[Wild Roses] before the wars
Title: the gloating comes later
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Niamh, Aodh
Prompt: 72A "imitation of life"
Word Count: 325
Notes: before the wars.
"Okay, I'm impressed. How much did y'have last night?"
"Shu'p, c'sin," she mumbled.
Bastard laughed, up in the upper end of his range. She was going to kill him. Just as soon as she could move.
"Or should I revise tha' to last nights? Y'look kind of decayed." Something poked her shoulder. "Threadbare. Desssssssicated."
"'m nna kill y'," she informed him, tried to bat his pointy finger away but thought better of it when her head shifted.
"Nah. 's me dragging your carcass down t'bath 'n fetchin'y water'n'a rehydrat'r."
It took a while to unpack that. Then she gave him a rude gesture with several fingers.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah--" the world lurched, sloshing her gut around, and she nearly threw up.
Swallowing bile, she realised she was dangling in midair, no longer moving. "Ng," she managed.
He purred against her wrist, much to her surprise. "Sorry, coz."
"Ng."
"Yup. Now, clothes."
He left her naked in a tepid bath, hair coated with ice and a giant mug of mildly metallic-tasting liquid in her hand.
Several hours later, toes astoundingly wrinkled and feeling somewhat more human, she found he'd stolen everything but a clean pair of pants and a sleeveless translucent shirt.
After she tracked him down, idly intent of extracting the rest of her clothes from him, she had to pause and stare, because he had her coat draped over his lap and appeared to be mending a tear in the shoulder.
He'd hung a nearly empty wooden spool of thread in the air near him; when she leaned over his other shoulder to squint at his work, his stitches were small and neat and appeared to be adding an extra feather to the firebird's tail.
"Hunh."
"'lo," he replied, leaned over and nipped the side of her neck. "Welcome back."
"Y'stole my clothes."
"Be glad I found y'a shirt. Y'rs was a mess."
She bit his neck. "'ci, coz."
"Y've got carcass-draggin' next time I'm tha' hungover."
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Niamh, Aodh
Prompt: 72A "imitation of life"
Word Count: 325
Notes: before the wars.
"Okay, I'm impressed. How much did y'have last night?"
"Shu'p, c'sin," she mumbled.
Bastard laughed, up in the upper end of his range. She was going to kill him. Just as soon as she could move.
"Or should I revise tha' to last nights? Y'look kind of decayed." Something poked her shoulder. "Threadbare. Desssssssicated."
"'m nna kill y'," she informed him, tried to bat his pointy finger away but thought better of it when her head shifted.
"Nah. 's me dragging your carcass down t'bath 'n fetchin'y water'n'a rehydrat'r."
It took a while to unpack that. Then she gave him a rude gesture with several fingers.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah--" the world lurched, sloshing her gut around, and she nearly threw up.
Swallowing bile, she realised she was dangling in midair, no longer moving. "Ng," she managed.
He purred against her wrist, much to her surprise. "Sorry, coz."
"Ng."
"Yup. Now, clothes."
He left her naked in a tepid bath, hair coated with ice and a giant mug of mildly metallic-tasting liquid in her hand.
Several hours later, toes astoundingly wrinkled and feeling somewhat more human, she found he'd stolen everything but a clean pair of pants and a sleeveless translucent shirt.
After she tracked him down, idly intent of extracting the rest of her clothes from him, she had to pause and stare, because he had her coat draped over his lap and appeared to be mending a tear in the shoulder.
He'd hung a nearly empty wooden spool of thread in the air near him; when she leaned over his other shoulder to squint at his work, his stitches were small and neat and appeared to be adding an extra feather to the firebird's tail.
"Hunh."
"'lo," he replied, leaned over and nipped the side of her neck. "Welcome back."
"Y'stole my clothes."
"Be glad I found y'a shirt. Y'rs was a mess."
She bit his neck. "'ci, coz."
"Y've got carcass-draggin' next time I'm tha' hungover."