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Taken from Paopu Fruit.
- Comment and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and write you a 100 word (more or less >_<) drabble.
- You have no say in what I write you!
- Put this in your journal so I can do the same. (Optional)
On other news, I've never had so much Gin Pomelo in my life.
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WAHAHAHAHAHAH!
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She had decided, from the very moment she had picked one up for the first time in her life, that her soul lay in the strings.
There was no other place. She had tried looking elsewhere before, much in the same manner that one searches for answers in a Bible or how the aged search for their fake teeth. High and low, to the breaches and breadths, as far as she could go. Past friends, past foes, past family. Nothing played the same melody, twanged her heart the way the feel of taut string across her fingertips cut smooth down her skin.
It was her life, and within it's song - it's calling - she could find her voice.
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Erm. First shot. x_x Lemme know if you didn't like it so that I can make another one.
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Thanks! >:D
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Go right ahead, darling. ^_^ Glad it's good enough for ya~
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Anyway.
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Smell of sandalwood and rose mixed with the scent rising from the block of green tea before him. Its bitterness was potent enough for him to smell it, taste it on his tongue without having to raise it to his lips in the first place.
Rain was good. Sweep away the pollution (maybe kill some people while it was at it) and wash a city clean without having to bat an eyelash.
Glisten pure, like glass. He scribbled that line down. He could use it somewhere. He just didn't know where yet.
It would be hours before he'd move again.
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It would be hours before he'd move again. > Badabing badaboom ! XD
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(maybe kill some people while it was at it) -- LMAO!
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:D :D :D
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Her dog barked like a little madman as she pulled in front of her house late that morning, a few minutes before lunch was due. Small, white, fluffy, cute. She slid off the seat and stepped out of her car, shutting the door behind her with an absent-minded sweep of the hand as she wandered over to the creatured leashed at the side of the garage.
"Hey, hey. No biting," she'd remind the puppy as it chewed with fervent happiness upon her leather strap. A light smack to the head and a brilliant smile, and it let go. When she retreated into her house, it started barking again. Left her with a mild feeling of guilt for abandoning it.
Parents not home, as usual. Tap tap went her boots up until she took them off near the stairs. She ascended, dressed out of goth chic and into happy house girl, went into the office and lost herself in digital waves.
It was high noon when she spotted it past the computer screen filled with literature jargon and things that she didn't feel like learning for her gay professor: two eyes, large, black and innocent, staring at her from the other end of the table. They were followed by a pair of small hands, one of which clutched a toy Jaguar.
"Ate, play?"
She closed the screen. School could wait.
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I'll bite.
Gin Pom. Mmm.From:
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"3,560."
The sound of another voice drew her, quite unwillingly, from her contemplation of the black whorls snaking across her arm and down to her fingertips. "Excuse me?" she murmured, cocking an eyebrow from over the rim of her glasses and the newspaper she was murdering with a pair of scissors.
"The number of tiles in my bathroom." he smiled, filling her vision with grinning hazel eyes. She whiffed what might have been exasperation out through the side of her mouth and retreated into her matter loading. If she hadn't come from a competition only hours ago where eight young men and women had been exchanging spit and mediocre brain cells over whether Harry Potter was the work of the devil or a gift from God, she might've had a witty comeback at hand.
There was something smooth playing over the speakers in the restaurant. Nice bass, good drum work. Coheed and Cambria, she figured. Or maybe Brand New. Hell freeze over with her in it if it was The Used.
"3."
"What's that? How many nipples you have?"
"No, silly! It's the number of cats in my household."
She smirked and took the head of the President with a deft flick of her wrist.
"I never would've known."
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x_X LOL @ three nipples.
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Thank you, Pam~
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Meeeeeeee~~~~~~!!!!!!!! X3
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"What would you do, if I were to die first?"
That wasn't the type of question one was supposed to ask after screwing around. Alistair slipped his shirt back on and took a drag of his cigarette, knowing well enough that Hikaru's eyes were on him.
"Dunno. I'd miss the cigs, for sure."
His younger brother laughed and shifted places on their bed, watching the older dragoon with the same, languid satisfaction of a well-fed cat.
"I figured that you wouldn't answer that."
"If you knew, then why did you bother?"
Alistair said this as he stood up, crossing the clothes-strewn floor of their room in pursuit of the refrigerator cowering within the shadow of his worktable. One lucky beer among the many, he caught himself thinking as he reached in.
Their lips met again when Alistair returned; Hikaru's mouth still tasted of the Blue Virgins they had downed the other night, at the bar. It was not a gesture of affection, or warmth. Merely ownership.
"Yasamu would have been 32 today," Hikru murmured the moment they broke away. His voice was a breathless hush against the other's cheek. His older brother turned away and took a swig from his bottle, reaching for the pack on the table. He never said another word.
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To be continued and maybe modified at another time. :D
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x_X You like making me sad !!
*>3 Will make ganti sa RP*
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Yup. Want a bite?
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"Don't you think it's grand?" he thought he heard her say. He took his earphones off and glanced through his hair at her as she raised her hands up, outstretched to embrace the sky and weave the threads of the world through her fingers. She knew from the turn of his lips and the mutinous blankness of his eyes that she had his attention.
"You. Me. This."
His Cornflake Girl, he suddenly thought to himself, looking into her smile. Vaguely, he figured it'd make a nice photograph. But the camera was at home and all he had was Tori Amos.
"...Yeah. I guess."
And she laughed and he put his earphones back on again.
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Yup, waiting shed. XD
Glad you liked it. I was worried. o_o
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Gimme one too, please! ^.^
PS "Would be hours before ________"--didn't I just read that in Endtimes for 2-3 times already? O.o Ohh.
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It was only in front of her computer or when she was staring down at the crisp white pages of her sketchbook did she know how it felt to spin worlds beneath her fingertips.
She prided herself for neatness. Everything she did came out systematic whether she tried to make it that way or not, and it pleased her when she finished and her work was clean-cut, smooth, beautiful. Others wouldn't understand how it felt to make one's own universe, and it ashamed her a little to be so proud of it, but it was the same kind of pleasure a diabetic would get every time they stole a cookie from the jar, or grabbed a bite of that Better Than Sex chocolate cake.
Characters on paper, faces and places drawn from words, or from the lead of her favorite pencil. Their secrets were her secrets, their fate her fate.
Now, as an artist, she understood why God had even bothered to make the universe in the first place.
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So this was how it felt like to view the world standing still, lopsided. Beds, he had realized somewhere along the way, were good in the sense that they were usually soft, but they didn't assure anyone that sleep would come.
He liked to think that he was trying though. He made a good effort. Sleeping, he meant.
Coding, odd letters and symbols in the secret language of Geekdom buzzed across his computer screen, mesmerizing to one who viewed the world in speed-up + slow motion due to his abandonment at the hands of the Dream King. Nothing of the academe, only a digital world and a vague sense of comfort. And the occasional snack from the refrigerator back in the Realscape.
He curled up on clean sheets, blinked at the codes and started searching for Dream again.
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Road trips amused her more than they should have. She came upon this realization once, on the day where the whole family was, in the middle of summer, ushered out of the household and tasked to find something to do with themselves for the next 3-4 hours while the gas-masked suit people came in for pest control. There was no other place to go save the streets of their own area, exploring an area both familiar and unfamiliar to them.
She drew the first street sign they passed along the way, outlining it in colored pencils. No black this time, only because she felt like it. She wondered what her teachers would say to that. They'd come up with tension and symbols and balance and all that when there wasn't any to begin with.
There was a man on the curb flashing his belly to the world and playing with a lighter. She began doodling a chibi version of him just because she liked lighters.
It ended sooner than her tastes, but the paper she had brought along with finished up and maybe she might have been ready to go back anyway.
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The secret to good strategy, outlined in neat monochrome squares and wooden figurines that were supposed to resemble soldiers and nobility, if they weren't so worn and faded.
Silence was written in bated breath as she studied the set-up, underlying them with many other games that she had seen in many other moments in the past. It was game like no other game, she had come to understand over the course of time, but it was not the same for her as it was for most others who played. It was closer to rituals like courtship and mating than most others would like to believe.
Planning in how best to eat a King in five turns. Planning in how to come forward, smile, and make one's self seen to the other who is significant, if only for his nice hair, or the sparkle in his eyes. And the thrill lay in the risk rather than the reward.
She moved the Bishop to eat the Queen and moved to dwell among tacticians.
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well... when it's written in your interests, it's kind of hard to miss it. :D
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Sickening sweet, run through the knife bliss. This was how she might've described the moment they popped the case open and showed her what was inside.
A song written in fire and chrome. Prettiness, and that was the only thought that registered when she let her fingers slick across cold, unrelenting steel. Idly, she wondered how much power they packed into this deceiving little package. But it was the words that she loved the most.
"Jesus Christ is in Heaven Now," she muttered, reading the loopy white script etched into the side of the barrel. She reached for the magazine full of bullets over porn, snapped it into place, and felt her lips pull themselves into a ghastly smile.
"No snaps for me, all right."
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