Conversations!
Of course, only in times of procrastination do I get these done. Meh.
The conversations from the meme I posted a few days ago! Okay, so a couple of them are really more scenes than conversations, per se, but at least I wrote something in which there is talking. This is a big step for me. Cookie?
Sam Winchester and Cloud Strife, for woodfall (417 words):
“Dude, why don’t you just shoot him?”
“What?”
“Sephiroth, why doesn’t someone just blow him away instead of fighting him with a sword constantly when sword-fighting’s obviously what he’s best at?”
“We have guns. Do you think no one’s ever thought of that before?”
“And what, you’re telling me he can dodge bullets?”
“Yes.”
“…oh.”
Sam continued pouring rock salt into the bullet casing, anyway, because the guy was supposedly a spirit, and everything else seemed to work the same in this universe. (Except gravity. That was a little weird.) Couldn’t hurt, at least, especially since the closest thing to a sword he’d ever used had been a machete. Somehow, he didn’t think that would measure up to that long-ass blade he’d seen trying to hack Cloud into millions of tiny pieces.
Cloud had stopped asking about Sam’s inexplicable weapons and safety measures. Although Sam wasn’t sure that this was because Cloud had stopped caring, or because he’d run out of his word quota on the subject or something.
After a few more bullets were filled and sealed, Sam looked over at the blond man who was quietly whetting the edge of a ridiculously large sword.
“Hey Cloud, there’s something I’ve been confused about for awhile. You said that Aeris warned you about Sephiroth coming back, right?”
A nod.
“But I thought…I mean, isn’t Aeris…”
“Dead. Yes.”
“So…” Sam waited, but no explanation seemed forthcoming. “How…?”
“She spoke to me from the Lifestream.”
“The Lifestream?”
“Yes. The spirit energy that keeps the planet alive?”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
Cloud stopped the mechanical sweep of his arm down the bright blade and turned his head to stare at Sam.
“What? We probably don’t have it in my world.”
“Then how is your planet kept alive?”
“Well...some think it’s by a god or gods. Others think it’s just random chance.”
“Then where do your dead go?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do know there’s a hell, so I guess there must be a heaven?”
“Heaven?”
“Where all the good people go for eternity.”
“Oh." Cloud seemed to consider this. "Then maybe our worlds aren’t actually so different.”
Piercing blue eyes turned back to the sword. The whetting tool made a regular, metallic sound on the blade.
Sam stared at his bullets and salt for a couple of seconds.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
They worked in silence for several minutes.
“So, is that thing lighter than it looks, or what? Can I try it?”
Cloud looked up and raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, okay, never mind!”
Sirius Black and Tamaki Suoh, for ryuhime (183 words):
(This is the weirdest pair ever, just so you know. XD )
“Buraku-san, I don’t think you’re quite understanding your role in the Host Club.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re supposed to be the mysterious sexy-sexy foreigner type. But you’re not being very mysterious.”
“I thought the one with the glasses was the mysterious one? I thought foreigners were loud and flirty.”
“Well, you are loud and flirty, but…”
“But what?”
“You’re scaring the women, Buraku-san!”
“I’m what? I’m scaring them? They didn’t seem particularly scared yesterday at the British Tea Party cosplay.”
“But, you see, it’s just that…”
“I seem to be a pretty big success, I mean, a lot of girls have already designated me -“
“BUT THAT’S JUST IT! I’m supposed to be the loud and flirty one! You’re taking over my role!”
“…”
“I apologize, Buraku-san, that was rude. But do you think you could try from now on to be a little less loud and a little more…not flirty?”
“Sure, Suoh-san, if that’s what you want. But I was wondering…do you ever accept boys as patrons here? Because I think you in particular -“
“Less flirt, more mystery, Buraku-san!”
Sanzo and Yuki Eiri, for daisy_took24 (463 words):
Goddamn it. Broken elevators were one of the primary reasons that Yuki Eiri preferred to live on ground floors.
Broken elevators with other people in them were even worse, though at least the other blond man didn’t seem to want to chat about what bad luck they were having, or the business meeting that he was going to miss, or the fucking dog he had to feed…
Speaking of which…the brat was waiting for him in the apartment not one hundred feet from where the elevator was currently stuck. He shuddered just to imagine the whining and pouncing that would result from his being late.
Yuki glanced over at the other man again, who didn’t seem to be making any move to call for help.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose we should attempt to use the service telephone? We’ve been in here for fifteen minutes.”
The other man finally looked over at him, seeming to come out of some deep meditation. “Yes, please, use whatever means are available. I have a monkey waiting for me who’ll be unbearable if I don’t get out of here soon.”
Yuki snorted softly. “I know what you mean.” He opened the box that said “In case of emergency, call this number” and picked up the phone, only to find that it didn’t work.
“Unbelievable.” He sat back down on the opposite side of the tiny space from the other man and leaned his head back against the wall.
After another minute or two of silence, the man took out a pack of cigarettes, paused, then looked over at Yuki, who grunted in shared pain.
“I suppose we’d probably suffocate in this tiny room, wouldn’t we?” the man asked.
“You know, I’ve never thought about it before. I don’t know how well-ventilated they are,” Yuki replied, looking around for signs of incoming air.
“Huh. Slow suffocation. A popular form of torture in some cultures, incidentally.”
“And some occupations, I’ve found.”
The other man snorted in agreement.
After a short of time, he sighed quietly and muttered, “Fuck this.” He held out the pack in offering. “We’re going to suffocate anyway, right? Might as well not deny ourselves last wishes.”
Yuki looked at the pack for a second, then nodded and slid a cigarette out.
Hm, good brand.
Neither of them had taken three drags before the elevator shuddered into movement again. They both stood up, and when the doors opened at the eighth floor, they both stepped out and headed in the same direction down the hall.
They ended up at doors right next to each other and hesitated. The other man saluted Yuki slightly with the cigarette, and Yuki nodded shortly. They both knocked, and twin balls of brat threw open the doors and bowled into them.
Seregil and Jaime Lannister, for moonfoot_gamgee (and woodfall :) (665 words):
(The other ones I'm kind of meh about, but I actually like this. :)
Jaime looked with open contempt at the slight, wiry man facing him and holding a thin blade that looked like it would snap if Jaime’s sword so much as looked at it threateningly.
“You think you have a chance against me with that little toy?”
The pretty boy smiled, a slow grin that lit up his face with mischief. “Now, I’ve always heard that it’s not the size of the blade, but how you wield it that counts.”
Jaime snorted. “I’ve always thought that the men who say that are fools compensating for something. Because in my experience, it’s both.”
The smaller man raised an eyebrow, grin still in place. “Whatever the case, talking doesn’t come in anywhere. Why don’t you demonstrate your unbeatable combination, if you’re that confident?”
Jaime’s lip curved in a snarl. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Same to you, friend.”
With that, the man rushed at Jaime, quick as a snake. Jaime, slightly in shock, had time to raise his broadsword but not swing it before his opponent nicked him on the arm and dodged away to stand just out of reach of the longer weapon.
Jaime narrowed his eyes. “A sneaky one, are we? But you can’t always have the element of surprise.” And he lunged at the spot where the other man stood, only to find it empty by the time he got there. He whirled around in time to parry a high blow, only to have his counter move swipe through air as the smaller man dodged again. The fight continued in a repetitive manner, with Jaime parrying and swinging, only to have his opponent somehow evade his every attack with lightning-fast movements. Jaime had thought he was quick, but he’d never fought someone as nimble as this devil.
“Coward!” he shouted in frustration after ten minutes of this humiliation. “Fight like a man! Or are you afraid?”
The other man only grinned, spun his sword in a circle once, and somehow dodged behind Jaime once again. This time, before Jaime could even pivot, he felt cold steel pressed against his throat. He froze.
“Not at all, Master Swordsman. The question is, are you?”
Jaime kept as still as possible, trying to control his panting, teeth clenched in anger.
“Bastard. Go ahead, finish it. I could never be afraid of a shit-eating pissant like you.”
“Would you agree now, that it is not, in fact, the size that counts?”
“What?” For once, Jaime was at a loss for words.
“Well, it seems that my puny blade has decidedly bested your advantages of length and weight. Clearly, one of us was more correct than the other. And I’m not naming names, but it’s definitely not the one with steel currently threatening a vital area of his anatomy.”
Jaime made a sound of derision through his teeth. “Think what you want, fancy boy, but in a real battle your head would have become indiscernible from your arse within three seconds.”
“That’s why I prefer to fight my own battles my own way.” And with a slight jolt of surprise, Jaime felt the blade removed from its dangerous position above his jugular. “I hope that the next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances. Please give this,” a sealed parchment was thrown over his shoulder to land on the ground, “to Princess Klia at the Royal Horse Guard, should you decide to seek a fight more to your taste.”
And with that, he disappeared into the surrounding trees.
Jaime stood for a moment, nonplussed, and stooped to pick up the parchment. Sheathing his sword, he broke the seal irreverently and read, with a snort of disbelief followed by a slow smirk of amazement,
“To Commander Klia a Idrilain of the Esteemed Royal Horse Guard of Skala,
The man or woman bearing this letter is officially recommended for the status of officer in the service of Her Majesty the Queen, on the recommendation of the respected Lord Seregil of Rhiminee…”
P.S. mjules, I got your card today! :D Thank you so much, it's lovely!
The conversations from the meme I posted a few days ago! Okay, so a couple of them are really more scenes than conversations, per se, but at least I wrote something in which there is talking. This is a big step for me. Cookie?
Sam Winchester and Cloud Strife, for woodfall (417 words):
“Dude, why don’t you just shoot him?”
“What?”
“Sephiroth, why doesn’t someone just blow him away instead of fighting him with a sword constantly when sword-fighting’s obviously what he’s best at?”
“We have guns. Do you think no one’s ever thought of that before?”
“And what, you’re telling me he can dodge bullets?”
“Yes.”
“…oh.”
Sam continued pouring rock salt into the bullet casing, anyway, because the guy was supposedly a spirit, and everything else seemed to work the same in this universe. (Except gravity. That was a little weird.) Couldn’t hurt, at least, especially since the closest thing to a sword he’d ever used had been a machete. Somehow, he didn’t think that would measure up to that long-ass blade he’d seen trying to hack Cloud into millions of tiny pieces.
Cloud had stopped asking about Sam’s inexplicable weapons and safety measures. Although Sam wasn’t sure that this was because Cloud had stopped caring, or because he’d run out of his word quota on the subject or something.
After a few more bullets were filled and sealed, Sam looked over at the blond man who was quietly whetting the edge of a ridiculously large sword.
“Hey Cloud, there’s something I’ve been confused about for awhile. You said that Aeris warned you about Sephiroth coming back, right?”
A nod.
“But I thought…I mean, isn’t Aeris…”
“Dead. Yes.”
“So…” Sam waited, but no explanation seemed forthcoming. “How…?”
“She spoke to me from the Lifestream.”
“The Lifestream?”
“Yes. The spirit energy that keeps the planet alive?”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
Cloud stopped the mechanical sweep of his arm down the bright blade and turned his head to stare at Sam.
“What? We probably don’t have it in my world.”
“Then how is your planet kept alive?”
“Well...some think it’s by a god or gods. Others think it’s just random chance.”
“Then where do your dead go?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do know there’s a hell, so I guess there must be a heaven?”
“Heaven?”
“Where all the good people go for eternity.”
“Oh." Cloud seemed to consider this. "Then maybe our worlds aren’t actually so different.”
Piercing blue eyes turned back to the sword. The whetting tool made a regular, metallic sound on the blade.
Sam stared at his bullets and salt for a couple of seconds.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
They worked in silence for several minutes.
“So, is that thing lighter than it looks, or what? Can I try it?”
Cloud looked up and raised one eyebrow.
“Okay, okay, never mind!”
Sirius Black and Tamaki Suoh, for ryuhime (183 words):
(This is the weirdest pair ever, just so you know. XD )
“Buraku-san, I don’t think you’re quite understanding your role in the Host Club.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re supposed to be the mysterious sexy-sexy foreigner type. But you’re not being very mysterious.”
“I thought the one with the glasses was the mysterious one? I thought foreigners were loud and flirty.”
“Well, you are loud and flirty, but…”
“But what?”
“You’re scaring the women, Buraku-san!”
“I’m what? I’m scaring them? They didn’t seem particularly scared yesterday at the British Tea Party cosplay.”
“But, you see, it’s just that…”
“I seem to be a pretty big success, I mean, a lot of girls have already designated me -“
“BUT THAT’S JUST IT! I’m supposed to be the loud and flirty one! You’re taking over my role!”
“…”
“I apologize, Buraku-san, that was rude. But do you think you could try from now on to be a little less loud and a little more…not flirty?”
“Sure, Suoh-san, if that’s what you want. But I was wondering…do you ever accept boys as patrons here? Because I think you in particular -“
“Less flirt, more mystery, Buraku-san!”
Sanzo and Yuki Eiri, for daisy_took24 (463 words):
Goddamn it. Broken elevators were one of the primary reasons that Yuki Eiri preferred to live on ground floors.
Broken elevators with other people in them were even worse, though at least the other blond man didn’t seem to want to chat about what bad luck they were having, or the business meeting that he was going to miss, or the fucking dog he had to feed…
Speaking of which…the brat was waiting for him in the apartment not one hundred feet from where the elevator was currently stuck. He shuddered just to imagine the whining and pouncing that would result from his being late.
Yuki glanced over at the other man again, who didn’t seem to be making any move to call for help.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose we should attempt to use the service telephone? We’ve been in here for fifteen minutes.”
The other man finally looked over at him, seeming to come out of some deep meditation. “Yes, please, use whatever means are available. I have a monkey waiting for me who’ll be unbearable if I don’t get out of here soon.”
Yuki snorted softly. “I know what you mean.” He opened the box that said “In case of emergency, call this number” and picked up the phone, only to find that it didn’t work.
“Unbelievable.” He sat back down on the opposite side of the tiny space from the other man and leaned his head back against the wall.
After another minute or two of silence, the man took out a pack of cigarettes, paused, then looked over at Yuki, who grunted in shared pain.
“I suppose we’d probably suffocate in this tiny room, wouldn’t we?” the man asked.
“You know, I’ve never thought about it before. I don’t know how well-ventilated they are,” Yuki replied, looking around for signs of incoming air.
“Huh. Slow suffocation. A popular form of torture in some cultures, incidentally.”
“And some occupations, I’ve found.”
The other man snorted in agreement.
After a short of time, he sighed quietly and muttered, “Fuck this.” He held out the pack in offering. “We’re going to suffocate anyway, right? Might as well not deny ourselves last wishes.”
Yuki looked at the pack for a second, then nodded and slid a cigarette out.
Hm, good brand.
Neither of them had taken three drags before the elevator shuddered into movement again. They both stood up, and when the doors opened at the eighth floor, they both stepped out and headed in the same direction down the hall.
They ended up at doors right next to each other and hesitated. The other man saluted Yuki slightly with the cigarette, and Yuki nodded shortly. They both knocked, and twin balls of brat threw open the doors and bowled into them.
Seregil and Jaime Lannister, for moonfoot_gamgee (and woodfall :) (665 words):
(The other ones I'm kind of meh about, but I actually like this. :)
Jaime looked with open contempt at the slight, wiry man facing him and holding a thin blade that looked like it would snap if Jaime’s sword so much as looked at it threateningly.
“You think you have a chance against me with that little toy?”
The pretty boy smiled, a slow grin that lit up his face with mischief. “Now, I’ve always heard that it’s not the size of the blade, but how you wield it that counts.”
Jaime snorted. “I’ve always thought that the men who say that are fools compensating for something. Because in my experience, it’s both.”
The smaller man raised an eyebrow, grin still in place. “Whatever the case, talking doesn’t come in anywhere. Why don’t you demonstrate your unbeatable combination, if you’re that confident?”
Jaime’s lip curved in a snarl. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Same to you, friend.”
With that, the man rushed at Jaime, quick as a snake. Jaime, slightly in shock, had time to raise his broadsword but not swing it before his opponent nicked him on the arm and dodged away to stand just out of reach of the longer weapon.
Jaime narrowed his eyes. “A sneaky one, are we? But you can’t always have the element of surprise.” And he lunged at the spot where the other man stood, only to find it empty by the time he got there. He whirled around in time to parry a high blow, only to have his counter move swipe through air as the smaller man dodged again. The fight continued in a repetitive manner, with Jaime parrying and swinging, only to have his opponent somehow evade his every attack with lightning-fast movements. Jaime had thought he was quick, but he’d never fought someone as nimble as this devil.
“Coward!” he shouted in frustration after ten minutes of this humiliation. “Fight like a man! Or are you afraid?”
The other man only grinned, spun his sword in a circle once, and somehow dodged behind Jaime once again. This time, before Jaime could even pivot, he felt cold steel pressed against his throat. He froze.
“Not at all, Master Swordsman. The question is, are you?”
Jaime kept as still as possible, trying to control his panting, teeth clenched in anger.
“Bastard. Go ahead, finish it. I could never be afraid of a shit-eating pissant like you.”
“Would you agree now, that it is not, in fact, the size that counts?”
“What?” For once, Jaime was at a loss for words.
“Well, it seems that my puny blade has decidedly bested your advantages of length and weight. Clearly, one of us was more correct than the other. And I’m not naming names, but it’s definitely not the one with steel currently threatening a vital area of his anatomy.”
Jaime made a sound of derision through his teeth. “Think what you want, fancy boy, but in a real battle your head would have become indiscernible from your arse within three seconds.”
“That’s why I prefer to fight my own battles my own way.” And with a slight jolt of surprise, Jaime felt the blade removed from its dangerous position above his jugular. “I hope that the next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances. Please give this,” a sealed parchment was thrown over his shoulder to land on the ground, “to Princess Klia at the Royal Horse Guard, should you decide to seek a fight more to your taste.”
And with that, he disappeared into the surrounding trees.
Jaime stood for a moment, nonplussed, and stooped to pick up the parchment. Sheathing his sword, he broke the seal irreverently and read, with a snort of disbelief followed by a slow smirk of amazement,
“To Commander Klia a Idrilain of the Esteemed Royal Horse Guard of Skala,
The man or woman bearing this letter is officially recommended for the status of officer in the service of Her Majesty the Queen, on the recommendation of the respected Lord Seregil of Rhiminee…”
P.S. mjules, I got your card today! :D Thank you so much, it's lovely!