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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) penknife | |
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First lines drabble meme, gacked from musesfool and a bunch of other people: your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write a drabble with the same first line as one of my stories, and leave it in my comments here. Any fandom, any pairing or gen, and you can interpret "drabble" as loosely as you want. Twenty first lines behind the cut, since I didn't have time to pull all of them: Neville pauses outside the gate of the Burrow. There's a knock on the door of the bedroom at Grimmauld Place where Remus has been sleeping. "You shouldn't be here," Remus said. Harry still can't figure out why. Remus sat on the edge of the fountain, looking tired. When Draco Malfoy drifts through the wall of the potions classroom, Snape is surprised enough to drop his quill, but not surprised enough to knock over the ink. At James and Lily’s funeral, Remus couldn’t listen to the eulogy; he didn’t want to remember a word that was said. Harry brings Remus the envelope of pictures in the fall. It was three days into the voyage, and the American still hadn't shown himself. They'd worked since breakfast time and managed by dint of heroic efforts to make one bedroom livable. Bobby watched the new kid, trying to figure out what he thought of him. Kitty knows the evening is taking a turn for the worse when Jubilee switches off the TV abruptly and says "This is boring. Let's play a game." Furniture is heavy. Most of Magneto's furniture is metal. They didn’t talk about the phone call all through breakfast. The morning sun spills like honey across the bed through the half-open balcony curtains. Xavier’s office was cold. Scott can't ever forget that there's an alternative. Erik looked out over the sea of tents. It's clear and cold on Halloween, a great night for trick-or-treating. ***** I want to write some for other people's first lines, too. We'll see how much time I have today. Tags: memes
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From: musesfool |
Date: October 6th, 2004 09:59 am (UTC) |
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205 words
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There's a knock on the door of the bedroom at Grimmauld Place where Remus has been sleeping.
He opens the door, brushing sleep from his eyes, to see Hermione standing there. Her face is composed, but her hands twist round each other like writhing snakes, and her voice is just a bit shaky when she says, “I can’t sleep.”
The house sighs and groans around them, dying, the way its family is dying.
Remus doesn’t speak, just opens the door wide and lets her in. Into the room, Into the bed. He knows why she’s here, and he’s willing to give it to her. He should be appalled -- he's sure Molly would be, and probably Ron and Harry as well. He tries not to think about Sirius, though the idea of seducing schoolgirls would probably have appealed, simply because of how wrong it is. And how unexpected. Sirius liked that combination, and he liked it in Remus especially.
“The soul of a pirate in the body of a librarian,” Sirius used to say as he kissed and licked his way around said body, his laughter making Remus vibrate.
As he joins Hermione in bed, he wonders if the same could be said of her.
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Erik looked out over the sea of tents. A cluster of tattered old things that had been borrowed from Charles, and one giant silver monstrosity, which appeared to be more suited for a scientific mission to Mars than one night at a commercial campsite. Erik suspected that Warren actually did believe he was ‘roughing it’ with the rest of them, and that was why he had only installed one generator and partial indoor plumbing.
All the children were inside the silver tent, of course. Behind their snickering Erik could hear soft, unfamiliar voices and the tell-tale electrostatic signals of a television. Someone was using a microwave.
Erik frowned, and the generator gave out. The tent went suddenly dark, and then the entire shape of the structure warped. Flashlights clicked on, casting shadows of the children against what he assumed was fabric. Erik could see Hank scrabbling to keep his grip on the smooth ceiling.
Hank fell, knocking one of the figures over. There was a girlish squeal, and then the large tent rose several shaky inches. It crashed back to the ground and the students scrambled out. Jean was grinning.
Erik sighed and looked to Charles. “This was never a good idea,” he said.
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At James and Lily’s funeral, Remus couldn’t listen to the eulogy; he didn’t want to remember a word that was said.
At Sirius' funeral, he gave it himself -- a handful of silent, angry, anguished words under an empty sky. He stood alone, and there was no marker, for there was nothing to bury, except years of memories he couldn't let go.
No one else will hear this, he thought, staring up at the clouds where Sirius, his namesake star, should have been visible. No one else knew you, not like this. Not like me....
He stood silent and remembered, under the unforgiving, blank sky. Years of friendship, companionship, anger, love, lust, frustration, pain -- words spoken, touches exchanged, and just one kiss remembered: the first. It was -- they were -- young and fumbling, a little rushed, sweeter and hotter than anything... and not enough. Never enough.
That, after all, was Sirius.
Remus blinked up at the sky, murmuring something, and felt a quiet rush of magic through him that spread out from raised fingertips. Above him, the winds shifted. All at once the clouds swept away -- and above him glimmered a thousand, ten thousand, uncountable stars, brilliant despite their distance through space and time... even though he knew the stars he saw might already have burned out.
Sirius, the brightest, stayed shining in his vision long after he'd turned away.
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WAY longer than a drabble -- sorry! :) (624 words)
"You shouldn't be here," Remus said.
"Fuck you," Sirius replied. He angrily brushed his shoulder past Remus', knocking the other man back from the doorway of the dilapidated flat. His steps took him to the middle of the living room, where he stopped and turned around. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Remus sighed and closed the door. He leaned back against it, closing his eyes. He didn't want to look at his friend. "Because I knew you'd be upset," he said quietly. "I knew you'd come barging in here like a saviour once you found out where I lived, brandishing your mighty sword and rearing your white horse and declaring that you'd save me from the depths of poverty-stricken hell." He opened his eyes then, challenging Sirius with his eyes.
Challenging a grinning Sirius with his eyes.
A snort spilled out of Sirius. He assumed a relaxed stance, then, his arms spread out in submission. "You just made me out to be a much better person than I expected, Moony. I was angry because you borrowed my green jumper without asking. I've known about you living here for months."
Remus stared, surprised. "Then . . . you don't care that I've been living here and that I haven't invited you over? That I didn't even tell you that I moved?"
Sirius shrugged. "You don't owe me any explanations, Moony," he said, his face drooping a little. "You have a right to your privacy."
So he doesn't even care, Remus thought. He sighed. "Sorry about your jumper; it was at James' and I was cold and you weren't around."
He's hiding so many things, Sirius thought at he watched Remus head towards the bedroom to get the jumper. He caught it as Remus reentered and tossed it to him.
"I didn't have the time to wash it," Remus said gruffily as he left the room again. "Sorry. Do you want some water? I'm out of tea."
"No," Sirius said sadly. "No, I think I should go." He felt an ache in his chest as he looked around the nearly-empty living room. The paint was peeling on the walls, the carpet missing in small, scattered patches. He wanted to buy Remus some nice furniture. He wanted Remus to move in with HIM. He wanted . . . but Remus would refuse, because he treated niceness and even friendship as charity sometimes, especially lately.
"Halloween's coming," Remus commented softly as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the edge. "Do you have plans?"
Sirius licked his lips as he took his time, thinking. He wanted to spend it with Remus. He wanted it to be like old times, the blokes going out for a butterbeer, laughing and carousing and having fun. He wanted to ask Remus over, play a game of Wizard's Chess, allow his bare feet to climb over Remus' own. He wanted to touch Remus like he used to, back when they were better friends. Back when they trusted each other.
"Because I'm going out with some friends of mine," Remus said suddenly, sharply, his face hardening into a mask. "I won't be back until the next day."
"What friends?" Sirius demanded without meaning to sound that way.
Remus lifted his eyes from the floor to look at Sirius. "Weren't you about to leave?"
"Moony . . . "
"I have some things to do, Sirius," Remus said, walking to the door and holding it open. "Have a nice Halloween."
Sirius left, a pang in his stomach and his chest aching with longing and sadness and the memories of good times long past. "Goodbye, Moony."
When the door shut, Remus sighed and leaned against the cold, hard wood. "Goodbye, Sirius," he muttered softly.
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title: Why You SHould Choose Minions Carefully
author: lisa roquin
word count: 189
When Draco Malfoy drifts through the wall of the potions classroom, Snape is surprised enough to drop his quill, but not surprised enough to knock over the ink.
"Mister Malfoy?"
The ghostly boy merely glared at him.
"Is there a reason for this visit?"
"Yes,"
"Do you care to inform me of what it is?"
"My body is behind the Hogs Head Tavern in Hogsmeade."
"I see," Snape managed. "How did that come about?"
The boy's jaw twitched. If he was still corporeal Snape had no doubt he would be able to hear the grinding of Draco's teeth. "Greg,"
"Mister Goyle?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Did he manage to kill you?"
"No, I was still breathing when he and Vince ran off like the two idiots they are. He tried to put a pain hex on a rat. The hex misfired and struck me," Draco waved a hand at his incorporeal form. " And this is what happened."
"We must go see, Professor Dumbledore, and in the future, you should chose your lackeys more carefully, Mr. Malfoy. Certainly someone with a bit more intelligence than Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe."
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I said I was going to bed. And I was going to go to bed. But I just can't ignore a challenge....
439 words, pre-movies. Actually fits in disturbingly well with my Psalm Challenge fic, provided that I ever get around to finishing the bloody thing.
Furniture is heavy.
Ororo wishes she'd remembered that before deciding to move into the attic.
She also wishes that Jean and her oh-so-convenient telekinesis were around, but Jean suddenly remembered this morning that she had to make an emergency trip into the city for stuff. 'You know. That... stuff. That I need.'
The boys are all busy watching something inane on the television downstairs; thin sounds of canned laughter drifts up the stairwell. It would be immature for her to move the pounding rain from outdoors to the rec room. She's above that.
She keeps telling herself this with every stair she climbs, with every inch that she and her ridiculously heavy burden gain.
'Immature.'
Thud.
'Not going to do it.'
Thud.
'Who needs them, anyway?'
Thud.
'Fucking – '
Skreeeech.
The wall now has a lovely new scratch-mark, the stairwell has a new obstacle lodged firmly within its confines, and the English language has a few new swear words.
'Would you like some help, Storm?'
The voice drifts up from below, and although she can't see the face that accompanies it, she has no problem picking its owner. She also has no problem picking the note of dry amusement.
She swipes at the dirty hair hanging in her face. 'Nothing you can do – it's not metal.'
Footsteps approach, ringing hollow on the wooden stairs. 'My dear child, do you think me so far gone as to refuse help to a lady such as yourself? Surely you know me better than that.'
She doesn't respond; merely waits until he's in place, and then gives the command to lift. Between the two of them and some rather creative cursing, they eventually manage to wiggle the sofa chair free, and force it into the attic above.
Ororo flops down onto her mattress. 'Never… moving… again.'
Professor Lehnsherr looks at the sofa with disdain, before stiffly lowering himself down onto it. 'And people wonder why most of my furniture is metal.'
'Professor?' She focuses her eyes, at least for a moment. 'Thanks.'
'I was happy to help.'
His mouth curves slightly in an evil smile; a wave of his hand, and the ever-present background hum of television noise from downstairs suddenly cuts off, quickly followed by the very loud protests of three teenage boys.
'I'll fix it once they've moved the rest of your things in.'
She laughs tiredly, and he stands and tips his imaginary hat to her, before turning and descending the stairs.
She drags herself to her feet, and stares at the dreary view beyond the window. The rain lightens up a little.
Perhaps today isn't too bad, after all.
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I'm really not sure where this came from. X-men movieverse future ficlet (and btw, when I say Kate I'm talking about Kitty).
They've worked since breakfast time and managed by dint of heroic efforts to make one bedroom livable. Everyone had told them that rebuilding the mansion was a fool's errand, a herculean task, and Kate can't help but agree with them a little bit. Even with Rogue's newly acquired telekenesis, it's painfully slow going; the mansion had been hit the hardest during the war, and then been abandoned for... years. Almost a decade. Kate doesn't like to think about how much time had passed since the war; it makes her feel old and helpless.
She and Rogue eat lunch outside. There's an unspoken agreement between them not to touch the kitchen, the library, the common room, any of the parts of the mansion that hold sentimental memories yet; it hurts enough to see the old freshman dorms falling apart and covered in grafitti and dust, and Kate couldn't bear to see her favorite parts of the school vandalized and falling apart.
She hasn't told Rogue, but she thinks the mansion is haunted. She can almost hear Xavier's thoughts whispering in her mind, and she often catches herself looking for Scott or Dr. Grey out of the corner of her eye. Never mind that they are all gone, long gone, and died thousands of miles away from there, besides.
She and Rogue are the last of the X-men. It sounds much more glorious and honorable than it is, but they figure that it means they have a duty to at least attempt to make Xavier's dream live on. The school will never be what it used to be, but Kate hopes that maybe, someday, it will at least offer some sanctuary to others like them.
Kate watches Rogue eat (she herself never has much of an appetite these days). Rogue has born the years and the war more visually than Kate has: her eyes are hard and wild, more of her hair white, and her mouth always seems to be twisted in a bitter expression. Kate doesn't know how many people Rogue had to absorb during the war and after, but she knows it can't be easy to have that many voices in her head.
Rogue finishes, and they get back to work. That night in her bed, Kate closes her eyes and thinks that she can hear Xavier's voice, hovering on the edge of her mind. He seems to be giving his approval, and Kate smiles before falling asleep to dreams of war.
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Okay, I'm wandering in late with a story that actually contains the same characters as "Six Lessons in Living With Supervillains". But the plotbunny latched tight onto my ankles with that first line and wouldn't let go.
500 words. Does that still count as a drabble?
**
Most of Magneto's furniture is metal. This shouldn’t make any difference, or really be surprising, but it sure as hell doesn’t do anything to help the notion that everything in this house (base, John’s mind insists, or maybe even lair), including the people, is a potential weapon.
He kind of likes the idea of that. Xavier’s was all blunted edges, sanded-off corners, a tightrope with a safety net under it.
Still. He’s sure that any minute, the old guy is going to turn around and tell him it was all a trick. Throw him out, or worse. If Magneto was able and willing to bide all those months in prison, he’s able and willing to let his newest minion (no hesitation with that word) squirm for a few hours before warping the metal bed frame into a vise that squeezed or blades that stabbed, before the minion was even awake enough to react. With these thoughts in his head, there’s no way he can be anything less than completely awake, listening to the pacing footsteps on the other side of the door.
He didn’t even ask what I was doing here. simply opened the door and pointed at the set of metal bunk beds. He doesn’t say anything at all, and John knows this is because he doesn’t need to. He knew as soon as he asked, “What’s your real name?” and got the answer he was looking for. He wouldn’t have stopped the helicopter otherwise, that much is certain.
Maybe he even knew that John called himself “Pyro” for months, back at that place. New students always took a step away from him when he introduced himself. He and Bobby chortled about it later. That was before.
It was all before.
They tried to make him into the kind of mutant who would look out over the flaming wreckage on the Drakes’ lawn and be swamped by remorse. That was what they meant by “control” and “responsibility”. That was what they did to Bobby, to Rogue, to everyone there. Made them afraid of themselves.
They tried to do it to him, too. And he almost let them.
He wishes he could stop thinking. About how just because the Blackbird took off doesn’t mean that everyone’s safe. Just because he let them leave him behind doesn’t mean he definitely, really, absolutely doesn’t care if they’re safe.
About how just because Alkali Lake flooded doesn’t mean the humans won’t keep trying.
If I know that, then I belong here. It’s okay. Just let them try.
He’s not scared of them here. Or of himself. And he’s not scared of not being scared.
That’s what counts.
He can’t see a damn thing, but his fingers know exactly where on the night table to poke until they close around his lighter.
Maybe tomorrow it’ll be too late for second thoughts to even matter.
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| From: illmantrim |
Date: October 7th, 2004 08:36 am (UTC) |
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Got Your back - PG
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Furniture is heavy.
This is a fact that Piotr knows intimately. As the strongest of the X-men, he was part of the welcome team for new mutants and he ended up carrying heavy furniture to the new occupants rooms. He struggled with the large bureau and lugged it up the stairs, moving it past the corners slowly, hoping to avoid an incident like last week's near miss with Kitty.
This large bureau was especially large and heavy because it was made of solid steel, as was everything else in the new kid's room. Kodiak Rigel, the new kid with the hands that could destroy anything that wasn't metal.
He stepped up a stair, balancing the awkward weight and shape of the bureau when he stepped onto an icy patch. He felt his leg going out from under him and desperately tried to shift his weight. He tried to regain his balance but the weight of the bureau carried him over and he began to fall outward.
He heard a scream from below and twisted to see hat of course, now was when the Professor has chosen to have a group of reporters coming through on a tour and he and the heavy steel bureau were headed straight for them. He twisted in the air and hurled the bureau as far as he could and winced as it slammed into a wall and rebounded. He saw it falling towards the crowd with a kind of horror until a beam of red light shot out and slapped it out the windows he had been aiming for.
It was then he realized he wasn't falling but floating gently and slowly down, obviously in the grip of Marvel Girl's telekinesis.
as he landed and Cyclops and Marvel Girl came to his side, Cyclops' hand clasping Bobby's neck in a firm but seemingly friendly gesture, Piotr grinned mirthlessly.
"Thank you, comrades. Your rescue was timely."
"Of course, Piotr. Friends stand at each others' backs, always. Oh and after we clean this up, you and Bobby are scheduled for an impromptu Danger Room session."
Bobby gulped as Piotr grinned wider and they all turned to the reporters who were now coming closer.
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From: anenko |
Date: October 9th, 2004 02:41 pm (UTC) |
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"You shouldn't be here," Remus said.
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"You shouldn't be here," Remus said.
Peter was hunched and miserable on Remus’ front stoop. He looked old, Remus thought, and still so much like the Wormtail of old that Remus’ throat went tight with the memory of old pain (he’d held Wormtail’s weeping mum in his arms during the service; stiff and uncomfortable, and the only one there who’d *chosen* Peter rather than gaining him by default).
Peter was wringing his hands, and casting nervous glances over his shoulder. His voice came out as a squeak, more broken than the year at Hogwarts when his voice had first begun to change. “I know,” Peter said. “Moony. . . he was my friend, too.”
Remus closed his eyes, and thought about drawing his wand. “You shouldn’t be here,” Remus repeated. There was no forgiveness left in him, no pity.
“I know,” Peter said. “I’m sorry.”
Remus shut the door, quietly, firmly.
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From: seemag |
Date: October 10th, 2004 07:54 am (UTC) |
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A little late :-). This took a surprising turn I wasn't anticipating. Thanks for letting me play :-)
---
Xavier’s office was cold.
Strange, I thought, considering what a beautiful day it was outside. I could see the sun playing across the green lawns, the light breeze swaying the upper branches of the maple and oak trees edging the property and above, the sky was a deep blue, not a single cloud against it. I turned away, jammed my hands in my pockets and stared at the professor, then across at Logan, who curled his lip up at me. And then finally, at Jean.
"What do you remember?" Xavier asked very softly. Jean didn't look at him, me, or even at Logan. I stood with my back to the window, my arms folded against my chest. Logan stood opposite me, next to the door.
"Intensity." Jean's voice was low, but somehow it filled the Xavier's office. "And then nothing." She blinked and then shook her head. "No," she said, and then she looked at me. I felt a sudden twinge of memory, of *emotion*. "Cold," Jean said. She gave a little, somewhat self-conscious laugh. "The water, I can't even *tell* you how cold it was. It just swept me away, this powerful force, and I let myself go." She closed her eyes. "And then it was almost as if I was burning up instead, and then--" she let her hands fall gently in her lap "-- then it was nothing." Jean paused briefly. "Then, you found me."
Xavier tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. I hadn't believed him when he had told me Jean had somehow survived Alkali Lake. "I know what I saw," I had insisted. "She *died*, Professor. I watched her." Even six months after that watershed event, I still found it hard to contain my anger over what Jean had done. Yes, she had saved our lives, but she hadn't needed to sacrifice herself in the process. I had started to adjust to my new life, had discovered a new kind of comfort, and now the Professor was telling me it was all about to change. "I don't believe you," I had said hotly.
"You must trust me, Scott," Xavier had said coolly. "I believe Jean is alive. I believe I can save her."
That conversation had taken place just three days ago in this very office and now Jean sat in front of us. According to Xavier, she was still a massively powerful telepath and telekinetic, possibly even more powerful than he was. Only time will tell, Xavier had said, what a 'reborn' Jean Grey was capable of. In the meantime, he had told me, we must be patient, must help her away. And he gazed penetratingly at me and said, "Can I count on you?"
I had nodded, as the words had remained stuck in my throat.
"We are glad to have you back with us, Jean," Xavier said now, breaking into my thoughts. He folded his hands on the surface of his massive desk.
"You have been missed."
Jean nodded. When she spoke, her voice was soft, tentative. "Thank you, Professor. That--" she cleared her throat "-- it means... you do know, I mean, I do feel--" she stopped again.
Across the room, I looked at Logan. He tipped his head ever to the side, but his gaze remained firm on me. Flustered, I turned my attention back at Jean, saw that she'd seen me staring at Logan. Her lips turned up ever so slightly.
"Obviously, there have been some changes during your absence," Xavier said smoothly. "What you've been through, Jean, will require some period of adjustment. And we are here to help you. Myself, Logan, Ororo, and of course, Scott."
For the first time since we'd entered Xavier's office a half hour previously, Jean turned towards me. Her gaze was unflinching. I shivered.
"It goes without saying things have changed," she said without irony. "But I know I can rely on Scott." Her voice was cool, smooth, and confident now. "As I always have."
I cleared my throat. "Just tell me what you need," I said. My tone was crisper, more burlesque than I'd anticipated. Across the room, Logan jammed his hands deep into his pockets. And I knew then, that he too felt the chill in the air.
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"Furniture is heavy." Not exactly a great revelation, and as the smartest witch in her class, Hermione had hoped her brain would come up with something a little more enlightening. She stared down in annoyance at her now-throbbing foot and the completely unaffected wooden bureau.
"Kicking the bureau was rather pointless," her brain offered up, which really only added to her irritation. She searched her dorm room for something heavy to throw, something to break, something to smash, something to relieve her frustration other than the unfeeling furntiure, but nothing caught her eye but Lavender's horrible collection of porcelin unicorns and she knew better.
Finally she settled for the classic refuge of 15 year old girls everywhere: beating her pillow, seething in rage. "Stupid Harry. Stupid Ron. Stupid boys!" she cried. "Stupid furniture," her brain added helpfully.
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