Hey, everybody! This time around, I'm trying to write some Mik, because I notice very little fanfiction from his point of view. If you think I'm not in character too terribly well, please put it in the review. Any review is appreciated, except for undue flames for writing for Boy Meets Boy. Oh, and apologies to the dialogue of the Disembodied Voice – I was beginning to take the Matrix Reloaded spoof a step too far.
Warning: Sandrah Delete owns all of Boy Meets boy, the characters, everything. I swear. … I don't own a single piece of anything, not counting an attachment to a certain couple. … No! Really! … I guess what I'm trying to say is, "Please don't sue me."
1: A Coffee Table Heaven
Long, flowing poetry. Ah, yes, this is what life is supposed to be about. The sweet rhythm and life that is found in the writings of the grandest of poets, from Sappho to Robert Frost. Just sitting in my favorite chair in the apartment, drinking my Chai tea, and imagining that the ferret beset upon my feet isn't chewing at my right big toenail.
Ironic that it was that said ferret would decide that the nail wasn't good enough for its needle-sharp teeth, and bit down at the quick. Despite my engrossment in the poetry book I was reading, quite a few curses issued forth from my mouth in the space of two seconds. Lurching forward to grab the offending rodent, perhaps I forgot my counterbalance, and lo and behold, my forehead met quite intimately with the edge of the coffee table. The lights went out, albeit temporarily.
---
Awakening to bright, bright lights, I muttered several curse words, cursing not only Harley's ferret but the fact that I had insisted that the coffee table be so close to my favorite chair for easy access to coffee-table books.
"Ironic, is it not?" Issued forth a voice. "The mere instance of this one incident, seemingly interwoven in upon a life beset with "accident" after gloom-causing "accident"?" Immediately I thought it was the voice of the person I least wanted to talk to right now.
"… Am I … Dead?" I said, the bright light not showing a single atom of color, not a hint of hue or shade, but blindingly white light. At least, blinding to normal human eyes. I hardly even felt the urge to blink, despite the sheer blankness of my surroundings.
"Ah, not so, Mikhael. Dead is merely a state of being, really. You're not in your normal surroundings, am I quite correct?" Issued forth the voice. "Yes, that's it. Oh, don't be so surprised. I can quite easily read your thoughts, after all – I'm the Architect that made them."
"Oh, Christ. Are you spoofing the Matrix Reloaded?" I groaned. It just seemed like what would happen to me. I was in no mood for this spoofing, in no mood to be (probably) passed out on the floor, and in no mood for all of this being caused by a stupid ferret.
"No, I most certainly am not. I'll try to stop talking like him. I didn't really like him. Ugh. I merely wanted to point out an error of your ways – perhaps you should be paying attention to some of Harley's friends. They're not such bad people when you get to know them."
Despite the fact this was probably some hallucination from a blow to the head, judging by this disembodied voice's banter, this was starting to … annoy me. "Okay, what's the big deal? Am I supposed to be like in those movies, the ones where the constantly self-centered guy ends up getting a second chance, some weird plot where he ends up being the upstanding guy that fixes someone's life or plays matchmaker?"
Despite his incorporeal form, I could feel an amusing realization emanating from whomever was speaking with me. "Why, yes. That's a great idea! Why didn't /I/ think of that?!" I cringed, realizing that I had probably given whoever (or whatever) this was some ammo for his arsenal. "Well, let's see … Haven't you noticed anything lately about that pincushion of a drummer?"
Even without a body, I could feel my brow furrow. Cyanide, that angst-ridden, overbearing, far-too-many-bodily-piercing jerk of a band member? "Uuh … not much, no … he's been kind of angst-ridden. … Come to think of it, more than usual."
I could feel the voice still being amused, but perhaps a little bit more resignedly. "… And you'd say that he's … depressed-angst-ridden, or just the normal angry-angst-ridden?" The voice was letting go of any illusion of grandeur about him (I assume it was him, I couldn't really tell by the voice besides that it was very much booming.)
I blinked. I actually had no idea. Lately he had been moping around at his own apartment, and Harley was worried sick about him, constantly wondering if he should go over and figure out what was wrong, but he failed to ever find out. Skids had been nowhere to be found so far, and despite my misgivings about the band playing while I was trying to work, it was niggling at the back of my mind that both of them were failing to show up to practice.
"Wait a second, are you saying that Cyanide's in trouble?"
---
And then I woke up with Harley's nail-biting ferret curled up on my chest, and the smell of its musk permeating my good sweater. But with this new pounding headache, I didn't really care. Was it a hallucination, some weird dream I had? I had absolutely no idea. But that damn ferret, as soon as it realized I was awake, resumed to biting my toenail.
… Dammed rodent.
Warning: Sandrah Delete owns all of Boy Meets boy, the characters, everything. I swear. … I don't own a single piece of anything, not counting an attachment to a certain couple. … No! Really! … I guess what I'm trying to say is, "Please don't sue me."
1: A Coffee Table Heaven
Long, flowing poetry. Ah, yes, this is what life is supposed to be about. The sweet rhythm and life that is found in the writings of the grandest of poets, from Sappho to Robert Frost. Just sitting in my favorite chair in the apartment, drinking my Chai tea, and imagining that the ferret beset upon my feet isn't chewing at my right big toenail.
Ironic that it was that said ferret would decide that the nail wasn't good enough for its needle-sharp teeth, and bit down at the quick. Despite my engrossment in the poetry book I was reading, quite a few curses issued forth from my mouth in the space of two seconds. Lurching forward to grab the offending rodent, perhaps I forgot my counterbalance, and lo and behold, my forehead met quite intimately with the edge of the coffee table. The lights went out, albeit temporarily.
---
Awakening to bright, bright lights, I muttered several curse words, cursing not only Harley's ferret but the fact that I had insisted that the coffee table be so close to my favorite chair for easy access to coffee-table books.
"Ironic, is it not?" Issued forth a voice. "The mere instance of this one incident, seemingly interwoven in upon a life beset with "accident" after gloom-causing "accident"?" Immediately I thought it was the voice of the person I least wanted to talk to right now.
"… Am I … Dead?" I said, the bright light not showing a single atom of color, not a hint of hue or shade, but blindingly white light. At least, blinding to normal human eyes. I hardly even felt the urge to blink, despite the sheer blankness of my surroundings.
"Ah, not so, Mikhael. Dead is merely a state of being, really. You're not in your normal surroundings, am I quite correct?" Issued forth the voice. "Yes, that's it. Oh, don't be so surprised. I can quite easily read your thoughts, after all – I'm the Architect that made them."
"Oh, Christ. Are you spoofing the Matrix Reloaded?" I groaned. It just seemed like what would happen to me. I was in no mood for this spoofing, in no mood to be (probably) passed out on the floor, and in no mood for all of this being caused by a stupid ferret.
"No, I most certainly am not. I'll try to stop talking like him. I didn't really like him. Ugh. I merely wanted to point out an error of your ways – perhaps you should be paying attention to some of Harley's friends. They're not such bad people when you get to know them."
Despite the fact this was probably some hallucination from a blow to the head, judging by this disembodied voice's banter, this was starting to … annoy me. "Okay, what's the big deal? Am I supposed to be like in those movies, the ones where the constantly self-centered guy ends up getting a second chance, some weird plot where he ends up being the upstanding guy that fixes someone's life or plays matchmaker?"
Despite his incorporeal form, I could feel an amusing realization emanating from whomever was speaking with me. "Why, yes. That's a great idea! Why didn't /I/ think of that?!" I cringed, realizing that I had probably given whoever (or whatever) this was some ammo for his arsenal. "Well, let's see … Haven't you noticed anything lately about that pincushion of a drummer?"
Even without a body, I could feel my brow furrow. Cyanide, that angst-ridden, overbearing, far-too-many-bodily-piercing jerk of a band member? "Uuh … not much, no … he's been kind of angst-ridden. … Come to think of it, more than usual."
I could feel the voice still being amused, but perhaps a little bit more resignedly. "… And you'd say that he's … depressed-angst-ridden, or just the normal angry-angst-ridden?" The voice was letting go of any illusion of grandeur about him (I assume it was him, I couldn't really tell by the voice besides that it was very much booming.)
I blinked. I actually had no idea. Lately he had been moping around at his own apartment, and Harley was worried sick about him, constantly wondering if he should go over and figure out what was wrong, but he failed to ever find out. Skids had been nowhere to be found so far, and despite my misgivings about the band playing while I was trying to work, it was niggling at the back of my mind that both of them were failing to show up to practice.
"Wait a second, are you saying that Cyanide's in trouble?"
---
And then I woke up with Harley's nail-biting ferret curled up on my chest, and the smell of its musk permeating my good sweater. But with this new pounding headache, I didn't really care. Was it a hallucination, some weird dream I had? I had absolutely no idea. But that damn ferret, as soon as it realized I was awake, resumed to biting my toenail.
… Dammed rodent.