blueberry cheesecake, flavour of the day and rhubarb with hot fudge and whipped cream
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Please
Rating: PG (language and bullying)
Challenge: FOTD: irascible, Rhubarb #23: pretty please with sugar on top (Newson as a child), Blueberry Cheesecake #5: brick wall
Toppings/Extras: whipped cream, hot fudge
Wordcount: 390
Summary: Kids picking on kids. Horatio Newson: the student.
Notes: I am determined to finish Marina’s treat for me before I start on my epic Disney-a-thon, so here we go. Three to go! I used “brick wall” in the sense of “Another Brick in the Wall”. Irascible: prone to anger; easily provoked to anger; hot-tempered.
Private school was such a bore. It was all restriction, all control. At least the teachers in the crummy lower-levels schools didn’t give a shit. Horatio wasn’t stupid. He knew his school was just churning out young men and women on a production line, webbing them together in endless ‘connections’. He didn’t even mind that much.
What he did mind was when the stupid state school kids decided that the difference in their uniform and status meant that they could hurl things across the walkways at them, shouting abuse and mockery.
Fucking peasants.
It wasn’t one-way because Horatio made damn sure it wasn’t.
“Shit-eating bastards, let me go!” The boy with his face and most of his body smashed into the floor of the walkway struggled valiantly but to no avail. There were several dress-shoes dug into his blazer and a hockey stick digging into the centre of his back.
“Fuck you,” Horatio snapped, chestnut hair neatly washed and done in the private-school manner; clean and voluminous and styled. The pinstriped silk of his tie reflected the late afternoon light as it streaked between the skyscrapers surrounding them. It was a quiet little back-walkway they were on, nothing but a connector between two elevators. It was all too easy to hide in the urban jungle, with small alcoves dug into the glass and metal of the skyscrapers, electricity points and maintenance stations buried between floors.
Horatio Newson was handsome once, before he got his new face, and the expensive suit lent him a sinewy strength in his youth, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
He was always dark-hearted, though. Always hard-tempered. And this kid had cried one catcall to many.
“Get off!”
A heel dug into the tender spot his kidney lay beneath. There were five of them and one of him. The only way this kid was getting up was with their whole permission or by some sort of miracles.
And miracles didn’t happen in the dark corners of Britannia City.
Horatio sneered down at the boy, with his tatty mostly-polyester uniform blazer, black with shoeprints smeared on the back, the pockets of his trousers torn and holey, a pair of trainers on his feet instead of the regulation shoes. He looked like he got to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, all day, every day.
“Say please.”
Title: Please
Rating: PG (language and bullying)
Challenge: FOTD: irascible, Rhubarb #23: pretty please with sugar on top (Newson as a child), Blueberry Cheesecake #5: brick wall
Toppings/Extras: whipped cream, hot fudge
Wordcount: 390
Summary: Kids picking on kids. Horatio Newson: the student.
Notes: I am determined to finish Marina’s treat for me before I start on my epic Disney-a-thon, so here we go. Three to go! I used “brick wall” in the sense of “Another Brick in the Wall”. Irascible: prone to anger; easily provoked to anger; hot-tempered.
Private school was such a bore. It was all restriction, all control. At least the teachers in the crummy lower-levels schools didn’t give a shit. Horatio wasn’t stupid. He knew his school was just churning out young men and women on a production line, webbing them together in endless ‘connections’. He didn’t even mind that much.
What he did mind was when the stupid state school kids decided that the difference in their uniform and status meant that they could hurl things across the walkways at them, shouting abuse and mockery.
Fucking peasants.
It wasn’t one-way because Horatio made damn sure it wasn’t.
“Shit-eating bastards, let me go!” The boy with his face and most of his body smashed into the floor of the walkway struggled valiantly but to no avail. There were several dress-shoes dug into his blazer and a hockey stick digging into the centre of his back.
“Fuck you,” Horatio snapped, chestnut hair neatly washed and done in the private-school manner; clean and voluminous and styled. The pinstriped silk of his tie reflected the late afternoon light as it streaked between the skyscrapers surrounding them. It was a quiet little back-walkway they were on, nothing but a connector between two elevators. It was all too easy to hide in the urban jungle, with small alcoves dug into the glass and metal of the skyscrapers, electricity points and maintenance stations buried between floors.
Horatio Newson was handsome once, before he got his new face, and the expensive suit lent him a sinewy strength in his youth, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
He was always dark-hearted, though. Always hard-tempered. And this kid had cried one catcall to many.
“Get off!”
A heel dug into the tender spot his kidney lay beneath. There were five of them and one of him. The only way this kid was getting up was with their whole permission or by some sort of miracles.
And miracles didn’t happen in the dark corners of Britannia City.
Horatio sneered down at the boy, with his tatty mostly-polyester uniform blazer, black with shoeprints smeared on the back, the pockets of his trousers torn and holey, a pair of trainers on his feet instead of the regulation shoes. He looked like he got to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, all day, every day.
“Say please.”