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x_project2006-01-20 09:49 pm
x-legion.livejournal.com) wrote in x_project2006-01-20 09:49 pm
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As it's a slow day . . .
. . . I thought I'd go ahead and post some drabbles as I slowly work through my backlog. Four down, five to go. *G*
"I have to be making this harder than it needs to be," Jim muttered, picking up the recipe. Cookies were not hard. He'd helped his mother make them a dozen times. These cookies, even. Though now that he thought about it, she'd done most of the mixing. Still it couldn't be that difficult.
Rachel burbled with amusement from her high chair, apparently noticing his inept culinary skills.
"Don't you mock my attempts at domesticity," Jim said, replacing the paper with great dignity. "If you're not going to be nice I won't sha--HEY!"
The brown sugar he'd already spread across a sheet of waxed paper to faciliate rolling was being levitated. As he watched, the pile rose a foot above the countertop and slowly began to gather itself into a perfect, gently rotating sphere.
It continued to do so for exactly three seconds, at which point it proceeded to explode and cover every surface in the kitchen with a fine dusting of sticky brown granules.
With deliberate, long-suffering slowness, Jim raised an arm and wiped his face with the underside of his sleeve. Eyes now clear, he fixed the baby with a gaze of resignation. "Let me guess: your control is nowhere near fine enough to clean up this mess."
"Bwahaa!"
Jim sighed and reached for the paper towels. "From now on," he muttered, "I demand hazard-pay."
****
It had only been a matter of time, really. Nathan clicked his tongue and sent his horse into a brisk trot down the line, deftly avoiding the few other students on the trail. His target was unhurt, and not far behind, so he didn't hurry himself. And definitely was not feeling just the slightest twinge of vindictive glee. Oh, no.
Nathan passed the now riderless, peacefully foraging horse and pulled himself up to where the boy was laying flat on his back and wearing an expression that bespoke deep ambivalence about the merits of bothering to sit up.
"So," asked Nathan in a cheerful sing-song, "what have we learned today?"
With a weary look at his teacher, Marius sighed. "Wear the helmet."
****
"They slice, they dice, they make julienne fries! And for just one low, low payment of $19.99 this beautiful set of adamantium claws is yours--"
Rahne awoke with a start, blinking. The glare of the too-bright screen in the darkened room made her squint. Shaking her head, she grabbed the remote and banished the infomercial with one quick, sure stroke to the 'Off' button. "Acch, if I'm goin' to fall asleep to th' telly I should at least ask Jamie how t' work th' Tivo . . ."
*****
Even as she worked she could see it, the thoughts that danced like light across a mind of glass. He was out there, somewhere. Driving everything she loved before him, leaving her a fugitive in her own life. Hunting that cursed future that he loved so much, God only knew why.
Fracture and reform. The future spun before her mind's eye like patterns in a broken kaleidoscope, each twist revealing only a bare sliver of the whole. She'd learned long ago that it came unbidden, and when it did it brought nothing fully understood, but now she had no choice but to place her trust in it. Now all other roads had failed her, and this one chance was all she had left. One last chance to explain, to connect . . . and perhaps, one day, be forgiven.
She was finished.
She discarded her tools -- they'd served their purpose. For a moment she hesitated, just long enough to trace her fingers over the symbol she'd worn her hands raw carving into the rock. But that was all.
Rachel Morrow rose, and left in faith.
****
"I have to be making this harder than it needs to be," Jim muttered, picking up the recipe. Cookies were not hard. He'd helped his mother make them a dozen times. These cookies, even. Though now that he thought about it, she'd done most of the mixing. Still it couldn't be that difficult.
Rachel burbled with amusement from her high chair, apparently noticing his inept culinary skills.
"Don't you mock my attempts at domesticity," Jim said, replacing the paper with great dignity. "If you're not going to be nice I won't sha--HEY!"
The brown sugar he'd already spread across a sheet of waxed paper to faciliate rolling was being levitated. As he watched, the pile rose a foot above the countertop and slowly began to gather itself into a perfect, gently rotating sphere.
It continued to do so for exactly three seconds, at which point it proceeded to explode and cover every surface in the kitchen with a fine dusting of sticky brown granules.
With deliberate, long-suffering slowness, Jim raised an arm and wiped his face with the underside of his sleeve. Eyes now clear, he fixed the baby with a gaze of resignation. "Let me guess: your control is nowhere near fine enough to clean up this mess."
"Bwahaa!"
Jim sighed and reached for the paper towels. "From now on," he muttered, "I demand hazard-pay."
****
It had only been a matter of time, really. Nathan clicked his tongue and sent his horse into a brisk trot down the line, deftly avoiding the few other students on the trail. His target was unhurt, and not far behind, so he didn't hurry himself. And definitely was not feeling just the slightest twinge of vindictive glee. Oh, no.
Nathan passed the now riderless, peacefully foraging horse and pulled himself up to where the boy was laying flat on his back and wearing an expression that bespoke deep ambivalence about the merits of bothering to sit up.
"So," asked Nathan in a cheerful sing-song, "what have we learned today?"
With a weary look at his teacher, Marius sighed. "Wear the helmet."
****
"They slice, they dice, they make julienne fries! And for just one low, low payment of $19.99 this beautiful set of adamantium claws is yours--"
Rahne awoke with a start, blinking. The glare of the too-bright screen in the darkened room made her squint. Shaking her head, she grabbed the remote and banished the infomercial with one quick, sure stroke to the 'Off' button. "Acch, if I'm goin' to fall asleep to th' telly I should at least ask Jamie how t' work th' Tivo . . ."
*****
Even as she worked she could see it, the thoughts that danced like light across a mind of glass. He was out there, somewhere. Driving everything she loved before him, leaving her a fugitive in her own life. Hunting that cursed future that he loved so much, God only knew why.
Fracture and reform. The future spun before her mind's eye like patterns in a broken kaleidoscope, each twist revealing only a bare sliver of the whole. She'd learned long ago that it came unbidden, and when it did it brought nothing fully understood, but now she had no choice but to place her trust in it. Now all other roads had failed her, and this one chance was all she had left. One last chance to explain, to connect . . . and perhaps, one day, be forgiven.
She was finished.
She discarded her tools -- they'd served their purpose. For a moment she hesitated, just long enough to trace her fingers over the symbol she'd worn her hands raw carving into the rock. But that was all.
Rachel Morrow rose, and left in faith.
****
no subject
And, btw, I've been enjoying all the drabbles posted. Bad Rossi, no feedbacking. No cookie for me.
no subject
I snerked at the Rahne one. (And yep, I got the PAD reference. ;)) I chuckled and shook my head over Nathan and Marius -- though Rahne was headdesking somewhere in the back of my mind. And the last one made me shiver.