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Mar. 27th, 2007 03:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsPrompt: Monkeys
Word Count: 441
“They have those don’t they?”
The question was unexpected; Silvus had been mostly silent after a raucous bout of laughter that had ensued when he saw the fate of the Eastern witch. They’d made it through the majority of the film, past the talking scarecrow and the rusty man who would have looked, Jaccen thought, much better if he had resembled a suit of armor rather than a mismatched collection of cans, and beyond the lion with the irritating voice. They’d sat through inane songs and the giant glowing head and the darker of the pair had been very surprised when his cousin had not made a snarky remark about the unlikely team attacking the wizard instead of meekly obeying orders. Now, with twenty minutes to go until the movie was over and the time hit one a.m. and UFC came on, Silvus was asking unspecific questions.
“Have what?” Jaccen didn’t really want to respond but Silvus got testy when he was forced to watch too much mortal television that didn’t involve a great deal of real or hyper-realistic violence. He never had been able to take his cousin to watch the sort of arty foreign films he enjoyed beyond the occasional Chinese martial arts epic, more’s the pity. The pale and slender man slouched next to him on the couch could have used an introduction to a less violent culture.
“Those.” This time a hand was raised, languid because Silvus’ blood rarely let him move it in a way that wasn’t designed to entice and antagonize, and the dim, bluish light from the television flickered and flared on the hard edge of his oversized but elegant ring. Jaccen tracked an invisible line from the silvery end of his cousin’s fingernail to the t.v. and barely kept from sputtering.
On screen a bevy of flying simians surrounded the heroine in her ruby slippers and blue gingham, gibbering and slobbering and shedding feathers as they tore her away from her friends. Creatures that had surely been the stuff of nightmares for small children, but only decades ago when such simplistic elements still had the power to scare, they were nothing at all like any of the beings that moved through the hot and sulfuric skies of Hell. Then again, Silvus was not noted for his attention to detail when it didn’t suit his interests and there were some lesser denizens who could perhaps have been the horrible progenitors of the more benign Hollywood imaginings on the screen.
Jaccen sighed and wished time could fast forward and put mortals beating each other before his eyes instead. “Yes. We have winged monkeys in Hell.”
Word Count: 441
“They have those don’t they?”
The question was unexpected; Silvus had been mostly silent after a raucous bout of laughter that had ensued when he saw the fate of the Eastern witch. They’d made it through the majority of the film, past the talking scarecrow and the rusty man who would have looked, Jaccen thought, much better if he had resembled a suit of armor rather than a mismatched collection of cans, and beyond the lion with the irritating voice. They’d sat through inane songs and the giant glowing head and the darker of the pair had been very surprised when his cousin had not made a snarky remark about the unlikely team attacking the wizard instead of meekly obeying orders. Now, with twenty minutes to go until the movie was over and the time hit one a.m. and UFC came on, Silvus was asking unspecific questions.
“Have what?” Jaccen didn’t really want to respond but Silvus got testy when he was forced to watch too much mortal television that didn’t involve a great deal of real or hyper-realistic violence. He never had been able to take his cousin to watch the sort of arty foreign films he enjoyed beyond the occasional Chinese martial arts epic, more’s the pity. The pale and slender man slouched next to him on the couch could have used an introduction to a less violent culture.
“Those.” This time a hand was raised, languid because Silvus’ blood rarely let him move it in a way that wasn’t designed to entice and antagonize, and the dim, bluish light from the television flickered and flared on the hard edge of his oversized but elegant ring. Jaccen tracked an invisible line from the silvery end of his cousin’s fingernail to the t.v. and barely kept from sputtering.
On screen a bevy of flying simians surrounded the heroine in her ruby slippers and blue gingham, gibbering and slobbering and shedding feathers as they tore her away from her friends. Creatures that had surely been the stuff of nightmares for small children, but only decades ago when such simplistic elements still had the power to scare, they were nothing at all like any of the beings that moved through the hot and sulfuric skies of Hell. Then again, Silvus was not noted for his attention to detail when it didn’t suit his interests and there were some lesser denizens who could perhaps have been the horrible progenitors of the more benign Hollywood imaginings on the screen.
Jaccen sighed and wished time could fast forward and put mortals beating each other before his eyes instead. “Yes. We have winged monkeys in Hell.”
