I HATE busy work
Working, working, working. And I refuse to do the busy work that I have ALREADY done AT LEAST TWICE already. Sorry, not gonna fool me.
And I figured, since I'm just sitting at a computer with no REAL work to do, I might as well get some writing in. As always, it's EXTREMELY rough, but at least I got it out. She might be a bit of a Mary Sue, but I'm writing it for me, anyway, so I don't care.
******
Gianna was cold, wet, and annoyed. She would have glared at the sky, but then she'd get water in her eyes and down her collar. To make matters worse, she was walking.
The rain had started off as a light drizzle, which is fine to fly through. Then the wind started blowing harder and the rain started falling heavier and nothing is worse than feeling rain fly up your cloak to soak you to the skin. Visibility was also becoming a problem, so she decided to come down and find a road to walk on.
Of course, she had been flying without regard to roads for days, and she had to spend an hour flying close to the ground to find one. Which made her colder and wetter. She briefly considered blasting the sky, except that it would be a waste of energy.
Pulling her hood further down over her face, she scowled at the mud that was making walking difficult. Her boots were going to be nearly impossible to get clean, as well, and people weren't intimidated by a warlock with muddy boots. She refused to acknowledge the pain that walking caused in muscles that had practically been filleted less than a year ago--muscles that, despite the best healers' attempts, were never going to fully recover.
For a few minutes, she considered flying again, just close to the ground, so that she wouldn't have to use her legs and the rain wouldn't soak her to the bone. Then her right temple throbbed, reminding her just how much she'd been flying recently without sustenance, and she decided to continue walking. It wasn't like there was anyone around to see her limp, anyway.
After a few more minutes of sloughing through the mud, she heard the unmistakable sound of horse's hooves on the road behind her. Drawing away from the middle of the road, she pulled her cloak around herself tightly in order to keep the mud that the horse would fling up from splattering her clothes. That was all she needed, to be muddy as well as wet.
To her surprise, the hooves slowed as they neared, stopping as the horse came even with her. Gianna looked up at the rider, wondering why someone would want to stop for a wretched traveler on the roadside. She halfway hoped it was a highwayman, so that she could let out her frustrations on someone. The face that greeted her, however, was one that spoke only of kindness and warmth.
"Where are you headed to, traveler?" He spoke with the round vowels of the easterners.
"Anywhere dry, at the moment," Gianna answered, trying to sound as normal as possible. She ignored the way that she was hoping for the stranger to give her a ride to somewhere where she could sit and rest and be warm, and told herself that she was just being nice because the stranger was nice first.
He laughed a simple and honest laugh and reached down to her. "Here, I'm on my way to Bell Town, I'll give you a ride to the tavern. It's a little rowdy at times, but anything is better than this mess."
Hesitantly, painfully aware of the fact that she'd have to touch him the entire ride, she grabbed his hand. It was calloused, but like a farmer's hand and not a swordsman's. He pulled her up behind him as easily as he might a child, and she settled herself behind him, trying very hard not to think about the last time she'd ridden double with someone.
The farmer was lean and smelled of rain and pipe-smoke. He should not have reminded Gianna of someone probably twice as broad who smelled like sweat and campfires. This man wasn't wearing any armor. There was no sword on his hip or attached to the saddle. Gianna didn't have to worry about enemies coming from behind to attack. Still, she sat up straight behind him, holding on as little as possible, and remembered.
Horses didn't like Gianna, so she hadn't owned one since she was prepubescent, preferring to fly, but there had been a few occasions when they'd needed to get to somewhere, or, more frequently, away from somewhere, more quickly than Gianna could fly. Because she was so light and Radley's horse was so used to carrying the oversized soldier, she always rode double with him.
She never failed to grouse at him the entire time on those occasions, but she always wound up with her arms around his waist and her face buried in-between his shoulder blades, nearly asleep. He would wake her up before dismounting, and she would manage to get off of the horse without making a complete fool of herself. Nessa and Cane never knew about that particular weakness of Gianna's. Radley never explained why he kept it a secret, but Gianna had always been grateful for it.
The only time he mentioned it had been the last time she'd seen him. It was hard for her to believe that it had only been six months since then. Disgusted with people in general and still feeling very much the sting of betrayal, Gianna had stopped responding to all correspondence. Her grandfather's health had also taken a turn for the worse, and she was trying to focus on that. Cane was laying low and Nessa knew that Gianna was furious with her for helping him escape.
Radley, on the other hand, had never been the type to sit back and let someone ignore him. They had seen the dust from his horse first, galloping from the nearby village. Markus was amused when the big man returned Gianna's death glares. Not many had the guts to stand up to the little powerhouse, and he commended Radley for it.
"To what end did you seek me out?"
Radley had the gall to roll his eyes. "Calm down, warlock, I just wanted to check up on you. You didn't write me back. I wanna make sure you're not still hurting from the beating we all took a couple months ago."
Only Radley was brave enough, Gianna liked to say stupid enough, to bring up the dragon with her. Still, she knew him well enough to know that he was genuinely worried about her, and he deserved an honest answer.
"My legs will never be what they were, but once I mastered flying I did not use them much, so it is worth no concern."
His wide mouth quirked, "Even you can't fly forever. But that's not what's bothering you."
She looked away from the hazel eyes that always saw too much, and shrugged.
"How's your grandfather?"
Dark brown eyes jerked to meet steady hazel, and her emotionless mask slipped for a second. Radley knew that she hated people touching her, but he had never been one to let that stop him, so he didn't hesitate to pull her into a hug. She stiffened, but he held on for a few seconds, and she breathed in the familiar smell of her friend.
"Do you wanna go for a ride with me on Kampfer?"
Gianna raised her left eyebrow and didn't say anything.
"I mean, you're always so relaxed after riding behind me. I thought you might need that right now."
She stared at the toes of her boots and her short hair fall forward to conceal her face, feeling younger and more vulnerable than she had since she was nine.
"I appreciate the offer," she said so softly that Radley had to lean forward to catch it, "but if I rode with you, I would perhaps be tempted to ask you to take me away. Grandfather needs me and I cannot leave him alone to face the idiots who come to challenge me."
"Well, if you ever need anything, I'd be happy to help anyway I can."
"I know," she responded, and turned to go back in. "You are a good person."
She didn't watch him ride away, but listened closely until she could no longer hear Kampfer's hooves against the dead ground.
The cessation of motion, followed by the dismounting of her companion, brought Gianna out of her reverie.
"Here we are, traveler, Bell Tavern. Need some help getting down?" He peered up at her as he motioned for a stable boy to get his horse.
Instead of answering, she swung her left leg over, ignoring its protests, and hopped to the ground. Using the smallest magic possible, she slowed her descent just enough to keep from jarring herself too badly, and looked up at the surprisingly tall man.
"Thank you, sir. I can pay you for your trouble."
He laughed and swung an arm over the young woman's slender shoulders, guiding her into the tavern. She would have protested, but she decided that focusing on walking normally was more important than getting the stranger to stop touching her. His arm also offered a little support, for which she was grateful.
Inside, the tavern hummed softly with the conversation of the scattered patrons. Because it was on the border of uninhabitable land, it wasn't as busy as most similar establishments. The barkeep and several of the patrons grunted a greeting at the farmer and looked at her strangely, but no one said anything where Gianna could hear.
"Well aren't you a pretty one!" The farmer chuckled. In the dim light, Gianna could see that he was probably in his late thirties or early forties. She'd heard of faces being described as 'kindly' before, but his was the first that she could really see fitting that description. Years of happy laughter were beginning to draw lines around his mouth and eyes and his mousy brown hair faded to silver at his temples.
"I do not possess traits that are generally considered attractive, so I am not sure what you mean. As to the matter of payment, it really is no small trouble that you saved me, and I am firmly of the belief that good deeds should not go unrewarded."
His eyes were a pale blue that would generally make her think of traitors but in his face only brought to mind cheerful winter afternoons.
"Child," he began, making her narrow her eyes in annoyance, "the simple pleasure of saving a young woman from the weather is all the payment I need. Save your money for when you really need it."
She began to protest, but he would have none of that.
"My name is Charlie," he said, "and I absolutely won't take anything for helping out a young woman in need. Except, maybe, a kiss on the cheek."
Gianna's eyes widened. A kiss? Even if it was just on the cheek, she never kissed anybody ever. Not even Grandfather. Kissing was the closest form on touching, and she HATED touching.
"A kiss," she said seriously, blinking slowly several times. She could do this, idiots managed kisses on cheeks all the time, surely she would have no problem with it.
"Charlie, you old scoundrel," a buxom woman scolded, coming from the kitchen area, "Stop scaring the child!"
He laughed and told Gianna that she didn't have to give him a kiss if she didn't want to. For a moment she considered protesting, but chose not to because she really didn't want to kiss anyone.
The woman, whose name was Jillian, shoved a bowl of hot stew under Gianna's nose, saying something about her being 'much too skinny.' The warlock didn't want to accept charity, but the locals refused to let her pay for anything. They were goodhearted people who didn't know that the shivering young woman with a limp was the fearsome dragonslayer they'd heard about.
"So, traveler, what's your story?" Charlie asked, and everyone in the place looked at her expectantly.
"What makes you think I have a story, other than the typical wanderlust of youth?"
The farmer laughed at that. "You expect me to believe that a young woman traveling alone, on foot, from the direction of the Deadlands doesn't have more of a story than being young and antsy?"
She clenched her teeth and looked away, hair hiding her eyes. Her reasons for traveling were not anyone's business but her own, no matter how much kindness they'd shown her. They would probably send her back into the storm if she told them the truth, anyway.
The people started pestering her, trying to get her to divulge her secret, but they were stopped by a quiet, low voice from next to the fireplace. The man's skin was reminiscent of aged leather, dark and lined. He didn't turn his face fully towards them, but spoke to the empty corner of the common area.
"Travelers always have something to hide. If they didn't, they wouldn't be travelers. For the sake of her peace, and mine, shut your mouths and leave her alone."
They grumbled under their breaths, but did as he said, prompting Gianna to give him a longer perusal. His hands rested in his lap, knotty and twisted from years of hard labor. Arms and neck were thin and brittle looking, but on his hip he wore a short sword. So this man, too, had been a traveler.
Charlie left to go flirt with Jillian and the rest of the patrons returned to their solitude. Gianna got up from her stool at the bar and walked over to the fireplace, taking the seat across from the old man. She looked at him a moment longer, taking in his steel gray hair and muddy brown eyes, before turning to the fire and clearing her mind to block out the aches in her body.
While she focused on the red-orange flames, the old man turned his eyes to her. He didn't miss her strict posture or dark features. His gaze lingered on the gleam of red beneath her over-shirt and the frown on her lips. Secrets, indeed.
And I figured, since I'm just sitting at a computer with no REAL work to do, I might as well get some writing in. As always, it's EXTREMELY rough, but at least I got it out. She might be a bit of a Mary Sue, but I'm writing it for me, anyway, so I don't care.
******
Gianna was cold, wet, and annoyed. She would have glared at the sky, but then she'd get water in her eyes and down her collar. To make matters worse, she was walking.
The rain had started off as a light drizzle, which is fine to fly through. Then the wind started blowing harder and the rain started falling heavier and nothing is worse than feeling rain fly up your cloak to soak you to the skin. Visibility was also becoming a problem, so she decided to come down and find a road to walk on.
Of course, she had been flying without regard to roads for days, and she had to spend an hour flying close to the ground to find one. Which made her colder and wetter. She briefly considered blasting the sky, except that it would be a waste of energy.
Pulling her hood further down over her face, she scowled at the mud that was making walking difficult. Her boots were going to be nearly impossible to get clean, as well, and people weren't intimidated by a warlock with muddy boots. She refused to acknowledge the pain that walking caused in muscles that had practically been filleted less than a year ago--muscles that, despite the best healers' attempts, were never going to fully recover.
For a few minutes, she considered flying again, just close to the ground, so that she wouldn't have to use her legs and the rain wouldn't soak her to the bone. Then her right temple throbbed, reminding her just how much she'd been flying recently without sustenance, and she decided to continue walking. It wasn't like there was anyone around to see her limp, anyway.
After a few more minutes of sloughing through the mud, she heard the unmistakable sound of horse's hooves on the road behind her. Drawing away from the middle of the road, she pulled her cloak around herself tightly in order to keep the mud that the horse would fling up from splattering her clothes. That was all she needed, to be muddy as well as wet.
To her surprise, the hooves slowed as they neared, stopping as the horse came even with her. Gianna looked up at the rider, wondering why someone would want to stop for a wretched traveler on the roadside. She halfway hoped it was a highwayman, so that she could let out her frustrations on someone. The face that greeted her, however, was one that spoke only of kindness and warmth.
"Where are you headed to, traveler?" He spoke with the round vowels of the easterners.
"Anywhere dry, at the moment," Gianna answered, trying to sound as normal as possible. She ignored the way that she was hoping for the stranger to give her a ride to somewhere where she could sit and rest and be warm, and told herself that she was just being nice because the stranger was nice first.
He laughed a simple and honest laugh and reached down to her. "Here, I'm on my way to Bell Town, I'll give you a ride to the tavern. It's a little rowdy at times, but anything is better than this mess."
Hesitantly, painfully aware of the fact that she'd have to touch him the entire ride, she grabbed his hand. It was calloused, but like a farmer's hand and not a swordsman's. He pulled her up behind him as easily as he might a child, and she settled herself behind him, trying very hard not to think about the last time she'd ridden double with someone.
The farmer was lean and smelled of rain and pipe-smoke. He should not have reminded Gianna of someone probably twice as broad who smelled like sweat and campfires. This man wasn't wearing any armor. There was no sword on his hip or attached to the saddle. Gianna didn't have to worry about enemies coming from behind to attack. Still, she sat up straight behind him, holding on as little as possible, and remembered.
Horses didn't like Gianna, so she hadn't owned one since she was prepubescent, preferring to fly, but there had been a few occasions when they'd needed to get to somewhere, or, more frequently, away from somewhere, more quickly than Gianna could fly. Because she was so light and Radley's horse was so used to carrying the oversized soldier, she always rode double with him.
She never failed to grouse at him the entire time on those occasions, but she always wound up with her arms around his waist and her face buried in-between his shoulder blades, nearly asleep. He would wake her up before dismounting, and she would manage to get off of the horse without making a complete fool of herself. Nessa and Cane never knew about that particular weakness of Gianna's. Radley never explained why he kept it a secret, but Gianna had always been grateful for it.
The only time he mentioned it had been the last time she'd seen him. It was hard for her to believe that it had only been six months since then. Disgusted with people in general and still feeling very much the sting of betrayal, Gianna had stopped responding to all correspondence. Her grandfather's health had also taken a turn for the worse, and she was trying to focus on that. Cane was laying low and Nessa knew that Gianna was furious with her for helping him escape.
Radley, on the other hand, had never been the type to sit back and let someone ignore him. They had seen the dust from his horse first, galloping from the nearby village. Markus was amused when the big man returned Gianna's death glares. Not many had the guts to stand up to the little powerhouse, and he commended Radley for it.
"To what end did you seek me out?"
Radley had the gall to roll his eyes. "Calm down, warlock, I just wanted to check up on you. You didn't write me back. I wanna make sure you're not still hurting from the beating we all took a couple months ago."
Only Radley was brave enough, Gianna liked to say stupid enough, to bring up the dragon with her. Still, she knew him well enough to know that he was genuinely worried about her, and he deserved an honest answer.
"My legs will never be what they were, but once I mastered flying I did not use them much, so it is worth no concern."
His wide mouth quirked, "Even you can't fly forever. But that's not what's bothering you."
She looked away from the hazel eyes that always saw too much, and shrugged.
"How's your grandfather?"
Dark brown eyes jerked to meet steady hazel, and her emotionless mask slipped for a second. Radley knew that she hated people touching her, but he had never been one to let that stop him, so he didn't hesitate to pull her into a hug. She stiffened, but he held on for a few seconds, and she breathed in the familiar smell of her friend.
"Do you wanna go for a ride with me on Kampfer?"
Gianna raised her left eyebrow and didn't say anything.
"I mean, you're always so relaxed after riding behind me. I thought you might need that right now."
She stared at the toes of her boots and her short hair fall forward to conceal her face, feeling younger and more vulnerable than she had since she was nine.
"I appreciate the offer," she said so softly that Radley had to lean forward to catch it, "but if I rode with you, I would perhaps be tempted to ask you to take me away. Grandfather needs me and I cannot leave him alone to face the idiots who come to challenge me."
"Well, if you ever need anything, I'd be happy to help anyway I can."
"I know," she responded, and turned to go back in. "You are a good person."
She didn't watch him ride away, but listened closely until she could no longer hear Kampfer's hooves against the dead ground.
The cessation of motion, followed by the dismounting of her companion, brought Gianna out of her reverie.
"Here we are, traveler, Bell Tavern. Need some help getting down?" He peered up at her as he motioned for a stable boy to get his horse.
Instead of answering, she swung her left leg over, ignoring its protests, and hopped to the ground. Using the smallest magic possible, she slowed her descent just enough to keep from jarring herself too badly, and looked up at the surprisingly tall man.
"Thank you, sir. I can pay you for your trouble."
He laughed and swung an arm over the young woman's slender shoulders, guiding her into the tavern. She would have protested, but she decided that focusing on walking normally was more important than getting the stranger to stop touching her. His arm also offered a little support, for which she was grateful.
Inside, the tavern hummed softly with the conversation of the scattered patrons. Because it was on the border of uninhabitable land, it wasn't as busy as most similar establishments. The barkeep and several of the patrons grunted a greeting at the farmer and looked at her strangely, but no one said anything where Gianna could hear.
"Well aren't you a pretty one!" The farmer chuckled. In the dim light, Gianna could see that he was probably in his late thirties or early forties. She'd heard of faces being described as 'kindly' before, but his was the first that she could really see fitting that description. Years of happy laughter were beginning to draw lines around his mouth and eyes and his mousy brown hair faded to silver at his temples.
"I do not possess traits that are generally considered attractive, so I am not sure what you mean. As to the matter of payment, it really is no small trouble that you saved me, and I am firmly of the belief that good deeds should not go unrewarded."
His eyes were a pale blue that would generally make her think of traitors but in his face only brought to mind cheerful winter afternoons.
"Child," he began, making her narrow her eyes in annoyance, "the simple pleasure of saving a young woman from the weather is all the payment I need. Save your money for when you really need it."
She began to protest, but he would have none of that.
"My name is Charlie," he said, "and I absolutely won't take anything for helping out a young woman in need. Except, maybe, a kiss on the cheek."
Gianna's eyes widened. A kiss? Even if it was just on the cheek, she never kissed anybody ever. Not even Grandfather. Kissing was the closest form on touching, and she HATED touching.
"A kiss," she said seriously, blinking slowly several times. She could do this, idiots managed kisses on cheeks all the time, surely she would have no problem with it.
"Charlie, you old scoundrel," a buxom woman scolded, coming from the kitchen area, "Stop scaring the child!"
He laughed and told Gianna that she didn't have to give him a kiss if she didn't want to. For a moment she considered protesting, but chose not to because she really didn't want to kiss anyone.
The woman, whose name was Jillian, shoved a bowl of hot stew under Gianna's nose, saying something about her being 'much too skinny.' The warlock didn't want to accept charity, but the locals refused to let her pay for anything. They were goodhearted people who didn't know that the shivering young woman with a limp was the fearsome dragonslayer they'd heard about.
"So, traveler, what's your story?" Charlie asked, and everyone in the place looked at her expectantly.
"What makes you think I have a story, other than the typical wanderlust of youth?"
The farmer laughed at that. "You expect me to believe that a young woman traveling alone, on foot, from the direction of the Deadlands doesn't have more of a story than being young and antsy?"
She clenched her teeth and looked away, hair hiding her eyes. Her reasons for traveling were not anyone's business but her own, no matter how much kindness they'd shown her. They would probably send her back into the storm if she told them the truth, anyway.
The people started pestering her, trying to get her to divulge her secret, but they were stopped by a quiet, low voice from next to the fireplace. The man's skin was reminiscent of aged leather, dark and lined. He didn't turn his face fully towards them, but spoke to the empty corner of the common area.
"Travelers always have something to hide. If they didn't, they wouldn't be travelers. For the sake of her peace, and mine, shut your mouths and leave her alone."
They grumbled under their breaths, but did as he said, prompting Gianna to give him a longer perusal. His hands rested in his lap, knotty and twisted from years of hard labor. Arms and neck were thin and brittle looking, but on his hip he wore a short sword. So this man, too, had been a traveler.
Charlie left to go flirt with Jillian and the rest of the patrons returned to their solitude. Gianna got up from her stool at the bar and walked over to the fireplace, taking the seat across from the old man. She looked at him a moment longer, taking in his steel gray hair and muddy brown eyes, before turning to the fire and clearing her mind to block out the aches in her body.
While she focused on the red-orange flames, the old man turned his eyes to her. He didn't miss her strict posture or dark features. His gaze lingered on the gleam of red beneath her over-shirt and the frown on her lips. Secrets, indeed.