mayflies | cell count | professor plum
Nov. 9th, 2011 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysMore drabbles GOOD GOLLY. All from the same continuity for once, albeit one mostly concocted as I went. It's an idea that's been floating around for a while now, but not something I've ever put serious words to. I guess drabbles are a trip forward, and though I'm not super fond of the third one, I like the other two.
Title: Mayflies
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fiction_drabbles prompt - value
Afterwards, amidst the stark lights and radio conversations and flaking blood, she sits him down.
“We are not their partners,” she says to him patiently. “We are not even their back-up. Do you understand? We are fuel.”
He glances over her shoulder. They seem to be trying to decide how best to transport what’s left of Mainstone; shoeboxes are somewhat undignified. “That’s it?” he says. “I graduated Quantico for this?”
“Well,” she says and smiles brightly at him, raps a knuckle lightly against his forehead. “You could always get yourself bitten by something infectious and see if you graduate again."
◘◘◘
Title: Cell Count
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:fiction_drabbles prompt - comfort
“Fuck my life,” he mutters into his own palm, crooked elbow next to his ear and couch arm under his head. “Eff em el. That’s what the kids say. I think.”
He catches her exasperated look through his fingers. “You’re twenty-nine.”
“So are you calling me too young or too old?”
She just spreads the fingers of his other hand and he hisses, shredded skin protesting as its weak knottings are tested.
“It’s healing,” she says. “Normally.”
“Humanly-normally?”
“Yes.” The hands slip upwards to squeeze his wrist above the missing pieces.
“Can I swear again?” he says, and she laughs.
◘◘◘
Title: Professor Plum
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:fiction_drabbles prompt - reach
Ellis breaks away from them twenty minutes in, heading for a side doorway, leaning to peer inside.
“Hey,” she snaps, but he doesn’t stop and she curls her lip, shakes her head. “Fuck’s sake. That’s just asking to be clued.”
He stays close, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to hip, shoots her a raised eyebrow look. Here long enough to know better, not lingo. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Not get a clue, become a clue. His face gets eaten; now we know it eats faces.”
Crack. Squelch. Scream.
They spin.
“Now we know it eats livers,” she amends. “Heads up.”
Title: Mayflies
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:
fiction_drabbles prompt - valueAfterwards, amidst the stark lights and radio conversations and flaking blood, she sits him down.
“We are not their partners,” she says to him patiently. “We are not even their back-up. Do you understand? We are fuel.”
He glances over her shoulder. They seem to be trying to decide how best to transport what’s left of Mainstone; shoeboxes are somewhat undignified. “That’s it?” he says. “I graduated Quantico for this?”
“Well,” she says and smiles brightly at him, raps a knuckle lightly against his forehead. “You could always get yourself bitten by something infectious and see if you graduate again."
◘◘◘
Title: Cell Count
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:
fiction_drabbles prompt - comfort“Fuck my life,” he mutters into his own palm, crooked elbow next to his ear and couch arm under his head. “Eff em el. That’s what the kids say. I think.”
He catches her exasperated look through his fingers. “You’re twenty-nine.”
“So are you calling me too young or too old?”
She just spreads the fingers of his other hand and he hisses, shredded skin protesting as its weak knottings are tested.
“It’s healing,” she says. “Normally.”
“Humanly-normally?”
“Yes.” The hands slip upwards to squeeze his wrist above the missing pieces.
“Can I swear again?” he says, and she laughs.
◘◘◘
Title: Professor Plum
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 100
Genre: Urban fantasy
Remarks:
fiction_drabbles prompt - reach Ellis breaks away from them twenty minutes in, heading for a side doorway, leaning to peer inside.
“Hey,” she snaps, but he doesn’t stop and she curls her lip, shakes her head. “Fuck’s sake. That’s just asking to be clued.”
He stays close, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to hip, shoots her a raised eyebrow look. Here long enough to know better, not lingo. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Not get a clue, become a clue. His face gets eaten; now we know it eats faces.”
Crack. Squelch. Scream.
They spin.
“Now we know it eats livers,” she amends. “Heads up.”
no subject
Date: 2011-11-09 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-09 09:05 pm (UTC)Hah, I guess the idea of it all could be summed up as "cannon fodder are people too". 'Cause you know how it goes in those books and movies where you've got the badass abnormal heroes running around punching werewolves through walls and angsting about the ability to punch werewolves through walls. When you're a normal human, and especially a normal human who happens to be an accompanying law enforcer of some kind, and they need to prove how dangerous an enemy is but can't kill a main character...the story never seems to work out as well for you.
So yes. I figure the high turnover rate of mooks has got to suck particularly hard when you are a mook and your friends are mooks and the heroes never seem to do more than delicately wince at your mangled body before getting over your loss thirty seconds later.