Drabble Batch 02
From my Jan 2012 GYWO Catch-Up. All unbeta'd.
For tinyangl:
g. 174. Sasakura Ryu/Kurushima Miwa.
On the night of March 23, Miwa gets a phonecall. Her eyes ache from crying and her throat is raw, and the last thing she wants to do is talk to anyone. The phone continues to echo in her ears, relentlessly, mockingly, and she’s so close to throwing it against the wall until everything stops. And stillness settles over her once more. A quiet stillness that leaves her even more restless.
Then a beep. Voicemail.
Despite herself she cannot help but open her phone.
Silence.
A muffled rattling like the inside of a pocket. Then something that sounds faintly like the clinking of glass.
Then Miwa-san.
I’m sorry to call so late, of course you are probably sleeping right now. I should be too, really.
But.
I just wanted to say...good night.
And I’ll see you tomorrow.
Miwa closes her eyes as the message ends and an automated voice takes over. Carefully she closes her phone and sets it under her pillow. And sleeps, remembering there is still a dream she needs to realize.
g. 174. Arashi.
Nino spends all his time trolling game communities and hate memes, starting fan-wank for fun. He has over ten sock puppets.
Ohno never writes, he uses his LJ to post his pictures, paintings, sculptures-and somehow he ends up with over 300 followers. Eventually he disables commenting because replying to all these comments are tiring and takes away from his drawing time.
Aiba also doesn’t write-his one post links to his tumblr, where all he does is reblog images of cute animals.
Sho writes fanfiction, spends hours meticulously crafting stories full of meaning and introspection and when he posts ends up with only five comments. He respects yet resents-
Jun, who seems to be not only a more talented and prolific writer-if clichéd, Sho thinks with only a little bitterness-but also a very attractive person.
g. 136. Arashi, Tyra Banks.
The last five contestants, oddly enough, get along fine. There is just no drama among Ohno Satoshi, Ninomiya Kazunari, Aiba Masaki, or Sakurai Sho. Even Matsumoto Jun, who always seemed like the diva-type, had suddenly mellowed in the presence of the others. And aside from some random pillow fights or odd butt-groping moments, the in-house cameras had nothing worth broadcasting to a national audience. In fact, Tyra almost feels like they would get along as a five-man band, that maybe it would be the biggest twist of all to debut them together.
But this was Next Top Idol, damn it, not Next Top Sparkly Rainbow Fun Loving Boyband!
Tyra sighs and shakes her head, pushes away the five portfolios and turns to Nigel, “What’s the number for that Akanishi fellow who was eliminated in round one?”
g. 407. Aiba Masaki/Becky.
Becky knows Aiba likes animals, loves them, would probably give up his whole idol career, fame fortune and all, just to work in a zoo. What she doesn’t learn until much later is that animals seem to love Aiba just as much, maybe even more.
It starts when they’re taking a walk in the park, her in a hat and sunglasses and him dressed quite freely in whatever bizarre combination of colors and patterns he’s chosen for the day. He talks without volume control and Becky glares and hisses, “Do you want everyone to know about us and force us to break up?!” and just when his lip is starting to pout cutely and he almost seemed repentant enough, a dog leaps straight at him, knocking him off balance. It’s a little fluff of Pomeranian, and Aiba is completely and utterly smitten the moments its tiny pink tongue meets his cheek.
The Pomeranian is followed by a voluptuous bombshell with curly brown hair and very short shorts. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she cries in a sickeningly sweet voice, and Aiba fends off her apologies with a bright smile and straying eyes as he hands back the puppy.
“She was cute!” Aiba says cheerfully, jamming his hands into his pockets.
“Oh was she?”
“Yeah, she’s a very healthy pup.”
Becky eyes him suspiciously, but then he stops in mid-step and offers his arm to her and she begrudgingly accepts it.
Until the next time it happens. And the next time. And the next time even in a crowded park with tons of dogs and even more people -- yet every single dog and their respective owners seemed drawn to Aiba like a magnet.
It takes Becky longer than she cares to admit to realize that maybe it’s not that animals love Aiba -- it’s women. And so Becky does the only rational thing she can think to do.
“You bought a dog?!”
“Her name is Cherry,” Becky replies, pushing the pup into his hands. As Aiba coos affectionately at the dog, all thoughts of going for a walk forgotten, Becky smiles victoriously.
And then Aiba takes a little package of beef jerky out of his pocket and rips off a piece to give to Cherry.
“...Do you always carry beef jerky around with you?”
“Always!”
And as Aiba ignores her, yet again, for her dog, Becky thinks he’s just damn lucky she loves him just as much as animals seem to.
(Maybe even more.)
g. 76. Ninomiya Kazunari, Ohno Satoshi.
One day Ohno Satoshi’s paintings would become world renown depictions of the most infamous cases solved by Ninomiya Kazunari.
For now, however, Ohno follows his old friend with a smile, sometimes offering random comments that Nino brushes off with an impatient “tut-tut” and a wave of his hands, and capturing every detail-the minutest ones that even Nino with his sharp sight and keen intellect would never be able to see-with his eyes.
For ky_rin.
g. 166. Ikuta Toma, Yamashita Tomohisa.
Toma never tells Yamapi when he’s going to attend one of his concerts. Yamapi will put up a fuss about how embarrassing it is and how he doesn’t want Toma to come but eventually, begrudgingly, will at least offer him free front-seat tickets. But Toma likes the challenge of going through the Fanclub, likes the uncertainty of finding seats, but most importantly, likes being able to support Yamapi in his own way.
And yet, without fail, Yamapi will always be able to spot him in the crowd, shooting him a disdainful look that quickly melts into a crooked smile.
Toma asks him one day, in the dressing room at the end of a concert, how he always manages to find him, even in the very last row, half-hidden by a pillar.
“Because you’re one in a million,” he replies, like it’s the most natural answer in the world.
Toma rolls his eyes, but this is the reason he always will, without fail, stay by Yamapi’s side.
For dalampasigan:
g. 192. Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy??
Luna cradles Lily against her chest with one hand while the other works intricate spells with her wand. Protection, love, inspiration. These are the things Luna wishes most for Lily, Lily with her sweet cinnamon brown eyes and wisps of reddish Weasley hair, Lily her god-daughter. Finally, Luna brings her right hand in a full arc, and the water around them bubbles effervescently, red and then gold, blue and then bronze. Lily gurgles in her arms and Luna smiles and the waters recede.
And then there is a rustle in the bushes and bushy blond hair.
“Hello, where have you come from?” Luna asks. Lily gurgles in her arms.
The blond being in front of her bares his teeth with a hiss, and Lily starts to cry. Luna tsks. “You shouldn’t scare me god-daughter.” Deftly she places the wand behind her ear and brings out a small, red-and-white sphere. She throws it at the blond being as it hisses and cries and then there is silence and nothing more.
“Oh dear, a Wild Draco, huh?” Luna asks, staring at the screen of her Pokedex. Lily sleeps against her chest with a smile.
g. 107. Nishikido Ryo, Yamashita Tomohisa.
“Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“I’ve learned this time, Ryo-chan!” Yamapi beams. “See, I’ve even got the gloves on!” He snaps the elastic of the glove against his wrist, then winces.
“You really think I’m stupid.”
“Ryo-chan, I think you’re as smart as me!”
“...”
“It was a compliment,” Yamapi sniffs. Ryo continues to stare dubiously at the squeeze bottle filled with dye. “Look, if I mess up again, you can completely ruin my hair, too, OK?”
Ryo considers.
-
“I like it!” Yamapi says, beaming brightly.
“Of course you do,” Ryo sighs. Vengeance is a apparently not a dish best served with poofy poodle hair.
For __sine.
g. 1142. Kanjiya Shihori, Arashi, Kuroki Meisa.
White Storm. Yakuza characterized by the crisp white suits they don; the second most powerful group in all of Japan. Shihori has done the research, knows all the facts, is as prepared as she ever could be, but still, her hand lingers over the sign of the Bar Himawari before she finally pushes the wooden door open.
The bar is empty, but immaculate; rows of undisturbed bar stools sit in front of a long counter, behind which stands the only other occupant in the room.
A bartender.
He stops wiping the glass in his hands momentarily, offering a small smile. “A little early to be drinking on a Tuesday, isn’t it?”
Shihori licks her lips carefully. “The sign said open.”
“The customer is always right.” He sets the glass down and gestures in front of him. “What would you like?”
She shuffles quickly over and takes a seat, steels herself before peeking up into his eyes through her fringe. “Information.”
“I don’t think I know how to make that.”
“I’m not dumb,” Shihori blurts out hotly, “I know who you are.”
His smile doesn’t waver, but there’s something about the way he keeps eye contact, the way he doesn’t glance away even as he takes up another glass to wipe clean. She catches his left wrist in her hands and slides up the edge of his sleeve.
“I know every member of White Storm has a tattoo on the left wrist. A spiral.” She traces it from the center to the very tip, before running her finger down the lines of it. “Circling until there are five points.”
“That’s an interesting story.”
“That’s not all I know.” He raises his eyebrows mildly. “I know you are A.M. You are the only known member of any organization to ever lose your unlocked cell phone. It caused quite a stir.”
The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. “Is that it?”
“I also know you like to feed the ducks at the park on Saturdays.”
This seems to catch him off guard. He quickly averts his gaze until it settles on his wrist - which she is still holding in her hands. She drops it quickly, feeling her cheeks burn, but she doesn’t look away from him.
“It seems like you already have a source for information.”
“No, I just like to feed the ducks as well.”
A.M. smiles through a sigh, and they both know it’s his defeat. He motions to the door behind him, tucked neatly between shelves of alcohol. “Come.”
She follows him through the door, finds herself in a long, brightly lit hallway. The corridor walls are lined with paintings-images of the sea, of sun and endless peaks of silver-white sand. Of sunflowers against a clear blue sky. A.M. says nothing, just walks straight ahead, so Shihori allows her eyes to wander, to take in every new image as an extension of the previous ones. It’s only when A.M. opens the door before her that she notices the hallway now seems dimmer. The last image she catches before the door slams shut behind her is one of a storm at sea.
She doesn’t have a chance to consider that last image-the room at the end of the lavish hallway is much smaller than she expected, almost homey in feeling. On the left side of the room is a small table seating three individuals. The man with curly hair catches her eye and offers a small smile. The only woman in the room besides Shihori herself glances up briefly before continuing to sharpen her wakizashi. The man seated on her opposite side doesn’t look up from his Nintendo DS. The right side of the room is empty save for a pile of what appears to be dirty laundry.
On the far end of room is small, crackling fireplace. And a man drinking tea.
“Sho-chan, she-” A.M. starts, but the man by the fireplace-Sho-chan-waves his hand impatiently.
“I already heard. But A.M., what’s the point of having code names if you never use them?” he asks, exasperated. A.M. has the decency to at least look abashed, but pushes Shihori forward toward Sho.
“I-”
“So you’ve done your research.” He inclines his head toward her lazily. “I’ve done my research too, Kanjiya Shihori-san.” As if to answer her inevitable question, he spins the laptop on his table toward her. “You have a very respectable resume. And an even more respectable grandfather, yes?”
“So you already know why I’ve come here, then. I can get straight to the point.”
Sho smiles. “If you will, please.”
“The Black Crows are after my grandfather’s bar, soon to be opened in the heart of Kobe. They’ve sent warnings, but my grandfather won’t listen, says they’re just a bunch of delinquent who won’t live up to their threats.”
“Your grandfather may be correct.”
“The Black Crows have a new leader-as you are probably aware. If he is nearly as vicious-and charismatic-as I’ve heard, he will follow through and many people will be hurt in the process. And soon, the Black Crows will outnumber even White Storm.” There is silence save the scraping of metal against metal. “What I need to know is when they will strike. And how.” And then the most difficult part, “I also need help.”
“You are asking us to get involved with the misdeeds of a bicycle gang?”
“Do you think they will stop growing their territory with just one bar?” She holds his condescending gaze steadily, raising her chin in an act of defiance. And then, the harsh clang of metal.
Shihori jerks her head away in surprise, catches sight of Nintendo DS man’s hand creeping away from the Sword Woman’s bare thighs.
“We’ll have to think about this.”
Shihori whirls back around at Sho. “You don’t understand, they might hurt-”
“Kanjiya-san, I understand perfectly well, but it’s ultimately not my decision to-”
“Please, o-oyabun-sama!”
Complete and utter silence.
“Oyabun-sama?” Sho coughs, and Shihori can’t understand why he looks so-amused.
“Do you not-use that term anymore?”
Sho’s smile widens. “We do.”
“Then?”
“It’s just not me.”
It takes her a fraction of a second to understand. She turns back towards the table of three. The man catches her eye once more but shakes his head. The woman slides the wetstone against her blade slowly, almost thoughtfully, but she does not look up. The man with the Nintendo DS smiles slightly, barely, and Shihori thinks, surely it couldn’t be possible that-
Her gaze lands on A.M. but he, too, seems on the verge of breaking down into laughter. Just what was going on?!
And then the pile of laundry in the other corner of the room sits itself up and a rumpled-looking man with half-lidded eyes smiles sleepily at her. “Did someone say something?”