Categories > Anime/Manga > Eyeshield 21
Smiling slightly, she refused to allow the instinct to sleep to overcome her. The music, DJ’d by a friend of hers, was trance techno. She knew she would have to change from trance for a while, in order to snap her out of her, well, trance. Her brain was working furiously, though she seemed on the verge of a much needed REM cycle. Her blood shot eyes lazily watched the video playing on her computer screen. Ever since she’d found out who their next opponents were, she’d gotten every scrap of footage on them available to her. She was snapped out of her reverie, not by a music change, but by a hand being placed on her shoulder. Slowly, she turned to look at the owner of the hand.
“Go to sleep Fucking Smartass.” She pretended not to have heard him, shrugging off his comment as though it were a winter coat while she was in the middle of the Sahara. His grip on her shoulder tightened warningly. Sighing, she turned back to him.
“Can’ stop till I figger it ou’, you know tha’…” Her protest was soft, but forceful. The blonde looked down at her, uncaringly. “’ve almost got i’!” Her speech was so slurred, he could hardly understand her.
“Your eyes are bloodshot, your speech is atrocious,” He turned the swivel chair she sat in, so that she faced him. “I’m willing to bet you’re listening to the Fucking DJ’s trance again; you wouldn’t be able to find a hole in a fucking spider’s web.” She looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
“Lies,” She mumbled stubbornly. He scoffed at her. Before her half-dead brain could register it, he picked her up, the way you would pick up a small child, sitting them on your arm. She didn’t bother struggling; he was nearly a foot and a half taller than her. He took of her headphones, neither roughly nor gently, and tossed them back at the computer, the footage still playing across the screen. She glared at him half-heartedly. She knew damn well she didn’t need to sleep, not yet. He crooked an eyebrow at her.
“What?”
“You kno’ damn whell whut…” He wanted to laugh. She looked ridiculous; her ponytail was only half in, the rest of her hair flying every which way. Her eyes, never dull, shone like a full moon on a cloudy night. She was dead on her feet; her mind just didn’t know it. He chuckled.
“Maybe I should change your name to Fucking Brat, you’re so short.” She growled, gnashing her teeth sluggishly.
“Ass.” It was all she could manage in her stupor. Grinning, he began walking towards her room.
“Why’re you na’ asleep? N’ in my house, no less…” Her mind finally noticed what she should’ve asked in the first place. He didn’t answer, just grinned even wider. He opened the door to her room with his free hand. As he moved toward her bed, she snorted indignantly. Smirking, he turned his head towards her. It was what she wanted, anyhow. She annoyedly wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling into his collarbone. His grin barely fit his face.
“What’re you doing, Fucking Brat?”
“Shut up.”
“Go to sleep Fucking Smartass.” She pretended not to have heard him, shrugging off his comment as though it were a winter coat while she was in the middle of the Sahara. His grip on her shoulder tightened warningly. Sighing, she turned back to him.
“Can’ stop till I figger it ou’, you know tha’…” Her protest was soft, but forceful. The blonde looked down at her, uncaringly. “’ve almost got i’!” Her speech was so slurred, he could hardly understand her.
“Your eyes are bloodshot, your speech is atrocious,” He turned the swivel chair she sat in, so that she faced him. “I’m willing to bet you’re listening to the Fucking DJ’s trance again; you wouldn’t be able to find a hole in a fucking spider’s web.” She looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
“Lies,” She mumbled stubbornly. He scoffed at her. Before her half-dead brain could register it, he picked her up, the way you would pick up a small child, sitting them on your arm. She didn’t bother struggling; he was nearly a foot and a half taller than her. He took of her headphones, neither roughly nor gently, and tossed them back at the computer, the footage still playing across the screen. She glared at him half-heartedly. She knew damn well she didn’t need to sleep, not yet. He crooked an eyebrow at her.
“What?”
“You kno’ damn whell whut…” He wanted to laugh. She looked ridiculous; her ponytail was only half in, the rest of her hair flying every which way. Her eyes, never dull, shone like a full moon on a cloudy night. She was dead on her feet; her mind just didn’t know it. He chuckled.
“Maybe I should change your name to Fucking Brat, you’re so short.” She growled, gnashing her teeth sluggishly.
“Ass.” It was all she could manage in her stupor. Grinning, he began walking towards her room.
“Why’re you na’ asleep? N’ in my house, no less…” Her mind finally noticed what she should’ve asked in the first place. He didn’t answer, just grinned even wider. He opened the door to her room with his free hand. As he moved toward her bed, she snorted indignantly. Smirking, he turned his head towards her. It was what she wanted, anyhow. She annoyedly wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling into his collarbone. His grin barely fit his face.
“What’re you doing, Fucking Brat?”
“Shut up.”
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