Fic: No One's Looking
May. 1st, 2011 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
terajkTitle: No One's Looking
Fandom: Reservoir Dogs
Characters: Mr. Blonde, Eddie Cabot
Bonusterajk fun fact: Saint Imelda is my Confirmation saint.
For this truly awesome prompt attorachan's Transfic Mini Fest Round 2
Warnings:(skip) Homophobia, ableist language, underage drug use, violence.
Whatever you wanted to say about Eddie (and you could say a lot--the guy wasn’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box), he'd been the first person to know him as himself and nothing else.
“What about that Cabot boy? He seems nice,” his mother had said--and by “nice” she’d meant “will have lots of money when his old man kicks it and why don’t you marry him?” He had not been inclined to like Eddie, not then.
But then he ran into him while walking to the St. Imelda School for Girls--in his uniform slacks and button-down shirt, even as his mother told him he’d look so pretty in the plaid skirt she’d paid good money for, you ungrateful brat--and he didn’t seem so bad. Mostly because he was so stupid.
“Hey! You want some weed?” Eddie asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the street. On a Tuesday morning.”
“What? No one’s looking.”
They ducked behind the dumpster at La Cucina’s to smoke, and just as he’d started to get buzzed Eddie said, “You wouldn’t know it, but my old man practically owns this place.” He giggled.
He didn’t say “Really?” or anything like that--only exhaled slowly, because it was better to let stupid people talk. Until they got really stupid, like when Eddie said, “You know what? You stand like a faggot.”
He didn’t actually have the impulse to punch Eddie in the face, which was a benefit of staying quiet when stupid people talked and was why he hadn’t been expelled from St. Imelda’s yet. Instead, he waited for Eddie to look the other way and touched the back of his earlobe with the tip of his joint.
“Ow, fuck! What are you, crazy?” There were tears in his eyes, and that was good.
He took another drag, let it out. “Would a faggot do that?” he asked, smiling.
“No, man, I guess not.” Eddie was chuckling (chuckling, but scared--also good), and rubbing the back of his ear. “I could use a crazy friend like you. What’s your name?”
“Vic,” he said, for the first time.
Fandom: Reservoir Dogs
Characters: Mr. Blonde, Eddie Cabot
Bonus
terajk fun fact: Saint Imelda is my Confirmation saint.For this truly awesome prompt at
torachan's Transfic Mini Fest Round 2Warnings:(skip) Homophobia, ableist language, underage drug use, violence.
Whatever you wanted to say about Eddie (and you could say a lot--the guy wasn’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box), he'd been the first person to know him as himself and nothing else.
“What about that Cabot boy? He seems nice,” his mother had said--and by “nice” she’d meant “will have lots of money when his old man kicks it and why don’t you marry him?” He had not been inclined to like Eddie, not then.
But then he ran into him while walking to the St. Imelda School for Girls--in his uniform slacks and button-down shirt, even as his mother told him he’d look so pretty in the plaid skirt she’d paid good money for, you ungrateful brat--and he didn’t seem so bad. Mostly because he was so stupid.
“Hey! You want some weed?” Eddie asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the street. On a Tuesday morning.”
“What? No one’s looking.”
They ducked behind the dumpster at La Cucina’s to smoke, and just as he’d started to get buzzed Eddie said, “You wouldn’t know it, but my old man practically owns this place.” He giggled.
He didn’t say “Really?” or anything like that--only exhaled slowly, because it was better to let stupid people talk. Until they got really stupid, like when Eddie said, “You know what? You stand like a faggot.”
He didn’t actually have the impulse to punch Eddie in the face, which was a benefit of staying quiet when stupid people talked and was why he hadn’t been expelled from St. Imelda’s yet. Instead, he waited for Eddie to look the other way and touched the back of his earlobe with the tip of his joint.
“Ow, fuck! What are you, crazy?” There were tears in his eyes, and that was good.
He took another drag, let it out. “Would a faggot do that?” he asked, smiling.
“No, man, I guess not.” Eddie was chuckling (chuckling, but scared--also good), and rubbing the back of his ear. “I could use a crazy friend like you. What’s your name?”
“Vic,” he said, for the first time.
