mithrigil did this last year, and I'm Shamelessly Copying this year, as entertainment as I finish up edits on the last two pieces before I belong to my Sweet Charity winners. :D
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The blast -- unholy spawn of Reno’s love-affair with Firaga -- melted roof’s cap of sheet-ice and sent chunks sliding down the back of her jacket. She felt crisped on one side, frozen on the other.
"Figures," she said, brushing gritty chunks of ice out of her hair. "He always gets to do the flashy stuff."
Tseng kicked aside the spent cartridge at his feet. "There are advantages to staying quiet in the shadows."
Elena grinned and let him back her against the wall, wet with icemelt, and kissed him in a much more pleasant display of heat and wet.
The world is full of water, has always been full of water; everything is muted and mutable through that veil. Argilla cannot taste the water she swims in; it simply is.
So it should be funny (but in the underwater world she doesn’t know humor) that she draws her first breath with a gasp, looking at eyes grey as the omnipresent rain, hair green as the nonexistant sea.
The rain keeps falling, and she doesn’t know what the wetness in her eyes and the salt on her mouth mean, but she knows: she can’t breathe water any longer.
In her sniper’s perch, Hawkeye’s world cleaves itself: the darkness below, and the darkness behind her eyes. She isn’t a killer at heart -- she must believe that -- but she is a killer in her mind, and with the rifle in her hands her brain becomes clockwork and ice.
One of the constellation of potential-threats below moves. She waits for the moment when all other options collapse and his threat is no longer potential. There. The first bullet strikes sparks on pavement but the second hits flesh, lightless.
She breathes steel and smoke and does not look away.
I am so behind on reading fic it isn't even funny.
Inevitable Ishbal References Are Go!
***
Roy likes his steak rare, his women pretty, his drinks stiff. Except for the last one he’s no one’s idea of a shell-shocked veteran. The trickle of bloody juice from the steak never reminds him of Ishbal; it’s the char where it seared that sometimes does.
"I hear you’re a war hero," his date says. Coy. Flirtatious.
It’s a shame. It would be a great way to pick up women. But he knows he won’t go home with her that night, or likely ever. "I was in the war," he says, more curtly than he means. He tastes ash.
"Stay back," Vincent said, hunching into his cloak like a red, grumpy raven. "Don't come any closer."
"...Vincent? Is something wrong?" Reeve took a step foward. Vincent took another step back. Oh no, here comes the woe again.
But Vincent said, mournfully, "I have a cold. I'm contagious."
Reeve stopped, then, and studied him. Well, Vincent's eyes were red (but they always were), his skin was pale (but it always was), his voice was gravelly (same same) . . . .
Reeve grinned, taking another step forward and catching the edge of Vincent's cloak to prevent further retreat. "I'll take my chances."
I was not expecting fluff, but I'm glad to see it. <3 Saw the reply in my inbox this morning at work but can't reply from there- this was a lovely way to greet the day! Much better than the programming manual staring me in the face.
Oh no, here comes the woe again. OK, brilliant. I had to make a hasty cover-up when my boss asked me why I was giggling.
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***
The blast -- unholy spawn of Reno’s love-affair with Firaga -- melted roof’s cap of sheet-ice and sent chunks sliding down the back of her jacket. She felt crisped on one side, frozen on the other.
"Figures," she said, brushing gritty chunks of ice out of her hair. "He always gets to do the flashy stuff."
Tseng kicked aside the spent cartridge at his feet. "There are advantages to staying quiet in the shadows."
Elena grinned and let him back her against the wall, wet with icemelt, and kissed him in a much more pleasant display of heat and wet.
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Hoho! Glad to see this surfacing again!
DDS, frogs?
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Have a preference for characters, or my choice?
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I think I will reprise this one this year as well.
Reply
You get a slightly oblique one:
***
Metamorphosis
The world is full of water, has always been full of water; everything is muted and mutable through that veil. Argilla cannot taste the water she swims in; it simply is.
So it should be funny (but in the underwater world she doesn’t know humor) that she draws her first breath with a gasp, looking at eyes grey as the omnipresent rain, hair green as the nonexistant sea.
The rain keeps falling, and she doesn’t know what the wetness in her eyes and the salt on her mouth mean, but she knows: she can’t breathe water any longer.
Reply
Reply
***
In her sniper’s perch, Hawkeye’s world cleaves itself: the darkness below, and the darkness behind her eyes. She isn’t a killer at heart -- she must believe that -- but she is a killer in her mind, and with the rifle in her hands her brain becomes clockwork and ice.
One of the constellation of potential-threats below moves. She waits for the moment when all other options collapse and his threat is no longer potential. There. The first bullet strikes sparks on pavement but the second hits flesh, lightless.
She breathes steel and smoke and does not look away.
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Mustang, River of Blood.
Reply
Inevitable Ishbal References Are Go!
***
Roy likes his steak rare, his women pretty, his drinks stiff. Except for the last one he’s no one’s idea of a shell-shocked veteran. The trickle of bloody juice from the steak never reminds him of Ishbal; it’s the char where it seared that sometimes does.
"I hear you’re a war hero," his date says. Coy. Flirtatious.
It’s a shame. It would be a great way to pick up women. But he knows he won’t go home with her that night, or likely ever. "I was in the war," he says, more curtly than he means. He tastes ash.
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5, Reeve?
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"...Vincent? Is something wrong?" Reeve took a step foward. Vincent took another step back. Oh no, here comes the woe again.
But Vincent said, mournfully, "I have a cold. I'm contagious."
Reeve stopped, then, and studied him. Well, Vincent's eyes were red (but they always were), his skin was pale (but it always was), his voice was gravelly (same same) . . . .
Reeve grinned, taking another step forward and catching the edge of Vincent's cloak to prevent further retreat. "I'll take my chances."
Reply
Oh no, here comes the woe again. OK, brilliant. I had to make a hasty cover-up when my boss asked me why I was giggling.
Reply
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