Dare to Drabble?

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Here's how it works:

Someone posts a request for a drabble (a story about 100-1000 words long, though longer and shorter is definitely allowed). The request can be anything from "Write your character telling my character some really big news" to "Write your character plotting the demise of my character". Anything! If you wish, you may specify which of your characters you want affected, but you may opt not to should you want your drabble to be an even bigger surprise!


Note: As far as canon goes, nothing written in these drabbles is canon. You may, if you wish, chose to take the plots and use them (after talking to the drabble's writer first!), but they hold no weight as far as what has really happened on the site.

If you don't want to post your request here, or have very clear specification in your drabble, you may message an RPer and ask them for one and they will post it in here, after specifying that it is for a request. In that case, if a drabble is left unanswered, the next post must be in response to the last open drabble.

Additionally, if you write a drabble that does not fit within the PG-13 rules, post it to another site (like LiveJournal, FictionPress, Tumblr, etc) and post it as a link, detailing which drabble it was a response to.

And please, try your best to keep every character IN CHARACTER. For example, if it is not in character for Solange to change her clothes in the middle of the street, don't have her do that.

So I will start with a prompt:

Write your character telling my character they are in love with them for the first time.

[blueeyeddevil]

Reese had been running at nearly a dead sprint from the Opera House all the way to the Louvre, hardly pausing for breath. She was running as though her very life depended on making it to the Louvre before it closed for the night. It seemed sort of ridiculous when she thought about it, but that didn’t slow her down at all.

She had come to a very important realization as rehearsal finished up earlier. From that moment she’d been seized with an overwhelming need to share this news. This urge simply could not allow her to waste another second, certainly not the whole hour it would take for him to return to the apartment that was just the next door down from hers.

When she reached the Louvre, she slowed down only slightly, getting scolded for running in the almost sacred museum. She could not and would not stop until she’d found him. At long last, she nearly collided with him when she burst through the door of the exhibit he was working on.

Reese smiled as she gazed up at Martzel from where his arms had put an end to her marathon. Looking into his eyes she couldn’t help but think he rivaled many of the masterpieces on display here.

He looked at her with concern. “Reese? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?” he asked.

She slowly nodded before standing on tip toes to press her lips to his. Her fingers ran through his hair, committing the softness to memory. Reluctantly she pulled away…there was still the matter of what had driven her here in the first place.

“Everything is fine,” she assured him, placing a hand to his cheek. “I just…I really needed to see you. It couldn’t wait. I…I’m in love with you Martzel…”

----------------

Write your character proposing to my character

(I absolutely LOVE this thread idea, by the way!!)

[plantnerd92]

Linnea couldn't stand it anymore. Her near death experience had made her realize how important and precious life was, as well as how quickly it could slip through her fingers. She had returned from England after her long, extensive recovery, and was now back in Paris. She was sure that everyone she knew in Paris thought she was dead and didn't know where she was.

She would put a stop to those beliefs.

She walked in the chilly, late November air, her breath coming out in frozen clouds as she huddled in her coat and scarf, her gloved hands stuffed in her coat pockets. She remembered the streets and turns of Paris, and which areas to never venture as she came to a familiar apartment complex. She looked up, and took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves before slowly climbing the stairs to the pristine studio apartment she knew well. She took another steadying breath when she reached the door, before lifting a hand and knocking lightly.

There was no answer for a while, but Linnea couldn't let this trip go. This time, she pounded her fist on the door.

"I'm coming!" shouted a beloved voice from inside, followed by a stream of very missed Russian curses, before the door flew open. "What do you wa...."

Linnea could only return Maksim's stare of shock at the sight of her with one of admiration as she ran her eyes over every inch of him, re-committing him to her memory. Her lips pulled into a small smile.

"L... Linnea?" Maksim murmured, his dark eyes wide. He looked a bit rough, his hair rumpled and a good deal of scruff on his face, but he had never looked more beautiful to her than now. "But... But how?"

Linnea smile widened, as tears of joy pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"A very good team of doctors," she teased. "And a lot of sheer, dumb luck."

Maksim reached out to touch her, moving his fingers from her shoulder, up to stroke her dark hair that was now slightly different from the full-fringe bangs that hid her forehead, before reaching to caress her face, tracing each line of her features. "It is you..." he murmured reverently.

Beaming, Lin reached up to hold his hand against her cheek, before taking it and moving it over her chest so that he could feel her beating heart.

"Yes... I'm here... I'm alive."

Though he had been standing stock still since laying eyes on her, the fact must have suddenly been registered, because all at once, he broke down and sobbed, jerking her into his arms and crushing her to his chest, burying his face and letting his tears soak her hair. Linnea held onto him as though she was holding on for dear life, her tears escaping along with his.

"They told me you were dead! I am so sorry! I never should have brought Him here!"

Linnea shook her head, pulling back slightly to look at him. "No. I'm not dead. I'm fine now. Let go of your anger and hatred of him. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here now. I'm not lea..." She was silenced when Maksim's mouth suddenly crushed her lips in a desperate kiss. She responded instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Maksim pulled her inside, kicking the door shut behind them as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, falling on it with her as he helped her out of her coat, before pulling her against his chest and curling his body protectively around her, holding her tight.

Linnea smiled. "What are you doing?" she asked. Maksim simply grumbled his response, muffled in the crook of her neck.

"Making sure you never leave my sight again."

Linnea laughed softly, setting into his arms on the soft coverlet as she became familiar with his scent and warmth all over again. They were content to just lay there holding each other for a long while before she needed to speak.

"Comrade...." Maksim choked on a laugh at her old nickname for him. She continued. "I need to tell you something. It is important."

Maksim sighed, and looked at her, stroking her hair away from her face. "What is it, Lyuba?"

Linnea looked searchingly into his eyes. "I did die that night. Just before they were about to prepare to take me for an autopsy, I choked a little, and they stopped, and put me on life support. I was in a coma, but I came back, and they were able to revive me..." Maksim's eyes were wide as she explained what had happened to her, but she continued. "You know... I realized something..."

Her love looked at her expectantly. "Go on."

"I realized how short life is, and how precious our relationships with others are... I've wasted so much time on things that aren't as important as love... I'm not going to waste anymore time..." Linnea paused for a moment, letting this sink in.

Maksim watched her with a wary interest. "What will you do?"

Looking him straight in the eye, she spoke. "I love you, Maksim. I don't want to waste another day without you..." She took a breath. "... I know this is a little unconventional, but..." once again, she was silenced by Maksim kissing her deeply. It lasted so long, but not long enough. She wanted to have a lifetime of these kisses! Finally, after pulling away for air, Linnea cleared her throat as Maksim continued to kiss her face and down her neck.

"I wasn't finished. Pay attention." Maksim looked at her, and she could see the amusement in his eyes.

"I'm listening."

Linnea gazed at him. "... I want to be with you forever... Maksim... will you marry me?"

She wanted to blush when she realized how silly she must seem as Maksim just blinked and stared at her.

"Did you... Did you just ask me to marry you?" he asked, searching for clarification. Linnea really did blush.

"Yes! And I was serious too!" she protested. She didn't notice him struggling to keep a straight face.

"I thought that was my job." He said slowly, trying to control the waver in his voice that signaled oncoming laughter.

"Well, you were taking too long. Stop being such a git and just answer the bloody question, will you?" she snipped.

This time, Maksim laughed. Really laughed. The huge, body-seizing belly laughs that were pure joy personified, the ones that were so infectious, it had her in a fit of giggles as well.

"Oh, Linnea... I want nothing more than for you to be my wife... I will marry you." His beaming smile was so beautiful, Linnea couldn't look away.

"I love you, Comrade."

"I love you, Lyuba."

They kissed, and became lost in emotions so powerful, it consumed their very beings. They had an unbreakable bond of love, and not even Death could separate it, though he gave it his best shot.



Write your character buying a night with Sasha. (What the character does is up to you. It could be an interview, or it could be the usual stuff. You decide.)

[The Exodus]

The prospective john skittered out of the alley at the sound of Maurice’s voice, forcefully releasing the young woman he’d hoisted off the ground. She hit the pavement with a thud.

“Mademoiselle, are you all right?” the priest asked, crouching to her level. “That man had no right-“

“You scared off my customer,” she said, voice thick. For a moment, Maurice thought her slurred words were from drunkenness or a concussion. But when she spoke again, he realized it was merely a heavy Russian accent. “Now, he does not pay me.”

He offered her a hand, but the woman did not take it. Instead, she clambered to her feet.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle,” he said – pulse racing, ticking away like mad under his skin as he fought off a blush. He hadn’t realized – stupid, stupid man – that what he’d been seeing was a transaction. Prostitution. It wasn’t something Maurice encountered often. “I shouldn’t have presumed-“

“You should not have, no,” the woman said. “Unless you are going to make it up to me. Yes?”

“I’m terribly sorry, mademoiselle, I don’t-“

“You have wife? Kids?” she asked. “It does not matter. Forget them for the night.”

“I don’t have a wife of children, no,” Maurice said. Then, unbuttoning the top of his coat, he revealed the collarino he wore. “But I take my vows of chastity to heart.”

“Chastity,” the woman echoed. “No real man is ‘chaste’. ‘Chastity’ is for little girls, not grown men. You’ll see…”

She ghosted her fingers over Maurice’s chest. The priest froze, tensed up, and then with deliberate gentleness, plucked her hand off of him by the wrist.

“Mademoiselle, please,” Maurice said.

“You owe me, priest,” she said. “You owe me the money that you scared that man from paying me.”

Maurice reached into his pocket, agitated and embarrassed. But if the Lord could befriend and treat prostitutes with dignity, he could, too.

The sooner this exchange is over, the better, he thought bitterly. Just pay her for her trouble and get on your way.

But all Maurice could find was his identification cards, a picture of his niece and nephews, his Metro card, the only credit card he owned. He put the wallet away and grimaced.

“Come with me,” he said. “I don’t have money on me now, but I can think of other ways to pay.”

Twenty minutes later, he sat across a café table from the prostitute – the woman. She refused to give him a name as she picked at her food, staring at him with vibrant and untrusting eyes.

“Surely you have a name,” Maurice said.

“I have many,” the woman said.

She spoke loudly, as if she enjoyed the uncomfortable glances from other patrons of the restaurant. A priest and a wh*re. It sounded like the set up to a very bad joke. Maurice rubbed his temples.

“But I’ve told you mine,” he said. Then, repeating it for good measure, “I’m Father Maurice Mowbray. And you are?”

“I am eating delicious meal,” the woman said waspishly. “That is what I am.”

“Your name, though.”

“Are you always this persistent to the whores you buy, Father Maurice Mowbray?”

She grinned, a terrible, Cheshire Cat grin. Maurice sighed.

“I am this persistent with everyone I meet, yes,” he said. “Tell me what to call you, or I will design a name for you.”

“I would like to see what you come up with.”

“Magdalena.”

“The wh*re from the Bible. How creative.”

“She wasn’t a wh*re.”

The woman’s fork clattered to the table indelicately. “Oh no? Something worse, perhaps?”

“Something better,” Maurice said. “She was a child of God. A strong, passionate follower of Christ. Ahead of her time, really.”

“And also a wh*re.”

Maurice sighed. He could argue theology all night, but not with someone so bullheaded. “Do you like the name or not?”

“Magdalena it is.”

After dinner, they stepped out onto the street. The night air had gone chilly and in the morning, there would undoubtedly be frost on the ground. In her skin-tight, strapless dress, Magdalena gave a little shiver. Maurice slid his coat around her shoulders.

“I do not need your charity,” Magdalena said. “You already bought me dinner.”

“Yes, but I took you away from paying customers to do that,” he said. “This is payment for that. You can keep the coat. As collateral.”

“There won’t be many men brave enough for the cold tonight,” she said. “In Russia, this is nothing. Not cold at all. Here, the people are babies about the weather.”

“So, what you mean to say is you’re off duty now?”

“I am never off duty, priest.”

“No, I suppose not,” Maurice said. Then, “Do you have a safe place to sleep tonight?”

“Is that an offer?” Her eyelids lowered and her lashes fluttered. “Have you finally come around?”

“No, no,” Maurice said. “I’m genuinely concerned. You won’t be able to work tomorrow if hypothermia sets in tonight.”

Ten minutes later, they arrived at his apartment. Never before had Maurice brought a woman back this late at night. The doorman raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Magdalena followed Maurice warily to the lift and up his floor. They reached the flat and he let her step inside first.

“It isn’t much,” he said apologetically. “But it’s home.”

Magdalena studied the paintings on the wall, originals crafted by Maurice’s sister. And the wall crosses. Then her eyes fell on the shelf of books.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “And you live here alone?”

“I do, yes,” said Maurice.

“Do you ever get-“ She went to stretch out on the couch. “-lonely?”

“Everyone gets lonely sometimes,” he conceded, taking the chair. “But I wouldn’t have chosen another life.”

“I would have,” she said and Maurice couldn’t tell if she meant for herself or for him. She scratched her scalp luxuriously.

“We do the best we can with what God gives us,” he said. Then, rising, he said, “Why don’t I find something more comfortable for you to wear? You can shower if you’d like.”

She emerged from the bathroom in one of his plain, black button downs. Clean and not dressed in that awful club wear, she was a very pretty woman. Long, soft looking hair. Big, blue eyes. Sweeping cheekbones. Maurice was celibate, not blind. He smiled at her and closed the book he had been reading.

“Where do I put the towel?” she asked, holding it up.

“Give it to me. I’ll add it to the laundry,” said Maurice. “You should get some rest. The bedroom is at the end of the hallway.”

Instead, when she crossed to him, she rose up just a little on her tip-toes and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. Maurice’s eyes stayed open. No one had kissed him since he was fifteen years old. Not on the lips.

“My name is Sasha,” she told him when she drew away. “Thank you, Maurice.”

And with that, she walked down the hall without another word.


--

My character is having a bad day and yours decides to cheer them up!

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

“Bloody f*cking Christ!” Ben called from the kitchen, papers flying, traipsing to the ground as he threw them to the ground angrily.

Bill sighed. These outbursts happened more and more often these days, and Bill found himself praying to a God he rarely believed in to give him the strength not to snap. “What is it now?” Bill asked, standing and carefully treading towards his brother.

“My godd*amn wedding planner won’t answer any of my calls and I need her.” Ben exclaimed in unfair frustration.

“Benjamin,” Bill sighed out hot exasperation. “Devi’s a wedding planner, not a maid service. She has a life outside of you, you know. Maybe something’s wrong.”

“I’ll say something’s wrong. My shipment of tablecloths came in and they’re the wrong shade of blue. I’m not even Damien and I can tell they’re the wrong shade…. Or hue… or whatever. You’re my best man. You get her on that phone and tell her I’m livid.” Ben continued ranting, but Bill wasn’t listening. His brother was a Bridezilla that put golddiggers and reality stars to shame. It was unlike Devi to answer her phone for Ben. She feared a temper tantrum just as much as everyone and knew full well that one unanswered phone call would put her on Ben’s ever-expanding hit list. He hoped she was okay.

Bill left his apartment to Ben’s avid protestations and drove to Devi’s apartment, autumn rain splattering on the windshield until Bill was almost driving blind. But he never made it to Devi’s apartment. He didn’t need to, because as he rounded the corner, splashing water all over, his headlights got a glimpse of Devi’s car, pulled over to the side of the road. Bill couldn’t recall a time when his foot hit his brakes harder. He clamored out of his car, hazard lights flashing.

“Devi?” He called out over the roll of the thunder and the loud patter of the rain. “Devi, are you okay?”

“Bill?” Devi asked, hiding beneath her jacket. “Bill, is that you?”

“In the flesh. What happened?”

Devi let out a groan she had been keeping in. “Some *sshat left their f*cking pliers in the road, my spare is flat and my phone died right as I was calling the insurance company. I’m just…” She let out another angry growl. “It’s just…”

“Get in,” Bill said, pushing wet curtains of curls from his face. “Lock the car. Leave it. I’m getting you coffee and then we’re going to the cinema where it’s dry. The car can wait, the not-blue tablecloths can wait.”

“The wait?” Devi asked, walking carefully up the muddy incline.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re going. I’ll change your tire when we get back. What matters now is that you’re safe and get dry.” He opened the passenger side door for her and came around front. “I’m sorry,” he said once their seatbelts were strapped in. “What a crumby way to spend a night.”

“It was,” she said, wiping rain and mascara from her face. “But now I’m getting free coffee and a movie. So I guess tonight turned out better than I thought it would.”

Bill smiled. Now that he thought about it, too, there was no way he’d rather spend his evening.

--

My character wakes up in a strange place and calls your character for help.

[The Exodus]

Gabriel grabbed the phone and groggily muttered, “Hello” into the receiver. 3 AM was not a good time for phonecalls. Someone had better be dying or dead right now.

“Gabe…?”

“Gwenny!” Gabriel sat up in bed. “You disappeared after the party. Where are you?”

“I don’ t know.” Gwen’s voice sounded stuffy, like she had been crying. “And Torben’s not answering his phone…”

“He’s got his socks on,” Gabriel explained. “They’ve been on all night. Whaddya mean you don’t know where you are?”

“I mean I think this is someone’s house, but I’m not really sure.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Gabriel, I don’t know where I am.”

“Describe it to me.”

“There’s a soft red couch that’s good for jumping,” she said. “And two little, blue chairs.”

“…”

“I told you I didn’t know where I was.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna come find you. Stay on the line with me.”

Gabriel got out of bed and slipped on his shoes. As he made his way down the hallway he heard giggling through the phone and from Sophie’s bedroom. He stopped and listened. There was a delay between the phone and the voices behind the door.

“Shhh- Shhh. He’ll hear- he’ll hear – us.”

Gabriel pushed open the room. He looked in to see a giant blanket fort with two pairs of socked feet sticking out. Propping the west side of Fort Blanket was Sophie’s dollhouse. Some more snickering.

Gabriel hung up the phone and crawled in between his two favorite girls.

“GOTCHA!” he said, reaching out with tickle-monster hands that sent both Gwen and Sophie into uproarious laughter.

My character and yours have an argument.

[plantnerd92]

"Damn it, rusita!" Carmen swore violently as she sat up in bed. It wasn't from arousal, though, it was from anger and frustration. Sasha stayed sprawled at her side, looking up demurely at her.

She had managed to sneak off and into Carmen's apartment again for the third time that week. She had information, and she just craved Carmen's touch and the way it soothed her.

Carmen was angry about Sasha's encounter with Nikolai Tarasova. It had finally clicked into Sasha's brain, where she had seen him before. He was the reason she was trapped in the life she was in. He and two other Mafiya thugs had carried out the hit on her family, murdering her father and brothers. Though he did not participate in the violent rape of her and her mother, and sell them into the mob's prostitution chain, ultimately leading to the death of her mother, and her daily torture, he had still wounded her beyond repair.

But now, it seemed that he had repented of his ways, leaving the Mafiya, seeking to help Las Guardunas in hurting the Russian gang.

Carmen still wanted to murder Nikolai though.

"Solnishka," Sasha murmured, the Russian endearment rolling off her tongue. "Just let it go... It is in the past, and he isn't with them anymore..." she purred, propping herself up slightly to nuzzle Carmen's abdomen, lightly teasing her navel with her tongue. "Lay back down, and let's play again."

"Why won't you just let me take him out? He's the reason you're stuck in that hell your pimps put you through every night!" Carmen growled, gripping Sasha's jaw as she leaned down and growled it against her neck, making her gut clench in excitement. "Last time I checked, you didn't like being wh*red out by those malparidos!"

Sasha moaned, arousal growing in her. "I don't... Unless they're wh*ring me out to you..." She purred, her soft hands finding Carmen's taut, muscled body, running her fingers over her skin.

For some reason, she was just as attracted to Nikolai as she was to Carmen. Though she'd never slept with Nikolai, she often fantasized about it. He was her straight girl's wet dream. But Carmen... Oh, Carmen was another story. Sasha had never spent the night with anyone who could make her crazy like Carmen could. Being from Russia, she'd never thought that being with anyone but a man was an option, but Carmen came to her that memorable night and turned her logic and reasoning upside down so fast it was mind-blowing... and she liked it.

Sometimes she wondered if she could seduce Nikolai and have him and Carmen go for her at the same time in some kinky menage a trois... But since she knew they couldn't stand each other, and especially since Carmen wanted to castrate him and use him for target practice, that probably wasn't even an impossible option. It wouldn't happen.

Carmen was watching her closely before tangling her long, rough fingers in Sasha's hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck.

"I think you want him..." she growled, nipping at her skin. Sasha whimpered with pleasure.

"Nyet... no..." she mewled.

"You want him more than me..." Carmen accused, and Sasha quivered, her fingers digging into Carmen's skin.

"No... I want you... want you so badly!" Sasha wanted to sound argumentative, but Carmen just got her so damn hot, she couldn't help the desperate arousal in her voice. Carmen grinned in a harsh, feral grin.

"Prove it. Show me who you really want," Carmen ordered, and immediately, Sasha obeyed eagerly.

It was going to be a great night...



Write your character having a Calorie Contest (eating contest in Idaho terms) with my character.