Sorry this took so long, guys. I've had this headcanon bouncing in my skull for a while, but I wasn't quite sure how to articulate it.
But I did it eventually, and here it is!
You'll have to guess the characters for this one - I left out names purposely to see just how true I'm being to the pair's characters.
Prompt was 'Nighttime.'
Enjoy!
Beneath the cloak of night and the glare of streetlights, two girls splash disgruntledly through puddles, their fingers sticky from maple-glazed donuts, their breath duly sweet-scented. Raindrops drum pitter-patter against the pair's red umbrella, against the surface of the shadowed world, and the older of the two observes that the staccato droplets make everything shimmer with motion.
Beside her, the younger licks her fingers, smacks her lips, and sighs with satisfaction, then growls as a puddle splashes over her shoes. She grumbles something that sounds very rain-unfriendly, and the older smirks at her, makes a quip that ignites the younger's temper – she yells at her for ages, it seems, which the older simply deflects with more sarcasm. They banter for some time, staying close to keep within the umbrella's radius.
They walk as they bicker, the older tiptoeing to avoid worms (those glistening creatures have been the focus of many a nightmare, and she does not give a damn if they aren't 'really' bugs – they still creep her out), the younger walking toe-heel, toe-heel in the way she walks before crowds.
Eventually, the younger's anger – or her interest in feigning it – seems to ebb; she lifts her nose and delicately takes a sniff.
Wait, she tells the older, nose quivering. The older tweaks it, snickering, but the younger slaps her hand away. It actually hurts, and the older puts her stinging hand into the rain, gives her companion a glare.
Do you smell that? the younger continues, oblivious. It smells like…mmm.
The older snorts at the rapturous expression on her friend's face. In that snort, though, she catches the scent: rain-blurred the smell may be, but it is unmistakably melting butter, with a hint of nearly-burned seasoning salt.
The younger begins walking towards the source, and the older follows, considers reminding her friend that they just finished dessert. But then again, the younger's love of food knows no bounds, so she has to go with a different approach:
We're broke, she says, flatly. Rain soaks into her socks and squishes around, mixing with sweat and lint. She wriggles her toes, despising the sensation.
The younger stares at her, eyes wide, eyebrows drooping. What?
Well, if you hadn't blown all our cash on three - three! - donuts, then maybe we'd be able to buy whatever it is you're smelling. But you did, so too bad, so sad. She shrugs, shudders as she observes a worm slowly inching across the pavement.
The younger crosses her arms, scowls. Fine.
Oh, cry me a river, the older retorts, disliking the accusation in her companion's voice – although she would admit, were she the kind of person who admitted things, that her own observation was fairly finger-point-y, too.
The younger glares at her, face growing gradually redder: the older figures it's time for another of the infamous displays of the younger's temper and braces herself with snarky repartee.
Instead she gets a cool Well, since you like water sooo much and is hip-bumped out of under the umbrella.
It takes a moment for it to register, but when it does, the older stomps – as best as she can manage while avoiding worms – back under the umbrella, takes its handle, and shoulder-checks the younger, sending her staggering into the storm.
Take that, she says, and finds herself promptly shoved.
Beneath the deepening night and the glow of streetlights, two girls splash puddles at each other, fingertips slippery from the rain, their grips on the coveted umbrella duly ephemeral. Raindrops drum pitter-patter against the pair's upside-down red umbrella, against the bodies of the shadowed girls, and the older of the two observes that the staccato droplets make everything shimmer with motion – not that the two of them need raindrops to accentuate their movements: this hair-stuck-to-foreheads, water-steaming-from-bodies dance. Their laughter slices through the air like lightning.
The older manages to grab and run away with the umbrella, sticking her tongue out over her shoulder; the younger shrieks, snatches it back from the older even as she gloats. The Battle of the Umbrella is a fierce one that will end in sniffles for all and shivery arguments by the fireplace, arguments that will hold within them more warmth than the flames, and infinitely more life.
The storm, finally succeeding in thoroughly drenching both of them, believes itself to be the ultimate winner of the Battle of the Umbrella. It couldn't be more wrong.
'Twas really fun to write this one.
Reviews would be very much appreciated, reader - suggestions for the next prompt(s?) or character(s), suggestions on how to improve (be it character portrayal, update schedule, or writing style/technique), etc.