| Persona 4: Little Pickles
Because drunk people are hilarious, right up until they happen to you. Warnings: very silly. Also, mildly spoilerific. |
|
It was the biggest cucumber that Souji had ever seen. As long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist, plump to the point of bursting, its smooth skin just barely able to contain the juice inside--accordingly, Souji decided to cut it not with any of the kitchen knives, but with his sword, which had been standing, waiting, in the corner of the kitchen when he got home.
Souji put the cucumber on the kitchen table--the counter was way too narrow to allow for a really good swing--and caught the grip of his sword in both hands, swinging it up and bringing it down in a vicious overhead chop. It lopped the end of the cucumber clean off and buried itself, quivering, in the wood of the table; before Souji could pull his sword free again a hand snaked in and filched the cut end of the cucumber. Startled, Souji looked up at Yosuke. Yosuke's eyes were alive with fascination, fixed on Souji's face like they were riveted there; he held Souji's gaze even while he popped the end of the cucumber in his mouth and ate it, the chewing and swallowing barely marring the excitement in his smile. Well, it had only been the end of the cucumber, he hadn't been planning to eat that anyway. Tearing his eyes away Souji lifted his sword again and brought it whistling down, lopping off a perfect, thin round of cucumber--again Yosuke snatched it before Souji could pull the sword free, this time sticking out his tongue and placing the cucumber round on it, a vibrant green against the pink. Yosuke's tongue curled around the cucumber slice and pulled it into his mouth, his eyes holding steady and enthralled on Souji's the entire time. Souji knew that he shouldn't--couldn't!--ask Yosuke not to do that. If he protested in any way Yosuke would get angry and start yelling, and Nanako was asleep on the couch right behind him, and if Yosuke woke Nanako up then she would want some of the cucumber too... Yosuke was licking cucumber juice off his fingers, still gazing raptly at Souji's face like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, and then Souji heard the door close behind Dojima and he cringed in anticipation of Dojima coming in and seeing them like this, because then he'd yell and arrest Souji for having the wrong friends again... ... the curtains clattered back and the window thumped open a second later, yanking Souji bodily up and out of his dream. It was still dark outside. Inside it was even darker, rendering the slumped form by the window into nothing but silhouette and shadow. It was too large to be Nanako, and a moment later, as it shifted, the reek of alcohol hit Souji in the face; Souji, still sleep-befuddled, fought to make sense of the apparition. What-- "There," Dojima slurred, stumbling a couple of steps back from the window and yanking off his tie. "Never could sleep w' th' window shut." Dropping his tie onto Souji's little television he stumbled towards the futon, drink-clumsy fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. "Er," Souji tried. "Huh?" Dojima's shirt half-spilled to the floor, catching briefly on the wristband of his watch. Dojima impatiently shook it free. "Oh. Oh. Sorry, kid." Souji relaxed, fractionally. Dojima had just gotten the wrong room, that was all, and Souji was still thinking that when Dojima collapsed half on top of him like an alcohol-sodden comforter full of bricks. Souji wheezed out a breath and had to fight to get another one. "--bu' issa house rule," Dojima said with the logic of the very drunk, awkwardly kicking off his pants. "Whenever I come home late--an' drunk--I gotta sleep in th' spare room so's I don' wake up m' wife or..." Daughter, perhaps he'd meant to say, or possibly the baby, but it didn't matter, because his head abruptly fell heavily onto Souji's shoulder. A moment later he snored, once, thickly. What do I do now? Souji thought. He didn't dare move. At least, not right away. Instead he stared up at the ceiling, now wide awake and deeply uncomfortable in every way that he could think of. On top of everything it was too hot for this--Dojima snored again, a thicker, heavier sound that Souji recognized with some relief. Gritting his teeth, he tried to eel out from under his uncle; Dojima responded with a grunt (that might have contained a name that definitely wasn't Souji's) and a tightening of his arm around Souji's shoulders, pinning him where he was. Thwarted, Souji settled down again. Awkwardly, unsure of why he was doing it but pretty sure that it was the right thing to do, he freed one hand and patted Dojima's back--that done, he left that hand where it was and went back to staring at the ceiling. He wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight. He wasn't going to let himself. This was entirely the wrong time to be dreaming about cucumbers. Still thinking that, he fell asleep. |
|
~*~ I wasn't actually going to write this one. I was just going to snicker at the ideas behind it. And then I abruptly realized that if I named the story in my head 'Little Pickles', it would be relevant to the text in four different ways; it's so unusual for my brain to come up with fitting titles on the fly that I promptly went and wrote this bit of throwaway fic, just to reward it for a job well done. It wouldn't take much effort on my part to turn this into horrible drunken/dreaming frot porn--indeed, my brain made a couple of efforts in that direction, but then I got distracted by something shiny and never got around to it. (Four ways: obvious cucumber metaphor is obvious; Dojima is pickled; Souji is in a pickle; throwaway reference to the line about a dream involving 'little pickles' from Real Genius.)
|