Drabbles: A Plot Begins; Inexcusable; Firsts
Drabble: A Plot Begins
G; Ulki/Janaff;
Author's Notes: Here we go- a series of drabbles, unrelated. No specific word count for the last one, but the first two are 150 on the dot. ^_^
=====
A Plot Begins
=====
At the first inklings of the notion, Janaff feels a grin that must be unabashedly wicked begin to form across his face.
It’s not an expression that he can stop- and, truth be told, the hawk doesn’t much feel like trying. He rather enjoys the vaguely unsettled glances that his companion keeps turning his way.
“Try to remember,” Ulki prods him, as soon as their king is out of earshot, “that we’re supposed to look professional.”
A dismissive snort. “Who cares what the crows think, anyway?”
That dark-eyed stare is pointed.
Janaff makes a show of huffing a sigh- waits a careful moment to make the next question sound unrelated. Then: “Do you think they’ll give us close quarters, while we’re in Kilvas?”
The answer comes slowly. “I’m not sure.” Ulki’s expression states clearly that he doesn’t trust the impish grin on his partner’s face. “Why?”
Janaff doesn’t blame him.
-end-
=====
Drabble: Inexcusable
G; Gatrie/Shinon;
=====
It is past midnight when Shinon forces his way into the room, and he is out of breath. He’s only just returned from a job- only just found out- and has run the whole way.
He struggles not to show it.
“You’ve done some idiotic things,” the sniper accuses, shutting the door ungently behind him. “But this goes above and beyond.”
Gatrie is awake in bed, eyes bright with fever. “I know.”
“You know.” The glare is hard and sharp like metal. “We have a staff user, you moron. Two words is all it would have taken.”
“I didn’t think it’d get infected,” the blonde man answers, sheepish.
There is a foreboding silence.
“If there’s a next time,” Shinon promises, “you’re going to have to worry about a lot more than the after-effects of a wound gone bad.”
It is a good thing for Gatrie that the smile goes unnoticed.
-end-
=====
Drabble: Firsts
PG; Ike/Soren; Spoilers, Angst;
=====
Soren watches as they pass the little alleyway, dusky red eyes half-lidded, and counts their footfalls.
None of them slow, but the child has long since stopped expecting them to; it would be strange, now, if the steady strides were to falter.
The whole world is tilted sideways, and from where he lies the boy can feel the cool press of dirt on the side of his face. Dimly, he is aware that this should frighten him- that he should be alarmed that he lacks the strength to sit up again- but the child is hungry, and he wants very badly to sleep, and somehow he cannot find the energy to care.
When the voice speaks for the first time, it comes as a surprise to him. Because the sound is soft, but Soren can hear it well enough; almost, he is inclined to believe that the speaker is beside him.
He does not turn to look.
Because the man must be speaking to another, and their conversation has been overheard; that is all. They will pass soon, and Soren will realize the mistake for what it is. Words so kind cannot be meant for him.
But large hands are on him, then- are lifting as though he weighs nothing at all, bearing him up and away from the cool of the dirt. The touch is unexpectedly careful, but he makes a quiet sound of alarm all the same; it has been far too long since the child has been held, and he certainly has no reason to expect the contact to be gentle.
The reassurance, when it comes, is not gained through the man’s words, nor in the concern that shows on his face.
It is offered by the boy that trails along beside his father- in the warmth of fingers not much larger than his own, as they slip carefully up to hold his hand.
-end-
G; Ulki/Janaff;
Author's Notes: Here we go- a series of drabbles, unrelated. No specific word count for the last one, but the first two are 150 on the dot. ^_^
=====
A Plot Begins
=====
At the first inklings of the notion, Janaff feels a grin that must be unabashedly wicked begin to form across his face.
It’s not an expression that he can stop- and, truth be told, the hawk doesn’t much feel like trying. He rather enjoys the vaguely unsettled glances that his companion keeps turning his way.
“Try to remember,” Ulki prods him, as soon as their king is out of earshot, “that we’re supposed to look professional.”
A dismissive snort. “Who cares what the crows think, anyway?”
That dark-eyed stare is pointed.
Janaff makes a show of huffing a sigh- waits a careful moment to make the next question sound unrelated. Then: “Do you think they’ll give us close quarters, while we’re in Kilvas?”
The answer comes slowly. “I’m not sure.” Ulki’s expression states clearly that he doesn’t trust the impish grin on his partner’s face. “Why?”
Janaff doesn’t blame him.
-end-
=====
Drabble: Inexcusable
G; Gatrie/Shinon;
=====
It is past midnight when Shinon forces his way into the room, and he is out of breath. He’s only just returned from a job- only just found out- and has run the whole way.
He struggles not to show it.
“You’ve done some idiotic things,” the sniper accuses, shutting the door ungently behind him. “But this goes above and beyond.”
Gatrie is awake in bed, eyes bright with fever. “I know.”
“You know.” The glare is hard and sharp like metal. “We have a staff user, you moron. Two words is all it would have taken.”
“I didn’t think it’d get infected,” the blonde man answers, sheepish.
There is a foreboding silence.
“If there’s a next time,” Shinon promises, “you’re going to have to worry about a lot more than the after-effects of a wound gone bad.”
It is a good thing for Gatrie that the smile goes unnoticed.
-end-
=====
Drabble: Firsts
PG; Ike/Soren; Spoilers, Angst;
=====
Soren watches as they pass the little alleyway, dusky red eyes half-lidded, and counts their footfalls.
None of them slow, but the child has long since stopped expecting them to; it would be strange, now, if the steady strides were to falter.
The whole world is tilted sideways, and from where he lies the boy can feel the cool press of dirt on the side of his face. Dimly, he is aware that this should frighten him- that he should be alarmed that he lacks the strength to sit up again- but the child is hungry, and he wants very badly to sleep, and somehow he cannot find the energy to care.
When the voice speaks for the first time, it comes as a surprise to him. Because the sound is soft, but Soren can hear it well enough; almost, he is inclined to believe that the speaker is beside him.
He does not turn to look.
Because the man must be speaking to another, and their conversation has been overheard; that is all. They will pass soon, and Soren will realize the mistake for what it is. Words so kind cannot be meant for him.
But large hands are on him, then- are lifting as though he weighs nothing at all, bearing him up and away from the cool of the dirt. The touch is unexpectedly careful, but he makes a quiet sound of alarm all the same; it has been far too long since the child has been held, and he certainly has no reason to expect the contact to be gentle.
The reassurance, when it comes, is not gained through the man’s words, nor in the concern that shows on his face.
It is offered by the boy that trails along beside his father- in the warmth of fingers not much larger than his own, as they slip carefully up to hold his hand.
-end-