brb. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
accelerate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenace2018-02-03 10:06 am
accelerate) wrote in maskormenace2018-02-03 10:06 am
2⚡ TEXT
[ in a bid to try and remember the memories he has lost to flashpoint — a realisation our fast hero hasn't had yet — barry turns to the realm of fandom. what better way to jog his memory than to write some fic? isn't that what the therapists told a young bartholomew allen? (he doesn't know. this isn't his first piece of memory fan fiction.) ]
[ this graces the network in the middle of the night. ]
The air crackles with golden electricity. Slick with ice is the street the Flash skids along, easily pulling himself to a confident standing position despite the ice on his shoes and the slightly poor finish to his run.
Captain Cold stands before him, Cold Gun in hand. His parka covers most of his face, and his goggles are as blue as the fabric. "Hello, Flash," he purrs.
"Captain Cold," the Flash says, a little respectively. "What brings you out so late?"
Captain Cold almost shrugs. "I was bored," he drawls. "The nighttime circuit around here isn't as fun as it used to be."
"You can blame your friends for that," says the Flash. He stand with his hands on his skinny hips, face a blur when the captain studies him.
Captain Cold's lips twist. "Want to have some fun, Flash?"
The Flash shakes his head. "No thanks. I've had enough fun for today."
"Oh well," Captain Cold almost pouts. "Save a dance for me next time. I've got my best dancing shoes on."
"And best dance floor," The Flash nods toward the thin layer of ice on the street.
It's now Captain Cold shrugs. "Call it practice. Giving to the poor what they want."
"And what's that?"
"I'll tell you later," he smirks. "During our next dance."
The Flash doesn't look displeased. Glancing at the Cold Gun and then back at Captain Cold, he nods his head, knowing that this is it.
"See you around, Captain." The Flash doesn't take off immediately, glancing at the Rogue who is almost like a friend. With another respectful nod, he's zipping along the street, a little clumsily on the thin ice as he disappears into the night.
Captain Cold watches him go with a little smile.
[ this graces the network in the middle of the night. ]
UN: BEARY
The air crackles with golden electricity. Slick with ice is the street the Flash skids along, easily pulling himself to a confident standing position despite the ice on his shoes and the slightly poor finish to his run.
Captain Cold stands before him, Cold Gun in hand. His parka covers most of his face, and his goggles are as blue as the fabric. "Hello, Flash," he purrs.
"Captain Cold," the Flash says, a little respectively. "What brings you out so late?"
Captain Cold almost shrugs. "I was bored," he drawls. "The nighttime circuit around here isn't as fun as it used to be."
"You can blame your friends for that," says the Flash. He stand with his hands on his skinny hips, face a blur when the captain studies him.
Captain Cold's lips twist. "Want to have some fun, Flash?"
The Flash shakes his head. "No thanks. I've had enough fun for today."
"Oh well," Captain Cold almost pouts. "Save a dance for me next time. I've got my best dancing shoes on."
"And best dance floor," The Flash nods toward the thin layer of ice on the street.
It's now Captain Cold shrugs. "Call it practice. Giving to the poor what they want."
"And what's that?"
"I'll tell you later," he smirks. "During our next dance."
The Flash doesn't look displeased. Glancing at the Cold Gun and then back at Captain Cold, he nods his head, knowing that this is it.
"See you around, Captain." The Flash doesn't take off immediately, glancing at the Rogue who is almost like a friend. With another respectful nod, he's zipping along the street, a little clumsily on the thin ice as he disappears into the night.
Captain Cold watches him go with a little smile.
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Thankfully, no. I'm freelancing for the Heropa paper now. Mostly metro, but it sure beats our local "Florida Man".
[ She's never gonna be over how she wrote all those articles, only to find out her Florida Man was James Jesse. And during Roguesgiving, no less... ]
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I have to keep better track of your work. You write under your name, right?
Maybe you can give the author of this piece a bit of a lesson on good prose. I sense there's room for improvement.
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I don't know whether to be offended by this so continue on
I'll feedback once I know
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The author did just fine. Could love the Flash a little more, but I think that'll come with time.