Because I'm In the Mood...

[kiyakotari]

A meme, gonked from umiyuko who gonked it from kimber_rose. Revised a bit.



Choose one (or more) of my characters and pick a stage in their life you'd like to see them in, and I'll write something on it, maybe a drabble, maybe a true short story. This includes expansion or definition of specific events that have been mentioned as happening in the past in their lives, as well as general things like "so-and-so-in preschool/basic training/the laboratory/etc."

The Rules

1. This is meant as an exploration of what they were like in stages of their life (past/future - wouldn't an elderly Wren and Jian be amusing?) that I don't normally write. I can do the present/norm, if that's what you want, but I'd prefer to expand with this.

2. I may incorporate characters of yours if you request it, or I may create new ones simply for the sake of the drabble, but I won't promise anything in that regard. It depends on how comfortable I feel with the characters, setting, and whatnot.

3. Alternate universes are fine, but run it by me first. If I feel it's in character, I'll use it.

4. I'll write sexual encounters if they seem to be flowing right, but please don't just request something like "___ and ____ screwing!" Because really...that's not a lot of fun. And no random couples that...really aren't/weren't/please-god-don't-ever-let-them-be couples. (eg: Don't ask for a TalonxWren **shudder**, DarrylxJian **blank stare...hysterical laughter**, UmbraexDarryl **dead**, or what have you. If you want sex, it'll have to be kept within established relationships.)

5. And finally, if there are any specific/side characters I've mentioned or written about that you'd like to see interact with one or more of my 'main group,' let me know and I'll try to work them in (if they were a part of their life during the time period/event requested).


Alright, people. Have at me. Please. I'm not feeling busy enough right now.

Comments

[kiyakotari.livejournal.com]

It was dark, quiet. The hiss of machinery was a comforting constant as the guard made his rounds, shining a flashlight into rooms with the negligence born of routine. He checked one of the larger computer labs, silent except for the sound of the fans blowing cooled air over delicate circuitry. Then he moved on, plodding away, mind already on his plans for the next day, his date with his girlfriend, whether or not he had any condoms left in the bathroom or would need to pick some up on the way home. The sweep of the flashlight beam across the other rooms on that floor was even more apathetic than before. Section cleared, he pushed the button for the elevator, humming quietly as he waited for it to reach that floor and got in. The doors shut behind him with a hydraulic slither.

Whitened fingertips tensed on the windowsill of one of the dismissed rooms, arms and shoulders flexed and a head appeared, black ski cap revealing only pale eyes and the thin slit of a mouth. The eyes scanned the room once, thoroughly, then with a quick pull the figure rolled up and over and into the building with barely a rustle of cloth. It was obviously a male, his knit charcoal gray turtleneck fitted enough that there was no question there. Utilitarian black cargo pants led the way to even more plebian black boots. There were leather gloves on his hands, strapped close at the wrist, fingers cropped off halfway. The only skin visible was that of the ends of his fingers, and around his eyes and mouth.

There was a shoulder holster buckled around his torso, guns on each side hugging his ribcage. All of it matte, black and dark grays, very little to catch the light or throw reflections. He moved rapidly, landing in a low crouch inside the room, against the wall below and to one side of the open window, then froze. Listened.

There were no unexpected noises, just the shallow, even sound of his breathing and the constant hum of electronics. He straightened up, smooth and unhurried, moved toward the doorway and the hall beyond.

He steps were firm, even, and soundless, heel first and the rest of the foot following, outside edge meeting the ground before his weight rolled forward onto his toes. He glanced into the empty rooms as he passed them, his search much faster and more inquiring than the cursory one the guard had performed only minutes before. Judging by his stride, he appeared to know where he was going, but his gaze as he walked the hallway said differently.

He reached the elevator at the end, considered it for a moment, then turned and went into one of the rooms instead. Found an air vent in the ceiling and, standing on a chair, pushed the grate up into it easily - it wasn't fastened. Half-gloved hands gripped the edges of the opening, and one pull-up later he was in the duct, looking up and down it. One direction was blocked by a large fan, turning sluggishly. The other way was open.

He crawled through the cramped metal tunnel for perhaps fifteen or twenty feet, pulling himself along on his elbows and wincing at the occasional creak of the square tubes, before he found what he was looking for. Negotiating the turn of the duct to come out in the floor of a room on the next floor up - the fifth floor of the building - was difficult, but not impossible, and within moments he was out in the open again.

[kiyakotari.livejournal.com]

This room had a closed door, and he opened it carefully, turning the handle and waiting for a moment before stepping through into the hall beyond. An empty hall, rows of closed doors marching off on either side of him, doors with labels on them, numbers and names both. He walked down its length, reading off the doors as he went, then stopped. Stared at a door that was closed, the words “Program 7932” etched into the front of it. And a single name. Albin.

He reached down, touched the door handle. It was locked. A small flick of frown, barely visible, and his hand tensed on the metal. It opened beneath his fingers with a quiet 'click.'

He pushed the door open, found himself facing a room, plain, white, drab. A sink and toilet on one side. A crate in one corner filled with something colorful. A bed, white-sheeted, and a head covered in short, honey-blond hair resting on the pillow. The head raised as the person in the bed rolled onto their back and sat up, rubbing one hand across their eyes before looking at him. Their skin was a light bronze, and the gaze leveled at him was a bright, clear blue.

He realized his mouth was open a bit, and he shut it. The boy - it was a boy, young, no older than four, perhaps only three - was watching him curiously. He glanced around, looking for a camera, spotted one in the corner of the room, and looked back at the boy. Swallowed to wet his mouth, suddenly nervous and not sure why.

"Hey. I'm Darryl. What's your name?"

The boy looked at him solemnly, then smiled suddenly. Darryl felt an inquiring, untrained brush against the barriers around his mind as that smile appeared, and his eyes widened just a bit.

"Luke Alan." The answer was quiet.

Darryl nodded and held his hand out, careful to keep out of the view of the camera. "Do you want to come with me?"

The boy - Luke Alan - got eagerly to his feet, started toward the door. Darryl held up a hand. "Wait a minute. Can you cover your pillow up with your blanket first? It's...a game."

Luke Alan nodded agreeably and turned, did as he was told, then started toward the door again. He paused, looked over at the crate, and changed direction halfway across the room. Dug around in it - Darryl winced inwardly at the noise that made - until he came up with a teddy bear, of all things. He clutched it to him, came over to the door and looked up at Darryl with big eyes. "Where?"

Darryl leaned down, gathered the boy up in his arms - the same way he'd held Wren and Jian's two year old daughter, Aiko, only last week - and stepped away from the door, letting it close again. "Home."

Luke Alan nodded, content with that, and leaned his head against the soft, dark gray fabric that covered Darryl's chest, seemingly heedless of the buckles and straps holding the holsters in place. "Okay. Daddy."

Darryl's arms tightened just a bit at that, but the grim line of his mouth softened slightly. There was no arguing with that quiet pronouncement. Even if the name on the door - his last name - hadn't told him, the way that young mind felt against the edges of his own would have.

Well. This was...unexpected. Hadn't Talon joked, when he'd told him that he was going to come check this facility out, that he'd better not bring home any more stray subjects like Wren?

Not that this was like Wren. Wren was his sister, through cloning. This boy...this boy was his son. Somehow, inexplicably, impossibly, he had a son.

He didn't know the first thing about being a father, but one thing was certain - he couldn't leave the way he'd come in.

[kiyakotari.livejournal.com]

There you go, Lugi. **lopsided grin** Hope it meets with your expectations.

lugi says

[http://users.livejournal.com/_hanbyul_/]

EEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

I loved it....the Darryl section of my heart just grew. <33 Wheee for babeh Lukie!! XD He's still simple and agreeable like that now...lol so cute.

Well written, me likies...*rubs on*