[FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT]

[rocknload]

For reference for me and pushpushlady's SPEED WRITING COMPETITION. The rules are one drabble per prompt, which are graciously provided by levade. If we have to ask her what they mean, we're penalized. The words are as follows!

outrecuidance
seity
xenochidal strangers
staurolatry
juvenescent
esemplastic
dimidiate
belluine
arreptitious
inwit

May the best woman win! By which I mean me.

CURRENT SCORE

rocknload: 2 | pushpushlady: 2

Comments

[unicorn]

I SURE HOPE I SPELLED THOSE RIGHT! ^______^

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...you sure you didnt mean Inuit?

[unicorn]

No. I did not.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...But I'd like to read a drabble about Eskimos. It'd be kickass.

[unicorn]

That might be "stirious."

[pretzelcoatl.livejournal.com]

I think you should use the word "courgette" in at least one of those.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...NO FAIR USING WORDS THAT ARENT EVEN IN MY DICTIONARY.

[unicorn]

I approve of this motion.

[unicorn]

The Endangered English Dictionary: Bodacious Words Your Dictionary Forgot, by David Grambs. Best birthday present I ever got. I give it my most spadish baisemains.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

Why do you always have to be so fucking intransinine. T_T

[unicorn]

'Cos my mind is invaginated.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

And your face is rectular.

[unicorn]

Why bring up my phiz?

[parcus.livejournal.com]

I. outrecuidance

Amongst the drinks of the party, the Turk Tseng finds himself wandering into the part of it where all the drunk soclitie’s sons and daughters sit in laps of each other. Tseng frowns, looking for his target. He avoids the horny hand of a younger woman trying to get into his pants.

In the back, he notices his target. His blond hair stands out as he shoves a redhead out of his face.

“Took you long enough.” Rufus frowns as he puts his drink down and steps on someone’s foot.

Tseng relaxes, he should have known better that Rufus would be the only one reading in the middle of an orgy.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

Sorry, I'm just tired and easily manfiscated.

[pretzelcoatl.livejournal.com]

It could probably be used in licentious ways, too!

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...Socialite? I can never tell when you're making up words and when you're just typoing, Setine.

[unicorn]

Not gonna get hyperpiesis over it, geez.

[unicorn]

It's a word.

Edit: ...I didn't see she'd spelled it wrong! PENALTY FOR SPELLING?

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...That's the chrysonant of the year.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

AHAHA SEE.

[rocknload.livejournal.com]

It'd be unfair, as I'm writing in Word!

[unicorn]

*checkle*

[unicorn]

Good point! If you STILL spell things wrong, you should be penalized.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

...Dont peronade me!

[unicorn]

It was just a little witzelsucht!

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

THE WORD WAS MISSPELLED BEYOND RECOGNITION.

...EXCEPT, YOU KNOW, I RECOGNIZED IT. BUT I ALSO HAVE INSANE PROBLEM SOLVING SKILLS.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

Steravict.

[unicorn]

Can't blame me~ when in France, speak Gallice.

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

Effschew you guys, I'm going home. I'll scont with you later.

[unicorn]

Don't get up to any meshantery while you're gone~

[sunsetsred.livejournal.com]

Hey. I'll russiort if I want to.

Later~

[parcus.livejournal.com]

II. seity

Reno is damned amused that the President’s kid is sitting in the car as they beat the shit out of this pimp.

“Oi,” Reno calls, earning him a glare when the tinted window rolls down, “Sup pretty?”

“Did you get the information out of him?” Rufus retorts, eyes moving past Reno, past Rude and onto the bleeding pimp.

“Wanna see for yourself?”

Reno gives the kid guts, it would take guts to step out of that car. Rude notes that Rufus is the only person that would wear bright white in the middle of a slum.

[unicorn]

Insert apopemptic statement here.

s-six hundred words; god, if i keep this up i'll lose for sure

[rocknload.livejournal.com]

dimidiate; consisting of only one half of what the normal condition requires.

Jack doesn't know what’s wrong, not at first; the headline’s better than most—Suicide Attempt Ends In Chaos When Man Falls Into Parade Float—but the papes aren’t moving, and by the time noon rolls around he’s still got something like eighty in his arms, if he’s kept count right.

He’s sick of walking, he’s sick of shouting. He half wants to take them all to the Wease and sell them back, and if that’s not a sign of something wrong, he doesn’t know what is.

So when he turns the corner and spots his ex-selling partner walking in exactly the opposite direction—that’s towards him, with his hands in his pockets, a look on his face like he’s got a purpose—it doesn’t brighten his mood, not in the last.

Jack cringes inwardly, because it’s too late to duck and pretend he didn’t see him, and if that’s not a sign that something’s wrong…

David grins. “Hey, Jack! I was actually just coming by to—”

“Thought you quit,” Jack says, his own tone surprising him. It’s not mad, he’s not mad, he’s … he doesn’t even know a word for it, and maybe Dave could help him with that, if it wasn’t his fault to begin with.

David looks startled for a second, then his mouth flattens into a frown and he says, “There’s no school on Saturday.”

Jack glances down at one his newspapers. “Oh.”

David follows his eyes down, to the embarrassing stack of eighty or something like that papers. “Um, is everything…”

“Slow day. Bad headline.” It’s an automatic answer, which explains why it’s so damn stupid; Jack coughs like that’ll cover it up and then he scratches the back of his head. “What you here for, anyway?”

David shrugs. “Just—I was thinking, well…”

Perfect. Jack draws the word out in his head, peeeeeerfect, and he rolls his eyes as he does it. Davey’s tongue-tied and the papes aren’t selling themselves, and it’s mostly just to end the awkwardness that Jack takes half his stack and shoves them into David’s arms. “Listen, take care of those for me, and—”

David shakes his head. “No, I’m not taking your—”

“Fine.” Jack grabs them back, but David doesn’t let go, and for a couple seconds they both struggle for them. When they give up, it’s at the exact same time.

The papers hit the ground. And not in the neat pile they started in.

“—money.”

They stare at each other for a second, and then they both drop to the ground and start grabbing papers. Except for the ones that landed in the gutter, those are pretty much unsellable, now, unless there’s folks in New York that like reading their news through runny ink and mud.

“Look,” David says, handing Jack a stack of papes—dusty, a little wrinkled, but in good enough condition to work with. “If you need some help, I don’t mind—”

“No, Dave, I got it, I really do.” Jack stands up, and then he takes a good look at David’s expression.

And then he says, “But, um, if you want to keep me company—I’m workin’, but…”

“That’s fine,” David answers. Pretty quickly.

“And carry some papes for me, maybe.”

David rolls his eyes, and holds out his hand.

One block later, Jack’s dumped almost twenty papers on the good folks of the city, and thanks to David trailing behind him, the stack on his shoulder’s lighter, anyway. He’s still feeling a little … whatever it was—not lonely, almost jealous but not quite, not exactly—but it’ll pass, he’ll get used to the way things are now.

He’s got nothing to worry about, anyway.

[rocknload.livejournal.com]

seity; something peculiar to one's self.

“’Shoes with matchin’ laces?’ That’s it?” Blink raises the brow of the one eye you can see, peering at Blink with something that’s hopefully amusement. “We’re all makin’ crazy wishes, and—”

Mush shrugs. “It’s somethin’ I don’t got, look.” He points down at his boots, beaten and worn, and sure enough, one of the laces is brown. The other is … well, mostly missing, but what’s there is black.

Blink glances down. “Yeah, but there’s lots we don’t got.

Mush shrugs again, he doesn’t know what to say. “There ain’t much I want, y’know?”

Blink keeps looking at him, and whatever’s on his face, it’s not amusement. But then he chuckles, he leans forward and claps Mush on the shoulder. “You’re a funny kid, Mush, ya know that, right?”

Mush wants to shrug again, he doesn’t know what Blink means, not really. “Yeah,” he says, instead. “Yeah, I know.”