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avandell2007-10-18 03:17 pm
theladyscribe) wrote in avandell2007-10-18 03:17 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt Fics (both TNverse)
The other day I asked for prompts, and here's two of my ficlets based on them. These are both TNverse, though it's certainly not necessary for you to be familiar with the 'verse to enjoy them.
The Strip Mall: Not What You Hoped
Dean, PG, 384 words
Prompt: Dean needs new pants. consider brand, store, fit, etc. (fromsemoquer)
The Apartment
Dean, PG, 170 words
Prompt: Furniture covered by sheets, the scratchy sounds of a Taj Mahal record coming up through the floorboards, sneakers in the hallway, bra on a bedpost. (fromroseredathena)
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The Strip Mall: Not What You Hoped
Dean, PG, 384 words
Prompt: Dean needs new pants. consider brand, store, fit, etc. (from
semoquer)The Strip Mall: Not What You Hoped
Oh God, this was weird. Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he went shopping somewhere that didn’t carry Carhartt or Levi. It wasn’t like he had a choice, though; despite this place being relatively rural, they didn’t seem to have much in the way of sensible clothing stores. Which meant he was stuck shopping in the mall in the next town over.
It was uncomfortable more than anything. He knew he should have asked off work, but he’d only just started at Bonham’s and didn’t want to be accused of shirking his job. So here he was in a mall on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by too many people, mostly teenagers and harrassed moms with little kids. It was a madhouse, and he would have preferred facing a horde of demons.
And the stores. He wasn’t even sure what any of them were trying to sell. Sure, there were the department stores, but then there was the place that sold soap (seriously, the walls were lined with shelves of soap), and some sort of tiki hut thing that he thought maybe was a strip club (judging by the throbbing bass) but turned out to be a clothing store for either really well-developed ten-year-olds or really skinny high schoolers. It was kind of scary.
Finally, he steeled himself and chose a store. This one looked fairly promising – no vibrating floor, no funky smells, and it was well-lit enough that he could see what he was looking at. It might have been skewed a bit younger than what he’d normally go for (he was nearly thirty-one after all), but everything in this place seemed to be skewed young.
“Can I help you find anything today?” Dean jumped at the sound of the perky voice behind him.
He turned to see a girl – probably in college – with a smile on her face. She had blonde hair swept up in a bun, and he thought, with a twinge of guilt, of Jo on lazy Saturdays before New York. “Uh, no. Thanks,” he stuttered, and she nodded.
“Alright, well, my name’s Jamie, let me know if you need anything.”
He nodded, smiling tightly. “Sure will.” The girl turned away and he darted out the store, deciding it would be best if he shopped at Wal-Mart from now on.
Oh God, this was weird. Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he went shopping somewhere that didn’t carry Carhartt or Levi. It wasn’t like he had a choice, though; despite this place being relatively rural, they didn’t seem to have much in the way of sensible clothing stores. Which meant he was stuck shopping in the mall in the next town over.
It was uncomfortable more than anything. He knew he should have asked off work, but he’d only just started at Bonham’s and didn’t want to be accused of shirking his job. So here he was in a mall on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by too many people, mostly teenagers and harrassed moms with little kids. It was a madhouse, and he would have preferred facing a horde of demons.
And the stores. He wasn’t even sure what any of them were trying to sell. Sure, there were the department stores, but then there was the place that sold soap (seriously, the walls were lined with shelves of soap), and some sort of tiki hut thing that he thought maybe was a strip club (judging by the throbbing bass) but turned out to be a clothing store for either really well-developed ten-year-olds or really skinny high schoolers. It was kind of scary.
Finally, he steeled himself and chose a store. This one looked fairly promising – no vibrating floor, no funky smells, and it was well-lit enough that he could see what he was looking at. It might have been skewed a bit younger than what he’d normally go for (he was nearly thirty-one after all), but everything in this place seemed to be skewed young.
“Can I help you find anything today?” Dean jumped at the sound of the perky voice behind him.
He turned to see a girl – probably in college – with a smile on her face. She had blonde hair swept up in a bun, and he thought, with a twinge of guilt, of Jo on lazy Saturdays before New York. “Uh, no. Thanks,” he stuttered, and she nodded.
“Alright, well, my name’s Jamie, let me know if you need anything.”
He nodded, smiling tightly. “Sure will.” The girl turned away and he darted out the store, deciding it would be best if he shopped at Wal-Mart from now on.
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The Apartment
Dean, PG, 170 words
Prompt: Furniture covered by sheets, the scratchy sounds of a Taj Mahal record coming up through the floorboards, sneakers in the hallway, bra on a bedpost. (from
roseredathena)The Apartment
The apartment had clearly been unused for months, dust accumulating on the old drop cloths laid across prim settees and luxurious beds by the building’s owner. “We’ll move those out of here if you decide to rent, of course,” the antique dealer assured him. “It’s just been a convenient space for short-term storage if we’re overstocked.”
Dean nodded absentmindedly. “Of course.” He looked around the two-bedroom flat, trying not to breathe the dust too deeply. It wasn’t a big place, but he didn’t really need it to be, and besides, the little old man who owned the building promised an actual garage for parking the car. The floors were hardwood, old and worn, and wide windows overlooked Main Street, where people could be seen going about their business. The sound from a tinny record player wafted up through the floorboards along with the smell of the cookies baking in the café below. “How much did you say rent would be?”
“Six hundred a month, amenities not withstanding.”
“I’ll take it.”
The apartment had clearly been unused for months, dust accumulating on the old drop cloths laid across prim settees and luxurious beds by the building’s owner. “We’ll move those out of here if you decide to rent, of course,” the antique dealer assured him. “It’s just been a convenient space for short-term storage if we’re overstocked.”
Dean nodded absentmindedly. “Of course.” He looked around the two-bedroom flat, trying not to breathe the dust too deeply. It wasn’t a big place, but he didn’t really need it to be, and besides, the little old man who owned the building promised an actual garage for parking the car. The floors were hardwood, old and worn, and wide windows overlooked Main Street, where people could be seen going about their business. The sound from a tinny record player wafted up through the floorboards along with the smell of the cookies baking in the café below. “How much did you say rent would be?”
“Six hundred a month, amenities not withstanding.”
“I’ll take it.”