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 Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2007 10:25 am
He was a funeral. Why was he at a funeral? For one thing, he was a clown. Even though he wanted to be serious, it just wasn't bred in him to be gloomy and glum. He was the kind of person who always liked to make other people laugh, but at a funeral, that would be taboo. Funerals were supposed to be places to mourn for the beloved deceased, and the clown wondered why he had even been invited. It had never been his way to weep or cry or drown himself in tears, but here he was, at a funeral, where that was to be expected.
Grr.
So what was he going to do now? If he started laughing in the middle of the service, people would think him insensitive, and he was anything but insensitive.
Well, not cold or mean either.
Or any of those other negative terms.
He was a clown.
Simple as that.
Meaning.. he was always happy. Cheerful. Pleasant.
Not the kind of clown that liked to scare little kids at night or any of that other good stuff.
He knew clowns like that, and he disliked them, feeling they were disrespecting the trade. If they were frightening, they were not doing their job right. If they were doing it on purpose, they were definitely not suited to be a clown.
An FBI agent or an interrogator would be a better job for them in his opinion, but then again, what did a clown's opinion really matter? All he was really supposed to do was make people laugh and forget about their worries. To express what he really thought would destroy the air he was supposed to give off, and being someone who adhered to the rules of the trade, the clown was unable to do such a thing willing.
Without realizing it however... that was a different story.
The clown tapped his finger against his chin and looked around at the black-swathed crowd. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Was dressed in black, but that was the general rule of funerals. That was what he didn't get. Why did this country mourn for the dead? Where he was from, they celebrated the death of a loved one because they knew he was moving on to a better place. They appreciated the fact that the person had lived a long, happy life, even if it hadn't exactly been perfect. Who wanted a perfect world after all?
No one he knew.
Then again.. how many people did he really know?
Being a clown, he didn't get to get personal very often. That was one of the un-perks of his trade. He was always a performer, even when he wasn't working. People who saw him walking on the street everyday would always ask him if he were a clown. Just something about the air around him constantly made people laugh.
Was it the way he walked? The way he talked? The way he dressed?
What did it matter?
Didn't he have the right to dress, talk, or walk the way he wanted to?
Did he criticize other people?
Oh, all the time, but it was always in a satire way. He was always poking fun at them. The people who talked to him however were always serious, and they were always trying to change him.
He was a clown!
He changed often enough on the job. Make-up, clothing, mood, personality, anything a person could name he could do.
Just what were the people at this funeral thinking now? He wasn't dressed up as a clown, but he knew they knew he was a clown. Did they think he was laughing his head off at death? That he didn't care at all about the poor widow and her children? That he was here merely so others would not think him respectful? That he was rude because he was wearing dark blue instead of black? That he thought the person deserved to die?
The clown sighed and bowed his head. All those questions he had just raised up, weren't they all defense mechanisms in their own way?
To think brightly of the world was a lot better than mourning it. The thing he most wanted to do was start dancing on the coffin of the deceased, but to these people, it would be sacreligious and he would be kicked out, and that was something he definitely couldn't have happen.
He needed to be here. He wanted to be here, depressing place though it was and completely not the kind of place he was supposed to go to. The only thing he wanted to change was the mood of the place. He knew the person wouldn't want people to weep over his death. It just wasn't his way.
Only clowns could understand each other.
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2007 10:27 am
Ack. Ack. Ack. I don't know if I properly led up to the ending, which isn't almost complete but not quite, but eh. Oh well. ==;;;
Erm.
Prompt.
Fighting with your computer.
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2008 2:10 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2008 2:25 pm
Grrr... Stupid thing. Why was he, a SOLDIER 1st class no less, forced to deal with such crap on a daily basis. It irked him in ways no one thought possible, considering his easy going nature.
Mako eyes glared heavily at the taunting screen. He jabbed the buttons on his mouse, willing the computer to accept his damn commands so he could be done with his report. It was a Friday night. He had better things to do than to sit behind a screen and stare at his report, which was two weeks late, but still! It was the principle of the thing.
Staring out of his window into the dark skies, he wondered if he could toss his computer out the window and say someone had broken into his office. They'd wonder why his computer wasn't stolen but rather destroyed. Of course, he'd tell them that he had to defend himself and the unfortunate device happened to be a casualty of the fight.
Sadly enough, the SOLDIER doubted the general would believe it. He didn't believe it when he said his materia had been stolen by a sticky fingered turk with flaming red hair or that a certain cadet resembled a chocobo, but said cadet was much cuter than a chocobo any day. He wished he could spend time with the cute chocobo even if he was as dull as Sephiroth at times. Seriously, he thought they might have been related, but considering their appearance and all that, he pushed that out of his head. For all appearances, the cadet resembled him more with their spiky hair.
He attempted to send it through once more, but his computer crashed, sending a shower of sparks and nearly catching his paperwork on fire, which he wished. "Great, now I have to type up that damn report again. What do I look like a secretary?" He yelled at the now smouldering computer.
Seconds later, his door opened to reveal an exhausted General. "Zachary, go home."
Zack blinked, looking up at his superior. "Eh?"
"You're no used to me like that, and we can't replace your computer until tomorrow morning," Sephiroth said smoothly. He had heard the frequent bangings from his second in command's office. It wasn't hard with the thin walls and his enhanced hearing.
"What about my report?" Zack questioned uneasily. There was no way Sephiroth would let him off this easily especially with him being so late for a mission report.
Sephiroth waved him off. "You have the written version. I'll have a secretary type it for you tomorrow morning."
Silver blue eyes blinked as realization dawned on him. Why hadn't he thought of it in the first place? He could get one of their secretaries to type up the damn report. His job was to wield a sword, not a pen. That was more of Seph's position. "Well, in that case, I'm going home. If I get there early enough, I'll be able to molest Cloud."
Sephiroth allowed himself to roll his eyes. No one was around, and if there were, he'd deny it.
"Seph, where are you going?" Zack said once he finally stopped laughing maniacally.
"Where else? I'm going with you. Someone has to protect that poor cadet from you." Sephiroth said in a cool manner.
"Hey!"
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2008 2:28 pm
Gotta say, I love writing for Seph and Zack. They mesh so well together.
Prompt: secret admirer
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 1:46 am
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 2:00 am
The two graduates were the only ones in the hall of the Shinigami Academy. As graduates they only had morning classes left, but even the afternoon classes had ended long ago. By now most students had returned to their dorms, or were elsewhere in the Seireitei, save for Renji Abarai and Izuru Kira.
"You, too?" Renji asked after he finished skimming the notice his former classmate had handed him. Izuru blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"Momo and I were both assigned to 5th company as well," the red head said as he handed the paper back to his old classmate.
Izuru's eyes widened slightly for a moment. Though he knew Renji well enough to know that he wasn't a lair, he couldn't help but ask, "Really?" He couldn't believe his luck. By chance or not, the three were usually together on their assignments, but Kira didn't think they'd be in the same company. And, while he was certainly happy he was in the same squad as Renji, it was really the thought of being able to remain with Momo that excited him. He let out a laugh. "The three of us are inseparable, aren't we?"
"Yeah," Renji muttered. He wasn't looking at Kira. He was leaning against the wall, starring out the open window. And he didn't look too happy.
'Whats wrong?" Kira asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer.
"Nothing. Just not in the company I was hoping for."
Kira looked out the window aswell now. "What squad did you want to be in?" he asked quietly. "Thirte-"
He was cut off when an excited voice called out from behind, "Kira!"
Both boys turned their gaze to Momo Hinamori, who was running towards them with a tomato red face, a paper in her hand, and a shihakusho over her arm. "Look, look!" She shoved the paper towards Kira. "I'm in fifth company! Captain Aizen's company! I can't believe it," she gushed, like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Suddenly everything got a little darker as Kira remembered Hinamori's love for Aizen. Aizen was kind to Momo, but anyone could tell when they saw him look at Hinamori that it wasn't love reflected in his eyes. It was just the general kindness he showed everyone. Anyone could see that, except Momo.
He was in love with Momo. Renji was in love with a noble. Momo was in love with a Captain. It was ironic. It was sad. But it didn't seem like any of them would become anything more than secret admirers.
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Posted: Mon Jan 07, 2008 2:02 am
Hm. I suppose it's alright for a 15-minute drabble.
Now, a prompt? How about. . .
An all nighter, extreme amounts of caffiene, and a confession.
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