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rainbowfic2015-06-30 04:03 am
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-30 04:03 am
Dragon Scale Green 5, Skyblue Pink with Striped Polka Dots 9, Alien Green 22
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Dragon Scale Green, Summer Carnival), Novelty Beads (“collapse”)
Characters: Corwin (POV), Martin, others mentioned very briefly.
Colors: Dragon Scale Green 5 ("Always speak politely to an enraged dragon." ― Steven Brust), Skyblue Pink with Striped Polka Dots 9 ("You're in pretty good shape for the shape you are in."), Alien Green 22 (“You're moving pretty good for a dead man.”)
Word Count: 1,260
Rating: PG
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin is awfully stubborn for a dead man.
Note: A lot earlier in the timeline than a lot of the Martin-centric things I’ve been posting. All comments welcome as always.
Dead Stupid
…Okay, the hell just happened to me?”
Martin was picking himself up off the floor, slowly looking more and more like a person and less and less like a pile. I’d feel sorry for him, but it was kind of his fault for acting like a jackass.
“You stood up too fast.”
“…I stood up perfectly normal, Corwin.”
“Yeah. You stood up too fast. Aren’t you supposed to put your head between your legs?”
He’d been having a bad couple of weeks. Nothing dangerous, and nothing new, but a few of his usual issues had been acting up. This made him kind of prone to fainting. It also made him too stubborn to do any of the things that were supposed to prevent this.
“That’s what they say, but I don’t have time for that shit.”
“What, and you do have time to fall down on your face like an asshole?”
“…Yes. But I don’t have time to argue with you about it. Lay off”
Finally, Martin wobbled to his feet and sat back down on the couch. I’d have helped him, but I like my arms and wanted both of them to stay attached to my body if at all possible.
“Well, then I won’t argue with you anymore. You’re free to fall over and split your head open at your own discretion.”
“I’m not going to split my head open! I’m not even gonna fall over! See?”
In one smooth, fast motion, that at no point took his head below heart-level, he leapt to his feet. And I had to follow, though in a somewhat clumsier fashion, so I could catch him when he started to crumple to the floor. I held on until I was sure he could hear me.
“…No, but I did see you pass out cold and almost crack your skull on the coffee table.”
“I didn’t pass out! I was awake the whole time! My legs just went kinda… Weird.”
I eased him back down on the couch.
“Weird legs, eh?”
Even after all these years, I was still astounded by his ability to look me square in the eyes and lie (what was left of) his ass off.
“Yep.”
“’Weird legs,’ which had absolutely nothing to do with all the blood rushing out of your head?”
Now fully seated, he slapped my hand away, then crossed his arms and screwed up into a tight ball on the couch. It looked like he was shaping himself into some kind of projectile and getting ready to barrel across the room, propelled by nothing but pure spite.
“…If my legs can’t be weird for no reason, what explains your weird face!?”
“Genetics and an unfortunate lab accident. But seriously, don’t you think it’s time to make an appointment and see if you’re due for another transfusion.”
“No, because I’m fine. And they’ll just tell me I’m all fucked-up inside and can’t do anything anymore.”
“But why would they say that if you’re fine, like you say you are?”
“Because they don’t know what they’re talking about!”
“They’re doctors. I think they pay them to know what they’re talking about.”
“…Could you just shut up?”
Martin leaned forward with his head in his hands. I didn’t know if he had a headache, or if he was trying to pretend I wasn’t there. Or if he was making it look like he had a headache because he wanted to get up and storm out of the room, but didn’t want to ruin the effect by either fainting or putting his head down like he was supposed to. I waited for him to stomp off. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere. And I was starting to feel like shit for being so goddamn condescending.
“…Martin?”
He didn’t even bother to unclench his teeth.
“For the love of Christ, what?”
“Well… I mean, I’m not a doctor, but I don’t really think they’re going to say that.”
“Corwin… I can’t even get off the couch.”
For a second, I was worried he was going to demonstrate again, but it didn‘t go anywhere. He sat up slowly, obviously taking his time, then fell against the back of the couch. It looked like someone had let all the air out of him. And he sounded like he was having trouble getting the air back in. I could tell his lungs were working hard.
“…Okay, so you’ve been a little wobbly lately. But you’re not, like, an invalid or anything. Just last week, you and Spenser were chasing each other around and hitting each other with rebar.”
“I needed to spend an hour catching my breath after that.”
Whatever had been plugging up his lungs finally dislodged, and he cupped his hand over his mouth and let out a wet-sounding cough. I thought it punctuated his last statement rather amusingly, but I didn’t dare say so.
“Well, yeah, but I probably would have, too. And I don’t think I could’ve kept it up as long as you did in the first place.”
Martin wiped his hand on his pants.
“You smoke three packs a day and trip over your own legs.”
I thought those were neutral enough traits, but he looked oddly accusing. Then again, he usually looked like that, so it probably wasn’t personal.
“Well, yeah. But… Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but next to you, I‘m like, the picture of health. Aren’t you technically dead?”
He thought about it for a while, then shrugged.
“There are a few definitions of life I don’t meet, yeah.”
“See? You should be comparing yourself to other dead people. And most of them don’t do shit. You feel bad about needing to take your time standing up? Just remember that dead people don’t generally stand up at all.”
“…I guess not.”
I could tell by looking at him that, though he got the point and probably agreed with me, it hadn’t made him feel that much better. But, I guess that‘s okay. If I was in his situation, I probably wouldn‘t be feeling so awesome about it. And, if the roles were reversed, he probably wouldn’t be trying to make me. He’d be doing a much better job.
“What’d I tell you? You’re doing great, dude. Anyway, you hungry? Dinner’s on the roof today.”
Martin may be a lot better and smarter than I am, but what can you say? I’m not Martin.
“I’m not really in the mood to eat right now, but thanks.”
“Okay, that’s fine. But the grill’s out, so even if you don’t feel up to-”
“…I didn’t say I don’t feel up to it! I said I’m not in the mood!”
Just yesterday, he’d been complaining about his digestive issues. Long before he started complaining, I noticed that his clothes were fitting looser again. But, I let it slide.
“Alright. Even if you’re… Um, not in the mood… I saw Sorrell and Spenser go up there with a big can of lighter fluid. We’re probably gonna get to watch them play with fire for a while before they get the coals going. So…?”
He spent a while staring at the floor. I wished I could know what he was thinking.
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“…There’s gonna be fire!”
I approximated a smile. Martin rolled his eyes.
“Oh, alright. Fine.”
“Cool. Should I help you up?”
For a split second, it looked like he was about to go off on me again. Then his posture relaxed. He almost looked happy. Happy for a dead guy, anyway.
“…Sure.”
starphotographsStory: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Dragon Scale Green, Summer Carnival), Novelty Beads (“collapse”)
Characters: Corwin (POV), Martin, others mentioned very briefly.
Colors: Dragon Scale Green 5 ("Always speak politely to an enraged dragon." ― Steven Brust), Skyblue Pink with Striped Polka Dots 9 ("You're in pretty good shape for the shape you are in."), Alien Green 22 (“You're moving pretty good for a dead man.”)
Word Count: 1,260
Rating: PG
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin is awfully stubborn for a dead man.
Note: A lot earlier in the timeline than a lot of the Martin-centric things I’ve been posting. All comments welcome as always.
…Okay, the hell just happened to me?”
Martin was picking himself up off the floor, slowly looking more and more like a person and less and less like a pile. I’d feel sorry for him, but it was kind of his fault for acting like a jackass.
“You stood up too fast.”
“…I stood up perfectly normal, Corwin.”
“Yeah. You stood up too fast. Aren’t you supposed to put your head between your legs?”
He’d been having a bad couple of weeks. Nothing dangerous, and nothing new, but a few of his usual issues had been acting up. This made him kind of prone to fainting. It also made him too stubborn to do any of the things that were supposed to prevent this.
“That’s what they say, but I don’t have time for that shit.”
“What, and you do have time to fall down on your face like an asshole?”
“…Yes. But I don’t have time to argue with you about it. Lay off”
Finally, Martin wobbled to his feet and sat back down on the couch. I’d have helped him, but I like my arms and wanted both of them to stay attached to my body if at all possible.
“Well, then I won’t argue with you anymore. You’re free to fall over and split your head open at your own discretion.”
“I’m not going to split my head open! I’m not even gonna fall over! See?”
In one smooth, fast motion, that at no point took his head below heart-level, he leapt to his feet. And I had to follow, though in a somewhat clumsier fashion, so I could catch him when he started to crumple to the floor. I held on until I was sure he could hear me.
“…No, but I did see you pass out cold and almost crack your skull on the coffee table.”
“I didn’t pass out! I was awake the whole time! My legs just went kinda… Weird.”
I eased him back down on the couch.
“Weird legs, eh?”
Even after all these years, I was still astounded by his ability to look me square in the eyes and lie (what was left of) his ass off.
“Yep.”
“’Weird legs,’ which had absolutely nothing to do with all the blood rushing out of your head?”
Now fully seated, he slapped my hand away, then crossed his arms and screwed up into a tight ball on the couch. It looked like he was shaping himself into some kind of projectile and getting ready to barrel across the room, propelled by nothing but pure spite.
“…If my legs can’t be weird for no reason, what explains your weird face!?”
“Genetics and an unfortunate lab accident. But seriously, don’t you think it’s time to make an appointment and see if you’re due for another transfusion.”
“No, because I’m fine. And they’ll just tell me I’m all fucked-up inside and can’t do anything anymore.”
“But why would they say that if you’re fine, like you say you are?”
“Because they don’t know what they’re talking about!”
“They’re doctors. I think they pay them to know what they’re talking about.”
“…Could you just shut up?”
Martin leaned forward with his head in his hands. I didn’t know if he had a headache, or if he was trying to pretend I wasn’t there. Or if he was making it look like he had a headache because he wanted to get up and storm out of the room, but didn’t want to ruin the effect by either fainting or putting his head down like he was supposed to. I waited for him to stomp off. It didn’t look like he was going anywhere. And I was starting to feel like shit for being so goddamn condescending.
“…Martin?”
He didn’t even bother to unclench his teeth.
“For the love of Christ, what?”
“Well… I mean, I’m not a doctor, but I don’t really think they’re going to say that.”
“Corwin… I can’t even get off the couch.”
For a second, I was worried he was going to demonstrate again, but it didn‘t go anywhere. He sat up slowly, obviously taking his time, then fell against the back of the couch. It looked like someone had let all the air out of him. And he sounded like he was having trouble getting the air back in. I could tell his lungs were working hard.
“…Okay, so you’ve been a little wobbly lately. But you’re not, like, an invalid or anything. Just last week, you and Spenser were chasing each other around and hitting each other with rebar.”
“I needed to spend an hour catching my breath after that.”
Whatever had been plugging up his lungs finally dislodged, and he cupped his hand over his mouth and let out a wet-sounding cough. I thought it punctuated his last statement rather amusingly, but I didn’t dare say so.
“Well, yeah, but I probably would have, too. And I don’t think I could’ve kept it up as long as you did in the first place.”
Martin wiped his hand on his pants.
“You smoke three packs a day and trip over your own legs.”
I thought those were neutral enough traits, but he looked oddly accusing. Then again, he usually looked like that, so it probably wasn’t personal.
“Well, yeah. But… Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but next to you, I‘m like, the picture of health. Aren’t you technically dead?”
He thought about it for a while, then shrugged.
“There are a few definitions of life I don’t meet, yeah.”
“See? You should be comparing yourself to other dead people. And most of them don’t do shit. You feel bad about needing to take your time standing up? Just remember that dead people don’t generally stand up at all.”
“…I guess not.”
I could tell by looking at him that, though he got the point and probably agreed with me, it hadn’t made him feel that much better. But, I guess that‘s okay. If I was in his situation, I probably wouldn‘t be feeling so awesome about it. And, if the roles were reversed, he probably wouldn’t be trying to make me. He’d be doing a much better job.
“What’d I tell you? You’re doing great, dude. Anyway, you hungry? Dinner’s on the roof today.”
Martin may be a lot better and smarter than I am, but what can you say? I’m not Martin.
“I’m not really in the mood to eat right now, but thanks.”
“Okay, that’s fine. But the grill’s out, so even if you don’t feel up to-”
“…I didn’t say I don’t feel up to it! I said I’m not in the mood!”
Just yesterday, he’d been complaining about his digestive issues. Long before he started complaining, I noticed that his clothes were fitting looser again. But, I let it slide.
“Alright. Even if you’re… Um, not in the mood… I saw Sorrell and Spenser go up there with a big can of lighter fluid. We’re probably gonna get to watch them play with fire for a while before they get the coals going. So…?”
He spent a while staring at the floor. I wished I could know what he was thinking.
“I dunno. Maybe.”
“…There’s gonna be fire!”
I approximated a smile. Martin rolled his eyes.
“Oh, alright. Fine.”
“Cool. Should I help you up?”
For a split second, it looked like he was about to go off on me again. Then his posture relaxed. He almost looked happy. Happy for a dead guy, anyway.
“…Sure.”
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XD
Thanks for reading!
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no subject
Thanks for reading!
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AND FIRE FIXES EVERYTHING and this story warms my heart because.. martin being Martin.
I do have one question though!
Is “…Okay, so you’ve been a little wobbly lately. But you’re not, like, an invalid or anything. Just last week, you and Spenser were chasing each other around and hitting each other with rebar.” a story? XD
no subject
There isn't much to it, but yes, a story! Probably as part of a set of shorts about the two of them acting like goons.
Because this Novelty Bead:
https://31.media.tumblr.com/2dca4549f95d16aa950a590f7f3256bd/tumblr_n7xr0mmvgX1so9o05o1_500.gif
XD
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Oh my God. Between this and "There's gonna be fire!" I made some ugly noises.
Also, Martin is doing really good for a dead guy. Well done Martin!
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WELL DONE INDEED. XD