Pastimes for when you should sleep but aren't
First five of 13ish most recent drabble requests; more after sleep, I hope.
For sotto_voice, True Blood, Jessica and Hoyt, small townThe sign flashes in Hoyt’s headlights, the town name, the population in the low three digits. Jessica snorts, even if she doesn’t have to, because that’s the only real way to express her disgust. “How anybody lives like this, you’ll never convince me it’s worth it.”
Hoyt frowns, and steals a puzzled glance at her. “What?”
She nods at the stoplight, one of six between them and the rest of the highway. “Look at this. It’s nothing. I thought my life was over when I had to come to Bon Temps. No offense, but I did. Not that it wasn’t, technically, but that’s not my point. What does anybody do here?” She stabs a gesture toward the flickering light of the drive-through convenience store: MILLER LIGHT BUDWEISER CIGARETTES LIVE NIGHTCRAWLERS. “There’s nobody!”
“That’s not true,” Hoyt begins. “There’s obviously somebody-”
“Not anyone that counts,” she huffs, again because it’s the only way she can say that, and because she likes remembering needing to.
“That’s not true,” Hoyt says again. The town slips behind them: all the signals were green. When she looks over at him, just outlined in the glow of his brights, he’s got that pensive look on him. “Some people only need just enough,” he says, and when he smiles, when she sees the light bend around the corner of his mouth, something invisible flutters inside her, eager and baffled as a moth.
For
brewsternorth, BoB, Luz and Lipton, Easy-with-daemons, coffee“Heya, Lip.” Luz rolls onto his side. “What do you say I use this radio for something useful?” Lipton takes his eyes off the low-hanging clouds and looks at Luz. His mockingbird daemon climbs up and down his shoulder in short hops.
“Yeah?” He readjusts his hold on his rifle. “Like what?”
“Maybe a bathtub,” Luz says without skipping a beat. “We’ve been in Holland, what a month? No bathtubs. Unbelievable.”
“I’m sure there are bathtubs somewhere,” says Lipton. He glances at Violet as she paws the muddy wall of the foxhole.
“Have you seen ‘em? I haven’t seen ‘em.” Luz snorts and fumbles through his breast pocket. He comes up with a pack of Woodbines and sighs. “Goddamn sawdust.”
“Lay ‘em down,” Lipton suggests. “We could do with some dry lining.”
Luz cants his head while his daemon perches on his radio. “You just make a joke, sarge?”
“Just trying to be practical.” He tries to brush off some of the water soaking Violet’s shaggy fur. She gives him a baleful bobcat look, but doesn’t argue.
Luz chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll tell you what else we need. We need Gordon’s magic helmet. You had his coffee? It’s like Guinness. You ever drink that stuff?” Lipton shakes his head. Luz exhales. “They told us stories in England. You don’t want to know what’s in those brewing vats, but it adds a certain something to the taste.” He pauses. “First class coffee. I could do with some right now.” His daemon hisses, a dead-on radio sound. Lipton shakes his head and allows himself a smile, and one memory of something warmer.
For chanter_greenie, 506toccoa_ave AU, Shifty and Tab, Tab gets to keep Trigger.Shifty isn’t watching Tab while he speaks; he’s watching the dog. “It works for Skinny is all I’m saying,” Tab concludes, obviously certain that his charms will work on everybody, Darrell C. Powers included. Shifty will take the dog, thank you. At least its cons are simple. The dog is staring intently back at him, his ears pricked, his every feature on high alert.
Shifty thins his lips. “Skinny does it, so it’s a good idea?”
Tab nods, once and with great emphasis. “Half the people who go into Web’s bookstore go in to see that dog.”
“Bookstore’s different. You run a bar.”
“Drunks love dogs!” Tab spreads his arms. “Come on, it’s not like there’s an ordinance against it.” He pauses. “Is there?”
“Maybe,” Shifty allows. “All I know is your dog was real forward with Skinny’s coonhound in front of Liebgott’s barber shop.”
Talbert is the very model of resolute confidence. “He can behave himself.”
“Can he now?”
Trigger whines and tries to look demure. He presses himself to the ground and rolls over, his huge tail sweeping over the concrete. Shifty sighs.
“I just don’t think Skinny Sisk is your best defense, is all.”
Talbert crooks one eyebrow. “Have you met the Liebgott sister? Dog, Maggie, boom, that’s all I’m saying.”
Shifty drops his eyes back down to Trigger. “Fair point,” he admits, and the dog leaps up to lick him.
For bloodygoodgirl, BoB, Easy celebrating St. Patricks Day“For God’s sake!” yelled Muck, much good that it did him. “For God’s sake - Joe! Joe!”
Toye was deaf to his pleas - to all of their pleas, actually - and continued belting out “Bridget O’Flynn” according to his stated desire.
Malarkey hefted him a little more upright. “Joe, this ain’t your skill set. I’m begging you, buddy, please. It’s enough they have to have air raid sirens here.”
Toye tried to wrench out of their grasp. “I don’t stop you from cooking-” he began, and stumbled on the cobblestones. Muck caught him, but Malarkey missed his side. “Good thing you’re wearing green, or I’d have to punch you,” he said thickly.
Muck glanced over at Malarkey. “Was it punching where you’re from? We only pinched.”
“We made it kissing if you did wear green,” said Malarkey. “Only if the girl was pretty, though.”
“I like that one,” said Toye, who had remembered which verse he’d left off on and began singing anew.
“I think pinching is more egalitarian,” said Muck, shouting around Toye’s shoulder.
Malarkey’s mouth twisted. “Hey, I’m just saying, it worked for me.”
For girl_wonder, SPN, "I want a drabble about Dean's kid. You know there's one out there. And you know that Michael is courting her."Maya looked up at Mr. Jennings, deeply unimpressed. “I told you last time that if you talked to me again, I was kicking you in the nuts.”
Mr. Jennings smiled down at her, like she was supposed to be impressed. Like that worked with any adults who didn’t earn it. “And I told you last time that I would keep dropping by so we could talk. We still have things to discuss, Maya.”
“And I still have to punch you in the nads,” said Maya with flat determination. Mr. Jennings tilted his head.
“Now where did you learn language like that?”
She tongued a loose tooth. “I’m seven, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a baby.”
“Of course.” Mr. Jennings crouched down, and Maya narrowed her eyes. It would be easier for him to block her - and to grab her - like this. She took a measured step to the side. “Maya,” he said, and she could feel him thrumming, like someone playing speakers so loud you couldn’t even hear them. “Maya, you can help me. You can help everybody. You’re very special.”
“Of course I am,” she interrupted, her chin held high. She started reading when she was three. She could make anything with paper, scissors and rubber cement. She had more scars on her knees than anyone else at school. Her mama loved her.
Mr. Jennings flickered around the edges. He had never done that before. Maya went very still, and watched him, but didn’t run. “I need your permission, Maya,” he said, his voice strange and menacing and smooth as dark honey. “You can be as big as you deserve to be. Just listen to my question and say yes, and you won’t see me again.” She didn’t move: she saw what he thought that meant. He smiled and reached toward her.
Quick as a dinosaur, she bit him. She bit his hand, and then she ran, her sneakers lighting up as she pounded home, through fences and under clotheslines and around parked cars. She threw herself through her back door, into the kitchen, where her mama was standing at the sink, washing carrots. Mama turned at the slamming of the screen door. “Sweetie, did something happen?”
“Yeah,” Maya said, and grinned. “I lost a tooth.”
This entry was originally posted at http://newredshoes.dreamwidth.org/1546786.html, which has
comments. Feel free to drop in using OpenID.
For sotto_voice, True Blood, Jessica and Hoyt, small townThe sign flashes in Hoyt’s headlights, the town name, the population in the low three digits. Jessica snorts, even if she doesn’t have to, because that’s the only real way to express her disgust. “How anybody lives like this, you’ll never convince me it’s worth it.”
Hoyt frowns, and steals a puzzled glance at her. “What?”
She nods at the stoplight, one of six between them and the rest of the highway. “Look at this. It’s nothing. I thought my life was over when I had to come to Bon Temps. No offense, but I did. Not that it wasn’t, technically, but that’s not my point. What does anybody do here?” She stabs a gesture toward the flickering light of the drive-through convenience store: MILLER LIGHT BUDWEISER CIGARETTES LIVE NIGHTCRAWLERS. “There’s nobody!”
“That’s not true,” Hoyt begins. “There’s obviously somebody-”
“Not anyone that counts,” she huffs, again because it’s the only way she can say that, and because she likes remembering needing to.
“That’s not true,” Hoyt says again. The town slips behind them: all the signals were green. When she looks over at him, just outlined in the glow of his brights, he’s got that pensive look on him. “Some people only need just enough,” he says, and when he smiles, when she sees the light bend around the corner of his mouth, something invisible flutters inside her, eager and baffled as a moth.
For
brewsternorth, BoB, Luz and Lipton, Easy-with-daemons, coffee“Heya, Lip.” Luz rolls onto his side. “What do you say I use this radio for something useful?” Lipton takes his eyes off the low-hanging clouds and looks at Luz. His mockingbird daemon climbs up and down his shoulder in short hops.
“Yeah?” He readjusts his hold on his rifle. “Like what?”
“Maybe a bathtub,” Luz says without skipping a beat. “We’ve been in Holland, what a month? No bathtubs. Unbelievable.”
“I’m sure there are bathtubs somewhere,” says Lipton. He glances at Violet as she paws the muddy wall of the foxhole.
“Have you seen ‘em? I haven’t seen ‘em.” Luz snorts and fumbles through his breast pocket. He comes up with a pack of Woodbines and sighs. “Goddamn sawdust.”
“Lay ‘em down,” Lipton suggests. “We could do with some dry lining.”
Luz cants his head while his daemon perches on his radio. “You just make a joke, sarge?”
“Just trying to be practical.” He tries to brush off some of the water soaking Violet’s shaggy fur. She gives him a baleful bobcat look, but doesn’t argue.
Luz chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll tell you what else we need. We need Gordon’s magic helmet. You had his coffee? It’s like Guinness. You ever drink that stuff?” Lipton shakes his head. Luz exhales. “They told us stories in England. You don’t want to know what’s in those brewing vats, but it adds a certain something to the taste.” He pauses. “First class coffee. I could do with some right now.” His daemon hisses, a dead-on radio sound. Lipton shakes his head and allows himself a smile, and one memory of something warmer.
For chanter_greenie, 506toccoa_ave AU, Shifty and Tab, Tab gets to keep Trigger.Shifty isn’t watching Tab while he speaks; he’s watching the dog. “It works for Skinny is all I’m saying,” Tab concludes, obviously certain that his charms will work on everybody, Darrell C. Powers included. Shifty will take the dog, thank you. At least its cons are simple. The dog is staring intently back at him, his ears pricked, his every feature on high alert.
Shifty thins his lips. “Skinny does it, so it’s a good idea?”
Tab nods, once and with great emphasis. “Half the people who go into Web’s bookstore go in to see that dog.”
“Bookstore’s different. You run a bar.”
“Drunks love dogs!” Tab spreads his arms. “Come on, it’s not like there’s an ordinance against it.” He pauses. “Is there?”
“Maybe,” Shifty allows. “All I know is your dog was real forward with Skinny’s coonhound in front of Liebgott’s barber shop.”
Talbert is the very model of resolute confidence. “He can behave himself.”
“Can he now?”
Trigger whines and tries to look demure. He presses himself to the ground and rolls over, his huge tail sweeping over the concrete. Shifty sighs.
“I just don’t think Skinny Sisk is your best defense, is all.”
Talbert crooks one eyebrow. “Have you met the Liebgott sister? Dog, Maggie, boom, that’s all I’m saying.”
Shifty drops his eyes back down to Trigger. “Fair point,” he admits, and the dog leaps up to lick him.
For bloodygoodgirl, BoB, Easy celebrating St. Patricks Day“For God’s sake!” yelled Muck, much good that it did him. “For God’s sake - Joe! Joe!”
Toye was deaf to his pleas - to all of their pleas, actually - and continued belting out “Bridget O’Flynn” according to his stated desire.
Malarkey hefted him a little more upright. “Joe, this ain’t your skill set. I’m begging you, buddy, please. It’s enough they have to have air raid sirens here.”
Toye tried to wrench out of their grasp. “I don’t stop you from cooking-” he began, and stumbled on the cobblestones. Muck caught him, but Malarkey missed his side. “Good thing you’re wearing green, or I’d have to punch you,” he said thickly.
Muck glanced over at Malarkey. “Was it punching where you’re from? We only pinched.”
“We made it kissing if you did wear green,” said Malarkey. “Only if the girl was pretty, though.”
“I like that one,” said Toye, who had remembered which verse he’d left off on and began singing anew.
“I think pinching is more egalitarian,” said Muck, shouting around Toye’s shoulder.
Malarkey’s mouth twisted. “Hey, I’m just saying, it worked for me.”
For girl_wonder, SPN, "I want a drabble about Dean's kid. You know there's one out there. And you know that Michael is courting her."Maya looked up at Mr. Jennings, deeply unimpressed. “I told you last time that if you talked to me again, I was kicking you in the nuts.”
Mr. Jennings smiled down at her, like she was supposed to be impressed. Like that worked with any adults who didn’t earn it. “And I told you last time that I would keep dropping by so we could talk. We still have things to discuss, Maya.”
“And I still have to punch you in the nads,” said Maya with flat determination. Mr. Jennings tilted his head.
“Now where did you learn language like that?”
She tongued a loose tooth. “I’m seven, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a baby.”
“Of course.” Mr. Jennings crouched down, and Maya narrowed her eyes. It would be easier for him to block her - and to grab her - like this. She took a measured step to the side. “Maya,” he said, and she could feel him thrumming, like someone playing speakers so loud you couldn’t even hear them. “Maya, you can help me. You can help everybody. You’re very special.”
“Of course I am,” she interrupted, her chin held high. She started reading when she was three. She could make anything with paper, scissors and rubber cement. She had more scars on her knees than anyone else at school. Her mama loved her.
Mr. Jennings flickered around the edges. He had never done that before. Maya went very still, and watched him, but didn’t run. “I need your permission, Maya,” he said, his voice strange and menacing and smooth as dark honey. “You can be as big as you deserve to be. Just listen to my question and say yes, and you won’t see me again.” She didn’t move: she saw what he thought that meant. He smiled and reached toward her.
Quick as a dinosaur, she bit him. She bit his hand, and then she ran, her sneakers lighting up as she pounded home, through fences and under clotheslines and around parked cars. She threw herself through her back door, into the kitchen, where her mama was standing at the sink, washing carrots. Mama turned at the slamming of the screen door. “Sweetie, did something happen?”
“Yeah,” Maya said, and grinned. “I lost a tooth.”
This entry was originally posted at http://newredshoes.dreamwidth.org/1546786.html, which has
comments. Feel free to drop in using OpenID.