Happy early Bassez day!
Aug. 3rd, 2007 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt's Bassez Day tomorrow. Sadly I won't be here, so I'm posting my offering early. I talked to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
joshysleo and told her my head was in a very Boxes place, so she said Bassez friendship was okay. Therefore, this is a short piece in the Boxes universe. If you haven't read that, basically Chris, JC and Joey are all homeless and live on the streets. JC is a street artist, Chris a busker, Joey sells newspapers, and they all live together in in shelters made of giant cardboard boxes. Lance and Justin are runaways they've just taken in. And wow, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
popstoryfinders story description or what?
Thanks go toephemera_pop and vaudevilles. They both looked this over at short notice and gave good suggestions.
Check outbassez_day for more stories tomorrow. Not from me though, I'll be on a motorway somewhere *g*
Heat shimmers over the concrete as JC works. It swirls around his knees and bare feet. It's a relentless assault of dry air that catches in his throat and strips the moisture from his skin. There’s something sticking into his right knee and his hair is clinging to the back of his neck, but JC doesn’t move, just keeps looking down.
His picture twists in front of him, filling his section of the sidewalk. Raging wolves and a snarling lion, frozen in battle against a blood red sky. It’s perfect in its savagery, but despite the coins that litter the ground; JC hates it.
“That’s. Wow.”
JC looks up at Lance. He’s not carrying his suitcase today, but JC sees the way his hand is clenching and the dirt that mars previously clean nails.
“It seemed like a wolf day today.” JC sits back on his heels, and runs a hand across his face, taking a moment to re-acclimatise himself to reality. The ache in his knees, the niggling pains and constant hunger that always emerge without the barrier of his art.
“Justin’s moonwalking. He persuaded Chris to sing Thriller.” Lance steps forward, his sneaker just touching the edge of one extended claw. They’re both staring at the picture, silent observers as the crowd passes by. Laughter and voices and the edges between realities are blurred as JC looks down at the wolves.
“Shall I get Chris?” Lance says suddenly, and his hand is fully curled up now, drawing attention to the band of white skin where his watch used to be.
JC blinks, looking past the wolves to Lance. “I’m okay.” He smiles then, but Lance doesn’t look convinced, which isn’t surprising when the smile is based on nothing but lies. Ending the charade, JC admits, “I hate this picture.”
Lance walks toward JC, making sure his feet don’t touch the chalk. “You could wash it away.”
“It’s not that simple,” JC says, and he sees memories in each jagged tooth and narrowed eye.
Lance kneels, so close to JC their arms are touching. “It’s not your usual style.”
"No," JC agrees, and he digs in his pants pocket, pulling out a length of red ribbon, the ends frayed to silken strings. Efficiently, he ties back his hair then tidies his chalks. Blues next to greens, yellow at one end, the stubby remains of a red at the other. He selects a black stick of chalk and leans forward, adding lowlights to the shining pelt of the lion.
Lance briefly rests his hand against JC's arm. "You know, I think you're missing something."
Carefully shading a giant paw, JC glances back at Lance, questioning with a look.
“There.” Lance reaches out, pointing at a spiked bush behind the lion’s back paws. “Can’t you see? Behind the bush, there’s a panther. You can just see it, hiding in the shadows. And further back, in those trees. There’s a cheetah, see? Next to that leopard.”
JC narrows his eyes. This close all he can see is blood-tipped teeth, harsh lines and claws ripping into tender flesh. Then he pulls back, looking beyond Lance’s pointed finger. He sees them then. The panther, dark, sleek and dangerous, standing guard at the lion’s back. The spotted cheetah side by side with the leopard, teeth exposed as they hide. They’re perfectly clear, and JC can’t understand why he didn’t see them before.
Chalks roll across the sidewalk as he grabs a handful of colours. His lines are sure as he sketches in the additions, making them solid, forgetting all concept of time until he finally knows the picture is done.
Straightening, JC rubs his blackened hands against his pants, adding stripes of colour across the material.
“It looks better now,” Lance says, sounding approving. He’s sitting Indian style, his chin resting on his fist, a scattering of coins at his feet.
Stretching, JC attempts to ease the kinks from his back. “It does.” He smiles then, a real smile as he looks at the finished picture, knowing it’s time to let it go. “Let's see how much money Justin’s charmed today.” Gathering the coins and chalks, JC drops them into his bag, then looks across at Lance. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Lance smiles and stands, holding out his hand to help JC up. “All I did was wait.”
joshysleo and told her my head was in a very Boxes place, so she said Bassez friendship was okay. Therefore, this is a short piece in the Boxes universe. If you haven't read that, basically Chris, JC and Joey are all homeless and live on the streets. JC is a street artist, Chris a busker, Joey sells newspapers, and they all live together in in shelters made of giant cardboard boxes. Lance and Justin are runaways they've just taken in. And wow, popstoryfinders story description or what?Thanks go to
ephemera_pop and vaudevilles. They both looked this over at short notice and gave good suggestions.Check out
bassez_day for more stories tomorrow. Not from me though, I'll be on a motorway somewhere *g*Heat shimmers over the concrete as JC works. It swirls around his knees and bare feet. It's a relentless assault of dry air that catches in his throat and strips the moisture from his skin. There’s something sticking into his right knee and his hair is clinging to the back of his neck, but JC doesn’t move, just keeps looking down.
His picture twists in front of him, filling his section of the sidewalk. Raging wolves and a snarling lion, frozen in battle against a blood red sky. It’s perfect in its savagery, but despite the coins that litter the ground; JC hates it.
“That’s. Wow.”
JC looks up at Lance. He’s not carrying his suitcase today, but JC sees the way his hand is clenching and the dirt that mars previously clean nails.
“It seemed like a wolf day today.” JC sits back on his heels, and runs a hand across his face, taking a moment to re-acclimatise himself to reality. The ache in his knees, the niggling pains and constant hunger that always emerge without the barrier of his art.
“Justin’s moonwalking. He persuaded Chris to sing Thriller.” Lance steps forward, his sneaker just touching the edge of one extended claw. They’re both staring at the picture, silent observers as the crowd passes by. Laughter and voices and the edges between realities are blurred as JC looks down at the wolves.
“Shall I get Chris?” Lance says suddenly, and his hand is fully curled up now, drawing attention to the band of white skin where his watch used to be.
JC blinks, looking past the wolves to Lance. “I’m okay.” He smiles then, but Lance doesn’t look convinced, which isn’t surprising when the smile is based on nothing but lies. Ending the charade, JC admits, “I hate this picture.”
Lance walks toward JC, making sure his feet don’t touch the chalk. “You could wash it away.”
“It’s not that simple,” JC says, and he sees memories in each jagged tooth and narrowed eye.
Lance kneels, so close to JC their arms are touching. “It’s not your usual style.”
"No," JC agrees, and he digs in his pants pocket, pulling out a length of red ribbon, the ends frayed to silken strings. Efficiently, he ties back his hair then tidies his chalks. Blues next to greens, yellow at one end, the stubby remains of a red at the other. He selects a black stick of chalk and leans forward, adding lowlights to the shining pelt of the lion.
Lance briefly rests his hand against JC's arm. "You know, I think you're missing something."
Carefully shading a giant paw, JC glances back at Lance, questioning with a look.
“There.” Lance reaches out, pointing at a spiked bush behind the lion’s back paws. “Can’t you see? Behind the bush, there’s a panther. You can just see it, hiding in the shadows. And further back, in those trees. There’s a cheetah, see? Next to that leopard.”
JC narrows his eyes. This close all he can see is blood-tipped teeth, harsh lines and claws ripping into tender flesh. Then he pulls back, looking beyond Lance’s pointed finger. He sees them then. The panther, dark, sleek and dangerous, standing guard at the lion’s back. The spotted cheetah side by side with the leopard, teeth exposed as they hide. They’re perfectly clear, and JC can’t understand why he didn’t see them before.
Chalks roll across the sidewalk as he grabs a handful of colours. His lines are sure as he sketches in the additions, making them solid, forgetting all concept of time until he finally knows the picture is done.
Straightening, JC rubs his blackened hands against his pants, adding stripes of colour across the material.
“It looks better now,” Lance says, sounding approving. He’s sitting Indian style, his chin resting on his fist, a scattering of coins at his feet.
Stretching, JC attempts to ease the kinks from his back. “It does.” He smiles then, a real smile as he looks at the finished picture, knowing it’s time to let it go. “Let's see how much money Justin’s charmed today.” Gathering the coins and chalks, JC drops them into his bag, then looks across at Lance. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Lance smiles and stands, holding out his hand to help JC up. “All I did was wait.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-01-06 08:19 am (UTC)Panther = sleek and standing guard= Chris
Cheetah = Fast acting young being protected= Justin
Leopard = Also, young and being protected had to hide who he was behind his spots = Lance
Spiked bush =there all the same, protecting= Joey
I love Boxes.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-06 10:10 am (UTC)