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rainbowfic2015-08-17 10:21 pm
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-08-17 10:21 pm
Alien Green 9
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Lilith Fair Main Stage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZuW6BH_Vak)
Characters: Piston (POV), Spenser
Colors: Alien Green 9 (Should we be picking out china patterns, or what?)
Word Count: 834
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Sometimes, you’re not as bad as you think.
Note: …Nothing much to say on this one.
Nonthreatening
It was midnight, and we’d been rattling around in the van my parents and I use to pick things up for the garage, or to drive out and rescue people who got stuck somewhere or can’t even leave their own friggin’ driveway. The back clatters with parts and tools.
Or, at least it did, out on the road. At the moment, we were parked, so there wasn’t any motion to clatter stuff around. The distant light from the sign on the store across the lot, and the buzzy halogens above us, are making everything look too detailed and too blue. I kind of thought we would make a good movie. Spenser is sitting with his feet up on the dashboard, leaving muddy bootprints, next to the smaller ones I leave there when my mom and I run to the junkyard. I sit just like he does, but it looks different. His longer legs make it look less like he’s finding a comfortable position, and more like he’s folding himself up to go back in his case.
The wind flows between the open windows, silent, like everything else tonight. Even Spenser, for once. He’s been too quiet. I’d say he’s thinking, but really, the guy lives more of his life in his own head than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s just that he usually has two tracks running; the mystery between his ears, and the completely unrelated chatter that flies out before he can even know what he‘s saying. Maybe whatever he has going on right now is too important, and needs his full attention. Once he has it worked out, he’ll start going off again.
Turns out, “going off” wasn’t exactly the word.
“…Piston, why do you like me?”
I didn’t know how to answer, which reflected badly on me. It’s like when someone asks you your favorite book, and then you just draw a blank, and end up looking really stupid. I shrugged.
“You’re just neat, I guess.”
This might have been the right answer to something, but I got the idea that I’d just responded to a question that hadn’t been asked.
“Well, why do you still think I’m neat? Shouldn’t I scare you or something?”
I don’t know, maybe? You don’t, though. He laid out his whole story a few days ago. It wasn’t a grand climactic revelation or anything. Just him talking, the way he always talked. Talking without planning, telling too many weird stories, sharing too many weird details. And, going along with the whole spirit of the conversation, I’d probably underreacted. It just didn’t feel that horrific. The only thought I really had was “shit, now my life is clickbait.” Because it really did sound like the title of some stupid article. 5 Things You Learn when Your Boyfriend is a Hired Killer! Except then you actually read it, and you’re kind of disappointed, because the guy isn’t even a hired killer anymore, and all they do is drive around and argue about absurd hypothetical situations.
Also, hearing that confession from someone you just saw get offended because a goat kicked him kinda defangs the whole thing.
“Spense, believe me, I know it hurts to hear, but you are like, the least scary person. You‘re a dork.”
Okay, so that didn’t work, either.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew me last year.”
Following the scattered chronology he gave me to work with, that was when he’d been dumped by that woman he met through his job, stopped sleeping altogether, and ran around all day muttering to himself and breaking windows. That person didn’t seem “scary.” They just seemed scared. His “scary” period was probably a good year and a half before, when he’d just gotten started. And at least, it was a scariness I could almost respect. He wasn’t a good person. He might not even be one now. But he was very talented, and very wanting. It’s hard to wholesale condemn him.
“Going on what you said, if I knew you last year, I’d probably just think you were, like, super pathetic.”
Finally, he looked at me.
“…Really?”
Spenser changed positions. Now he was leaning forward, with his crossed arms on the dash, propping up his head. His hair was falling in his face, and the parking lot light was shining off his glasses, so I couldn’t tell what he was looking at.
“Dude, I think you’re kind of pathetic now.”
He laughed.
“…Man, what the hell kind of world am I living in, if that’s the best fuckin’ compliment I’ve heard in a while?”
I put an arm around his shoulders.
“A pretty great one, probably.”
We sat like that for a while, and I guess he started feeling better.
“So, like, you wanna drive over to the other side of the lot and get some food? That drive-thru is twenty-four hours, and I feel like I could eat my own fuckin’ arm.”
Tell me, again, how this person is supposed to scare me?
starphotographsStory: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Lilith Fair Main Stage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZuW6BH_Vak)
Characters: Piston (POV), Spenser
Colors: Alien Green 9 (Should we be picking out china patterns, or what?)
Word Count: 834
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Sometimes, you’re not as bad as you think.
Note: …Nothing much to say on this one.
It was midnight, and we’d been rattling around in the van my parents and I use to pick things up for the garage, or to drive out and rescue people who got stuck somewhere or can’t even leave their own friggin’ driveway. The back clatters with parts and tools.
Or, at least it did, out on the road. At the moment, we were parked, so there wasn’t any motion to clatter stuff around. The distant light from the sign on the store across the lot, and the buzzy halogens above us, are making everything look too detailed and too blue. I kind of thought we would make a good movie. Spenser is sitting with his feet up on the dashboard, leaving muddy bootprints, next to the smaller ones I leave there when my mom and I run to the junkyard. I sit just like he does, but it looks different. His longer legs make it look less like he’s finding a comfortable position, and more like he’s folding himself up to go back in his case.
The wind flows between the open windows, silent, like everything else tonight. Even Spenser, for once. He’s been too quiet. I’d say he’s thinking, but really, the guy lives more of his life in his own head than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s just that he usually has two tracks running; the mystery between his ears, and the completely unrelated chatter that flies out before he can even know what he‘s saying. Maybe whatever he has going on right now is too important, and needs his full attention. Once he has it worked out, he’ll start going off again.
Turns out, “going off” wasn’t exactly the word.
“…Piston, why do you like me?”
I didn’t know how to answer, which reflected badly on me. It’s like when someone asks you your favorite book, and then you just draw a blank, and end up looking really stupid. I shrugged.
“You’re just neat, I guess.”
This might have been the right answer to something, but I got the idea that I’d just responded to a question that hadn’t been asked.
“Well, why do you still think I’m neat? Shouldn’t I scare you or something?”
I don’t know, maybe? You don’t, though. He laid out his whole story a few days ago. It wasn’t a grand climactic revelation or anything. Just him talking, the way he always talked. Talking without planning, telling too many weird stories, sharing too many weird details. And, going along with the whole spirit of the conversation, I’d probably underreacted. It just didn’t feel that horrific. The only thought I really had was “shit, now my life is clickbait.” Because it really did sound like the title of some stupid article. 5 Things You Learn when Your Boyfriend is a Hired Killer! Except then you actually read it, and you’re kind of disappointed, because the guy isn’t even a hired killer anymore, and all they do is drive around and argue about absurd hypothetical situations.
Also, hearing that confession from someone you just saw get offended because a goat kicked him kinda defangs the whole thing.
“Spense, believe me, I know it hurts to hear, but you are like, the least scary person. You‘re a dork.”
Okay, so that didn’t work, either.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew me last year.”
Following the scattered chronology he gave me to work with, that was when he’d been dumped by that woman he met through his job, stopped sleeping altogether, and ran around all day muttering to himself and breaking windows. That person didn’t seem “scary.” They just seemed scared. His “scary” period was probably a good year and a half before, when he’d just gotten started. And at least, it was a scariness I could almost respect. He wasn’t a good person. He might not even be one now. But he was very talented, and very wanting. It’s hard to wholesale condemn him.
“Going on what you said, if I knew you last year, I’d probably just think you were, like, super pathetic.”
Finally, he looked at me.
“…Really?”
Spenser changed positions. Now he was leaning forward, with his crossed arms on the dash, propping up his head. His hair was falling in his face, and the parking lot light was shining off his glasses, so I couldn’t tell what he was looking at.
“Dude, I think you’re kind of pathetic now.”
He laughed.
“…Man, what the hell kind of world am I living in, if that’s the best fuckin’ compliment I’ve heard in a while?”
I put an arm around his shoulders.
“A pretty great one, probably.”
We sat like that for a while, and I guess he started feeling better.
“So, like, you wanna drive over to the other side of the lot and get some food? That drive-thru is twenty-four hours, and I feel like I could eat my own fuckin’ arm.”
Tell me, again, how this person is supposed to scare me?
no subject
no subject
*SO DED*
And you kind had me going there, Spense being QUIET all of a sudden, but then I saw why and I was all *HIGH KEENING NOISES*.
no subject
ps dare you to write 5 Things You Learn when Your Boyfriend is a Hired Killer!