Drabble Self-Challenge - Day 8!

[thistledear]

Yes, I'm far behind. I'm aware. :| Let's say I'm not planning on trying this again any time soon.

Day 8

 

005. Outsides

 

"Explain to me again why I'm sending my kids to preschool for half a day?" Iolathe asked, wiping down Wren's hands. Rose was hoping he'd gotten into red paint and that wasn't someone's blood.

"You're trying to socialize them so they'll stop trying to eat people?"

"Pfft. I never went to preschool and I learned not to eat people. Eventually."

"Is there something wrong with the preschool?"

"They told Issa to stop coloring outside the lines! She's THREE. Damn fascists," Iolanthe grumbled as she started wiping down his face next. Rose was starting to lose faith in her paint theory.

 

 

015. Blue

 

Wasp had a lot of tattoos, and Rose found it unsettling, yet undeniably cool, that all of them were older than the country she lived in. His body was covered in ink, most of the markings swirls of blue—Celtic influence, she thought, or maybe the other way around. Clan marks, he'd told her. Other, smaller marks were earned marks. He had one for killing a troll—a troll!—in the shape of a pair of tusks. Others were sigils for luck, safe flight, or strength.

They were there in their shared dreams, and they were even better up close.

 

 

020. Colourless

 

Isolde, at least, had her golden eyes to break up all the white that composed her coloring. Wren, on the other hand, was solid white. Not even a speck of black in his eyes to hint where his pupils might be. It gave him the look of a blind cave creature that had never known light.

But there was no doubt the kid could see. Rose could feel his intent, unsettling gaze across the room where he sat with a pile of blocks. He was too quiet, too calm, and frankly, the kid freaked her out.

Iolanthe really owed her.

 

 

030. Death

 

"Shit!"

"Fuck?"

Rose bared her teeth in an angry snarl, kicking the scalloped edging around the flower bed. "Shitfuck! Look at this! Everything's dead!"

Wasp hovered above the flowerbed, frowning at the mess of flowers. The pink-and-purple bed was definitely a bust. The veronica, liatris, garden phlox—all a shriveled brown mess.

"They were fine yesterday," she said furiously. "What the fuck could have happened in one night?"

Wasp flew up and perched on her shoulder, uneasy. "I think the ground's gone seriously bad. You might want to call Bree."

"Why?"

"Because she hangs out with a lot of witches."

 

 

047. Heart

 

Rose was enjoying the cool autumn night air when she heard the rustle of feathers behind her. She glanced over one shoulder and groaned. "Go AWAY."

"Aw, you're breaking my heart."

She turned and rolled her eyes at the incubus. "You don't have one."

"Hm," Aerael considered it with a contemplative tilt of his head and broke into a wide, frightening grin. "You're probably right. Should I go find one?"

She ruffled her hair in an aggravated gesture and glared at him. "Exactly what do I have to do to get you to go away?"

His grin widened.

"Besides that."

 

 

053. Earth

 

Child of sun, child of earth…

Rose shook her head as if to dislodge the phrase, but it decided to keep going.

Child of branch, of leaf and bark…

She looked up at the trees around her, branches dancing in the wind.

Child of oak with stately girth…

"Um…hey Wasp?"

"What's wrong?"

Child of man, listen! Hark!

She chewed her lower lip worriedly. "Wasp, I think the trees are singing to me."

"Seriously? Like with words and everything?"

"Yeah. And I think I want to go home now, because I've got enough weird shit on my plate without singing trees."

 

 

069. Thunder

 

"Oh no," Rose groaned. "Hear that?"

"Thunder?"

"Dammit. I knew those clouds meant rain." She threw up her hands and pulled off the heavy canvas gloves, tossing them into her gardening basket. "That's it. I'm going in for the day. I don't feel like an anxiety attack today, so I'm going to go chug half the whiskey, get out the sleep mask so I don't have to see it, and go nap."

"Have you ever considered therapy for your lightning phobia?"

"Lightning is dangerous. It's fine to be wary of it."

"Wary is one thing. Drunk and unconscious is another."

 

 

073. Light

 

The morning was a searing, A-bomb burst of agony against her eyes, and Rose wasn't having any of it. She tossed the blanket over her head. Unfortunately, her sadist of a somewhat-granny wasn't about to let that stand.

"Goooooo into the liiiiiight, Rose. Goooo into the liiiiiiiight."

"Fuck off, Bonnie," she groaned. Her head felt like it was trying to split open.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"Bonnnnn-neeeee…"

"The wages of sin is a puking sick hangover, you drunk. I could go get Aerael? I always feel better after an Aerael fuck."

"…Shit, I'm almost sick enough to consider it."

 

084. He

 

"You know, one fuck and he'd probably go away," Wasp said.

Rose spared a glare for him and went back to staring nastily at the incubus. Aerael just smiled sweetly and waved at her. She turned her back on him and folded her arms.

"That is not happening," she said, "and what kind of faery polyamory bullshit idea is that?"

"More like polyfuckery. I'm just saying—he's not going to give up until he either gets a piece or you hit menopause. And I'm not sure the menopause thing will stop him. I've heard stories about 90-year-old grannies dying happily."

 

 

090. Home

 

"We never had plants when I was growing up," Rose said, bent over an ivy that was slowly taking the west side of the room. "Mom wouldn't let them in the house. Her dates learned pretty damn quick not to get her flowers, because they'd be in the trash outside within an hour."

"Overcompensating for a plant-less childhood much?" Bonnie asked, amused at the sheer number of potted plants sitting about the living room. A plant in every room and a prize-winning garden in the back, and she still brought new ones home.

"It's just—it isn't home without them."

Comments

[ks-claw.livejournal.com]

nothing like dying happily <3