Seven RENT drabbles for Mar-Mar.
You already read these at my house, but that's quite alright. Reading tetanus shots aloud made me so happy, so I decided to post most of these as they stand now. Love you lots, Mar dear. *snugs*
The Adverse Effects of Fearlessness
Mimi’s not afraid of needles. They’re a necessary evil, she knows, and don’t hurt much at all. In fact, the amount of pain a shot provides is insignificant, in comparison to that which adds up over time.
No, needles aren’t so bad.
It’s only after she needs to use them that she cries.
Like in the sixth grade, when she’d gotten her first tetanus shot. It had taken no time at all to administer; she’d been in and out of the doctor’s office in ten minutes. Later, however, when she’d tried to dance, her arm had gone stiff, the aftereffects of the shot sinking in. Continuing to twirl and lift her arms, the pain had gotten worse, and so, in her room, alone save for a singer on the radio, she’d cried, hard, and it seemed to have helped at the time.
And then there was her seventeenth birthday, when she’d shot up drugs for the very first time. That night was a haze of memories; all she could remember was the feeling of invincibility, a needle, pain… and arms curled around her waist, those of a man she couldn’t for the life of her recognize. And so, in his grip, alone save for him, she’d cried, hard, and for a while, it had made things okay.
And then there was yesterday, when she’d pricked her finger for a nurse that had smiled sweetly, and that tiny needle and that tiny drop of blood had told her that her life was ending.
Mimi cried yesterday, hard, as hard as she could.
But by now, all the pain in her life has added up, so crying can’t help her anymore.
Mimi’s not afraid of needles.
She only fears losing herself because of them.
~
Oh, Religion!
Maureen had told him that it’d be fun, that he’d had a limited exposure to religion (save for the ever-omnipresent bar mitzvah, of course), and if anything bad happened, she’d be there, don’t you worry, Pookie.
She’d also dragged him through the double doors by both hands and only let go of them so he could set up his camera…
…which was promptly confiscated once the hymns started.
Once he got over the shock of having what was basically a fifth appendage amputated, Mark mouthed the words to the psalms as best he could and listened stoically to the minister at the head of the church. He supposed that this sermon wouldn’t be too painful or burdensome (or nearly as embarrassing as getting his cheek tweaked by every Jewish person in a synagogue)…
…but then and again, Maureen should have said something about the No Flash Photography In The Pews rule.
~
Procrastination is Multi-Cultural
“Will you stop videotaping? You’re gonna run out of film.”
“Oh come on, Roger!” Mark grinned and turned the camera from the monkey exhibit onto Roger’s pouting face. The musician was forced to sacrifice his hands to the cold by pulling them out of his pockets to shove Mark away. “Roger, it’s the zoo. We haven’t been here since we were, what, four?”
“I also haven’t worn diapers since I was four,” Roger pointed out. “Want me to clip that Huggies coupon?”
The effectiveness of Mark’s frown was quickly ruined by his subsequent laughter.
“Oh look, Roger,” he said a few minutes later, zooming in on a gorilla in the corner of the exhibit. “That one reminds me of you.”
The gorilla in question was peering down at a drum between his legs and tapping idly at it, clearly bored (or, Roger thought, uninspired).
“And now look, he’s walking away.” Turning from the abandoned drum, Mark smirked, donning a smile that said without words that Roger had been trumped. “Writing one great song?”
Roger leveled him with a glare.
“You know, there’s a reason I haven’t been to the zoo in twenty years.”
~
Only Happy When It Rains
It’s raining, Maureen’s pouting, and Benny can tell by the way she stomps angrily down the street in her oversized galoshes that she doesn’t want to be here at all.
“Maureen…”
“…I’m not sorry.” She looks at him out of the corners of her eyes, pouting to drive her point home. Even a year and a half after her most publicized protest, she’s bitter, both at him and what he no longer stands for. “You know, I would’ve run the protest anyway, so stop-”
“-mooning over it?” He intercepts her with a smile, and the pun is not lost on her at all.
He can tell by the way she’s kicking rainwater his way with a scowl that foreshadows an inevitable grin.
He laughs and uses his own galoshes as a weapon against her feet.
And so they kick water toward each other as they breeze down the sidewalk, and for a while, he thinks she’s forgotten she’s supposed to hate him.
~
On a Street Called Opportunity
Angel likes loose change. She should, seeing as she lives off of it, but there’s something so endearing about the coins themselves, about the surprise of finding a quarter on the street, that appeals to her and makes her smile. It’s why she beams whenever a passerby slips a dime into her McDonald’s cup or brings out a small purse to rifle through for shiny things of silver and gold.
So the limo that pulls up to her corner on Avenue A is completely unexpected. Angel has to squint her eyes at the light that reflects off the vehicle’s door, marvel at how shiny it is in comparison to her coins.
“Hey darlin’,” says the woman in its backseat, who slurs her words and smiles hugely at Angel. “I like your drummin’. Like it so much I wanna hire ya for an odd job. Now, there’s this akita next door, this yappy mutt that won’t shut her chops at night…”
It’s about then that Angel decides that even more than loose change, she likes the color green.
~
Initial Sentiments of the not so predisposed
Roger is not a cat person. This is nearly obvious in everything he does. Roger’s not one to coo at kittens in a box on a street, to pour milk into a dish and leave it on the stoop. His weathered couch is free from claw marks, his bedding without cat hair, and he’ll never use string for a purpose other than to tie things up.
Mimi likes to smile at him, lower her eyes so they darken, and tell him that he can tie her up any time he wants, with some twine, maybe, or a chain.
She also likes to slink up to his room at night, to mewl at the moon, to sink her claws into his shirt and her teeth into his lip.
Roger is not a cat person because cats cling, and she does too.
Or at least that’s what he tells himself when he pushes this kitten away.
~
Humiliation and the Start of a Legacy
He didn’t mind Maureen’s nicknames. Really, truly didn’t.
She just switched them so quickly he couldn’t figure out what she was calling him when.
He never would have guessed that he was a Marky-Mark, or a Cohen-bear, or a snookums.
Even less would he have considered himself a Peaches.
“Okay,” she’d said to him when he told her (honestly, though; Mark was nothing if not honest) that Peaches was a little “out there” for a guy. “Maybe I’ll just dump you and find a woman, then.”
“N-no! No, Maureen, that’s fine. Just… try to find something a little more… me?”
There had been a pause, during which Mark should have been backing away slowly, or, if he were more intelligent, quickly.
Any sensible person would have at Maureen’s slow smirk, at the dark flicker in her eyes.
He really didn’t mind Maureen’s nicknames.
“Okay then…”
He only got twitchy under the ones that were the most…
“…Pookie.”
Demoralizing.
~
I'm actually pretty proud of these, especially the Roger/Mimi one. I think it was the confidence boost Mar gave me, but then and again, I'm a pretty hubristic person.
Edit: KELLY POSEUR. This dude needs to shave.
Edit 2: Aizen/Hinamori drabble for 31_days. Not extremely proud of it, but wanted to post it anyway. What can I say? I'm a comment whore at heart.
Edit 3: You know, it only just occurred to me about a week ago that shit, I wrote FrolloEsme. That fact still shocks/scares/thrills the hell out of me. Also, I reread the ficlet tonight (and have been rereading it obsessively, seeing as at the time I wrote it, it had been the first fic I'd been proud of for months) and realized that Frollo doesn't close every window before "Hellfire"; there's one open that he's looking out of before he turns toward the fire. I fail at canon; I apologize to the world. *prostrates self*
The Adverse Effects of Fearlessness
Mimi’s not afraid of needles. They’re a necessary evil, she knows, and don’t hurt much at all. In fact, the amount of pain a shot provides is insignificant, in comparison to that which adds up over time.
No, needles aren’t so bad.
It’s only after she needs to use them that she cries.
Like in the sixth grade, when she’d gotten her first tetanus shot. It had taken no time at all to administer; she’d been in and out of the doctor’s office in ten minutes. Later, however, when she’d tried to dance, her arm had gone stiff, the aftereffects of the shot sinking in. Continuing to twirl and lift her arms, the pain had gotten worse, and so, in her room, alone save for a singer on the radio, she’d cried, hard, and it seemed to have helped at the time.
And then there was her seventeenth birthday, when she’d shot up drugs for the very first time. That night was a haze of memories; all she could remember was the feeling of invincibility, a needle, pain… and arms curled around her waist, those of a man she couldn’t for the life of her recognize. And so, in his grip, alone save for him, she’d cried, hard, and for a while, it had made things okay.
And then there was yesterday, when she’d pricked her finger for a nurse that had smiled sweetly, and that tiny needle and that tiny drop of blood had told her that her life was ending.
Mimi cried yesterday, hard, as hard as she could.
But by now, all the pain in her life has added up, so crying can’t help her anymore.
Mimi’s not afraid of needles.
She only fears losing herself because of them.
~
Oh, Religion!
Maureen had told him that it’d be fun, that he’d had a limited exposure to religion (save for the ever-omnipresent bar mitzvah, of course), and if anything bad happened, she’d be there, don’t you worry, Pookie.
She’d also dragged him through the double doors by both hands and only let go of them so he could set up his camera…
…which was promptly confiscated once the hymns started.
Once he got over the shock of having what was basically a fifth appendage amputated, Mark mouthed the words to the psalms as best he could and listened stoically to the minister at the head of the church. He supposed that this sermon wouldn’t be too painful or burdensome (or nearly as embarrassing as getting his cheek tweaked by every Jewish person in a synagogue)…
…but then and again, Maureen should have said something about the No Flash Photography In The Pews rule.
~
Procrastination is Multi-Cultural
“Will you stop videotaping? You’re gonna run out of film.”
“Oh come on, Roger!” Mark grinned and turned the camera from the monkey exhibit onto Roger’s pouting face. The musician was forced to sacrifice his hands to the cold by pulling them out of his pockets to shove Mark away. “Roger, it’s the zoo. We haven’t been here since we were, what, four?”
“I also haven’t worn diapers since I was four,” Roger pointed out. “Want me to clip that Huggies coupon?”
The effectiveness of Mark’s frown was quickly ruined by his subsequent laughter.
“Oh look, Roger,” he said a few minutes later, zooming in on a gorilla in the corner of the exhibit. “That one reminds me of you.”
The gorilla in question was peering down at a drum between his legs and tapping idly at it, clearly bored (or, Roger thought, uninspired).
“And now look, he’s walking away.” Turning from the abandoned drum, Mark smirked, donning a smile that said without words that Roger had been trumped. “Writing one great song?”
Roger leveled him with a glare.
“You know, there’s a reason I haven’t been to the zoo in twenty years.”
~
Only Happy When It Rains
It’s raining, Maureen’s pouting, and Benny can tell by the way she stomps angrily down the street in her oversized galoshes that she doesn’t want to be here at all.
“Maureen…”
“…I’m not sorry.” She looks at him out of the corners of her eyes, pouting to drive her point home. Even a year and a half after her most publicized protest, she’s bitter, both at him and what he no longer stands for. “You know, I would’ve run the protest anyway, so stop-”
“-mooning over it?” He intercepts her with a smile, and the pun is not lost on her at all.
He can tell by the way she’s kicking rainwater his way with a scowl that foreshadows an inevitable grin.
He laughs and uses his own galoshes as a weapon against her feet.
And so they kick water toward each other as they breeze down the sidewalk, and for a while, he thinks she’s forgotten she’s supposed to hate him.
~
On a Street Called Opportunity
Angel likes loose change. She should, seeing as she lives off of it, but there’s something so endearing about the coins themselves, about the surprise of finding a quarter on the street, that appeals to her and makes her smile. It’s why she beams whenever a passerby slips a dime into her McDonald’s cup or brings out a small purse to rifle through for shiny things of silver and gold.
So the limo that pulls up to her corner on Avenue A is completely unexpected. Angel has to squint her eyes at the light that reflects off the vehicle’s door, marvel at how shiny it is in comparison to her coins.
“Hey darlin’,” says the woman in its backseat, who slurs her words and smiles hugely at Angel. “I like your drummin’. Like it so much I wanna hire ya for an odd job. Now, there’s this akita next door, this yappy mutt that won’t shut her chops at night…”
It’s about then that Angel decides that even more than loose change, she likes the color green.
~
Initial Sentiments of the not so predisposed
Roger is not a cat person. This is nearly obvious in everything he does. Roger’s not one to coo at kittens in a box on a street, to pour milk into a dish and leave it on the stoop. His weathered couch is free from claw marks, his bedding without cat hair, and he’ll never use string for a purpose other than to tie things up.
Mimi likes to smile at him, lower her eyes so they darken, and tell him that he can tie her up any time he wants, with some twine, maybe, or a chain.
She also likes to slink up to his room at night, to mewl at the moon, to sink her claws into his shirt and her teeth into his lip.
Roger is not a cat person because cats cling, and she does too.
Or at least that’s what he tells himself when he pushes this kitten away.
~
Humiliation and the Start of a Legacy
He didn’t mind Maureen’s nicknames. Really, truly didn’t.
She just switched them so quickly he couldn’t figure out what she was calling him when.
He never would have guessed that he was a Marky-Mark, or a Cohen-bear, or a snookums.
Even less would he have considered himself a Peaches.
“Okay,” she’d said to him when he told her (honestly, though; Mark was nothing if not honest) that Peaches was a little “out there” for a guy. “Maybe I’ll just dump you and find a woman, then.”
“N-no! No, Maureen, that’s fine. Just… try to find something a little more… me?”
There had been a pause, during which Mark should have been backing away slowly, or, if he were more intelligent, quickly.
Any sensible person would have at Maureen’s slow smirk, at the dark flicker in her eyes.
He really didn’t mind Maureen’s nicknames.
“Okay then…”
He only got twitchy under the ones that were the most…
“…Pookie.”
Demoralizing.
~
I'm actually pretty proud of these, especially the Roger/Mimi one. I think it was the confidence boost Mar gave me, but then and again, I'm a pretty hubristic person.
Edit: KELLY POSEUR. This dude needs to shave.
Edit 2: Aizen/Hinamori drabble for 31_days. Not extremely proud of it, but wanted to post it anyway. What can I say? I'm a comment whore at heart.
Edit 3: You know, it only just occurred to me about a week ago that shit, I wrote FrolloEsme. That fact still shocks/scares/thrills the hell out of me. Also, I reread the ficlet tonight (and have been rereading it obsessively, seeing as at the time I wrote it, it had been the first fic I'd been proud of for months) and realized that Frollo doesn't close every window before "Hellfire"; there's one open that he's looking out of before he turns toward the fire. I fail at canon; I apologize to the world. *prostrates self*