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Request drabbles, part 1
Note to self: add tags later. No bloody time. A net cafe's harder to find in Gdansk than in freaking Stezyca!
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alighiera: Van Helsing
MARA
In his dream, Van Helsing was in the ice castle again. The great hall was cold and dark, lit only by a gibbous moon outside the tall windows. Frankenstein’s machinery had been removed, leaving the space wide and empty, criss-crossed by shadows. The chill was a tangible companion, stretching its prickly bulk all around Van Helsing’s naked skin.
“Gabriel?” The voice was tentative, cultured, the accent heavy. “Gabriel?”
It was his name, wasn’t it?
“I knew you’d return,” Dracula’s disembodied voice announced joyfully. “You couldn’t forget me, not like that. Kill me, bleed me, betray me, but never forget me. We shared too much, Gabriel.”
He wanted to believe that voice, cling on it for the memories it offered. He made a soft sound, unsure how to phrase his plea for physical reassurance.
Yet it was understood, for Dracula stepped into the light in front of him. “If there’s something you don’t remember, I can remember it for you. I can be your guide, Gabriel, I can help you get back all that was lost. All that we lost together.”
There was something that clamoured for his attention, but he ignored the lingering traces of the werewolf blood in his veins as he took the hands that were offered.
“Will you let me help you, Gabriel?”
“Yes,” he whispered. In the vampire’s eyes he saw centuries.
Dracula’s smiling lips were an arm’s length away, but still he felt the fangs pierce his throat.
Forarabwel: Once Upon A Time In Mexico
VANITY
There were eleven of them, people said. Ten narcos, nasty as you please, each the kind of guy who’d shoot your balls off soon as look at you. And the boy, a young man tall and pretty as a woman, with a red shirt and a red guitar.
The boy walked into the bar, and everyone knew you didn’t walk into that bar unless you had an invitation, because then you had to. But the boy walked in, and the narcos watched him walk.
There was a mirror in the bar, not behind the counter, but along one wall. In the evenings girls danced there for narcos, see, and when a girl bent over forward or back, each narco wanted to see both tits and ass. The boy only looked at that mirror as he walked.
He walked up to it until he could touch it. He swung his guitar forward and smoothed his hair, then he smiled and his teeth were white in the mouth and in the mirror. Every narco in the place took his gun out then, and the bartender dove out the door, so no-one knows what happened then.
Not a single gunshot, though. And now anyone can walk into that bar and see the mirror, blackened with fire.
Forfuumasfrog: Pirates of the Caribbean
SISTERHOOD
There had been a woman once. Or maybe it had been a man. You could never tell for sure, in Singapore, when the brother was Siamese, and maybe you wouldn’t care, either, if the rum was right, or if it weren’t even, because some of those men...
But Jack was fairly sure it had been a woman that time. He’d been running from agents of the East India Company, of course. All things considered, at any time he was probably running from, to or along agents of the East India Company. But that had been one of the early times, just a little scuffle over the precise ownership of a few crates of... something or other. Possibly silver. And he’d lost them in the docks, diving head-first into the window of a brothel, the room of a giggling fey-eyed thing who embraced him like a brother and took his prick in hand like it was the best gift he could bring her.
When the agents started beating on the door, checking room after room, she had already taken care of that and other things. Jack’s face itched from the bamboo sliver she said she used to shave her nether parts, and the corset was tight. Even his hair decided for parley when faced with his Siamese sorceress’s wrath. And then she took out the last box.
The black stuff felt cool and oily on his eyelids. She smoothed each smudge into place and kissed the tip of his nose, which he allowed because of gratitude and because he wasn’t Captain Jack Sparrow yet. She dragged him in front of the agents herself, both of them embracing and giggling, their skins the same gold, their eyes kohled the same way. The sun shone harsh in the courtyard, harsh as the sea nearly, but Jack noticed it didnae seem as harsh as should be.
He’d burned the corset first chance he got, but he kept the kohl.
For
alighiera: Van HelsingMARA
In his dream, Van Helsing was in the ice castle again. The great hall was cold and dark, lit only by a gibbous moon outside the tall windows. Frankenstein’s machinery had been removed, leaving the space wide and empty, criss-crossed by shadows. The chill was a tangible companion, stretching its prickly bulk all around Van Helsing’s naked skin.
“Gabriel?” The voice was tentative, cultured, the accent heavy. “Gabriel?”
It was his name, wasn’t it?
“I knew you’d return,” Dracula’s disembodied voice announced joyfully. “You couldn’t forget me, not like that. Kill me, bleed me, betray me, but never forget me. We shared too much, Gabriel.”
He wanted to believe that voice, cling on it for the memories it offered. He made a soft sound, unsure how to phrase his plea for physical reassurance.
Yet it was understood, for Dracula stepped into the light in front of him. “If there’s something you don’t remember, I can remember it for you. I can be your guide, Gabriel, I can help you get back all that was lost. All that we lost together.”
There was something that clamoured for his attention, but he ignored the lingering traces of the werewolf blood in his veins as he took the hands that were offered.
“Will you let me help you, Gabriel?”
“Yes,” he whispered. In the vampire’s eyes he saw centuries.
Dracula’s smiling lips were an arm’s length away, but still he felt the fangs pierce his throat.
For
arabwel: Once Upon A Time In MexicoVANITY
There were eleven of them, people said. Ten narcos, nasty as you please, each the kind of guy who’d shoot your balls off soon as look at you. And the boy, a young man tall and pretty as a woman, with a red shirt and a red guitar.
The boy walked into the bar, and everyone knew you didn’t walk into that bar unless you had an invitation, because then you had to. But the boy walked in, and the narcos watched him walk.
There was a mirror in the bar, not behind the counter, but along one wall. In the evenings girls danced there for narcos, see, and when a girl bent over forward or back, each narco wanted to see both tits and ass. The boy only looked at that mirror as he walked.
He walked up to it until he could touch it. He swung his guitar forward and smoothed his hair, then he smiled and his teeth were white in the mouth and in the mirror. Every narco in the place took his gun out then, and the bartender dove out the door, so no-one knows what happened then.
Not a single gunshot, though. And now anyone can walk into that bar and see the mirror, blackened with fire.
For
fuumasfrog: Pirates of the CaribbeanSISTERHOOD
There had been a woman once. Or maybe it had been a man. You could never tell for sure, in Singapore, when the brother was Siamese, and maybe you wouldn’t care, either, if the rum was right, or if it weren’t even, because some of those men...
But Jack was fairly sure it had been a woman that time. He’d been running from agents of the East India Company, of course. All things considered, at any time he was probably running from, to or along agents of the East India Company. But that had been one of the early times, just a little scuffle over the precise ownership of a few crates of... something or other. Possibly silver. And he’d lost them in the docks, diving head-first into the window of a brothel, the room of a giggling fey-eyed thing who embraced him like a brother and took his prick in hand like it was the best gift he could bring her.
When the agents started beating on the door, checking room after room, she had already taken care of that and other things. Jack’s face itched from the bamboo sliver she said she used to shave her nether parts, and the corset was tight. Even his hair decided for parley when faced with his Siamese sorceress’s wrath. And then she took out the last box.
The black stuff felt cool and oily on his eyelids. She smoothed each smudge into place and kissed the tip of his nose, which he allowed because of gratitude and because he wasn’t Captain Jack Sparrow yet. She dragged him in front of the agents herself, both of them embracing and giggling, their skins the same gold, their eyes kohled the same way. The sun shone harsh in the courtyard, harsh as the sea nearly, but Jack noticed it didnae seem as harsh as should be.
He’d burned the corset first chance he got, but he kept the kohl.