Vulptalk

Series: Touhou Length: 10 x 100 words Genre: Romance(?)/Slice of Life B/D: I really enjoy Touhou, and my favourite pairing is ReiMari, so I wanted to do something for them eventually even if it was only a drabble collection. I'm still not used to the characters, but I feel good about this set.

It was a Monday, although Mondays had ceased to mean anything for either of them. Living so long threw time into a strange relief. There was the past, which stretched out so far that it could only be comprehended a little at a time; the future, potentially limitless; and the present, vivid and delightful in the moment. There was no place for Mondays in a timeline like that.

Two figures wander under the shade of evergreen trees, streaks of silver and gold cast in silhouette by the slowly rising sun. The forest is awakening gradually as the light of the dawn brushes across its face; around them there is the shuffle of the beasts and the birds falling into the rhythm of the day.

She soars through pillowed clouds, a blue sky stretching out before her. A soldier older than any other, she counts only the birds as her brothers in arms; she has outlived the war that created her, but not the peace that she made from it. She touches down before a cottage with a thatched roof, where an old friend waits. She is singing a song as old as either of them, a melody from their youth. The song ends and Sham smiles, arms open to greet her; and at last Sora knows that she has finished the long march home.

It was meant to be a quiet evening – snacks, pyjamas, truth or dare where everybody picked truth. Then Krila found the perm rods, and decided they made her look like Medusa. Syura, predictably, ran with it. “Sir Aru! Cleave her in twain with your mighty greatsword and save Princess QP!” Syura the cleric yelled. Aru didn't have a greatsword. Aru had a standing lamp. Dark Krilalaris surged forward. Her foot came down on a lone cup of pudding left on the floor. A terrifying silence descended upon the room. Tearing off her lampshade tiara, the true final boss revealed herself. A/N: This is one reason I love doing drabbles -- occasionally I hit upon stuff like this that could make a good full length story, and I essentially leave myself a 100 word note telling me to do it later.

QP struggled, but found no purchase with her wrists tied behind her back with scarves, and the rest of her tied to the chair she was sitting on. All she could do was rock her seat. “I thought you had changed! You said all you wanted to do was enjoy pudding and play games! You tricked me with that bet!” “Quit that. You lost, so you have to play the penalty game,” Yuki taunted. “I have so many exotic puddings for you. Soy sauce, wasabi, curry powder... no expenses spared. I even made sure to tie you down with something soft, so your poor doggy wrists don't hurt.” The world went black as Yuki selected another scarf and bound it across QP's eyes. She found her senses already sharpening against her will. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she felt Yuki's fingertips brush against her cheek, before trailing down her face to settle underneath her chin. “All you have to do,” Yuki whispered, uncomfortably close to her ear, “is identify five puddings, and I'll u...

There is a blade, spoken of in legends; sharp enough to tear through skin, small enough to conceal in the palm of the hand – a necromantic blade for stitching together the remains of the dead. And now, she holds it in her hand. A few stabs as practice: it whistles through the air, sings as it dips into the body, snck-snck-snck, as quickly as she dares to use it. “Truly, this is the sword of my soul,” she mutters, holding the needle to the sky. “It befits only one such as me... Krilalaris, the dark witch of home economics! Ahuhuhuhu...” A/N: I like to think Krila does something like this in pretty much every lesson. Woodwork? Carves wooden fetishes. Science? Writes essays on the principles of alchemy. English? Does her book report on the necronomicon. 

A backless evening dress with a plunging neckline. A flashy hairstyle out of a fashion magazine. A disarming, lascivious smile. That was all it took to get an invite to a party for the rich and the famous, although her only concern is the former. “Wow, boss. You look killer ,” Tomato says, her face set in awe. She basks in the admiration of her underlings, but keeps her goal in mind. She checks her make-up, her earpiece, the pistol strapped to her thigh. Everything is ready. “Alright, Warudas! It's time to begin the operation,” Yuki announces. “Let's make some cash.”

Kyoko, like a scolding headmistress, continued pacing in front of Saki. Her hair was singed. “Why are we here?” she asked. “...Because I blew up the kitchen.” “ My kitchen. On my birthday .” Saki winced. Inside her head, she had put herself in the category of 'bad houseguest'. “Why did you blow up my kitchen?” “There was a gust, and my newspaper–” “So you hastily put something on the newspaper.” “Yes.” “And it was a stick grenade.” “I'm sorry!” Sighing, Kyoko put down the plate of cake that survived the blast. Slowly, deliberately, she pushed her friend's face into it.

Type: Fanfic Series: 100% Orange Juice/Sora Quality: Real bad Warnings: Probably completely out of character and out of canon, but it's something. Words: 1120 Brief Description: Me trying to get in Nath's head. I wanted to make a story where Sora and Nath hugged but I didn't quite get there. Oh well. Practice is practice.