(no subject)
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
of castles & clouds (chapter eight);
“Shit!”
Sirens roar like animals as the police cars rev up with manic growls, just waiting to pounce. Hayner laughs -- a wild, nervous sound that quickly falls back as he scrambles away (and if he’s quiet, he can almost hear it die between rubber tires and asphalt).
“Hayner!” the accusatory glare reaches him before he even turns to see, and Pence’s doughy face is contorted in exertion. “What in the name of all things holy did you do this time!?”
Vendors and yuppies and tourists alike all veer out of the way as the two teenage boys jet down the busy street, sweating and out of the little breath they had. Brows wrinkle in pain once they skid to a stop, safely away from the policemen stuck in traffic, their chests heaving with each lungful of ice-cold air.
The vandal in question pushes a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his line of vision, his right hand clutching at the lower half of his ribcage. “Damn,” Hayner winces with what’s left of a grin, “I think I might’ve popped a couple stitches.”
At this, Pence glances over at his friend in an expression flitting between exasperation and alarm. Exasperation, because Hayner might just be the most impulsive and idiotic boy that Pence has ever met; alarm, because they really can’t afford much of anything, let alone a medical bill.
“Hayner, you’re a jerk,” is all that the other boy can choke out while he slouches against a record-store window, still winded from their run-in with the law.
But Hayner just smirks because he’s heard it all before, and knows that the exercise will be good for Pence, anyway.
- - -
deckchairs and cigarettes (hayner/namine);
“You’re awful pretty,” he chuckles condescendingly, gaze moving up and down her body with an intensity that makes her shudder. His hands are placed on either side of her head as he leans in toward her. “Imagine the fun we could have…”
But the uptown girl with the clean blonde hair never gets a chance to do so. Because right at that moment in the too-small alleyway, a voice rises out of the darkness.
“Hey!”
The man turns to address the noise, and is quite surprised when his jaw connects with a fist.
She hears more than sees him fall to the rat-ridden floor, as she is suddenly pulled into a run by a tall young man with dirt on his nose. She only catches a glimpse of her savior until he turns to face the world that they’re sprinting towards, but she’s sure she can see sandy hair hidden beneath a newsboy hat. The sound of his voice is smooth in her ears.
“What’s your name?” he asks her once the two are out of danger, the brown of his eyes glinting in the light of a kerosene lamp.
“Naminé,” she whispers, fingers flying to the silver chain on her neck.
“I’m Hayner,” he sighs as he stretches with a smile, and Naminé can’t help but feel safer than she has been all day.
- - -
umbrella days (riku/sora);
“Hey, where were you after school today?” Sora asked, drawing clouds with his finger in the almost-summer sand. “Kairi and I waited for you forever, but you never came out. Why?”
The eighteen year old shrugged and spoke through the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. “No rhyme, no reason,” he said with a smirk, falling backward onto the beach. “I was preoccupied, that’s all.”
Sora felt himself start to scowl as he turned over onto his knees in front of his best friend. “If you think I’m going to take that, then you obviously have no idea who I am. Just tell me, Riku. It can’t be that bad. You’re not part of the darkness anymore, remember?” His frown fell away and was replaced with a slight grin, and Sora chuckled lightly in an attempt to ease his own mood. But Riku’s gaze turned icy, and he stood and looked away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sora.”
Blue eyes watched footsteps fade with the early evening tide.
of castles & clouds (chapter eight);
“Shit!”
Sirens roar like animals as the police cars rev up with manic growls, just waiting to pounce. Hayner laughs -- a wild, nervous sound that quickly falls back as he scrambles away (and if he’s quiet, he can almost hear it die between rubber tires and asphalt).
“Hayner!” the accusatory glare reaches him before he even turns to see, and Pence’s doughy face is contorted in exertion. “What in the name of all things holy did you do this time!?”
Vendors and yuppies and tourists alike all veer out of the way as the two teenage boys jet down the busy street, sweating and out of the little breath they had. Brows wrinkle in pain once they skid to a stop, safely away from the policemen stuck in traffic, their chests heaving with each lungful of ice-cold air.
The vandal in question pushes a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his line of vision, his right hand clutching at the lower half of his ribcage. “Damn,” Hayner winces with what’s left of a grin, “I think I might’ve popped a couple stitches.”
At this, Pence glances over at his friend in an expression flitting between exasperation and alarm. Exasperation, because Hayner might just be the most impulsive and idiotic boy that Pence has ever met; alarm, because they really can’t afford much of anything, let alone a medical bill.
“Hayner, you’re a jerk,” is all that the other boy can choke out while he slouches against a record-store window, still winded from their run-in with the law.
But Hayner just smirks because he’s heard it all before, and knows that the exercise will be good for Pence, anyway.
- - -
deckchairs and cigarettes (hayner/namine);
“You’re awful pretty,” he chuckles condescendingly, gaze moving up and down her body with an intensity that makes her shudder. His hands are placed on either side of her head as he leans in toward her. “Imagine the fun we could have…”
But the uptown girl with the clean blonde hair never gets a chance to do so. Because right at that moment in the too-small alleyway, a voice rises out of the darkness.
“Hey!”
The man turns to address the noise, and is quite surprised when his jaw connects with a fist.
She hears more than sees him fall to the rat-ridden floor, as she is suddenly pulled into a run by a tall young man with dirt on his nose. She only catches a glimpse of her savior until he turns to face the world that they’re sprinting towards, but she’s sure she can see sandy hair hidden beneath a newsboy hat. The sound of his voice is smooth in her ears.
“What’s your name?” he asks her once the two are out of danger, the brown of his eyes glinting in the light of a kerosene lamp.
“Naminé,” she whispers, fingers flying to the silver chain on her neck.
“I’m Hayner,” he sighs as he stretches with a smile, and Naminé can’t help but feel safer than she has been all day.
- - -
umbrella days (riku/sora);
“Hey, where were you after school today?” Sora asked, drawing clouds with his finger in the almost-summer sand. “Kairi and I waited for you forever, but you never came out. Why?”
The eighteen year old shrugged and spoke through the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. “No rhyme, no reason,” he said with a smirk, falling backward onto the beach. “I was preoccupied, that’s all.”
Sora felt himself start to scowl as he turned over onto his knees in front of his best friend. “If you think I’m going to take that, then you obviously have no idea who I am. Just tell me, Riku. It can’t be that bad. You’re not part of the darkness anymore, remember?” His frown fell away and was replaced with a slight grin, and Sora chuckled lightly in an attempt to ease his own mood. But Riku’s gaze turned icy, and he stood and looked away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sora.”
Blue eyes watched footsteps fade with the early evening tide.