A/N: For the 13fears community on LJ (as if they're really going to read this). Summary and pairing will change in every chapter, in accordance to the theme. Warning: The pairings are random. Some have no pairings at all. Random, I say, so expect shounen-ai and het somewhere there.
Notes: Fanfic dump! NEED TO WORK WRITER'S BLOCK OFF. OFF, I SAY. This is shounen-ai. Don't like, there's the back button for your clicking pleasure. Also, a bit cracky. BECAUSE I HATE CLOWNS WITH A BURNING PASSION. Rated T for language and innuendo.
Disclaimer: No. Stop bothering me.
Writers are a little below clowns and a little above trained seals.
To say Roxas was afraid of anything would merit you a punch in the face at best, and a punch somewere down there at worst. For Roxas was considered the badass one of the Usual Spot kids -- he skated like nobody else could, answered to no one (except to his twin, fraternal bonds and all that jazz), and was typically labeled as the One Kid Who Schemed And Always Wins.
To say that he was actually gaping right now and that a small jolt of electricity was now currently jumping manically on that one red button labeled 'Primal Terror' on his spine was nothing short of unforgiveable.
Roxas mentally kicked himself and that cute little voice that had been narrating. "Hayner," he breathed, still quite frozen in shock, "What the hell?"
The blonde frowned and stared at him, confused. "Um? Roxas? This the first time you've been to McDonald's, or something?"
He shuffled awkwardly on his feet, readjusted the skateboard under his arm, and preened for quite a while before the expression on Hayner's face twisted into nothing short of murderous impatience. It's just a place that's so happy with all those plastic smiles and that plastic life-sized mascot creeps me out. "No."
Hayner made a small 'hmph'-ing sound and started fishing the numerous pockets of his cargo pants for some munny, muttering something about 'not getting out enough' and 'damnit, where the hell did that 20-munny note go?' and the occasional 'I thought I told him not to touch anything'.
However, Roxas was much too preoccupied with shielding his eyes and not looking like he was doing so in the process, for as the line moved the plastic likeness of Ronald McDonald loomed larger, all red paint and white powder and baggy mustard-yellow jumpsuit.
He was not getting squicked by how it was grinning, like one of those psychotic mass murderers in the movies. Rows of perfect teeth and crinkled eyes lined with eyeliner and heavy makeup. Nope. Not squicked.
He made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like 'eeep' when Hayner suggested they moved over to the next cashier, since they found out that the guy in front of them was ordering enough food to feed a small country. Sure, the old lady at that counter looked particularly peaceful, but Ronald was so much more closer, smiling, grinning that secret, horrifying grin of his.
He had got to stop watching horror movies. More importantly, he had got to stop letting Sora make him watch said horror movies. But since when had he last seen a movie with Sora, anyway? He had learnt his lesson just a week ago that one should never go to a movie with his twin and that silver-haired pervert (Riku, and he mentally castrated said pervert), since they had their own script, and it was one that was far too explicit for his own tastes, thank you.
Ronald was still grinning.
Roxas angrily shot the figure a scowl. Damnit.
"Good morning, welcome to McDonald's, and do you have a strange fetish for plastic figures?" a voice drawled sarcastically, and it was an understatement to say that Roxas was, understandably, Really. Pissed. Off. He did not need to be reminded that no matter how hard he denied it, he was, in fact, very much afraid of clowns.
He scowled and shifted the expression on his face into a Look, and a Look that made sure that the skies above swirled into a raging storm, the asphalt outside cracked, and he unleashed his fury upon the earth...of course, if he had his way. But anyway. He gave the speaker a Look.
The first thing he noticed, really, was how the guy actually fitted into McDonald's theme perfectly. It was as if the bright, cheery, yellow and red combination of pure, cheesy, served-on-a-bun happiness was made for him. Crimson hair stuck out of his visor like a bunch of overgrown grass drowned in red paint.
Then the copious amount of eyeliner smothered around eyes that, simply put, was impossibly green. Like, straight out of the pixels in games and pure teal poured into two irises. Now, Roxas was simply not the sappy type, nor the one who likes to wax poetic (that would be Naminé), but damn, that guy had eyes that were breathtaking. Literally.
And then his stare traveled down past the Amazing Eyes, and settled upon those little triangular smudges of--
Roxas bit his lip in order to spare the businessman behind him a taste of his very (darkly) colorful language. Were those tattoos?
And then he took a step back to observe this discovery of a new species, he noticed -- as the blood rushed from his face and that small jolt of electricity was once more jumping on his button -- that this guy was death-pale white, porcelain framed by bloody red, twin teardrops etched below jade eyes, and that goddamn pink-lipped predatory smirk that looked so much like one of those psychotic clowns just before they massacred somebody--
"Hmmmm?" Clown Guy leant forward, eyes shuttering halfway and voice lowering into a pitch that would surely have made his toes curl, if his heart wasn't beating something like a million miles per second, "See something you like?"
Or something terrifying. He squeaked quite embarrassingly and quickly followed Hayner deep into the mass of McDonald's patrons, leaving a very irritated Clown-Guy-cashier-whatever behind.
"Naminé's going to kill you."
Hayner emphasized the statement with small, stabbing motions, something that one might do with a pencil. A very sharp pencil.
Roxas shivered. "I can get her a sundae somewhere else. Or a sea-salt popsicle."
The blonde boy beside him shrugged noncommitantly, sifting through the plastic Mcdonald's bag, taking out the fries, and dumping them unceremoniously onto the tray. "She's sick of sea-salt, Rox. I mean, everyone would be, after eating one of those every day for what...a month? Except you, of course."
Roxas absentmindedly nodded in agreement. So what if he was something of a popsicle addict? Naminé could learn to like those things the same way he did.
He cringed. But then again, his cousin did explicitly tell him that she wanted a chocolate sundae, not another one of, he quotes, for sea-salt popsicles were a sacred thing, "those crazy blue squares of indescribable flavor". And she did promise him a slow, painful death if he failed to get her one.
But hey. The cashier looked like a serial killer (at least, to him), for crying out loud. He'd like to choose his safety over a sundae, no matter what threats Naminé made.
"You're pouting again," Hayner laughed from across the table, sticking another fry into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Dude. That's so a-do-ra-ble."
Roxas scowled at Hayner, who was now doubled over in laughter, after having teased him in that tone of voice he had normally reserved for rabid girls just going through puberty. He resisted throwing the table number at him and grabbed a handful of fries instead.
He choked on his fifth one and it ended up going straight down his throat. Crap. Clown Guy at twelve o'clock, and apparently moving towards them.
Hayner followed his gaze and sat straight up. "Finally. Rest of the food's here."
Roxas stared in horror as his companion jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Clown Guy; as tempting as it was to hope that Hayner was pointing to something else, the fact that the only other plausible directions were at that kid bawling on one table and the group of violently giggling girls killed the notion.
Clown Guy's face brightened, whether at the number displayed prominently on the table, or at the sight of him, Roxas didn't bother to know. Doomed, I say, doomed. He clutched his skateboard tighter and wondered if it was illegal to make a getaway on a skateboard inside a fastfood joint.
"Here ya go," the Guy had removed his visor some time ago and probably left it somewhere behind the counter. Roxas noted that he now had the general appearance of somebody who had a small, electrified furry animal crawl onto his skull and die of suffocation by dried red paint. The bag of food changed hands. Roxas imagined it was a butcher's knife.
Why couldn't he have the imagination of his twin, anyway? Sora almost always painted everything in a portrait of sunshine and laughter. Roxas liked to see the world through muted blues and steel-grey.
Great. Now, in the aftermath of his deep reflection of what color he'd like the world to be, they were now staring at him.
"What's wrong with him?" Clown Guy asked, reaching over and picking up one of the fries.
Hayner had the grace to look scandalized, but it passed in a second as he reached for a handful of his own. He chewed again in a very thoughtful way, regarding Roxas with a gaze one would associate with a difficult problem in chemistry. Brown eyes cleared in realization as Hayner 'aaahhhed', noticing how Roxas was currently fidgeting and avoiding any kind of eye contact with Clown Guy. Curse Hayner to be so perceptive.
Hayner looked sideways. Clown Guy had invited and seated himself at their table, sneaking in a fry or two.
"Roxas' afraid of clowns."
Roxas spluttered and hoped karma would take vengeance. Traitorous Hayner. "I'm not," he had started to protest, but a nagging feeling pushed the urge back. "Wait, how'd you know?"
"Did you realize you've just contradicted what you said?" Clown Guy cut in, raising an eyebrow.
"Shut up," he shot back, proud that he didn't stutter, and resumed interrogating a highly amused Hayner. "Who told you?"
Hayner started whistling. Roxas wanted to wrench the chair from its bolts on the floor and hit the blond on the head.
"And what does that have to do with me?" Clown Guy interrupted again, and Roxas shot him a Look. Geez. Can't he take a hint? He focused his attention back to his original companion, who was still whistling with a fry sticking out of his mouth. Talented one, Hayner was.
A realization hit Roxas with the force of a brick wall. He snickered. "Seifer'll never have children when I'm finished with him."
Hayner shrugged, but Roxas caught that fractional flinch. "As if he'd want kids, anyway. Who cares?"
He leered. "You would."
A bunch of paper napkins hit him full in the face, and he brushed them off in time to see Hayner blush furiously and Clown Guy snort in badly-supressed laughter.
Wait. Clown Guy.
"You." He growled viciously, "What the hell are you still doing here?"
Clown Guy waved a fry dismissively. "Serving the customer," he said airily, and -- wait, what the -- was that a foot brushing his knee and climbing higher? -- "In more ways that one."
While Roxas did consider himself afraid of clowns, he certainly was not afraid of perverted, make-up wearing molesters (Molesters of any kind, actually, especially silver-haired ones who liked to feel up his twin any chance they could). "Quit it," he hissed across the table.
Hayner twisted around in his seat and leant farther back, squinting and trying to peek under the table. "Dude. I thought you were a cashier."
Damnit, if that socked foot moved any higher--
Roxas let out another embarrassing 'eeep' and felt crimson creep across the bridge of his nose, and the skateboard sailed over the table and hit Clown Guy head-on.
He stood up and managed to kick the Guy's shins at the same time, breathing rather hard. "Perverted son of a--"
The fry waved back and forth again. "Ah-ah-ah. I'd prefer your term of endearment be Axel. Got it memorized?" The fry tapped against Clown Guy's -- erm, Axel's -- temple.
Hayner suddenly burst into laughter, and they both stared at the blonde. Roxas wondered if it was humanly possible to be so random. "What?"
"That's a real shitty way of introducing yourself, Axel," he spluttered snarkily, wiping at the tears at the edge of his eyes. "Way to go. Introduction with fries and footsies. If you really wanted to catch Rox's attention you could've just, I don't know, used any other way."
Roxas blinked and sat down, trying to process what coherent speech he had understood between Hayner's snorts of laughter.
Clown Guy -- Axel, whatever -- popped the fry into his mouth and shrugged; apparently, nothing could faze him short of a nuclear explosion. "Thought it would work."
Pfft. "Back to the counter with you, pervert."
Axel shifted those Amazing Eyes in his direction, and for five seconds, Roxas forgot to breathe. At least, until, those toes started working their way up his right leg again. "Aw, Roxas," he purred, "Don't you like my company?"
Roxas was tempted once more to hit him on the head with his skateboard, and decided that he wasn't worth the effort. (Yes. That was it. Not the fact that the sensation was starting to feel tingly.) "Company my ass."
Hayner threw his head back harder in laughter, and Roxas' eyes widened as he realized the double entendre. Too late. Axel leant forward and before he knew it, teal-swirled eyes were hovering before his own and his breath was ghosting over Roxas' lips. "Why, I didn't know you'd be so forward, but I accept your offer with pleasure."
He shivered again, but for an entirely different reason. "Damnit. I'm not some hormonal fifteen-year-old kid who's going to--mmmph!"
The last coherent thought he had was that although Axel looked very much like a clown, being afraid of this one was a very laughable thing.
"They fired you?"
Shrug. "Something about public displays of attention at the workplace." A snort. "Some workplace it was."
"That's good. Because I'm never stepping foot in another McDonald's again."
Cue exasperated voice. "You're still scared of clowns?"
Next theme is Xenophobia (fear of strangers), featuring...I don't know. Requests for pairings are open. Please help a writer work off writer's block. Please, please, please. I accept shounen-ai and het, no yaoi. I CANNOT WRITE SMUT TO SAVE MY LIFE.
SBW readers, I said it once, I'm going to say it again. Writer's block and real life. Help, anyone?