[V/V] Moth-Eaten
RL: March 14-15, 2011
VR: Sometime in Turn 25 of Interval 10.
It starts out cheerful.
Apologies to Green Day, who inspires Val to wear lots of eyeliner. She still has to work on the dramatic boulevard-trudging thing.
Also, whenever Google pulls up azlyrics, it reminds me of A'zan. Hello, A'zan, wherever you are!
Homespun gauze, glazed cotton, leather and... a lot of leather, really.
Val rifles through clothes like she's flipping through memories, her own, hung up on one long line of several.
There's that plaid dress, the one it had been a public service to walk off with... She starts humming, and every now and again clacks a hanger against its neighbor on purpose instead of just by accident.
The cave is cold and dark, barely glowlit, the clothes' muslin covering tossed to one side in a dusty rumple. "...walk that lonely road, the only one da da da ever known..."
Click, clack, and there is the masculine, << Not true. >>
Val doesn't blink, though she can feel herself grinning all of a sudden, and she definitely doesn't stop. "Don't know where it goes, but it's only me 'n' I walk alone..."
Only then, Val can also feel her fingers curling around a furry sleeve: Visigoth flexing his claws, flexing his muscle. No fair. She laughs, sings louder. "My sha-dow's! The only one who walks beside me! My shallow! heart's the only thing that..."
The rest is swallowed by his growl.
She limps back out to him, the prettily carved crutch not quite second nature, and smiles up at her boy. "You're just tired of her."
For that, for the thought, he lets a tendril of condensation cross his mind's blade: an echo of that misty-minded, not entirely gentle green. Which is to say: the metal still shines. It hasn't rusted yet.
Val sighs, and it's work to control her collapse against the warmth of his side. Her leg aches. He hasn't minded when she's blamed him before. Visigoth's restless, she's said. There's nothing I can do, with a warm look and a kiss for goodbye.
The green will eventually forget, Val is sure, though how even a dragon could forget Visigoth she doesn't know. Given enough distance, Val might even miss the soft-skinned rider that Visigoth had won in winning the green, who's been only too happy to play nursemaid through these long months. It was more than she deserved. But she isn't sure how much longer she'll be able to hide what she has to... and after all, it's not as though they haven't made it worth the girls' while.
My shadow, 'sonly one who walks beside me... She feels like a very small shadow, next to him. He's so powerful, so canny, he could have picked anyone. He does, if only for Search, to give over to some other egg.
<< Go on, >> Visigoth actually says, there in her head, and guiltily she rolls her eyes back up at him: it's an indulgent tune, he knows it, she knows it.
He's looking down at her, of course. He'd look impassive if she didn't know better. Visigoth repeats the command again, without words this time, a rumble that softly shakes her lungs and settles somewhere in the cradle of her hips. So after a moment she does, breathy, slurred, missing words: "I'm walkin' down the line... check my vital signs... I walk alone..."
Replacing the muslin can wait. Her clothes will wait. A little dust is the least of it.
VR: Sometime in Turn 25 of Interval 10.
It starts out cheerful.
Apologies to Green Day, who inspires Val to wear lots of eyeliner. She still has to work on the dramatic boulevard-trudging thing.
Also, whenever Google pulls up azlyrics, it reminds me of A'zan. Hello, A'zan, wherever you are!
Homespun gauze, glazed cotton, leather and... a lot of leather, really.
Val rifles through clothes like she's flipping through memories, her own, hung up on one long line of several.
There's that plaid dress, the one it had been a public service to walk off with... She starts humming, and every now and again clacks a hanger against its neighbor on purpose instead of just by accident.
The cave is cold and dark, barely glowlit, the clothes' muslin covering tossed to one side in a dusty rumple. "...walk that lonely road, the only one da da da ever known..."
Click, clack, and there is the masculine, << Not true. >>
Val doesn't blink, though she can feel herself grinning all of a sudden, and she definitely doesn't stop. "Don't know where it goes, but it's only me 'n' I walk alone..."
Only then, Val can also feel her fingers curling around a furry sleeve: Visigoth flexing his claws, flexing his muscle. No fair. She laughs, sings louder. "My sha-dow's! The only one who walks beside me! My shallow! heart's the only thing that..."
The rest is swallowed by his growl.
She limps back out to him, the prettily carved crutch not quite second nature, and smiles up at her boy. "You're just tired of her."
For that, for the thought, he lets a tendril of condensation cross his mind's blade: an echo of that misty-minded, not entirely gentle green. Which is to say: the metal still shines. It hasn't rusted yet.
Val sighs, and it's work to control her collapse against the warmth of his side. Her leg aches. He hasn't minded when she's blamed him before. Visigoth's restless, she's said. There's nothing I can do, with a warm look and a kiss for goodbye.
The green will eventually forget, Val is sure, though how even a dragon could forget Visigoth she doesn't know. Given enough distance, Val might even miss the soft-skinned rider that Visigoth had won in winning the green, who's been only too happy to play nursemaid through these long months. It was more than she deserved. But she isn't sure how much longer she'll be able to hide what she has to... and after all, it's not as though they haven't made it worth the girls' while.
My shadow, 'sonly one who walks beside me... She feels like a very small shadow, next to him. He's so powerful, so canny, he could have picked anyone. He does, if only for Search, to give over to some other egg.
<< Go on, >> Visigoth actually says, there in her head, and guiltily she rolls her eyes back up at him: it's an indulgent tune, he knows it, she knows it.
He's looking down at her, of course. He'd look impassive if she didn't know better. Visigoth repeats the command again, without words this time, a rumble that softly shakes her lungs and settles somewhere in the cradle of her hips. So after a moment she does, breathy, slurred, missing words: "I'm walkin' down the line... check my vital signs... I walk alone..."
Replacing the muslin can wait. Her clothes will wait. A little dust is the least of it.