Drabbles!
Or, I need to get my writing muscles into gear. They're almost as flabby as the rest of me.
This is just a few drabbles I wrote based on some half-formed ideas I have jotted down somewhere as prompts. I have a ton more to plow through, but it only seems to work if I've got an LJ in front of me. Hm.
Legal Drug
Saiga entered the dream world slowly, as usual. It didn’t take him long to move from dream to dream, the shadows and monsters of other people’s dreams forming and melting around him as he took step after step.
One step brought him to a black place, full of shoji screens and falling leaves. A really pretty man watched him, his eyes as cat-gold as Kakei’s, but they held a despair that made Saiga shiver, and move quickly on. The man watched him leave, but did not say a word.
A few more steps, and he was in the courtyard of a temple. A handsome young man leaned against a pillar, smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Gramps,” Saiga said. “Can I ask for a smoke?”
The young man smiled and shook his head. “It wouldn’t last.”
“Worth a shot,” Saiga said, and moved on to other dreams, searching and searching for the one soul he had yet to find.
***
xxxHolic #1 (AU)
"Ah," he said, "you've got a fairly long lifeline, and look! Your heart line is strong too. That means you'll be lucky in love."
"Really?" The young woman--still a girl, almost--pulled her hand back slowly and gave a giggle. "Any children?"
"Two," he said, "fairly far apart."
"Thank you," she said, and dropped a few low denomination yen bills onto his table. He bowed and thanked her as she walked away with her friends.
The street was busy with pedestrians and passerby, and the side alley he had set up shop in was crowded with other vendors, selling everything from takoyaki to paper charms and puppets. Summer street festivals were his favorite time of year, since they meant more people interested in simple, fun things like horoscopes and palmistry.
"Oi."
He looked up, irritated. It said, "Watanuki Kimihiro, Palm Reader," on his tablecloth--he knew, since he'd been the one to paint it. "Yes?" he said. "Would you like a palm reading?"
The young man standing in front of his table was about his own age, dressed in a light yukata. His eyes were golden, but half-lidded. He sat in the simple folding chair and held out his hand. Something about the way he did it put Kimihiro's hackles up. He growled a little to himself and grasped it, bending forwards to look at the creases and calluses. Something red tugged at his senses, at just the corner of his eye.
"You've got a strong lifeline, with few bumps along the way," he said, ignoring it. He saw red threads all the time; all that meant was a little extra information for this irritating customer, who had yet to say much of anything. "The heart line runs very deep. You have a Water Hand, which means you prize emotions over reason." Privately Kimihiro doubted that, but he had to be professional to do this, and he shunted the thought aside.
His customer had yet to say anything; he just watched, and Kimihiro felt his face start to heat up. Most of his customers didn't just stare at him.
"Your fate line is very steady," he said. "It seems as though few things will disrupt it." He squinted at the man's palm. "Your hand is very familiar," he said. Where had he seen a hand like this before? "And you've got a red thread tied around your finger. The one you're destined to be with is probably pretty close by."
The man grunted. It wasn't even a proper verbal response, it was just a grunt. Kimihiro had to keep his control in order not to shout at him. None of his other customers had affected him this way, not even the drunk fat man who had thought he sold a very different kind of hand-related service.
"Is there anything specific you want to know?" He asked. There was only so much he could tell from a palm in this dim light; normally he preferred to do one-on-one readings, where he could concentrate without the dull pull of humanity and the spirit world to distract him.
"Where does my thread go?" the man asked. His voice was deeper than Kimihiro's, low and unconciously rich.
"It goes--ah--" Kimihiro released the man's hand and moved his own, tracing the glimmering red thread with difficulty. He was in a well-lighted area. "Er, well...."
That was weird. No matter how he squinted, the thread petered out just a few scant inches from the man's pinky finger. It was thicker than most of the threads Kimihiro saw, but so short and tight, as if...
As if....
"Oh god," Kimihiro said. That was why the jerk's hand had looked so familiar--married couples often had similiar heart lines. And now that thick red thread was stretched taut, linked to his own little finger.
"Well?" The man said. He was watching Kimihiro intently, as though there wasn't a takoyaki stand next to them on one side and a stand selling sparklers on the other.
"Guh," was all Kimihiro could say. He thought, very briefly, of lying; but immediately he thought of the old woman who had taught him all this, and knew he couldn't do it.
"Um," he said, for lack of anything better springing to mind. "Would you like some takoyaki? This might take a while."
****
(Ending it there because I'm tired and it was just supposed to be a two-bit drabble,damn it.)
***
xxxHolic #2
It didn't escape the Zashiki Warashi's notice that it was raining the day she realized her special person didn't--and couldn't--love her the way she might have wanted.
Not that she really knew what that was, exactly; she was still rather vague on it all, except that he made her smile and teary and her heart thump a little faster, and that was enough, wasn't it? Except she would never make him feel that way, even though he liked her enough to give her White Day gifts every year without complaint.
The Ame Warashi appeared not too long after the sprinkle started, the raindrops going poro poro on the leaves of the nearby poplars. She huffed, but didn't say anything at all, and held her umbrella over the Zashiki Warashi so that she wouldn't get dripped on. Eventually the rain spirit settled herself next to the Zashiki Warashi on the rock, silent and listening.
"I'm glad he has them," she said at last, once her tears had dried a bit. "But I'm still so sad he didn't--I couldn't--"
"I know," the Ame Warashi said, and her voice was unusually gentle. Her dress was a frothy spillage of black lace, from the high collar and gloves to the long skirt and petticoats. Black lace ribbons tied up her blue pigtails. She shifted closer a little bit. The Zashiki Warashi supposed there could have been more, about how he was a human, and it wouldn't have worked out anyway, but the rain spirit didn't say anything and the Zashiki Warashi was grateful. In the quiet between them, the rain said poro poro on the leaves and pata pata on the stretched fabric of the Ame Warashi's umbrella, a song in counterpoint.
***
...Because the fandom totally needs more lesbians.
This is just a few drabbles I wrote based on some half-formed ideas I have jotted down somewhere as prompts. I have a ton more to plow through, but it only seems to work if I've got an LJ in front of me. Hm.
Legal Drug
Saiga entered the dream world slowly, as usual. It didn’t take him long to move from dream to dream, the shadows and monsters of other people’s dreams forming and melting around him as he took step after step.
One step brought him to a black place, full of shoji screens and falling leaves. A really pretty man watched him, his eyes as cat-gold as Kakei’s, but they held a despair that made Saiga shiver, and move quickly on. The man watched him leave, but did not say a word.
A few more steps, and he was in the courtyard of a temple. A handsome young man leaned against a pillar, smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Gramps,” Saiga said. “Can I ask for a smoke?”
The young man smiled and shook his head. “It wouldn’t last.”
“Worth a shot,” Saiga said, and moved on to other dreams, searching and searching for the one soul he had yet to find.
***
xxxHolic #1 (AU)
"Ah," he said, "you've got a fairly long lifeline, and look! Your heart line is strong too. That means you'll be lucky in love."
"Really?" The young woman--still a girl, almost--pulled her hand back slowly and gave a giggle. "Any children?"
"Two," he said, "fairly far apart."
"Thank you," she said, and dropped a few low denomination yen bills onto his table. He bowed and thanked her as she walked away with her friends.
The street was busy with pedestrians and passerby, and the side alley he had set up shop in was crowded with other vendors, selling everything from takoyaki to paper charms and puppets. Summer street festivals were his favorite time of year, since they meant more people interested in simple, fun things like horoscopes and palmistry.
"Oi."
He looked up, irritated. It said, "Watanuki Kimihiro, Palm Reader," on his tablecloth--he knew, since he'd been the one to paint it. "Yes?" he said. "Would you like a palm reading?"
The young man standing in front of his table was about his own age, dressed in a light yukata. His eyes were golden, but half-lidded. He sat in the simple folding chair and held out his hand. Something about the way he did it put Kimihiro's hackles up. He growled a little to himself and grasped it, bending forwards to look at the creases and calluses. Something red tugged at his senses, at just the corner of his eye.
"You've got a strong lifeline, with few bumps along the way," he said, ignoring it. He saw red threads all the time; all that meant was a little extra information for this irritating customer, who had yet to say much of anything. "The heart line runs very deep. You have a Water Hand, which means you prize emotions over reason." Privately Kimihiro doubted that, but he had to be professional to do this, and he shunted the thought aside.
His customer had yet to say anything; he just watched, and Kimihiro felt his face start to heat up. Most of his customers didn't just stare at him.
"Your fate line is very steady," he said. "It seems as though few things will disrupt it." He squinted at the man's palm. "Your hand is very familiar," he said. Where had he seen a hand like this before? "And you've got a red thread tied around your finger. The one you're destined to be with is probably pretty close by."
The man grunted. It wasn't even a proper verbal response, it was just a grunt. Kimihiro had to keep his control in order not to shout at him. None of his other customers had affected him this way, not even the drunk fat man who had thought he sold a very different kind of hand-related service.
"Is there anything specific you want to know?" He asked. There was only so much he could tell from a palm in this dim light; normally he preferred to do one-on-one readings, where he could concentrate without the dull pull of humanity and the spirit world to distract him.
"Where does my thread go?" the man asked. His voice was deeper than Kimihiro's, low and unconciously rich.
"It goes--ah--" Kimihiro released the man's hand and moved his own, tracing the glimmering red thread with difficulty. He was in a well-lighted area. "Er, well...."
That was weird. No matter how he squinted, the thread petered out just a few scant inches from the man's pinky finger. It was thicker than most of the threads Kimihiro saw, but so short and tight, as if...
As if....
"Oh god," Kimihiro said. That was why the jerk's hand had looked so familiar--married couples often had similiar heart lines. And now that thick red thread was stretched taut, linked to his own little finger.
"Well?" The man said. He was watching Kimihiro intently, as though there wasn't a takoyaki stand next to them on one side and a stand selling sparklers on the other.
"Guh," was all Kimihiro could say. He thought, very briefly, of lying; but immediately he thought of the old woman who had taught him all this, and knew he couldn't do it.
"Um," he said, for lack of anything better springing to mind. "Would you like some takoyaki? This might take a while."
****
(Ending it there because I'm tired and it was just supposed to be a two-bit drabble,damn it.)
***
xxxHolic #2
It didn't escape the Zashiki Warashi's notice that it was raining the day she realized her special person didn't--and couldn't--love her the way she might have wanted.
Not that she really knew what that was, exactly; she was still rather vague on it all, except that he made her smile and teary and her heart thump a little faster, and that was enough, wasn't it? Except she would never make him feel that way, even though he liked her enough to give her White Day gifts every year without complaint.
The Ame Warashi appeared not too long after the sprinkle started, the raindrops going poro poro on the leaves of the nearby poplars. She huffed, but didn't say anything at all, and held her umbrella over the Zashiki Warashi so that she wouldn't get dripped on. Eventually the rain spirit settled herself next to the Zashiki Warashi on the rock, silent and listening.
"I'm glad he has them," she said at last, once her tears had dried a bit. "But I'm still so sad he didn't--I couldn't--"
"I know," the Ame Warashi said, and her voice was unusually gentle. Her dress was a frothy spillage of black lace, from the high collar and gloves to the long skirt and petticoats. Black lace ribbons tied up her blue pigtails. She shifted closer a little bit. The Zashiki Warashi supposed there could have been more, about how he was a human, and it wouldn't have worked out anyway, but the rain spirit didn't say anything and the Zashiki Warashi was grateful. In the quiet between them, the rain said poro poro on the leaves and pata pata on the stretched fabric of the Ame Warashi's umbrella, a song in counterpoint.
***
...Because the fandom totally needs more lesbians.