[Wild Roses] before the wars
Title: first dances
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Giselle, her mother Amarante, various others
Prompt: klgaffney: "'roses, a terse set of instructions that will probably not be followed exactly"
Word Count: 812, and I don't like it. =|
Notes: I quote myself: "I don't think I've ever written her before!"
Now I quote the Dormouse's reply: "well, now you can write her at her first ever ball in polite company. I'm curious to find out if the polite company survives!"
Ladies and gentlemen, the people I keep company with.
---------
She's sixteen, and looks younger, a little girl dressed in imitation of her graceful mother, her curls pinned back but not securely enough to hold them still while she bounces on her toes, waiting for her mother to finish.
Her mother has a delicate golden-filagree torc woven through her hair, finials showing like buoys in the bay near the crown of her head. Her earrings are long and leafy, jade-green and gold, while her dress of gray-slip watered silk and soft blue plays up the blondness of her hair, the golden jewelry she wears at finger, wrist, ear and hair.
Giselle herself is wearing silky ribbons instead of metal, pressed between tiny panes of glass for her earrings but woven through her hair like vines and loosely knotted at her waist, her wrists, sweet-soft texture that makes her smile every time she brushes her fingers against her wrist. Her dress is green and blue, blended one within the other like freshwater meeting the sea, and her soft-soled shoes are the same deep blue as the ribbons in her hair.
"All right, my dear," her mother says in french as she stands up, turns to face Giselle, has her twirl to show shoes, dress, hair and face, then kisses her forehead approvingly. "Now, repeat for me the rules?"
Giselle does, pat and perfect and utterly insincere, which she suspects her mother knows--her big brother certainly would--but doesn't call her on. They smile at one another, then Giselle takes her mother's arm, and they go forth to meet her father, and her uncle Iarlaith who never smiles, and go down to the dancing.
Her father doesn't dance--her mother told her once that he doesn't even with her, so Giselle doesn't take it personally--and uncle Iarlaith circles through the people who aren't dancing at the moment like the sharks in an old storybook of Giselle's, his dark hair like the fins rising above the surface, because he's nearly as tall as Giselle's father.
Sean would dance, if he were here, but her father sent him off on a errand three days ago and he's not supposed to be back for another two days.
The rules say she's not supposed to dance with anyone she hasn't been introduced to.
So she heads for a likely-looking stranger, absolutely certain she's going to be intercepted on the way--and she is, not by her uncle Iarlaith but by her oldest brother Aleron, who's wearing old fashioned gray and gold and copper, and whose callouses catch at the ribbons on the wrist he catches, though his grip is gentle as could be.
"Hello, Aleron!" she chirps, grinning up at him. "Will you dance with me?"
"Hello, brat-child," he replies agreeably, "and no, not yet. Liane will know someone who'll dance with you, though."
Giselle knows he knows her pout isn't really meant, because she can't hold the expression very long, but he doesn't call her on it, so she doesn't drag her feet as he tows her over to her half-sister and then wanders away again.
Liane's wearing ochre and red, which makes her skin glow like polished walnut-wood, and she's laughing at something Giselle didn't catch, her eyes crinkled up and hiding the colour she's painted the lids.
Giselle waits for a pause in the laughter, then smiles up at Liane, doesn't tug her sleeve for attention like a really little girl, and Liane rewards her by introducing her to a tall slim girl with ebony skin and light-dyed hair who is wearing cobalt blue, and who dances like her feet are only skimming the floor for momentum. It's breathtaking to be caught in the orbit, and Giselle only manages two dances before she has to stop, thanks the girl and then goes to find something small to eat.
Her brother Donnel's wife Lydia finds her at the eating-table, and invites her to come and sit with them, so she does. Lydia teaches her two new dancing steps, and Donnel helps her practice them--she's not quite sure how he can always catch the rhythm of a dancing-song, and halve it, or cut it to a third of its true time, to make practicing easier, but he does--and then Liane comes and steals her away again.
By midnight, her hair's falling down, ribbons drooping like wilted vines, she's a little loopy with tiredness and a lot of spinning dances, and her feet hurt from where she didn't quite dodge someone's shoe, and she doesn't even argue very much when her mother comes to collect her.
Her mother still looks perfect, even the leaves of her earrings not yet tangled in her hair, and Giselle resolves to figure out the spell her mother's using as soon as she can.
Which won't be tonight. She swallows a yawn to kiss her mother's temple nicely, and sheds clothes all the way to her bed.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Giselle, her mother Amarante, various others
Prompt: klgaffney: "'roses, a terse set of instructions that will probably not be followed exactly"
Word Count: 812, and I don't like it. =|
Notes: I quote myself: "I don't think I've ever written her before!"
Now I quote the Dormouse's reply: "well, now you can write her at her first ever ball in polite company. I'm curious to find out if the polite company survives!"
Ladies and gentlemen, the people I keep company with.
---------
She's sixteen, and looks younger, a little girl dressed in imitation of her graceful mother, her curls pinned back but not securely enough to hold them still while she bounces on her toes, waiting for her mother to finish.
Her mother has a delicate golden-filagree torc woven through her hair, finials showing like buoys in the bay near the crown of her head. Her earrings are long and leafy, jade-green and gold, while her dress of gray-slip watered silk and soft blue plays up the blondness of her hair, the golden jewelry she wears at finger, wrist, ear and hair.
Giselle herself is wearing silky ribbons instead of metal, pressed between tiny panes of glass for her earrings but woven through her hair like vines and loosely knotted at her waist, her wrists, sweet-soft texture that makes her smile every time she brushes her fingers against her wrist. Her dress is green and blue, blended one within the other like freshwater meeting the sea, and her soft-soled shoes are the same deep blue as the ribbons in her hair.
"All right, my dear," her mother says in french as she stands up, turns to face Giselle, has her twirl to show shoes, dress, hair and face, then kisses her forehead approvingly. "Now, repeat for me the rules?"
Giselle does, pat and perfect and utterly insincere, which she suspects her mother knows--her big brother certainly would--but doesn't call her on. They smile at one another, then Giselle takes her mother's arm, and they go forth to meet her father, and her uncle Iarlaith who never smiles, and go down to the dancing.
Her father doesn't dance--her mother told her once that he doesn't even with her, so Giselle doesn't take it personally--and uncle Iarlaith circles through the people who aren't dancing at the moment like the sharks in an old storybook of Giselle's, his dark hair like the fins rising above the surface, because he's nearly as tall as Giselle's father.
Sean would dance, if he were here, but her father sent him off on a errand three days ago and he's not supposed to be back for another two days.
The rules say she's not supposed to dance with anyone she hasn't been introduced to.
So she heads for a likely-looking stranger, absolutely certain she's going to be intercepted on the way--and she is, not by her uncle Iarlaith but by her oldest brother Aleron, who's wearing old fashioned gray and gold and copper, and whose callouses catch at the ribbons on the wrist he catches, though his grip is gentle as could be.
"Hello, Aleron!" she chirps, grinning up at him. "Will you dance with me?"
"Hello, brat-child," he replies agreeably, "and no, not yet. Liane will know someone who'll dance with you, though."
Giselle knows he knows her pout isn't really meant, because she can't hold the expression very long, but he doesn't call her on it, so she doesn't drag her feet as he tows her over to her half-sister and then wanders away again.
Liane's wearing ochre and red, which makes her skin glow like polished walnut-wood, and she's laughing at something Giselle didn't catch, her eyes crinkled up and hiding the colour she's painted the lids.
Giselle waits for a pause in the laughter, then smiles up at Liane, doesn't tug her sleeve for attention like a really little girl, and Liane rewards her by introducing her to a tall slim girl with ebony skin and light-dyed hair who is wearing cobalt blue, and who dances like her feet are only skimming the floor for momentum. It's breathtaking to be caught in the orbit, and Giselle only manages two dances before she has to stop, thanks the girl and then goes to find something small to eat.
Her brother Donnel's wife Lydia finds her at the eating-table, and invites her to come and sit with them, so she does. Lydia teaches her two new dancing steps, and Donnel helps her practice them--she's not quite sure how he can always catch the rhythm of a dancing-song, and halve it, or cut it to a third of its true time, to make practicing easier, but he does--and then Liane comes and steals her away again.
By midnight, her hair's falling down, ribbons drooping like wilted vines, she's a little loopy with tiredness and a lot of spinning dances, and her feet hurt from where she didn't quite dodge someone's shoe, and she doesn't even argue very much when her mother comes to collect her.
Her mother still looks perfect, even the leaves of her earrings not yet tangled in her hair, and Giselle resolves to figure out the spell her mother's using as soon as she can.
Which won't be tonight. She swallows a yawn to kiss her mother's temple nicely, and sheds clothes all the way to her bed.