the collage effect:
Anyone who's around me long enough will soon learn that I have the self-control of a chihuahua. Drabbles/first lines pieced together from between several hours of Hamlet, French vocab, and the economic condition. I might do something with these eventually and post to threespeak, but for now it's just a potpourri:
it's just a flesh wound
1. When Ryoma’s shoulder dislocates, he anchors his fingers in the grooves of his bicep, and rams it back in. They hear the sound it makes, and his teeth clenching, but Tezuka is the only one not wincing, his eyes open because they can’t be closed.
2. Once there was an open sake bottle and a couple of shot glasses and a whole night to kill before the first real, mattering tournament, the first one that meant anything to anyone. Ten minutes they spent counting bruises- an hour, they discussed the goddamned way hair stuck in their eyes, noses, mouths when a real rally got going, and Akira got the scissors and they almost almost almost cut their hair. (Well, fucking close.) He had the scissor blades near the strands touching Shinji’s face, hand-eye coordination not all there, and forgot what he was doing when he felt Shinji’s hand moving up from his knee, in through the right leg of his shorts.
3. Since he was four, Yuuta has broken three bones and busted an appendix- what he doesn’t say is that his brother has kissed every one of these better, and when there were no injuries, they invented new ones.
Fuji always smiles a little sweeter when okaa-san calls six-year old Yuuta, long-sufferingly, an accident in action.
4. Akutsu’s trademark greeting is a fist to the face. Sengoku prefers waving, himself, but counts himself lucky that most of the time they say “hi” across hallways.
5. Injury is not uncommon- tennis is such a rough sport, after all- but, while Shishido calls his black eyes ‘trophies’ and wears them like designer jeans, Taki much prefers a well-applied coat of concealer.
6. “What blood?” Akaya asks, smearing it off his nose and mouth with the back of his arm. Yanagi sighs and goes for the first aid kit; Yukimura offers a sleeve.
it's just a flesh wound
1. When Ryoma’s shoulder dislocates, he anchors his fingers in the grooves of his bicep, and rams it back in. They hear the sound it makes, and his teeth clenching, but Tezuka is the only one not wincing, his eyes open because they can’t be closed.
2. Once there was an open sake bottle and a couple of shot glasses and a whole night to kill before the first real, mattering tournament, the first one that meant anything to anyone. Ten minutes they spent counting bruises- an hour, they discussed the goddamned way hair stuck in their eyes, noses, mouths when a real rally got going, and Akira got the scissors and they almost almost almost cut their hair. (Well, fucking close.) He had the scissor blades near the strands touching Shinji’s face, hand-eye coordination not all there, and forgot what he was doing when he felt Shinji’s hand moving up from his knee, in through the right leg of his shorts.
3. Since he was four, Yuuta has broken three bones and busted an appendix- what he doesn’t say is that his brother has kissed every one of these better, and when there were no injuries, they invented new ones.
Fuji always smiles a little sweeter when okaa-san calls six-year old Yuuta, long-sufferingly, an accident in action.
4. Akutsu’s trademark greeting is a fist to the face. Sengoku prefers waving, himself, but counts himself lucky that most of the time they say “hi” across hallways.
5. Injury is not uncommon- tennis is such a rough sport, after all- but, while Shishido calls his black eyes ‘trophies’ and wears them like designer jeans, Taki much prefers a well-applied coat of concealer.
6. “What blood?” Akaya asks, smearing it off his nose and mouth with the back of his arm. Yanagi sighs and goes for the first aid kit; Yukimura offers a sleeve.