(no subject)
So my first class was cancelled . . . after I stayed up all night reading fanfic and procrastinating the assignment for it (which I finished . . . but yeah, it was an article I'd already done to death and it was hard to motivate myself to work on it).
But . . . instead of sleeping (which I probably should have done, the top floor of the building my classes are in has comfortable couches) I worked on my revised 100 themes. Revised themes . . . which just means I'm trashing the few I did do (good exercises though) and starting them over. Still Eden and Satoru's universe (they're actually in some of the ones I did today). I decided to start over for two reasons really, one being with all the changes I was making I wanted to start fresh . . . the other being that with all the changes two of the drabbles were actually impossible in the plotline.
So anyway, I got the first five done while being bored waiting for classes.
Of course . . . there is implied homosexuality in these, but it's actually not that heavy . . . mostly because I don't think Satoru and Eden are actually together in any of these (though one I really did want to write as fluff, instead it ended up a bit Eden-emo).
(one more warning, these are barely edited and have not been beta'ed and were also written as a quick exercise, genius is not at all guaranteed)
Anyway . . . .
01 Introduction (Damien, Arman)
Damien squeezed through a small hole in the brick wall, sighing in relief as he collapsed on the other side. This time he was clear, until they finally figured out his escape route and made moves to cut it off. The boy figured he was safe for now, but he would need to move on soon. The problem was he was running out of small-time gangs to pick off of and the larger ones employed smarter guards.
He forced himself to relax for the moment, climbing to his feet to search for the hole he'd spend the night in. For now it was enough that he was safe and had procured enough food to last for a day or two. He'd go hungry for the next few days, but he should be able to find another suitable gang to filch from soon. He ignored the voice telling him that was overly-optimistic thinking.
After all, pessimism got you nowhere in the slums. If you thought you were defeated, you were as good as dead.
He ducked into the first building which seemed suitably deserted. It was crumbling on the outside, but that was just a symptom of the decay that characterized the slums in general. His shelter did not have to be pretty, just somewhere he could stay protected for the night. Overexposure was an uncommonly kind death for those who tried to sleep on the streets and he had drug himself too far to die now.
Not without a fight, at least. And not by being stupid.
He ate his supper cold. Even if the building he was resting in might have had a stove or microwave he did not trust them to work reliably. Of all things he did not need the attention starting a fire would bring. Especially since he was not quite sure which gang's territory he was currently trespassing in. None of them ever took property damage lightly, though. Even if it was mostly just an excuse to exercise their power and instill more fear into those who lived in their territories. It worked like a charm, and that was all that really mattered. On the streets it was black and white, life and death, hunt or be hunted, kill or be killed. He had made a choice to survive.
When sleep finally came upon him he slept lightly, jumping at the slightest noise. The first time he jerked awake it had started to rain. He had breathed deeply for a few moments to calm himself before letting the new rhythm lull him to sleep. The second time he awoke was to the click of a cigarette lighter. One of the old style ones, they were less efficient than modern ones but more showy. It clicked a few more times before there was a sufficient spark to start a flame.
Damien opened one eye, knowing that it was already too late to run and hide. In front of him stood a relatively short man, even at thirteen Damien probably matched him in height easily. The man made up for his stature in bulk, though, tribal tattoos rippling as the muscles in his arms moved like clockwork. He studied Damien in silence, exhaling smoke and tapping his cigarette to dispel ash.
"Well, what have we got here?" the man smiled ambiguously; Damien was uncomfortable because he could not read the expression.
He chose to stay silent. That way there was less chance of offering the wrong answer.
"You look like a fallen, kid," the man exhaled again. "Am I right? Even dirty and ragged those clothes are too good for the streets."
"The-They're all I have," Damien managed to rise to his feet, knowing that it was better to show backbone than to cower. At least then the man might be amused enough to let him go. He brushed his ragged, brown hair back, prepared to draw his pocket knife if all else failed. It would not get him far, but a surprise jab from it had allowed him to escape confrontation once before. Maybe his luck would hold.
The man just laughed at him, tapping his cigarette again with a lazy motion of his wrist. "So what's your story, kid?"
"The usual," he replied cautiously, not lowering his guard. "What's yours?"
"The usual," the man countered with a smirk. He crushed his cigarette under his foot, holding a hand out to the boy. "Come."
"Why should I?" Damien stepped back defensively.
"'Cause this is the only chance you'll likely get to join a gang, boy," the man eyed Damien's thin frame. "And something tells me you won't last much longer going solo."
He hesitated, instincts and logic both telling him to run away. If it was a trick, he finally decided, he may as well face death sooner or later. It would probably be less painful than starving. And there was also the small chance that it was not. He understood that small chance was really the only chance he had. Damien took the man's hand, placing what little bit of trust he could in the stranger.
Years later, he would think back on this moment and curse the day he ever met Arman Dusan. Multiple times even. But he never once regretted it.
02 Love (Toshiya)
Love was a rich man's dream. No, he amended, it was a foolish man's. How often rich and foolish seemed to coincide was merely ironic.
He stared at himself in the mirror, letting his hair down slowly. He watched as his makeup was washed away, leaving a plain man in its wake. His sisters said he was pretty, but he was not inclined to agree. His "targets" said he was pretty too, but they only saw the makeup mask and he knew he was not inclined to agree with them.
The kimono fell away from his shoulders easily, he stepped foward, letting the silk slide to the floor. He would take proper care of it later. Toshiya slid into a pair of pants, cotton a refreshing sensation on his skin after silk and dirty fingertips. He made himself a cup of coffee and pondered how he had let things get this way. Water would never make him feel clean again.
Oh, yes. It was hate, the bastard twin of the foolish dream of love. Hate was an excellent motivator and a dangerous weapon when tempered with patience. He was good at what he did because of it: seduction, assassination, espionage.
Sometimes he wondered if his family would be ashamed of him, if they mourned his loss the way they did his older brother's--the brother he still kept tabs on. Or if they even noticed. He would not meet his older brother, both had too much shame they carried now and the reunion would not be pleasant. But he could help to pull the strings from the background. Maybe one day they might both find their shame purged. He doubted it.
This was all his love could do.
03 Light (Satoru, Eden)
Eden was mesmerized. It was one thing to understand the idea of a pyrokinetic, quite another to watch one in practice. It had taken weeks of pleading, and enlisting the help of the kids in the orphanage, but it was worth it. As much as he enjoyed watching Satoru play with fire, the Asian enjoyed it even more. Satoru almost looked at peace as he let the flames wash over his body, certainly his expression was one Eden had never seen before. Despite it all he could not help but be a little jealous.
He pushed his feelings back as best as a nineteen year old boy could do, enjoying the light show as Satoru twisted his element into fantastic shapes. From fireflies to serpents, to obscure fluid shapes--Satoru made it all look effortless. It was obvious that he was at home with fire--loved it even--and that was what made Eden jealous.
He sighed and slipped away. Even this simple joy was becoming tainted. What was he to do with himself?
(No, the random soldier name was NOT inspired by my current video game obsession AT ALL :P)
04 Dark (Gabriel, Random Etherica Soldiers)
Grants was a jumpy man by nature, but the eerie silence and lack of light in the building had even his partner on edge. It was like the perfect setup for a horror movie. Proceeding slowly they drew their handguns, Grants clicked the safety off on his own. The last three buildings had been this way, and they had yet to come upon another living creature.
Not even a fly, or any other insect, was present in the stale air. That was almost as creepy as the rest of it in and of itself. Though Grants had always hated flies he would not mind if annoying buzzing were to break the silence now.
Grants shifted uneasily, "I'm just waiting for something to jump out of the shadows . . . ."
His partner was ever the voice of reason between the two. "Well, if you really think something's there you should be quieter, you'll give our location away."
Grants swallowed thickly, face going pale. His partner whacked him upside the head, stepping forward as Grants rubbed his head.
"Idiot! In this silence we'd hear footsteps long before anything got close."
He went to take a breath and found he could not. It was as if they had slipped into a vacuum and there was simply no air to breathe. The last thing he saw before suffocating was Grant's blue face and a white figure hovering above the ground.
That explained the lack of footsteps.
"Tch," Gabriel frowned. "Is this your best? I wonder . . . just what are you up to, Dusan?"
He did not bother with the bodies. After all, corpses were commonplace in Babylon.
"I wonder," his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he muttered to himself.
05 Seeking Solace (Satoru, Eden, Gabriel)
There was peace in the sword, or perhaps more aptly there was harmony. As the world blurred and shark about him until all that existed, all that mattered, was just himself and the blade. Gone was Etherica, gone was Babylon, gone were all of his problems and all of the stress. Swordplay was his mantra, indeed he often entered a trance state as he moved through basic kendo exercises. His movements became tighter and more precise, his body performing patterns that were progressively more and more complex as his speed increased.
As he neared the end he was like a whirlwind to his spectators; Satoru merely saw himself as an extension of the blade. His movements slowed as he worked through the routine in reverse, complex moving back to simple, tightly controlled maneuvers becoming loose.
Time was cyclic, the world moved in a pattern on far too grand a scale for human observation. History obeyed this rule too. Indeed, even bits of this principle were reflected in everyday routine.
Satoru breathed deeply as he moved off the practice mat. The pipe he had appropriated to stand in for a practice sword was carefully placed to the side. Next he began the familiar routines of the martial arts he had learned from the age of thirteen, an old age for a novice, but he had worked hard to quickly match his peers.
Gabriel watched all of this impassively, "That is something else."
"Oh?" Eden took his gaze off of Satoru to eye his guardian curiously. He smirked, "Is that approval I hear?"
"I merely said that he is something else," Gabriel's tone was neutral. "Whether it be insanity or stubbornness, he is a force to be reckoned with."
"Aaaaaaand?" Eden drawled the single syllable out. "You approve of him?"
"I acknowledge that he could be a threat."
Eden pouted, "You need to work on your trust issues. Not to mention your compliments."
"And you," Gabriel countered, "need to work on your naivety."
Eden decided to ignore Gabriel's comment. Besides, Satoru had now removed his shirt. He went back to his spying happily.
But . . . instead of sleeping (which I probably should have done, the top floor of the building my classes are in has comfortable couches) I worked on my revised 100 themes. Revised themes . . . which just means I'm trashing the few I did do (good exercises though) and starting them over. Still Eden and Satoru's universe (they're actually in some of the ones I did today). I decided to start over for two reasons really, one being with all the changes I was making I wanted to start fresh . . . the other being that with all the changes two of the drabbles were actually impossible in the plotline.
So anyway, I got the first five done while being bored waiting for classes.
Of course . . . there is implied homosexuality in these, but it's actually not that heavy . . . mostly because I don't think Satoru and Eden are actually together in any of these (though one I really did want to write as fluff, instead it ended up a bit Eden-emo).
(one more warning, these are barely edited and have not been beta'ed and were also written as a quick exercise, genius is not at all guaranteed)
Anyway . . . .
01 Introduction (Damien, Arman)
Damien squeezed through a small hole in the brick wall, sighing in relief as he collapsed on the other side. This time he was clear, until they finally figured out his escape route and made moves to cut it off. The boy figured he was safe for now, but he would need to move on soon. The problem was he was running out of small-time gangs to pick off of and the larger ones employed smarter guards.
He forced himself to relax for the moment, climbing to his feet to search for the hole he'd spend the night in. For now it was enough that he was safe and had procured enough food to last for a day or two. He'd go hungry for the next few days, but he should be able to find another suitable gang to filch from soon. He ignored the voice telling him that was overly-optimistic thinking.
After all, pessimism got you nowhere in the slums. If you thought you were defeated, you were as good as dead.
He ducked into the first building which seemed suitably deserted. It was crumbling on the outside, but that was just a symptom of the decay that characterized the slums in general. His shelter did not have to be pretty, just somewhere he could stay protected for the night. Overexposure was an uncommonly kind death for those who tried to sleep on the streets and he had drug himself too far to die now.
Not without a fight, at least. And not by being stupid.
He ate his supper cold. Even if the building he was resting in might have had a stove or microwave he did not trust them to work reliably. Of all things he did not need the attention starting a fire would bring. Especially since he was not quite sure which gang's territory he was currently trespassing in. None of them ever took property damage lightly, though. Even if it was mostly just an excuse to exercise their power and instill more fear into those who lived in their territories. It worked like a charm, and that was all that really mattered. On the streets it was black and white, life and death, hunt or be hunted, kill or be killed. He had made a choice to survive.
When sleep finally came upon him he slept lightly, jumping at the slightest noise. The first time he jerked awake it had started to rain. He had breathed deeply for a few moments to calm himself before letting the new rhythm lull him to sleep. The second time he awoke was to the click of a cigarette lighter. One of the old style ones, they were less efficient than modern ones but more showy. It clicked a few more times before there was a sufficient spark to start a flame.
Damien opened one eye, knowing that it was already too late to run and hide. In front of him stood a relatively short man, even at thirteen Damien probably matched him in height easily. The man made up for his stature in bulk, though, tribal tattoos rippling as the muscles in his arms moved like clockwork. He studied Damien in silence, exhaling smoke and tapping his cigarette to dispel ash.
"Well, what have we got here?" the man smiled ambiguously; Damien was uncomfortable because he could not read the expression.
He chose to stay silent. That way there was less chance of offering the wrong answer.
"You look like a fallen, kid," the man exhaled again. "Am I right? Even dirty and ragged those clothes are too good for the streets."
"The-They're all I have," Damien managed to rise to his feet, knowing that it was better to show backbone than to cower. At least then the man might be amused enough to let him go. He brushed his ragged, brown hair back, prepared to draw his pocket knife if all else failed. It would not get him far, but a surprise jab from it had allowed him to escape confrontation once before. Maybe his luck would hold.
The man just laughed at him, tapping his cigarette again with a lazy motion of his wrist. "So what's your story, kid?"
"The usual," he replied cautiously, not lowering his guard. "What's yours?"
"The usual," the man countered with a smirk. He crushed his cigarette under his foot, holding a hand out to the boy. "Come."
"Why should I?" Damien stepped back defensively.
"'Cause this is the only chance you'll likely get to join a gang, boy," the man eyed Damien's thin frame. "And something tells me you won't last much longer going solo."
He hesitated, instincts and logic both telling him to run away. If it was a trick, he finally decided, he may as well face death sooner or later. It would probably be less painful than starving. And there was also the small chance that it was not. He understood that small chance was really the only chance he had. Damien took the man's hand, placing what little bit of trust he could in the stranger.
Years later, he would think back on this moment and curse the day he ever met Arman Dusan. Multiple times even. But he never once regretted it.
02 Love (Toshiya)
Love was a rich man's dream. No, he amended, it was a foolish man's. How often rich and foolish seemed to coincide was merely ironic.
He stared at himself in the mirror, letting his hair down slowly. He watched as his makeup was washed away, leaving a plain man in its wake. His sisters said he was pretty, but he was not inclined to agree. His "targets" said he was pretty too, but they only saw the makeup mask and he knew he was not inclined to agree with them.
The kimono fell away from his shoulders easily, he stepped foward, letting the silk slide to the floor. He would take proper care of it later. Toshiya slid into a pair of pants, cotton a refreshing sensation on his skin after silk and dirty fingertips. He made himself a cup of coffee and pondered how he had let things get this way. Water would never make him feel clean again.
Oh, yes. It was hate, the bastard twin of the foolish dream of love. Hate was an excellent motivator and a dangerous weapon when tempered with patience. He was good at what he did because of it: seduction, assassination, espionage.
Sometimes he wondered if his family would be ashamed of him, if they mourned his loss the way they did his older brother's--the brother he still kept tabs on. Or if they even noticed. He would not meet his older brother, both had too much shame they carried now and the reunion would not be pleasant. But he could help to pull the strings from the background. Maybe one day they might both find their shame purged. He doubted it.
This was all his love could do.
03 Light (Satoru, Eden)
Eden was mesmerized. It was one thing to understand the idea of a pyrokinetic, quite another to watch one in practice. It had taken weeks of pleading, and enlisting the help of the kids in the orphanage, but it was worth it. As much as he enjoyed watching Satoru play with fire, the Asian enjoyed it even more. Satoru almost looked at peace as he let the flames wash over his body, certainly his expression was one Eden had never seen before. Despite it all he could not help but be a little jealous.
He pushed his feelings back as best as a nineteen year old boy could do, enjoying the light show as Satoru twisted his element into fantastic shapes. From fireflies to serpents, to obscure fluid shapes--Satoru made it all look effortless. It was obvious that he was at home with fire--loved it even--and that was what made Eden jealous.
He sighed and slipped away. Even this simple joy was becoming tainted. What was he to do with himself?
(No, the random soldier name was NOT inspired by my current video game obsession AT ALL :P)
04 Dark (Gabriel, Random Etherica Soldiers)
Grants was a jumpy man by nature, but the eerie silence and lack of light in the building had even his partner on edge. It was like the perfect setup for a horror movie. Proceeding slowly they drew their handguns, Grants clicked the safety off on his own. The last three buildings had been this way, and they had yet to come upon another living creature.
Not even a fly, or any other insect, was present in the stale air. That was almost as creepy as the rest of it in and of itself. Though Grants had always hated flies he would not mind if annoying buzzing were to break the silence now.
Grants shifted uneasily, "I'm just waiting for something to jump out of the shadows . . . ."
His partner was ever the voice of reason between the two. "Well, if you really think something's there you should be quieter, you'll give our location away."
Grants swallowed thickly, face going pale. His partner whacked him upside the head, stepping forward as Grants rubbed his head.
"Idiot! In this silence we'd hear footsteps long before anything got close."
He went to take a breath and found he could not. It was as if they had slipped into a vacuum and there was simply no air to breathe. The last thing he saw before suffocating was Grant's blue face and a white figure hovering above the ground.
That explained the lack of footsteps.
"Tch," Gabriel frowned. "Is this your best? I wonder . . . just what are you up to, Dusan?"
He did not bother with the bodies. After all, corpses were commonplace in Babylon.
"I wonder," his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he muttered to himself.
05 Seeking Solace (Satoru, Eden, Gabriel)
There was peace in the sword, or perhaps more aptly there was harmony. As the world blurred and shark about him until all that existed, all that mattered, was just himself and the blade. Gone was Etherica, gone was Babylon, gone were all of his problems and all of the stress. Swordplay was his mantra, indeed he often entered a trance state as he moved through basic kendo exercises. His movements became tighter and more precise, his body performing patterns that were progressively more and more complex as his speed increased.
As he neared the end he was like a whirlwind to his spectators; Satoru merely saw himself as an extension of the blade. His movements slowed as he worked through the routine in reverse, complex moving back to simple, tightly controlled maneuvers becoming loose.
Time was cyclic, the world moved in a pattern on far too grand a scale for human observation. History obeyed this rule too. Indeed, even bits of this principle were reflected in everyday routine.
Satoru breathed deeply as he moved off the practice mat. The pipe he had appropriated to stand in for a practice sword was carefully placed to the side. Next he began the familiar routines of the martial arts he had learned from the age of thirteen, an old age for a novice, but he had worked hard to quickly match his peers.
Gabriel watched all of this impassively, "That is something else."
"Oh?" Eden took his gaze off of Satoru to eye his guardian curiously. He smirked, "Is that approval I hear?"
"I merely said that he is something else," Gabriel's tone was neutral. "Whether it be insanity or stubbornness, he is a force to be reckoned with."
"Aaaaaaand?" Eden drawled the single syllable out. "You approve of him?"
"I acknowledge that he could be a threat."
Eden pouted, "You need to work on your trust issues. Not to mention your compliments."
"And you," Gabriel countered, "need to work on your naivety."
Eden decided to ignore Gabriel's comment. Besides, Satoru had now removed his shirt. He went back to his spying happily.