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WordS
Meh. Just a journal to keep track of random ideas that worm their way into my head.
o hai thar
um... i just feel like writing some drabble about a couple of my OCs. okey? biggrin
[ note: i needed to use a lithuanian translator for some of the dialogue in here, so it may be incorrect. sorry. :< ]
--

"Hey."

"What?"

The slightly shorter, younger man downed his flask of vodka. "You're thirty now. Feel old?"

Drew rolled his half-closed eyes. "I've been feeling old since I've been getting those grey hairs, Dante. I don't care whether you rub it in or not."

Dante smiled. "Not too moody anymore, are ya, bro?"

His brother scoffed. "Hmph. Please, I find myself getting more and more pissed off at the world each day."

"Why? Hey, toss me another round, wouldya?"

Drew reached over for his brother's vodka. He's going to drink himself to his grave, he thought. "You know damn well why." He handed Dante the bottle and watched him pour some more of his 'poison', as he called it, into his flask.

"I do?"

"You did. Now you're too wasted to remember what happened seven years ago."

Dante hiccuped. "Oh, her? She was five years older than you, right? What a cougar."

"She wasn't a cougar, kvailys, she was the best woman I'd ever met. And then... and then kad b*****d paėmė ją nuo manęs..."

The twenty-seven-year-old blinked. "Easy, bro, you're starting to drift again."

Drew shook his head, as if to shake his native tongue from his brain. "Atsiprašau, I mean, sorry. I just... you know how I get."

"Yeah, do I." Dante slung an arm around his brother's shoulder. "C'mon, man, it's time to let that go. Remember what Motina always said? 'Jums nereikės gyventi dėl praeities, kai jis buvo po savo kontrolės.'"

"I've always hated that saying." Drew stood up and began to head upstairs. "If the phone rings, tell them I'm at the courthouse. I need to be alone for a while."

Dante nodded. "Can do, brolis."

With that, the defense attorney left the room, regretting every year his fiancée had been dead with each step.





 
 
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