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foxysquidalsoAnother selection of shorter stories from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pw_contest, which I enjoy participating in. I don't even generally care for contests (since I'm not really that competitive), but it's very chill and friendly, and I would recommend joining for those who have any interest. And the word count limits get me to write things that are actually brief. It's amazing!
Two of these stories are loving brother stories, and the other one is about friendship. How predictable.
Title: Not Cloudy All Day
Rating: PG
Characters: Jake, Neil
Warnings: Mild spoilers for Rise from the Ashes, references to death.
Word count: 993
Summary: Jake Marshall rides again.
Notes: Written for the prompt "prickly".
The ranch was called The Prickly Pear. It was a sleepy hacienda, hidden far from any city worth speaking of, out where the world was as wide as it was possible to be. It was Jake's new place of employment, and he was grateful for it. He hadn't had any experience as a ranch hand. He'd been a lawman, and a city lawman at that. Friends and the prison outreach program had done their part in getting him there, and he'd had a little to do with it too, taking some courses while inside. He'd finally made it out west. Though strictly speaking, he was now east of LA, this was the West, capital W.
He didn't hide the fact that he'd been in prison. The other hands hadn't been happy to hear they'd be bunking with a jailbird that had flown the nest, but folks tended to soften once they heard the full story. His new friends were no exception. Should've killed that guy, they said. I'd've done worse.
They had a point, but if he'd done worse, he wouldn't have ended up home on the range. He grinned and answered, "There was only so far outside the law I was willing to go." He was a lawman at heart, an outlaw by accident. That was fine with him. That guy would never find himself riding a bay horse through a landscape dotted with cacti and desert flowers, would never again know what it was to be free. There was a sure satisfaction in that.
It wasn't all sunshine and bougainvillea at The Prickly Pear. Most of his greenhorn duties consisted of mucking out stalls and paddocks, but if, as a policeman, you didn't learn to shovel shit, you hadn't done your job right. Worse than the shoveling was Jake's shameful realization that he wasn't as good a horseman as he thought. He suffered through the jokes about California cowboys, learned from his mistakes, got better. The jokes tapered off, then died out altogether. He didn't give up, didn't go back home, because this was it.
He and Neil swore they'd grow up to be cowboys, back when they'd been no more than waist high to their mother. Later, when practicality sunk in, their dreams had changed. He'd wanted to be a policeman, Neil a prosecutor. Those dreams had come true. Then they'd disappeared, as quick as blink. A moment was all it took to kill a dream or a person. When you knew that, how could you go on living? How could you hope for anything, when it could be snatched away from you without so much as a how d'you do?
Yet the other dream hadn't died. The first one, the one that was a little loco. Out of all the boys who dreamed of being cowboys, how many grew up into them? He and Neil used to ride across the wild front yard on hobbyhorses, shooting the bad guys with cheap fake guns, the silver of them shining too bright to be real.
Jake could deal with mucking out stalls, but his favorite job was riding out to fix fences. Though he got along with the other ranch hands, he preferred to be on his own sometimes, where the blue yonder opened up above him and the whole world dwindled to three things: him, his horse, and the sky.
Fixing a fence by yourself took strength and skill. The better Jake got at it, the more he enjoyed it. All that honest sweat. No one on your back. No reports to fill out or papers to file. He did miss being a detective, but he'd been missing that for years before he'd gone to jail. Lost dreams didn't disappear, but they changed shape, shrunk down so they could fill up the corners in your mind, out of view for the most part, unless someone or something shook them into the open.
Jake looked up from his work, tipped his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun was heading west, and he could see what was going to happen. The whole western sky was about to light up with a sunset like a blaze of flame.
Dreams might fall out of view, but not everything did. Some things stayed where they were meant to be. Right beside you.
One summer, his parents had taken him and his brother out to a ranch--not like The Prickly Pear, but one of those dude ranches families could stay at for a week or two, do some riding and herding, pretend they were real cowboys. They hadn't been anything like real cowboys, he knew now, but as kids, they'd sure felt like it.
Those two weeks had been among the best of his life. Two weeks of riding and roping, laughing and talking. Every night, he and Neil had stayed up hours past their usual bedtimes, telling stories and secrets out behind the cabin, sprawling on their backs in the tall grass, stargazing.
"Are there more stars here than at home, Jake?"
"Nah, it's just you can see 'em better."
"I think I'm gonna fall in, the sky's so big."
If you looked up at the stars for too long, it started to feel like you could see them spinning, or maybe you were the one turning, along with the world beneath your back. You started to feel dizzy, like you were about to slip right off the earth. Jake had felt it too. Jake had taken his brother's hand. "I'll keep hold of you."
Time had passed, and the sun was setting. It was one big red heartbreak now, shot through with gold. Soon the stars would be showing up. Jake's horse whickered, restless. Jake had to be getting back, but he didn't stir yet. "The sky's still big, Neil," he said. "But don't you worry. We won't fall in."
Title: A Sensible Imagination
Characters: Miles Edgeworth, Manfred von Karma
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word count: 299
Summary: Von Karma's rules are strict, but it is not Miles' intention to break them.
Notes: Set some time more than six months after the DL-6 incident, but not too much more. Written for the prompt "pretend".
The lecture droned on and on. Miles had been standing motionless for so long, he'd begun to let his thoughts drift away, although it was important for him to seem to be listening. He made a game of it, appearing as attentive as possible: chin raised, posture straight, eyes wide. The trick was to pay exactly enough attention to know when a response was called for and to give the right answer without hesitation.
It was a slightly dangerous game, as the amount of trouble he was in would increase if von Karma realized what he was doing. It was dangerous, but he was good at it. He knew the lecture was coming to an end when he had to respond a few times in a row. He did so promptly.
"Talking to oneself is a poor habit, indicative of an unstable mind."
"Yes, sir."
"I hope you don't believe in anything so foolish as an 'imaginary friend'."
"No, sir."
"Return to your studies, and I don't want to hear another word from this room. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Miles returned to his seat and listened to von Karma's footsteps as they echoed in the hall, then receded. Miles did not recommence studying at once. He gazed out the window. His view was of the pine forest behind the house. Snow had fallen the night before, and it was crisp and white.
When he was certain von Karma was out of earshot, Miles spoke. "If you were here, we could play in the snow. It's very deep. We could make a snowman." Von Karma was correct. There was no point in talking to oneself, or to an imaginary friend. He was talking to a real person.
"Perhaps you can come to visit someday, Phoenix."
Title: Every Thursday
Characters: Klavier, Kristoph
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers for AJ, especially cases 1 & 4
Word count: 994
Summary: There is one loyal brother in the Gavin family, and he has not yet given up the fight.
Notes: Set post-AJ, maybe as much as a year after the events in the last case? Written for the prompt "pet".
Thursday was not his favorite day of the week, but Klavier made the best of it. He brought the prison staff drinks from the nearby café. He knew the guards' names and whether they liked coffee or tea. He asked after spouses, children. If they didn't have spouses, he flirted a little. He made them laugh, and he never stopped smiling, determined to brighten the bleak surroundings, defying the gray cinderblocks with purple and gold.
He swung by to see Daryan first, out of a sense of obligation more than desire, but Daryan had no new profanities to teach him, just the usual old ones. That was the opening act. Next came the headliner, and today's performance was a special one. Let's rock.
Why did he put himself through this every Thursday? At first, it had been a random weekly visit. A pattern had emerged, since Thursday was the day he was most likely to have a free afternoon, and on one of those afternoons, he'd walked into Kristoph's cell to be greeted by the raise of an eyebrow and the words, "Ah, how predictable."
Condescension aside, Klavier knew his brother well enough to know what that meant. Kristoph had come to expect him on Thursdays. He liked expected things, if only so he could feel superior to them. With those words, Klavier had been sentenced to Thursdays in prison.
Siblings could be close. They could be competitive. He and his brother were neither. What were they? He didn't know anymore.
The guards let him enter Kristoph's cell alone because he was a family member and because he was a prosecutor. He was also his brother's hated lawyer. "Hello, Kristoph. Wie geht's?"
"Hello, Klavier." Kristoph ignored the question in German and offered no information regarding his well being. He was seated in his armchair, legs crossed. His cell was as beautiful and tranquil as a solitary cell could be. His influence had made it so; defense attorneys had ways of winning powerful friends. The spines of Kristoph's books were gilded. His ornamental plates had never known the touch of dust. His violin gleamed. The fresh roses atop his chest of drawers were crimson. If not for the bars and the concrete floor, Klavier could have pretended Solitary Cell 13 was Kristoph's room at home.
When memories of home began to surface, Klavier pushed them back down. He focused on the present. "I have a surprise for you today."
Kristoph's mouth twitched at the word surprise. He repositioned his manicured hands on the arms of his chair, as if loath to leave it.
Klavier kept the smile on his face. Was it a real smile? He willed it to be. A performance didn't have to be fake. If you meant it enough, if you wanted it enough, it could become real. "You'll like it. Trust me."
He doubted Kristoph trusted anyone, but Kristoph rose. Kristoph was allowed to walk freely through the corridor, wrists and ankles unbound, though the guards watched him closely. Kristoph's good behavior had won him privileges: his perfectly behaved brother.
"Where are we going? What kind of surprise is this?"
"Outside. You'll see."
It had taken months of planning, arguing, and ultimately the cooperation of Mr. Edgeworth to make this possible.
When Kristoph stepped out onto the asphalt that blanketed the near side of the yard, he froze. Another guard stood there, against the backdrop of the towering chain link fence. The guard was holding a dog's leash. His brother's dog, Vongole.
Klavier watched his brother's face in that moment of realization. It lit like sunrise. There was something human remaining in him, if only a single spark of light.
He used to love me like that. What a strange thought, comparing himself to a dog. The fact that it was true made it that much stranger. Kristoph had loved Klavier when Klavier had adored him, when he had had nothing but a child's affection and admiration for him, innocent and unable to see him as anything but mein Bruder. The old memories threatened to rise again, but this time, Klavier let them come. He remembered a tall, grave boy with a gentle voice who collected seashells. Who spent hours patiently putting ships in bottles, slowly raising their sails. Who played the violin so sweetly that the adults said it made them sad. Klavier used to wonder how something beautiful could make them sad, and he'd found the idea quite silly at the time. He knew better now.
Vongole wagged her tail. She had not forgotten her master. She went to him. The guard handed Kristoph the leash.
Kristoph had refused to file an appeal on his own behalf. The great defense attorney would no longer defend himself. It was Klavier who was defending him, waging a silent war fought through paperwork, a war he rarely discussed aloud. If his friends had known what he was doing, what would they have said? Was he still a foolish boy, with a loyalty that had outlived its usefulness? It did not matter. He did what he had to do. Like Vongole--as unflattering as the comparison was--he had been born to love Kristoph.
He and his brother were more like rivals now than they had ever been. They had never had the chance to face each other in court. Klavier stood back and watched Kristoph in silence. As Kristoph stroked his dog's head, his real smile bloomed on his face, the one Klavier had seldom seen since they were children. His brother was ill. His brother needed treatment, not his neck snapped. I will get you out of here, Kristoph. I will see you hospitalized. I will not let you die.
His brother, who preferred death, knelt in the prison yard and pressed his face to his dog's golden fur, for once heedless of his appearance.
Beautiful things could be so sad.
pw_contest, which I enjoy participating in. I don't even generally care for contests (since I'm not really that competitive), but it's very chill and friendly, and I would recommend joining for those who have any interest. And the word count limits get me to write things that are actually brief. It's amazing!Two of these stories are loving brother stories, and the other one is about friendship. How predictable.
Title: Not Cloudy All Day
Rating: PG
Characters: Jake, Neil
Warnings: Mild spoilers for Rise from the Ashes, references to death.
Word count: 993
Summary: Jake Marshall rides again.
Notes: Written for the prompt "prickly".
The ranch was called The Prickly Pear. It was a sleepy hacienda, hidden far from any city worth speaking of, out where the world was as wide as it was possible to be. It was Jake's new place of employment, and he was grateful for it. He hadn't had any experience as a ranch hand. He'd been a lawman, and a city lawman at that. Friends and the prison outreach program had done their part in getting him there, and he'd had a little to do with it too, taking some courses while inside. He'd finally made it out west. Though strictly speaking, he was now east of LA, this was the West, capital W.
He didn't hide the fact that he'd been in prison. The other hands hadn't been happy to hear they'd be bunking with a jailbird that had flown the nest, but folks tended to soften once they heard the full story. His new friends were no exception. Should've killed that guy, they said. I'd've done worse.
They had a point, but if he'd done worse, he wouldn't have ended up home on the range. He grinned and answered, "There was only so far outside the law I was willing to go." He was a lawman at heart, an outlaw by accident. That was fine with him. That guy would never find himself riding a bay horse through a landscape dotted with cacti and desert flowers, would never again know what it was to be free. There was a sure satisfaction in that.
It wasn't all sunshine and bougainvillea at The Prickly Pear. Most of his greenhorn duties consisted of mucking out stalls and paddocks, but if, as a policeman, you didn't learn to shovel shit, you hadn't done your job right. Worse than the shoveling was Jake's shameful realization that he wasn't as good a horseman as he thought. He suffered through the jokes about California cowboys, learned from his mistakes, got better. The jokes tapered off, then died out altogether. He didn't give up, didn't go back home, because this was it.
He and Neil swore they'd grow up to be cowboys, back when they'd been no more than waist high to their mother. Later, when practicality sunk in, their dreams had changed. He'd wanted to be a policeman, Neil a prosecutor. Those dreams had come true. Then they'd disappeared, as quick as blink. A moment was all it took to kill a dream or a person. When you knew that, how could you go on living? How could you hope for anything, when it could be snatched away from you without so much as a how d'you do?
Yet the other dream hadn't died. The first one, the one that was a little loco. Out of all the boys who dreamed of being cowboys, how many grew up into them? He and Neil used to ride across the wild front yard on hobbyhorses, shooting the bad guys with cheap fake guns, the silver of them shining too bright to be real.
Jake could deal with mucking out stalls, but his favorite job was riding out to fix fences. Though he got along with the other ranch hands, he preferred to be on his own sometimes, where the blue yonder opened up above him and the whole world dwindled to three things: him, his horse, and the sky.
Fixing a fence by yourself took strength and skill. The better Jake got at it, the more he enjoyed it. All that honest sweat. No one on your back. No reports to fill out or papers to file. He did miss being a detective, but he'd been missing that for years before he'd gone to jail. Lost dreams didn't disappear, but they changed shape, shrunk down so they could fill up the corners in your mind, out of view for the most part, unless someone or something shook them into the open.
Jake looked up from his work, tipped his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun was heading west, and he could see what was going to happen. The whole western sky was about to light up with a sunset like a blaze of flame.
Dreams might fall out of view, but not everything did. Some things stayed where they were meant to be. Right beside you.
One summer, his parents had taken him and his brother out to a ranch--not like The Prickly Pear, but one of those dude ranches families could stay at for a week or two, do some riding and herding, pretend they were real cowboys. They hadn't been anything like real cowboys, he knew now, but as kids, they'd sure felt like it.
Those two weeks had been among the best of his life. Two weeks of riding and roping, laughing and talking. Every night, he and Neil had stayed up hours past their usual bedtimes, telling stories and secrets out behind the cabin, sprawling on their backs in the tall grass, stargazing.
"Are there more stars here than at home, Jake?"
"Nah, it's just you can see 'em better."
"I think I'm gonna fall in, the sky's so big."
If you looked up at the stars for too long, it started to feel like you could see them spinning, or maybe you were the one turning, along with the world beneath your back. You started to feel dizzy, like you were about to slip right off the earth. Jake had felt it too. Jake had taken his brother's hand. "I'll keep hold of you."
Time had passed, and the sun was setting. It was one big red heartbreak now, shot through with gold. Soon the stars would be showing up. Jake's horse whickered, restless. Jake had to be getting back, but he didn't stir yet. "The sky's still big, Neil," he said. "But don't you worry. We won't fall in."
Title: A Sensible Imagination
Characters: Miles Edgeworth, Manfred von Karma
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word count: 299
Summary: Von Karma's rules are strict, but it is not Miles' intention to break them.
Notes: Set some time more than six months after the DL-6 incident, but not too much more. Written for the prompt "pretend".
The lecture droned on and on. Miles had been standing motionless for so long, he'd begun to let his thoughts drift away, although it was important for him to seem to be listening. He made a game of it, appearing as attentive as possible: chin raised, posture straight, eyes wide. The trick was to pay exactly enough attention to know when a response was called for and to give the right answer without hesitation.
It was a slightly dangerous game, as the amount of trouble he was in would increase if von Karma realized what he was doing. It was dangerous, but he was good at it. He knew the lecture was coming to an end when he had to respond a few times in a row. He did so promptly.
"Talking to oneself is a poor habit, indicative of an unstable mind."
"Yes, sir."
"I hope you don't believe in anything so foolish as an 'imaginary friend'."
"No, sir."
"Return to your studies, and I don't want to hear another word from this room. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Miles returned to his seat and listened to von Karma's footsteps as they echoed in the hall, then receded. Miles did not recommence studying at once. He gazed out the window. His view was of the pine forest behind the house. Snow had fallen the night before, and it was crisp and white.
When he was certain von Karma was out of earshot, Miles spoke. "If you were here, we could play in the snow. It's very deep. We could make a snowman." Von Karma was correct. There was no point in talking to oneself, or to an imaginary friend. He was talking to a real person.
"Perhaps you can come to visit someday, Phoenix."
Title: Every Thursday
Characters: Klavier, Kristoph
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers for AJ, especially cases 1 & 4
Word count: 994
Summary: There is one loyal brother in the Gavin family, and he has not yet given up the fight.
Notes: Set post-AJ, maybe as much as a year after the events in the last case? Written for the prompt "pet".
Thursday was not his favorite day of the week, but Klavier made the best of it. He brought the prison staff drinks from the nearby café. He knew the guards' names and whether they liked coffee or tea. He asked after spouses, children. If they didn't have spouses, he flirted a little. He made them laugh, and he never stopped smiling, determined to brighten the bleak surroundings, defying the gray cinderblocks with purple and gold.
He swung by to see Daryan first, out of a sense of obligation more than desire, but Daryan had no new profanities to teach him, just the usual old ones. That was the opening act. Next came the headliner, and today's performance was a special one. Let's rock.
Why did he put himself through this every Thursday? At first, it had been a random weekly visit. A pattern had emerged, since Thursday was the day he was most likely to have a free afternoon, and on one of those afternoons, he'd walked into Kristoph's cell to be greeted by the raise of an eyebrow and the words, "Ah, how predictable."
Condescension aside, Klavier knew his brother well enough to know what that meant. Kristoph had come to expect him on Thursdays. He liked expected things, if only so he could feel superior to them. With those words, Klavier had been sentenced to Thursdays in prison.
Siblings could be close. They could be competitive. He and his brother were neither. What were they? He didn't know anymore.
The guards let him enter Kristoph's cell alone because he was a family member and because he was a prosecutor. He was also his brother's hated lawyer. "Hello, Kristoph. Wie geht's?"
"Hello, Klavier." Kristoph ignored the question in German and offered no information regarding his well being. He was seated in his armchair, legs crossed. His cell was as beautiful and tranquil as a solitary cell could be. His influence had made it so; defense attorneys had ways of winning powerful friends. The spines of Kristoph's books were gilded. His ornamental plates had never known the touch of dust. His violin gleamed. The fresh roses atop his chest of drawers were crimson. If not for the bars and the concrete floor, Klavier could have pretended Solitary Cell 13 was Kristoph's room at home.
When memories of home began to surface, Klavier pushed them back down. He focused on the present. "I have a surprise for you today."
Kristoph's mouth twitched at the word surprise. He repositioned his manicured hands on the arms of his chair, as if loath to leave it.
Klavier kept the smile on his face. Was it a real smile? He willed it to be. A performance didn't have to be fake. If you meant it enough, if you wanted it enough, it could become real. "You'll like it. Trust me."
He doubted Kristoph trusted anyone, but Kristoph rose. Kristoph was allowed to walk freely through the corridor, wrists and ankles unbound, though the guards watched him closely. Kristoph's good behavior had won him privileges: his perfectly behaved brother.
"Where are we going? What kind of surprise is this?"
"Outside. You'll see."
It had taken months of planning, arguing, and ultimately the cooperation of Mr. Edgeworth to make this possible.
When Kristoph stepped out onto the asphalt that blanketed the near side of the yard, he froze. Another guard stood there, against the backdrop of the towering chain link fence. The guard was holding a dog's leash. His brother's dog, Vongole.
Klavier watched his brother's face in that moment of realization. It lit like sunrise. There was something human remaining in him, if only a single spark of light.
He used to love me like that. What a strange thought, comparing himself to a dog. The fact that it was true made it that much stranger. Kristoph had loved Klavier when Klavier had adored him, when he had had nothing but a child's affection and admiration for him, innocent and unable to see him as anything but mein Bruder. The old memories threatened to rise again, but this time, Klavier let them come. He remembered a tall, grave boy with a gentle voice who collected seashells. Who spent hours patiently putting ships in bottles, slowly raising their sails. Who played the violin so sweetly that the adults said it made them sad. Klavier used to wonder how something beautiful could make them sad, and he'd found the idea quite silly at the time. He knew better now.
Vongole wagged her tail. She had not forgotten her master. She went to him. The guard handed Kristoph the leash.
Kristoph had refused to file an appeal on his own behalf. The great defense attorney would no longer defend himself. It was Klavier who was defending him, waging a silent war fought through paperwork, a war he rarely discussed aloud. If his friends had known what he was doing, what would they have said? Was he still a foolish boy, with a loyalty that had outlived its usefulness? It did not matter. He did what he had to do. Like Vongole--as unflattering as the comparison was--he had been born to love Kristoph.
He and his brother were more like rivals now than they had ever been. They had never had the chance to face each other in court. Klavier stood back and watched Kristoph in silence. As Kristoph stroked his dog's head, his real smile bloomed on his face, the one Klavier had seldom seen since they were children. His brother was ill. His brother needed treatment, not his neck snapped. I will get you out of here, Kristoph. I will see you hospitalized. I will not let you die.
His brother, who preferred death, knelt in the prison yard and pressed his face to his dog's golden fur, for once heedless of his appearance.
Beautiful things could be so sad.
