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so much ego needs to get a room: a few original drabbles
A few more of these. Dani & Josh - jewel thieves. Love them.
jetsam
They tossed aside identities like napkins, dying their hair in hotel bathrooms where their neighbors rented by the hour and their fake ecstacy was clear though paper walls. It was all part of the job, and most of the time Josh thrived on the quakes of instability in his gut.
But sometimes he woke gasping from sleep and groping for his real name, some portion of his true self to tie on to.
Next to him, Danielle slept on.
replacement
Underneath, her hair was brown, and so were her eyes; she wore wire-rim glasses crooked on her nose, had short nails and a quiet, oval face. Just another girl, wholesome and clean-scrubbed.
When not on a job she layered color on top like a chameleon; dark cherry with a twisted streak of blonde, contacts that stained her eyes deep amber. Anything to be striking, to be noticed, not to be ordinary; to throw some grit on the wholesome exterior.
reward
The first reward for their arrest was after the Paris job. Josh picked up a two-day old copy of Le Monde from an open-air bench during a minor stop in Estonia, grinned as he sauntered back to their compartment and slapped the paper on the tiny folding table with a smirk.
Danielle laughed and they fucked like bunnies, bodies swaying with giddiness against the shimmying train, for at least two countries worth of iron tracks.
architect a challenge
One of her mother's flings was obsessed with dog shows. Danielle thought it was a ridiculous pastime and she'd wondered whether or not the guy was a closet case, but as time went on she'd become increasingly curious about the process: the animals, striving to be good, running through increasingly ridiculous paces. And all for the sake of a little praise and some kibble.
People were like that, and it was disgusting.
Not her, she'd decided. Never her.
emergency room
Josh dug a bullet out of her shoulder after the Athens job, armed with a swiss army knife, a hot plate and a bottle of ouzo.
He took a deep breath and tried not to show her how his hands were shaking. "This is how they did it in the old west."
"Gimme another shot." she slurred. "I can still fucking feel it." It sent burning ripples through her arm, rings in a mythical lake of fire.
He poured, one for her and one for the bandage, and tried to be quick, tried not to think about it.
guilt
It came up one night after dark, somewhere. Another country, another job, another cheap motel.
"You ever feel guilty? You know - for the guards getting fired, the people losing their jobs?"
"Are you crazy?"
"Maybe." His smile was twisted in the grey twilight. "Maybe."
jetsam
They tossed aside identities like napkins, dying their hair in hotel bathrooms where their neighbors rented by the hour and their fake ecstacy was clear though paper walls. It was all part of the job, and most of the time Josh thrived on the quakes of instability in his gut.
But sometimes he woke gasping from sleep and groping for his real name, some portion of his true self to tie on to.
Next to him, Danielle slept on.
replacement
Underneath, her hair was brown, and so were her eyes; she wore wire-rim glasses crooked on her nose, had short nails and a quiet, oval face. Just another girl, wholesome and clean-scrubbed.
When not on a job she layered color on top like a chameleon; dark cherry with a twisted streak of blonde, contacts that stained her eyes deep amber. Anything to be striking, to be noticed, not to be ordinary; to throw some grit on the wholesome exterior.
reward
The first reward for their arrest was after the Paris job. Josh picked up a two-day old copy of Le Monde from an open-air bench during a minor stop in Estonia, grinned as he sauntered back to their compartment and slapped the paper on the tiny folding table with a smirk.
Danielle laughed and they fucked like bunnies, bodies swaying with giddiness against the shimmying train, for at least two countries worth of iron tracks.
architect a challenge
One of her mother's flings was obsessed with dog shows. Danielle thought it was a ridiculous pastime and she'd wondered whether or not the guy was a closet case, but as time went on she'd become increasingly curious about the process: the animals, striving to be good, running through increasingly ridiculous paces. And all for the sake of a little praise and some kibble.
People were like that, and it was disgusting.
Not her, she'd decided. Never her.
emergency room
Josh dug a bullet out of her shoulder after the Athens job, armed with a swiss army knife, a hot plate and a bottle of ouzo.
He took a deep breath and tried not to show her how his hands were shaking. "This is how they did it in the old west."
"Gimme another shot." she slurred. "I can still fucking feel it." It sent burning ripples through her arm, rings in a mythical lake of fire.
He poured, one for her and one for the bandage, and tried to be quick, tried not to think about it.
guilt
It came up one night after dark, somewhere. Another country, another job, another cheap motel.
"You ever feel guilty? You know - for the guards getting fired, the people losing their jobs?"
"Are you crazy?"
"Maybe." His smile was twisted in the grey twilight. "Maybe."
no subject
no subject