Scraps: "Russian Folk Tales" [V/K, Their Song]
I am apparently having a scraps (that is, random unbetaed off the cuff ficlets) sort of week. So here's another one (of two), inspired by way too many listens to this song. ~I love it when you read to me, and you can read me anything~
The V/K is sorta of a random, floating excerpt from Their Song, that giant 'fic I keep talking about. It's random in the sense that I've placed it on a night that doesn't exist. ;) But I hope you like it anyways, V.
Thanks to hoshizora for the prompt. :)
He woke up to an empty bed.
This was getting to be a habit with Svetka. To be fair, he usually didn't wake her when he left the bed, either, but then his reasons for getting up weren't like hers. He got out of bed to use the bathroom, or start on breakfast. She got out of bed because something in her head pulled her out, something that made her reject, for the moment, the warm haven he offered her.
He looked to the chair in front of the window where he'd found her before, blinking at the darkness, but she wasn't there. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, letting it sift the apartment energy until he narrowed in on her signature golden blip. She was in the living room.
He frowned. What would she be doing in the living room?
He shucked the covers and rolled out of bed. He put on a pair of boxers--he didn't think she was all that comfortable with him being casually naked--then padded out to the living room. "Svetka?" he called.
She was sitting in front of one of his bookshelves, the one that held actual books. They didn't carry much with them--they couldn't, not with how much they moved around--but he had managed to save out a few volumes, mostly old folk stories. She had one of his books open on her lap now, and was squinting down at it by lamplight.
"Svetka," he said, walking over to crouch next to her. "What are you reading?"
She sighed. "Not really reading," she admitted, holding up the book. It was a volume of fairy stories in the original Russian. "Just--trying to see if I can make out any words."
He eased himself down to sit next to her. "You can read Russian?" he asked, keeping his voice light. She always seemed so skittish at times like this, and he worried that if he let his voice show what he really thought of that, she would move away.
Her head tilted down a little, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "Um. Not really." She looked at him. "I studied it, um. A little. Over the past few weeks."
When they hadn't been speaking. When he had been sure their relationship was done. Even if she'd started before, she had still been studying his language--
It took him a few more moments to be able to speak lightly. "Show me what you know, then," he said, deliberately flavoring his words with accent.
The blush on her cheeks went darker. "I--I can't really pronounce them," she said, voice faint. "I mean, I know that this--" she pointed at a б "--is a b, and that this," she pointed at a н "is an n, but--" She trailed off.
He understood her hesitancy; he, too, had felt that same tongue tied nervousness when he'd learned a bit of German from Zoisite, or had tried his tongue at Jadeite's Korean. No matter how many languages he picked up, no matter how confident he felt in one, those first moments with someone who knew the language from birth were always difficult.
"Then let us go through them together," he said.
She gave him a nervous look. "Really?" she asked.
He nodded. "But first, let's be a bit more comfortable about it."
He moved to his knees and slid behind her, opening his legs so she could fit between. She scooted back so her back was to his chest, and he shifted and arranged around her so they were tucked together, his head just above hers. He reached over and adjusted the lamp so they could both see the book clearly.
"Now, let's start with the title," he said. "Good to know what you're reading, yes?"
She nodded, and flipped the book closed. She pushed it out so they could both see the title: Народне Русские Сказки.
She was quiet for a moment. "Svetka?"
"That's a lot of letters," she said.
"Then we'll take it one at a time," he said, dropping a kiss on her head.
She took a breath. "All right," she said, then pointed at the first word. "N. a. p--"
"P?"
"No! No, that's R, isn't it?"
He kissed her head again. "Very good."
"All right. So N. a. r. o...d?" She shifted a little, as if to look back at him for confirmation.
"Da," he said.
"So n.a.r.o.d, another n...and this one, I'm not sure about it." She twisted her head to look at him. "It's not always the same, is it?"
He shook his head. "It's not," he said. "But for now, let us say that the sound is always similar to 'yay'." He paused. "But a little shorter."
"So...ye?" She chopped the vowel off hard.
"Close enough," he said, holding back a smile.
She turned to give him a look, as if she knew what he was holding back, then twisted back to the book. "So n.a.r.o.d.ye. Na...naro..."
"Narodnye," he said.
She hunched a little. "Na...na...naroodenyay," she repeated. A pause. "Not quite right, is it?" she said.
"You'll get it," he assured her. "It takes time, new sounds."
She squirmed as if she didn't quite believe him, then asked, "What does it mean?"
He thought for a moment. " 'Folk,' the people of the country--that would be the best translation," he said.
"Oh," she said, then pointed at the next word. "I know this one," she said. "Ruskey!"
"Russkie," he corrected gently, leaning his cheek against her hair.
He could almost feel her nose crinkle. "I have to pronounce every sound, don't I?" she said.
"Yes, love," he replied. "In Russian, you do."
She let out a mock long-suffering sigh--at least, he hoped it was mock. "Ru...Ru...russkie," she said.
"Beautiful," he said. He touched her cheek, tilted her head, and kissed her softly. "Well done, Svetka."
She blinked long lashes at him. "Do I get that every time I get a word right?" she asked, voice breathy.
"If you like," he said. "Shall we try the next one?"
"Yes," she whispered, turning back to the page. She ran her finger over the word once, twice, then said, "Skaazkee."
"Skazki," he said.
"Skazki," she repeated, then turned her head. "How was that?"
"Close," he teased.
"Close enough?"
"Close enough," he agreed, and kissed her softly again. Her mouth relaxed under his, opening slightly, drawing him in. He pressed in, keeping his touch light and steady, just slanting his mouth over hers. If she wanted more, she would ask for it.
She didn't. She broke the kiss and leaned back against him, making a little, contented sound. "This is a much nicer way to learn than studying on my own," she said.
"Mm-hmm," he agreed, shifting his arms a little to cradle her closer.
They sat in quiet and warmth for a moment, and then she said softly, "Kunzite?"
He kissed her forehead. "Yes, love?"
"Will you...um. Will you--read to me?" The question came out hesitant, quiet, and something in her voice wrenched at him hard.
He would never meet Svetka's parents. At times, he was glad for this.
"Of course," he said. He stretched a little to move the book where he could see it, opened it, and skimmed the table of contents. "I hope you don't mind fairy tales," he said.
"Is that what this book is about?" she asked, voice still soft. "I wondered."
"The title translates to 'Folk Russian Tales'," he said. "But you would recognize them better as fairy tales, I think."
"I think so, too," she said, and he wanted to smile again, but didn't. Instead he found a tale he'd always liked, then flipped to it in the book. "The Princess Who Never Smiled," he read.
"Kunzite?"
"Hm?"
"In Russian." She shifted, and he looked down to find her eyes closed. "Please."
"As the lady wishes," he whispered back, then looked back down at the book and began to read.
She fell asleep again halfway through the story. He didn't mind in the slightest. There would be other times he could read to her.
(1387)
The V/K is sorta of a random, floating excerpt from Their Song, that giant 'fic I keep talking about. It's random in the sense that I've placed it on a night that doesn't exist. ;) But I hope you like it anyways, V.
Thanks to hoshizora for the prompt. :)
He woke up to an empty bed.
This was getting to be a habit with Svetka. To be fair, he usually didn't wake her when he left the bed, either, but then his reasons for getting up weren't like hers. He got out of bed to use the bathroom, or start on breakfast. She got out of bed because something in her head pulled her out, something that made her reject, for the moment, the warm haven he offered her.
He looked to the chair in front of the window where he'd found her before, blinking at the darkness, but she wasn't there. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, letting it sift the apartment energy until he narrowed in on her signature golden blip. She was in the living room.
He frowned. What would she be doing in the living room?
He shucked the covers and rolled out of bed. He put on a pair of boxers--he didn't think she was all that comfortable with him being casually naked--then padded out to the living room. "Svetka?" he called.
She was sitting in front of one of his bookshelves, the one that held actual books. They didn't carry much with them--they couldn't, not with how much they moved around--but he had managed to save out a few volumes, mostly old folk stories. She had one of his books open on her lap now, and was squinting down at it by lamplight.
"Svetka," he said, walking over to crouch next to her. "What are you reading?"
She sighed. "Not really reading," she admitted, holding up the book. It was a volume of fairy stories in the original Russian. "Just--trying to see if I can make out any words."
He eased himself down to sit next to her. "You can read Russian?" he asked, keeping his voice light. She always seemed so skittish at times like this, and he worried that if he let his voice show what he really thought of that, she would move away.
Her head tilted down a little, a faint blush touching her cheeks. "Um. Not really." She looked at him. "I studied it, um. A little. Over the past few weeks."
When they hadn't been speaking. When he had been sure their relationship was done. Even if she'd started before, she had still been studying his language--
It took him a few more moments to be able to speak lightly. "Show me what you know, then," he said, deliberately flavoring his words with accent.
The blush on her cheeks went darker. "I--I can't really pronounce them," she said, voice faint. "I mean, I know that this--" she pointed at a б "--is a b, and that this," she pointed at a н "is an n, but--" She trailed off.
He understood her hesitancy; he, too, had felt that same tongue tied nervousness when he'd learned a bit of German from Zoisite, or had tried his tongue at Jadeite's Korean. No matter how many languages he picked up, no matter how confident he felt in one, those first moments with someone who knew the language from birth were always difficult.
"Then let us go through them together," he said.
She gave him a nervous look. "Really?" she asked.
He nodded. "But first, let's be a bit more comfortable about it."
He moved to his knees and slid behind her, opening his legs so she could fit between. She scooted back so her back was to his chest, and he shifted and arranged around her so they were tucked together, his head just above hers. He reached over and adjusted the lamp so they could both see the book clearly.
"Now, let's start with the title," he said. "Good to know what you're reading, yes?"
She nodded, and flipped the book closed. She pushed it out so they could both see the title: Народне Русские Сказки.
She was quiet for a moment. "Svetka?"
"That's a lot of letters," she said.
"Then we'll take it one at a time," he said, dropping a kiss on her head.
She took a breath. "All right," she said, then pointed at the first word. "N. a. p--"
"P?"
"No! No, that's R, isn't it?"
He kissed her head again. "Very good."
"All right. So N. a. r. o...d?" She shifted a little, as if to look back at him for confirmation.
"Da," he said.
"So n.a.r.o.d, another n...and this one, I'm not sure about it." She twisted her head to look at him. "It's not always the same, is it?"
He shook his head. "It's not," he said. "But for now, let us say that the sound is always similar to 'yay'." He paused. "But a little shorter."
"So...ye?" She chopped the vowel off hard.
"Close enough," he said, holding back a smile.
She turned to give him a look, as if she knew what he was holding back, then twisted back to the book. "So n.a.r.o.d.ye. Na...naro..."
"Narodnye," he said.
She hunched a little. "Na...na...naroodenyay," she repeated. A pause. "Not quite right, is it?" she said.
"You'll get it," he assured her. "It takes time, new sounds."
She squirmed as if she didn't quite believe him, then asked, "What does it mean?"
He thought for a moment. " 'Folk,' the people of the country--that would be the best translation," he said.
"Oh," she said, then pointed at the next word. "I know this one," she said. "Ruskey!"
"Russkie," he corrected gently, leaning his cheek against her hair.
He could almost feel her nose crinkle. "I have to pronounce every sound, don't I?" she said.
"Yes, love," he replied. "In Russian, you do."
She let out a mock long-suffering sigh--at least, he hoped it was mock. "Ru...Ru...russkie," she said.
"Beautiful," he said. He touched her cheek, tilted her head, and kissed her softly. "Well done, Svetka."
She blinked long lashes at him. "Do I get that every time I get a word right?" she asked, voice breathy.
"If you like," he said. "Shall we try the next one?"
"Yes," she whispered, turning back to the page. She ran her finger over the word once, twice, then said, "Skaazkee."
"Skazki," he said.
"Skazki," she repeated, then turned her head. "How was that?"
"Close," he teased.
"Close enough?"
"Close enough," he agreed, and kissed her softly again. Her mouth relaxed under his, opening slightly, drawing him in. He pressed in, keeping his touch light and steady, just slanting his mouth over hers. If she wanted more, she would ask for it.
She didn't. She broke the kiss and leaned back against him, making a little, contented sound. "This is a much nicer way to learn than studying on my own," she said.
"Mm-hmm," he agreed, shifting his arms a little to cradle her closer.
They sat in quiet and warmth for a moment, and then she said softly, "Kunzite?"
He kissed her forehead. "Yes, love?"
"Will you...um. Will you--read to me?" The question came out hesitant, quiet, and something in her voice wrenched at him hard.
He would never meet Svetka's parents. At times, he was glad for this.
"Of course," he said. He stretched a little to move the book where he could see it, opened it, and skimmed the table of contents. "I hope you don't mind fairy tales," he said.
"Is that what this book is about?" she asked, voice still soft. "I wondered."
"The title translates to 'Folk Russian Tales'," he said. "But you would recognize them better as fairy tales, I think."
"I think so, too," she said, and he wanted to smile again, but didn't. Instead he found a tale he'd always liked, then flipped to it in the book. "The Princess Who Never Smiled," he read.
"Kunzite?"
"Hm?"
"In Russian." She shifted, and he looked down to find her eyes closed. "Please."
"As the lady wishes," he whispered back, then looked back down at the book and began to read.
She fell asleep again halfway through the story. He didn't mind in the slightest. There would be other times he could read to her.
(1387)