Drabbles: Jeremiah
Written for stories_100.
Title: Snow Job
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: 61. Winter
Words: 100
For the third time in as many minutes, the truck slid toward the embankment, forcing Kurdy to wrestle the steering wheel or risk running off the road.
"I hate this shit!" he growled. "It's cold, it's wet--" The wheels crunched over a clump of ice, tossing the occupants around the truck cab like peas. "And it's a pain in my ass!" Kurdy glowered at Smith. "If you're so tight with God, ask Him why He made this shit."
Mister Smith looked out the frosted windshield at the snow-covered forest with an almost childlike expression of wonder. "Because it's beautiful."
Title: Frigid
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Challenge: 19. White
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 100
Mister Smith tripped over the fallen tree limb and tumbled forward. A beefy hand, stark brown contrast against the glittering white drifts, caught the hood of his jacket and hauled him back onto his feet.
"Thanks."
Kurdy gave a curt nod. "It's not so fucking beautiful now, is it, Messenger Boy?"
Up to his ankles in frozen precipitation and shrouded by swirling eddies falling steadily from a slate gray sky, Mister Smith considered the question as if it had been genuinely meant and not sarcastically rhetorical.
"It is, actually," he decided then shivered. "But you're right, too. It's fucking cold."
Title: Respite
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Challenge: 06. Weeks
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 100
Although a blizzard raged outside, the village meeting hall was surprisingly festive. Warm, delicious aromas filled the room from covered dishes and plates of food contributed by the townsfolk. More than a respite from the storm, it was becoming a social event.
Kurdy glowered at the swirling snow beyond the window. "We'll be here for days."
"A week," replied Mister Smith, a steaming mug cupped between his hands.
"What's that?"
"Cider."
"Smells good."
Smith offered the mug. "Things could be worse. We could still be out there."
"Things can always be worse." Kurdy took the cider. "But not this time."
Title: Snow Job
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Rating: PG (language)
Challenge: 61. Winter
Words: 100
For the third time in as many minutes, the truck slid toward the embankment, forcing Kurdy to wrestle the steering wheel or risk running off the road.
"I hate this shit!" he growled. "It's cold, it's wet--" The wheels crunched over a clump of ice, tossing the occupants around the truck cab like peas. "And it's a pain in my ass!" Kurdy glowered at Smith. "If you're so tight with God, ask Him why He made this shit."
Mister Smith looked out the frosted windshield at the snow-covered forest with an almost childlike expression of wonder. "Because it's beautiful."
Title: Frigid
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Challenge: 19. White
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 100
Mister Smith tripped over the fallen tree limb and tumbled forward. A beefy hand, stark brown contrast against the glittering white drifts, caught the hood of his jacket and hauled him back onto his feet.
"Thanks."
Kurdy gave a curt nod. "It's not so fucking beautiful now, is it, Messenger Boy?"
Up to his ankles in frozen precipitation and shrouded by swirling eddies falling steadily from a slate gray sky, Mister Smith considered the question as if it had been genuinely meant and not sarcastically rhetorical.
"It is, actually," he decided then shivered. "But you're right, too. It's fucking cold."
Title: Respite
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: Jeremiah
Character: Mister Smith, Kurdy
Challenge: 06. Weeks
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 100
Although a blizzard raged outside, the village meeting hall was surprisingly festive. Warm, delicious aromas filled the room from covered dishes and plates of food contributed by the townsfolk. More than a respite from the storm, it was becoming a social event.
Kurdy glowered at the swirling snow beyond the window. "We'll be here for days."
"A week," replied Mister Smith, a steaming mug cupped between his hands.
"What's that?"
"Cider."
"Smells good."
Smith offered the mug. "Things could be worse. We could still be out there."
"Things can always be worse." Kurdy took the cider. "But not this time."