Alphabet drabbles: steampunk
May. 4th, 2006 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarigwaemirLowell House, on the Feast of Ste. Monica
So to make a confession, I hadn't actually read or watched Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle until yesterday, although I knew the story pretty well from reading fics and LJ posts about the series (also, I did read XXXholic). But when the request was made, I thought that it was high time I got around to marathoning it...and oh my gosh, Syaoran breaks my heart. ;_; (Anyone have recommendations for TRC fic?) Also, I couldn't come up with a good title for this one, although I guess it doesn't matter that much, being so short and all.
No matter what
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
card_mistress, on the word "cacophony"
This new world is harsh, built from cogs and gears and whistling steam. The air is stained with soot-black smoke that rises from countless chimneys. The continuous rattle of wheels over cobblestone, the raucous noise of stomping feet, the sullen voices arguing around them create a noise denser than silence, so thick that it seems to separate them.
He leans over to tell her, "Stay close to me, we musn't get lost," but a person rudely shoves between them at that very moment, and they are carried away from each other by the ceaseless stream of moving people. He panics, turns, weaves in and out through the crowds, calls again and again in a frantic voice, "Princess! Princess! /Sakura/!"
He closes his eyes and stands in the middle of the street, indifferent to the people pushing him impatiently out of their way. He wills his beating heart to silence, he clasps both hands over his eyes, and as all the huge deafening sounds of the city wash over him, he hears--
"Syaoran? Syaoran? Where are you?"
In less than ten seconds, though it seems like hours, he is at her side, once again. He takes her hand gently in his own and says, "I'm here, Princess."
She could call across a city, a desert, a hundred worlds--her voice would always reach him, no matter what lies between.
END
zauberer_sirin asked for a drabble about Roy and poetry, and since I have no confidence when it comes to writing Full Metal Alchemist, I resorted (once again) to writing about his student days. (The problem with writing FMA, and more specifically Roy, is that I don't really have anything worth saying about him that better writers have not already said in words more beautiful than mine. So I've just gone ahead and said absolutely nothing, but hopefully the drabble is still readable.)
Magnum Opus
Written forzauberer_sirin, on the word "poetry"
Sunrise through a broken window, its cracked panes stuffed with rags. The light filtered through the dust-choked air to settle on the paper-strewn table, piled high with books that served as pillows for their heads. Eyelids shifted; one student, half-caught in the cobwebs of a dream, blearily opened his eyes only to be momentarily blinded by the light, dim and distorted as it was.
He yawned and sat up in his chair. His companion, still asleep, let out a soft snore. The man leaned back to stretch, then curled up again in his seat, drawing his blanket over his toes. The mornings were cold in a garret room with broken windows.
He leafed through the scattered notes, diagrams and mandalas traced out in red ink across the margins, endless lists of words in black written neatly down the page. He picked up the book that had served as his pillow--thick, bound in leather with crimson letters--and stared somewhat blankly at the elaborate woodcut illustration of a phoenix on the page. He sighed and yawned again, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He shook the other man awake. "Mustang. Get up. It's morning."
"Mm, go away, let me sleep--"
"It's almost seven. Your exam's in two hours."
"What? Why didn't you say so?" Roy lifted his head from his arms, his eyes wide open. There was ink smudged on his cheek, traces of words written backwards on his skin. He gathered the papers on his side of the table into a messy pile and stood up with a jerk, the blanket falling to his feet.
"You're in a hurry," the other man remarked, watching him search for a clean collar and a comb.
"I promised to meet her at eight," Roy said absent-mindedly. "Whatever happened to my gloves? Oh, there they are. Well, Hughes, I'm off. If you don't see me tonight, you'll know what happened."
"Don't forget this," Hughes murmured, holding up a parchment scroll.
Roy's eyes widened. "How could I forget? My /magnum opus/!" He tucked it carefully in the pocket of his outer coat, then hurried out the door.
Hughes shook his head ruefully and called out, "Only you, Roy Mustang, would stay up the night before an exam, /not/ to cram but to write /poetry/." There was no response. "Eh," he muttered, "the bastard probably will pass with flying colors."
---
He presented it to her with a flourish. She looked at it bemusedly.
"You suggested that I be more, ah, /creative/ in my attempts," he reminded her, still holding out the scroll. "Happy birthday, Miss Hawkeye."
She took it gingerly and unrolled the parchment. After a long pause, she looked up and said, "Dactylic?"
"Too affected?" he asked, trying to not to look worried.
She did not smile. "You have ink on your face," she said instead, her voice grave, as she raised her hand to his cheek. Knowing a rare opportunity when he saw one, he leaned in and stole a kiss.
END
I think the next batch will be Studio Ghibli. You know, drabble requests are a really good incentive to catch up on a series. ::goes downloading Eyeshield 21 chapters::
I began indexing all the fanfic I've written over the past year so I could update my website this weekend (which is also going to get a facelift to be cleaner, simpler and more navigable). Some interesting stats: I've written 57 works of fanfiction. 40 of them are less than 500 words, 14 of them are oneshots (with all but one clocking in at less than 1000 words), and 3 are multiparts (with two of them being incomplete). The fandom I've written the most for is Hikaru no Go (9), after that is Death Note (6) and Prince of Tennis (4).
I had no idea I wrote so much. But then again, my 40 drabbles come out to only about a quarter of a single NaNoWriMo novel. ^_^
Yours &c.
So to make a confession, I hadn't actually read or watched Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle until yesterday, although I knew the story pretty well from reading fics and LJ posts about the series (also, I did read XXXholic). But when the request was made, I thought that it was high time I got around to marathoning it...and oh my gosh, Syaoran breaks my heart. ;_; (Anyone have recommendations for TRC fic?) Also, I couldn't come up with a good title for this one, although I guess it doesn't matter that much, being so short and all.
No matter what
Written for
card_mistress, on the word "cacophony"This new world is harsh, built from cogs and gears and whistling steam. The air is stained with soot-black smoke that rises from countless chimneys. The continuous rattle of wheels over cobblestone, the raucous noise of stomping feet, the sullen voices arguing around them create a noise denser than silence, so thick that it seems to separate them.
He leans over to tell her, "Stay close to me, we musn't get lost," but a person rudely shoves between them at that very moment, and they are carried away from each other by the ceaseless stream of moving people. He panics, turns, weaves in and out through the crowds, calls again and again in a frantic voice, "Princess! Princess! /Sakura/!"
He closes his eyes and stands in the middle of the street, indifferent to the people pushing him impatiently out of their way. He wills his beating heart to silence, he clasps both hands over his eyes, and as all the huge deafening sounds of the city wash over him, he hears--
"Syaoran? Syaoran? Where are you?"
In less than ten seconds, though it seems like hours, he is at her side, once again. He takes her hand gently in his own and says, "I'm here, Princess."
She could call across a city, a desert, a hundred worlds--her voice would always reach him, no matter what lies between.
END
zauberer_sirin asked for a drabble about Roy and poetry, and since I have no confidence when it comes to writing Full Metal Alchemist, I resorted (once again) to writing about his student days. (The problem with writing FMA, and more specifically Roy, is that I don't really have anything worth saying about him that better writers have not already said in words more beautiful than mine. So I've just gone ahead and said absolutely nothing, but hopefully the drabble is still readable.)Magnum Opus
Written for
zauberer_sirin, on the word "poetry"Sunrise through a broken window, its cracked panes stuffed with rags. The light filtered through the dust-choked air to settle on the paper-strewn table, piled high with books that served as pillows for their heads. Eyelids shifted; one student, half-caught in the cobwebs of a dream, blearily opened his eyes only to be momentarily blinded by the light, dim and distorted as it was.
He yawned and sat up in his chair. His companion, still asleep, let out a soft snore. The man leaned back to stretch, then curled up again in his seat, drawing his blanket over his toes. The mornings were cold in a garret room with broken windows.
He leafed through the scattered notes, diagrams and mandalas traced out in red ink across the margins, endless lists of words in black written neatly down the page. He picked up the book that had served as his pillow--thick, bound in leather with crimson letters--and stared somewhat blankly at the elaborate woodcut illustration of a phoenix on the page. He sighed and yawned again, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He shook the other man awake. "Mustang. Get up. It's morning."
"Mm, go away, let me sleep--"
"It's almost seven. Your exam's in two hours."
"What? Why didn't you say so?" Roy lifted his head from his arms, his eyes wide open. There was ink smudged on his cheek, traces of words written backwards on his skin. He gathered the papers on his side of the table into a messy pile and stood up with a jerk, the blanket falling to his feet.
"You're in a hurry," the other man remarked, watching him search for a clean collar and a comb.
"I promised to meet her at eight," Roy said absent-mindedly. "Whatever happened to my gloves? Oh, there they are. Well, Hughes, I'm off. If you don't see me tonight, you'll know what happened."
"Don't forget this," Hughes murmured, holding up a parchment scroll.
Roy's eyes widened. "How could I forget? My /magnum opus/!" He tucked it carefully in the pocket of his outer coat, then hurried out the door.
Hughes shook his head ruefully and called out, "Only you, Roy Mustang, would stay up the night before an exam, /not/ to cram but to write /poetry/." There was no response. "Eh," he muttered, "the bastard probably will pass with flying colors."
---
He presented it to her with a flourish. She looked at it bemusedly.
"You suggested that I be more, ah, /creative/ in my attempts," he reminded her, still holding out the scroll. "Happy birthday, Miss Hawkeye."
She took it gingerly and unrolled the parchment. After a long pause, she looked up and said, "Dactylic?"
"Too affected?" he asked, trying to not to look worried.
She did not smile. "You have ink on your face," she said instead, her voice grave, as she raised her hand to his cheek. Knowing a rare opportunity when he saw one, he leaned in and stole a kiss.
END
I think the next batch will be Studio Ghibli. You know, drabble requests are a really good incentive to catch up on a series. ::goes downloading Eyeshield 21 chapters::
I began indexing all the fanfic I've written over the past year so I could update my website this weekend (which is also going to get a facelift to be cleaner, simpler and more navigable). Some interesting stats: I've written 57 works of fanfiction. 40 of them are less than 500 words, 14 of them are oneshots (with all but one clocking in at less than 1000 words), and 3 are multiparts (with two of them being incomplete). The fandom I've written the most for is Hikaru no Go (9), after that is Death Note (6) and Prince of Tennis (4).
I had no idea I wrote so much. But then again, my 40 drabbles come out to only about a quarter of a single NaNoWriMo novel. ^_^
Yours &c.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 04:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 04:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 08:30 am (UTC)(And Syaoran in TRC... omg).
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 12:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 04:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-04 05:44 pm (UTC):D Of course, I've never read TRC, but still.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-05 11:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-05-07 06:12 am (UTC)