|  Author | Topic: Jack in his Box (Read 46 times) |
Zip
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Conducting a symphony of chaos.
Joined: Jun 2008
Posts: 124
Location: My little cottage of insanity
Karma: 2 |  | Jack in his Box
« Thread Started on Aug 10, 2008, 10:29pm » | |
Cross-legged, the carpet scratched through his sweatpants as he shifted a little.
Logan sat on a cushioned chair, face-to-face with him. Unsmiling, Jack said,
So, what do you want to do?
Logan shrugged, then mimicked Jack's hostile position.
Shut up.
Jack then decided to ignore his stitched friend, twisting to his bag of marbles. Seeing that the librarians back was turned, he quietly spilled the hard round balls to the floor. They didn't clack together.
Pushing some chairs out from under a nearby table, both Jack and Logan slid down on their stomachs, rolling the marbles underneath.
What game? Soccer, dodgeball, or something else?
Logan's dark knitted head sunk down as he swerved his stuffed leg at a marble.
Soccer it is.
Jack poised his finger against a clear marble with a yellow swirly in the middle. Letting the thrust go, the marble shot out from under the table.
Get it, before the Librarian sees!
Logan haphazardly ran after the ball. Jack, frustrated, mentally lifted Logan up and flung him at the marble. He bit his lip, knowing that what he just did was wrong.
And Logan let him know it, too. As he got up, cradling the yellow marble in his sewn arms, he dejectedly turned his back.
I'm sorry Logan, I'M SORRY! Come back, PLEASE!
His doll quickly turned and let the marble roll back.
No, no, come back, I want to play! I just didn't want the Librarian seeing you!
The doll looked up at the desk. Then turned to Jack. Gently, he was lifted in the air, floating on an invisable hammock, back to the safety of the table.
Forgive me?
As soon as he said it, the doll kicked a marble out from the table, and pointed to it with his arm.
What? No, me, get it?
Logan crossed his arms.
The marble-this time black, speckled with orange and purple-grazed over to the foot of someone sitting at a different table.
Jack looked fearfully over. How could his best friend make him do this?
As quickly as possible, glaring at Logan, he crawled over to the marble.
He thought he could get away with it without being noticed.
Reaching out a grubby hand, a voice spoke.
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"A glass of brandy is clutching her. Or two. Either way, the bitch is drunk." |
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i n k
GOD
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i spilled me
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Karma: 4 | | Re: Jack in his Box
« Reply #1 on Aug 12, 2008, 7:54pm » | |
"JUST WHAT do you think you're doing, sir?"
It seemed like Regal, in all his early-graduated and now employed by the same school toughness, had a sixth sense as to when someone was misbehaving in his library. He barely 'towered' over Jack, standing only about five feet high. The large glasses percariously perched on his nose were like a windshield over his large, pink-orb eyes. "I have a friend who is very obsessed with marbles; should I get him over here? I'm sure he'd beat you in a game in seconds." Regal folded his arms over his pea-green sweatervest, starched collared undershirt crackling slighty. "Why would you come here to play marbles, anyhow? "
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SOMETIMES.I.HEAR.LITTLE.NOISES.
Sometimes I see things when nothing is there. |
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Zip
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Conducting a symphony of chaos.
Joined: Jun 2008
Posts: 124
Location: My little cottage of insanity
Karma: 2 | | Re: Jack in his Box
« Reply #2 on Aug 13, 2008, 9:32am » | |
Glaring at Logan, who stifled his invisable laughs with a stuffed hand, the boy replied-talking to the ground-quietly.
"It's quiet here..."
YOU FUCKING-
"...I like quiet."
Authority figures, you're all the SAME!
He picked up his marble, rolling it from hand to hand. Hand to hand, hand to hand, hand to hand.
Sure your precious friend would beat me, I don't care, sure he would...
The short black-threaded being walked over, slinging the now packed bag of marbles, nearly collapsing under the weight of it. Glad for the distraction, Jack bent down and picked him up by the arm, hoisting him up to perch like a parrot. The doll then dropped the bag to Jack's open hand.
He turned his head to him,
Thanks,
and resumed, eyes locked to the ground, blonde hair shagging the air and covering his freckled face.
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"A glass of brandy is clutching her. Or two. Either way, the bitch is drunk." |
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