Challenge 15: House of Ghosts
Title: House of Ghosts
Author: thirstyrobot
Words: 200
Genre: FPS
Characters/Pairing: Dan, Jones (or Dan/Jones as you like)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my property, alas.
Notes: For Challenge 15, Time and Memory. You'd think a challenge that's basically what I write by default anyway would be easy, but...
House of Ghosts
Reality's thin in places. It's thinnest, maybe, across the chipped purple threshold. Every time Dan forgets his key, there's years of Dans queued behind him.
A young smirky just-met one holding the promised stack of white labels, which Jones doesn't chart enough to rate but SugarApe gets in multiples (and the real reason Jones hides the same Massive Attack sample in everything). A comically Tom-Baker-esque one in a scarf, bearing cartons of soup and Pete's Dragon on video when Jones has the flu (one of them left that scarf on a train; Jones bought a new one Dan never wears). Fifty-odd bleary, slurring ones who're here because it's closer to whatever pub Dan's stumbled from (not counting the times they've stumbled through together). A weary, sheepish one with boxes and rucksacks and muttered thanks for letting him stay (it was more like making him stay).
Jones wishes they wouldn't all crowd in like this; the isn't-anymores pile up like wrecking beats and hang heavy on Dan's shoulders, around his eyes and in the rare smile that doesn't reach them. Reality's very thick on the sofa: only ever the one Dan who doesn't move or change much.
Author: thirstyrobot
Words: 200
Genre: FPS
Characters/Pairing: Dan, Jones (or Dan/Jones as you like)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my property, alas.
Notes: For Challenge 15, Time and Memory. You'd think a challenge that's basically what I write by default anyway would be easy, but...
House of Ghosts
Reality's thin in places. It's thinnest, maybe, across the chipped purple threshold. Every time Dan forgets his key, there's years of Dans queued behind him.
A young smirky just-met one holding the promised stack of white labels, which Jones doesn't chart enough to rate but SugarApe gets in multiples (and the real reason Jones hides the same Massive Attack sample in everything). A comically Tom-Baker-esque one in a scarf, bearing cartons of soup and Pete's Dragon on video when Jones has the flu (one of them left that scarf on a train; Jones bought a new one Dan never wears). Fifty-odd bleary, slurring ones who're here because it's closer to whatever pub Dan's stumbled from (not counting the times they've stumbled through together). A weary, sheepish one with boxes and rucksacks and muttered thanks for letting him stay (it was more like making him stay).
Jones wishes they wouldn't all crowd in like this; the isn't-anymores pile up like wrecking beats and hang heavy on Dan's shoulders, around his eyes and in the rare smile that doesn't reach them. Reality's very thick on the sofa: only ever the one Dan who doesn't move or change much.