safekeeping
soo i still don't really have word on my computer, so putting these here for safekeeping, wrote them during September
Concrete Roses (Marluxia fic)
The simulated winter was not his idea. He poked the frozen soil sullenly with the sharpened tip of his trowel, moving Vexen one place up in his mental assassination list. New roses couldn't possibly survive in this, and both the summer AND autumn Damasks had been turned into a wilted still life. The climbing roses were still clinging stubbornly to life, but he could already feel their tendrils slipping, contorted figures with vicious thorns snagging desperately at the fabric of his being. Foolish as it may be, it made him almost--sad? to feel the delicate wisps of darkened green slipping, lush petals easily blown away by the slightest whispered draft. Oh, but the murder scene they created against the stark white of the greenhouse was thrilling, made the inexorable tug of his dying flowers almost worth it. Almost.
With a little shot of poison (Reno fic)
Reno stalked into the bar, boots clunking wearily on the worn wood. 2 am and the nearly empty room would be expected to mind their own damned business, but they all turned. And stared. He would normally attribute this sort of attention to his disarming good looks, but the splashes and spatters of blood on his shirt were the more likely candidate. Bodies shifted to track his movements to the counter. Sliding on to the stool, he set his mag rod down heavily. It rolled an inch or two before he stopped it, slender, competent fingers playing over the grip in the familiar rhythm of a nameless tune. Chairs scraped in unison as the rest of the bar turned around to mind their own damned business again. He plucked disdainfully at the drying blood--sure he wasn't the neatest person, but hell he still had standards. Sighing, he blew several stray strands of hair out of his face.
The mission had taken too long. Rude was doing clean up, would soon follow him to the bar, would be silent and nod his agreement. The mission had taken too long, things had gotten too personal, the couple had kids for fuck's sake. He shook his head, shrugged the clinging guilt off. It was clammy and caught at his stomach like cloth over nails. The bartender wandered over, hip leaning against the sink inside the counter. He stared at her evenly. Her shirt was too tight.
"Another" he demanded.
"....Another?"
Reno squinted his eyes, a strange cross between a leer and a glare, as if his eyebrows couldn't quite figure out which expression to thrown at the woman. She nodded slowly, pretending to understand before floating off somewhere.
They had kids (shit) and the son stared wide-eyed with horror when the father decided to struggle, smearing blood on Reno's already dirtied shirt. Rude scrambled to get the kid out of there, put him in the younger sister's room, and Reno had left. It was supposed to be a quiet job. The President had said the couple was some threat to something or other, that they had to be taken care of.
A glass clinked down in front of him, drawing his mind back into a wavering focus. The shit was green. What the hell. He glanced up at the woman, raising a delicate eyebrow in question.
"Mako shot. Not real mako of course, but it's a kicker..."
She trailed off and laughed nervously. Reno stared. Mako. Everything was about the goddamned mako. He laughed, bitter and loud, as the stupid woman shuffled away to clean invisible spots off the impeccably clean counter.
Concrete Roses (Marluxia fic)
The simulated winter was not his idea. He poked the frozen soil sullenly with the sharpened tip of his trowel, moving Vexen one place up in his mental assassination list. New roses couldn't possibly survive in this, and both the summer AND autumn Damasks had been turned into a wilted still life. The climbing roses were still clinging stubbornly to life, but he could already feel their tendrils slipping, contorted figures with vicious thorns snagging desperately at the fabric of his being. Foolish as it may be, it made him almost--sad? to feel the delicate wisps of darkened green slipping, lush petals easily blown away by the slightest whispered draft. Oh, but the murder scene they created against the stark white of the greenhouse was thrilling, made the inexorable tug of his dying flowers almost worth it. Almost.
With a little shot of poison (Reno fic)
Reno stalked into the bar, boots clunking wearily on the worn wood. 2 am and the nearly empty room would be expected to mind their own damned business, but they all turned. And stared. He would normally attribute this sort of attention to his disarming good looks, but the splashes and spatters of blood on his shirt were the more likely candidate. Bodies shifted to track his movements to the counter. Sliding on to the stool, he set his mag rod down heavily. It rolled an inch or two before he stopped it, slender, competent fingers playing over the grip in the familiar rhythm of a nameless tune. Chairs scraped in unison as the rest of the bar turned around to mind their own damned business again. He plucked disdainfully at the drying blood--sure he wasn't the neatest person, but hell he still had standards. Sighing, he blew several stray strands of hair out of his face.
The mission had taken too long. Rude was doing clean up, would soon follow him to the bar, would be silent and nod his agreement. The mission had taken too long, things had gotten too personal, the couple had kids for fuck's sake. He shook his head, shrugged the clinging guilt off. It was clammy and caught at his stomach like cloth over nails. The bartender wandered over, hip leaning against the sink inside the counter. He stared at her evenly. Her shirt was too tight.
"Another" he demanded.
"....Another?"
Reno squinted his eyes, a strange cross between a leer and a glare, as if his eyebrows couldn't quite figure out which expression to thrown at the woman. She nodded slowly, pretending to understand before floating off somewhere.
They had kids (shit) and the son stared wide-eyed with horror when the father decided to struggle, smearing blood on Reno's already dirtied shirt. Rude scrambled to get the kid out of there, put him in the younger sister's room, and Reno had left. It was supposed to be a quiet job. The President had said the couple was some threat to something or other, that they had to be taken care of.
A glass clinked down in front of him, drawing his mind back into a wavering focus. The shit was green. What the hell. He glanced up at the woman, raising a delicate eyebrow in question.
"Mako shot. Not real mako of course, but it's a kicker..."
She trailed off and laughed nervously. Reno stared. Mako. Everything was about the goddamned mako. He laughed, bitter and loud, as the stupid woman shuffled away to clean invisible spots off the impeccably clean counter.