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[13 08 10] |
from here.
"Where're you headed?" Rex turned his face sideways, in order to avoid getting a lungful of wind when he opened his mouth. He was at a loss lately, even though he felt there was no reason to be. While intellectually he recognised it was absurd to be feeling this way – strange change was not the end of the world, especially not when one worked for the Bureau – it seemed that this age reversal has rendered him directionless. He didn't feel safe. Right now he didn't much care where he ended up for the night; a better way to spend his time would be to just stay on this bike forever.
Keep driving, that was one of the last things he'd said to Speed.
His grip on Cloud's jacket tightened as Fenrir gathered more speed.
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[20 04 09] |
My failed attempt of making November drabble-a-day month. This was one of... six, before I gave up.
"Why learn to drive now?"
That was the question Jubilee got asked most often, and rightfully so. She was almost 30, made no secret of her dislike of cars, had plenty of opportunities before to try and learn, oh, and not to forget that she had a pretty reliable way of getting herself around.
All of these reasons, plus the fact that she was totally reckless behind the wheel, should've been enough to dissuade her from trying. The first driving instructor she took lessons from had hurried out of the car after their first 45 minute session, caught his breath, and said to her, "If you're thinking of buying a car, I'd suggest an automatic. They'll usually look prettier in your garage while you never drive ever."
Not one to let others make decisions for her, and never above asking favours of friends, Jubilee called up Shiro, the sheepish grin even apparent in her voice, asked him to coach her, just one or two times. Shiro honestly didn't know what he was getting himself into when he said yes.
Now, he wasn't going to hold back like the driving instructor. What were friends for, right? Friends were for honest opinions, and Shiro was doing just that when, not ten minutes after Jubilee started the car, asked her, "ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED?"
What could Jubilee say to a thing like that? It was almost a trick question, that if she said 'no' to (which she did), Shiro could very well counter with, "WELL THE WAY YOU'RE DRIVING I THINK YOU AR- RED LIGHT RED LIGHT FUUUUUCK-", which he did.
Thank god they were in New York, where bad driving was really more common than you'd think. No living thing was harmed during this little adventure at least, unless you counted that pigeon/rat thing (she couldn't see properly) the car may or may not have run over as Jubilee attempted to make a hard left.
Shiro's conclusion as he all but ran away from the care was surprisingly similar to the driving instructor's. Jubilee was just a tiny bit put off by this, but continued her stubborn pursuit of lessons until one day, she just stopped.
No one asked "why did you stop", but several people did breathe sighs of relief. Shiro even concocted a little toast which he delivered in his head, gulping down a beer and reassuring a somewhat deflated Jubilee.
"Oh well," he smiled insincerely, "there's always the bus."
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| Percy Weasley |
[17 03 09] |
New Years, 1986. The girl from the Muggle village had kissed George, identified by the freshly healed gash in his forehead from that afternoon's Quidditch tussle. Embarrassed, the kids flew apart only to make googly eyes at each other from opposite sides of the room. Fred snuck by, trying to 'have a go' too, but Percy caught him, and as a result spent the rest of the night trying to coax the pixie out of his pants.
Percy liked to think he had morals, and that was the reason why he never paid the twins back for the slights over the years. Truth was, though, there had been attempts, but they were all so lame that his brothers never noticed them. The itching powder, in particular, had greatly backfired. To be fair, Percy didn't have his glasses on and pyjama colours looked remarkably similar in the dark.
At least, the 11-year-old would be satisfied in knowing that one of his brothers, like him, would not be getting any sleep that night.
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| Wen Chang |
[17 03 09] |
(Marriage meme: Gilderoy Lockhart/Daddy Chang)
Carlin was living with his parents now - they'd taken her in as a second daughter, no doubt out of guilt for his indiscretions. His sister sent him a heavily warded owl days earlier, telling him that the baby was now called Cho, a neutral Chinese character that meant 'autumn', with no other significance or anything that could connect itself to him.
In the light of things, though, Wen couldn't care less right now. He was too busy trying, but unable to refute Gilderoy's theory of complements. Well, at first he was surprised the man even knew the meaning of the word, and hadn't gotten it confused with 'compliments'. And although this theory was completely hypothetical, baseless and bordering on the idiotic, Wen found that there was no way to disprove it, or maybe he just didn't want to prove it wrong.
The restaurant was one of Gilderoy's favourites, a high-class Muggle place that always made Wen feel a little out of his element, even when Gilderoy helped to pick out his suit. Judging by the patrons, and the mood-setting low lights, grand gestures of romance wouldn't be out of place at all, though they would be out of character.
So it was without prelude that Wen slid a small suede box across the table, watching Gilderoy pause with his wine halfway to his lips, secretly enjoying the impact that this had on the other man even as his face remained expressionless. He was all business, even on an occasion like this.
His raised eyebrow asked a silent question as he popped open the box with one hand. The engagement band, silver and gold intertwined, was the best testament to the Lockhart Complement Theory.
"Well," Wen finally spoke, his lips curling up to form a barely noticeable smile. "Will you?"
(Marriage meme: Riley Quinn/Chang)
It was the twelfth Thursday, Wen knew because he was keeping count, being organised about this the same way he was organised about everything else in his life. Unlike the eleventh Thursday, the sun was high in the sky, and there was a slight breeze, this weather lifting his hopes that perhaps this week she'll say yes.
False hope, maybe, since the tenth Thursday was similar, smooth sailing until Wen asked the question and Riley replied in the same way she had the previous nine weeks.
The ninth Thursday had been a low point, since after all, he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw for nothing, and had none of that stubborn Gryffindor spirit. Persistency, at least in the area of courting and romance, wasn't his strong suit. Maybe Riley knew this, and that was why she was holding out for so long, because she knew eventually he'd give up, go away.
She didn't expect he'd last that long, Wen knew, because she told him on the eighth Thursday. That day he was ten minutes early, and caught her outside, they had a conversation, Wen being typically skeptical of the things she was telling him. The subject eventually turned to this Thursday ritual, Riley bringing it up without embarrassment. Wen answered her questions quite frankly, before he asked one of his own, getting the answer he expected.
That meeting made up for the seventh Thursday, Wen supposed, DMLE business calling him back to the Ministry befor he could see Riley, so he'd left a piece of parchment stuck to her door, signing the bottom W. Chang with little flourish, even though he knew she would know exactly who it was.
Week six's Thursday had been somewhat of a disaster. Caught in the rain, Wen had splattered Riley with mud, then sneezed on her - three times. It was almost enough to put him off asking, but it didn't.
Wen had known by the fifth Thursday that nothing short of being smote down by the gods could deter him from standing outside Riley's door every week, having finally gotten over the vague stalkery feeling he had felt until the fourth Thursday.
That vague stalkery feeling, as well as doubt for his own sanity, marred the third Thursday. He stammered the question out, feeling like an idiot, with none of the confidence of the previous Thursday. Riley's nosy neighbours hadn't helped, gawping at him in the special way that only middle-aged women could.
Everything had still been fresh the second Thursday. Although he expressed his intention before, Wen had a feeling that Riley wasn't expecting him to keep his word, but even at this early stage, he knew he would see it through until the end.
And that end was nowhere in sight, though first Thursday's Wen wasn't to know that. He made up his mind then, though, no flowers, no gifts, just an ex-colleague making what was looking to be the longest soliloquy in his life.
"I don't know you well, and I'd assume that you don't know me very well either. Though as a Ravenclaw, you'd understand that one of the most rewarding things in life is finding out, the process of gaining knowledge and learning, which can't happen in a day or two, but is more a lifetime commitment. If it was anything less that that, I wouldn't even be here asking you. And everything has to start somewhere, don't they? I can start here. Hello, my name is Wen Chang, and my favourite ice cream flavour is strawberry. Riley Quinn, will you marry me?"
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| Prince Charming |
[17 03 09] |
(Marriage meme: Snow/Charming)
The Queen didn't approve. Of course the Queen didn't approve - she didn't like anything to do with Snow, and made her opinions known to everyone. But no one, Avenant suspected, not even the Queen herself, ever took these things of hers seriously, and so it was with his father's blessing that he was here outside Snow's door, his mother's self-indulgent mutterings about Princess Briar Rose far from his mind.
Marriage was going to be a complicated process, he knew, and he wasn't about to have it any other way. He wanted the world to know that he, Prince Avenant of Charmont, was to take Snow White, the most beautiful woman in the realm, as his bride. What he was doing now - asking her for her hand in marriage - was purely a formality. Everyone knew the moment Avenant carried an unconscious Snow from the carriage, that they would marry, and be together forever.
His knuckles had almost grazed the door when he stopped himself, a new possibility suddenly upon him. What if she said 'no'? Everyone had just assumed, that since he had been courting her for an acceptable period of time, marriage would follow. She would become Crown Princess, and would bear him an heir. But Snow had not given him any indication that she would marry - or indeed, that she loved him in the same way that he loved her.
Doubt did not sit well on the Prince, it made him slow, and didn't process the sound behind the door until Snow was facing him, her alabaster cheeks flushed upon seeing his closeness. "Prin-" she started, but his doubt had shaken him, and Avenant wasn't about to let her finish.
"I love you, Snow," he cut her off, eyes searching for hers, for an answer that could break him. "I've loved you since I first set my eyes upon you, in your rickety little cottage and your ragged dress. I fell more in love with you when I saw you in the garden the next morning, and when you stood up to my mother I loved you so much I thought my chest would burst. And when you agreed to remain at the palace my heart sang, because it meant I would not be far from you. I treasured every glance you sent my way, and at night I hear all the word you've said to me. You tell me you are a Princess of a distant realm, and I can see it in your grace, your pride, but princess or pauper, I love you, I will always love you, and I can only hope that you return those feelings, that you could love me, and all my flaws, with a fraction of that. And I hope that you would say yes-"
He was on his knees now, and unable to stop. "Not as a Prince, just a man, I ask you. Do you consent to be my wife?"
An eternity seemed to have passed, before the answer came.
(Marriage meme: Briar Rose/Charming)
By this point in time he was known almost exclusively as Charming, and he lived up to his namesake. It was to no one's surprise, then, when he brought home an unconscious young woman, a situation much like that with his first wife.
"This is a habit you should try to break, Avenant." The Queen was cold and biting, before she recognised the sleeping figure as Briar Rose, the match she sough for her son years - and one marriage - ago.
He knew about the curse, her sleeping kingdom and true love's kiss. It was mysterious, it intrigued him, and she was beautiful. That wasn't love, though, Charming would find out, his kiss not rousing the reaction he hoped.
When it came to beautiful women that had to be wooed (or in this case, simply woken), the Prince was uncharacteristically persistent. Three weeks and 21 kisses later, Charming was beginning to feel the same passion that he'd felt with Snow. That was love, or something close enough that the curse recognised it as love. With tiny flutters of her eyelashes, Briar Rose woke, and smiled at Charming.
She recognised him, Charming knew, and she was aware that the conditions of the curse had been fulfilled: this was a man who loved her more than anything else in the world.
And Charming, seeing her smile, knew he wouldn't need to dress anything up with words. "You will marry me?" he asked softly, leaning close to her ear.
"Yes," she answered, turning her head, and sought a kiss.
He wasn't quite sure what the skintight bunny suit was for, but since he wasn't going to be the one wearing it, and he didn't much fancy being kicked out of the apartment of the girl he was shacking up with for the fourth time in a month, he thought he could indulge her this one fantasy.
But that fantasy would lead to more things, mostly weird and not at all wonderful. Mundy women, he found, came as all sorts. This one - Mary? Marion? Meya? - was all the sorts that he didn't approve of.
And she seemed so normal when he first chatted her up.
Any illusions of her normalcy shattered when, in the throes of passion, she had chosen to call him not the false name he gave, but "Santa".
By Easter Monday he evicted himself from her living quarters. He didn't mind her chocolate addiction (it was that time of the year, and that passed for normal), he didn't mind the strange sex, he didn't even much mind the fact that she seemed to have a costume fetish, but he sure as hell wasn't putting on that beard for her.
This wasn't the first time that Santa Claus had encountered the Prince of Charmers on Christmas Eve, but it was the first time he was sober, and not surrounded by nubile young women. Santa shifted his bag of coal so that it dug less into his shoulders, and said "ho ho ho" loudly by way of greeting, with the intention of going about his business. There was an understanding that although the Prince had never asked for anything, he certainly appeared on the 'naughty' list often enough that a visit was warranted. Every year Santa would put a lump of coal in a stocking or under a tree for the Prince to find the next day - it seemed that Charming was the one unlikely constant in his life.
Sharing a drink with the Prince, however, was one curve ball that was thrown at him. Charming had asked, rather politely, if he would like some mead, and rest momentarily before going on his way. Santa couldn't say no; he doubted anyone of his stature would be able to turn down an offer like that.
The small talk was pleasant - it was no wonder where he'd gotten his name. Finishing his mead, Santa stood to deposit Charming's coal into the stocking pinned to the mantelpiece.
"Do you ever get tired of delivering coal to me every year?" the Prince asked, still sitting in his seat, his legs crossed and one arm dangling casually from the side of the couch.
"It is my job," Santa answered - rather evasive of the question in discussion, he thought. "Though, to be quite honest, I sometimes wish that you could be, well, a little nicer in the next year."
The Prince just smiled his small, sly smile. Setting his glass down on the table, he retreated into his room. "Perhaps this will be the year, Mr Claus. Merry Christmas."
As he left through the window (because even though he had been informed that he was welcome to leave through the door, some habits were difficult to break), Santa reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny toy car, the one extra present that the elves were able to make this year, and laid it gently on the window sill.
Even the naughty ones needed something nice once in a while.
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| Jubilee |
[17 03 09] |
Teleporting, Jubilee was finding out, was a learning process. No amount of education could prepare you for something like this. Being a gymnast certainly helped with the balance side of things, and even though she didn't care much about elegant landings, she didn't much fancy the idea of eating dirt every time she had to jump somewhere.
The same couldn't be said for her cousin Harold, who had insisted on coming along for the ride, and was now in what looked like a painful heap on the ground, limbs tangled, clothing awry.
"I told you to hold on," she crouched down, patting the dust from his shoulder.
"Hold on to what?" Came the disgruntled reply as Harold pushed himself up to a sitting position. "It's not exactly like riding a bus."
"Well, Aunt Hope did suggest that we take the bus," Jubilee said over the top of a quietly muttered 'I think I'm going to throw up' from Harold, but given that warning, was a little wary and moved a few paces away, just in case he did feel like heaving.
The man - thankfully - kept his lunch by gulping dryly for a second after he stood up. "A bus to Mong Kok at this hour? We'd be stuck in traffic for days."
It was at the mention of 'traffic' that made Jubilee's ears perk up at the noise, or lack thereof. "Um," she started, as Harold caught his breath enough to realise this also. In the faded light, she could just see his eyes widening, and a look on his face that said quite plainly, holy crap.
"Um," she said again, shuffling along the wall to take a peek around the corner. "Well. This isn't a precise thing, right? I'm still getting used to it, and there's trial and error so you should always allow room for mistakes..."
A black Buick cruised by, on the wrong side of the road.
"Oh no," Jubilee slapped her forehead and groaned, as Harold joined her at the edge of the street. "I've landed us in opposite world."
Even when her marriage was falling apart, she had to have the last word. Three years of promises, then compromises, and then came the crumbling of a relationship - no one could prepare for something like that, but she wanted to say she saw it coming, that she was ready for it. When they walked out of the office, having signed the papers that declared their shift from husband and wife to strangers, he'd walked away before her, while she struggled with the contents of her handbag.
"I lied to you," she said loudly, feeling a sliver of vindictive pleasure as he stopped with a hand on the doorknob. "I've been lying to you every step of the way, because I never gave a shit."
It was almost disappointing the way he didn't answer, that he just rubbed his forehead and moved on. She wanted a fight, a challenge, or even just a sign of life, but none came.
Only later, as she sat in the backseat of the taxi, shielding her eyes from the mid-afternoon glare, that she realised this was the definitive proof that she couldn't let go, and that she'd never been good at letting go.
As the car cruised through Manhattan, she opened her eyes and looked at the Sun.
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| kay. |
[17 03 09] |
Backing up some drabbles since IJ is still eating comments apparently, and a fair bit of my writing is actually in comments.
Random
Liv: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2324/2381269650_9a88845775.jpg?v=0 --> pretend these things actually live
Liv: write about their interaction
Tomato was allergic to Lettuce, but this fact often escaped notice, and it had never stopped anyone from making the two dance together. "You make a good match," they'd say, always picking the most inopportune moment to throw them together. "Your red and her green - perfect complements."
Tomato couldn't see it. Everyone yakked on about how the two colours clashed, and the only occasion they would be tolerated together was Christmas. Lettuce hated him anyway, he was sure, because he had more texture. Or more personality, he liked to think.
They were always forced to work together, though, and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He oozed a bit, too, due to his allergy, which didn't help the fact. Capsicum complained about his condition constantly, but they were the boss of anyone, and the problem would never be resolved like that.
Chicken was a pacifist. Chicken wanted them all to get along. And she was nice enough, Tomato thought, but she was a bit of a ditz, and difficult to take seriously. It certainly didn't help that she'd always forget to put clothes on.
Who knew that eventually Chicken would provide Tomato and Lettuce with common ground, though? Her promiscuity and her affair with Wedges was a hot topic of discussion, during which Tomato realised that he and Lettuce were very alike in some ways.
Tomato didn't mind Lettuce anymore, even if she did make him ooze.
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| Wasting office hours. |
[26 05 08] |
She didn't need it, but since a couple of the other people in the office had ordered the Wacom tablets, and they got a discount if they bought in bulk, Jubilee now - with the help of the more technically inclined Judas-the-secretary-with-the-magnificent-butt - had her own tablet installed, and was itching to try it out.
Having no practical use for an object never got in the way of using it, and so it was obviously a very productive use of office resources when she drew a small doodle, and fired an email off to Shiro.
DATE: 26th May 2008
TO: "Shiro" <s.yoshida@xaviers.edu>
FROM: "Jubilee" <j.lee@xaviers.edu>
SUBJECT: HAPPY PANDA IS HAPPY
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| Irrational hatreds and fears |
[14 05 08] |
There were many reasons Jubilee never learnt to drive - well, besides the obvious, which was that she didn't need to - and she'd defend her choice by ticking all them off on her hand: traffic, time-consuming, bad for the environment. She'd even be prepared to admit her laziness before she spat out the real reason, which was that from a very young age, she believed that she'd been cursed, and cars were just generally bad for her wellbeing.
Her first bad experience in a car happened when she was seven. Her friend Louise and her had just spent the day at a fair. They had a great time, going on all the rides and earing copious amounts of fairy floss. The road back was, however, very bumpy, something that made a drowsy Louise regret her large sugar intake of the day. The young girl's body rejected this food turbulently, in the form of puke, and all over Jubilee's lap.
It didn't get much better from there. Long drives were the worst, as a young Jubilee was much too hyperactive for her own good, and "are we there yet" was a phrase that could be heard often on family trips, usually ending in a fed-up parent yelling at their daughter, which would give them peace and quiet for all of twenty minutes, then a timid voice from the backseat would say, "are we there yet?" and the cycle would start anew.
Coincidentally, Jubilee had been about to ask "are we there yet" when the car skidded on a corner and became part of a seven car pile-up, the elder Lees a new statistic on the evening news. She was fourteen at the time, and could always find other means to entertain herself; the question would've been for old times' sake, to see if she could still get a rise out of her parents.
Six years later, almost to the day - though that was a complete coincidence too - Jubilee lost her virginity in the backseat of a car, to her boyfriend's best friend. The less said about that the better, and it became one more incident in the string that contributed to her irrational hatred of cars.
And tonight, well. Tonight just reaffirmed the evilness of automobiles, or at least in terms of temptation.
"You really needed a flashy car, huh?" She poked her cousin's ribs as they walked out of the police station.
Harold looked dejected. Jubilee could see why - after all, it was an expensive car, and that he had left the keys in the ignition made the loss entirely his fault, so he wasn't even able to muster up the energy to be angry. He muttered something unintelligible, then gripped Jubilee's hand as she gestured they were ready for a teleport.
I guess not everyone could be a mutant with really fabulous powers, she wanted to say, but to her credit, kept her mouth shut. "Want something to eat?" She suggested brightly, already picking out the 24-hour eatery in her head and setting course there.
Oh yes. Jubilee was going to enjoy rubbing this in Harold's face.
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