A/N: A page of drabbles. Drabbles are 100-words or less and can be fun/hard to write. Here is a mixture of both old and new. Some may contain a few words more than 100, strictly speaking.
The Thief
All quiet. It was just him and the barn cats, slinking around in the dark. He snuck between pools of light until he reached his target: the kitchen door.
Hiding in the shadows of the door, he stopped and listened. Perfect. No one was up. Carefully, he worked on the lock until it clicked open. Pause. Silence. He pushed the door wide to slip inside.
Success! He took a moment to slip off his boots. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, he took a cookie from the basket then opened the cupboard.
"Scott?"
"Yes, Murdoch!"
"Do have any idea what time it is?"
o~O~o
Height
"You're a long drink of water," the sergeant said. "You keep your head low and you may just stay alive."
I smiled, more by rote and form than substance. The phrase—often used—vindicated the need for something to hold up my head. Displeased with my spurt at sixteen, I was left with short cuffs and a matching attitude. Where Grandfather huffed, I growled. I was the tallest of my classmates and breathed in the world's ills. The Rebellion had been struck a year earlier and my own revolt was close at hand.
Better to die of being too tall than of boredom.
o~O~o
Zeus vs Pompeii
Murdoch dreaded the sound of returning the carriage wheels. Scott and Harlan had left hours ago. It had taken all his resolve not to trip the old man when he was going out the door.
His son looked preoccupied. The string tie casually loosened in a way Harlan found objectionable, its ends swaying back and forth. Scott tipped his head back and took a deep breath. Murdoch knew how he felt. His reaction after Harlan left was the same: utter relief.
"Scott!"
If he had hope that he was forgiven for the last few days, the look on Scott's face dashed it.
o~O~o
Pitter-Patter
Pitter-patter.
The quiet plink of rain on the roof quiets the pain in Murdoch's chest.
His second son arrived two years ago in the throes of a lashing storm both outside and in the room upstairs. Born red and wailing, as if in sync with the thunder and flashes of lightning
Pitter-patter.
Johnny with his crooked smile. Baby steps running across the tile and into his arms.
Pitter-patter.
A tear-filled smile blossoms across his face as he pulls back the curtains from the window.
"I miss him so much," Murdoch whispers to the weeping sky.
o~O~o
Deal
Content to be friendly, she gifted a smile across the velveteen table.
He caught it and hung on, smiling back. Lethal. His blue eyes darkened, making him look young. Capable of mischief.
The low-riding rig added mystery. His clothes were south-of-the border colorful—and he wore them well.
She looked at his companion.
Tall, lean. Mussed hair like a wheat field. Eyes blue grey as an upcoming storm. They were cool, calculating, confident. He had a good mouth. Sculpted. No smile, however.
Sharp features with good bones. This one had blue blood beneath the finery. More of a gamble.
She loved a gamble. "Deal?"
o~O~o
Black
"Steady, Brother. Are you awake now?"
"Yeah."
"Thirsty?"
Johnny nodded against Scott's chest.
"Easy, there's plenty," Scott said, easing the canteen away from Johnny's greedy, paper-dry lips.
"How long? How long?"
"You've been gone a week."
"No. How long in there?"
Scott's eyes slid to the old cave. He shivered. "Twenty-seven hours."
Johnny shook with bleak laughter. "Dios. Nothin' but black. Felt like days."
"Years is a better word. Ready?"
Johnny let his head fall into the crook of Scott's elbow, taking measured shallow breaths. "Not yet. Nothin' out here but air and stars. It's nice."
"All right, Johnny."
o~O~o
Aborted Mission
Scott cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, then stepped into the abandoned barn. Carefully watching the rats in the corner, he worked his way through the maze of fallen boards and old leathers, cursing Johnny for making this their meet-up point.
What was left of the moon shone on a single piece of paper, nailed to what was left of the center stall. It was in Johnny's scratchy handwriting.
He held it up to the waning light. The sheriff is in on it! Get out!
But it was too late. Heavy footfalls sounded outside. He was surrounded.