Burnadette (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burnadette_dpdl) wrote2013-08-26 08:26 pm
burnadette_dpdl) wrote2013-08-26 08:26 pm
DD: A Game of Chicken
Sorry, didn't use any prompt words :-\ BUT, inspiration came from the CAPSFRI of 7/25/13:SKYDIVING AND RISKTAKING.
http://vc-media.dreamwidth.org/219261.html
... in whichthemoonwithin had mentioned motorcycles. My self-imposed prompt: Motorcycle + 200 word limit. This is 195.
SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT… I am in SO much trouble!
Rising shakily, I surveyed the scene.
Armand is going to have a FIELD DAY with this…
“Trust me,” He had purred, revving his engine. “They usually swerve.”
“USUALLY?!”
“Usually.”
We met them sooner than expected, and centrifugal force had torn my grip from his waist. Motorcycle and squad-car danced briefly, before collapsing in exhausted heaps. The squad-car was now upside-down in the distance, brokenly crying the song of its people.
Lestat lay motionless under the wrecked Ducati. I knelt beside him, grazed his cheek. Gingerly brushed away shrapnel. His body, while painful to watch, was efficiently healing itself, but he might be lost in his reveries for months after one of these accidents.
"L-Louis?” he stammered, barely audible, coughing blood. Relief coursed through me.
“No, it’s Daniel, I’m here for you, Lestat,” I said, breathlessly, leaning in closer.
A line of concentration creased his forehead. “They swerved, didn’t they?”
“No, no they didn’t…”
“Well, then…” he sighed, inspecting a bloody hand, “How do the kids say it these days?” His eyes searched my face, reading my thoughts. He flipped his middle finger out and grinned. “FUCK the police.”
--
http://vc-media.dreamwidth.org/219261.html
... in which
themoonwithin had mentioned motorcycles. My self-imposed prompt: Motorcycle + 200 word limit. This is 195.SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT… I am in SO much trouble!
Rising shakily, I surveyed the scene.
Armand is going to have a FIELD DAY with this…
“Trust me,” He had purred, revving his engine. “They usually swerve.”
“USUALLY?!”
“Usually.”
We met them sooner than expected, and centrifugal force had torn my grip from his waist. Motorcycle and squad-car danced briefly, before collapsing in exhausted heaps. The squad-car was now upside-down in the distance, brokenly crying the song of its people.
Lestat lay motionless under the wrecked Ducati. I knelt beside him, grazed his cheek. Gingerly brushed away shrapnel. His body, while painful to watch, was efficiently healing itself, but he might be lost in his reveries for months after one of these accidents.
"L-Louis?” he stammered, barely audible, coughing blood. Relief coursed through me.
“No, it’s Daniel, I’m here for you, Lestat,” I said, breathlessly, leaning in closer.
A line of concentration creased his forehead. “They swerved, didn’t they?”
“No, no they didn’t…”
“Well, then…” he sighed, inspecting a bloody hand, “How do the kids say it these days?” His eyes searched my face, reading my thoughts. He flipped his middle finger out and grinned. “FUCK the police.”
--
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If you liked this, I have all my drabbles and fic on A03 under "Burnadette_dpdl", too.