SavetheWords.com drabble - MORE IMPORTANT THAN SCHOOLWORK
Scaevity - n. unluckiness
There is something nasty about the group of them being together- Tsunayoshi, the once no-good boy who now had a slightly different energy behind those awkward steps, a different sort of bite behind those wide easily-panicked eyes. Then Spanner, with the perpetual bedhead and dull eyes that could actually make store cashiers and street vendors flinch if he made eye contact too long, with the thick syrupy words that drew out so slowly around a perpetual lollipop. (He'd called Tsunayoshi 'Vongola' a thousand times, claiming it seemed the most comfortable after he'd seen the memories- even when the short boy insisted it was ok to just call him 'Tsuna'. The only answer he'd gotten was a shrug, and moments later another drawled out 'Vongola'.)
And Shouichi, fitting the image of loser so very well with his polo shirt, old jeans, and headphones glued to his collarbone. Plain, boring, would almost be invisible if he weren't the only naturally redheaded Japanese in the nearest 47 prefectures. Wouldn't be worth a second glance if he weren't actually walking with friends- albeit ones every bit as socially isolated as himself, practically. Unheard of.
There's something nasty about it, because how can 3 unlucky people band together so successfully, with smiles and camaraderie and even laughter? It must be something to do with friendship.
Locupletative - adj. tending to enrich
Downtown Namimori was the best place for shopping- the underground shopping mall still in construction carefully being avoided- and it was something of an adventure for the two Japanese natives to lead a dazzled Spanner around, showing him all the facets of Japanese culture and trying to discourage him from buying every useless, cartoony trinket that caught those blue eyes. 15 years they'd both lived in the mechanic's favorite country, and yet neither of them had really been to too many of the local attractions. Shouichi could really only point out the music shop that he bought all his CDs from- whereas Tsuna stuttered something pitiful about wandering by a few times to look for Kyoko in the cake store. His smile was as encompassing as the noon sky when neither of his companions laughed at him for it.
It wasn't all perfect, of course- there was some embarrassment with helping Spanner figure out how to pay for his souvenirs with an uptight shopkeeper huffing about shortchanging, and Shouichi had predictably a stomach ache when they stopped for a drink from a vending machine; A particular moment of panic occurred when Tsuna almost got knocked unconscious by a heavy set woman elbowing him in a crowded crosswalk. The task of hefting his foaming body the rest of the way across was left to Spanner, since Shouichi was too busy trying to tame his temper- not that those scrawny arms could do anything.
But it was definitely worth it, they later reflected- to actually leave their houses for once, like the normal kids they weren't.
Gleimous - adj. slimy, full of phlegm
Of course, when sufficient mass is accumulated it naturally creates a gravitational pull, drawing in surroundings and screwing up the natural meandering of life. Since being initiated into the mafia, it tended to be more than just lunch-money seeking bullies, however.
It was while they were lingering amidst plastic wrapped cases and cardboard cut outs in the music store, waiting for Shouichi to finish ogling the re-release of Blood + Peppers second album that he was buying. (complete with bonus DVD with band commentary!)
Tsuna was the one who caught the flash of soft white through the front window and then when he let out a choking sound, Spanner was the one who saw the ratty hoody and the arms carrying a box of Namimori-style cream puffs out of the store across the way. But it was Byakuran who turned his head nonchalantly towards them at the ringing of the door bell, before either could stop Shouichi from leaving the store in exhilaration.
Mere meters of bicycle-worn sidewalk and littered pavement separated the trio from their former (current?) enemy, and there was nothing they could do but stare as the rest of the world kept strolling by between them. Byakuran blinked, once, twice, and then met Shouichi's eyes. At first, there was no recognition- because afterall, this was a 'fresh', 'new' Byakuran, who had (probably) never killed anybody, had never dominated half the mafia underworld, and had never even gotten that tattoo inked onto his cheek.
Shouichi wondered, in the back of his numb and terrified brain, if maybe he should be disappointed that what could-would-should have been his future best friend (who always tried to be more) didn't immediately smile at him, didn't fit the grinning, teasing profile his memories had illustrated. The man staring at him was frowning, distant, and rigid.
Byakuran promptly dropped his box of creampuffs, shuddered, and ran to the nearest public trashcan to vomit as the vivid image of his own skin burning off of his body pervaded his mind.
Viliorate - v. to become less good, deteriorate
He was alone in Japan, with no real direction and no real reason to bother asking someone. His father had set him loose because he was essentially not needed for the less than legal negotiations starting after introductions were over. 'This is my wife- don't mind her, she's just tired (drunk) from the trip- and this is my son- yes, we get that all the time, it's just a genetic condition (defect).'
Of course there'd been guards. It'd hurt Mr.Gesso's pride if his one and only son were to be murdered by an angry competitor or a (one of many) shafted client. Good future company successors do not die like dogs in gutters, after all!
There had been guards, but there had also been people- lots and lots and lots of people- on the streets of Namimori. And Byakuran, despite the fact that his skin was perpetually crawling with the stares of tanned, dark haired, dark eyed people- was quick on his feet when he wanted to give his keepers the slip.
There was nothing wrong to him about walking alone, even without purpose- Japan was certainly bright, and there were a few things he could sight see before it all began to blur together. A sweet potato vendor with a rotten toothed smile, a game of dice in a dim and grungy alleyway, an attempt to steal his wallet....it was enough to make him smile for a while, to take his mind off of the fact that his high tops were shuffling more and more across scratched concrete. That his skin was beginning to ache with the direct sunlight. That Japan had so many people, so many boring people, that it felt like there wasn't enough oxygen to fill his own lungs. He thought of carbon dioxide poisoning. He thought of a recently flunked kanji test. (what were the characters for 'bathroom' again? Just kidding!) He thought of an article on award winning creampuffs in a non-consequential Japanese town. That was the place to be, then.
Only it wasn't, apparently. He didn't even get to plunk the first delicate, flaky sweet past his mouth before he made the mistake of looking at a group of not-boring people. Before he found his eyes drawn to wavy red hair. And then he was treated to the sensation of his eyes drying up and blackening, the feeling of every hair on his body singing off, the experience of his skin curling up and away to expose nicely boiled fat cells, and sensitive muscle tissue just begging to have the blood evaporated and the heat, heat, heat.
As the first colorful bursts of stomach acid passed his parted lips, and his skin crawled with the (disgusting) stares of nauseated (nauseating) passersby, Byakuran decidedly hated Japan.
There is something nasty about the group of them being together- Tsunayoshi, the once no-good boy who now had a slightly different energy behind those awkward steps, a different sort of bite behind those wide easily-panicked eyes. Then Spanner, with the perpetual bedhead and dull eyes that could actually make store cashiers and street vendors flinch if he made eye contact too long, with the thick syrupy words that drew out so slowly around a perpetual lollipop. (He'd called Tsunayoshi 'Vongola' a thousand times, claiming it seemed the most comfortable after he'd seen the memories- even when the short boy insisted it was ok to just call him 'Tsuna'. The only answer he'd gotten was a shrug, and moments later another drawled out 'Vongola'.)
And Shouichi, fitting the image of loser so very well with his polo shirt, old jeans, and headphones glued to his collarbone. Plain, boring, would almost be invisible if he weren't the only naturally redheaded Japanese in the nearest 47 prefectures. Wouldn't be worth a second glance if he weren't actually walking with friends- albeit ones every bit as socially isolated as himself, practically. Unheard of.
There's something nasty about it, because how can 3 unlucky people band together so successfully, with smiles and camaraderie and even laughter? It must be something to do with friendship.
Locupletative - adj. tending to enrich
Downtown Namimori was the best place for shopping- the underground shopping mall still in construction carefully being avoided- and it was something of an adventure for the two Japanese natives to lead a dazzled Spanner around, showing him all the facets of Japanese culture and trying to discourage him from buying every useless, cartoony trinket that caught those blue eyes. 15 years they'd both lived in the mechanic's favorite country, and yet neither of them had really been to too many of the local attractions. Shouichi could really only point out the music shop that he bought all his CDs from- whereas Tsuna stuttered something pitiful about wandering by a few times to look for Kyoko in the cake store. His smile was as encompassing as the noon sky when neither of his companions laughed at him for it.
It wasn't all perfect, of course- there was some embarrassment with helping Spanner figure out how to pay for his souvenirs with an uptight shopkeeper huffing about shortchanging, and Shouichi had predictably a stomach ache when they stopped for a drink from a vending machine; A particular moment of panic occurred when Tsuna almost got knocked unconscious by a heavy set woman elbowing him in a crowded crosswalk. The task of hefting his foaming body the rest of the way across was left to Spanner, since Shouichi was too busy trying to tame his temper- not that those scrawny arms could do anything.
But it was definitely worth it, they later reflected- to actually leave their houses for once, like the normal kids they weren't.
Gleimous - adj. slimy, full of phlegm
Of course, when sufficient mass is accumulated it naturally creates a gravitational pull, drawing in surroundings and screwing up the natural meandering of life. Since being initiated into the mafia, it tended to be more than just lunch-money seeking bullies, however.
It was while they were lingering amidst plastic wrapped cases and cardboard cut outs in the music store, waiting for Shouichi to finish ogling the re-release of Blood + Peppers second album that he was buying. (complete with bonus DVD with band commentary!)
Tsuna was the one who caught the flash of soft white through the front window and then when he let out a choking sound, Spanner was the one who saw the ratty hoody and the arms carrying a box of Namimori-style cream puffs out of the store across the way. But it was Byakuran who turned his head nonchalantly towards them at the ringing of the door bell, before either could stop Shouichi from leaving the store in exhilaration.
Mere meters of bicycle-worn sidewalk and littered pavement separated the trio from their former (current?) enemy, and there was nothing they could do but stare as the rest of the world kept strolling by between them. Byakuran blinked, once, twice, and then met Shouichi's eyes. At first, there was no recognition- because afterall, this was a 'fresh', 'new' Byakuran, who had (probably) never killed anybody, had never dominated half the mafia underworld, and had never even gotten that tattoo inked onto his cheek.
Shouichi wondered, in the back of his numb and terrified brain, if maybe he should be disappointed that what could-would-should have been his future best friend (who always tried to be more) didn't immediately smile at him, didn't fit the grinning, teasing profile his memories had illustrated. The man staring at him was frowning, distant, and rigid.
Byakuran promptly dropped his box of creampuffs, shuddered, and ran to the nearest public trashcan to vomit as the vivid image of his own skin burning off of his body pervaded his mind.
Viliorate - v. to become less good, deteriorate
He was alone in Japan, with no real direction and no real reason to bother asking someone. His father had set him loose because he was essentially not needed for the less than legal negotiations starting after introductions were over. 'This is my wife- don't mind her, she's just tired (drunk) from the trip- and this is my son- yes, we get that all the time, it's just a genetic condition (defect).'
Of course there'd been guards. It'd hurt Mr.Gesso's pride if his one and only son were to be murdered by an angry competitor or a (one of many) shafted client. Good future company successors do not die like dogs in gutters, after all!
There had been guards, but there had also been people- lots and lots and lots of people- on the streets of Namimori. And Byakuran, despite the fact that his skin was perpetually crawling with the stares of tanned, dark haired, dark eyed people- was quick on his feet when he wanted to give his keepers the slip.
There was nothing wrong to him about walking alone, even without purpose- Japan was certainly bright, and there were a few things he could sight see before it all began to blur together. A sweet potato vendor with a rotten toothed smile, a game of dice in a dim and grungy alleyway, an attempt to steal his wallet....it was enough to make him smile for a while, to take his mind off of the fact that his high tops were shuffling more and more across scratched concrete. That his skin was beginning to ache with the direct sunlight. That Japan had so many people, so many boring people, that it felt like there wasn't enough oxygen to fill his own lungs. He thought of carbon dioxide poisoning. He thought of a recently flunked kanji test. (what were the characters for 'bathroom' again? Just kidding!) He thought of an article on award winning creampuffs in a non-consequential Japanese town. That was the place to be, then.
Only it wasn't, apparently. He didn't even get to plunk the first delicate, flaky sweet past his mouth before he made the mistake of looking at a group of not-boring people. Before he found his eyes drawn to wavy red hair. And then he was treated to the sensation of his eyes drying up and blackening, the feeling of every hair on his body singing off, the experience of his skin curling up and away to expose nicely boiled fat cells, and sensitive muscle tissue just begging to have the blood evaporated and the heat, heat, heat.
As the first colorful bursts of stomach acid passed his parted lips, and his skin crawled with the (disgusting) stares of nauseated (nauseating) passersby, Byakuran decidedly hated Japan.