her crouched down under it, arms crossed and back against the trunk, fast asleep. "Hey," he shook her awake gently, "you'll catch a cold if you sleep here."

"I wasn't sleeping," she grumbled rubbing her face with the back of one hand and cracking an eye open to look at him. "I was just...waiting here. For a bit."

"Tired?"

"Little bit," she admitted, and he sat down next to her.

"Let's rest a bit, then."

"I'm not that tired," she said, and then: "I don't mind," as if she hadn't been able to decide which to say and so had just gone with both.

They sat in silence for a little while, watching the fast-rising moon glint off of the soft snow-flakes that had started to fall, and the baubles attached to the trees. Rhea said "you know, this whole resting thing would probably go a bit quicker if you let me steal some of your energy," and then, quickly: "I'm kidding."

"Of course," he shifted a little so that they were leaning against each other and she awkwardly put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed it. "This is nice," he said.

"It is," she agreed, watching the snow pile up in front of them.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-15T06:41:00

2009-02-15T09:00:02Z

Myra was the sort of woman who you went out on a date with only to end up waking up seven days later in a bath full of ice in a third world country, missing several important organs.

Nevertheless, when she'd walked into his office (note to self, Signius: work out how she got a hold of your keys) and asked him out to dinner last week, Signius had jumped at the chance.

Now, seven days later and adjusting his tie as they poured over menus in a dark restaurant, he found himself feeling...apprehensive? A little nervous, perhaps. Possibly because of the overpriced food here, possibly because Myra was eyeing the silverware.

Perhaps, just a little bit because he was out on a date with a pretty (if slightly eccentric) woman and nothing had gone wrong - he found himself waiting for something horrible to happen. Maybe a tiger escaped from the zoo would barge in to attack them; a car might crash through the window; Myra would turn out to be an alien hungry for human souls- wait, actually, that would explain a lot.

He stopped suddenly, realising that she was speaking to him, very quietly: "-our chance, Siggy-baby. It's the best time."

"I'm sorry, what?"

An exaggerated sigh; "I said, now is our chance. There's only one waiter and he's right across the room."

Oh god. "...Myra, what are you doing."

She stood up suddenly, grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his chair. And then tugged him quickly as she ran for the door, Signius instinctively running after her. The waiter shouted after them, but they were soon out the door, round a corner and out of earshot, breathing deeply to catch their breath back. "You-" he started, glancing around and jumping at the sound of a distant police siren, "we didn't need to do that!"

"I'm not paying for food that bad," she shrugged. "At least I didn't leave you there, budmeister."

"Budmeister. Really?"

"Aaaaanyway," Myra reached up to pat his elbow. "Same time next Friday? There's a really good French restaurant I wanna try - apparently their waiters are real slow."

Signius closed his eyes and turned to walk back to his car, wondering if midget-tossing was illegal in Britain.

I enjoy hurting Rhea.

2009-02-12T05:08:45Z

"Rhe-Rhe!" Adam said, too loudly for her to ignore.

She gave it a good try anyway, pretending to be too engrossed in her cotton-candy to hear him.

"RHE-RHEEEE!" He cried again, a little louder now. "RHE-RHE LOOK!, LOOK!"

"I am not looking," Rhea said to herself quietly. "I am absolutely, positively not looking."

"RHEAAAAAAAA!"

"Oh dammit," she turned and then quickly looked away again. "Adam," she said, closing her eyes, "Adam, please get down from there and put some clothes on."

Adam did a little jig on top of the carousel's roof and she opened her eyes just long enough to make sure that yes, yes the ride was sturdy enough to take his weight, and then went back to covering her eyes and wishing there was some way to remove the images from her mind.

Okay, it seemed that breaking into a fairground late at night after too many drinks was in fact a Bad Idea. She would be sure to chalk it up under her fast growing lists of "things I should never do again" and "material for future nightmares".

"Adam," she hissed, and then jumped as she heard the tell-tale aggressive bark of a guard dog near-by. "Adam!"

"HA! They can't do nothing to me!" He struck a pose on the roof. "WHAT IS IT THEY SAY? 'YOU CAN TAKE OUR LIVES BUT YOU'LL NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM'!"

"I'm not entirely sure that that is entirely relevant," Rhea pressed her back against the nearest wall, panting through stress and wishing for the shadows to envelope her completely. "We are not exactly freedom-fighters."

The first guard rounds the corner with one of those gigantic, revolting Alsations on a leash. The type of dogs which are somehow more muscular than a rugby player and seem to drip threats of violence and/or rabies from ever pour. The guard stopped, staring up at Adam with a mixture of horror and silent dread on his face.

The dog let out a slight whimper.

Rhea hesitated for about a second and then shot from her hiding place while the man was still in shock, yelling "Adam, run!" up to her best friend. Adam shouted something, and then she heard a crashing sound as he fell off the roof.

Rhea kept on running, right up until she ran head first into the second guard and bounced off instead of knocking him aside as she'd thought she would.

Curse her feeble awkward teenager body. Curse it. Behind her she heard the first guard call for help moving Adam into the waiting police van and realised that he must have knocked himself out falling off of the ride. The second guard gave her a Look she recognised from the mirror. It was filled with a mixture of rage and...more rage.

"Be gentle," she said as he lifted his night stick.

"I don't think so," he said, bringing it down hard.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-10T05:20:00

2009-02-10T07:22:15Z

Hitomi no Catoblepas

Miiko/Tokio; indulging this weird urge to write something shippy.

"Inside the box was hope."

I

"I won, Miiko-san," he says in her imagination. "I won!"

And then he smiles, because that is what heroes on the tv do when they beat the final bad guy. He's bleeding, but they're only superficial wounds, and they laugh together, because dammit, he won!

It doesn't happen like that.

II

She doesn't see the battle; only the aftermath. They're lying there in a pool of blood, side by side and she realises suddenly the similarities between them. Their faces, their bodies are the same and she suddenly recognises the burden his duty must have bought him.

For a long moment she thinks that they're both identically still and then one of them moves just a little.

It could easily be Tokihito (she can't- she can't tell them apart at this point), but she rushes to his side anyway and is rewarded when he opens his eyes.

It's the boy with the clock in his eye and he says "Miiko-san," quietly.

"Did...Did I win?"

III

She's pictured this moment before in her imagination.

He smiled at her then.

But this picture is all wrong.

IV

She gives him his space for a little while after that. His body is healed, she knows, but she wonders what must be going on in his mind. How does he feel now that he's accomplished his duty? Is he proud for avenging his parents, or does he mourn for his brother?

Or is it both?

She gives him a month of solitude.

V

He cringes slightly when he walks in and sees her eating at his table as if nothing has happened. She greets him, too, as if nothing has happened. "Hey Tokio!"

"Miiko-san."

"How're you doin'?" She asks, her voice gentler than usual.

He looks straight ahead, and she cannot read his features. She doesn't know what he's thinking and it frustrates her slightly. "...I don't have time to dwell on it," he says finally. Then: "K-city still needs my protection." He pauses slightly and seems to struggle for a few moments trying to articulate a thought.

She does it for him. "Yep! And we've all got to pitch in and help, right?"

He blinks. "We?"

"Yeah. I'm going to help you out any way I can from now on," she says, and smiles at him.

He looks at her for a second, and then closes his eyes and gives her a tiny little smile.

"Thank you."

VI

If this were a fantasy, this would be the part where he holds her hand, or she reaches over and takes off his visor to kiss him.

There's a time for that, a small voice inside her head tells her.

Just not now.

Drifting

2009-02-09T22:57:31Z

It's a bit like falling asleep, Minato finds. A bit like dozing off in Aigis' lap, her hand on his head and the warm sun on his face and shoulders.

It's a bit like losing track of your thoughts and emotions, the slow waltz from coherent to incoherent thought that comes as you fall asleep.

It's a bit like drowning, gently.

Gently.

He smiles.

Sparklesuke, part the first (because I love Pear)

2009-02-09T16:21:17Z

"Cousin Saaaaaasuke!" Lucas cries, throwing his arms wide in an attempt to hug the small, skinny child.

Sasuke ducks under his arms, annoyance showing and Dan ruffles his hair.

"What's with the hair," Matheus asks, prodding at the spikes.

Sasuke scowls. "Nothing. It's my hair."

"That is not natural. Geez, how much gel do you use?"

Dan steps in, stopping a potential argument with a laugh. "Hey, come on Sasuke. Mother'll be glad to see you. She and Matheus have been making your favourite food!"

Sasuke's scowl drops a little. "Whatever," he drawls, sticking his hands into his pockets and following Dan into the kitchen.

"What do you mean 'whatever' you little brat!"

"No, Matheus, don't hit him!"

Mekakushi no Kuni; Namiki/?? - idfk

2009-02-09T15:44:04Z

"Don't look up," he says, and laughs in the way he did when she first met him.

After the stars collide, after the earth is dead that laugh will still remain, echoing through his hollow frame.

But she looks anyway, looks up and feels the sun on her face because even if she can't see his future she knows what he will do.

And that he will save her.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-09T01:40:00

2009-02-09T02:18:59Z

LIST OF THINGS I WOULD NOT AT ALL MIND WRITING

1. chrome
2. Namiki (to "Cath..." maybe?)
3. SUM HUNTERXHUNTER WHEEE
4. SPARKLESUKE AU
5. ...moar tokio
6. Kagura from Ga-Rei. :|
7. Gokuderaaaaa
8. Squall
9. Cloud
10. ...idk my bff BoF4
11. Zaaaaack 8(
12. idk naruto

Now let's see if I can write them without butchering them.

dorktacular @ 2009-02-08T15:58:00

2009-02-08T17:15:56Z

Naruto; the long walk home
-
It takes longer than he thought it would, one step in front of another, everything so dark it nearly feels like a physical pressure on his body.

And yet, he knows where he's going. This is a place he's nearly been many times before, a place which has been so real to him at times he could almost touch it.

He can no longer comprehend time, he realises idly. He cannot tell how long it takes for him to reach them, only that he was once far away, and now he is here with them. With a little surprise, he realises that it doesn't bother him. Perhaps because time, so important to a ninja, just does not matter here.

He sees Obito first, adjusting his goggles and grinning. "Hey Kakashi! You're late!" Rin is sitting beside him (whole again, he notes) and she giggles a little, putting her hand up to hide her mouth.

Minato stands by them, watching over his team with the pride of a father. "Are you ready, Kakashi?" He asks, and his voice is soft.

"One last mission?" he asks, smiling.

"No," he says. Then, "you have a little bit further to go, first."

-

It isn't that far to the man with the face that looks like his. Or is it? He wonders to himself as he drifts towards the campfire, illuminating the seated figure beside it.

"You're late," the figure says with a voice from his youth, looking into the flames.

"Ah, my apologies," Kakashi says, hardly daring to look at him. And then the man turns and catches his eye almost shyly and Kakashi smiles - just about grins - back. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, father."

i-idek

2009-02-08T15:18:03Z

I think I made Miiko too smart.

Miiko&Tokio, Hitomi no Catoblepas - Permanence
-
He passes by her on the way back home, bowls of time-frozen ramen clinking gently in his bag. She doesn't see him at first, but he finds himself stopping and watching her for a few seconds - this feeling of knowing people, of being able to pick people out of a crowd is new to him and it stops him dead in his tracks. Miiko has her back to him; she's wearing white overalls with bright paint splattered all over them. She's been repainting her parent's shop front he realises, and then notices that she's working at scrawling something with a marker pen over the still wet paint.

She turns suddenly and her face lights up at seeing him. Tokio hesitates and she stops him before he can flee back home to his haven, to his anime and solitude and waves him over laughing "Hey hey, Tokio! I was just plannin' to stop by your house!"

He sighs a little at that. Part of him wants to comment on her habit of always stopping by (first once every other day, now she's over just about every day after school) but he knows he won't. Instead he gestures at the wall behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, this? I was just helping my parents repaint."

"No, I mean, um," he points at the marker in her hands, careful not to meet her eyes. She blinks and then grins, before leading him over to the wall so he can peer at her handiwork from under his visor.

She's drawn a bunny and then her name in tiny, messy symbols, some slang in English beneath it which seems meaningless to him. "I just signed my name!" She says it with a sort of excited air and it's his turn to blink.

"...Why?"

"I dunno," she says and he realises that it's one of those things she doesn't seem to have a motivation for. Like the visits to his house.

"I don't understand things like graffiti," he says, noting that there's only ten minutes left until his show starts.

"I guess it's attention-grabbing. And it's kinda cool to see people payin' attention to something you've done," Miiko says, crouching and drawing another bunny besides hers. Tokio fiddles and adjusts the strap on his bag, watching her. "It's kinda like- 'I was here once' Or something like that."

"Oh," he says. So it's a little like leaving a trace of yourself behind, he thinks. A little like a proof of existence. He wonders for a few seconds about it. Tokihito left a trace of himself when he left; a way to permanently remember him. Would anyone remember him? Or would they just remember that the twenty-first head of the Shimura was a boy who should never have been given that role?

He snaps out of it when he sees that Miiko is holding the marker out to him and takes it, blinking at her. "Um."

"Hey, come on! You sign too!"

He does as he's told, gingerly and neatly writing his name besides hers. She takes the pen off him and draws an arrow from his name to the newer bunny. "....Rabbit," he says, exasperated. "Why a rabbit?"

"'Cause they're easy to draw!"

"...Why are you the big rabbit."

"'Cause I drew that one first."

"It's a little inaccurate-"

"It's fine," she says, smiling.

He sighs again, because he finds it impossible to argue with her. "My show is starting. I should go."

"Aw, come on! Won't you stay a little? Let's hang out some!"

He hesitates again, mid-step. On the one hand, he's never ever missed his show. On the other...it's a repeat tonight, isn't it? And it had been an episode he hadn't really liked...and, well. There was a small part of him that thought that maybe spending more time with her wouldn't be too bad.

He nods, and says "Sure, okay." Miiko hadn't been expecting that and she drops her pen in surprise.

"That's great! Come on, Tokio, let's you, me and Cat-chan go find something to do."

Tokio closes his eyes and lets her grab his sleeve and tug him along, sighing again. Behind his left eye he sense Catoblepas move slightly, whether in amusement or annoyance, he isn't sure.

-

They end up not doing much, sprawled out on a river bank as the sky grows darker, eating the ramen he'd bought earlier. Miiko tries to count the stars, pointing at each one as she goes, and he lies back listening to her, his hands cushioning his head. "This isn't so bad," he says quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ah! Darn it, I lost count!"

"Sorry," he says, a slight smile on his lips as he listens to his friend (his friend, his friend) start over again.

Even if he doesn't leave a mark on the world, he thinks, even if he's just remembered as the person who should not have been the twenty-first head of the Shimura, he will be remembered as Tokio whose name is scrawled on a wall in K-city over a bunny, Tokio who lay on a river bank and listened to Miiko count the stars, Tokio who is caught in a handful of memories in a friend's mind.

He kind of likes that idea.

dorktacular @ 2009-01-26T19:04:00

2009-01-26T19:41:40Z

Zafer has learned many things during his time at Countshire. Most of all, he's learned to run when he hears the word "Princess!" Which has caused many embarrassing situations - he's also learned that it's a very popular dog's name - but he knows that it's better to be safe than sorry.

It's only when he finds himself caught in a net and dangling from a tree that he realises that he hasn't learned to run quite fast enough...

-

Who was it that said "the present is a gift"? Richie agrees with them, whoever they are. Everything is fleeting, leaving so he tries to grasp moments hold them before they turn to memories all the while looking towards a brighter future; a new day.

It's all about multitasking, really.

-

Time does not heal old wounds.

Instead it ravages, destroys everything - the statue in the desert fell as easily as love and bonds of trust do to its relentless march.

He wanted to go back - he wanted to help. To fight - but for Aidan, the Aidan he remembered rather than this, any of this. He tries to tell the man, but Aidan gives him a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes and Zafer knows he's lost another friend to the cruelties of reality, maturity, adulthood, the war. The four horsemen of the apocalypse of friendship.

-

Some things are left unsaid.

Waiting by the stairs, Richie turns the phone over in his hand but does not call his brother. His stomach churns because he knows where Aidan is, has a good guess as to what he's doing.

When Aidan walks in a few hours later, he's smiling. "Hello, little brother!"

"Hey bro!" Richie gives him a wide smile because he understands that it's not so much that Aidan won't tell if he asks, but that he's not sure if he wants to know if his guess was right.

-

Jan has never been that interested in personal gain; he gets a kick out of chivalry, putting people before him. He enjoys opening doors for people, helping old ladies across busy streets and climbing trees to save trapped kittens. Every deed, he thinks, takes him a little bit closer to the heroic ideal he dreams of.

Still, he has several chocolate biscuits hidden around his parent's house in secret places only he knows of and only he can reach - places his siblings will probably never know about.

It gets hard being selfless all the time, you know.

-

As far as Eri is concerned, he and Adair will always be together. He doesn't believe that there's anything that could tear them apart. They're a family - him, the cockney and his brother and sister.

Perhaps one day, they'll all live together. In a biiig white house with one of those cool fences (:o) and a nice garden for playing with and stuff! And they'll have lots of food (of course!) and maybe a couple of cute pets!

He smiles and rolls over, glancing at his maths homework. Yeah, he decides, that's exactly what they'll do when they're older.

-

It's funny. For a relationship as simple as theirs supposedly is, there are so many power plays it becomes difficult to keep up. The moves are mostly Tito's, though. He struggles sometimes to be the one on top, in control of their relationship but too quickly becomes ensnared again - compromising, acting.

He smiles across the bowl of ice cream at Minkah. You're not what you seem he thinks and tries to work out who the boy is under the indifferent layers.

Minkah ignores him in favour of his book.

-

It was at the beginning of summer that she fell in love for the first time. An older man, someone she couldn't stop staring at. She found herself discovering new things every time she looked at him, watched him move gracefully, his muscles working beneath his taut, tan skin. She never really got over that first love; still thought of him in idle moments, long after the first fires had died down.

Ten years after she'd first laid eyes on him, her husband looked down at the DVD she'd rented for their special anniversary night in and groaned. "Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull? Again?"

-

Ali likes to sit on the windowsill in his bedroom and smoke. He likes to watch cars go by, carrying their precious cargo and breathe in their polluted fumes. He likes the smell in the same way he likes the taste of his cigarettes, the sensation of killing himself slowly with every inhale, exhale.

Love is a losing game.

-

Jan isn't sure whether Davi has changed or not over the years. There's something in his eyes that's a little off, but his smile has remained the same. Although he seems more amused now that he's the last of his line, the only Lira left.

And looking over the bloodstained walls and broken bodies at his idol he's not sure what scares him more; that Davi is broken and irreparable or that he's the same as he was when Jan first met him.

-

"My apartment, my rules," Zafer says, his voice deceptively calm. "And I say 'no smoking'."

Ali takes another drag on his cigarette, looking at him as though he was an Olympian peering at some kind of horrible insect from way up on his mountain. "Since when is it your apartment? We all chip in to pay the rent here."

"I pay the most," Zafer says, reaching over to snatch the cigarette out of the Scot's mouth. Ali moves back, quicker by a beat.

"Hate to agree with the bastard," Adair is sitting at the kitchen table, his chin resting in his hand and his eyebrows raised, "but smoking's a filthy habit." Next to him, Tito smiles and nods. Today Adair has bought him lunch and so has become his favourite person. Tomorrow he's planning on taking Jan out drinking, so that could change.

"Could kill us all," he says, stretching.

On the sofa, Richie calls "Jan! Tell them what I taught you to say if this ever comes up" without taking his eyes away from the tv.

"He told me to say "Smoking doesn't kill people; Zafer does.""

"It's true," Zafer smirks.

"Fuck that," Ali leans over and blows smoke into the hamster cage Zafer keeps on the counter. Cruel and unnecessary, yes, but he knows the hamster is busy rolling around Jan's room in one of those hamster ball-thingies; he saw one of the cats chase it in earlier.

"Animal abuse! RED CARD!!" Richie jumps up, suddenly eager to be the over-zealous referee, but Zafer has already punched Ali so hard his teeth rattle. Ali hits back though. He might be named like a girl, but he certainly doesn't fight like one.

From the corner, Rhea sighs and picks up her backpack. "I think I'm going to go sleep in the archaeology department. Again."

dorktacular @ 2009-01-26T19:04:00

2009-01-26T19:16:57Z

The knock on his door comes in the early hours. Still in bed, Zafer rolls over and groans slightly, ignoring the noise. Nobody, he feels, has any business being up past three, and certainly they shouldn't be waking him up.

The knocks come again however, and again and again, until it sounds like there's a miniature hailstorm focused around his porch. Snarling, he throws the covers off, snatches a up mallet (which he keeps by the bed just in case) and storms down to the front door in his pyjamas. He wrenches the door open filled with a burning rage which fizzles suddenly, impotently.

In the doorway, Aidan Kerr smiles at him. "Hello, Princess Tansel," he says in that aggravatingly playful way of his.

"Welcome home," Zafer says after a few moments of shocked silence (although he had meant to say 'what the hell do you think you're doing here' or even 'don't call me that') "Come in. Please."

--

Zafer's ranch is on a hill, one of those places that you just don't expect to find in England. The most beautiful mossy green hill, surrounded by a sky so blue and clear sometimes it feels as though you could almost see heaven itself. Zafer likes to spend his evenings out here, a drink in one hand, lazily watching the sky as it moves from twilight to night. Steadily Not Thinking about the secret war behind closed doors.

He takes Aidan out here one night and they sit together for a little while. Aidan talks, and Zafer ignores the parts which aren't relevant to him, reacts to the teasing and it's almost like it was back then. "How's Soujirou?" Zafer asks finally. Aidan, pauses, for just a second.

"I killed him," he says.

Zafer searches for a hint of remorse in his voice but can't find it. Instead, he stares into his drink. This war is killing you, he wants to say, I'm sorry, he wants to say, would it have been different if I was there? Nothing comes out, and they're both left in silence under the darkening sky.

--

The photograph is on the bookshelf in the living room. Honestly, it's been there for a long time now, too long. He'd forgotten, he realises as he catches sight of it in the corner of his eye. He'd forgotten how young they all were - how young they'd looked. There he was - pouting as usual, but secretly thankful to have been included. There was Aidan, standing in the middle, caught mid-laugh. And there, beside him was Soujirou staring seriously into the camera, looking as though he was desperate to get back to work.

As he takes it down, he notices that the dust around the frame has been disturbed slightly. The glass is clear when he'd expected to have to clean it.

"Nothing will ever be the same again," he says. Admitting it finally. "You're not coming back, are you?"

In the doorway behind him, Aidan smiles.

dorktacular @ 2009-01-26T19:01:00

2009-01-26T19:16:04Z

After every mission, she makes the decision to leave.

At first her choice was completely unconscious (because she couldn't think of anything after her first few missions as an enforcer; could think of nothing but her new found knowledge that everyone bleeds and falls the same way) but soon it becomes a mantra. One she says in the car over and over after every mission as she grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white and tears sting her eyes.

She's what, twenty-six now (or twenty-seven? Is it August or September?) and already coming undone. She knows she will not reach thirty. There are too many people wanting (needing) revenge, too many skeletons in her cupboard.

She's taken with the idea of death now; the idea of long rest, away from life and duty. Recites the Catholic prayer for the dead in her head when she does what needs to be done ("Requiem aeternam dona eis; may you rest in peace") and hopes that somewhere someone is doing the same for her, because she needs it more than any innocent soul.

There's someone at the school she can go home to. An awkward, sweet young man who holds her when she turns up at his door in the dead of night, fresh bruises on her face. The boy who she loves but cannot commit to (is it selfish to wonder if she'd break him were she not to come home one night?). There are friends who'll miss her when she dies, others who have had their lives swallowed by the Order.

But does any of that matter any more? She wonders, pulling into the carpark of the cheap roadside cafe. This is her final mission; she can feel it in her bones. Either she'll die, or she'll run away and leave them all behind (she's long since realised that she can save no one). As she climbs out of her cheap car, she doesn't bother to lock it. Instead she stares straight ahead into the window of the restaurant, where she can see her target.

He's sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. It's the most natural thing in the world.

She slips into the chair opposite the young man, waving away the waitress who approaches, never taking her eyes off of him.

When he drops the newspaper to look at her, he has the same tired eyes as she does, eyes that carry the same knowledge of the inevitable. He knows who she is, what she wants.

She's no longer surprised by this. Hasn't been for a little while, now.

"Hello Mr Thomas," she says with all the tenderness she has left in her. Holds out a hand. "Would you like to come with me, please?"