Bribe off the starboard bow!
Starcatchers AU. Ust. Perseis is 'a little bit too young.'
Title: Where Would We Land
Wordcount: 1,500
A/N: Because everyone else is doing it and I want to play too. And I do solemnly swear to enter rehab for my unchecked comma abuse.
These nights in late spring when the moon washed the land like cold water and a high wind keened through the casement windows. Perseis lay awake atop eir blankets and eir green nightgown appeared grey against the white sheets. One of eir nannies, long ago, had told em never to dream where the moonlight could reach, that it would stick in eir curls and clot eir thoughts, and how strange things happened in the high winds of early spring. But the Princara had heard without listening, ey listened to so few people.
One of those few slept on a little pallet nearby, breathing inaudible over the wind, because of the Princara's recent difficulties with nightmares. Ey had insisted that Mayim come stay in eir chambers and keep the bad dreams away. What a tone Mayim had taken! "Quite right, Persie. I'll stay the night with you. Because that's appropriate. You're too grown for this, you know. And what if I'd wanted to have someone come spend the night with ME, for grownup things?
And Perseis had stamped one small foot and poked Mayim in the chest with one white fist and said, "You'll stay with me because you're mine and I'm scared and you're not allowed to have anybody else be more important than me and you promised!"
So Mayim had stayed, but now the Princara couldn't sleep. Ey had slept and woke and slept and woke, no nightmares but no rest either. It wasn't fair. Everyone else was asleep. Even the guard two floors down who sang sometimes at night had fallen quiet. Everything except the wind was quiet. And ey was feeling things. Flashes of thoughts, Mayim snuggled up all comfy with somebody else. Maybe brushing this stranger's hair, and it would be all pretty like sunlight. Maybe other things, and Perseis curled around the ache in eir stomach. A wistfulness that crossed over into pain and faded and returned with another image, and another. And after a blur the room is full of yellow sunlight and the servants are rattling around in the outer chambers and Perseis can smell eggs and fruit and the tiny breakfast cakes Mayim loves. And ey wants to throw pillows at Mayim and tease em about being old and needing ever so much sleep, but this morning Perseis slides onto the floor in eir bare feet, not even thinking about slippers.
The wind is still high and gusty and ill-mannered, dragging skeins of the Princara's dark hair across eir face. The high open arches, like a marble gate to let the light and wind through and it seemed that they didn't touch each other, the sun was warm and steady even though the wind was cold, but Mayim was safe under eir blanket. A heavy brown cloak folded over em as ey lay sleeping on eir side, and made of feathers.
Perseis crept closer on eir bare feet, clad in green silk with eir hair loose and blowing. Frowning, something like a cold stone growing in eir chest. This was supposed to be sunrise. Ey reached to touch, and the leading edge, the curve, the wing was solid, heavy as a horse's shoulder, and warm. Mayim slept and people were supposed to be pretty when they slept but Mayim looked serious, all the bones of eir face standing under the skin. Ey had a few spots on eir forehead, and one on eir cheek, and red lines on eir face from the pillow.
The Princara circled the pallet. Mayim had one wing draped over eir body, the other held away from eir spine so it rested, open, on the pallet where another person might fit. They were enormous; the folded hook of the leading edge extended a full foot above Mayim's head, and the tips of the longest pinions brushed eir ankles. Perseis had to peek around the folded limbs to see Mayim's face. Feathers the brown of old wood, like Mayim's hair, all but the primary flight feathers themselves, which were the white of empty eggshells. Perseis wanted wings of eir own, wanted to press eirself to Mayim's back and rest eir chin on soft feathers. Except they weren't soft to the touch, the way eir silk-covered down pillows were. They were firm, the vanes strong as young branches, each one perfect. Giving slightly beneath the Princara's fingertips without sacrificing their shape or their strength. Perseis wasn't sure if ey was supposed to touch them. Ey drifted around the cot to watch Mayim's face as ey stroked the heavy muscles under their coat of feathers and called Mayim's name. "Your shirt is all in pieces," ey added. "Mayim?"
Mayim didn't wake. Ey was usually up and dressed and tidy while Perseis was still vague and covered in dream-dust and squinting in the bright morning, or yawning at the overcast sky. Perseis cupped eir palms on Mayim's wing, one above, one below, stroking along the lie of the feathers. The wingbones were so close to the surface. Ey burrowed eir fingers between the feathers and under the strong feathers and the delicate fuzzy ones was Mayim's skin, thin and hot and strange. A pulsing in the big veins that fed the flight muscles.
Mayim's shoulders were still sharp with bone from stretching so much as ey grew, thin because ey grew so fast eir body got confused. The wings didn’t look stuck on or awkward, they melded into the muscles of Mayim's back, feathers growing smaller and softer until they wouldn't have looked out of place on a jeweled hummingbird, and when Perseis couldn't help but pet them they were soft as water.
Ey ought to have called for breakfast to be brought in by now, but ey didn't want anyone else to watch Mayim sleep. Nobody else should see the gift Mayim would wake to. They wouldn't understand that this was what angels were supposed to be, not whatever people remembered or read about. Mayim was what they had been trying to be but ey wasn't there to show them how and they all got confused and angry and sad, and now they were gone.
An uneven spring wind that curled through the halls of the Rhoma's palace and tousled Mayim's hair. Perseis settled onto the cot beside Mayim and folded eir hands. Something was different. Some new part of em planted without eir noticing by the breadth of Mayim's shoulders and the way eir hands moved was waking. The curve of Mayim's mouth over breakast-fruit. Some new part or eir soul whose roots went deeper, slowly, like an early garden reaching for the sun. Mayim a wild creature settled for a wary sleep. Perseis fluttered eir fingers over the curve of Mayim's skull. "Mayim? Wake up."
Would ey stay? Ey had wings now, but flying meant leaving. Mayim stirred, frowning in eir sleep, and Perseis released the feathers ey had clutched without realizing. The vanes were crumpled now, the barbs no longer connected. Perseis wanted to ruffle them all so badly Mayim wouldn't be able to fly, wouldn't be able to leave, even if ey grew cross and shouted. Better here and angry but somewhere out of Perseis' reach. Would ey want to stay? If only, if only.
What would the Rohma do if ey found out? Perseis drew eir knees up. Something ey would say was for the good of the people or the good of eir only child, but Perseis wasn't stupid and the things the Rohma said were good usually hurt. Mayim should leave. Perseis rocked the heavy wing, took hold of the bent 'wrist' joint and shook. "Mayim!"
Eir friend yawned and stirred. Perseis bit eir lip. Mayim rolled to eir belly and arched eir back and the wings mantled, drew together and stretched high, quivering, until they seemed to fill the room. Mayim muttered something and relaxed, and Perseis had to slide off of the pallet as the wings sagged to either side of the cot, and even then the one on Perseis' side clouted em on the top of the head, like Rea did when ey forgot how large eir hands were and tried for a friendly pat. Perseis leaned eir forehead against the curve of bone and feather.
Out in the suite the servants had finished laying the meal and had left, and out in the courtyard the Rohma's priests chanted a droning music, indistinguishable from the hymns at the State funerals the Rohma attended. Not like how this felt, resting against Mayim's wing, sheltered. Not like the clear voices of the launderers as they sang to the wind through the casement windows when they thought themselves alone, the tenor guard two floors below who sang at night, softly, when ey thought nobody could hear. Perseis twisted until ey could smooth the pinions ey had ruffled. Mayim's wings under eir hands. And when they melted into the wind as Mayim woke Perseis was left without even a feather to hold.
Title: Where Would We Land
Wordcount: 1,500
A/N: Because everyone else is doing it and I want to play too. And I do solemnly swear to enter rehab for my unchecked comma abuse.
These nights in late spring when the moon washed the land like cold water and a high wind keened through the casement windows. Perseis lay awake atop eir blankets and eir green nightgown appeared grey against the white sheets. One of eir nannies, long ago, had told em never to dream where the moonlight could reach, that it would stick in eir curls and clot eir thoughts, and how strange things happened in the high winds of early spring. But the Princara had heard without listening, ey listened to so few people.
One of those few slept on a little pallet nearby, breathing inaudible over the wind, because of the Princara's recent difficulties with nightmares. Ey had insisted that Mayim come stay in eir chambers and keep the bad dreams away. What a tone Mayim had taken! "Quite right, Persie. I'll stay the night with you. Because that's appropriate. You're too grown for this, you know. And what if I'd wanted to have someone come spend the night with ME, for grownup things?
And Perseis had stamped one small foot and poked Mayim in the chest with one white fist and said, "You'll stay with me because you're mine and I'm scared and you're not allowed to have anybody else be more important than me and you promised!"
So Mayim had stayed, but now the Princara couldn't sleep. Ey had slept and woke and slept and woke, no nightmares but no rest either. It wasn't fair. Everyone else was asleep. Even the guard two floors down who sang sometimes at night had fallen quiet. Everything except the wind was quiet. And ey was feeling things. Flashes of thoughts, Mayim snuggled up all comfy with somebody else. Maybe brushing this stranger's hair, and it would be all pretty like sunlight. Maybe other things, and Perseis curled around the ache in eir stomach. A wistfulness that crossed over into pain and faded and returned with another image, and another. And after a blur the room is full of yellow sunlight and the servants are rattling around in the outer chambers and Perseis can smell eggs and fruit and the tiny breakfast cakes Mayim loves. And ey wants to throw pillows at Mayim and tease em about being old and needing ever so much sleep, but this morning Perseis slides onto the floor in eir bare feet, not even thinking about slippers.
The wind is still high and gusty and ill-mannered, dragging skeins of the Princara's dark hair across eir face. The high open arches, like a marble gate to let the light and wind through and it seemed that they didn't touch each other, the sun was warm and steady even though the wind was cold, but Mayim was safe under eir blanket. A heavy brown cloak folded over em as ey lay sleeping on eir side, and made of feathers.
Perseis crept closer on eir bare feet, clad in green silk with eir hair loose and blowing. Frowning, something like a cold stone growing in eir chest. This was supposed to be sunrise. Ey reached to touch, and the leading edge, the curve, the wing was solid, heavy as a horse's shoulder, and warm. Mayim slept and people were supposed to be pretty when they slept but Mayim looked serious, all the bones of eir face standing under the skin. Ey had a few spots on eir forehead, and one on eir cheek, and red lines on eir face from the pillow.
The Princara circled the pallet. Mayim had one wing draped over eir body, the other held away from eir spine so it rested, open, on the pallet where another person might fit. They were enormous; the folded hook of the leading edge extended a full foot above Mayim's head, and the tips of the longest pinions brushed eir ankles. Perseis had to peek around the folded limbs to see Mayim's face. Feathers the brown of old wood, like Mayim's hair, all but the primary flight feathers themselves, which were the white of empty eggshells. Perseis wanted wings of eir own, wanted to press eirself to Mayim's back and rest eir chin on soft feathers. Except they weren't soft to the touch, the way eir silk-covered down pillows were. They were firm, the vanes strong as young branches, each one perfect. Giving slightly beneath the Princara's fingertips without sacrificing their shape or their strength. Perseis wasn't sure if ey was supposed to touch them. Ey drifted around the cot to watch Mayim's face as ey stroked the heavy muscles under their coat of feathers and called Mayim's name. "Your shirt is all in pieces," ey added. "Mayim?"
Mayim didn't wake. Ey was usually up and dressed and tidy while Perseis was still vague and covered in dream-dust and squinting in the bright morning, or yawning at the overcast sky. Perseis cupped eir palms on Mayim's wing, one above, one below, stroking along the lie of the feathers. The wingbones were so close to the surface. Ey burrowed eir fingers between the feathers and under the strong feathers and the delicate fuzzy ones was Mayim's skin, thin and hot and strange. A pulsing in the big veins that fed the flight muscles.
Mayim's shoulders were still sharp with bone from stretching so much as ey grew, thin because ey grew so fast eir body got confused. The wings didn’t look stuck on or awkward, they melded into the muscles of Mayim's back, feathers growing smaller and softer until they wouldn't have looked out of place on a jeweled hummingbird, and when Perseis couldn't help but pet them they were soft as water.
Ey ought to have called for breakfast to be brought in by now, but ey didn't want anyone else to watch Mayim sleep. Nobody else should see the gift Mayim would wake to. They wouldn't understand that this was what angels were supposed to be, not whatever people remembered or read about. Mayim was what they had been trying to be but ey wasn't there to show them how and they all got confused and angry and sad, and now they were gone.
An uneven spring wind that curled through the halls of the Rhoma's palace and tousled Mayim's hair. Perseis settled onto the cot beside Mayim and folded eir hands. Something was different. Some new part of em planted without eir noticing by the breadth of Mayim's shoulders and the way eir hands moved was waking. The curve of Mayim's mouth over breakast-fruit. Some new part or eir soul whose roots went deeper, slowly, like an early garden reaching for the sun. Mayim a wild creature settled for a wary sleep. Perseis fluttered eir fingers over the curve of Mayim's skull. "Mayim? Wake up."
Would ey stay? Ey had wings now, but flying meant leaving. Mayim stirred, frowning in eir sleep, and Perseis released the feathers ey had clutched without realizing. The vanes were crumpled now, the barbs no longer connected. Perseis wanted to ruffle them all so badly Mayim wouldn't be able to fly, wouldn't be able to leave, even if ey grew cross and shouted. Better here and angry but somewhere out of Perseis' reach. Would ey want to stay? If only, if only.
What would the Rohma do if ey found out? Perseis drew eir knees up. Something ey would say was for the good of the people or the good of eir only child, but Perseis wasn't stupid and the things the Rohma said were good usually hurt. Mayim should leave. Perseis rocked the heavy wing, took hold of the bent 'wrist' joint and shook. "Mayim!"
Eir friend yawned and stirred. Perseis bit eir lip. Mayim rolled to eir belly and arched eir back and the wings mantled, drew together and stretched high, quivering, until they seemed to fill the room. Mayim muttered something and relaxed, and Perseis had to slide off of the pallet as the wings sagged to either side of the cot, and even then the one on Perseis' side clouted em on the top of the head, like Rea did when ey forgot how large eir hands were and tried for a friendly pat. Perseis leaned eir forehead against the curve of bone and feather.
Out in the suite the servants had finished laying the meal and had left, and out in the courtyard the Rohma's priests chanted a droning music, indistinguishable from the hymns at the State funerals the Rohma attended. Not like how this felt, resting against Mayim's wing, sheltered. Not like the clear voices of the launderers as they sang to the wind through the casement windows when they thought themselves alone, the tenor guard two floors below who sang at night, softly, when ey thought nobody could hear. Perseis twisted until ey could smooth the pinions ey had ruffled. Mayim's wings under eir hands. And when they melted into the wind as Mayim woke Perseis was left without even a feather to hold.