Drabblage

[yakalskovich]

vikitickytembo wrote a drabble for me, about my OC in the Discworld RPG. It is here, and I am very happy about it.

So, balance of a productive day: drabbles received: two (the other one is here); drabbles written: five, including those behind the following cuts.

The first is  Imp/Ade from Discworld RPG, and it's for minkhollow, who guessed my riddle right as well.



A Rare Moment

Running a hand through the curly hair at Ade's neck brought a smile that coud only be called impish. Despite the fact that Imp was actually the name of the one touching him.

This was happening far too rarely of late. What had happened to all the "talks" they had had when they'd first known - and become enchanted with - each other?  Why could living in the same city bring such distance, so many things to do, people to see and time to spend busily that the nearest and dearest would fall by the wayside?

Imp was very patient.  No matter what happened, he waited. When Ade had kissed five people in three days (none of them Imp) had turned out to be cursed and went off on some utterly strange wild goose chase, Imp had waited. When Ade had returned, not yet de-cursed, and apathetically holed up at his brother's for months, Imp had waited. When Ade finally consented to fully return among the living, Imp had been there.

After all that, would Imp complain about what every-day life took from them?

He lay back and looked at the clouds past the tip of Ade's nose. Just being beside Ade, here in the grass in Hide Park, hiding (as the name suggests) in the shadow of a shrubbery, was enough reason for happiness. He was there, and Ade was there, and that was as it should be. Imp closed his eyes as he heard Ade settle down beside him.

But there is a thing about lying about in a meadow - while grass as such is springy and soft and comfortable, any actual spot of meadow always seems to contain short bits of prickly dried stubble, and some inexplicable roots that would be exactly where some sensitive bone of yours tried to settle down. So, Imp sat up again and looked at Ade, who was still ignoring the roots assigned to him by fate.

Every familiar detail beloved and trusted, expected and missed; the tousled hair, the daring curve of the closed eyelashes, the carelessly outflung arm. All here with him at this moment. Every small speck on his skin known and touched and...

"There's an ant walking up your arm", said Imp, picking the insect off.

Ade opened his eyes and grinned. "Thanks muchly", he said.


And the next one to earn her drabble was litsares She requested a drabble about Jocasta Wiggs, one of her characters in the Discworld RPG.



Boredom

Nivin was sitting on the headboard of Jocasta's bed and still managed to look elegant and breath-taking. The doe-eyed Klatchian beauty had given the term femme fatale a completely new meaning - she was as feminine as she was deathly - at least in theory.

In practice, student assassins weren't allowed to kill anybody on purpose yet. If they killed themselves or each other for better grades, that was considered natural selection and survival of the fittest. And the Guild was very keen on its studenst being the fittest of all.

In theory, it was to be expected that Jocasta Wiggs, daughter of a traditional Asassin family with an old mansion on the Ankh side, and Nivin Al-Gebra,  Klatchian princess, should be fierce competitors and  sworn enemies, being the only girls in their years, and among the first the Guild ever accepted at all. In practice, they had discovered the strength that lay in numbers from day one, and had gone on most of their exploits and misadventures together.

Most. When Jocasta ended up in Sir Samuel Vimes' midden after trying in vain for some extra credit, she had been alone. Nivin had considered Jo's plans hare-brained and preferred to go and steal a paperweight from the desk of the Patrician - an assignement that nobody except her tutor and Jocasta ever heard of. The paperweight had been returned by Lord Downey during his weekly meeting with Vetinari.

When Professor Teppic took them to an ill-fated assignment in a vampire's lair, it was Jocasta who got picked on by the blood-drinker - Niv managed to stay nice and inconspicuous while Jo was regaled with the vampire's blood-curdling smile and rather disgraced herself.

Jocasta Wiggs, however, was regarded the most daring young assassin in her year. While Niv was, perhaps, the most careful and conscientious one. Against the two of them, all their male classmates didn't have a snowball's chance in hell.

"Niv, I'm bored," Jocasta declared.

Nivin shrugged. If Jocasta claimed to be bored, they usually ended up climbing through the gutters of the Watch House at midnight, or scaling the Tower of Art from the outside - a time-honoured feat for young assassins that was just a tad more difficult for Jo and Niv than for everybody before them because they, being female, officially were "Notte Allowed" on the grounds of Unseen University where the Tower stood. That didn't stop a Jocasta Wiggs, though, nor a Nivin Al-Gebra.

"Do some classwork. Professor Ludorum is sure to test us on the use of the double-edged dagger in ancient Ephebe next Monday," Nivin suggested.

"I was thinking along the lines of scorpion pits or tightropes over an abyss, not boring assignments," Jocasta complained. "And Professor Ludorum is missing on contract work, anyway."

Nivin looked shocked. "What a pity - the only real good-looking teacher, apart from Professor Chidder, who is - occupied, anyway. How about we go and rescue Professor Ludorum?"

Jocasta contemplated the prospect of actually rescuing a teacher from a threatening life-and-death situation, and totally failed to fully imagine the potential embarrassment of such a setup.

"I think I'm not bored enough for that, " she replied airily.



I still owe a drabble to marchenland. I do original text as well, you know, if you don't feel like Wraeththu fanfic - just give me a subject. I even do poetry when sufficiently provoked, and not only for fictional purposes within roleplaying. So just tell me what you'd like me to write for you; you've earned it.