Konnichiwa, minna-san. Iris-san desu. ( ^_^ )
Anyway, this is a S&S ( short and sweet ) fanfic
which I hope you'll enjoy. All and any positive
feedback or helpful criticism would be more than
greatly appreciated at kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com.
All flames, however, will be sent to my
imaginary chibi-Tasuki.
:P Sore dewa!
____________________________________________
Disclaimer: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon
belongs to Naoko-sama and filthy
rich companies that rake a
living off dirt-poor fans like
yours truly. (* _ * )
____________________________________________
Nothing Special
by Iris
kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com
____________________________________________
There's nothing special about her size -
small and petite, barely reaching five feet.
Tiny, insignificant little pipsqueak : she
would vanish standing behind almost anybody.
And yet ... beautifully formed, as if
skillfully designed like a tiny china doll,
specifically created to fit perfectly under
a man's arm, expressly made to disarm the
guard of any poor unsuspecting opponent in
order to accentuate her seemingly innocent,
youthful vulnerability, and then - to press
in on the advantage when they're still
under the illusion. You'll never know what
hit you. Or even care.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of midgets
out there. ]
There's nothing special about her figure -
all bony knees and pointy elbows, a chest
flat like the runway of an airport, thin
and gawky almost to the point of boyish
callowness ; chastely slender, demurely
contoured, with no generously porportioned
curves that might drive a young boy to
distraction.
And yet ... her skirts, which frequently
seem shorter than would be properly decent
for a school girl her age, slyly reveals a
pair of straight, athletically toned legs
tapering gently all the gloriously tanned
length to the tantalizing slimness of her
waist; narrow curves that seem to have
been especially conceived to tempt a man,
inviting him to attempt encircling it with
his palm.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of flat-
chested girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her skin -
pale and almost without color, marred by
the lightest, faintest scattering of tiny,
almost invisible freckles marching across
the bridge of her snub little nose.
And yet ... petal-soft like fresh, dewy
white lilies, smoother than silky satin
sheets, stained with just the slightest
tinge of rosy pink, like a wild June rose
almost in full bloom, and perfumed with
the clean, fresh smell of peach-scented
soap. And the freckles are like a
dusting of chocolate sprinkle-topping on
cream : delicious.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of pasty
faced girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her hair -
despite the fact that it's in a completely
and utterly *okashi* style that I so enjoy
teasing her about. Ridiculously, uselessly
long, carelessly tied in two stringy pony-
tails, pinned up in a pair of Odango
resembling buns atop her ditzy little
blonde head. Probably gets caught in
everything, and gets sat on pretty often.
How long does she take to wash and dry
all that hair of hers anyway? No wonder
the water and electricity bills of Japan
are at an all-time high.
And yet ... incredibly thick - like shiny,
glossy streams of flaxen silk, physically
bound threads of tamed sunlight, fashioned
for men to bury their greedy fingers into,
to stroke against softly, to inhale its sweet,
flowery strawberry-shampoo fragrance.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of
blonde bimbos out there. ]
There's nothing special about her eyes -
Bambi-big and perpetually round, as if she's
constantly surprised by everything around
her. Fringed with stubby lashes that flutter
ludricously like she's in need for respitory
aid whenever she fixes Motoki with that limpid
blue puppy-love-stricken, kick-me-if-you-
still-don't-get-it-obvious gaze.
And yet ... they sometimes shine like the
brightest pools of sparkling light azure,
sometimes like misty lakes full of wishing
stars that I could wish on, sometimes like the
keen blue skies of crisp, clear autumn mornings
... but more frequently like flashing sparks
of burning electric-blue gas fire whenever she
begins to glare at me.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of blue
eyed girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her voice -
shrill, sharp and strident. Her raucous,
boisterous chattering and vociferous
caterwauling constantly grates on the ear.
Emergency ambulance sirens are no
competition for the sheer range and volume
of her wailing once she gets started.
Two words : sound pollution.
And yet ... both her laughter and wails are
equally frank and loud and expressive - the
sound of someone who wears her heart on a
sleeve, displays every emotion freely, and
shares her happiness and grievances equally
generously. An open book that is both heard
and seen.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of loud-
mouthed chatterboxes out there. ]
There's nothing special about her mouth -
wide, surprisingly big for a girl her size.
Or perhaps not, considering the amount of
physical exercise it gets every day, yakking
away about the trivial, pettily superficial
details of her life to her equally carefree
friends. *smirk* Occasionally it spews forth
such vicious retorts that I'm shocked she
still uses those same lips to sleepily kiss
her mother a drowsy " oyasumi " with every
night.
And yet ... so beautifully shaped - lips full
and curved in a natural cupid's bow, pouting
ever so prettily whenever she doesn't get her
way - which is rather often actually. Tinted
a bright, rosy pink, liberally smeared with
slick strawberry-flavored gloss, as if
inviting a man to try kissing them, to test
if they possibly taste quite as good as they
appear to look.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of big-
mouthed girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her smile -
bright and sweet, but common like everyday
sunshine : it occurs so frequently you never
really notice it anymore.
And yet ...
her pouting frowns,
her narrowed eyes and furrowed brows ...
her flushed, angry cheeks ...
*These* are unusual ...
different ...
Special ...
because ...
she saves them ...
Only For Me ...
( ^ _ ^ )
_____________________________________________
" You look pretty spaced out, Mamoru. What
are you thinking about? "
I snap out of my reverie of thoughts, turning
around to gaze into the bright sea-green
curiosity of Motoki's eyes.
" Thinking about? " I reply nonchalently,
slowly sipping the last bit of lukewarm
coffee left in my cup, deliberately
leaving Motoki in suspense.
The arcade-bells jingle.
2.50 pm.
Right on time.
She walks in, heading for the Sailor V
game as usual.
I smirk playfully and pay for my coffee,
tossing a few coins onto the counter as
I prepare for our daily encounter.
My wait was over.
Turning, I answer Motoki's question.
"Nothing special at all. "
_____________________________________________
Glossary :
che : a sort of verbal sound, made to
express disgust, frustration, etc
okashi : strange, funny, laughable ... you
get the idea
oyasumi : good night
_____________________________________________
Anyway, this is a S&S ( short and sweet ) fanfic
which I hope you'll enjoy. All and any positive
feedback or helpful criticism would be more than
greatly appreciated at kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com.
All flames, however, will be sent to my
imaginary chibi-Tasuki.
:P Sore dewa!
____________________________________________
Disclaimer: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon
belongs to Naoko-sama and filthy
rich companies that rake a
living off dirt-poor fans like
yours truly. (* _ * )
____________________________________________
Nothing Special
by Iris
kanzaki_yukiko@yahoo.com
____________________________________________
There's nothing special about her size -
small and petite, barely reaching five feet.
Tiny, insignificant little pipsqueak : she
would vanish standing behind almost anybody.
And yet ... beautifully formed, as if
skillfully designed like a tiny china doll,
specifically created to fit perfectly under
a man's arm, expressly made to disarm the
guard of any poor unsuspecting opponent in
order to accentuate her seemingly innocent,
youthful vulnerability, and then - to press
in on the advantage when they're still
under the illusion. You'll never know what
hit you. Or even care.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of midgets
out there. ]
There's nothing special about her figure -
all bony knees and pointy elbows, a chest
flat like the runway of an airport, thin
and gawky almost to the point of boyish
callowness ; chastely slender, demurely
contoured, with no generously porportioned
curves that might drive a young boy to
distraction.
And yet ... her skirts, which frequently
seem shorter than would be properly decent
for a school girl her age, slyly reveals a
pair of straight, athletically toned legs
tapering gently all the gloriously tanned
length to the tantalizing slimness of her
waist; narrow curves that seem to have
been especially conceived to tempt a man,
inviting him to attempt encircling it with
his palm.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of flat-
chested girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her skin -
pale and almost without color, marred by
the lightest, faintest scattering of tiny,
almost invisible freckles marching across
the bridge of her snub little nose.
And yet ... petal-soft like fresh, dewy
white lilies, smoother than silky satin
sheets, stained with just the slightest
tinge of rosy pink, like a wild June rose
almost in full bloom, and perfumed with
the clean, fresh smell of peach-scented
soap. And the freckles are like a
dusting of chocolate sprinkle-topping on
cream : delicious.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of pasty
faced girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her hair -
despite the fact that it's in a completely
and utterly *okashi* style that I so enjoy
teasing her about. Ridiculously, uselessly
long, carelessly tied in two stringy pony-
tails, pinned up in a pair of Odango
resembling buns atop her ditzy little
blonde head. Probably gets caught in
everything, and gets sat on pretty often.
How long does she take to wash and dry
all that hair of hers anyway? No wonder
the water and electricity bills of Japan
are at an all-time high.
And yet ... incredibly thick - like shiny,
glossy streams of flaxen silk, physically
bound threads of tamed sunlight, fashioned
for men to bury their greedy fingers into,
to stroke against softly, to inhale its sweet,
flowery strawberry-shampoo fragrance.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of
blonde bimbos out there. ]
There's nothing special about her eyes -
Bambi-big and perpetually round, as if she's
constantly surprised by everything around
her. Fringed with stubby lashes that flutter
ludricously like she's in need for respitory
aid whenever she fixes Motoki with that limpid
blue puppy-love-stricken, kick-me-if-you-
still-don't-get-it-obvious gaze.
And yet ... they sometimes shine like the
brightest pools of sparkling light azure,
sometimes like misty lakes full of wishing
stars that I could wish on, sometimes like the
keen blue skies of crisp, clear autumn mornings
... but more frequently like flashing sparks
of burning electric-blue gas fire whenever she
begins to glare at me.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of blue
eyed girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her voice -
shrill, sharp and strident. Her raucous,
boisterous chattering and vociferous
caterwauling constantly grates on the ear.
Emergency ambulance sirens are no
competition for the sheer range and volume
of her wailing once she gets started.
Two words : sound pollution.
And yet ... both her laughter and wails are
equally frank and loud and expressive - the
sound of someone who wears her heart on a
sleeve, displays every emotion freely, and
shares her happiness and grievances equally
generously. An open book that is both heard
and seen.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of loud-
mouthed chatterboxes out there. ]
There's nothing special about her mouth -
wide, surprisingly big for a girl her size.
Or perhaps not, considering the amount of
physical exercise it gets every day, yakking
away about the trivial, pettily superficial
details of her life to her equally carefree
friends. *smirk* Occasionally it spews forth
such vicious retorts that I'm shocked she
still uses those same lips to sleepily kiss
her mother a drowsy " oyasumi " with every
night.
And yet ... so beautifully shaped - lips full
and curved in a natural cupid's bow, pouting
ever so prettily whenever she doesn't get her
way - which is rather often actually. Tinted
a bright, rosy pink, liberally smeared with
slick strawberry-flavored gloss, as if
inviting a man to try kissing them, to test
if they possibly taste quite as good as they
appear to look.
[ Che, nothing special. Plenty of big-
mouthed girls out there. ]
There's nothing special about her smile -
bright and sweet, but common like everyday
sunshine : it occurs so frequently you never
really notice it anymore.
And yet ...
her pouting frowns,
her narrowed eyes and furrowed brows ...
her flushed, angry cheeks ...
*These* are unusual ...
different ...
Special ...
because ...
she saves them ...
Only For Me ...
( ^ _ ^ )
_____________________________________________
" You look pretty spaced out, Mamoru. What
are you thinking about? "
I snap out of my reverie of thoughts, turning
around to gaze into the bright sea-green
curiosity of Motoki's eyes.
" Thinking about? " I reply nonchalently,
slowly sipping the last bit of lukewarm
coffee left in my cup, deliberately
leaving Motoki in suspense.
The arcade-bells jingle.
2.50 pm.
Right on time.
She walks in, heading for the Sailor V
game as usual.
I smirk playfully and pay for my coffee,
tossing a few coins onto the counter as
I prepare for our daily encounter.
My wait was over.
Turning, I answer Motoki's question.
"Nothing special at all. "
_____________________________________________
Glossary :
che : a sort of verbal sound, made to
express disgust, frustration, etc
okashi : strange, funny, laughable ... you
get the idea
oyasumi : good night
_____________________________________________