Re: This Blessed House [Prologue A]
anonymous
February 12 2011, 15:35:43 UTC
“That’s none of your business,” Victoria protested, but she was already resigned to the fact that the strange man and his pretty blue eyes were unaccustomed to taking no for an answer. And as loath as she was to admit it, he was taking her mind off of…. Her situation. So perhaps she would allow him to continue a bit longer.
As expected, he looked aghast at this answer, and tugged at the sleeve of her (filthy, ragged, disgusting) tunic. “Come on, play along, alright? Here, I’ll ask you again, and you give me an actual answer this time, alright? What were you crying about earlier?”
She ducked her head, and muttered something unintelligible into her arm. He frowned.
“Talk louder, I can’t hear you.”
“…Lizzie.”
He blinked. “Lizzie who?”
“Lizzie the cow. My brother sold our cow.” She could feel the ever-present blush creeping back onto her cheeks, suddenly acutely aware of how stupid it sounded for a thirteen year old girl to be crying about a cow. But the man across from her had nothing but gravity and concern on his open face.
“Why’d he do that?” he asked seriously. Victoria muttered something unintelligible again, and the man poked her arm. “C’mon, heroes can’t save damsels in distress if they don’t know what they‘re fighting against.”
“We‘re poor, alright?” Victoria snapped, embarrassed. “And we sold all the good clothes already, and Winston the dog, and I had to cut my hair because we could get a good price from it from the wigmaker…” Her voice cracked, and she descended into sobs once more.
“No, not again. Come on, it’s not that bad being poor, right? I mean, you still have your brother…”
Victoria glanced up at him, irrationally irritated by his tiny mistake. “Brothers. Plural.”
“No way I could have known,” he shot back, but hurriedly backtracked when he realized that despite her acid tone she was still crying. “But you have brothers? Hey, maybe I know them! What’re their names?”
There was a moment where Victoria considered whether it would be wise to share so much information with a total stranger. Her doubts suddenly became less important when the man smiled at her again, winningly, which didn’t so much interrupt her thought processes as make them utterly irrelevant. “…Kirkland,” she muttered. “Malcolm, Dylan and Finn Kirkland. That’s their names.”
“And you, princess?”
Victoria certainly didn’t like it when he called her princess like that. Definitely not. It was ridiculous, to think of her as a princess, and any indecent sort of heartbeat abnormalities that resulted were probably the result of her recent trauma. “V-Victoria.”
“Can I call you Tori?” the grinned. “Princess Tori?”
“Certainly not!” She straightened her back a little, piqued by the indignation of being called something so common. “Victoria is much more regal.”
He blinked. “I thought you were poor. What does a poor person need a regal name for?”
She glanced down her nose at him- which was an impressive feat, considering that he was the one looking down at her, but Victoria had both practice and good breeding on her side. “Although I am poor,” she said, her voice seething with barely-concealed disdain, “I am far from being common.”
“Oh? Well…” The man absently brushed back a strand of golden hair, “That’s great, right? ‘Cause you can marry into a good family and all that. So you’ll be rich again, someday!”
He beamed at her. Victoria wanted to curl up into a little ball, under the brightness of that winning smile. She didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t know how ratty she was, how she stole bread from the baker and silverware from the Carriedos, how she and her brothers all slept on the same patch of straw for warmth, lower than commoners. He didn’t know that even if her brothers had any intention of letting her strive toward anything besides a life of hard work none of the nobility would take her.
That’s what Antonio had said, scratching the back of his head in that nervous-cheery way of his and telling her exactly why he didn’t think they could go out together. And mentioning how happy his parents were to take that fine steer off the Kirklands’ hands.
As expected, he looked aghast at this answer, and tugged at the sleeve of her (filthy, ragged, disgusting) tunic. “Come on, play along, alright? Here, I’ll ask you again, and you give me an actual answer this time, alright? What were you crying about earlier?”
She ducked her head, and muttered something unintelligible into her arm. He frowned.
“Talk louder, I can’t hear you.”
“…Lizzie.”
He blinked. “Lizzie who?”
“Lizzie the cow. My brother sold our cow.” She could feel the ever-present blush creeping back onto her cheeks, suddenly acutely aware of how stupid it sounded for a thirteen year old girl to be crying about a cow. But the man across from her had nothing but gravity and concern on his open face.
“Why’d he do that?” he asked seriously. Victoria muttered something unintelligible again, and the man poked her arm. “C’mon, heroes can’t save damsels in distress if they don’t know what they‘re fighting against.”
“We‘re poor, alright?” Victoria snapped, embarrassed. “And we sold all the good clothes already, and Winston the dog, and I had to cut my hair because we could get a good price from it from the wigmaker…” Her voice cracked, and she descended into sobs once more.
“No, not again. Come on, it’s not that bad being poor, right? I mean, you still have your brother…”
Victoria glanced up at him, irrationally irritated by his tiny mistake. “Brothers. Plural.”
“No way I could have known,” he shot back, but hurriedly backtracked when he realized that despite her acid tone she was still crying. “But you have brothers? Hey, maybe I know them! What’re their names?”
There was a moment where Victoria considered whether it would be wise to share so much information with a total stranger. Her doubts suddenly became less important when the man smiled at her again, winningly, which didn’t so much interrupt her thought processes as make them utterly irrelevant. “…Kirkland,” she muttered. “Malcolm, Dylan and Finn Kirkland. That’s their names.”
“And you, princess?”
Victoria certainly didn’t like it when he called her princess like that. Definitely not. It was ridiculous, to think of her as a princess, and any indecent sort of heartbeat abnormalities that resulted were probably the result of her recent trauma. “V-Victoria.”
“Can I call you Tori?” the grinned. “Princess Tori?”
“Certainly not!” She straightened her back a little, piqued by the indignation of being called something so common. “Victoria is much more regal.”
He blinked. “I thought you were poor. What does a poor person need a regal name for?”
She glanced down her nose at him- which was an impressive feat, considering that he was the one looking down at her, but Victoria had both practice and good breeding on her side. “Although I am poor,” she said, her voice seething with barely-concealed disdain, “I am far from being common.”
“Oh? Well…” The man absently brushed back a strand of golden hair, “That’s great, right? ‘Cause you can marry into a good family and all that. So you’ll be rich again, someday!”
He beamed at her. Victoria wanted to curl up into a little ball, under the brightness of that winning smile. She didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t know how ratty she was, how she stole bread from the baker and silverware from the Carriedos, how she and her brothers all slept on the same patch of straw for warmth, lower than commoners. He didn’t know that even if her brothers had any intention of letting her strive toward anything besides a life of hard work none of the nobility would take her.
That’s what Antonio had said, scratching the back of his head in that nervous-cheery way of his and telling her exactly why he didn’t think they could go out together. And mentioning how happy his parents were to take that fine steer off the Kirklands’ hands.
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