Day 10
On the tenth day of Christmas...
ten people listening, nine revealed secrets, eight busy bees, seven treasure chests, six unusual readings, five tall towers, four meals of note, three delightful sights, two locked doors, and the beginning of a journey.
Fandom: Jet Set Radio
Rating: PG-13
For versipellis (p.s my knowledge of JSR canon is shaky at best so apologies in advance)
Beat ducked under the plastic, store canopy to get out of the rain; his skates were clogged with dust and mud chruned from the street but he was loathed to take them off.
As he shook the rain from his sunglasses; shirt too drenched to wipe them with, he heard a voice he recognised from down the alley. He kept close to the wall as he penguin-walked towards the voice. The faint glow of fire emerged from behind the store and the familiarity of the voice warmed him. It was the blonde with the half-cocked pigtails from his new gang - he had somewhere to kip down for the night.
But as he stepped closer, and prepared to raise his voice in greeting another, male voice came from behind the fencing,
“You still stringing that loser kid along?”, and Beat froze in position behind the fence.
“Leave it out Tan, he ain't gonna find where we're gone so what's the big deal? He was harmless”
“He was pathetic is what he was, goo-goo eyeing you like a love-sick puppy”, there was movement on the otherside of the fence and Beat was torn between making a quick escape and staying to hear out the conversation. Part of him wanted to believe they were talking about someone else, but how many new kids did they have joining their gang?
“We were gonna relocate tomorrow anyway, what harm's it do to tell the kid he can join our gang. Least he felt good for a new hours, like he had friends”, the blonde's voice was closer now.
“Yeah, yeah. Youse a real humanitarian, now come over here already before the others get back...”.
That was more than enough for Beat and his return to the front of the store was spent in melancholic thoughts. He should of figured something was up when he returned to the square and the gang weren't there anymore. No, he should of figured it when the guys in the gang had looked at him like he was seaweed.
His skates ground with the mud chogging the wheels and Beat tumbled, clattered to the concrete with a meaty thud. He suppressed a sound of pain and lay in the rain and mud, too drained to get up. He berated himself for dwelling on the words of the other skaters, what did it matter what they said? He'd never done anything bad to anyone, where did they get off treating him like shit?
Another minute passed and with renewed energy, Beat dragged himself back upright. He could feel the blood trickling down his leg as he walked and he grimaced at the feeling.
He'd been going about this all wrong. He didn't need to find a gang to join; what he needed to do was create a gang that other people would join.
Who needed those assholes anyway?
Fandom: Resident Evil
Rating: PG-13
From the outside, your ability to wield a gun might seem like your most valuable asset. But Leon knew that listening was what kept him alive.
All these creatures; the zombies, the infected and the other monsters that he had only ever seen in his nightmares before Raccoon City, they all made noise.
The zombies shuffled, their legs not as co-operative as in life - and that signature dull groan followed them with each step. The lickers slurped the blood from their impossibly long tongues, and if the room was completely silent then Leon could hear the drip-drip of the blood and saliva as they hung from the ceiling.
Most of the infected pulsed and, if he closed his eyes, Leon could here the beating of their heart with each step as it was magnified by their mutations.
To have a mental catalogue of all these sounds might drive him near mad, but so far it had kept him alive.
Fandom: Necessary Roughness
Rating: PG-13
He could hear them all. Next door. In his apartment. At his party.
Course there was no-one here for him now.
Too busy drinking the alcohol he'd brought, snorting or smoking the drugs that they had brought; whilst he lay in his room on the floor.
He was Terrance mother-fucking King but no-one gave a damn 'bout him so long as he'd provided the party, the money and the drink. That's why he was lain on his bedroom floor, trying not to pass out whilst he listened to his so-called friends having the best night of their lives.
He pulled his phone charger, winced as the phone thudded off the bedside table and landed beside him. It took him a few minutes to scroll down; between all the girls whose names started with D that he'd put in his phone book he found Dr Dani and pressed to dial.
“It's late Terrance”, were her first words, and T.K chuckled,
“I know doc, but I got me some trouble up in here”.
“Are you at home?”
“Yeah”
“I'm on my way”
Fandom: Women's Murder Club (book)
Rating: PG-13
Lindsay Boxer usually just barrelled into Jill's office with barely a knock, but one meeting interruption too many had prompted Jill to insist that either Lindsay display some decorum in the law offices or she would be banned from them. There had been a twinkle in Jill's eye as she had said it, but Lindsay thought it best not to push her luck.
As she lifted her hand to knock, she heard the sound of Jill's voice raised to a higher pitch. That only happened when she was upset and Lindsay stopped, hand in mid-air.
“Please.....just....and........at home”, Jill must have been pacing her room as she spoke because the words faded in and out. Frustrated, Lindsay contemplated cracking the door a little but then scolded herself for even thinking of it.
“......think about it Rick”, and Lindsay's blood boiled. The image of the bruises on Jill's waist and arms rushed to the front of Lindsay's mind at the mention of Jill's husband, and Lindsay braced herself to throw open the door and confront Steve herself.
“Talk......later, bye”, and once more Lindsay had to still herself against her racing emotions. Jill was on the phone. Lindsay had been ready to what? Barge in and start a fight with a mobile? She leant her forehead against the cool wood of Jill's door and steadied her breath. Charging head on into this wasn't going to help Jill, she needed the help of Cindy and Claire for that, which would have to wait until tonight.
She knocked on the door.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Carter was really starting to hate the sound of her ring-tone.
She had tried putting it on vibrate - but then she had to check it each time to see who was calling. So she had set him a ringtone and each time it rang, she let it go to voicemail. Not that he ever left a message.
She had been so desperate to catch her man in the suit, John, she reminded herself of his name, but she hadn't anticipated aligning herself with him. She got what they were doing, honestly she did, but taking the law into your own hands...she was starting to think she couldn't work with that.
The phone rang again, and other officers were beginning to look at her now when her phone went off. They probably assumed it was a lover's spat she was having and that was good enough for Carter.
She wondered if John would ring her indefinitely - just keep ringing everyday until Carter changed her number. Then again, that partner of his would probably be able to locate her new number in about five minutes - if he was having an off day.
She glanced at the phone to see if there was a message - but only the missed call icon flashed back at her.
Fandom: The Closer
Rating: PG
Brenda Lee Johnson always looked like she was in the wrong line of work. She liked to think that was why she was so good at it.
Whoever she was interrogating, didn't matter who it was, would give her a look up and down and she knew what they had decided. Half them probably thought she was a secretary or something.
So more than most would talk to her, she'd let that southern accent come through a little thicker than usually and that would loosen their tongue up some more. Course they were still careful about what they said but that's where her talent came in.
See, it didn't much matter what she got them to say; it was more the fact that once she got them talking, she started listening. She would tilt her head to one side, and nod, and listen to the very edge of their voice. Then at the right moment she would pounce with a question, a comment, a gesture or a motion.
Half the time they didn't even realise she had them until they were partway into their confession.
Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Rating: PG
There's no better way to lose the world, to find peace; than to do it on the open road.
With Charming and all its problems and all its people at his back, Jax can drive for hours. The feel of his bike beneath him, the feel of the road beneath that, and - when it was late enough at night - the sound of nothing else put his engine putting in the miles.
After spending all day listening to cops, to bikers, to gang-bangers and family; sometimes all Jax needs is to listen to nothing but the road.
Fandom: Malory Towers
Rating: PG
“Come on Alicia...what do you really think? Are Sally and Darrell...”, and Sally froze at the door to the music room, her plans to go in and practice immediately forgotten.
“Don't be daft”
“Really? You have seen the way they are together...”, and Sally flushed as the unspoken side of Betty's questions became much more obvious.
“Sally is hopelessly in love with Darrell, but come on, Darrell's never going to feel the same way about her”, and even as Betty made a noise that sounded akin to agreement, Sally felt as though Alicia had physically punched her.
She stalked away from the music room, lest she be found listening, and tried to keep the tremble from spreading up her arms and the emotion from choking her. She cursed herself for listening, she should have walked away as soon as she had heard them mention her name - it wasn't as if they ever had anything pleasant to say about her.
The brazeness of it all though! To assume that she...that she felt like that...
She tried to force outrage but it fell flat.
Sally stormed through the halls, intent on going outside for some fresh air. Was she really so obvious? Hopelessly in love was what Alicia had said...that sounded so pathetic.
“There you are!”, and Darrell's hand was on her shoulder, “I've been looking for you, you're not going back to the library are you?” So preoccupied was Sally that she quite forgotten that she had holed herself away in the library hours earlier and begged Darrell to give her peace whilst she studied.
“I...”
“Come on, it's nice outside, come with me”, and Darrell looped her arm through Sally's and tugged her gently, “Look I can't study any longer or I'll just push out what I've memorised today”
“I don't think it works like that Darrell”, Sally couldn't help the smile.
“Really? Because I think that's precisely how my brain works”, and Sally didn't protest when Darrell guided her along the corridor, even if Alicia's words were still on her mind.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
People always make it look so easy to, well, behave like people.
Spencer used to think that maybe it was something that parents taught their children - how to act like everyone else. He thought that maybe because his mother was so sick, she hadn't been able to teach him and that's what his problem was.
When he found out that wasn't true, he didn't know where to turn.
Books and research didn't offer much in the way of behaving like you belong. It gave him a lot of names to attach to why he was different - but no step-by-step guide to fitting in; and he read all the books he could find on the matter.
What he found worked best was finding other people and watching and listening to them, and that helped him learn how he was supposed to act. He used to take notes but that became too obvious, so now the notes were only written across his mind.
Even when he joined the BAU, he still had to take notes. He watched all of them, looked at the way they behaved and listened to the way they spoke; until his mind was filled with notes on how to act like a member of the FBI.
Spencer still wasn't convinced it was the best way, but it seemed to work for him.
Fandom: Ripper Street
Rating: PG
He had lost them both - his daughter to the seas and his wife to another man - whilst he had fought against the worst filth the world could throw at him. Perhaps he had spent too many nights away, spent too many hours at the station, perhaps that was why Emily left. Or perhaps he simply had not been a good enough husband.
Edmund pulled his glass towards him and took a drink. They had been on the verge of collapse since their daughter.... He should have been able to save Mathilda, he should never have allowed the waves to pull her from him,
“What sort of man can't protect his own daughter?”, he called out, knowing that there would be no-one there to reply to him.
His voice echoed for a moment, and then Edmund was left listening to the silence.