Kick Start Me Meme
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing or character of your choosing*. In return, you are challenged to post this in your own journal, regardless of your ability level- or not as you wish.
01. natural_blue_26: Firefly; River on developing Simon/Kaylee ( FILLED)
02. lisacharly: Animorphs; Peter/Eva ( FILLED)
03. rena_librarian: ( Read more... )
01. natural_blue_26: Firefly; River on developing Simon/Kaylee ( FILLED)
02. lisacharly: Animorphs; Peter/Eva ( FILLED)
03. rena_librarian: ( Read more... )
The bass rhythm pulses in his feet, the mass of bodies on the makeshift dance floor swaying along with it. His back presses against the cool plaster of the wall and he shivers despite the oppressive heat of the party. There's a red plastic cup in his hand, flashing in the strobe lights, the drink inside untouched. It's probably spiked.
"Hey," remarks a voice at his shoulder, hardly straining to be heard above the music, and he jumps, splashing a little of his drink over his hand. He turns to discover that the voice belongs to that tall blonde he sort of had a crush on in junior high. He can certainly appreciate his younger self's instincts, he observes now, noting the modest top over shorts that show off her rather impressive legs. What was her name again? Rachel, that was it.
"Um, hi." He eyes the empty cup in her hand. She doesn't seem to be too drunk, but what sober girl with a face like that would come over to talk to him?
"So, Tobias," and he tries not to look too shocked that she knows his name, "graduation, huh? Going anywhere special next year?"
It takes him a moment to get his voice back. "I -- uh, no. Can't afford it yet." He feels his face heat -- it's just the lights, they're starting to get to him -- and takes a gulp of his punch. Definitely spiked. Good, he needs it. "I'm hoping to get into Berkeley."
She smiles easily, her foot tapping along with the beat. "That's cool. My mom wanted me to do Pre-law at Columbia, but I decided to take the year off."
"Law." He can only too easily picture her in a skirt suit and heels, tearing into witnesses and picking apart the defense's case piece by piece. "That's . . . fitting."
She huffs a laugh through her nose and plucks the cup from his hands, taking a swig before passing it back. "And my dad wants me to go into journalism."
He mimics her actions, whatever had been added to the beverage already starting to burn in his stomach and bolster his courage. "Reporter?"
"Anchor." Her voice lowers into a mockery of a man's, her shoulders straightening formally. "This is Dan Berenson, News at Six, live from Chicago . . . " With another chuckle, she knocks back the last of his drink, her head tipping slightly to one side. "So how about you? Any parental input on your career choice?"
"Not really." His expression is carefully neutral as he slides around the real question with practiced ease. "English is the only thing I'm good at anyway." He shrugs.
"Sure it isn't. We worked that science project together in tenth grade."
"That's right, we did," he realizes, recalling how intimidated he'd been by this tall, popular girl he'd been partnered with. "What was that, the potatoes?"
"The potatoes," she agrees with a laugh, a full one this time. "Jake and Marco tried to come up with an alternative energy source and almost set fire to the school."
"Shame they didn't," he says, shaking his head.
"Hey, you want another drink?" she asks, holding up the empty cups.
"Sure," he says, but she's already gone, vanished into the swaying crowd like a bird lost from view in the trees.
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