response to the challenge!!
response to kikoruchan's challenge.
scented paper
--a dead poet lurks in every heart--
giftfic! for epiffannie
[itasaku]
“Um, excuse me?”
Taking off his absorbed attention from the huge amount of explaining text (--choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than--), the bespectacled man turned to a perplexed individual who gently tapped his shoulders from behind.
A female freshman was biting her lip nervously, and then she gathered enough courage and asked.
“Do you know what time--?”
“Quarter to twelve.” He replied curtly.
“Thank you.” She responded, the disappointment clearly made its way to her face.
His impassive stare was hidden beneath the soft golden glint of his thickly-rimmed glasses. He scrutinized her dainty fingers that fiddled with the edges of the delicately wrapped booklet, a telltale sign of anxiety. The young woman was probably sixteen, four years younger than him, quite petite in form and looked comfortable in a red cardigan sweater and black denims.
Then he suddenly recognized the mint-hued eyes, her light strawberry tresses that was messily held up behind the crown of her head and that almost pale face.
“Take a seat.” He inclined to offer, the flash of exhaustion apparent on her features.
Helplessly looking at him, her slightly wide forehead then furrowed as to contemplate if she should accept the suggestion. She complied in the end, scraping the metal ends of the chair against the brick floor.
A tenuous, viscous silence hung between them, which remained unbroken for five minutes.
They were both sitting on the provided tables from the open cafes that usually littered outside the university campus avenues. A couple of people still lingered on the premises, but it was obvious that it was because they believed that it was romantic to meet up at midnight.
He was absentmindedly flipping a page when she spoke timidly.
“I’m Sakura.”
His lips minutely twitched in amusement.
“What are you doing here alone,” His articulation was fairly smooth, like raven feathers, even though there was no trace of real curiosity in the inquiry. “in the middle of the night?”
“Well,” Her eyes somewhat widened, surprised with the interrogation. “I was waiting.”
He then closed his book to indicate that he was listening.
“But I guess, he wasn’t really serious about it.”
The twenty year old dark-haired man was about to ask when she gave a tremulous smile.
“So, you chose to read The Prince before Valentines? That’s rather cold-hearted.”
“It’s necessary.”
“But you’ve been probably reading it again.” She pointed the white creases that formed on the brown-paper bound spine. “I’m scared that you find Machiavellian doctrines rather interesting.”
“You find it frightening?” He found that idea amusing.
“The end justifies the means, the book insists." She lowered her voice in shudder. "That statement created a Hitler.”
“That’s how a ruler should think.” His flint-shaded orbs, though concealed with the elongated dark locks and the refraction of his spectacles, were intensely observing the very engaging female. “It’s for the greater good.”
Then she laughed, propping an elbow on their mahogany table. “I don’t believe this.” Turning her attention towards the pairs that walked along the sidewalks of the avenue, Sakura sighed wistfully. “I’m discussing political philosophies with some stranger in an unknown area because I'm that pathetic for some company tonight.”
He wisely kept silent and observed the dejected expression that marred her features.
“You are a hopeless romantic.” It was stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I’m more of a hopeless case.” She exhaled a shaky breath, as if wishing that the night would just end. “Is it already midnight?”
He merely responded with calm affirmative.
With an apologetic grin, she moved to finally leave her seat.
“I should be already going then.”
He merely cocked his calculating gaze.
“You’re not going to wait for him any longer?”
She bitterly laughed at that, as if there was an ironic joke in that statement.
“I was already expecting this, actually.”
Then she returned her gaze to the other individuals that surrounded the perimeters of the avenue, who were already occupied in their teasing words, cooed endearments and crimson chocolates underneath the pliant brush of the lamp light.
“A hopeless romantic, indeed.”
She was suddenly shaken out of her saddened reverie when her recent acquaintance perused the first leaf of her supposed-to-be Valentines gift.
His fingertips skimmed over the neat handwriting of ‘Sonnets of the Portuguese’, and with the tear-stained words of inscribed dedication on the top: To Sasuke-kun.
Sakura probably knew that the affectionate well-made verses that she wrote originated from the collected correspondences of a frail lady with a younger, amorous man. The weaved rhythmical phrases in this literary piece were made in secrecy, written in perfumed stationary in order to express the true depth of their emotions.
They were probably too appropriate in her (their) situation, and the thought to give something more substantial than the usual chocolates and (he then knew that his foolish little brother was absurd.) tomatoes was very like her.
He took off his glasses after skimming the first lines of Sonnet Forty-Three and focused his dark enigmatic gaze on her puzzled expression.
“Wait,” She gaped, as her book was returned back to her trembling hands. “I know you.”
“Yes?” He politely asked, as he grasped his own reading material in his hand.
“Uchiha Itachi?!” Then she comically ogled at him as his patrician features were fully enlightened with the waning yellow neon lights from overhead. “You’re his older brother!”
“Of course,” He merely replied patiently.
“Why-“
“You didn’t ask my name.”
“You don’t look like you’re his brother at all!” She exclaimed after her few minutes of stupefied silence, earning a few open stares from the surrounding people around them. “I mean, your pictures, they were absolutely different from what I saw in his dormitory when we studied together-“
Oh? Is that a slip?
“-and you were striking! Even pretty! Like a woman!”
He cut her off rather abruptly. “My brother is waiting for you.”
“What?”
“You know that he’s currently busy at the moment.” She could at last see the prominent lines on the sides of his pointed, aristocratic nose. “But it doesn’t mean that he won’t use any means to meet up with you.”
“Oh.”
She flushed.
Then she frowned.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me before?”
“You were interesting.”
And then he paced towards a parked onyx-painted car on the nearby corner, letting Sakura follow him resignedly.
______________________
*wibbles in fear*
Annie? Um, don't kill me? (because I didn't finish it on time.)
firstdraft:02/14/08
I'll rewrite this, because this was really rushed. I was planning to write more of it, but plot bunny died in hunger.
Happy Valentines~!
(and yes, the greeting is late for those in the Phil.)
swollenfoot, um, I'VE MISSED THE YM! CONVERSATIONS.
scented paper
--a dead poet lurks in every heart--
giftfic! for epiffannie
[itasaku]
“Um, excuse me?”
Taking off his absorbed attention from the huge amount of explaining text (--choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than--), the bespectacled man turned to a perplexed individual who gently tapped his shoulders from behind.
A female freshman was biting her lip nervously, and then she gathered enough courage and asked.
“Do you know what time--?”
“Quarter to twelve.” He replied curtly.
“Thank you.” She responded, the disappointment clearly made its way to her face.
His impassive stare was hidden beneath the soft golden glint of his thickly-rimmed glasses. He scrutinized her dainty fingers that fiddled with the edges of the delicately wrapped booklet, a telltale sign of anxiety. The young woman was probably sixteen, four years younger than him, quite petite in form and looked comfortable in a red cardigan sweater and black denims.
Then he suddenly recognized the mint-hued eyes, her light strawberry tresses that was messily held up behind the crown of her head and that almost pale face.
“Take a seat.” He inclined to offer, the flash of exhaustion apparent on her features.
Helplessly looking at him, her slightly wide forehead then furrowed as to contemplate if she should accept the suggestion. She complied in the end, scraping the metal ends of the chair against the brick floor.
A tenuous, viscous silence hung between them, which remained unbroken for five minutes.
They were both sitting on the provided tables from the open cafes that usually littered outside the university campus avenues. A couple of people still lingered on the premises, but it was obvious that it was because they believed that it was romantic to meet up at midnight.
He was absentmindedly flipping a page when she spoke timidly.
“I’m Sakura.”
His lips minutely twitched in amusement.
“What are you doing here alone,” His articulation was fairly smooth, like raven feathers, even though there was no trace of real curiosity in the inquiry. “in the middle of the night?”
“Well,” Her eyes somewhat widened, surprised with the interrogation. “I was waiting.”
He then closed his book to indicate that he was listening.
“But I guess, he wasn’t really serious about it.”
The twenty year old dark-haired man was about to ask when she gave a tremulous smile.
“So, you chose to read The Prince before Valentines? That’s rather cold-hearted.”
“It’s necessary.”
“But you’ve been probably reading it again.” She pointed the white creases that formed on the brown-paper bound spine. “I’m scared that you find Machiavellian doctrines rather interesting.”
“You find it frightening?” He found that idea amusing.
“The end justifies the means, the book insists." She lowered her voice in shudder. "That statement created a Hitler.”
“That’s how a ruler should think.” His flint-shaded orbs, though concealed with the elongated dark locks and the refraction of his spectacles, were intensely observing the very engaging female. “It’s for the greater good.”
Then she laughed, propping an elbow on their mahogany table. “I don’t believe this.” Turning her attention towards the pairs that walked along the sidewalks of the avenue, Sakura sighed wistfully. “I’m discussing political philosophies with some stranger in an unknown area because I'm that pathetic for some company tonight.”
He wisely kept silent and observed the dejected expression that marred her features.
“You are a hopeless romantic.” It was stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I’m more of a hopeless case.” She exhaled a shaky breath, as if wishing that the night would just end. “Is it already midnight?”
He merely responded with calm affirmative.
With an apologetic grin, she moved to finally leave her seat.
“I should be already going then.”
He merely cocked his calculating gaze.
“You’re not going to wait for him any longer?”
She bitterly laughed at that, as if there was an ironic joke in that statement.
“I was already expecting this, actually.”
Then she returned her gaze to the other individuals that surrounded the perimeters of the avenue, who were already occupied in their teasing words, cooed endearments and crimson chocolates underneath the pliant brush of the lamp light.
“A hopeless romantic, indeed.”
She was suddenly shaken out of her saddened reverie when her recent acquaintance perused the first leaf of her supposed-to-be Valentines gift.
His fingertips skimmed over the neat handwriting of ‘Sonnets of the Portuguese’, and with the tear-stained words of inscribed dedication on the top: To Sasuke-kun.
Sakura probably knew that the affectionate well-made verses that she wrote originated from the collected correspondences of a frail lady with a younger, amorous man. The weaved rhythmical phrases in this literary piece were made in secrecy, written in perfumed stationary in order to express the true depth of their emotions.
They were probably too appropriate in her (their) situation, and the thought to give something more substantial than the usual chocolates and (he then knew that his foolish little brother was absurd.) tomatoes was very like her.
He took off his glasses after skimming the first lines of Sonnet Forty-Three and focused his dark enigmatic gaze on her puzzled expression.
“Wait,” She gaped, as her book was returned back to her trembling hands. “I know you.”
“Yes?” He politely asked, as he grasped his own reading material in his hand.
“Uchiha Itachi?!” Then she comically ogled at him as his patrician features were fully enlightened with the waning yellow neon lights from overhead. “You’re his older brother!”
“Of course,” He merely replied patiently.
“Why-“
“You didn’t ask my name.”
“You don’t look like you’re his brother at all!” She exclaimed after her few minutes of stupefied silence, earning a few open stares from the surrounding people around them. “I mean, your pictures, they were absolutely different from what I saw in his dormitory when we studied together-“
Oh? Is that a slip?
“-and you were striking! Even pretty! Like a woman!”
He cut her off rather abruptly. “My brother is waiting for you.”
“What?”
“You know that he’s currently busy at the moment.” She could at last see the prominent lines on the sides of his pointed, aristocratic nose. “But it doesn’t mean that he won’t use any means to meet up with you.”
“Oh.”
She flushed.
Then she frowned.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me before?”
“You were interesting.”
And then he paced towards a parked onyx-painted car on the nearby corner, letting Sakura follow him resignedly.
______________________
*wibbles in fear*
Annie? Um, don't kill me? (because I didn't finish it on time.)
firstdraft:02/14/08
I'll rewrite this, because this was really rushed. I was planning to write more of it, but plot bunny died in hunger.
Happy Valentines~!
(and yes, the greeting is late for those in the Phil.)
swollenfoot, um, I'VE MISSED THE YM! CONVERSATIONS.