A/N: Freewrite, fifteen minutes. For "15minuteficlets."
Deadline
Fun City and all the balloons are out, floating up in the sky like string-tied twists of candy, and Leon D.S. Geeste sits on the park bench by the races and swings his boots back and forth because he's not quite tall enough to reach the ground. He takes his black-rimmed spectacles from the pocket of his coat, retrieves a medical text and flips it open. Due at Kitchen Stadium in fifteen minutes, late and Claude will never forgive him for missing the match, and who knows, scientific chemistry has never been all that different from cooking and maybe he'll compete. But for now it's just him and the man in the bunny mannequin costume, man who claims it isn't a bad job, but, "Damn, I could use a cigarette," and "You just keep on reading, kid. You're lucky you got yourself an education. You'll never have to redeem yourself at this state of the game, now, will you?" and Leon wants to put a ticket on the blue bunny to win, Seltzer and fluffy-eared shoes for the prize. Darned if he thought that anyone really looked fierce in those, but Celine had researched the matter and mentioned that they made you go admirably fast, and Leon thought perhaps the speed would give him more time to embellish his spells. "Don't be such a perfectionist," and his cheeks warm a little at the thought but he stuffs it back down and reaches out to turn another page in his book. Ought to be more afternoons like this, he thinks, guiltily, and there ought to be more time when he isn't under deadline--but scratch that, he thinks, and he gives his spectacles a vicious tweak--Leon Geeste thrives under deadline. This train of thought is interrupted as a small child with pigtails hurls herself in the direction of the bunny mannequin and starts to pull on one of his ears.
"Hey," says Leon, looking up, "cut that out."
And the kid just looks at him and sticks her tongue out, mental quiet "I'm more bratty than you, Mr. Leon D.S. Geeste," and god knows he's never been bratty but the insult is there.
"That stuff cuts down on your job opportunities later," he says, and looks down over the top of his spectacles because he thinks it might make him sound older. "What if you wanted to work as a bunny?" and the girl just looks at him, wide eyes blue like the cerulean sky above his head, but they're flecked with imperfections and bits of hazel, shell among sea. She sticks her thumb in her mouth and Leon crosses one leg over the other--would slouch back, but his mother told him not to slouch--so he rearranges his book on his knee and the bunny mannequin thanks him. He says maybe he can tip Leon off on some race odds, but Leon checks his watch and it's five till the hour, unknown battling dish, and he puts the book back in his pocket.
"Redemption, kid," says the bunny mannequin, and "hopefully you'll never get this far," and Leon takes off his spectacles and knuckles the side of his fist into his eye.
topic:
redeem
Deadline
Fun City and all the balloons are out, floating up in the sky like string-tied twists of candy, and Leon D.S. Geeste sits on the park bench by the races and swings his boots back and forth because he's not quite tall enough to reach the ground. He takes his black-rimmed spectacles from the pocket of his coat, retrieves a medical text and flips it open. Due at Kitchen Stadium in fifteen minutes, late and Claude will never forgive him for missing the match, and who knows, scientific chemistry has never been all that different from cooking and maybe he'll compete. But for now it's just him and the man in the bunny mannequin costume, man who claims it isn't a bad job, but, "Damn, I could use a cigarette," and "You just keep on reading, kid. You're lucky you got yourself an education. You'll never have to redeem yourself at this state of the game, now, will you?" and Leon wants to put a ticket on the blue bunny to win, Seltzer and fluffy-eared shoes for the prize. Darned if he thought that anyone really looked fierce in those, but Celine had researched the matter and mentioned that they made you go admirably fast, and Leon thought perhaps the speed would give him more time to embellish his spells. "Don't be such a perfectionist," and his cheeks warm a little at the thought but he stuffs it back down and reaches out to turn another page in his book. Ought to be more afternoons like this, he thinks, guiltily, and there ought to be more time when he isn't under deadline--but scratch that, he thinks, and he gives his spectacles a vicious tweak--Leon Geeste thrives under deadline. This train of thought is interrupted as a small child with pigtails hurls herself in the direction of the bunny mannequin and starts to pull on one of his ears.
"Hey," says Leon, looking up, "cut that out."
And the kid just looks at him and sticks her tongue out, mental quiet "I'm more bratty than you, Mr. Leon D.S. Geeste," and god knows he's never been bratty but the insult is there.
"That stuff cuts down on your job opportunities later," he says, and looks down over the top of his spectacles because he thinks it might make him sound older. "What if you wanted to work as a bunny?" and the girl just looks at him, wide eyes blue like the cerulean sky above his head, but they're flecked with imperfections and bits of hazel, shell among sea. She sticks her thumb in her mouth and Leon crosses one leg over the other--would slouch back, but his mother told him not to slouch--so he rearranges his book on his knee and the bunny mannequin thanks him. He says maybe he can tip Leon off on some race odds, but Leon checks his watch and it's five till the hour, unknown battling dish, and he puts the book back in his pocket.
"Redemption, kid," says the bunny mannequin, and "hopefully you'll never get this far," and Leon takes off his spectacles and knuckles the side of his fist into his eye.
topic:
redeem