Nexus 100 Lunch, Red, Middles
May. 16th, 2009 09:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evillurksTitle: Moment of calm
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: Commissioner Weston, The Shadow as Cranston
Prompt: 057 Lunch
Word Count: 130
Rating: G
Summary: Lunch in the aftermath of a case
Author's Notes: Since we can’t be sure of who The Shadow was born as, there’s no telling what social class he grew up in. I like the idea that his background is not as wealthy as Cranston’s, which might make him enjoy impersonating him all the more.
The chatter washed around him as he leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out comfortably beneath the table. Commissioner Weston had already proudly related the closing details of the case. The police only had half the information, even as they cleaned up the loose ends, but from those bits and pieces the other man had concocted a partially accurate story sufficient to please himself. The whole story, thanks to his friendly gossip, would be entered into The Shadow’s files later this afternoon.
In the meantime there was a good drink in hand, and nothing pressing to do. Relaxing in the leisurely habits of Lamont Cranston was a welcome rest. After all, the night would come soon enough, and with it the time to don black cloak and hat again.
Title: Red to be seen
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow
Prompt: 011 Red
Word Count: 124
Rating: G
Summary: The why of the red scarf
Author's Notes: I suppose if it didn’t say it at the top this prompt is red, it just might be misleading to read.
For a man who moved in the shadows, black was a necessity. Black to vanish in the darkness, unobtrusive as empty corners. Even in the light he was a nothing, anonymous in a dark suit, cloak and hat over his arm like an overcoat. Black was an invisible color, passed over by the eye. Black was common, practical, a default from color. He wore darkness like a second skin, and moved through the city as a part of it. Wherever the light did not reach, that was his cloak. Wherever eyes slid away unseeing, that place was home.
But there was sometimes a moment when it was important to be seen. He wore black to blend in, but he wore red to stand out.
Title: Rock and a hard place
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow
Prompt: 002 Middles
Word Count: 172
Rating: G
Summary: Just another moment of his usual work.
Author's Notes: I struggled with an idea, but once I had it the writing seemed to flow easily enough.
He strained at his bonds with implacable calm. Breathe in, breathe out, ignoring the cords that bit under his ribs and listening to the soft creak of a slow stretching. Once his hands were free, he would move swiftly, but for the moment it was patience that served him well. Patience allowed him slow deep breaths, feeding him strength to maintain a constant pressure against the rope. He could not allow himself excitement, not even at the gradual slide of his own hands towards freedom. Excitement would only slow his escape.
The slow scything of the blade, ever closer, was therefore nothing but a distant sound on the edge of awareness. His focus denied the cold of the stone block he was held against, the temperature seeping into his bones as if seeking to rob him of strength. Breathe in, breathe out, and shift. He was secure in the knowledge that being in the middle of a rock and a hard place was a position that never lasted. One way or another.
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: Commissioner Weston, The Shadow as Cranston
Prompt: 057 Lunch
Word Count: 130
Rating: G
Summary: Lunch in the aftermath of a case
Author's Notes: Since we can’t be sure of who The Shadow was born as, there’s no telling what social class he grew up in. I like the idea that his background is not as wealthy as Cranston’s, which might make him enjoy impersonating him all the more.
The chatter washed around him as he leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out comfortably beneath the table. Commissioner Weston had already proudly related the closing details of the case. The police only had half the information, even as they cleaned up the loose ends, but from those bits and pieces the other man had concocted a partially accurate story sufficient to please himself. The whole story, thanks to his friendly gossip, would be entered into The Shadow’s files later this afternoon.
In the meantime there was a good drink in hand, and nothing pressing to do. Relaxing in the leisurely habits of Lamont Cranston was a welcome rest. After all, the night would come soon enough, and with it the time to don black cloak and hat again.
Title: Red to be seen
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow
Prompt: 011 Red
Word Count: 124
Rating: G
Summary: The why of the red scarf
Author's Notes: I suppose if it didn’t say it at the top this prompt is red, it just might be misleading to read.
For a man who moved in the shadows, black was a necessity. Black to vanish in the darkness, unobtrusive as empty corners. Even in the light he was a nothing, anonymous in a dark suit, cloak and hat over his arm like an overcoat. Black was an invisible color, passed over by the eye. Black was common, practical, a default from color. He wore darkness like a second skin, and moved through the city as a part of it. Wherever the light did not reach, that was his cloak. Wherever eyes slid away unseeing, that place was home.
But there was sometimes a moment when it was important to be seen. He wore black to blend in, but he wore red to stand out.
Title: Rock and a hard place
Fandom: The Shadow
Characters: The Shadow
Prompt: 002 Middles
Word Count: 172
Rating: G
Summary: Just another moment of his usual work.
Author's Notes: I struggled with an idea, but once I had it the writing seemed to flow easily enough.
He strained at his bonds with implacable calm. Breathe in, breathe out, ignoring the cords that bit under his ribs and listening to the soft creak of a slow stretching. Once his hands were free, he would move swiftly, but for the moment it was patience that served him well. Patience allowed him slow deep breaths, feeding him strength to maintain a constant pressure against the rope. He could not allow himself excitement, not even at the gradual slide of his own hands towards freedom. Excitement would only slow his escape.
The slow scything of the blade, ever closer, was therefore nothing but a distant sound on the edge of awareness. His focus denied the cold of the stone block he was held against, the temperature seeping into his bones as if seeking to rob him of strength. Breathe in, breathe out, and shift. He was secure in the knowledge that being in the middle of a rock and a hard place was a position that never lasted. One way or another.