Pick one of the following, and I will write you a drabble based on it. If there is a certain pairing/crossover/fandom you would like, feel free to request. Otherwise... have fun!The main character is Mark Cohen of Rent fame
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He always knew that he would be the one to survive. But what he didn't know was that he'd go in the same way that everyone else did. Angel. Mimi. Roger. Collins. He watched them all, sat with them while they faded. Held their hands when they breathed their last
( ... )
"Oh, come -on-, Faith. We're going to dinner, not to the moon. You don't have to take.... oh shit."
Faith walked out of the room, in a small halter top, and a pair of rather tight leather pants. "Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just have to turn right back around and..."
"No, Faith. I... think I like that one. Quite a lot." Mark turned rather pink as he took a couple steps closer to her, grinning like a mad fiend.
She cuts him off, though, with a bit of a wicked smile. "I think, though, Mark, we're going to miss our reservation." She saunters to the door of the Loft, swaying her hips.
Damnit. It was going to be one hell of a long night.
"What're you doing here?" Mark's leaning against his bed, swaying a bit on his feet. He'd heard that being drunk was rather a strange feeling, but this was nothing like he'd expected. Staring at Maureen, who was leaning in his door, he idly wondered when her hair got -so- bushy and curly
( ... )
Everyone knows that restauraunts are cheaper at lunch. And really, when one's mother sends five hundred dollars, at least one lunch out is in order. God, Mark loved Chanukah.
Sitting at the Life Cafe, Mark just watched the people around him. Artists, musicians, writers, and a very few tourists. The meatless burger in front of him is almost forgotten as he just watches the strange cross-section of humanity.
There's a couple by the door, a blonde girl mooning over her boyfriend, their hands touching in that way only those who are truly into each other can be.
A little ways closer to the bar, two men are having what seems to be a rather noisy break-up session. Words are exchanged, profanity is shouted, and before long, they're both thrown out of the restauraunt.
Leaning back in his chair, Mark sips at his bottle of Coke. Humanity can be so strange sometimes. But really damn interesting.
"Roger!" Mark ran into the Loft, a huge grin on his face. "Damnit, Roger, where the hell are you?"
Sleepily, Roger came out of his bedroom. "What is it? This had better be damn good to get me out of bed. You know I was up till..."
"Shut up, Roger. This is important." Mark shakes a folder of papers at Roger, a huge grin on his face. "You know my screenplay? The one that I've been working on for the past month?"
Roger yawns, attempting ot wipe the sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah. The one that you haven't shut up about the entire last month?"
"Exactly! Well, I just got a letter. From Terry Pratchett. He likes my script, Roger. I'm going to actually get the rights to make it. And... I'll be a real director for once
( ... )
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Projectverse.
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Faith walked out of the room, in a small halter top, and a pair of rather tight leather pants. "Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just have to turn right back around and..."
"No, Faith. I... think I like that one. Quite a lot." Mark turned rather pink as he took a couple steps closer to her, grinning like a mad fiend.
She cuts him off, though, with a bit of a wicked smile. "I think, though, Mark, we're going to miss our reservation." She saunters to the door of the Loft, swaying her hips.
Damnit. It was going to be one hell of a long night.
Reply
Reply
Reply
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Sitting at the Life Cafe, Mark just watched the people around him. Artists, musicians, writers, and a very few tourists. The meatless burger in front of him is almost forgotten as he just watches the strange cross-section of humanity.
There's a couple by the door, a blonde girl mooning over her boyfriend, their hands touching in that way only those who are truly into each other can be.
A little ways closer to the bar, two men are having what seems to be a rather noisy break-up session. Words are exchanged, profanity is shouted, and before long, they're both thrown out of the restauraunt.
Leaning back in his chair, Mark sips at his bottle of Coke. Humanity can be so strange sometimes. But really damn interesting.
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... and yes this is the wrong journal, rather, but still.
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Sleepily, Roger came out of his bedroom. "What is it? This had better be damn good to get me out of bed. You know I was up till..."
"Shut up, Roger. This is important." Mark shakes a folder of papers at Roger, a huge grin on his face. "You know my screenplay? The one that I've been working on for the past month?"
Roger yawns, attempting ot wipe the sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah. The one that you haven't shut up about the entire last month?"
"Exactly! Well, I just got a letter. From Terry Pratchett. He likes my script, Roger. I'm going to actually get the rights to make it. And... I'll be a real director for once ( ... )
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