A brief author's note: These two characters are going to be in a story (hopefully). I really suck at writing good characters because I don't always care about them. So, I'm going to try to make myself care about them. This is merely a personal exercise posted for your viewing pleasure (or displeasure, depending on how bad it is).
XXxxxXX
Sally shrugged, then stared off into the distance.
"What is there to talk about?" she asked. "My parents are dead. I mean, I heard it happen. I would know." Blake watched Sally, his face strained with sympathy. But he stayed quiet. "I mean, I didn't see it. But, you know," Sally sniffed, "Small children have very active imaginations. I was six." She turned her head and stared into the Sun, hoping it's warmth would dry her eyes before the tears gave her away.
"My dad used to play hide and seek with me. If I hid anywhere but the closet, he would find me. And when I heard the pounding and the screaming and- and the crackling, I just knew that no one would find me in the closet." Sally rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. "I mean, there's nothing to talk about, Blake. They're gone. I'm over it." Blake shook his head.
XXxxxXX
Blake tossed his laser pistol up and down experimentally, mentally noting the weight. He tucked it quickly into his holster. He put his hands casually on his hips.
"Greetings, Fair Citizen!" he said as he turned to face a mirror. He beamed at himself. "Oh, no thanks necessary, Ma'am." He took a sweeping bow. "Just doin' my job." He stood up straight, then relaxed slightly, putting one hand on his holstered pistol. "Step away from her, Buddy. No sudden- ha HA!" he whipped out his pistol, made a few 'pew pew pew' sounds, then twirled his pistol around his finger.
"That is a ridiculously dangerous stunt, you know." Blake bent over to pick up the pistol that had magically fallen to the floor. He looked up at Sally.
"Uh, how long have you been there?" Blake asked.
"Long enough to know that you think that pistol's a toy." The corners of Blake's mouth turned down.
"Hey, c'mon!"
"You should take things more seriously."
"And you should enjoy being a kid a bit more!" Sally gave Blake a look that teen-aged girls everywhere reserved for simple boys. Blake grinned. He dove into a shoulder roll, popped up on the far side of a box from Sally.
"Pew, pew, pew!" he said, holding his hand like a mock-pistol. Sally smiled inspite of herself. She dodged side-ways, and drew her hand up her side as if she were drawing a gun.
"I reckon," she hissed, "This box stack ain't big enough fer the two o' us."
"Perhaps we could come to a diplomatic agreement?"
"Ain't no agreement that's satisfied me, yet. Take that, ya varmint!" And, with that, Sally leapt to the other side of the boxes, 'pistol' pointed where she calculated Blake to be, then commenced with shouting, "Pew, pew, pew, ping! FWOOOOSH." Blake looked down quizzically from the top of the box stack.
"Fwoosh?"
"I accidentally hit a gas canister. Blew the whole place sky high. We both died."
"Do we always have to have a tragic ending?"
"Well, it was an agreement of sorts."
"I never agreed to become human shrapnel!"
"TEEEEAM JUUUUUSTICE!" Sally and Blake stopped arguing and began to scramble to the far side of the room.
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