'Tis crackdrabble night!
("Drabble" meaning 'something very short' :P) We'll see how many I get through.
Bribery for the piig!
Ellis is a habitat.
1)
"Yarr!"
The pirate was dressed in a flowing white shirt so old as to be nearly translucent. A wealth of luxuriant auburn chest hair curled through the deep v at the front, through which a few links of his gold chains shone. He was currently attempting to extricate himself from Ellis's pocket.
"The shit?"
Ellis grabbed the back of the shirt in a thumb-and-two-finger pinch and hoisted the pirate, dangled him in front of a category-three sneer. The pirate hiccoughed and kicked. He was four and three-quarter inches tall, and wore flop-rimmed leather boots.
"I'll shiver yer timbers!" he trebled. "I'll splice yer brace right t'the briny-- *ick-hic-hic*"
Ellis gave the pirate a little shake, like a scrawny tomkitten that has caught a leprechaun. He stuck his free hand into the relevant pocket and groped around, but his fingers poked through the hole in the bottom as usual. The pirate yelped and drew a cutlass, which he jabbed at Ellis's finger. Ellis dropped him.
It was a long way down, for a four-and-three-quarters-inch-high person.
Splat.
Ellis sniffed. Something was wrong with this batch and it was making his nose run. He squatted, wished for a stick to poke it with.
"Hey, jerk!" he yelled. Hu grunted at him from his position of the couch. Ellis said, "Come have a look," and snickered.
2)
Ellis's breath hitched, and his face closed like a fist. Hugo stopped talking--some blathering about a blonde--and crinkled his face, too. "What?" he said. Ellis waved his arms, nearly hitting Hu's nose. He shook his head, scrubbed the back of one wrist against his nose, and said, "Bloody cunting hell!" in a strangled voice.
Hugo wavered between patting Ellis's shoulder in concern and shoving him away, so he did nothing. Ellis let out a sharp breath and shook his head until the lank tendrils of his greasy hair flapped. His face scrunched up even more, and he bared his teeth.
"Ellis, seriously," Hugo said. Ellis drew a hitching breath, held it, and sneezed violently at Hugo. A shower of pink glitter flew out of Ellis's nostrils and sprayed Hugo, clinging to his black t-shirt. Hugo leapt back in horror and began swatting at himself. Ellis took one look at his face and let out a bray of laughter. Hugo said, "Ellis, you freak!"
It didn't happen again, but Ellis kept trying.
Lora bribes!
1)
It began with a single freckle, as these things often did. Randal noticed first, to Trevor's eternal grief.
Randal jabbed an over-long fingernail against Trevor's cheek and leaned in close to peer at the spot. Trevor went still, breathing quick and shallow like something trapped. Oh god, his cologne. Randal's brow was crinkled; he said, "There's a green spot!"
He needed three tries before he could get enough breath to speak. "Um. What?"
Randal tapped his fingertip against Trevor's cheek. "A green spot." He scratched at it. "What is it, paint?"
Trevor wriggled away, rubbed his palm agains the spot. As soon as he could, he went to the washroom to check. Sure enough, one of the freckles on his left cheekbone, just at the edge of his eye-socket, was green. Vivid emerald green. Washing (with soap and without) didn't help. Nor did scrubbing with a paper towel, the sleeve of his shirt, nor hot or cold water.
Crap.
Trevor expected a nightmare. He expected all of his freckles, all over, to change to many colors, like confetti. He expected them all to turn green. He expected to turn green all over, the green midget. He expected to wake up with--
But nothing happened. The green freckle was gone the next day, never to return, though it was two months before Trevor stopped frantically checking his face in every reflective surface he passed. The teasing about his newfound vanity was unbearable., or would have been once.
Trevor found that things didn't seem quite so bad anymore. After all, none of his freckles were green; things could be worse, but they weren't. He might even have relaxed, just the tiniest bit.
2
The person was tiny, and delicate and girly, and smelled like a murdered field of flowers. Ellis stopped and leaned against the alley wall and scrubbed his palms against his eyes. He ought to be on his way down. He ought to be on his back, on the bottom, staring up through the sewage. He shouldn't be seeing--tiny people with eyes like green rocks. Tiny person.
"Hrumph?"
Ellis wasn't capable of proper vocalizations. Or couldn't be assed. The person wasn't either--rage that visible ought to hurt. Those hands were small and very white, but they looked comfortable on the hilts of two silver knives, one of which was pointed at Ellis's throat as the...person barked something at him. Something sharp and crisp, whateverthefuck language it was. Ellis gave as big a shrug as he could manage without falling over, and narrowed his eyes.
"Are you a boy or a girl?" he said. The person let out another barrage of sound, Ellis thought he-she-it might be swearing. He rested the side of his head against the wall. The stone was wet, though the fucking drizzle had finally stopped. The alley smelled noxious, a thick half-rotting smokey wet-stone smell, and all those shredded flowers. The wall was cool on his temple. "You really ought to decide. It'll make life easier, if people can tell. Wonder what set of--"
The person gave Ellis a look of utter disgust, haughty impatience combined with impatience. Stalked off in a whirl of knee-length white skirt. The hem had been messily torn away, and shreds of frail fabric dangled in places, a few threads. Ellis watched until the white dress was out of sight, face scrunched. Then he tipped his head back and tried to follow the curve of the gutter along the wall. Weird. He shoved away from the wall, managed to get his feet moving. The person in white, Ellis, they'd've forgotten each other in the morning.
Bribery for the piig!
Ellis is a habitat.
1)
"Yarr!"
The pirate was dressed in a flowing white shirt so old as to be nearly translucent. A wealth of luxuriant auburn chest hair curled through the deep v at the front, through which a few links of his gold chains shone. He was currently attempting to extricate himself from Ellis's pocket.
"The shit?"
Ellis grabbed the back of the shirt in a thumb-and-two-finger pinch and hoisted the pirate, dangled him in front of a category-three sneer. The pirate hiccoughed and kicked. He was four and three-quarter inches tall, and wore flop-rimmed leather boots.
"I'll shiver yer timbers!" he trebled. "I'll splice yer brace right t'the briny-- *ick-hic-hic*"
Ellis gave the pirate a little shake, like a scrawny tomkitten that has caught a leprechaun. He stuck his free hand into the relevant pocket and groped around, but his fingers poked through the hole in the bottom as usual. The pirate yelped and drew a cutlass, which he jabbed at Ellis's finger. Ellis dropped him.
It was a long way down, for a four-and-three-quarters-inch-high person.
Splat.
Ellis sniffed. Something was wrong with this batch and it was making his nose run. He squatted, wished for a stick to poke it with.
"Hey, jerk!" he yelled. Hu grunted at him from his position of the couch. Ellis said, "Come have a look," and snickered.
2)
Ellis's breath hitched, and his face closed like a fist. Hugo stopped talking--some blathering about a blonde--and crinkled his face, too. "What?" he said. Ellis waved his arms, nearly hitting Hu's nose. He shook his head, scrubbed the back of one wrist against his nose, and said, "Bloody cunting hell!" in a strangled voice.
Hugo wavered between patting Ellis's shoulder in concern and shoving him away, so he did nothing. Ellis let out a sharp breath and shook his head until the lank tendrils of his greasy hair flapped. His face scrunched up even more, and he bared his teeth.
"Ellis, seriously," Hugo said. Ellis drew a hitching breath, held it, and sneezed violently at Hugo. A shower of pink glitter flew out of Ellis's nostrils and sprayed Hugo, clinging to his black t-shirt. Hugo leapt back in horror and began swatting at himself. Ellis took one look at his face and let out a bray of laughter. Hugo said, "Ellis, you freak!"
It didn't happen again, but Ellis kept trying.
Lora bribes!
1)
It began with a single freckle, as these things often did. Randal noticed first, to Trevor's eternal grief.
Randal jabbed an over-long fingernail against Trevor's cheek and leaned in close to peer at the spot. Trevor went still, breathing quick and shallow like something trapped. Oh god, his cologne. Randal's brow was crinkled; he said, "There's a green spot!"
He needed three tries before he could get enough breath to speak. "Um. What?"
Randal tapped his fingertip against Trevor's cheek. "A green spot." He scratched at it. "What is it, paint?"
Trevor wriggled away, rubbed his palm agains the spot. As soon as he could, he went to the washroom to check. Sure enough, one of the freckles on his left cheekbone, just at the edge of his eye-socket, was green. Vivid emerald green. Washing (with soap and without) didn't help. Nor did scrubbing with a paper towel, the sleeve of his shirt, nor hot or cold water.
Crap.
Trevor expected a nightmare. He expected all of his freckles, all over, to change to many colors, like confetti. He expected them all to turn green. He expected to turn green all over, the green midget. He expected to wake up with--
But nothing happened. The green freckle was gone the next day, never to return, though it was two months before Trevor stopped frantically checking his face in every reflective surface he passed. The teasing about his newfound vanity was unbearable., or would have been once.
Trevor found that things didn't seem quite so bad anymore. After all, none of his freckles were green; things could be worse, but they weren't. He might even have relaxed, just the tiniest bit.
2
The person was tiny, and delicate and girly, and smelled like a murdered field of flowers. Ellis stopped and leaned against the alley wall and scrubbed his palms against his eyes. He ought to be on his way down. He ought to be on his back, on the bottom, staring up through the sewage. He shouldn't be seeing--tiny people with eyes like green rocks. Tiny person.
"Hrumph?"
Ellis wasn't capable of proper vocalizations. Or couldn't be assed. The person wasn't either--rage that visible ought to hurt. Those hands were small and very white, but they looked comfortable on the hilts of two silver knives, one of which was pointed at Ellis's throat as the...person barked something at him. Something sharp and crisp, whateverthefuck language it was. Ellis gave as big a shrug as he could manage without falling over, and narrowed his eyes.
"Are you a boy or a girl?" he said. The person let out another barrage of sound, Ellis thought he-she-it might be swearing. He rested the side of his head against the wall. The stone was wet, though the fucking drizzle had finally stopped. The alley smelled noxious, a thick half-rotting smokey wet-stone smell, and all those shredded flowers. The wall was cool on his temple. "You really ought to decide. It'll make life easier, if people can tell. Wonder what set of--"
The person gave Ellis a look of utter disgust, haughty impatience combined with impatience. Stalked off in a whirl of knee-length white skirt. The hem had been messily torn away, and shreds of frail fabric dangled in places, a few threads. Ellis watched until the white dress was out of sight, face scrunched. Then he tipped his head back and tried to follow the curve of the gutter along the wall. Weird. He shoved away from the wall, managed to get his feet moving. The person in white, Ellis, they'd've forgotten each other in the morning.