drabbles

That bloody first line challenge has made me write things for fandom. Cower in fear.

Sandman

"If you meet Death on a corner, tell her you aren't interested." The tall, pale man said these words with such intensity that the bartender stopped his compulsive wiping of the bar for a moment. He'd seen plenty of strange people in his time, but this man and his companion probably ranked in the top ten. Something about the eyes...

"Tell her you aren't interested," the man repeated, catching the attention of what few conscious and remotely sober people were left at the bar. "Especially if she asks you out for a drink."

"Stop being such a prude, honestly!" The girl he was with laughed- she must have been one of those goth kids you saw on the news all the time, wearing black with makeup all over her face. She was smiling, though, and he wasn't, as she dragged him to the door. "Come on, it's not even two yet!"

The man looked directly at the bartender with his strange, empty, endless eyes, and repeated one last time, "Not interested," before disappearing into the street.

The bartender looked at the clock and decided that it might be a good idea to close a little early tonight.

Death Note

They're the sort of things that wouldn't bother him if he were anyone else. Raito has reached this conclusion despite the fact that he is quite sure he has never been anyone else. Logical examination of the feeling would render it quite ridiculous, but Raito is uncharacteristically unwilling to be logical in this instance.

It gets worse when they haven't been sleeping, after spending hours poring over police reports and security tapes. The little movements catch his eyes in the most irritating of ways; he finds himself tracking L's thumb in its inevitable ascent to L's mouth over and over again as they read, and the endless writhing of L's toes against the upholstery almost makes him want to writhe out of his own skin from watching them.

He has a job to do, a goal to reach. Kira must be stopped, and these distractions are unacceptable. Raito twists at the cold metal against his wrist and wonders when these things became distractions in the first place.

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The Sandman one amuses me more; the other I wrote for Sonya, because she's a fan of Raito, and I felt like fucking with him. (Also because I'm obsessed with L's toes, but shh.) S'not especially good, but I'm not especially good at the whole drabble thing, so whatever.