Drabbles from Con
These are from Sakura-Con. I won stuff for them, and yes, I just got around to posting them. Why? Cause I am Sloth. Eat me.
Riku lay, eyes shut almost in sleep, on the bed in the small house. How he got there, to Traverse Town, no one knew. Kaire thought that Sora must have left the boy in First District, before heading off against the Heartless.
Leon wasn’t so sure. Riku had no heart, no vibrancy or life to him. He slept like a life-sized doll or a faintly warm corpse. Sora would have said something, found someone, if he knew his lost friend was in such a condition.
Riku, Sora and Kaire, three children feeding off each other. Sora was the keyblade master, one pure of heart and strong. Kaire was a princess, innocent and brave; and Riku, the darkling child. One and one and one is three, but each is still one.
Leon kept watch over Traverse Town, the only one from his world, and pondered the fickleness of fortune. A triad, a three pointed star, was stronger then the sum of it’s bonds. One is one. But perhaps, if Sora came back, he could be talked to.
One is one, but one is three as well, and the darkness could stand no chance if only the three would come together.
One is one is three is one is three.
Squall’s manner of dealing with a problem was to brood over it if there was time, and hoped it went away; or to take immeadiate ction and brood over the conciquences. He brooded in predictable ways, first trying to see how it was all his fault, how to make it his fault, and then how badly he should feel at his enevitable guilt.
He had practiced for so long he could brood in the middle of a mission, while filing reports, and when in the midst of summoning. Some of the Guardian Forces found this bit obnoxious and he marked time in his planner (next year, around mid-March) to brood over that.
The manner of brooding was simple; he went completely silent, lost in his mind, and leaned against something sturdy while he frowned at nothing. For some reason it was while he was brooding that many a female and some male SeeD’s developed crushes on him, convinced he was some kind of tragic hero screwed over by fate. In fact, Squall was a rather unsociable, misogynistic and disturbed young mercenary, and the things he brooded over so intently were generally of a banal nature, such as why mold was green and how monsters got on the moon.
Gojyo had a way of skipping out on the family type stuff. Sanzo would have followed his example if not for two things: a) he was the father figure of their weird little group, and b) he didn’t want to have anything in common with the perverted waste of skin.
Somehow, in the course of their journey, these two things, coupled with Goku’s stupidity and Hakkai’s devious mother-henning, Sanzo ended up sitting at a table trying to teach Goku to draw. Hakkai had little in the way of artistic skills (or so he claimed) and Sanzo didn’t trust Gojyo to draw anyone with their clothes still on.
Two pieces of paper, a box of waxy crayons and three cigarettes over the course of two hours produced a blank page, (Sanzo’s) and a messy jumble of scribbles that could have been the sun, a flower, or a yellowish interpretation of someone’s grey matter (Goku’s).
Sanzo actually had a reason for not trying to teach Goku. Sanzo couldn’t draw. Beyond that lie the deeper meaning; Goku ran on his own logic and he could see the world in ways other couldn’t, simply because no one had told him differently. Goku could draw just fine in his own way, even if the only one who could see the scribbled mess as a portrait was the man who had Goku’s innocent voice in the back of his head.
Mostly though, Sanzo couldn’t draw.
Riku lay, eyes shut almost in sleep, on the bed in the small house. How he got there, to Traverse Town, no one knew. Kaire thought that Sora must have left the boy in First District, before heading off against the Heartless.
Leon wasn’t so sure. Riku had no heart, no vibrancy or life to him. He slept like a life-sized doll or a faintly warm corpse. Sora would have said something, found someone, if he knew his lost friend was in such a condition.
Riku, Sora and Kaire, three children feeding off each other. Sora was the keyblade master, one pure of heart and strong. Kaire was a princess, innocent and brave; and Riku, the darkling child. One and one and one is three, but each is still one.
Leon kept watch over Traverse Town, the only one from his world, and pondered the fickleness of fortune. A triad, a three pointed star, was stronger then the sum of it’s bonds. One is one. But perhaps, if Sora came back, he could be talked to.
One is one, but one is three as well, and the darkness could stand no chance if only the three would come together.
One is one is three is one is three.
Squall’s manner of dealing with a problem was to brood over it if there was time, and hoped it went away; or to take immeadiate ction and brood over the conciquences. He brooded in predictable ways, first trying to see how it was all his fault, how to make it his fault, and then how badly he should feel at his enevitable guilt.
He had practiced for so long he could brood in the middle of a mission, while filing reports, and when in the midst of summoning. Some of the Guardian Forces found this bit obnoxious and he marked time in his planner (next year, around mid-March) to brood over that.
The manner of brooding was simple; he went completely silent, lost in his mind, and leaned against something sturdy while he frowned at nothing. For some reason it was while he was brooding that many a female and some male SeeD’s developed crushes on him, convinced he was some kind of tragic hero screwed over by fate. In fact, Squall was a rather unsociable, misogynistic and disturbed young mercenary, and the things he brooded over so intently were generally of a banal nature, such as why mold was green and how monsters got on the moon.
Gojyo had a way of skipping out on the family type stuff. Sanzo would have followed his example if not for two things: a) he was the father figure of their weird little group, and b) he didn’t want to have anything in common with the perverted waste of skin.
Somehow, in the course of their journey, these two things, coupled with Goku’s stupidity and Hakkai’s devious mother-henning, Sanzo ended up sitting at a table trying to teach Goku to draw. Hakkai had little in the way of artistic skills (or so he claimed) and Sanzo didn’t trust Gojyo to draw anyone with their clothes still on.
Two pieces of paper, a box of waxy crayons and three cigarettes over the course of two hours produced a blank page, (Sanzo’s) and a messy jumble of scribbles that could have been the sun, a flower, or a yellowish interpretation of someone’s grey matter (Goku’s).
Sanzo actually had a reason for not trying to teach Goku. Sanzo couldn’t draw. Beyond that lie the deeper meaning; Goku ran on his own logic and he could see the world in ways other couldn’t, simply because no one had told him differently. Goku could draw just fine in his own way, even if the only one who could see the scribbled mess as a portrait was the man who had Goku’s innocent voice in the back of his head.
Mostly though, Sanzo couldn’t draw.