MK fic: So Far Down [OneShot]
Title: So Far Down
Fandom: Magic Kaitou
Size: 639 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All things Detective Conan belong to one, Aoyama Gosho. I don't claim to have created any of these characters...just the tormenting situations I put them in. :D
He'd made free-falling into an art.
It wasn't so much the fact that he was graceful or jumped from impossible heights that made it so perfectly wonderful for other people to watch and for he himself to enjoy. No, it was, if anything, simply the smile on his face that people never saw but knew was there as he ran and leapt from those heights, laughing with the thrill of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he felt gravity take hold, taking him story after story, mile after mile, ever closer to the point of impact.
The impact that never came. The one he always managed to escape through sheer luck, ingenuity, and perfect timing. One simply couldn't open a hangglider in the middle of a freefall while at terminal velocity. But no one had to know that. It was his own little secret. For all the audience below him knew, he was able to sprout wings and ride the air that he had been falling through.
Some people might say that he was a bit on the crazy side for finding such a dangerous and possibly hazardous to one's health way of getting a thrill. He mostly ignored the people and continued to leap from buildings, from planes, from impossible heights with a twist of his body and a grin on his face, making people wonder about his sanity.
To fall in such a way had to be terrifying to any normal person, right?
But one could argue that he was used to the sensation--especially now that he has so much experience of this activity under his belt. However, it wasn't just the physical feeling of falling he was used to. Part of the reason he was who he was was because while he may pretend to hold all the cards and control all the strings behind a scheme or the world itself, it was the complete opposite. All he had in his hand were a group of Jokers that wouldn't do much to beat a pair of duces unless he got lucky and they were made Wild. All those strings attached to his fingers were frayed and continously breaking under the commands that the marinettes couldn't seem to follow.
He was never in complete control of anything besides himself. It was how he ended up in this sort of life--stealing, running, and falling. Always falling.
But he did have control of himself. It was the only thing he really had. His Poker Face, which could be used to fool others to believe that he was in control of things and thus give him an edge over them all. If one believed he was in control, then he was. As for the falling, it was the control he had over himself that kept him from following along with errants thoughts of "What if?" and "I wonder..."
One simply doesn't jump from such heights and not wonder what would happen if he failed to do everything just right so that he would survive the fall, so that he would be able to find himself on the ground once more and laugh in the face of the death that he had surely avoided. In fact, these thoughts were only too common. Sometimes, a morbid curiosity would possess him and he would let himself fall further than he should--just to see if he could. Always, he would take to a newer height and a further fall--just to see if he could.
Because if he could only keep jumping and leaping from such places and find himself again and again without injury as he continued to fall further and further, well... perhaps then he wouldn't have to see just how close the ground had gotten with each fall.
.
Fandom: Magic Kaitou
Size: 639 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All things Detective Conan belong to one, Aoyama Gosho. I don't claim to have created any of these characters...just the tormenting situations I put them in. :D
He'd made free-falling into an art.
It wasn't so much the fact that he was graceful or jumped from impossible heights that made it so perfectly wonderful for other people to watch and for he himself to enjoy. No, it was, if anything, simply the smile on his face that people never saw but knew was there as he ran and leapt from those heights, laughing with the thrill of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he felt gravity take hold, taking him story after story, mile after mile, ever closer to the point of impact.
The impact that never came. The one he always managed to escape through sheer luck, ingenuity, and perfect timing. One simply couldn't open a hangglider in the middle of a freefall while at terminal velocity. But no one had to know that. It was his own little secret. For all the audience below him knew, he was able to sprout wings and ride the air that he had been falling through.
Some people might say that he was a bit on the crazy side for finding such a dangerous and possibly hazardous to one's health way of getting a thrill. He mostly ignored the people and continued to leap from buildings, from planes, from impossible heights with a twist of his body and a grin on his face, making people wonder about his sanity.
To fall in such a way had to be terrifying to any normal person, right?
But one could argue that he was used to the sensation--especially now that he has so much experience of this activity under his belt. However, it wasn't just the physical feeling of falling he was used to. Part of the reason he was who he was was because while he may pretend to hold all the cards and control all the strings behind a scheme or the world itself, it was the complete opposite. All he had in his hand were a group of Jokers that wouldn't do much to beat a pair of duces unless he got lucky and they were made Wild. All those strings attached to his fingers were frayed and continously breaking under the commands that the marinettes couldn't seem to follow.
He was never in complete control of anything besides himself. It was how he ended up in this sort of life--stealing, running, and falling. Always falling.
But he did have control of himself. It was the only thing he really had. His Poker Face, which could be used to fool others to believe that he was in control of things and thus give him an edge over them all. If one believed he was in control, then he was. As for the falling, it was the control he had over himself that kept him from following along with errants thoughts of "What if?" and "I wonder..."
One simply doesn't jump from such heights and not wonder what would happen if he failed to do everything just right so that he would survive the fall, so that he would be able to find himself on the ground once more and laugh in the face of the death that he had surely avoided. In fact, these thoughts were only too common. Sometimes, a morbid curiosity would possess him and he would let himself fall further than he should--just to see if he could. Always, he would take to a newer height and a further fall--just to see if he could.
Because if he could only keep jumping and leaping from such places and find himself again and again without injury as he continued to fall further and further, well... perhaps then he wouldn't have to see just how close the ground had gotten with each fall.
.