Drabbles drabbles!
72. Fortune
Alicia Blade
501 words
“Usagi, what are you doing with your mother’s mirror?” said Luna, perched on Usagi’s cluttered desk with a suspicious scowl drawn between her whiskers.
“I’m sleeping on it,” the girl answered as she tucked the round hand-held mirror beneath her pillow. “Mamoru-baka told me that some people believe if you sleep with a mirror under your pillow, you’ll dream of your future spouse.”
Luna snorted. “Why would he be filling your head with that superstitious nonsense?”
With a shrug, Usagi fluffed the pillow a few times and slipped beneath the covers. “Oh, he was showing off his knowledge of cultural customs or something dumb like that. But hey, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“Knowing you, you’ll trip out of bed in the morning, break the mirror, and then have seven years bad luck.”
Serena glared at the cat, then rolled onto her side with the unspoken declaration of ignoring her pessimistic adviser. She soon fell asleep with a hopeful smile on her lips.
…
Two hours later, Luna was awoken by a low, murmuring voice-soft as a warm breeze against her fur and really rather soothing and delightful. She couldn’t help letting out a small purr before she realized that this was definitely not Usagi’s voice and, therefore, must belong to an intruder.
Instantly alert, she raised her head off her paws and looked toward the open window. The shadowed shape of a man lingered on the windowsill.
Luna bolted to her feet and arched her back, her skin tingling with warning and her fur on end. She was about to scream for Usagi to wake up before recalling that she was not supposed to speak before other humans, particularly ones that could be villainous, and started hissing instead.
“It’s okay, kitty,” said the quiet, soothing voice. “Just go back to sleep.”
Then she realized, with growing perplexity, that she knew that voice.
In fact, she was quite certain it was Mamoru’s voice.
“Meow?”
“I’m just trying to give your mistress sweet dreams,” he said, and Luna could now make out the moonlight in his deep blue eyes, focused serenely on Usagi. She bristled again at the term mistress, but curiosity was quickly overcoming her irritation. Furrowing her small brow, she sat back on her haunches and blinked wide-eyed at the man.
“Usako,” he murmured, the cat forgotten. “Dream of Mamoru. You’re dreaming of Mamoru-baka. You love Mamoru. You want to marry Mamoru…”
Luna could not contain an all-too-human sounding groan, but Mamoru was too intent to notice. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, the feline curled back up at Usagi’s feet and waited with growing impatience for the man to tire of his ploy and go away so she could get some sleep without being accosted with cheesy romantic dreams too.
If only she could have spoken and told the poor boy that he was wasting his time.
Luna didn’t need a magic mirror to know that Usagi already dreamt of Mamoru each night.
40. Pointillism
Alicia Blade
753 words
"Welcome, class, to our final meeting of this extended learning course."
Usagi pouted to herself amidst the crowded classroom, filled with easels, painting smocks, and disappointed groans. The month had gone by far too quickly-she felt like she was just beginning to get the hang of this whole painting thing and now they’d already reached their final session.
She turned to see if any of her companions felt as equally sad at the prospect as she was, but the rest of her friends didn't look anything near heartbroken. Rei was staring out the window in boredom. Ami was poring over some science text book, as she had at the beginning of every class period. Minako and Makoto were both distractedly ogling the cute guy at the back of the room.
Motoki did look honestly disappointed, though, which was nice to see.
Mamoru, on the other hand, looked nothing but relieved as he sat slumped in his chair with his cheek perched grumpily on one fist. Usagi shot him a glare, which he didn't notice or didn't acknowledge, before turning back to the instructor.
Pacing through the center of the room, the teacher continued, "We are going to continue with our work in pointillism today," she said, "as you've all been doing so well with that particular neo-impressionist technique. But today we're going to put a unique spin on it. Instead of working on more landscapes, as popularized by Signac, we're going to combine pointillism with our earlier study on human form, and use the technique to illustrate a live subject." The teacher clapped her hand in excitement and, as the class took out their paintbrushes, she beckoned to someone behind a curtain.
A woman emerged and there was a rustle of surprise through the class. She was enticingly beautiful, with ebony hair, fine cheekbones, and full lips. Wearing a white terrycloth robe, she approached a stool at the center of the group and, without a moment's hesitation, she untied the robe and let it sink to her feet.
Usagi's jaw dropped along with the garment at seeing this stranger standing before her-before everyone-stark naked. A flush blossomed on her cheeks. She looked away and couldn't bring herself to look up as the model seating herself on the stool, the woman’s lack of embarrassment more than made up for by Usagi's own discomfort.
But not for herself. After all, this woman didn't have anything she didn't have (except, perhaps, much longer legs, and that gorgeous black hair). But rather, Usagi was humiliated by the fact that Mamoru, of all people, was sitting right next to her in this trying time. His eyes on that same body. Same face. Same hair. His fingers ready to sketch those same curves. His paintbrush eager to combine the fleshy peach and rosy pink to imitate the exact tone of her…
Usagi cringed, her cheeks on fire.
And to think she even be angry, as it had been her idea that everyone take this art class together. But she certainly wasn't happy about this turn of events.
With her stomach twisted into knots, it was only due to sheer willpower that Usagi managed to pick up her paintbrush, raise her tentative gaze to the model, and begin dabbing the canvas with ruthless a vengeance. She no longer cared about finding the perfect shade or detailing the perfect shape; she just couldn’t wait for the hour to be over.
Cruel time ticked by, each second punctuated by a dozen paintbrushes smacking their canvases. The teacher made her rounds about the room, commenting on different pieces and offering insights to the intricacies of pointillism and color blending. When she came around to Mamoru, her only comment was a pleased hum, followed by, "Very unique take on the subject, Chiba-san."
Usagi's blood nearly boiled right out of her veins.
Until finally, class was over. The model descended her throne and draped the robe around herself before disappearing behind the curtain. Usagi let out a relieved sigh and sensed her pulse finally subsiding from her ears.
Then, and only then, did she dare to glance at Mamoru's painting, with sickening dread filling her at the prospect of seeing those perfect hips and those divine breasts as depicted by his very hand... But her eyes widened when they fell on his canvas and saw, not the woman’s Greek goddess form, but rather… a foot.
Just a foot, and a hint of ankle. And not even a very beautiful foot and ankle at that.
25. Caramel Apple
Alicia Blade
600 words
"One for you, and one for you, and one for Motoki-Onii-san, and one for..." Usagi paused and narrowed her gaze at Mamoru's bemused expression. "All right, I guess you can have one too."
Mamoru quirked an eyebrow as Usagi peeled a caramel apple off a wax-paper-lined baking sheet and held it out to him. He wordlessly took in the apple's perfect sphere marred only by a glob of golden caramel dried flat on its top, and the hint of glossy red skin that circled the popsicle stick jutting from the treat's flesh and held in Usagi's defiant fist.
"It's not poisoned," she said.
He tore his gaze from the apple and looked at her haughty glare-nearly allowing a smile to break through his skepticism-then down at the pink-checkered apron trimmed with lace that hung from her neck and cinched around her petite waist.
"Did you make them?"
"Yes." The hand holding the apple sunk a bit.
"Then how can one be so sure they aren't poisonous."
Usagi harrumphed and smacked the apple, caramel side down, back onto the tray. "Fine, don't take one."
As she spun around, he reached out and grabbed the offered apple by its stick. She paused to watch as he analyzed it more closely.
"Not exactly the epitome of culinary extravagance, but not bad, either."
She teetered for a moment, unsure what he was getting at, before placing her free hand on the apron-draped hip. "I'll have you know that these were not easy to make. First I had to go pick the apples myself-don't look at me like that, we have an apple tree in our back yard. And then I even made real, homemade caramel. None of this melting down of premade caramels. Did you know that it's just sugar and a bit of water? Put it in a pan and keep stirring and all the sudden-voila-caramel."
"Wow. That's all very domestic of you. I'm impressed."
She scowled as he took a big, crunching bite, and chewed, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
"What does domestic mean?" she asked once he'd swallowed.
"House stuff," he said, still looking at the apple. "That's actually not bad, Odango."
She ignored the flutter in her stomach. "What do you mean house stuff?"
Now he looked at her, and shrugged, still slightly taken aback by the fact that the caramel apple was, really, quite delicious. "You know... cooking, cleaning, baking, gardening.... If you say a girl's domestic it's insinuating that she would make a good w-" He paused with his lips still awkwardly pursed, and blinked at her patient, curious eyes. Then looked at the tray of caramel apples in her hand, and at the pink gingham apron, and at the bite taken from the treat in his own hand, and swallowed.
"...worker."
"Worker?"
"Uh-worker... house worker... maid... type... work."
She said nothing, just furrowed her brow and stared at him, wondering if she should be irritated or flattered.
"Um... a woman's place is in the kitchen?" he ventured, cringing as the words left him. But they had the desired affect, as Usagi's look of confusion turned to one of fiery disdain and she grabbed the apple from his hand.
"Chauvinist jerk," she said, whapping him once on the head with the apple, and then plopping it down firmly on top of his crown and storming away.
He couldn't help sighing in relief even as he peeled the apple from his head and had to pick his own stray hairs from the sticky caramel before he could take another delicious bite.
Drabble: 79. Naughty
755 words
She spotted him at the counter, his broad shoulders cloaked in guacamole green and hunched over a mystery treasure, likely a cup of coffee. Glee stirred in the pit of her stomach, mixed with anticipation and a touch of anxiety. Her fingertips were on fire as she searched through her book bag, pulling out the necessary tools of destruction without taking her eyes from the man.
She crept forward on tiptoes, ignorant of the strange looks that other patrons were giving her, staying low so not even Motoki, on the other side of the counter, would see her.
The two men seemed to be having a serious, in-depth discussion. It was perfect. He would be so distracted he would never know what hit him.
A cackle escaped her lips; she choked it back down.
She reached the safety of the counter, and there her target sat, unmoving, not even drinking his coffee-no, she realized with some surprise. It was a milkshake in front of him, and-was that a rose?
She frowned at the rose, then at the two milkshakes, then thought...
Mmmm, milkshake.
She shook her head and quickly closed the distance to his stool with the stealth of a ninja. His voice was low and deep above her, but the words were mostly jumbled up with the noisy arcade. She was glad that the chaos also drowned out the paper that crinkled in her hand as she raised her handmade sign toward Mamoru's back.
"It has to be today," she heard him say. "I can't take this anymore."
She froze, her fingers mere millimeters from his back. He sounded upset. He sounded almost miserable.
Usagi gulped and hardened her resolve. So what if he was? Had Mamoru ever cared if she was upset? If she was miserable?
Gritting her teeth, she stuck the sign to his back with a piece of precut scotch tape, pressing it gently but firmly on the wool jacket.
He didn't stir.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't," said Motoki. "I just think you should go about this a little differently. You know, ease into it. Maybe start by just being nice for once. Otherwise, I'm just worried she might not take you seriously."
Usagi loitered behind Mamoru's stool, torn between the need to escape, and her growing curiosity. What a strange conversation they were having.... But no, she dared not be in Mamoru's presence today. She was too delighted with her brilliant plan to let a confrontation with the jerk ruin it for her.
Turning on her heels, she began to waddle away.
"Not take me seriously?" Mamoru laughed, but it was humorless. "How could she not take me seriously? I'm in love with her."
Usagi squeaked and halted. The floor churned beneath her and she blindly reached for the leg of a stool to steady herself.
Mamoru was in love?
Her heart thumped.
As in... in love, in love?
Her lungs burned.
Was that even possible?
"That's the thing, Mamoru. Right now she thinks you hate her. If you were just to go up to Usagi and say 'Surprise! I'm actually in love with you!', what do you expect her to say?"
Usagi clapped a hand to her mouth.
"Well, I expect her to laugh, but what other choice do I have? I feel like if I have to go another day without her knowing-"
She shot to her feet. "You're in love with me?"
Mamoru and Motoki both started and gaped at her. Mamoru snatched the rose off the counter and hid it behind his back. She barely noticed.
He said nothing. Just stared, openmouthed, as she stared, openmouthed, back at him.
"Well?"
Silence.
"Don't bother trying to deny it," she said, shaking a finger at him. "I heard everything."
Mamoru blinked. Closed his mouth. Gulped. His eyes slid over to Motoki, who shrugged, then back to Usagi. "Um..."
She quirked an eyebrow.
"Ha!"
Usagi jumped at his outburst, and watched, dazed, as his look of terror and uncertainty dissolved into a broad grin.
"April fools!" he yelled. Then he jumped off the stool and half-sauntered, half-ran, toward the exit.
Usagi watched him go, her eyes attached to the crimson rose hidden, but not really hidden, behind his back. That, and the sign she’d thought was so funny that morning.
Ask me about MY odangos.
Then Motoki saw it and burst out laughing, and Usagi couldn’t help but smile too.
In love or not, it was still pretty darn funny.
65. Last Dance
Alicia Blade
1016 words
“When the music starts, the gentlemen will cross the room, bow to their lady of choice, and say, ‘May I have this dance?’”
I groaned. I couldn’t help it. From my standpoint against one mirrored wall I could see the whole line-up of tittering teenage girls, all flushed with excitement. The feeling was akin to standing in front of a firing squad.
The instructor paced before us, waving jazz fingers through the air as she explained how the mating-ritual-that-is-the-waltz was to be properly performed. “Now, this is important, girls. If a boy asks you to dance, you may not say no. You just smile charmingly and accept the boy’s hand. And then we’ll begin. Just follow my lead.”
I felt a heartbeat’s worth of hope at these words-you may not say no-but that was quickly squashed as my gaze crossed the studio and landed on Usagi. Oddly, her complexion had gone scarlet and she was staring at the bamboo floor. I would have expected her to be overjoyed at this whole waltzing-with-strangers thing, but she looked as petrified as I felt. She was probably dreading the possibility that I could be the one to ask her.
“Is everyone ready?” The instructor clapped her hands and moved toward a small CD player. “When the music begins, you may proceed.”
I gulped. My hands were sweating. The radio click as the instructor pressed play and a fantasy invaded my head: screw propriety, this could be my only chance to ever ask her to dance and receive an affirmative response.
The music started. My shoulders clenched as the row of men, myself included, robotically moved toward the row of women. A glance at the mirrored wall confirmed that my cheeks were bright pink. But I moved straight toward her and her still-downcast eyes, and raised my slightly-trembling hand, and opened my mouth.
A voice beside me said, “May I have this dance?”
Usagi glanced up at the stranger. Then her gaze darted toward me and I turned to Rei, beside her. “May I have this dance?” The words came out hoarse, but Rei assented and took my hand.
“You forgot to bow.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, and together we one, two, three-ed away from Usagi and the boy I didn’t know but hated.
We switched partners a half-dozen times as the class wore on, but the courage never came back. Motoki danced with Usagi twice, which was better than seeing her in the arms of strangers because I knew Motoki didn’t like her like that. Still. There was a churning in my stomach and my thoughts were all spite. Mostly toward myself. Coward played as a repetetive soundtrack in my head.
And finally the instructor turned the music off and clapped her hands and thanked us all for coming, and my term in Purgatory was over. Motoki and I hovered over the girls as they changed their shoes and talked about what a good idea this had been (Mina took the credit), and someone mentioned milkshakes, but Usagi stayed put when we headed toward the exit.
“I wanted to ask the teacher some things,” she said. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her lips were turned upward, but there was a melancholiness to her eyes that worried me. No one else seemed to notice. “I’ll meet you at the arcade.”
And so we left her, which I hated almost as much as I hated seeing her dancing with strangers.
Two blocks away, I remembered my jacket, hanging lonely on a peg by the dance studio door, and separated from the group, already feeling this was a blessing. To be going toward Usagi was always better than going away from her, and perhaps we could walk to the arcade together. She would complain about it the whole way, but even that was something to look forward to.
I took the stairs to the studio two at a time, and could hear the waltz music before I opened the door. Perhaps another class had already started.
But there were no gym bags littering the entryway, and no voices, only music. I saw my coat draped over the hook but bypassed it. I glanced toward the studio’s small office, but the instructor wasn’t there, so I stepped into the studio.
Still no instructor, but there was Usagi. Dancing.
By herself.
Her pale arms were up, around an invisible partner. She was turned away from me but I could see her face in the mirror; her eyes closed as she mouthed the steps to the waltz. One, two three, one, two three. Her steps were not exactly graceful, but not clumsy either.
Then she took a mistep and growled in frustration. Her arms fell. She stomped a foot and opened her eyes.
She gasped when she saw me. Color immediately flooded her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She turned toward me, but I couldn’t tell if she was mad, or just embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean-I forgot my coat.” I gestured toward the evidence on the wall peg, but she didn’t look at it. Instead, she shrugged and looked at the floor.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done,” she said.
She started walking toward her street shoes, the lone pair still against the wall, when I stepped forward, blocking her. Surprise registered, and before it could turn to irritation, I swallowed hard and bowed.
“May I-” My voice snagged and I tried to clear it, but no more words would form. My face was furiously hot, and I knew I must look like a fool, but the words, and the bow, couldn’t be taken back. So I held out my hand.
Usagi stared at my outstretched hand for a long, awkward moment. My fingers began to shrivel beneath her scrutiny. “Y-you don’t have to say yes,” I stammered. The chorus of coward, coward, coward, now replaced with idiot, idiot, idiot.
But then her fingers slipped into mine. My heart jolted at the touch. And though she wouldn’t look at me, she curtsied, and I detected a small, nervous smile, and her barely whispered words.
“You may.”