Eyesield 21 fanfic- Dinnertime at Deimon
This was meant to be a Hiruma/Mamori story, needless to say it didn't stay that way once Juumonji and Kuroki got hold of the rice.
Anyway, besides that lack of Hiruma/Mamori, I hope you like this little drabble ^__^
Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is very much not mine- if it was it would probably be spelt wrong Oo
Dinnertime
“Ah! Stop it!” Taki yelped, trying and failing to stop a glob of rice from whacking into his forehead as Monta tugged on his hair with his feet.
“That’s disgusting fucking monkey,” Hiruma commented before lazily blowing a green bubble.
“Don’t call Monta-kun a monkey!” Mamori exclaimed, brandishing her broom at the demonic quarterback.
“Ah Mamori-chan! You stuck up for me!”
It had started as a perfectly normal strategy meeting, how it had turned into this Musashi had no idea. It was like watching a large and boisterous family sitting down to their once-a-week family dinner- the kind of once-a-week family dinner that was once-a-week for a reason.
In the corner Doburoku had passed out long ago and was now snoring contently into one of Kurita’s boat-sized football boots. In front of him Suzuna was giggling gleefully at the blushing faces of Sena and Yukimitsu as she sprawled over their rigid laps. Beside her Kurita and Komisuba had been eating since they’d entered the room and showed no signs of giving up anytime soon.
Across the table Ishimaru (forgotten again) watched from the sidelines, clearly wondering how he’d ended up in this position in the first place. Musashi had a pretty good hunch that Hiruma had somehow made him a permanent fixture in the American Football team without Ishimaru even being aware of the process.
Next to the ensnared track-runner Tokageru seemed to have given up on the world around him and had buried head into his newest manga whilst he waited for is friends to revert back from their sudden journey to toddlerhood.
Juumonji and Kuroki snickered as another ball of their rice smacked Taki on the forehead.
Musashi shook his head, suddenly feeling as old as he looked, and picked up a copy of Amefuto from the middle of the table. He buried his head in an article on the pro’s and con’s of kicking team just as a semi-automatic rifle was fired and a broomstick was applied to the back of someone’s head.
“You cannot join in a food fight with bullets!”
Anyway, besides that lack of Hiruma/Mamori, I hope you like this little drabble ^__^
Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is very much not mine- if it was it would probably be spelt wrong Oo
Dinnertime
“Ah! Stop it!” Taki yelped, trying and failing to stop a glob of rice from whacking into his forehead as Monta tugged on his hair with his feet.
“That’s disgusting fucking monkey,” Hiruma commented before lazily blowing a green bubble.
“Don’t call Monta-kun a monkey!” Mamori exclaimed, brandishing her broom at the demonic quarterback.
“Ah Mamori-chan! You stuck up for me!”
It had started as a perfectly normal strategy meeting, how it had turned into this Musashi had no idea. It was like watching a large and boisterous family sitting down to their once-a-week family dinner- the kind of once-a-week family dinner that was once-a-week for a reason.
In the corner Doburoku had passed out long ago and was now snoring contently into one of Kurita’s boat-sized football boots. In front of him Suzuna was giggling gleefully at the blushing faces of Sena and Yukimitsu as she sprawled over their rigid laps. Beside her Kurita and Komisuba had been eating since they’d entered the room and showed no signs of giving up anytime soon.
Across the table Ishimaru (forgotten again) watched from the sidelines, clearly wondering how he’d ended up in this position in the first place. Musashi had a pretty good hunch that Hiruma had somehow made him a permanent fixture in the American Football team without Ishimaru even being aware of the process.
Next to the ensnared track-runner Tokageru seemed to have given up on the world around him and had buried head into his newest manga whilst he waited for is friends to revert back from their sudden journey to toddlerhood.
Juumonji and Kuroki snickered as another ball of their rice smacked Taki on the forehead.
Musashi shook his head, suddenly feeling as old as he looked, and picked up a copy of Amefuto from the middle of the table. He buried his head in an article on the pro’s and con’s of kicking team just as a semi-automatic rifle was fired and a broomstick was applied to the back of someone’s head.
“You cannot join in a food fight with bullets!”