Snippets from 10 unfinished Weiss fics languishing on my hard drive
sevendials did this and I am sheep.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
The call comes at 10:53 in the morning, minutes before a press conference about next year's budget plan. My wife is dead.
--
"Bring your hands together," he ordered. The astonishing part was how Omi obeyed. Shock value paired with intrinsic trust really could work wonders. Omi held cooperatively still while Aya bound his hands together-- held still in a way Aya was sure he never would have for anyone outside Weiss. His eyes held no sense of comprehension: any second now, you'll explain what this is about, right? No, Omi. It would defeat the purpose if you understood.
--
"Then what’s going on? Why can’t I come?!"
His eyes narrowed. "I don’t want you there."
The words hit me like a giant block of ice.
"And you do want her there."
"...That’s exactly right."
I stood perfectly still with a straight back and a closed mouth, trying to call forth any memory I could manage that would override the crushing evidence from that exchange that my husband was an incomparable bastard. I couldn’t think of one.
--
"I'll kill you!"
Omi didn't try to run. He stood with his hands at his sides, expression conveying only sad resignation.
"Please do."
--
It’s never just sex with him and me. Sure, he’s good-looking enough, I guess, but that isn’t what excites me about him. And it isn’t that I think he’s got a brilliant personality, or that he’s in any way comforting. The bastard can barely communicate. Maybe on some base level, we relate to each other that way. I don’t communicate that well either. Half the time, I’m either tripping over my own words or not even trying.
--
She waited ten minutes after Tomoka left. Then, shears in hand, Aya stepped out of the shop and lightly folded her arms.
"You know, one might think reading would be easier with your sunglasses off..."
His eyebrows lifted mildly. "That's quite a prop you've brought with you."
"It's quite a habit you've formed. Is there something I can help you with?"
--
I have to believe that any decent person would do the same thing in my place. How selfish would a person have to be, to have already lost everything and have the power to stop others from falling to the same fate, and choose not to?
--
He looked away. "I realize this was important to you. I'd like to go, but I have other responsibilities that I can't ignore."
"So you'll ditch me because I can be ignored?"
"I don't know what you want me to do. The demands of my job rise and fall based on outside factors. I don't have the luxury of taking personal leave whenever I want."
"I know. I'm just disappointed-- you ought to be there when we find out if it's a boy or a girl."
--
We undress ourselves as though to bathe, surrounded by the scent of our dirty laundry. I lie down, he lies on top. His body is warm and does nothing for me. Hands move almost mechanically, placed here and there-- the same places every time, like we plotted out a step-by-step routine and forgot the part where we dance. Right hand on my shoulder; left hand on my side. He lowers his body and presses kisses to my neck and collarbone.
I turn my head from him to expose more neck... it’s almost unnerving, but I suppose that’s just the instinctive protest against positions of vulnerability.
--
Rex pressed her lips together as though to debate pursuing the matter. After a moment she looked away and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I’m sorry you aren’t attracted to her.”
"Attraction isn’t part of the equation."
"Do you not think it should be?"
"Grandfather has more wisdom and experience in what’s best for Takatori." Mamoru worked to loosen the tie about his neck. "She’s from a prominent family. It’s a good connection. She’ll provide children... I should probably agree to his choice."
Rex clutched the blouse hanging off her shoulders, holding the ends over her chest. "You’re not going to make anyone happy if you do that."
Mamoru's hands stopped their attempt to release the shirt buttons cuffing his wrists.
"Happiness... isn't the objective."
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
The call comes at 10:53 in the morning, minutes before a press conference about next year's budget plan. My wife is dead.
--
"Bring your hands together," he ordered. The astonishing part was how Omi obeyed. Shock value paired with intrinsic trust really could work wonders. Omi held cooperatively still while Aya bound his hands together-- held still in a way Aya was sure he never would have for anyone outside Weiss. His eyes held no sense of comprehension: any second now, you'll explain what this is about, right? No, Omi. It would defeat the purpose if you understood.
--
"Then what’s going on? Why can’t I come?!"
His eyes narrowed. "I don’t want you there."
The words hit me like a giant block of ice.
"And you do want her there."
"...That’s exactly right."
I stood perfectly still with a straight back and a closed mouth, trying to call forth any memory I could manage that would override the crushing evidence from that exchange that my husband was an incomparable bastard. I couldn’t think of one.
--
"I'll kill you!"
Omi didn't try to run. He stood with his hands at his sides, expression conveying only sad resignation.
"Please do."
--
It’s never just sex with him and me. Sure, he’s good-looking enough, I guess, but that isn’t what excites me about him. And it isn’t that I think he’s got a brilliant personality, or that he’s in any way comforting. The bastard can barely communicate. Maybe on some base level, we relate to each other that way. I don’t communicate that well either. Half the time, I’m either tripping over my own words or not even trying.
--
She waited ten minutes after Tomoka left. Then, shears in hand, Aya stepped out of the shop and lightly folded her arms.
"You know, one might think reading would be easier with your sunglasses off..."
His eyebrows lifted mildly. "That's quite a prop you've brought with you."
"It's quite a habit you've formed. Is there something I can help you with?"
--
I have to believe that any decent person would do the same thing in my place. How selfish would a person have to be, to have already lost everything and have the power to stop others from falling to the same fate, and choose not to?
--
He looked away. "I realize this was important to you. I'd like to go, but I have other responsibilities that I can't ignore."
"So you'll ditch me because I can be ignored?"
"I don't know what you want me to do. The demands of my job rise and fall based on outside factors. I don't have the luxury of taking personal leave whenever I want."
"I know. I'm just disappointed-- you ought to be there when we find out if it's a boy or a girl."
--
We undress ourselves as though to bathe, surrounded by the scent of our dirty laundry. I lie down, he lies on top. His body is warm and does nothing for me. Hands move almost mechanically, placed here and there-- the same places every time, like we plotted out a step-by-step routine and forgot the part where we dance. Right hand on my shoulder; left hand on my side. He lowers his body and presses kisses to my neck and collarbone.
I turn my head from him to expose more neck... it’s almost unnerving, but I suppose that’s just the instinctive protest against positions of vulnerability.
--
Rex pressed her lips together as though to debate pursuing the matter. After a moment she looked away and began unbuttoning her blouse. “I’m sorry you aren’t attracted to her.”
"Attraction isn’t part of the equation."
"Do you not think it should be?"
"Grandfather has more wisdom and experience in what’s best for Takatori." Mamoru worked to loosen the tie about his neck. "She’s from a prominent family. It’s a good connection. She’ll provide children... I should probably agree to his choice."
Rex clutched the blouse hanging off her shoulders, holding the ends over her chest. "You’re not going to make anyone happy if you do that."
Mamoru's hands stopped their attempt to release the shirt buttons cuffing his wrists.
"Happiness... isn't the objective."