[Original: Drabble] "Riverfront" [Zeke Jones, G]
Title: Riverfront
Prompt: writerverse challenge #15 weekly quick fic #9 prompts ‘sugar, spice & everything nice’ & ‘Martin Luther King, Jr”
Bonus: original fiction
Word Count: 166
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Jones and Howell are on foot patrol one summer night.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Riverfront
It was a warm summer night, so warm that even I had rolled up the sleeves of my uniform shirt, matching my partner for the first time since early March. We were on foot patrol, following MLK Drive along the Schuylkill River, but it was such a nice night that I didn’t even mind.
The lights from Boathouse Row reflected in the water, and we could hear music floating up from the Ben Franklin Parkway. There was some kind of festival or party going on near the Art Museum that involved a lot of black lights and glow sticks, but I had skipped breakfast that afternoon, and I was much more interested in the food carts lining the street.
“I shudder to think what your insides must look like, rookie,” said Howell.
“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” I said, around a large mouthful of deep-fried dill pickle-on-a-stick. “Want some?”
My partner snorted, which I took as a ‘no’. “At least it’s a vegetable,” he muttered.
THE END
Current Mood:
tired
Prompt: writerverse challenge #15 weekly quick fic #9 prompts ‘sugar, spice & everything nice’ & ‘Martin Luther King, Jr”
Bonus: original fiction
Word Count: 166
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Jones and Howell are on foot patrol one summer night.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Riverfront
It was a warm summer night, so warm that even I had rolled up the sleeves of my uniform shirt, matching my partner for the first time since early March. We were on foot patrol, following MLK Drive along the Schuylkill River, but it was such a nice night that I didn’t even mind.
The lights from Boathouse Row reflected in the water, and we could hear music floating up from the Ben Franklin Parkway. There was some kind of festival or party going on near the Art Museum that involved a lot of black lights and glow sticks, but I had skipped breakfast that afternoon, and I was much more interested in the food carts lining the street.
“I shudder to think what your insides must look like, rookie,” said Howell.
“Sugar and spice and everything nice,” I said, around a large mouthful of deep-fried dill pickle-on-a-stick. “Want some?”
My partner snorted, which I took as a ‘no’. “At least it’s a vegetable,” he muttered.
THE END
Current Mood:
tired