"Dave Grohl to be crowned Godlike Genius" is one of my favorite headlines ever.

[in_the_blue]

You can read the story here, but I digress.

I'm counting on you guys! Here, join me in a writing challenge.

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Rules:

Fandom: any established fandom (no original universe pieces).
Word count: at least 250; no upper limit
Main theme: All my life I've been searching for something
Ratings: No restrictions.
Duration: Two weeks. Challenge opens now (January 10) and closes at 11:59 p.m. in whatever time zone you inhabit on Sunday, January 23.

---

Post your ficlets as comments to this entry. Feel free to do as few or as many as you want, and if you see one you really like, be sure to leave a review or a comment. Everyone's welcome, so have fun.

Don't forget, more prompts specifically for drabbles at 100wordstories.

Comments

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Title: Perfection Only Comes Easily to Those Who Understand It
Fandom: Baccano!
Character(s): Claire Stanfield
Word Count: 482
Rating: G (or V for verbose)

---

There's a highly curious phenomenon that happens in both the best and worst of all social situations. Particularly when one is destined to interact with others, that being the veritable definition of a social situation. There are certain attitudes and outlooks that become expected, beyond the general niceties of hello and good-bye. Personally speaking, I've never given more than a small nod to the entire concept of abiding by what's socially accepted and those who know me can confirm that in more ways than one. Then again, who truly knows another person? But I digress: back to the entire concept of social situations, I find myself having been caught entirely off-guard by the simplest of concepts: introducing myself to a woman to whom I've already declared my love under less than ideal circumstances. Send her a gift, that seems to be the general consensus, and it's a perfectly valid consensus. I don't do things halfway, though, and for the beautiful, the lovely, the voiceless Chane Laforet, the gift has to be perfect. Emblazoned in my mind's eye is an equally perfect image of her: height-wise, weight-wise, figure-wise -- I've dreamed of nothing else -- and so the size of the dress is never in question. It's the additions that must be made to it to ensure that it's just right for her and her alone, and that means a piece of work as gorgeous and complicated as she is, with more than enough room for those knives she loves and needs to keep hidden considering you don't just walk down Broadway with a set of knives in your hands. It's imprudent, and the woman who's captured my heart with a power that surprises even me is anything but that.

Having connections is a handy thing, and by the time the hoops and latches are put into place in just the right way along with th promise of absolute silence should anyone ask exacted via the usual methods, the dress is ready. By then it's a simple enough matter to pay a kid to deliver the thing, and now it's time to sit back and wait, not something that I'm generally accepted as excelling at. But I can when I need to and it's funny: I've done a lot of things in my life, from losing my family to gaining another, from New York to Chicago, from life on the streets to life in the circus, from hitching a ride to being a train conductor. Never once, though, did I think that what I was looking for would come in the guise of a deadly-but-beautiful perfect size four assassin with no voice, no explanation, but a whole lot of yearning in those gorgeous brown eyes. Go figure. Me, Claire Stanfield, the Rail Tracer, an unparalleled fool for love.

It works. And because it works, I'll wait... but nothing says I've got to do it patiently.

[ashavah]

I always find Claire so intriguing when you write him, and this little piece is no different. It's a lovely little character study, full of arrogance and certainty and a really appealing self-awareness. I love how he has no doubt whatsoever in his mind about what must be done and the fact that he's fallen for Chane and therefore everything must be perfect. Lovely work.

Insofar as someone unfamiliar with the canon can say that. :)

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I appreciate the comment, and since you're unfamiliar with him as a character but still got his arrogance and certainty and self-awareness, it must mean I painted him well enough!

[lostinapapercup.livejournal.com]

I like this a lot, Gwynne. It really captures that kind of disarmingly charming lovable-mostly-because-he's-in-love thing that Claire does so well.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Ha, I love that description, and I thank you for reading and leaving a comment. I actually... am not a big fan of this piece. I feel like it was forced in a way a lot of other things I write are not, and almost got rid of it here. But I never expect to love all the things I write, and my brain's been mighty preoccupied with non-fic-writing things lately.

So all that aside, it made me beam that you liked it. Thanks.

A Map in the Rain

[scribblemyname]

Title: A Map in the Rain
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Rogue/Gambit
Word Count: 589
Rating: G

---

All my life I've been searching for something...

~

Remy LeBeau steps into the diner in a poor mood. He's sopping wet from the falling rain outside and his street map is now a blurry mass of running ink. He throws the useless piece of paper on the edge of a corner table and sits down behind it to run his hands through his hair and try to rack some sort of idea of what he's doing and where he's going out of his brains. More fool him for thinking the map would give him a hint of a direction.

He's been searching his whole life and never finding.

"Ya look tired, sugah," a soft voice, as weary as his own, washes over him. Southern, angelic.

Remy looks up, startled.

The waitress is a petite thing, mass of auburn curls caught back in a ponytail, snowy bangs over her forehead, bright, green eyes. She's got her head tilted just so as if she's trying to read him, and her eyes are soft with concern.

"'M fine," he answers quickly. He glances downward for a nametag. It's missing. He frowns.

She smiles at him then, and the brilliance nearly knocks him for a loop. "Coffee?"

"Oui." Coffee actually sounds good and smells better—how exactly did he miss that she had it in her hand?—and tastes like good coffee ought to taste. "Y' make this?" he asks her.

She hesitates, then nods. She puts a finger to her lips. "But don't tell the cook that. He thinks he makes the best coffee north of the Dixie line."

Remy chuckles lightly. She makes him think of home. The thought turns bitter. It's a home that was never really his.

She seems to notice his mood change and glances upward at the clock before sliding into the seat across from him. "Ah'm Rogue."

The name startles him, but it makes him smile. "A proper southern belle, I take it."

"Don't push it, swamp rat." But there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

He drinks his coffee, knowing he hasn't even begun to push it. "Gambit."

Rogue pokes one finger into the sodden mess of street map, and he frowns sourly. "Lookin' for somethin', Gambit." She seems to disapprove of the name choice.

He rolls his eyes. Like Rogue can talk. But he shrugs. "Some maps are useless in de rain."

She nods and pulls her hands into her lap. "Others aren't. Where ya headed?"

"Wish I knew," he mutters before he can swallow the words back. Remy catches his breath, that he's made the admission, then covers it by downing more of the coffee.

Rogue reaches out for his mug and refills it. "Ah know a place," she says casually, but her gaze sidles away under his and he knows somehow it matters to her.

He wonders if she matters to him. He sips the coffee, studies her flushed face. "What kind of place?"

She shrugs. Dancing green eyes come back up to meet his. "A place for the rest of us who don't know where to go."

Remy doesn't answer. Time ticks by, her break is over, and she's off and waitressing the rest of the diner again. But by the time she's wiping down tables and raising an eyebrow at him that it's time to close, he nods at her. She looks startled, then understands. A few moments later, she's grabbed her coat and is standing beside him.

"Walk me home?"

"Only for you, ma chérie."

Re: A Map in the Rain

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I love this. It's so soft and understated, but that doesn't mean these two don't get a few jabs in at each other along the way. Here are just a few things I find noteworthy: Rogue's dancing green eyes. That some maps are useless in the rain. The southern belle/swamp rat exchange. That he stays until closing time because he knows he has no other real options.

And this part alone is a whole separate story fit right in there, and it says so much all by itself, and I'm so glad it's there: Remy chuckles lightly. She makes him think of home. The thought turns bitter. It's a home that was never really his.

That's like... the story of his life in a nutshell. So nicely done!

Re: A Map in the Rain

[scribblemyname]

:hugs your comment: You picked out almost all of my favorite pieces of this particular puzzle, and understated was exactly what I was going for. I'm glad you enjoyed it. :more hugs:

Re: A Map in the Rain

[ashavah]

I must confess that I am unfamiliar with the canon, but I love this scene. It has the feeling of both a chance meeting and a fateful moment, and I love that. Like in_the_blue said, it's understated, and there's so much going on beneath the surface that you can tell the depth of the characters even without knowing them. I love the recurring image and symbolism of the map!

Re: A Map in the Rain

[scribblemyname]

Thank you so much! I consider any fic that works for someone unfamiliar with the canon to be more success than I normally hope for. "It has the feeling of both a chance meeting and a fateful moment, and I love that." I have to admit, this line of yours has my head spinning out part II. (I'm far too easy to inspire.)

[ashavah]

Mine wound up way too long for an LJ comment, so here's a link!

Title: Broken Magnolia
Fandom: True Blood
Character(s): Sam Merlotte
Word Count: 1487
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes, getting what you've always wanted isn't as simple as it sounds.

( Broken Magnolia )