Fire Emblem 10 - Inspiration
Inspiration (Fire Emblem 10)
Genre: Humor/Fluff
Word Count: ~600
PG for implied alcohol? Or something.
Summary: In which Micaiah secretly ships it.
Notes: Also known as "That thing writers don't like to admit to doing."
“The new kid who tried out for drums, he's all right. Plays with a weird grip but he's great with a beat. Still, he's... Micaiah?”
“Yes Sothe?”
“Something wrong?”
Micaiah returned her eyes to their own table. She stirred her fancy drink with her cheap little straw, ice clacking dully against the plastic cup. “Oh, you know, I was just thinking....”
Sothe looked where Micaiah had looked. “Ike? I thought you hated his guts.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Micaiah admonished, even though she secretly wanted Sothe to stop looking at Ike like that. “I just don't....”
“You just don't agree with his stances on animal rights and the American family.” Micaiah frowned. It was close to the truth but it wasn't quite like that. “But I mean, you keep looking at him.”
She wondered what it was that Sothe thought she was thinking, and for a moment debated whether Sothe could be moved to slash Ike's tires if he had wronged her somehow (just hypothetically). “It's not Ike. Have you seen that boy before?”
“The short one with the weird ponytail?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
“His name's Soren. He does Ike's taxes or something. Why?”
Micaiah sipped her drink and thought very carefully about whether or not she should explain herself.
Sothe abruptly quirked his eyebrows and said in attempted confidence, “If it's... you know....”
She took her lips from her straw. “If it's... what?”
“Do you want to go talk to him? That's all right, I can wait.”
Arching her eyebrows at him, she said, “Well, I think we might have a lot in common, but right now he looks busy with his boyfriend.”
“He's just hanging o-did you just say 'his boyfriend'?”
“Yes? I think it's clear that they are.”
Sothe started to protest, “Ike can't be-” before he looked over to where Ike was leaning back against the counter, Soren next to him, staring at each other like they could read each others' minds (and if they couldn't they would remedy this problem by sucking the thoughts straight out of their mouths). Sothe never finished his sentence.
“Aren't they sweet?” Micaiah murmured. Sothe looked at her with the kind of disbelief he usually reserved for her more daring ventures in home decor. “Especially the other one. Soren. I imagine he doesn't look at anyone else in the world like that.”
Sothe only managed, “I don't think you'd agree with his stance on animal rights.”
“No,” she said very solemnly, “I don't think I would.” She placed the straw in the corner of her mouth. Soren was the frosty type, she decided. Likely he considered everyone else in the world to be enemies or only acquaintances.
“Micaiah?”
“Yes, Sothe?”
“They're going to notice if you keep staring like that.”
Micaiah dropped her gaze to the ice at the bottom of her cup. She sucked the last of her drink until the straw complained against the air. Ike would want a dog, she decided. And Soren would hate the idea. They would get married in Canada and their in-laws would all but ruin the reception.
“Micaiah? You're sure nothing's wrong?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said. It would translate pretty well. Ike always seemed like a Kirk, and Soren would make a great Spock.
Genre: Humor/Fluff
Word Count: ~600
PG for implied alcohol? Or something.
Summary: In which Micaiah secretly ships it.
Notes: Also known as "That thing writers don't like to admit to doing."
“The new kid who tried out for drums, he's all right. Plays with a weird grip but he's great with a beat. Still, he's... Micaiah?”
“Yes Sothe?”
“Something wrong?”
Micaiah returned her eyes to their own table. She stirred her fancy drink with her cheap little straw, ice clacking dully against the plastic cup. “Oh, you know, I was just thinking....”
Sothe looked where Micaiah had looked. “Ike? I thought you hated his guts.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Micaiah admonished, even though she secretly wanted Sothe to stop looking at Ike like that. “I just don't....”
“You just don't agree with his stances on animal rights and the American family.” Micaiah frowned. It was close to the truth but it wasn't quite like that. “But I mean, you keep looking at him.”
She wondered what it was that Sothe thought she was thinking, and for a moment debated whether Sothe could be moved to slash Ike's tires if he had wronged her somehow (just hypothetically). “It's not Ike. Have you seen that boy before?”
“The short one with the weird ponytail?”
“Yes. Who is he?”
“His name's Soren. He does Ike's taxes or something. Why?”
Micaiah sipped her drink and thought very carefully about whether or not she should explain herself.
Sothe abruptly quirked his eyebrows and said in attempted confidence, “If it's... you know....”
She took her lips from her straw. “If it's... what?”
“Do you want to go talk to him? That's all right, I can wait.”
Arching her eyebrows at him, she said, “Well, I think we might have a lot in common, but right now he looks busy with his boyfriend.”
“He's just hanging o-did you just say 'his boyfriend'?”
“Yes? I think it's clear that they are.”
Sothe started to protest, “Ike can't be-” before he looked over to where Ike was leaning back against the counter, Soren next to him, staring at each other like they could read each others' minds (and if they couldn't they would remedy this problem by sucking the thoughts straight out of their mouths). Sothe never finished his sentence.
“Aren't they sweet?” Micaiah murmured. Sothe looked at her with the kind of disbelief he usually reserved for her more daring ventures in home decor. “Especially the other one. Soren. I imagine he doesn't look at anyone else in the world like that.”
Sothe only managed, “I don't think you'd agree with his stance on animal rights.”
“No,” she said very solemnly, “I don't think I would.” She placed the straw in the corner of her mouth. Soren was the frosty type, she decided. Likely he considered everyone else in the world to be enemies or only acquaintances.
“Micaiah?”
“Yes, Sothe?”
“They're going to notice if you keep staring like that.”
Micaiah dropped her gaze to the ice at the bottom of her cup. She sucked the last of her drink until the straw complained against the air. Ike would want a dog, she decided. And Soren would hate the idea. They would get married in Canada and their in-laws would all but ruin the reception.
“Micaiah? You're sure nothing's wrong?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said. It would translate pretty well. Ike always seemed like a Kirk, and Soren would make a great Spock.