Bound (a fic snippet)
I had some writer's block while I was trying to hash out Bandom H/C, so egelantier challenged me to write something, anything, in 50 minutes. This is what came out - something from a universe that's lived inside my head for a while. 511, unbeta'd, words set in a world I hope to write more about later. This might make more sense if you read this, but I recommend reading the fic snippet first.
Bound (A Fic Snippet)
Everywhere Ryan goes, he sees red. It’s not something he thinks about because that’s how it’s always been.
One of his first memories, and one of his last of his mother, is of asking, “What’s all the string for? And how come all the peoples they never trip over it, Mama?”
Her look of askance at that stills flashes through his mind every time he does this.
His slightly tattered tartan scarf wrapped tight round his neck, he snatches the lady's purse in plain sight of the man. Then, he runs, but not too fast.
Just as Ryan planned, the man gives chase and Ryan turns around, still slowly jogging backwards. He pastes a scared expression on his face and drops the purse. He shouts back at the man, "I'm sorry! Sorry! Here take it back."
The man hesitates, looks like he might start a quarrel, but he crouches low and takes the purse anyway. He's a small guy, almost as thin as Ryan and not quite as tall, but he scowls fiercely at Ryan and threatens, "You better run fast, kid." His tone is cold.
Ryan runs and fast, stumbling slighty, but he doesn't try and get away. He doesn't leave the park. Instead turns in a circuit back toward the benches where his marks should be. He hides behind some trees and waits - this is his favorite part.
Ryan didn't notice them at first, and it still surprises him. He's always looking for the other end of everyone's string. His friends make jokes about his foot fetish and how he just can't meet somebody without looking down. It's not that, though, it's their ankles. It's their ankles and the strings. The strings that Ryan figured out some time ago that only he could see.
And these two - Joe, he thinks the man's name is, and Marie - they surprised him. Everyday on his walk to work, to the library, he passes them and it took him months - months - to notice they were entangled, bound. He's usually better at spotting it. It shouldn't have been that hard to notice, really - Ryan practically watched a slow, shy courtship in motion every morning. It wasn't going anywhere though because the man, Joe, he just couldn't see and he probably didn't believe. Ryan knows, though. He knows they're fated.
"Oh um, hi, I got this back for you," Joe stumblingly says as he offers the purse in question back to her. He continues, "That kid just dropped it when I ran after him. That chickenshit. Oh, language. Damn, I'm sorry," and he winces, "Sorry!"
His cheeks are flush and his bottom lip between his teeth, but Marie's just smiling shyly as she whisperingly says, "My hero."
Ryan doesn't stay to hear the rest. If this doesn't end with wedding bells, or at least a first date, he doesn't know what will. He wipes off the smudged eyeliner he'd put on his cheeks as disguise. He'll return the badly patched-up coat to the old man who stays at the corner of the library later.
Comment at the reflected post in my fanworks journal.
Bound (A Fic Snippet)
Everywhere Ryan goes, he sees red. It’s not something he thinks about because that’s how it’s always been.
One of his first memories, and one of his last of his mother, is of asking, “What’s all the string for? And how come all the peoples they never trip over it, Mama?”
Her look of askance at that stills flashes through his mind every time he does this.
His slightly tattered tartan scarf wrapped tight round his neck, he snatches the lady's purse in plain sight of the man. Then, he runs, but not too fast.
Just as Ryan planned, the man gives chase and Ryan turns around, still slowly jogging backwards. He pastes a scared expression on his face and drops the purse. He shouts back at the man, "I'm sorry! Sorry! Here take it back."
The man hesitates, looks like he might start a quarrel, but he crouches low and takes the purse anyway. He's a small guy, almost as thin as Ryan and not quite as tall, but he scowls fiercely at Ryan and threatens, "You better run fast, kid." His tone is cold.
Ryan runs and fast, stumbling slighty, but he doesn't try and get away. He doesn't leave the park. Instead turns in a circuit back toward the benches where his marks should be. He hides behind some trees and waits - this is his favorite part.
Ryan didn't notice them at first, and it still surprises him. He's always looking for the other end of everyone's string. His friends make jokes about his foot fetish and how he just can't meet somebody without looking down. It's not that, though, it's their ankles. It's their ankles and the strings. The strings that Ryan figured out some time ago that only he could see.
And these two - Joe, he thinks the man's name is, and Marie - they surprised him. Everyday on his walk to work, to the library, he passes them and it took him months - months - to notice they were entangled, bound. He's usually better at spotting it. It shouldn't have been that hard to notice, really - Ryan practically watched a slow, shy courtship in motion every morning. It wasn't going anywhere though because the man, Joe, he just couldn't see and he probably didn't believe. Ryan knows, though. He knows they're fated.
"Oh um, hi, I got this back for you," Joe stumblingly says as he offers the purse in question back to her. He continues, "That kid just dropped it when I ran after him. That chickenshit. Oh, language. Damn, I'm sorry," and he winces, "Sorry!"
His cheeks are flush and his bottom lip between his teeth, but Marie's just smiling shyly as she whisperingly says, "My hero."
Ryan doesn't stay to hear the rest. If this doesn't end with wedding bells, or at least a first date, he doesn't know what will. He wipes off the smudged eyeliner he'd put on his cheeks as disguise. He'll return the badly patched-up coat to the old man who stays at the corner of the library later.
Comment at the reflected post in my fanworks journal.