I pity the fool who doesn't write a Mr. T drabble!
....okay, that doesn't sound convincing. Not even when I hear Mr. T (in my head) saying it.
Dang.
Mal ,'Safe'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
I pity the fool who doesn't write a Mr. T drabble!
....okay, that doesn't sound convincing. Not even when I hear Mr. T (in my head) saying it.
Dang.
Well, this is fiction. But not a Mr. T drabble. Sorry, Tep.
---
I'm sure you put a lot of thought into your outfit. The lacy top, the skirt short enough to show your stockings, the clearance-rack corset with frayed seams. (Don't worry; the flaws didn't show in the dim club light.) But you could have been wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt, and I would have picked you. Not because you were especially beautiful, sorry. Because you were wearing one of those ridiculous "blood vial" necklaces. A tiny glass bottle on a chain that signaled what your fantasy was. And later, when you're cold and still and paler than even your carefully-applied makeup, the sting of the red-dyed alcohol is as familiar to me as an after-dinner mint would have been to you.
Oooh, Jilli, nice and creeeepy.
Jilli, you gave me goose bumps.
beams
And....exactly 100! For the first time in forever. ____________________________________________
"Can I see it?"
I allow the student to pull back the edge of tee to expose the limned markings decorating each shoulder blade. I feel a delicate touch, and it pulls away as if afraid to press too hard.
"What are they?"
"One’s an old Irish design that stands for life, death and rebirth, and the other is an owl off an ancient Greek coin, a drachma. It's the symbol for Athena, the goddess of wisdom."
A pause. "Why did you get tattoos?"
A good question; my turn to pause. Think. Smile.
"It's jewelry you can never take off."
Good one, Jilli!
Ooh, Erin, I like that, jewelry you can never take off. Nifty way of looking at it.
Also 100 words exactly:
By the time you had been here a week, the other nurses and I all knew the story behind each piece.
The silver chain holding your husband's wedding ring that lets it fall at just the right place on your chest.
The sapphire earrings your daughter gave you for Mother's day the year she got her first big promotion.
The simple silver wedding band you hadn't taken off for over 40 years, and the flashy engagement ring you got for your 18th anniversary.
The first time I see your son cry is when I lean down to take them off.
Oh, damn, Lee.
Last line is the killer.
Set 'em up, girl, and knock 'em down!