(no subject)
Title: Artist For Hire, pt. 3
Season: Digimon Tamers
Characters: Ruki, Ryo (Takato)
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Words: 300
Constructive Criticism: Welcome, but I won't demand it.
Note: Artist For Hire 1 and 2.
Note 2: This is who Ryo's dressing up as.
Ruki did too much for her friends. They should realize by now that she shouldn't be pushed too hard. Some of them respected her limits, and others...
She sneered as she looked on at the crowd still trying to get into Comiket. She hated these things, he knew it, and still he was acting like a mother and demanding she'd deliver his baby to him unharmed. The cell phone rang for the hundredth time and she ignored it. It was his fault he forgot his baby, so he would just have to deal.
Thirty minutes later, she was quietly fuming in the convention center, lost, and unwilling to ask for directions. He was going to pay for ruining her weekend. He finally turned up fifteen minutes later, looking utterly ridiculous in his costume and more than a little frantic.
"Ruki," he'd called out from a few meters away. She didn't budge until he was at her side. "Do you have it?"
Ruki rolled her eyes, yanked the coil of oiled, woven leather from her backpack, and shoved it against his chest. "You owe me tons for this, Ryo."
Relief swept Ryo's face as he took the whip and almost hugged its coils. If he was more her type, she could almost forgive him just for being too damn cute in his reunion. Men and their phallic symbols...
When he didn't answer immediately, she prepared her usual tirade against this fandom thing he was entirely too invested in. Before she could start, however, Ryo pulled her over to a gap in the crowd and nodded at two people at the dealers' tables.
"Remember those doujinshi we found? The artist is here."
Ruki squinted in the direction indicated, and she smirked. "Takato. Who knew?"
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Season: Digimon Tamers
Characters: Ruki, Ryo (Takato)
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Words: 300
Constructive Criticism: Welcome, but I won't demand it.
Note: Artist For Hire 1 and 2.
Note 2: This is who Ryo's dressing up as.
Ruki did too much for her friends. They should realize by now that she shouldn't be pushed too hard. Some of them respected her limits, and others...
She sneered as she looked on at the crowd still trying to get into Comiket. She hated these things, he knew it, and still he was acting like a mother and demanding she'd deliver his baby to him unharmed. The cell phone rang for the hundredth time and she ignored it. It was his fault he forgot his baby, so he would just have to deal.
Thirty minutes later, she was quietly fuming in the convention center, lost, and unwilling to ask for directions. He was going to pay for ruining her weekend. He finally turned up fifteen minutes later, looking utterly ridiculous in his costume and more than a little frantic.
"Ruki," he'd called out from a few meters away. She didn't budge until he was at her side. "Do you have it?"
Ruki rolled her eyes, yanked the coil of oiled, woven leather from her backpack, and shoved it against his chest. "You owe me tons for this, Ryo."
Relief swept Ryo's face as he took the whip and almost hugged its coils. If he was more her type, she could almost forgive him just for being too damn cute in his reunion. Men and their phallic symbols...
When he didn't answer immediately, she prepared her usual tirade against this fandom thing he was entirely too invested in. Before she could start, however, Ryo pulled her over to a gap in the crowd and nodded at two people at the dealers' tables.
"Remember those doujinshi we found? The artist is here."
Ruki squinted in the direction indicated, and she smirked. "Takato. Who knew?"
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.