Shiny's drabble thread

[doggo]

Ok, I couldn't resist joining the Drabble Challenge anyway!

Scenario

I will write the drabbles within a fixed scenario of an imaginary group of writers and intellectuals gathering in the back room of a sleazy restaurant in Helsinki (earlier 20th century), calling themselves The Wahnbriefe Club. They fancy themselves radical. We will see how I will have to interpret prompts like "internet" to make it fit the era!

(Wahnbriefe = "Madness Letters"; a reference to short writings sent by Nietzsche to his friends while in psychosis)

1 - Kink :: 2 - Science Fiction :: 3 - Frightened :: 4 - Fake :: 5 – Pencil :: 6 – Squint :: 7 – Misplaced :: 8 – Joy :: 9 - Touched :: 10 – Cough :: 11 – Hot/Cold :: 12 – Sin :: 13 – Care :: 14 – Frail :: 15 – The End :: 16 – Three :: 17 – Never :: 18 – Midnight :: 19 – Promise :: 20 – Fight :: 21 – Pollen :: 22 – Embarrassment :: 23 – Alcohol :: 24 – Mask :: 25 – Mistake :: 26 – Suspicion :: 27 – Disagreement :: 28 – Assignment :: 29 – Purple :: 30 – June :: 31 – Calculating :: 32 – Fall :: 33 – Cry :: 34 – Relief :: 35 – Breath :: 36 – Miserable :: 37 – Chocolate :: 38 – Violent :: 39 – Muffle :: 40 – Swift :: 41 – Run :: 42 – Poison :: 43 – Contagion :: 44 – Tissue :: 45 – Sore :: 46 – Enraptured :: 47 – Wary :: 48 – Pathetic :: 49 – Sweat :: 50 – Gentle :: 51 – Milk :: 52 – Ravenous :: 53 – Blanket :: 54 – Needles :: 55 – Sports :: 55 – Ruin :: 56 – Lovely :: 57 – Hospital :: 58 – Annoying :: 59 – Mother :: 60 – Bike :: 61 – Idiot :: 62 – Puppy :: 63 – Control :: 64 – Unfair :: 65 – Similarities :: 66 – Raincoat :: 67 – Worship :: 68 – Attitude :: 69 – Fuck :: 70 – Confession :: 71 – Floor :: 72 – Remedy :: 73 – Don’t :: 74 – Ego :: 75 – Heartless :: 76 – Lullaby :: 77 – Secret :: 78 – Shut Up :: 79 – Music :: 80 – Grudge :: 81 – Solitude :: 82 – Magic :: 83 – Dirty :: 84 – City :: 85 – Teacher :: 86 – Sky :: 87 – Hypocrite :: 88 – Tattoo :: 89 – Money :: 90 – Childhood :: 91 – Goodbye :: 92 – Victory :: 93 – Weather :: 94 – Photo :: 95 – Rage :: 96 – Internet:: 97 – Fashion :: 98 – Favor :: 99 – Lazy :: 100 – Airplane

Total drabble-count: 13 !

[doggo]

23 – Alcohol

Fandom: original

Characters: Kristian, Leevi

Word Count: 334

“Kristian? Hey, you awake?” Leevi, most likely the only of the students associated with the Wahnbriefe Club who wasn't in the imminent danger of dropping out – a quite sensitive young man with still childish roundness around the corners of his mouth, which was permanently drawn into a straight, serious line – reached the limp arm of his comrade-in-arts, who lay on his chair, apparently passed out.

Everyone else had left and the hours had grown small long ago; yet after slowly wrapping the heavy coat around his lithe frame, Leevi couldn't help hesitating. There was something about the tall, dark figure of this gloomy philosopher, whose vehement intelligence was like poison to everything sweet and safe, so completely and mercilessly knocked out by the (admittedly frightening volume of) alcohol consumed. Leevi's hand wavered around his friend's shoulder, until he couldn't resist the urge anymore and, knowingly taking a risk, let his hand settle on Kristian's pale brow, brushing aside the dark strands of his hair.

Just as he suspected, the poor man definitely had fever.

“Who's... what do you think you're...” Kristian grumbled, trying to push the intruding hand away. “... you... He'Ksscht!” He rubbed his nose lazily with the back of his hand .“...you thigk you're doing?”

“You're sick, Kristian, and everyone has left already. You want me to walk you home?”

“Mind your own business,” Kristian replied with a tired, thick voice. With his knuckles still touching his nose, his eyes fluttered back shut.

“You can't sleep here; you'll catch your death!”

No answer. Judging from the even, heavy sound of his breathing, he had already fallen back to sleep, with his head tilted back and mouth open, revealing the whole length of his paper-white neck. Leevi shook his head. Kristian, slim as he was, would still have been way too heavy for him to carry in that state of drunkenness. Maybe at least he could find a coat to cover him with. Poor bastard.

99 to go!

[March Hare]

Oooooohhh, YIPPEE!!! We can has Shiny fikshunz! WAHOO!

I love this idea... love it to words. Mmmm, and Kristian sounds like someone I'd love to meet... Poor bastard, indeed...!

Yay! Thank you! Yay!

[Vetinari]

ZOMG I have 99 more Shiny drabbles to read?

*faints*

How wonderful!

[Sneesee]

It more like, WOW, 99 more Shiny Drabbles to read? YAHOOOOO! Can't wait! Yummy start!

[Mewling]

Ooh, nice original! Looking forward to more.

[VoOs]

I find Shiny Drabbles!

*curls into a happy ball to wait for more lovelyness*

[doggo]

Maru - thank you! Hee-hee, I think we will see a LOT of him!

Vetinari - it'll be slow going, but I love writing these!

Sneesee - glad you like the start!

Mewling - thank you; this is a weird way to weave original stuff, but I just have to try.

VoOs - aww I'm glad you're reading!

More!

--

89 – Money

Fandom: original

Characters: Jan, Aarne

Word Count: 252

It was easy to tell when Jan was out of money; the tell-tale wrinkle between his eyebrows, never visible or even imaginable if he had even a few pennies weighting his pockets, would cloud his otherwise bright brow, like today. There were many women for sure who were favorable to him and might very well had helped, but it was against his morality to borrow from a prostitute. Pacing slowly back and forth, he kept silently contemplating on his situation, stopping to rub his nose with the back of his hand every now and then, troubled, absent-minded.

Aarne tossed a shabby pile of papers on the table, leaning back on his chair and lighting a cigarette. “These poems look horrible, Jan. You're gonna read them or not?”

One of the windows by the roof, showing only shoes and shins and a little bit of sky, was ajar. The spring air drifting lazily inside smelled of dust and thawed dirt. A tram rattled by somewhere.

Jan gazed at Aarne, like only half-awake. “Yes... I...” He raised two fingers to his nose, pressing the underside of it; his gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the walls. “H... Hi'ssch! Isscht! Hsct!” straightening up, he rubbed his nose with his palm and sniffled. “Ugh... cursed spring!”

A lone fly wandered inside. Everyone in the table fell silent, following it's performance of buzzing aerobatics with their eyes. Jan started pacing again, holding a finger under his nose, sniffling, and silently swearing under his breath.

62 – Puppy

Fandom: original

Characters: Kristian, Jan, Leevi

Word Count: 195

With water still dripping from the brim of his rain-soaked hat, Jan drew out his left hand that had until now been suspiciously tucked inside his coat, and alongside his lean, almost bony fingers came out something quivering, silken and with a needle-like tail. He placed it on the table.

A mutt. Still so small it barely had it's eyes open. Kristian rolled his eyes and got up.

Those still in the table were exhilarated by the sudden turn of events.

“Where did this come from?” Leevi asked shyly, frowning at the men trying to provoke a reaction from the puppy.

“I picked it up. I think I'll keep it.”

“Idiot. Taking pity on a worthless creature like a teary-eyed old woman,” Kristian muttered.

“But it's so ugly, I couldn't help to have some sympathy for the poor critter,” Jan grinned. He stretched his hand pet the dog's head.

“Hng– kisscht!”

“Catching a chill perhaps, Kristian?”

Kristian shook his head, sniffling crossly. “One pitiful creature taking pity on another... sickening!” He turned to face the wall and, blinking a tear from his eye, hunched his shoulders. “He'kcssht!”

[Vetinari]

All the Shiniest elements are there. Lovely melancholy tone provoking wonderful imagery. Fantastic.

[krazykat]

I'm loving these Shiny

[VoOs]

Oh, how I adore your style. And your men... always, always so dreamy.

...

*steals Jan and FLEES*

[doggo]

Eeehehee, I'm way too into this right now! Sorry for all the ficspamming.

Vetinari, thank you! I like some melancholy, yes!

Krazykat, YAY thank you, glad you like!

VoOs, thank you! Yes, a pitiful, lonely old woman like me has way too much time to imagine up unrealistically attractive men. Jan??? Hmmmmmm......

Here's more, a couple of these a bit longer; the narrators vary a bit this time, and no, they are not in any sort of tight, chronological order.

--

2 - Science Fiction

Fandom: original

Characters: Jan, Aarne, Kristian

Word Count: 407

“A bottle of wine, and another of brandy. And something to eat... Chicken? Don't you have anything better? Even cold beef? I don't care where you get it, just get me something proper to eat!” Jan's voice echoed to the small back room of the restaurant, loud and excited enough to snap Aarne and Kristian off one of their neverending debates on Marxism.

Holding a cheap-looking newspaper of sorts in his left hand and a bottle of wine in his right, he stumbled inside. Obviously he had had something to drink already.

”You won the lottery, Jan?” Aarne raised an eyebrow. He hand hung his coat on the back of his chair and was sitting in his typical position, one foot crooked with the meticulously polished shoe resting on his knee, leaning back far enough to make the chair sway on only two legs, his thick, brown hair smoothed and shining like the movie stars have. A little bit of ash fell from his cigarrette on his vest, making him curse while he brushed it off with a sharply folded handkerchief.

”Good day, gentlemen! See this!” Jan was folding open the newspaper, when his breath started to hitch. Slowly he tilted his head back, his coral-pink nostrils widening. ”Hih... huh... damb it!” He sniffled deeply and tried rubbing his nose into his arm, while Kristian got up to take the bottle and the paper from his hands. ”Huhhh... Issch! H'knnngcht! H'knght! E'ssscht!”

Jan was holding his wrist under his nose, his eyes still squeezed shut, and leaned his free hand to the table. ”H... H'ng-sscht!” He groaned and rubbed first his nose, and then his whole face, with his hands. ”Sorry.”

Aarne had picked up the paper. ”You mean this one? Ten poems on the grandeur of future technologies”

”That's the ode,” Jan muttered, gratefully accepting the handkerchief which Kristian, with a look of disdain on his face, was handing to him.

”You look awful, Jan.”

”My hayfever is driving me crazy today. I'm tempted to claw my whole face off to stop this itching.”

”No useless litter of grass and trees; just strenght of concrete, poetry of steel...” Aarne lowered the paper. ”You could have given this a subtitle; War on Trees, perhaps?”

Jan sat, or practically crumbled down, on a chair, and buried his face in his hands. He was still sniffling. ”He... Esscht! H'sccht! … those damb trees!”

12 – Poison

Fandom: original

Characters: Kristian, Leevi

Word Count: 142

I swear I could have felt the gentle smell of his timid, lingering youth, if this ridiculous ailment hadn't dammed up my sinuses, depriving me of sensations of both smell and taste, as so close he was to me, this Leevi, this little friend, little deer, so close and so irrefutably alive. I hated him with passion for witnessing the sorry state of my lodgings, and of myself; yet even more for the shameful pleasure I took in feeling his hands on my burning face and chest; so cool, like a forest pond, and just as playful, just as fair. And for a moment I wanted to poison it all with an obscenity or another, just to make it go away, but when he saw me fighting out a sound from my aching throat, he sealed my mouth with a touch, and Kristian, sleep.

88 – Tattoo

Fandom: original

Characters: Kristian, Leevi

Word Count: 477

”H'nnngsh!” Kristian landed a shuddering sneeze into his elbow. He sneezed again when I was pulling his dripping wet coat off, this time without the chance to cover. ”H'essch-ngh! H'esccht!”

”Bless you, Kristian! We have to get you off these wet clothes,” I said. He was drunk and running a fever, shivering and swaying uncontrollably – ready to pass out, I thought to myself while stripping off his shirt. But that's when something caught my eye, unpredictable enough to make my jaw drop.

”What's... you... have a tattoo?”

He straightened up immediately, wrapping the soaked shirt back around himself, and put his hands on my shoulders. There was a frightening gleam in his eyes, which, I suspect, wasn't all due to fever.

”Don't... you ever tell anyone what you saw.”

”What I saw...” I repeated, dumbstruck. He stepped back and tumbled onto his bed. I watched as he sat there, shaking like a reed caught in autumn winds. He kept sniffling wetly, and after a while pressed his wrist to his nose, going through his pockets to find his handkerchief. But it looked like his hanky was just as soaked as the rest of him; I offered him mine, which he accepted with a silent nod, and while he cleaned some of the congestion I wrapped my coat around his shoulders to warm him even just a little.

When he had calmed down a bit, I couldn't help asking. ”Where did you get it?”

He hesitated for a while. ”Back when I was overseas, in the new world, I...” suddenly his face twitched, like a sharp wave of pain had washed over him. ”I was in prison. I though I would never see the open sky again.”

I can't even imagine what sort of expression I might have worn that moment. I kneeled down, grabbing his arms with my hands, and he didn't resist. He sat quietly with his lips parted, sniffling thickly every few seconds. The long, refined ovals of his nostrils looked miserably raw and wet, and his face was glowing with fever. ”How... why...” I stuttered.

”There was a fire. I managed to escape, like most of us who survived.”

”But what did you do... to get there?!” I whispered.

His eyes fluttered shut. ”Go away,” he heaved.

I shook my head. ”I won't judge you.”

Clenching his teeth, he let his head fall on my shoulder, guided by my hand. He gasped, a barely audible whimper escaping him. ”Go away,” he croaked painfully. Suppressed coughs shook his frame, leaving him breathless.

”I won't judge you,” I repeated, while still holding him. He was so warm, so sick, so anguished. As you have sentenced yourself into solitude with your secret already, I wanted to add, but I knew my voice would have quivered too much.

[littlesneezer18]

ZOMG! Stellar drabbles! I love them! Thank you Shiny, and please please us with some more! *bows infininte number of times*

[Vetinari]

Dark and wet and Shiny!

[VoOs]

OhmygodLOVEyes?! *giggles like a madwoman*

These are simply beautiful. Do you mind if I keep Jan here for a while? We have buds on the trees over here. *bats eyelashes innocently*

[krazykat]

How can someone so shiny write fiction so dark? Absolutely adored tattoo.

[doggo]

littlesneezer18 - Thank you !!!

Vetinari - wetnes... *drools* vetness... *drools more*

VoOs - I'm soo glad you appreciate! Feel free to do whatever you want with Jan.... or any one of them for that matter

Krazykat - It's no secret that I have a liking for a bit dark edge in fics. Thank you.

Short ones this time.

--

19 – Promise

Fandom: original

Characters: Kristian, Leevi

Word Count: 100

”I'll leave only if you promise to stay in bed.”

Kristian frowned. ”You should go see your professor. You have things to do.” His voice was rough and husky, mangled by days of coughing and sneezing. His face looked almost as pale as his pillow, only the glow of lingering fever and the pitiful redness reaching down from his cold-abused nose to the curve of his his lip reminding that one was lookig at indeed a face, not an ivory mask.

”Promise to stay under covers.”

Kristian turned to face the wall, hiding his irritation, and nodded slowly.

60 – Bike

Fandom: original

Characters: Jan, Aarne

Word Count: 100

”Aarne, I think I'b gonna....”

”What?”

”We have to sto...ho..!”

”Jan you idiot, stop swaying!

“He... Hisscht! He'isft!”

“Fuck! Did you just have to bang your head into my back like that? Ah, my ankle... Jan, you all right?”

“Oh please help me out, Aarne! This ditch is full of wee... Essscht! weeds... “

“Push the tandem up first.”

“Hesscht! Iffscht! …oh please, Aarde, just help...”

“Bike first, Jan.”

“But it's... Isscht! Slippery!”

“Yuck! your nose is dripping. See, I have a hankie up here. Push!”

59 – Mother

Fandom: original

Characters: Leevi, Aarne

Word Count: 100

“You don't need to mother me,” Leevi grumbled, pressing the pointy tip of his rosy, sniflly nose with his crooked forefinger.

“Of course, no-one's mothering you. So, I'll read aloud this dialogue, Death of a Poet, written by me and Kristian...”

Leevi slid his hand down onto his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. “Huh.. Hissschaw!” a silent moan escaped him while he searched for his handkerchief, snivelling in the most pathetic, endearing way.

“Oh you poor thing, you need to lie down?”

“I'b ok, Aarne! Just continue.”

“Kristian, get him a cup of tea.”

[Kiwifruit]

ZOMG these drabbles are taking over!!!! In a very good way...

Shiny, I really like reading your drabbles; they're different...and original...and hot. Looking forward to more!!

[doggo]

WolfMotaki - thank you! I'm quite obsessed with writing these right now, so there will definately be more soon

Soon like.. now.

--

43 – Contagion

Fandom: original

Characters: Leevi, Kristian

Word Count: 150

I'm not sure which part is worst.

It's obvious that Leevi would have stayed healthy, would he not had insisted on looking after me. That humiliation is painful enough on it's own; but knowing that I have... infected him... is disgusting. It's unforgivable. Unforgivable.

And yet I feel this need to strangle Aarne with my bare hands every time I see how he cares for that poor little fellow, stroking his shoulders and fussing about like an old lady. What right does he have?

And yet I can't return the favor. Last night lay awake, imagining his feverish, shivering body next to mine. I could never do it. I grit my teeth and hit the wall with my fist, observing lazily the mixture of plaster and blood in the cold moonlight. I am indecent. I am dirt.

I wish I believed in any god, who would care to help me.

[Kiwifruit]

Woooow...epic I love the contagion prompt...

[Vetinari]

a silent moan escaped him while he searched for his handkerchief, snivelling in the most pathetic, endearing way.

Endearing indeed. Aren't these addictive?

And "Contagion" too. Just wonderful.

[VoOs]

Mwahaha, I wish you could see how fast I dive for this thread everytime I see it has been updated.

I just love the atmosphere in these. That unique, elegant, Shiny dark touch. Mmmm.

Oh yeah, and Jan sneezing both himself and Aarne off the tandem? That one's just priceless.

[Selene]

Love the idea of your Wahnbriefe Club! The setting is very interesting and adds a special, elegant tone to all of the stories!

So far, I liked "Bike" and "Contagion" the most. "Bike" cause the idea is just so gorgeously funny and "Contagion" because of the feelings of guilt, mixed with the inability of showing concern and true feeling which you described here and which add a wonderful profound facet to Kristian's character! Just stunning!

[Natto]

Oh wow, these are lovely! I particularly liked "contagion" (I think that one's bound to be one of my favorites for everyone's drabbles...) But really, it was great. I loved the mixture of guilt and attraction and inability, it was all perfect. And 'mother' was adorable. Wonderful work, I love these characters!

[doggo]

Thank you for comments, darlings! I cherish them, I really do.

And don't foget to check the lovely drawing VoOs made of Kristian here.

Now, to not to let this die prematurely...

64 – Unfair

Fandom: original

Characters: Aarne, Jan

Word Count: 100

It is so unfair!

Regardless of how much fun Aarne makes of me when my hayfever takes over, regardless of all the cruel jokes and jabs, all teasing and taunts – now, when the situation would allow me some retaliation I... can't.

He has sat over there all night, as out of spite. He came in full of cold; tousle-headed, red-eyed, plodding and sneezing and cursing. Yet all I can tell him are these soft words, far more concerned than I would want, or he.

Am I just fundamentally unable to laugh at misery, to strike whom is stricken? So unfair!