Akira - Kei - Table 2, #1 (Red); Battle Royale - Kyoichi Motobuchi - Table 2 #8 (Grey)
TITLE: Happy Ending
AUTHOR: versipellis
FANDOM: Akira
CHARACTER: Kei
GENRE: Het (Kaneda/Kei)
TABLE: 2, Colours
PROMPT: #1 Red
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 259
SUMMARY: Kaneda and Kei talk about non-traditional upbringings. Slightly odd style - intentional, more or less ^^
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters and make no money from them.
And she made soup on a campfire, using other people's chipped mugs and powder stolen from a shut-down store. And they sat cuddled together in a blanket and listening to the rats scuttle in the walls.
And he said, hardly the Ritz, but he smiled as he did so.
And she said, it's not that bad.
And he said, I suppose you're used to it? Bein' in the resistance and all?
And she said, I suppose so. But you weren't exactly brought up in a mansion either.
And he said, tell you what; I'll buy y'a proper house, two floors and three bedrooms. How about that? And a massive garage. We can paint the rooms red.
And she said, that would look weird.
And he said, oh, you don't like the red? I feel lied to.
And she said, white is more traditional.
And he said, since when have we been traditional?
And she said, sometimes I wish I was.
And he said, meaning?
And she said, when I was little I asked my brother if I could paint my room pink. He told me we wouldn't be there long enough to make it worth it.
And he said, well, I always knew I wouldn't be in any room long enough to make it worth it. Children's homes are like that. C'mon, a red room'll match my jacket.
And she said, you have no taste at all.
And he said, that's why you like me.
TITLE: Rewind
AUTHOR: versipellis
FANDOM: Battle Royale (manga)
CHARACTER: Kyoichi Motobuchi
GENRE: Gen
TABLE: 2, Colours
PROMPT: #8 Grey
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 507
SUMMARY: AU in that Class B never ended up in the Program; set about ten years after canon. Kyoichi muses on how life might have been different.
NOTES: By my reckoning, these two are my last two fics to complete the challenge. I hope it's okay I've posted them together.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters and make no money from them.
Motobuchi's father is dying; they both know it, because Father talks as if he's very tired, and no longer thinking about what he's saying... as if his son is a close friend, whom he can be himself with. The misplaced companionship grates like a screech in Motobuchi's ears.
But today things are different, because today Father clutches his wrist and says, almost urgently, "I wasn't aware of the Program shortlist until... afterwards. Do you understand?"
For a moment Motobuchi doesn't understand. He stares at the wrinkled, bony hand on his and he feels pleasantly smug that - the old man is obviously talking nonsense - but the next moment his father has wheezed out, "Security issues. Never informed of what they were. Put back... you remember that year?" and Motobuchi does remember, suddenly, that in 1997 the Program was a month late and various of his classmates had complained. He hadn't cared. He never watched TV. He still doesn't, much.
"You were lucky, Kyoichi..."
On the train back to his flat he stares out at the grey stations and flickering houses. Already it's growing dark, and a few lights glow in the wintry air. The train is overheated, and his tie is too tight round his neck, but he knows he's not going to loosen it, not while he's still in public.
He doesn't look at his reflection in the train window; it's when he gets to the flat that he goes into the small bathroom and stares at the mirror over the sink. It's edged with rust, and flecks of the stuff crawl across his reflection's face.
He doesn't think he's changed at all since school. His hair is still carefully parted in the 7:3 ratio and he still wears glasses - he tried contact lenses, but couldn't manage putting them in - and a suit is not that different from the old black school uniform. And oh, of course, now he goes out and drinks when he's expected to and instead of tests and exams there are reports and monthly project margins, but he knows that his co-workers wouldn't miss him and he still puts in extra hours for very little gain.
The drinking. He hates to remember himself drunk, knows they don't particularly want him there, and yet if he didn't go -
Would the Program have been like that? A small corner of you knowing that you could do anything and you'd have a perfect excuse, while the rest of your mind blazed? Or would it have just been another sweaty-palmed test?
Had I won -
He leaves the bathroom, stands in the small dark main room.
At least it would have been something different. There's a rattle of rain on the window; a smear of water washes Shiroiwa away. At least it wouldn't have been
grey.
AUTHOR: versipellis
FANDOM: Akira
CHARACTER: Kei
GENRE: Het (Kaneda/Kei)
TABLE: 2, Colours
PROMPT: #1 Red
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 259
SUMMARY: Kaneda and Kei talk about non-traditional upbringings. Slightly odd style - intentional, more or less ^^
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters and make no money from them.
And she made soup on a campfire, using other people's chipped mugs and powder stolen from a shut-down store. And they sat cuddled together in a blanket and listening to the rats scuttle in the walls.
And he said, hardly the Ritz, but he smiled as he did so.
And she said, it's not that bad.
And he said, I suppose you're used to it? Bein' in the resistance and all?
And she said, I suppose so. But you weren't exactly brought up in a mansion either.
And he said, tell you what; I'll buy y'a proper house, two floors and three bedrooms. How about that? And a massive garage. We can paint the rooms red.
And she said, that would look weird.
And he said, oh, you don't like the red? I feel lied to.
And she said, white is more traditional.
And he said, since when have we been traditional?
And she said, sometimes I wish I was.
And he said, meaning?
And she said, when I was little I asked my brother if I could paint my room pink. He told me we wouldn't be there long enough to make it worth it.
And he said, well, I always knew I wouldn't be in any room long enough to make it worth it. Children's homes are like that. C'mon, a red room'll match my jacket.
And she said, you have no taste at all.
And he said, that's why you like me.
TITLE: Rewind
AUTHOR: versipellis
FANDOM: Battle Royale (manga)
CHARACTER: Kyoichi Motobuchi
GENRE: Gen
TABLE: 2, Colours
PROMPT: #8 Grey
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: 507
SUMMARY: AU in that Class B never ended up in the Program; set about ten years after canon. Kyoichi muses on how life might have been different.
NOTES: By my reckoning, these two are my last two fics to complete the challenge. I hope it's okay I've posted them together.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters and make no money from them.
Motobuchi's father is dying; they both know it, because Father talks as if he's very tired, and no longer thinking about what he's saying... as if his son is a close friend, whom he can be himself with. The misplaced companionship grates like a screech in Motobuchi's ears.
But today things are different, because today Father clutches his wrist and says, almost urgently, "I wasn't aware of the Program shortlist until... afterwards. Do you understand?"
For a moment Motobuchi doesn't understand. He stares at the wrinkled, bony hand on his and he feels pleasantly smug that - the old man is obviously talking nonsense - but the next moment his father has wheezed out, "Security issues. Never informed of what they were. Put back... you remember that year?" and Motobuchi does remember, suddenly, that in 1997 the Program was a month late and various of his classmates had complained. He hadn't cared. He never watched TV. He still doesn't, much.
"You were lucky, Kyoichi..."
On the train back to his flat he stares out at the grey stations and flickering houses. Already it's growing dark, and a few lights glow in the wintry air. The train is overheated, and his tie is too tight round his neck, but he knows he's not going to loosen it, not while he's still in public.
He doesn't look at his reflection in the train window; it's when he gets to the flat that he goes into the small bathroom and stares at the mirror over the sink. It's edged with rust, and flecks of the stuff crawl across his reflection's face.
He doesn't think he's changed at all since school. His hair is still carefully parted in the 7:3 ratio and he still wears glasses - he tried contact lenses, but couldn't manage putting them in - and a suit is not that different from the old black school uniform. And oh, of course, now he goes out and drinks when he's expected to and instead of tests and exams there are reports and monthly project margins, but he knows that his co-workers wouldn't miss him and he still puts in extra hours for very little gain.
The drinking. He hates to remember himself drunk, knows they don't particularly want him there, and yet if he didn't go -
Would the Program have been like that? A small corner of you knowing that you could do anything and you'd have a perfect excuse, while the rest of your mind blazed? Or would it have just been another sweaty-palmed test?
Had I won -
He leaves the bathroom, stands in the small dark main room.
At least it would have been something different. There's a rattle of rain on the window; a smear of water washes Shiroiwa away. At least it wouldn't have been
grey.