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winterJust three so far, alas. To my defense, work absolutely pwn3d me today just after I wrote the last post - I ended up staying way longer than regular work hours and I still have a busload to do tomorrow. On the upside, I also have tickets for the 18th for my next dose of fanged crack, so yay. Said crack has also inspired drabbles #2 and #3, because I'm on a permanent vampire high here. Both titles from "Vor dem Schloss/Wohl der Nacht/Wohl dem Mann", the last song in act 1.
COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smtfhw
The American was perched in the same dark corner of the tavern, and he was wearing all black as usual. The only difference was a plush toy sitting on the table in front of him and hugging the tequila bottle. The plush material was purple with irregular brown spatters.
Sands turned his head, tracking El’s footsteps with sightless eyes. “What do you want, El Guitariste?”
“How did the raid go?” El sat down on a chair so stained and charred, the original grain of the wood was nowhere to be found.
“Lorenzo didn’t tell you?”
“Lorenzo is busy with a lady.”
“I’d bet. Lucky assweasel. Raid went great. The fuckers were hiding the goods in toys, of all things – maybe we should have left them there.” Sands bared his teeth. “Give a little spice to the Christmas season.”
El just shook his head. He nodded at the waiter, who brought him an empty glass, evidently judging that since he was talking to the strange gringo, they could drink from the same bottle and not waste good tequila. El reached for the glass, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
Sands fingered the red-and-green sash around El’s neck. “Nice. Festive.”
“How do you know?”
“Temperature. It’s not as warm as black would be, and it’s not as high-grade as the fucking Meh-hick-co one you wear. You off to play Santa somewhere?”
El shrugged. “A party.”
He reached for the tequila bottle. The plush toy all but exploded.
El lifted up the spasmatic – bear? bird? – and scowled at Sands, ignoring the dirty looks from the sullen waiter. No-one else in the tavern was sober enough to notice the mix of Spanish and English curses the toy emitted at full volume, interspersed with words in no language El had heard before.
Sands grinned. “You like the Furby? Souvenir, Medellin edition. Merry fucking Christmas.”
NO LAWS ENOUGH FOR US, forrabidfangur
“You knew. You knew it’d come to this.”
Ducard’s fingers are drawing strange patterns on Bruce’s back, and his breathing is calm as the waves. “There was no other way. There are no laws for men like us, and none to understand. No-one can go through life in a mask, Bruce.”
He wants to protest, to scream they’re nothing alike, they can never be alike, but instead he bites down, hard and sharp, drawing a soft sound from Ducard’s lips. Inside, he is grateful to Ducard – Ra’s Al Ghul, he reminds himself – for this lesson in sanity, but he also knows he is holding the other man down for the last time.
If there are no laws for what they are, he will make them.
SEA OF TIME, forimadra_blue
The sea of time is endless, and men can only live on its shores, Obi-Wan remembers. It’s a fragment of a tale that Qui-Gon had told him decades ago, a parable on sadness. He should be reaching for the emotionless meditation of the Jedi, but as the night falls over Geonosis all he can remember are those two lines, over and over again.
His calves ache where the forcefield cuffs provide points of support, and Dooku is somewhere in that darkness.
Tell me your thoughts, and the voice is more like a thought than anything else, easing itself smoothly into Obi-Wan’s mind, deep and dark as night.
“The sea of time is endless,” he whispers through cracked lips. “I kept telling Qui-Gon that we have the Force to guide us and guard us, but he said that doesn’t change the fact we are staring at the sea, waiting to drown.”
That is what gives life meaning, something – someone? – whispers into his ear. Don’t fight that sea. Dive into it, into its darkness. Become one with it, and let it fill your – spirit.
There is a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he leans his head back until the long fingers are digging into his larynx. He doesn’t trust the air to convey his words as well as it does the other’s. His voice is not dark enough.
“What gives life meaning is to face the darkness and conquer it,” he chokes out. “No matter the moments of weakness.”
Those fingers tighten, and the darkness threatens to take him after all.
Defiance becomes you, Master Kenobi, Dooku says. We have all night.
In other news, a very happy birthday to_leareth and rkold!
COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON, for
smtfhwThe American was perched in the same dark corner of the tavern, and he was wearing all black as usual. The only difference was a plush toy sitting on the table in front of him and hugging the tequila bottle. The plush material was purple with irregular brown spatters.
Sands turned his head, tracking El’s footsteps with sightless eyes. “What do you want, El Guitariste?”
“How did the raid go?” El sat down on a chair so stained and charred, the original grain of the wood was nowhere to be found.
“Lorenzo didn’t tell you?”
“Lorenzo is busy with a lady.”
“I’d bet. Lucky assweasel. Raid went great. The fuckers were hiding the goods in toys, of all things – maybe we should have left them there.” Sands bared his teeth. “Give a little spice to the Christmas season.”
El just shook his head. He nodded at the waiter, who brought him an empty glass, evidently judging that since he was talking to the strange gringo, they could drink from the same bottle and not waste good tequila. El reached for the glass, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
Sands fingered the red-and-green sash around El’s neck. “Nice. Festive.”
“How do you know?”
“Temperature. It’s not as warm as black would be, and it’s not as high-grade as the fucking Meh-hick-co one you wear. You off to play Santa somewhere?”
El shrugged. “A party.”
He reached for the tequila bottle. The plush toy all but exploded.
El lifted up the spasmatic – bear? bird? – and scowled at Sands, ignoring the dirty looks from the sullen waiter. No-one else in the tavern was sober enough to notice the mix of Spanish and English curses the toy emitted at full volume, interspersed with words in no language El had heard before.
Sands grinned. “You like the Furby? Souvenir, Medellin edition. Merry fucking Christmas.”
NO LAWS ENOUGH FOR US, for
rabidfangur“You knew. You knew it’d come to this.”
Ducard’s fingers are drawing strange patterns on Bruce’s back, and his breathing is calm as the waves. “There was no other way. There are no laws for men like us, and none to understand. No-one can go through life in a mask, Bruce.”
He wants to protest, to scream they’re nothing alike, they can never be alike, but instead he bites down, hard and sharp, drawing a soft sound from Ducard’s lips. Inside, he is grateful to Ducard – Ra’s Al Ghul, he reminds himself – for this lesson in sanity, but he also knows he is holding the other man down for the last time.
If there are no laws for what they are, he will make them.
SEA OF TIME, for
imadra_blueThe sea of time is endless, and men can only live on its shores, Obi-Wan remembers. It’s a fragment of a tale that Qui-Gon had told him decades ago, a parable on sadness. He should be reaching for the emotionless meditation of the Jedi, but as the night falls over Geonosis all he can remember are those two lines, over and over again.
His calves ache where the forcefield cuffs provide points of support, and Dooku is somewhere in that darkness.
Tell me your thoughts, and the voice is more like a thought than anything else, easing itself smoothly into Obi-Wan’s mind, deep and dark as night.
“The sea of time is endless,” he whispers through cracked lips. “I kept telling Qui-Gon that we have the Force to guide us and guard us, but he said that doesn’t change the fact we are staring at the sea, waiting to drown.”
That is what gives life meaning, something – someone? – whispers into his ear. Don’t fight that sea. Dive into it, into its darkness. Become one with it, and let it fill your – spirit.
There is a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he leans his head back until the long fingers are digging into his larynx. He doesn’t trust the air to convey his words as well as it does the other’s. His voice is not dark enough.
“What gives life meaning is to face the darkness and conquer it,” he chokes out. “No matter the moments of weakness.”
Those fingers tighten, and the darkness threatens to take him after all.
Defiance becomes you, Master Kenobi, Dooku says. We have all night.
In other news, a very happy birthday to
_leareth and rkold!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-06 10:19 pm (UTC)I have evil ideas again. Possibly involving a pre-fall Dooku meeting a crime lord with pretensions :>
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-06 10:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-07 07:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-08 12:14 am (UTC)