So, I recently made some cards to help me write even when I have writer's block. They're my Writer's Block Destroyer cards, and there are 200 cards total. 106 Character Cards, 50 Setting Cards, and 44 Theme Cards (the deck will probably expand as I get more notecards). I pick as many character cards as I want (usually two), one setting card and one theme card. I put them all together and it makes a one-shot! And I dare say, it works! :D
Character 1: Cid Highwind
Character 2: New OC- Hank
Setting: Wisconsin
Theme: Cool
Title: Go Pack
Words: 555
Rating: T (For Cid's Potty Mouth)
Universe: Final Fantasy VII/ Planet Earth
Time: No clue, lol
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Hank. . .and even that's debatable.
The pilot sat, hunched over at the bar, wincing every time the group of twenty-some fully grown men roared their approval at the TV. The door to the bar opened and everyone turned their heads for a milisecond just to see if the newcomer was welcome or not. This man was, since he wore a green sports jersey with a name emblazoned across his shoulders in gold lettering.
"So you really chose to sit in a sports bar on a Packer Sunday?" the man asked him as he sat down.
"Hank. . .you don't know what it's like at home. . .Shera's having a—a. . .a baby shower at the house! There are women and screaming children everywhere!"
"Cid, it can't be that bad—"
"There was fucking pink confetti. . .everywhere!"
"Okay, so it was that bad. . ." The two sat in silence punctuated every now and then by cheers or boos from the green and gold clad men surrounding them.
"Gah! What does a guy have to do around her for a smoke?"
"That's right, bars are smoke-free now, aren't they?"
"Why? Why?"
"You could always go outside and smoke." Cid looked at Hank as if he had just sprouted a second head.
"It is fucking two below zero with a windchill of three and snowing. . .does it look like I need a smoke that bad?" the pilot erupted. When Hank kept quiet, Cid buried his head in his arms. "Fuck, I do," he whined.
The bar suddenly got quiet as the door opened once more and a man wearing a navy blue jersey with an orange roaring bear's head on his chest. Every green-and-gold clad man in the bar glared at the newcomer with a vehemence so lethal, it was a surprise he didn't spontaneously combust on the spot. He, instead, was oblivious to the icy atmosphere—pardon the pun—and sat himself down at the bar.
Hank broke the silence first.
"C'mon, Captain. Let's get some fresh air. It looks like you need it." He stood up and ushered Cid to the door.
"I need smoky fresh air," the blonde murmured as he hiked up his collar against the cold.
"My point exactly." The darker skinned male waited for Cid to light up before speaking again. However, as Hank opened his mouth, the door bust open as well, and the man in the dark blue jersey was thrown onto the snowy sidewalk.
"No Bears paraphernalia allowed, can't you read the sign? Fucking FIB. . ." one of the patrons growled as he pointed to a sign that was VERY hard to miss before disappearing back into the gloom of the bar.
Cid and Hank blinked.
"How long is that baby shower lasting?" Hank suddenly asked.
"Don't know, don't care. Got a flatscreen in the basement," Cid replied, snuffing his cigarette and lighting another one. The two started to gravitate to the parking lot.
"Why not go there in the first place?"
"And miss this? Fuck no. I like bar fights."
"This is a sports bar," Hank pointed out.
"Pah. Tomayto, tomahto." Cid grinned. "New surround system. . ."
"I'm already walking with ya, you don't need to bribe me!"
I have nothing against people from Illinois or Bears fans. . .this is just something that has happened on more than one occasion on a Packer Sunday at one of the bars I have to rescue my brother from.