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A piece of writing unrelated to the Sergeant.
It is, however, related to a writing exercise I did a while back - I don't know if I posted it here or not. This features Ira Dayan and Kenny Aoi, the British Columbian boys from a set of writing exercises where I had to do fifteen minutes' worth of writing starting with the phrase "I don't remember." Eventually these two are going to be the focal points of a hard science fiction novel, but as is quite common for me I developed a case of the accomplishment willies about this novel a long time ago and I have been fearful of trying to actually WRITE any of it since. I have decided that I am going to have to do approximately 500 words a day set in that universe if I am ever to get off my ass and write this stuff at all, so- here. About 460 words or so.
Ira stared at the paper in front of him, feeling a sudden hollowness inside. He'd gotten some pretty bad marks before, but this- this was-
"How'd you do, Ira? I- hey!" That was Kenny, pushing in to see his friend's grade and protesting as Ira roughly yanked his paper away. "Geez, I just wanted to see-"
"And I didn't want you to. Bug off, Kenny."
The other boy sucked a breath through his teeth. "Bad?" he asked soberly.
Ira nodded.
"Really bad?"
"Appointment with the teacher, bad." Ira debated flashing the red number at his friend, then decided against it. If Kenny's father asked about the test, he'd surely ask how Ira had done, too. The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Aoi to confront him on his next visit with the fact that he'd gotten an overall score of thirty-seven per cent on his Canadian history exam.
Kenny shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Ira. I thought you studied for this one."
Grimly, Ira folded the paper up into precise quarters. "Yeah, well, guess it wasn't enough." That wasn't exactly true. Ira had started to study, but history had a tendency to make his eyes glaze over. He'd grabbed one of his books on rocketry to try and clear his head, and by the time he'd come back to the history texts there wasn't enough caffeine in the province of British Columbia to keep him going.
Kenny gave his friend a sidelong glance. "Gonna tell your mom?"
Ira felt a sudden surge of gratitude. The less he had to deal with his mother's disappointed looks, the better. "I dunno. . . not unless Mrs. Ranvier says I have to."
"Think she's gonna?"
"Dunno. Can we talk about something else?"
Shrugging, Kenny slipped into Japanese. << Did you at least practice your kanji this week? >>
<< Do I look like an idiot? >>
<< Well, if you did that badly on your history exam. . . >>
<< Shut up. I'm not going to piss off your father. >>
Kenny grinned. << You, my friend, have a very weird set of priorities. >>
<< Again, >> Ira said evenly, << shut up. >>
<< Make me. >>
Ira gave Kenny a very long look indeed before casually repeating a sentence he'd memorized from an old tentacle hentai vid. He felt a moment's quiet glee at the blank look on his friend's face. A few seconds later the comprehension kicked in and it was all he could do not to cackle aloud as Kenny blanched. "Dude," said Kenny, wide-eyed, "that was so not called for."
"Don't invite me to your party if you don't want me to dance." Ira grinned.
"So not called for," Kenny repeated - but at least he didn't say anything else.
Ira stared at the paper in front of him, feeling a sudden hollowness inside. He'd gotten some pretty bad marks before, but this- this was-
"How'd you do, Ira? I- hey!" That was Kenny, pushing in to see his friend's grade and protesting as Ira roughly yanked his paper away. "Geez, I just wanted to see-"
"And I didn't want you to. Bug off, Kenny."
The other boy sucked a breath through his teeth. "Bad?" he asked soberly.
Ira nodded.
"Really bad?"
"Appointment with the teacher, bad." Ira debated flashing the red number at his friend, then decided against it. If Kenny's father asked about the test, he'd surely ask how Ira had done, too. The last thing he wanted was for Mr. Aoi to confront him on his next visit with the fact that he'd gotten an overall score of thirty-seven per cent on his Canadian history exam.
Kenny shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Ira. I thought you studied for this one."
Grimly, Ira folded the paper up into precise quarters. "Yeah, well, guess it wasn't enough." That wasn't exactly true. Ira had started to study, but history had a tendency to make his eyes glaze over. He'd grabbed one of his books on rocketry to try and clear his head, and by the time he'd come back to the history texts there wasn't enough caffeine in the province of British Columbia to keep him going.
Kenny gave his friend a sidelong glance. "Gonna tell your mom?"
Ira felt a sudden surge of gratitude. The less he had to deal with his mother's disappointed looks, the better. "I dunno. . . not unless Mrs. Ranvier says I have to."
"Think she's gonna?"
"Dunno. Can we talk about something else?"
Shrugging, Kenny slipped into Japanese. << Did you at least practice your kanji this week? >>
<< Do I look like an idiot? >>
<< Well, if you did that badly on your history exam. . . >>
<< Shut up. I'm not going to piss off your father. >>
Kenny grinned. << You, my friend, have a very weird set of priorities. >>
<< Again, >> Ira said evenly, << shut up. >>
<< Make me. >>
Ira gave Kenny a very long look indeed before casually repeating a sentence he'd memorized from an old tentacle hentai vid. He felt a moment's quiet glee at the blank look on his friend's face. A few seconds later the comprehension kicked in and it was all he could do not to cackle aloud as Kenny blanched. "Dude," said Kenny, wide-eyed, "that was so not called for."
"Don't invite me to your party if you don't want me to dance." Ira grinned.
"So not called for," Kenny repeated - but at least he didn't say anything else.