Fun with drabbles, part II.

[cadhla]

Because this was fun the first time I did it, I'm going to do it again: ladies and gentlemen, the open drabble challenge is once more, well, open. Give me any two of the following, and I will write you a drabble. Your options are

Comments

[cadhla]

...another fandom I don't know goes on the list. Alas, I know not the Highlander-ness.

[ladytabitha]

Mood: depressed.
Fandom: Gilmore Girls.

[cadhla]

Alas, that is a fandom I do not know and cannot write.

[ladytabitha]

Bah!  I suck, and have displayed my poor skills in reading!  Beg your pardon.

*thinks*

I'll recomment.  :)

[science_vixen]

Any two?

Dr. Who and Macross (the original please. I'll settle for Robotech though...)

[cadhla]

Alas, I know not the Macross. Nor the Robotech.

[science_vixen]

Gundam? Anything with mecha?

[science_vixen]

Uhm, Anime with mecha that should be....

[djonn]

Character: Wesley Wyndham-Price
Fandom: Narbonic

(Yes, I'm being evil.)

Don't Kill Guests.

[cadhla]

The short woman in the checkered skirt blinked at him. Wesley blinked back.

Somehow, that small gesture seemed to make up her mind. "I'm going to kill him," she said decisively.

Normally, he admired that sort of focus. Normally, that sort of focus didn't come equipped with an abnormally large gun pointed in his direction.

He raised his hands. "Now, hold on, Miss--"

"Kelly," she said. "Mel Kelly."

I'm about to die at the hands of a girl named 'Mel', he thought. How utterly embarassing.

The gerbil atop Mel's head sighed. "Now, Mel, what did Helen say?"

"Don't kill guests?" Mel asked, petulantly.

"Exactly." The talking gerbil looked at Wesley. "Sorry. She gets excited."

"Quite, er, all right."

Some days were weird. Even for Wesley.

[porpentine]

Word: Presents
Character: Bunny

Presents.

[cadhla]

The best presents are the ones she steals.

The little glimpses of their lives, caught through the camera lenses of lightbulbs and computer screens. Hope always falls asleep at her computer, face down beside the keyboard, eyes closed, face gone smooth and innocent in slumber. Jan dances naked in her bedroom, unaware that her first-born daughter -- the one she's forgotten bearing -- is watching, knees against her chest, drinking in her joy. Only Thistle's gifts are harder for her to take; he's too aware of how she works, and so she knows he knows she's there.

Ole sings for her, sometimes. She thinks he knows. She doesn't ask.

The best presents are the ones no one means to give her.