moonsheen

I wrote something. It is very short.

The lettering on the door had been peeled off. It stood half open. Apollo ducked without thinking too hard about it. This, he found, was the best way to handle his life’s year long turn to the psychotic. There was no really reason for him to be in that morning. Mr. Wright often didn’t wake up—er come in before noon and he hoped Trucy had school on a Monday. He tucked his chin down to keep a hold of his breakfast and shoved in prepared to leap back out at a moment’s notice. Last Friday, there’d been a school conference and Trucy’d been practicing with her throwing knives.

Which were made out of rubber, thankfully.

There were no knives, trapdoors, or stuffed monkeys. Apollo walked into a clean reception area with a big leather couch and a desk arranged by the window. Morning light gleamed on its sleek, polished surface. A series of low shelves sat along the wall next to the couch, and a man was bent over one of these. He was middling height, broad-shouldered, wore a black suit, and puzzled over a pile of books waiting to be arranged. Apollo didn’t recognize him. His hair was smartly gelled, with a smattering of grey creeping up over one temple. He stood up as the door creaked.

Should have grabbed coffee first, thought Apollo miserably.

He took the bagel out of his mouth and shoved it into his back pocket. “Uh. Sorry. I think I have the wrong office.”

The man fixed his tie and turned. “No. These are the right offices.”

Apollo opened his mouth. Apollo raised a finger. Apollo thought about that for a second.

“That’s terrible,” he said.

Mr. Wright grinned. “Well. We all start small."

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ruffwriter.livejournal.com

... have I told you lately that I love you so very much? ♥ So compact and lovely and the dialogue at the end is just perfect and ashfkd. "YES" is what I'm trying to say here.