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rainbowfic2013-09-06 03:04 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-06 03:04 am
Lawn Green #8/Camo Green #5
Name: Greenling
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #8 (Sunny Skies)/Camo Green #5 (Praise the lord and pass the ammo)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome (Lawn Green/Camo Green), Glue (You are stretching your wings today because you believe that pretty much anything is possible. The previous limitations you placed on yourself enabled you to keep your feet on the ground, but now you are ready to fly. Whatever you want to do begins in your mind. Dream about it first, and then do whatever it takes to make your vision real.), Stain (Sometimes when you look in his eyes you get the feeling that someone else is driving. David Letterman (1947 - ))
Word Count: 1,232
Rating: PG-13ish, mostly for gratuitous swearing.
Warnings: None.
Summary: I had kind of wanted to finish this by tomorrow, but at least I've started it. Another story in roughly the same universe as Asking for Roses, set a little further into the future, with less horror and politics and more action.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Midnight, in the heat of June; the air was humid, punctuated with a slight breeze that ruffled the trees and dragged clouds across the few visible stars. The grass swayed, the air smelled of incense and dirt, and a young man in his early twenties was sobbing inconsolably, knocking his head against a gravestone.
Scattered around him were half a dozen types of herbs, an upturned bowl, a black cloth, a dusty old book (now missing a few pages from rough treatment), and somewhere, a knife, among the graves and other cemetary accommodations. The man was dressed in black, and his lank brown hair stuck to his face from sweat and humidity. He wasn't crying, despite his sobs, but his face was red with boiling frustration.
Eventually, he stopped sobbing; a few minutes after that, he sighed deeply and got to his feet, using the gravestone to keep his balance. Muttering to himself, he pushed his hair back out of his face and began gathering up what of his things he could see in the dark. He stumbled around a bit, swearing loudly at the condition of the book, then even more loudly when he found the knife.
A loud "godfuckingdamnit" echoed through the dark as the man tumbled to the ground, tearing his shoe off to clutch his injured foot. More sobbing ensued. Grumbling, the man very carefully felt along the ground until he found the knife again, safely this time, and wiped it off on his pants leg before wrapping it back up in the cloth. There was a moment of silence as he inspected his foot injury before starting to swear again.
Standing once more, his right foot limping and his left hand covered in blood, he began to seethe. Raising his hand to the sky, he screamed, a shaking, primal thing that echoed through the night and resulted in more than one call to the police.
"If she hadn't-" he choked, trying and failing to shout- "fuck! This is stupid. This is so stupid."
A breeze fluttered through the trees, ruffling what hair of his wasn't stuck from sweat or dirt. "God, screw this," he continued after a moment, balling his hands up into fists in front of him. "Screw this whole stupid reality, okay? If anything is out there- I'll give you anything, okay? I don't even care about power anymore! Just screw everything- it's stupid, unfair, bullshit, destroy it all!"
The world was silent. He squeezed his fists so hard his nails bit into his palm, then let out a long, weary breath. He was about to turn and leave when the spiderweb cracks began forming in front of his eyes.
--
One month prior...
The sun was beginning to sink past the tops of the buildings, creating broad patches of shadow where light could ambush a person from odd angles. The warm, humid air of May, along with the intoxicating freedom of the end of exams and the literal mild intoxication of cheap grad party beer, combined to make the world seem wide open and full of refreshing possibilities.
"So what are you going to do over the summer?"
Sarah practically bounced down the sidewalk, her messy blonde braid flicking back and forth every few steps. Dmitry kept staring at it out of the corner of his eye when he fell behind her, trying to walk slow enough not to outpace her completely. He smirked at the question and at her flushed, freckled face.
"Mm," he said slowly, "I don't know. Maybe run out my lease, maybe get a shitty part-time job... maybe stalk campus and rough up freshmen coming in for orientation. I've always wanted to know what it's like being an urban legend."
"Yeah... I don't know either." It was an attempt at a joke, but her tone barely held back a sigh. "If the urban legend thing works out, think you can get me an in?"
"I think so. You'd make a good tragic ghost, maybe a moaning Mildred." A wide grin split his face.
"Great recommendation, from the biggest loudmouth I know." She gave him a raised eyebrow. He didn't stop smiling. "Seriously, though... do you think that when I come back in August, you'll be here?"
Dmitry snorted, then was quiet for a while. "Maybe," he eventually said.
Conveniently enough, the rusted plum facade of Dmitry's apartment building was within sight. The two came to a slow stop; Dmitry adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag awkwardly.
"There's always Facebook." Sarah smiled. "Or y'know, if you need anything... or if you need anything tonight, you've got my number."
He looked away, grinning hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. "I told you, I'm fine."
"Yeeah." Sarah wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. His cheeks went hot with embarrassment, but he hugged her back with one arm.
"Seriously. I, am, not freaking out." He looked down into her eyes, giving her a serious stare. "Don't start worrying about me like I'm some wilting lily about to have a breakdown. It's none of your business." After a pause, he added: "No offense."
"I don't think you're a lily. I think you're a hardhead whose response to subtle emotions is "can I eat it?"." She poked him in the chest and took a step back. "Just... let's get lunch or something before the week's up and my parents show up, and then I'll stop bothering you, okay?"
"Bother me any time- especially on Facebook. It's more fun than hearing about my brother's girlfriends." He ruffled her hair; she winced; and then he turned to leave. She watched him head inside before turning her thoughts to another subject and heading off.
It was an old building, dark wood and green and purple wallpaper, with no windows on one wall of the building and ugly beige carpet that had been replaced twice since Dmitry had moved in due to water damage. They still hadn't gotten rid of the musty smell, or bothered to update the locks. The door made a thunk sound when he unlocked the deadbolt, and again when he threw it open.
--
The ground was hard, and rocks were poking into his back.
Dmitry's eyes stung from the light, even closed- his next thought was to double-check that they were closed. He didn't have the sense of mind or self to do anything more complicated than that; his body felt like a cloud of gas slowly turning back into solid matter. A cloud made of joy, and need, and loss, and...
He groaned involuntarily. His back ached and stung. He tried to sit up, tried to open his eyes, and didn't quite manage either; rolling onto his side made the light start going away, at least.
Gravel. He was laying on gravel, outside somewhere. The air was a little cold, like early morning cold, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Pants, at least. Last time there hadn't been pants.
Last time- he managed to crack his eyes open- he also wasn't on the roof.
His heart ran a little faster, clearing away more of the fog. He was on the roof. He didn't remember anything since coming home. There were spots of something dark on the roof that he didn't feel like investigating.
His teeth gritted in anger. He considered how to get down... and whether he should call a doctor.
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Lawn Green #8 (Sunny Skies)/Camo Green #5 (Praise the lord and pass the ammo)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome (Lawn Green/Camo Green), Glue (You are stretching your wings today because you believe that pretty much anything is possible. The previous limitations you placed on yourself enabled you to keep your feet on the ground, but now you are ready to fly. Whatever you want to do begins in your mind. Dream about it first, and then do whatever it takes to make your vision real.), Stain (Sometimes when you look in his eyes you get the feeling that someone else is driving. David Letterman (1947 - ))
Word Count: 1,232
Rating: PG-13ish, mostly for gratuitous swearing.
Warnings: None.
Summary: I had kind of wanted to finish this by tomorrow, but at least I've started it. Another story in roughly the same universe as Asking for Roses, set a little further into the future, with less horror and politics and more action.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Midnight, in the heat of June; the air was humid, punctuated with a slight breeze that ruffled the trees and dragged clouds across the few visible stars. The grass swayed, the air smelled of incense and dirt, and a young man in his early twenties was sobbing inconsolably, knocking his head against a gravestone.
Scattered around him were half a dozen types of herbs, an upturned bowl, a black cloth, a dusty old book (now missing a few pages from rough treatment), and somewhere, a knife, among the graves and other cemetary accommodations. The man was dressed in black, and his lank brown hair stuck to his face from sweat and humidity. He wasn't crying, despite his sobs, but his face was red with boiling frustration.
Eventually, he stopped sobbing; a few minutes after that, he sighed deeply and got to his feet, using the gravestone to keep his balance. Muttering to himself, he pushed his hair back out of his face and began gathering up what of his things he could see in the dark. He stumbled around a bit, swearing loudly at the condition of the book, then even more loudly when he found the knife.
A loud "godfuckingdamnit" echoed through the dark as the man tumbled to the ground, tearing his shoe off to clutch his injured foot. More sobbing ensued. Grumbling, the man very carefully felt along the ground until he found the knife again, safely this time, and wiped it off on his pants leg before wrapping it back up in the cloth. There was a moment of silence as he inspected his foot injury before starting to swear again.
Standing once more, his right foot limping and his left hand covered in blood, he began to seethe. Raising his hand to the sky, he screamed, a shaking, primal thing that echoed through the night and resulted in more than one call to the police.
"If she hadn't-" he choked, trying and failing to shout- "fuck! This is stupid. This is so stupid."
A breeze fluttered through the trees, ruffling what hair of his wasn't stuck from sweat or dirt. "God, screw this," he continued after a moment, balling his hands up into fists in front of him. "Screw this whole stupid reality, okay? If anything is out there- I'll give you anything, okay? I don't even care about power anymore! Just screw everything- it's stupid, unfair, bullshit, destroy it all!"
The world was silent. He squeezed his fists so hard his nails bit into his palm, then let out a long, weary breath. He was about to turn and leave when the spiderweb cracks began forming in front of his eyes.
--
One month prior...
The sun was beginning to sink past the tops of the buildings, creating broad patches of shadow where light could ambush a person from odd angles. The warm, humid air of May, along with the intoxicating freedom of the end of exams and the literal mild intoxication of cheap grad party beer, combined to make the world seem wide open and full of refreshing possibilities.
"So what are you going to do over the summer?"
Sarah practically bounced down the sidewalk, her messy blonde braid flicking back and forth every few steps. Dmitry kept staring at it out of the corner of his eye when he fell behind her, trying to walk slow enough not to outpace her completely. He smirked at the question and at her flushed, freckled face.
"Mm," he said slowly, "I don't know. Maybe run out my lease, maybe get a shitty part-time job... maybe stalk campus and rough up freshmen coming in for orientation. I've always wanted to know what it's like being an urban legend."
"Yeah... I don't know either." It was an attempt at a joke, but her tone barely held back a sigh. "If the urban legend thing works out, think you can get me an in?"
"I think so. You'd make a good tragic ghost, maybe a moaning Mildred." A wide grin split his face.
"Great recommendation, from the biggest loudmouth I know." She gave him a raised eyebrow. He didn't stop smiling. "Seriously, though... do you think that when I come back in August, you'll be here?"
Dmitry snorted, then was quiet for a while. "Maybe," he eventually said.
Conveniently enough, the rusted plum facade of Dmitry's apartment building was within sight. The two came to a slow stop; Dmitry adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag awkwardly.
"There's always Facebook." Sarah smiled. "Or y'know, if you need anything... or if you need anything tonight, you've got my number."
He looked away, grinning hard enough to make his cheeks hurt. "I told you, I'm fine."
"Yeeah." Sarah wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. His cheeks went hot with embarrassment, but he hugged her back with one arm.
"Seriously. I, am, not freaking out." He looked down into her eyes, giving her a serious stare. "Don't start worrying about me like I'm some wilting lily about to have a breakdown. It's none of your business." After a pause, he added: "No offense."
"I don't think you're a lily. I think you're a hardhead whose response to subtle emotions is "can I eat it?"." She poked him in the chest and took a step back. "Just... let's get lunch or something before the week's up and my parents show up, and then I'll stop bothering you, okay?"
"Bother me any time- especially on Facebook. It's more fun than hearing about my brother's girlfriends." He ruffled her hair; she winced; and then he turned to leave. She watched him head inside before turning her thoughts to another subject and heading off.
It was an old building, dark wood and green and purple wallpaper, with no windows on one wall of the building and ugly beige carpet that had been replaced twice since Dmitry had moved in due to water damage. They still hadn't gotten rid of the musty smell, or bothered to update the locks. The door made a thunk sound when he unlocked the deadbolt, and again when he threw it open.
--
The ground was hard, and rocks were poking into his back.
Dmitry's eyes stung from the light, even closed- his next thought was to double-check that they were closed. He didn't have the sense of mind or self to do anything more complicated than that; his body felt like a cloud of gas slowly turning back into solid matter. A cloud made of joy, and need, and loss, and...
He groaned involuntarily. His back ached and stung. He tried to sit up, tried to open his eyes, and didn't quite manage either; rolling onto his side made the light start going away, at least.
Gravel. He was laying on gravel, outside somewhere. The air was a little cold, like early morning cold, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Pants, at least. Last time there hadn't been pants.
Last time- he managed to crack his eyes open- he also wasn't on the roof.
His heart ran a little faster, clearing away more of the fog. He was on the roof. He didn't remember anything since coming home. There were spots of something dark on the roof that he didn't feel like investigating.
His teeth gritted in anger. He considered how to get down... and whether he should call a doctor.
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I really like the banter between Dmitry and Sarah--they seem like they have a good friendship.
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...Man, I kept misspelling her name. *fixes*
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