Alice gave me some prompts awhile ago, and I decided to try some three-sentence fics, because I've done them before and they're a blast. The title of each one is the prompt word, which I also worked into the fic in some way. Cheers!
He’s never been good at any sort of game of chance, even in his wild teenage days of tearing around summoning demons and smoking anything he could get his hands on (his excuse had always been that such things were stupid and a waste of time, and he’d been so scathing and mocking that Ethan and Randall had given up trying to get him to play even the tiniest game of poker). Even then, he had known that he couldn’t hold his own in a competition that depended solely on luck – because, with a harsh father, dead mother, tainted childhood, and dreadful responsibility threatening to crush him no matter how hard he sneered at it or fiercely he fought or ran, how much luck could he possibly have? But with Jenny, it was a different kind of gambling entirely – and he couldn’t help but feel, whenever he looked at her, that perhaps his luck had changed at last.
If there was one thing he had gained from all of his reading that he knew the students of Sunnydale High would appreciate, it was an extensive knowledge of swear words from every country, realm, and dimension imaginable. There was the ever-charming German schwanzlutscher, the pleasant elif air ab tizak (which sounded vaguely nice if you didn’t know Arabic), the succinct-but-efficient Persian kosefil, and (a particular favorite of his) the Malvar demon’s delightful mohowakavitzi – all gleaned from books over the years. And, as he squinted through the blinding spotlight into the audience and saw the mischievous grin gracing the face of the woman who had volunteered him for Flutie’s “Teacher Talent Fun Night,” he found himself directing almost every one that he could recall towards the trou du cul computer science teacher.
Over his lifetime, over years and years of battling and killing (and sometimes summoning and abusing) demons and magical forces and awful, unnatural things that often just couldn’t help being what they were, Rupert Giles had learned that the world, and justice, was not simply black and white (unless it was under the curse of a Checkerboard demon, but that was a little different). Even still, he could not quite help but paint Angel – who, he knew logically (but logic was never this hard to listen to), was every bit as much of a victim as she was – the most putrid, chaotic, villainous shade of charcoal in his mind. And Jenny, despite her lies, her betrayals, her (innocent, well-meaning, murderous) secrets, was always the color of the apple blossoms in his old yard that had bloomed so brilliantly for a few days before withering away.
There had been a little bit of blood on her door, the investigators had told him. She’d probably thrown herself at it in an attempt to escape, they’d said. Now when he walks these halls, he can’t help but morbidly wonder if they were the last place her clunky, impractical, adorable little shoes had clicked and clacked in a mad panic, or if they’d been stilled forever before they could even get that far.
When Jenny had suggested the aquarium as a location for their date, he’d been quite puzzled. “It’s an aquarium – what kind of demon could possibly live there?” she’d asked, and kissed him before he could argue (as if he would). As it turned out, when they’d sat down for the dolphin show only to have an enormous purple octopus appear that seemed to be spewing toxic shaving cream from its tentacles, there were all sorts of demons that could (but the date was not entirely ruined, because he was able to lend her his coat after they’d been thoroughly soaked, and she’d given him a "thank you" kiss that was even better than her “shut up now” one).