#3sentence

(x)

(3sentence ficathon)

“You know your boyfriend is an idiot, right?” Stan said, watching as Bill helped Richie with his knee and elbow pads. “Like, it’s important to me that you know that.”

“Your boyfriend is the one about to ride his bike off the roof of a car,” Eddie retorted, frowning as Bill gave Richie’s helmet a slap hurting both Richie’s head and Bill’s hand. “I mean, if anyone’s the idiot here it’s-”

“Us for choosing to date them,” Stan finished. “Besides, this was Bill’s idea and you know he’d do it himself right now if Richie hadn’t volunteered to go first.”

They agreed they were all idiots, but especially Bill and Richie, as they sat in the hospital while Richie got stitches in his chin.

—

(3sentence challenge)

Deep pale laps at the sides of the Prey's Retreat, that old path carved by the fleeing communard army across the deep, dark forest of the Lungs of Graad: it's a steep slope into the great unrest these days, past and future flickering through the trees, mirror images in the mist, look, there's some echo of another Zigi in the middle distance gesturing and pointing toward the depths, draped in clothes the present entroponaut doesn't recognize, and when his shadow, Ignus Nilsen, turns to look that way, all of a sudden he leaves Zigi's side, crossing the snow toward that vision with the weight of a hundred thousand miles lodged in his chest, heavy enough to burn an idea of footsteps on the ground.

"I had to trace this route alone," he pleads to the apparition, ghost to ghost, leaning against a tree that still bears the ancient slashes of his silver sword, looking for absolution, for understanding, for an apology, one last embrace, but the blurred distant figure cannot hear him and would not answer, it only calmly beckons from within deeper non-existence.

(x)

Another case closed, another perp dragged off the streets: at the end of the chase, lieutenant double-yefreitor Harrier Du Bois limps into his empty apartment at fuck in the morning and he is cold, so very cold, and the clanking and hollering outside his window tells of a city that still aches just the same across its streets, which are poor and restless and endless.

Outside the window, a pulsating, nauseating yellow billboard promises "there'll be peace when you are done" - words meant to sell you dish soap, somehow, and some feeble spark of Harry's battered neurons knows that it's a quote and knows that it is wrong, it used to say "there'll be peace when we are done", Ignus Nilsen's promise at the gates of the Parliament building, then repeated as his Graadian exiles re-emerged from the pale on the coasts of Samara's reality (legend has it that as he spoke his uniform was still stained with blood).

(Standard Elysium gambit, really. On dreamwidth)

"This is gonna be epic, like two guys… like two guys nobody's e-v-e-r heard of" whispers Eric (née Pissf****t, currently in between jackets and identities) as he passes the lighter to his pal, his buddy, his silly rabbit, his mighty nihilist he would stand eye to eye with death with.

As all the scant traces of their shared existence burn piled up in a neat little pyre, the pair squeeze their eyes and try very, very hard to disappear, to be erased out of history like all the greats, or at least the supposed greats since nobody remembers the first damn thing about them, but that's what makes them cool.

lbr there's probably lore about Elysium numbers stations and it's 10x wilder than this. anyway (x)

“Why is this so weird?” Richie laughed, nervously. “I mean, we’ve been best friends forever, Stanley, we shouldn’t feel so weird together.”

“We’ve been best friends forever, of course it’s going to be weird at first,” Stan replied with a smile, before biting his lip. “But, I know how we can make it easier.”

Richie met him halfway when Stan leaned in, and kissed him softly, their nerves slipping away.

—