DRABBLE MEME

[fahye]

Yes! I have a free Saturday, so I'm finally going to do that drabble meme that everyone else did ages ago. I can do Good Omens, Harry Potter, any Milliways characters that you think I know well enough, Lost, a handful of anime fandoms...you people know what I do. Ask and ye shall receive. I'd prefer at least a pairing and an object/setting/theme/other prompt.

~

What do I do when I'm bored? I collect icons of my friends! Spurred by cyrulean's Kelsey-icon and the fact that I've spent the past few days getting hugely ahead of myself and planning my in-three-years-time trip around the world to visit all you crazies.

Obviously some of you don't believe in showing your real self online and that's understandable. But if you do have any icons of yourself, when you request your drabble, comment using the one you like best? Even if you have to upload it for a day, to give me time to save it, and then take it down.

Yes, of course I'm planning to stalk you all.

I kid. I just have a folder of icons called 'Friends' and it needs filling up.

~

Went for coffee and Chinese and general catching-up with not_in_denial and tairamika today, which was lovely :)

Comments

[dopplegl.livejournal.com]

I would kill for some Loki/Bartleby or Boone/Shannon (Can I get both? *tempts*) in any situation your genius mind can think of.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

...pleeeeease can I have an extra prompt? My genius mind can be very slow when not prodded sufficiently :D Give me an object or something.

[dopplegl.livejournal.com]

Bartleby/Loki - Loki and his morning cartoons (Can there be smut?)

Boone/Shannon - I want jealous!Shannon. Perhaps Boone has gotten a girlfriend and Shannon wishes to break them up?

[fahye.livejournal.com]

I can work with those, although a no on the smut. I can't do smut at the best of times. Smut in absense of genitals is more than my mind can cope with at this vegetative stage.

uh ... *fixes typos and tags* ... voila!

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Shannon Rutherford prides herself on her emotional maturity.

Not in the normal way of speaking; anyone who knows her would refute that with a laugh and, very probably, a score of examples. Even a stranger or an acquaintance of a few minutes would look at her and see the stubborn chin, the perfect hair, the oddly juvenile toss of shoulders, as though she hasn’t quite grown into her slender adult limbs; look at all that and mark her down for being prone to tantrums. Her lips are ridiculously suited for pouting. All the physical evidence conspires in favour of…well, the truth. Yes, Shannon is perfectly happy to act the brat. There is probably a logical-psycho-logical

(margin notes, un: She loves French for the word endings. Logical goes to logique, elegant and expensive-looking.)

explanation for it; people tend to change their behaviour in order to bring about desired events. Shannon could always get exactly what she wanted by acting as brattish as she could, so she never saw any need to grow up. Taken away by Peter fucking Pan. The Wendy that rebelled and stayed in Neverland. The first Lost Girl.

She sees herself as mature in other ways. Ways to do with the age at which she first felt complex emotions like schadenfreude – years before she could know the word and pronounce it, she was laughing behind her hand as another girl fell off her horse. Emotions like guilt, abandonment, jealousy. Oh, yes. That one most of all.

There’s a story attached, and she can tell it without emotion. Detached. Clinical. Clinique. Powder pressed and brushed over her face, hiding the blemishes as her carefully whining voice hides true motivation: “When I was ten years old

(margin notes, deux: …the angels brought me toys of gold, which
no man ever had bought or sold. There are many songs like this in her mind.)

and no older, I found out what it was to be jealous.”

Lather, rinse, repeat ad infinitum throughout puberty until…or perhaps she won't say it out loud, not that one. Perhaps it’s safer just to replay it inside her head, an intrinsic and delightful wallowing paranoia.

- I need you to drive me to a party on Friday.
- Can’t, sorry. I’m going out.
- Going out.
- Yes. I have a date.
- Going out?

And then the gut-wrenching unpleasant bubbles. Wishing for some way to take revenge and clinically analysing the odd sensation of wanting to do something with her own two hands. Twist and wrench. Hair and screams.

In the end, she didn’t do anything. She knew she wouldn’t have to.

And because it was Boone, she was right. Always and perfectly

(margin notes, trois: What passes as an injoke among them is the fact that perfect in French is their favourite dessert, yes, both of theirs, smears of chocolate on lips and childish laughter that says nothing matters. Everybody loves (that which is) parfait.)

correct.

Re: uh ... *fixes typos and tags* ... voila!

[friggin-gift.livejournal.com]

So good!

You never cease to amaze me with you skills!

*loves*