First, I just really want to say thanks to those that take the time to send a review my way, it really brightens up my day.
One-shot/drabbles because I'm on a powerpuff kick and have no idea how long it'll last. If there's something that sticks, I might try to expand it. I always appreciate the feedback/suggestions!
Standard disclaimer, etc. etc.
To be brief and stop myself from going on and on, I really lost some steam with this one (probably from letting it stagnate for too long). I had already decided on what I'd do with the reds but realized I'd failed to do for the other pairs and ended up cutting it short (and leaving some plot holes). Some of the things I implied, I tried to make a little more obvious but hopefully not obnoxiously so. You can draw your own conclusions though. Enjoy.
Be warned, there is swearing and shifts in tense if you are sensitive to those things.
It was just past the morning rush hour in the city of Townsville. The once seemingly endless torrent of cars had slowed to a trickle and there was a distinct lull in the hustle and bustle of working men and women going to and fro. They wouldn't have more than two hours to talk; the crowd would be out prowling for lunch in no time at all.
A messy bun of fiery hair, begrudgingly tamed with pins and a well-worn red ribbon, bobbed to the beat of a young lady's nimble footsteps on the paver sidewalk. Every so often her pace would slow and, pretending to adjust the heavy tote carelessly slung on her shoulder, her head would make the slightest tilt, eyes darting in all directions behind her sunglasses.
For the most part, her concerns were unwarranted. She hadn't lied to the Professor; really, this was just a quick stop on the way to the library. Buttercup's route was on the opposite side of the city and was unlikely to be nearby. Bubbles had been out of the house early, presumably working the early shift at Malph's for the extra pocket change. Blossom noted the silence of her pink watch; there were usually no emergencies at this time of day. What was there to worry about?
Inhale. Exhale. The intersection was just up ahead. She stopped beside the edge of the building, taking a quick peek to survey her surroundings. This time it was a café with Spanish décor. Daily specials were neatly written with a flourish on a hanging blackboard and cream-colored shade umbrellas, nearly hidden by potted topiary, hovered over ornate metal tables. The area and connecting streets were quite empty. Spying the bill of a familiar dark red cap, she composed her reflection in a nearby window, attempting to smooth out the stylishly baggy salmon sweatshirt reserved for crisp mornings like these. She sniffed and, pushing the bridge of her white frames closer to her face, decisively turned the corner.
"Y'know, you seem that much more suspicious when you look like you've got something to hide," he snorted as the pink-clad girl took a seat in front of him, conveniently hidden by the topiary. He couldn't believe she'd sacrifice the convenience of flight for discretion.
Pulling her sunglasses off, she rolled her eyes at him. "I don't want to hear that from someone who raises red flags because he isn't hiding anything."
"Well you can't stop a good thing babe." He gave her a nonchalant shrug and slid the spare menu across the table to her.
She hasn't been keeping track of how far she's run today but it's been more than the usual number of laps and she shows no signs of stopping yet. Flying is effortless and the stamina of a Powerpuff Girl is not easily drained. Her short, black ponytail whips through the air as a faint melody leaks from the headphones lodged in her ears.
Once in a while, Buttercup's mind wanders and she reflects over last night's events: about perfect red hair mussed by her fists, about heated screaming matches loud enough to wake neighbors and about desperate pleas from her father and youngest sister. She knows she's probably wrong but it's frustrating all the same. Clenching her hands, her jaw tightens and she reprimands herself and tries to focus on song lyrics. Why won't her green silicone wristwatch sound an alarm? She's dying to punch someone.
She zooms across the crosswalk and takes a right at the next intersection. Up ahead, downtown Townsville looks much less friendlier but offers more opportunities to work off her stress. With the added bonus of weeding out petty criminals, she figures that's two birds with one stone.
The dark-haired girl can make out the faint sounds of shuffling over the music but dismisses it when a familiar bassline accompanied by drums begins to play. Her fingers fumble for the skip button before the memory has a chance to resurface and, failing that, she rips the earbuds off. Please, she begs to no one in particular and promises to make amends with her sister in return. The instant that she halts her jog, brows furrowing, a tall young man conveniently emerges from a darkened alleyway onto the sidewalk just before her. His back is turned toward her as he hides something away so smoothly that she's unsure the action occurred. She gapes at him, dumbfounded, and he resumes walking until a feeling alerts him to the apple green eyes now boring into his retreating figure. Lazily, he peeks over his shoulder and gives her a once-over. As realization hits them both, they freeze, unable to form words for a full minute.
"YOU!" The accusation erupts from her mouth like a long overdue volcano, breaking the silence.
He stares at her livid face and dares to look her up and down once more. "'Sup Butterface," he chirps at her bemused expression.
WHY ME? Buttercup decides this must be some sort of punishment and groans. She glances at him, looks away and swears internally. Looking back up at him, his eyes twinkling, she swears again out loud.
"Does that dweeb sister of yours know that you're such a potty mouth?"
She marches up to him and the tips of his fingers begin to twitch as she takes a firm hold of the collar of his forest green tee. Ignoring his question, she yanks his face down to hers and meets his amused gaze with a glare before practically roaring at him. "What've you stolen now Butch?"
"Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nuthin'."
"I'm pretty sure I saw you," she hisses, "And I know damn well you're pocketing something."
He takes a second to consider his words before his face suddenly lights up like a Christmas tree. He places his hands over hers. "Pat me down?" he suggests gleefully and grazes her cheek with his tongue.
Buttercup doesn't hesitate to introduce his face to the concrete beneath them.
Blossom's head was buried in the menu. Undoubtedly, she was annoyed by the lack of description; the laminated cardboard only listed names, most of which Bubbles would have had an easier time deciphering. The auburn-haired boy was as irritated but for a different reason.
"Have you decided what you want to order?" Brick grit his teeth. Their waiter couldn't have been any older than they were but he had the audacity to shoot appreciative glances at his companion's shapely legs, most of which was covered by her modest attire. Following his line of sight, he took in her appearance and balked. Oh for fuck's sake, she's wearing stockings. He'd had enough.
"A café solo for me and," he noted the uncharacteristic messiness of her hair and the bags under her eyes, "a café bombón for the lady." Plucking the menu from her hands, Brick handed it to the startled waiter along with his. He paid no mind to the angry red-head glaring at him.
"Yes, very good," the waiter replied mechanically before scurrying away.
"What?" Brick sighed. "It's not like I'm going to grade you on knowing what's on a menu, much less ordering from it Peaches."
Blossom huffed.
"But now that you mention it–"
She cut in, "Listen. If I'm going to do this–"
"You won't settle for anything less than the best," he finished for her triumphantly.
"How unusually generous of you to volunteer," she growled in response as the waiter returned with their drinks and placed them on the table.
"Girls, cars, you name it. I don't settle for anything less either." He grinned cheekily, bringing the smoking beverage to his lips. She admitted that the taste of black coffee would suit him well.
A hush fell over the pair. Blossom blinked as his words slowly sunk in. She could sense him studying her intently. Staring at the bi-colored drink before her, she took her spoon and stirred until her small glass settled into a warm shade of caramel before taking a sip. Her drink was sweeter than she'd expected (and was something she'd much sooner attribute to their blonde siblings) but subtly held the familiar bitterness of espresso that she'd forced herself to get used to so long ago. It was just what she needed.
It didn't happen often but Blossom and Buttercup could fight all night if you let them.
The blonde slumps over in her empty checkout lane and rubs at her bleary eyes with a yawn. She's tired and bored and the never-ending elevator music isn't doing her any favors. Her baby blue watch tells her that she's stuck there for another few hours and unfortunately there isn't another employee or customer in sight to help pass the time. At least I'm not closing up, she muses. Propping her head up with her elbow by the register, her eyelids feel heavier by the second
She feels like she's falling. As she's about to tip forward, a jolt shoots through her body and her eyes snap open in time to catch herself. She scans the store immediately to see if she's been caught.
Her co-worker Hanout now occupies the lane across from her and appears visibly shaken. His aisle is just as roughed up; gum and mints are strewn about and there are clearly several chocolate bars missing from the displays. Trembling, he wordlessly points to the automatic doors behind her. Spinning around as the doors whirr open, she spies a shaggy blonde about to leave, a twelve-pack case of Xtreme in one hand and a half-open duffel with snacks spilling out in the other. She circles around to block him in a flash like it's a reflex.
"So. Doesn't seem like you haven't changed much."
Boomer doesn't look surprised to see her hovering in front of him but curses the timing. He sets down the case and bag and his sapphire irises lock onto hers. "It hasn't been that long."
"You say that as if any amount of time would make a difference." She folds her arms across her chest and when he doesn't respond, continues in a steely voice, "Where're your brothers?"
"Look Bubbles, are you going to let me go?" He runs his hand through his hair agitatedly.
The way he says her name still makes her heart race a little but no matter how sweet the memories are, she's long past the days of holding hands and innocent afternoons spent at the mall. She's not sixteen anymore. Narrowing her eyes at her counterpart, she breathes.
"That all depends on you."
"Mmm. Now ask me if I give a shit," Brick drawled.
Midway through her ramblings about Buttercup, Blossom paused and scowled. "I don't want to hear you talking like that."
He stared at her incredulously. "I will talk however the fuck I like."
"It's unnecessary," she countered, not really in the mood to press the issue.
He scoffed. "As if that's supposed to stop me from doing it. Your three dollar coffee is unnecessary but is someone going to come in and say 'I was shocked to see Blossom drinking gourmet coffee, it really wasn't necessary'?" Seeing her skin lightly flush, his scarlet eyes glinted. He leaned in and huskily whispered with a smirk, "No, things not being necessary is what makes life interesting– the little extras in life."
"Whatever," she mumbled as she squirmed back into her seat. Likewise, he leaned back and she had to fight off the urge to punch that smug look off his face.
The smell of streetfood vendors wafted into the air and she realized the time. Brick watched her abruptly rise from her seat and sift through her bag. "Relax," he announced, pulling a brown leather wallet from his back pocket. "I've got it." He handed a ten to the waiter that came rushing when she stood, afraid they'd leave without paying. "Keep the change."
"Where did you get that?" she asked, distrust evident in her voice.
"It was a gift. Given to me. Willingly, I might add." He shrugged again as she eyed him hesitantly. "So…Friday at 7:30?"
"Yeah sur– No, wait, I can't this weekend. I have plans."
His fingers tapped against the armrest, pupils watching her blankly.
"Sorry–"
"Whatever. Don't worry about it." Cutting her off, he met her genuinely apologetic expression with a bored air and waved her away.
Blossom frowned and gave him a curt good-bye. Head cast downward as though suddenly preoccupied with his messily laced shoes, he merely grunted in acknowledgement. She pursed her lips and departed.
She made it about ten feet away when a voiced called out to her, "Hey Red!" He was on his feet, tossing something at her, "Don't sweat it, your sister'll come around sooner than you think."
She caught a square object just inches away from her nose and examined it to find that it was a brown leather wallet belonging to a Mr. Baxter. Her mouth opened in protest but shut when she saw that he had disappeared.
Pulling a crumpled bill from her tote and placing it into the wallet, she made a mental note to drop by the police station on the way home.
End
Probably back to the regularly programmed Reds next time. R&R thanks! :)