[July 7][Original] Waiting for the Ferry
Title: Waiting for the Ferry
Day/Theme: July 7, 2009 "slowly twisting the lilac stalks"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Page, Bashir, Fado, etc.
Rating: PG
Page paced anxiously along the deck. Her nerves were rubbing off on Bashir as well, and he found himself unable to sit still, swinging his feet and tapping on the top of the waist high fence he, Simcha, and Saselia had perched upon to wait for the arrival of the ferry.
"The ferry will come when it comes," Fado had told them. He had no trouble being patient and he had meandered off among the smattering of shops and houses that made up the ferry town to sit under a magnolia tree and watch local women, both Silesian and Catalonian, weave baskets and flower hats. The flower hats were woven from thin birch branches and wrapped around with lilacs, clover, and nasturtiums, curved like the caps of clerics to stay balanced on one's head. Fado spent a bronze coin to buy himself one and put it on proudly, relaxing in the shady grass like some lounging forest king.
As Page hurried aimlessly about, she paused from time to time to inspect her bag and check to see that its contents were still safe and sound. No matter how many times she was told that nothing was going to happen to her master's ashes or his meager keepsakes, she could not help but peek at them over and over again. Bashir didn't know much about wizards and their trade, but maybe she did have reason to be concerned. Their things, like that tiny packet marked with Aer letters, might have some residual magic lingering in them that could activate and transform or explode or teleport...or whatever wizard things did. He really had no idea. The sky was the limit.
"I wonder if there's anyone around here who might be open to buying some orange oil ointment," Simcha mused. It was quieter than most of the places they had passed through, being off either of the main roads, the Merica or the Taulk, and thus, rarely frequented by pilgrims, but some local might still enjoy his product. He always insisted that his orange oil ointment could be of some use to anyone, so needing it wasn't the issue- wanting it was.
"I think I can hear the ferry bells." Saselia hopped down and went to stand with Page, who was already squinting and shading her eyes as she gazed down the river.
"That's it!" Saselia jumped up and down like a monkey. Page stopped her pacing, but quivered with anticipation, her white robe fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Bashir took it upon himself to call Fado over, since soon enough the ferry would reach the dock and carry Page away, back to the fields of Catalonia, and her would probably want to say "goodbye."
"Nice hat," he observed upon reaching his resting comrade.
Fado looked at him askance. Was that a compliment or sarcasm- or was it both? Bashir's smile spoke of sincerity, and indeed, Bashir did love hats. "You can wear it if you like," he offered.
"Oh, no, give it to Page instead," the younger man suggested.
"I think I will," Fado agreed.
Day/Theme: July 7, 2009 "slowly twisting the lilac stalks"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Page, Bashir, Fado, etc.
Rating: PG
Page paced anxiously along the deck. Her nerves were rubbing off on Bashir as well, and he found himself unable to sit still, swinging his feet and tapping on the top of the waist high fence he, Simcha, and Saselia had perched upon to wait for the arrival of the ferry.
"The ferry will come when it comes," Fado had told them. He had no trouble being patient and he had meandered off among the smattering of shops and houses that made up the ferry town to sit under a magnolia tree and watch local women, both Silesian and Catalonian, weave baskets and flower hats. The flower hats were woven from thin birch branches and wrapped around with lilacs, clover, and nasturtiums, curved like the caps of clerics to stay balanced on one's head. Fado spent a bronze coin to buy himself one and put it on proudly, relaxing in the shady grass like some lounging forest king.
As Page hurried aimlessly about, she paused from time to time to inspect her bag and check to see that its contents were still safe and sound. No matter how many times she was told that nothing was going to happen to her master's ashes or his meager keepsakes, she could not help but peek at them over and over again. Bashir didn't know much about wizards and their trade, but maybe she did have reason to be concerned. Their things, like that tiny packet marked with Aer letters, might have some residual magic lingering in them that could activate and transform or explode or teleport...or whatever wizard things did. He really had no idea. The sky was the limit.
"I wonder if there's anyone around here who might be open to buying some orange oil ointment," Simcha mused. It was quieter than most of the places they had passed through, being off either of the main roads, the Merica or the Taulk, and thus, rarely frequented by pilgrims, but some local might still enjoy his product. He always insisted that his orange oil ointment could be of some use to anyone, so needing it wasn't the issue- wanting it was.
"I think I can hear the ferry bells." Saselia hopped down and went to stand with Page, who was already squinting and shading her eyes as she gazed down the river.
"That's it!" Saselia jumped up and down like a monkey. Page stopped her pacing, but quivered with anticipation, her white robe fluttering slightly in the breeze.
Bashir took it upon himself to call Fado over, since soon enough the ferry would reach the dock and carry Page away, back to the fields of Catalonia, and her would probably want to say "goodbye."
"Nice hat," he observed upon reaching his resting comrade.
Fado looked at him askance. Was that a compliment or sarcasm- or was it both? Bashir's smile spoke of sincerity, and indeed, Bashir did love hats. "You can wear it if you like," he offered.
"Oh, no, give it to Page instead," the younger man suggested.
"I think I will," Fado agreed.