April 23 is HAVOC DAY
Apr. 23rd, 2007 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajOkay, so I decided I'd do an art and a fic drabble every day for Havoc Week. ^_^ I'll post the in my LJ and then do a compilation post here and in my various communities after the week is out.
Art:
Title: Happy Havoc Day!
Characters/Pairing: Just the boy himself. ^_^
Rated: R for nudity
Fic:
Title: Numbers
Characters/Pairing: Havoc-centric with hints of Havoc/Roy
Rated: PG
Word Count: 372
Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was twenty-six years old and six feet tall. He’d been born on a forty-acre tract of land in a small Eastern town with a population under two hundred. He'd enlisted in the Amestris military at age nineteen and had served in three different conflicts before settling into his desk job.
He was superstitious about the number fourteen, which was his number of confirmed kills. Partially due to this, he smoked between two and three packs of cigarettes a day.
He’d slept with three women, kissed twelve, dated seven. He’d been rejected by fifty-three at last count, until he’d gotten depressed and stopped counting.
As for men, he’d kissed two, way back in the haze of puberty, and wanted desperately to kiss a certain third, but he didn’t know how he’d ever be so lucky, so he tended to ignore the urge.
He lived in a six hundred square foot studio apartment that boasted a stove, a tiny private bathroom and little else. He had a table with two chairs, a small bookshelf, and a bed with a cheap, lumpy mattress. There were seven pornographic posters on the wall. He masturbated every night before he went to sleep.
He woke up at six every morning and went to sleep around eleven. He drank three cups of coffee every day, and ate two meals, breakfast and dinner; his lunch breaks he spent smoking. Every day he signed between thirty and ninety documents. He drove between four and eighty miles a day, depending on wherever his Colonel needed to go. The number of times he glanced at his Colonel in the rearview mirror and then pretended he hadn’t was proportional to the number of miles.
Five beers made him tipsy, nine to twelve made him drunk. Hard liquor made him drunk much quicker. One night a week, he went with Breda to a bar and got drunk, and on the way home he’d sing one of the eighty-seven songs he knew by heart, exactly a half-step off key.
It was a life of routine, of averages, and he’d never begrudged it, or attempted to look at it differently.
Until one day, that third kiss happened, and everything in his life turned upside down.
See you all tomorrow for Strip Havoc Naked Day! :D
Art:
Title: Happy Havoc Day!
Characters/Pairing: Just the boy himself. ^_^
Rated: R for nudity
Fic:
Title: Numbers
Characters/Pairing: Havoc-centric with hints of Havoc/Roy
Rated: PG
Word Count: 372
Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc was twenty-six years old and six feet tall. He’d been born on a forty-acre tract of land in a small Eastern town with a population under two hundred. He'd enlisted in the Amestris military at age nineteen and had served in three different conflicts before settling into his desk job.
He was superstitious about the number fourteen, which was his number of confirmed kills. Partially due to this, he smoked between two and three packs of cigarettes a day.
He’d slept with three women, kissed twelve, dated seven. He’d been rejected by fifty-three at last count, until he’d gotten depressed and stopped counting.
As for men, he’d kissed two, way back in the haze of puberty, and wanted desperately to kiss a certain third, but he didn’t know how he’d ever be so lucky, so he tended to ignore the urge.
He lived in a six hundred square foot studio apartment that boasted a stove, a tiny private bathroom and little else. He had a table with two chairs, a small bookshelf, and a bed with a cheap, lumpy mattress. There were seven pornographic posters on the wall. He masturbated every night before he went to sleep.
He woke up at six every morning and went to sleep around eleven. He drank three cups of coffee every day, and ate two meals, breakfast and dinner; his lunch breaks he spent smoking. Every day he signed between thirty and ninety documents. He drove between four and eighty miles a day, depending on wherever his Colonel needed to go. The number of times he glanced at his Colonel in the rearview mirror and then pretended he hadn’t was proportional to the number of miles.
Five beers made him tipsy, nine to twelve made him drunk. Hard liquor made him drunk much quicker. One night a week, he went with Breda to a bar and got drunk, and on the way home he’d sing one of the eighty-seven songs he knew by heart, exactly a half-step off key.
It was a life of routine, of averages, and he’d never begrudged it, or attempted to look at it differently.
Until one day, that third kiss happened, and everything in his life turned upside down.
See you all tomorrow for Strip Havoc Naked Day! :D
