"I thought you had a date?"

"She had blue eyes."

This earned a slight pause and a confused sip of coffee from across the table. Emmerson wasn't sure of what to make of him, and that was fine. Blue eyes were boring, cliché, trite. Always some crystal, or sea, or aquamarine, or worse – steel.

There never were "just blue" eyes. Not like his.

"I thought you liked blue eyes."

And a shrug. He did like blue eyes. Pure blue, nothing poetic, nothing steel or crystal or whatever gemstone was the thing of choice. Just blue. Clear and blue, the kind that could tell you off without a word. No one had eyes like that.

It was like messy hair, messes that were placed in an artful array were just stupid. Stupid like "crystal blue eyes." And when you paired one with the other it accumulated in someone who appeared to just be there to stare at. Someone who was made for the attention, who wanted it, because there was no such thing as a pure mess or purely blue.

At least, not since Valentine went missing.


AN: A few little drabbles, just to get my blood flowing again. This is a little Accompaniment to the FFaC stories.