(no subject)

[moonsheen]

Since it's summer and I have no more papers in the way, no dumb excuses, and am a hopeless masochist, I think I'll go with what all the cool kids are doing and open up the drabble meme again. You know the drill: Gimme series, characters, situation. And if it doesn't immediately break my brain (...chira yes, I AM looking at you) I'll write a short piece of god-knows-how-many-words-I-Am-Bad-At-This in response. So let's get to it.

Comments

[treesock.livejournal.com]

omg write about hughes >:D

IU don't know WHAT about him, just write about him! XD

[moonsheen.livejournal.com]

Some Hughes of the random, teenaged variety, cooooming up:


There was a tradition in St. Margaret’s, the school on the hill in the town northwest of Central and anything that ever happened in the world, that the boys played cards between classes. The halls were narrow—according to the prouder faculty the actual building was over a century old and once a formidable fortress—and the circles that found themselves spread out on the floor under windows were often tripped over, unless people stopped to watch, in which case there was a crowd to be fought. Competition was loud, fierce, and cutthroat and Maes Hughes at fourteen threw himself into it with great fervor whenever the chance arose. He was one of the shorter, scrawnier kids of his year, with thin arms and big feet and a bigger grin as he pushed up his thick glasses and passed the cards around with guys twice his size. He had a lousy poker face. He lost three times out of five. If he’d bet money on it, he would have been broke and out of the running ages ago, but St. Margaret’s had a very strict policy on gambling and an equally strict dress code—so uniform ties became the favored wager, and most of the professors blinked more often when he came in with his still on than without. Once or twice he’d earned detention for taking a seat looking perfectly presentable. This was an injustice and he said so, but it fell on deaf ears, or at least disinterested ones. Roy Mustang who shared Mathematics, History, and best friend duties with him rolled his eyes and said, “Well. You have an image to uphold.”

“Image /this/,” crowed Hughes, on a good Wednesday two days after, throwing down his cards triumphant with his victory spoils between his fingers and an opponent fixing their disheveled blazer morosely. “Hey, Miss.” Hughes said to girl who’d been watching behind him, Penny Duval, with red curls and the freckles. “Could you help me with this? If it’s not too much trouble?” He beamed up at her.

“…image nothing,” he grumbled later on his way to History, rubbing his chin. He nearly dragged his feet right past Roy, who turned and quirked an eyebrow. “She didn’t have to hit me.”

“She has a boyfriend,” Roy pointed out. “He plays rugby.”

“…how was I supposed to know /that/!” Hughes scowled. It wasn’t such a good Wednesday anymore in St. Margaret’s. “Ah well.” He brightened, pointedly ignored the six or seven ugly red-and-black ties sticking out of Roy’s book bag, and proclaimed, with pride: “Least I won.”

He had detention that day.

[treesock.livejournal.com]

LOVE YOU FOREVER KTHX