Hi-Jack: Prompt-a-thon is on!
Due to the positive feddback on the suggestion post, letś do this!
You give me a prompt. I´ll write you one, but in turn the next person will ask a drabble from you and you will write it. The next person will request a drabble from that person.....and so on and so forth.
So, B gets a drabble from A, C gets a drabble from B, D gets a drabble from C ( Read more... )
You give me a prompt. I´ll write you one, but in turn the next person will ask a drabble from you and you will write it. The next person will request a drabble from that person.....and so on and so forth.
So, B gets a drabble from A, C gets a drabble from B, D gets a drabble from C ( Read more... )
Someone had to finalise James Jesse's estate, execute his will (the real one), sell his house... go through his possessions. He wished it didn't have to be him. But there was no one else.
This room was the worst: The toy room, the workshop, the place where the Trickster created his tricks. There were boxes of yo-yos and T-bombs and box after box after box of rubber chickens ye gods the man never tired of rubber chickens, did he... One thousand and one tricks to do with rubber chickens... One thousand and one kinks to do with rubber chickens... Did not need to know that, Hartley sighed to himself as he reached for another box.
The Airwalker shoes. All of them, every pair, every model, that the Trickster had ever made, from the Mark Ones on up, including the red platform thigh-highs with the stiletto heels that Hartley had Just Not Asked about because he was certain that the answer would not be what he was hoping for. He reached for the oldest pair and hugged them to his chest -- these were the first, the originals, that James had worn on the high wire.
Hartley wiped the tears (hadn't he run out yet?) and stacked the boxes. Then he steeled himself and reached for one of the photo albums. He tried to make himself just put it away, put it into a box, don't look at it...
It was full of postcards and photographs, from various vacations and other people's vacations. He turned the pages slowly, looking at the various ages of James Jesse, observing how he'd changed. Then one caught his eye and he winced -- he knew that postcard. He'd sent it, during a night of limoncello in the shadow of Vesuvius, when he'd thought it would be funny to mail James a postcard saying "Wish you were here - oh wait, you are!" The things you think are funny when you're drunk...
He didn't want to see the pictures. Didn't want to see the postcard of Mount Fiji, didn't want to see the photo of himself wearing the "Champion Cock" t-shirt, didn't want to see the pictures of James and the maiko, didn't need to see the pictures of James in the half-open yukata at the onsen...
It was after dark when he finally wiped his eyes again, then took the boxes out to the car.
(my prompt: Thunder!)
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Lightning flashed over the dark sky and thunder growled, coming closer and closer.
"Boom!"
Lightning - thunder!
"Bo-"
"Mark, for heaven´s sake, cut out the crap!" Len hollered. He was leaning out of the window and got completely drenched. "Stop this bullshit and come inside!"
Mark pouted and floated down, looking disappointed.
He was soaked to the bone and left little puddles of water on the carpet.
"Dude, we just cleaned up the place!" JJ complained.
"But I like thunderstorms," Mark sighed, "the thunder...how it roars..."
"Mark," Piper intervened, "yesterday you like rainbows because they were pretty and sparkly, and the day before that you like sunshine because it´s warm and golden"
"You can´t tell me what to do!"
...
"What´s eating him?"
"PMS?"
(sorry, katze^^)
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Heeee I just love your writing. This is lovely! Thanks!!! ^_____^
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