2015 Birthday Promptathon - Day One
Okay, so yes, posting this in the wrong order. But only because for some reason, this didn't crosspost on day one. *eyeroll*
Hello!!! And welcome to the first day of me posting fic or art based on the amazing prompts I was given this year. Thank you to everyone who prompted me! I got lots of great inspirations.
I decided to start with a prompt from my darling braintwin hazelwho. I actually had a glimmer of this idea last year, but never finished it. Thanks, Hazel for a prompt that got this out of my head and on the page.
Vecchio woke up slumped in a chair, with no idea how he'd gotten there. He stood and straightened his jacket, smoothing down the lapels, tucking in his tie. The pub he was in was empty, tables and chairs overturned or broken, mirror behind the bar shattered. All the evidence of a fight, only lacking whoever had thought a barroom brawl was a good idea. Had he been knocked out? His head didn't hurt, but it was kind of hard to think. Besides, why else would he have been unconscious? Someone had to be around that would have answers. Maybe they were outside?
It was easy enough to look out the doorway, what with the door hanging precariously off of the top hinge. It didn't help, though; there were no people to be seen through the misty haze in the air. He stepped out into it, ducking instinctively to ward off the chill. He stood tall again when he realized he didn't feel cold at all, or at least no moreso than he had indoors.
Droplets flew as he shook his head, but he didn't notice them, the sting of raindrops absent on his face and hands. His clothes were getting soaked, starting to sag on his body. He should probably go inside again, right? Try to figure out what had happened. But there was a smell, some tantalizing aroma coming from down the street. He didn't know what it was; he realized that he didn't care. He might not be cold, or able to feel the wetness on his skin and clothes, but he was hungry, hungrier than he could remember being in a long time.
If that was all he could feel, well, he wasn't going to ignore it.
Hello!!! And welcome to the first day of me posting fic or art based on the amazing prompts I was given this year. Thank you to everyone who prompted me! I got lots of great inspirations.
I decided to start with a prompt from my darling braintwin hazelwho. I actually had a glimmer of this idea last year, but never finished it. Thanks, Hazel for a prompt that got this out of my head and on the page.
Vecchio woke up slumped in a chair, with no idea how he'd gotten there. He stood and straightened his jacket, smoothing down the lapels, tucking in his tie. The pub he was in was empty, tables and chairs overturned or broken, mirror behind the bar shattered. All the evidence of a fight, only lacking whoever had thought a barroom brawl was a good idea. Had he been knocked out? His head didn't hurt, but it was kind of hard to think. Besides, why else would he have been unconscious? Someone had to be around that would have answers. Maybe they were outside?
It was easy enough to look out the doorway, what with the door hanging precariously off of the top hinge. It didn't help, though; there were no people to be seen through the misty haze in the air. He stepped out into it, ducking instinctively to ward off the chill. He stood tall again when he realized he didn't feel cold at all, or at least no moreso than he had indoors.
Droplets flew as he shook his head, but he didn't notice them, the sting of raindrops absent on his face and hands. His clothes were getting soaked, starting to sag on his body. He should probably go inside again, right? Try to figure out what had happened. But there was a smell, some tantalizing aroma coming from down the street. He didn't know what it was; he realized that he didn't care. He might not be cold, or able to feel the wetness on his skin and clothes, but he was hungry, hungrier than he could remember being in a long time.
If that was all he could feel, well, he wasn't going to ignore it.