(no subject)
:) Hello, big and beautiful world! This drabble is up at ffnet, and they are up-and-coming at AI And dotmoon. Cheers!
~Ala Verity
^^ I had lots of fun writing this one (instead of doing work, of course), so read it and let me know what you thought! It’s a little bit different, and definitely longer, but should be fun nonetheless.
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100 Themed Drabbles
Ala Verity
31. Weapon (Word Count: 1568)
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Mamoru stared at the enormous, violently pink sign blaring at him from what had previously been glass front. Written in big, bold red lettering were the glaring words:
“NO WEAPONS ALLOWED”
And underneath, in what looked like child’s scrawl: “No exceptions.”
Mamoru took a deep breath, located the automatic doors from under the blanket of blind-me pink, and stepped into the cool arcade.
The first thing he noticed was the strange absence of smiles from the customers’ faces. The arcade usually served as a sanctuary for teens seeking to escape the banality of schoolwork or their parents’ constant nagging, but today the hum of the machines was accompanied only by low murmurs and furtively cast glances. The front windows, covered entirely by the banner, let in no light, no sign that a hot August day existed beyond this four-wall air-conditioned cell.
Mamoru wound his way to his usual seat and sat down, drumming his fingers against the counter as he waited for Motoki to emerge from the back room. As he sat there, bored, his eyes wandered to the utensils set neatly next to his hand. On top of a pink paper napkin-the same brilliant shade as the sign outside-laid a plastic spork.
“Ah, sorry for making you w-oh, hey Mamoru!” Motoki called, carrying a large box in his arms as he came out of the storage room. “How’re you doing, man?”
“Better than you, evidently,” Mamoru replied, holding up the spork for inspection. “Need a hand with those dishes?”
Motoki dropped the box lightly on the counter and turned to face him. “Huh?”
“Your dishwasher. It’s broken, right?”
“Oh!” Motoki shook his head. “Er…not quite.”
“And I meant to ask-“ Mamoru raised his eyebrow at the conspicuously discolored napkin in his hand. “That sign outside, and this décor…what are you doing with something as hideous as-“
“SHHH! Don’t! She’ll hear y-“
“Ohhh, Motoki!”
Motoki’s head shot up, and Mamoru saw him hastily plaster a smile on his face. It was not unlike the look he got whenever he did something wrong and knew that trouble with Reika was fast approaching. “U-Usagi-chan! You’re back!”
“Yup! So did you get the boxes of sporks and environment-safe napkins I left for you?”
“Uh…Yeah!“ Motoki cast a sidelong glance at Mamoru, the look in his eyes pleading. “I-I don’t know about this, Usagi-chan-“
Her voice instantly turned coy and curious, deadlier than even her piercing wail of doom. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?’ Don’t know about what, Motoki?”
“H-Hang on, I only meant-you know, the customers are complaining that they can’t cut the French toast without knives, you see, and that’s our most popular…popular dish…“
Mamoru could practically see his best friend shrinking under Usagi’s unrelenting stare.
“A-and…it’s just…the sunlight…sign…gone…” The words died a premature death, and Motoki turned away meekly, whimpering as he shuffled back into the back room (doubtless to retrieve some more boxes filled with luridly-colored plastic goods), “Darkness…forever…”
Mamoru snorted and turned in his seat to face Usagi.
“Did the witch hunt not catch up to you, Odango, or do you only save your black magic for special occasions? You know Motoki can’t compete with your forces of evil.”
Any trace of remaining coyness vanished from her voice, to be replaced with marked irritability. “Are you blind, baka?”
Mamoru blinked. Was it just him, or did the conversation just take a running leap off a nearby cliff? “No…” he said slowly, feeling through the dark for words that seemed to fit her indecipherable remark, “But taking a look at you might do it.”
“Ooh, that is IT!” Usagi shouted-and without further explanation, she grabbed Mamoru’s wrist and marched towards the arcade exit, dragging him along with unexpected force for such a tiny girl.
“H-hey! You’re going to rip my arm off, Odango!”
Usagi only pulled harder.
“There!” she said once they had made it back outside, under the searing heat of the sun high above their heads. “There! Read that!”
“Read what?” Mamoru whirled on Usagi, towering over the impudent blonde. “Like I could have not read that ugly piece of junk on the way in!”
“Then you are either illiterate, or you must be thicker-headed than I thought, because it says no weapons, you idiot!”
He blinked. “Who’s bringing weapons?”
“You! Every-single-day-“ She poked him hard in the chest with every word. “You and your stupid sharpened tongue and your dumb insults and your-your awful hurtful words! You come in here every day just dying to pick on me and make me feel like even more of a nothing than I already am, and I-am-SICK of it! If those aren’t weapons, I don’t know what are, because they hurt!”
She was breathing so hard, looking up so fiercely at him with those blue eyes that nevertheless glittered like twin sapphires under the sunlight, that Mamoru felt his heart snag. Was it possible to do all that when he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it? She was fun to make fun of. He liked seeing her get angry, the way the color rose to her already-flushed cheeks and her hands clenched into tiny little balls. She was cute when she was mad. Even now, staring at that defiant face made his stomach perform flips that would have made an acrobat dizzy. But it was supposed to be a game. It was supposed to be fun for her to poke fun back at him, too.
“And you-you jerk, you stay out here until you put those weapons away!”
Mamoru watched her stalk back into the arcade, blond pigtails swishing behind her. He looked back up at the pink sign still glaring accusingly at him, the words “NO WEAPONS ALLOWED” boring into his eyes like a drill. The longer he stared, the clearer the solution seemed to become, until it was so easy, so simple that he wondered why there had been any question about it before.
He turned and marched back towards the entrance.
Usagi looked up as the automatic glass doors slid open once again, letting in a warm waft of air from outside. The tall, shadowed figure did not hesitate as it weaved its way up between the sullen-faced customers, around the tables set with little matching plastic sporks and napkins with bunny prints on them. He walked all the way until he reached the girl standing in front of the counter, alone, watching him.
When he finally came to a halt in front of her, they regarded each other in silence, the one holding a handful of bright orange buttons with the words “Stop Violence!” emblazoned on them, the other a too-tall upperclassman with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Weapons all gone,” he whispered, after a tentative silence.
He could feel her eyes searching his for some telltale sign of jest. Evidently she found none, because she tilted her face up to meet his gaze and asked quietly, “Are you sure?”
“I even checked the guy behind me, that’s how sure I am.”
He could see the small smile creeping across her lips as she nodded. “Good.”
“Good.”
“So…what do we do now, now that you’re weapon-free?”
Even in the dimness of the arcade, Usagi could make out a faint twinkle in his strikingly blue eyes as he said, “Well, I was thinking that the first thing to do would be to repair the damage done. You know, start with the wounds.”
“And?”
He smiled. “And I think the best way to do that would be to start with a reparation sundae. What about you?”
One of the buttons dropped from her hand and clattered mutely on the violet rug that said “PEACE.” Neither of them bent down to pick it up.
“I-I’d like that.”
“Good,” Mamoru said, taking a seat to wait for Motoki to come back and indicating that Usagi should do the same. He picked up a spork and held it up teasingly in front of her nose. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get a chance to use one of these.”
“Oh, are you getting a sundae too?”
“No. I was thinking I’d eat some of yours.”
Usagi gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing noiselessly. “No,” she said firmly when she found her voice again.
“Why not? It’ll be-“
“I said, ‘NO.’”
Mamoru grinned. “Oh come on, Oda-Usagi, now that we’ve made up, don’t you want to be the sweethearts of Tokyo together?”
“Wai-What? NO! EW, no no no no no no no! Ick! That’s disgusting!”
“Mamoru and Usagi-“
“No! No! NO!”
“Sitting in a tree-“
“I SAID ‘NO!’”
“K-i-s-s-“
“You are so GROSS-“
“-i-n-g! First comes the loooove-“
“And there they go again,” Motoki muttered as he sidled out of the storeroom with a stack of boxes piled high in his arms.
“-I can’t believe-“
“-then comes the marriage-“
“-I ever-“
“-Then comes-“
“-wanted to be friends with YOU!”
“-the baby in the baby carriage!”
“ARGH! MAMORU-BAKA! I HATE YOU!”
And through the din that all of Tokyo was now listening to, the people could barely make out the exasperated question, muffled behind a stack of pink-spork boxes, “You guys royally suck for business, did you know that?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So what did you think? NO, that is not a rhetorical question! So come answer it now!
And yes, “Notebooks” is still being worked on…I see the light at the end of the chapter!
Hugs to those who drop me a note :)
~Ala Verity
^^ I had lots of fun writing this one (instead of doing work, of course), so read it and let me know what you thought! It’s a little bit different, and definitely longer, but should be fun nonetheless.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
100 Themed Drabbles
Ala Verity
31. Weapon (Word Count: 1568)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mamoru stared at the enormous, violently pink sign blaring at him from what had previously been glass front. Written in big, bold red lettering were the glaring words:
“NO WEAPONS ALLOWED”
And underneath, in what looked like child’s scrawl: “No exceptions.”
Mamoru took a deep breath, located the automatic doors from under the blanket of blind-me pink, and stepped into the cool arcade.
The first thing he noticed was the strange absence of smiles from the customers’ faces. The arcade usually served as a sanctuary for teens seeking to escape the banality of schoolwork or their parents’ constant nagging, but today the hum of the machines was accompanied only by low murmurs and furtively cast glances. The front windows, covered entirely by the banner, let in no light, no sign that a hot August day existed beyond this four-wall air-conditioned cell.
Mamoru wound his way to his usual seat and sat down, drumming his fingers against the counter as he waited for Motoki to emerge from the back room. As he sat there, bored, his eyes wandered to the utensils set neatly next to his hand. On top of a pink paper napkin-the same brilliant shade as the sign outside-laid a plastic spork.
“Ah, sorry for making you w-oh, hey Mamoru!” Motoki called, carrying a large box in his arms as he came out of the storage room. “How’re you doing, man?”
“Better than you, evidently,” Mamoru replied, holding up the spork for inspection. “Need a hand with those dishes?”
Motoki dropped the box lightly on the counter and turned to face him. “Huh?”
“Your dishwasher. It’s broken, right?”
“Oh!” Motoki shook his head. “Er…not quite.”
“And I meant to ask-“ Mamoru raised his eyebrow at the conspicuously discolored napkin in his hand. “That sign outside, and this décor…what are you doing with something as hideous as-“
“SHHH! Don’t! She’ll hear y-“
“Ohhh, Motoki!”
Motoki’s head shot up, and Mamoru saw him hastily plaster a smile on his face. It was not unlike the look he got whenever he did something wrong and knew that trouble with Reika was fast approaching. “U-Usagi-chan! You’re back!”
“Yup! So did you get the boxes of sporks and environment-safe napkins I left for you?”
“Uh…Yeah!“ Motoki cast a sidelong glance at Mamoru, the look in his eyes pleading. “I-I don’t know about this, Usagi-chan-“
Her voice instantly turned coy and curious, deadlier than even her piercing wail of doom. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?’ Don’t know about what, Motoki?”
“H-Hang on, I only meant-you know, the customers are complaining that they can’t cut the French toast without knives, you see, and that’s our most popular…popular dish…“
Mamoru could practically see his best friend shrinking under Usagi’s unrelenting stare.
“A-and…it’s just…the sunlight…sign…gone…” The words died a premature death, and Motoki turned away meekly, whimpering as he shuffled back into the back room (doubtless to retrieve some more boxes filled with luridly-colored plastic goods), “Darkness…forever…”
Mamoru snorted and turned in his seat to face Usagi.
“Did the witch hunt not catch up to you, Odango, or do you only save your black magic for special occasions? You know Motoki can’t compete with your forces of evil.”
Any trace of remaining coyness vanished from her voice, to be replaced with marked irritability. “Are you blind, baka?”
Mamoru blinked. Was it just him, or did the conversation just take a running leap off a nearby cliff? “No…” he said slowly, feeling through the dark for words that seemed to fit her indecipherable remark, “But taking a look at you might do it.”
“Ooh, that is IT!” Usagi shouted-and without further explanation, she grabbed Mamoru’s wrist and marched towards the arcade exit, dragging him along with unexpected force for such a tiny girl.
“H-hey! You’re going to rip my arm off, Odango!”
Usagi only pulled harder.
“There!” she said once they had made it back outside, under the searing heat of the sun high above their heads. “There! Read that!”
“Read what?” Mamoru whirled on Usagi, towering over the impudent blonde. “Like I could have not read that ugly piece of junk on the way in!”
“Then you are either illiterate, or you must be thicker-headed than I thought, because it says no weapons, you idiot!”
He blinked. “Who’s bringing weapons?”
“You! Every-single-day-“ She poked him hard in the chest with every word. “You and your stupid sharpened tongue and your dumb insults and your-your awful hurtful words! You come in here every day just dying to pick on me and make me feel like even more of a nothing than I already am, and I-am-SICK of it! If those aren’t weapons, I don’t know what are, because they hurt!”
She was breathing so hard, looking up so fiercely at him with those blue eyes that nevertheless glittered like twin sapphires under the sunlight, that Mamoru felt his heart snag. Was it possible to do all that when he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it? She was fun to make fun of. He liked seeing her get angry, the way the color rose to her already-flushed cheeks and her hands clenched into tiny little balls. She was cute when she was mad. Even now, staring at that defiant face made his stomach perform flips that would have made an acrobat dizzy. But it was supposed to be a game. It was supposed to be fun for her to poke fun back at him, too.
“And you-you jerk, you stay out here until you put those weapons away!”
Mamoru watched her stalk back into the arcade, blond pigtails swishing behind her. He looked back up at the pink sign still glaring accusingly at him, the words “NO WEAPONS ALLOWED” boring into his eyes like a drill. The longer he stared, the clearer the solution seemed to become, until it was so easy, so simple that he wondered why there had been any question about it before.
He turned and marched back towards the entrance.
Usagi looked up as the automatic glass doors slid open once again, letting in a warm waft of air from outside. The tall, shadowed figure did not hesitate as it weaved its way up between the sullen-faced customers, around the tables set with little matching plastic sporks and napkins with bunny prints on them. He walked all the way until he reached the girl standing in front of the counter, alone, watching him.
When he finally came to a halt in front of her, they regarded each other in silence, the one holding a handful of bright orange buttons with the words “Stop Violence!” emblazoned on them, the other a too-tall upperclassman with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Weapons all gone,” he whispered, after a tentative silence.
He could feel her eyes searching his for some telltale sign of jest. Evidently she found none, because she tilted her face up to meet his gaze and asked quietly, “Are you sure?”
“I even checked the guy behind me, that’s how sure I am.”
He could see the small smile creeping across her lips as she nodded. “Good.”
“Good.”
“So…what do we do now, now that you’re weapon-free?”
Even in the dimness of the arcade, Usagi could make out a faint twinkle in his strikingly blue eyes as he said, “Well, I was thinking that the first thing to do would be to repair the damage done. You know, start with the wounds.”
“And?”
He smiled. “And I think the best way to do that would be to start with a reparation sundae. What about you?”
One of the buttons dropped from her hand and clattered mutely on the violet rug that said “PEACE.” Neither of them bent down to pick it up.
“I-I’d like that.”
“Good,” Mamoru said, taking a seat to wait for Motoki to come back and indicating that Usagi should do the same. He picked up a spork and held it up teasingly in front of her nose. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get a chance to use one of these.”
“Oh, are you getting a sundae too?”
“No. I was thinking I’d eat some of yours.”
Usagi gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing noiselessly. “No,” she said firmly when she found her voice again.
“Why not? It’ll be-“
“I said, ‘NO.’”
Mamoru grinned. “Oh come on, Oda-Usagi, now that we’ve made up, don’t you want to be the sweethearts of Tokyo together?”
“Wai-What? NO! EW, no no no no no no no! Ick! That’s disgusting!”
“Mamoru and Usagi-“
“No! No! NO!”
“Sitting in a tree-“
“I SAID ‘NO!’”
“K-i-s-s-“
“You are so GROSS-“
“-i-n-g! First comes the loooove-“
“And there they go again,” Motoki muttered as he sidled out of the storeroom with a stack of boxes piled high in his arms.
“-I can’t believe-“
“-then comes the marriage-“
“-I ever-“
“-Then comes-“
“-wanted to be friends with YOU!”
“-the baby in the baby carriage!”
“ARGH! MAMORU-BAKA! I HATE YOU!”
And through the din that all of Tokyo was now listening to, the people could barely make out the exasperated question, muffled behind a stack of pink-spork boxes, “You guys royally suck for business, did you know that?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So what did you think? NO, that is not a rhetorical question! So come answer it now!
And yes, “Notebooks” is still being worked on…I see the light at the end of the chapter!
Hugs to those who drop me a note :)