Cookies and Cream #9, Malt
Author: Fynn
Challenge: Cookies and Cream #9 - wait
Extra: Malt ("somehow wicked and obscure" - birthday prompt from
brocade_slipper )
Story: Last World Without
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 200
Summary: 'Come out, come out, wherever you are'
Notes: A new character, and more Jayce backstory.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme"
He paused, leaning forward to catch the slightest sound. Nothing.
"Remember me to one who lives there"
He smiled, then raised his voice, letting it echo down the corridors.
"She once was a true love of mine."
Still nothing. He knew she was here, though, could hear her heartbeat thud-thud-thudding through the walls. She was scared.
"Tell her to make me a cambric shirt"
A step forward. He closed his eyes, listening to the stuttering gauze-lightness of her stifled breathing, picturing a round pebble falling into a pile of dirt with each thud-thud of blood through her heart. A pile of grave-dirt.
"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme."
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. He could almost taste the copper sweetness of her fear.
More pebbles, ripping the gauze.
Thud-thud.
"Without any thread or needlework"
Another brief pause, and enough time for the ragged gauze to stitch itself roughly together again.
"And she shall be a true love of mine."
There. There it was. A slight gasp, a rip, a tear. Thud-thud-thud-thud.
He whistled a few bars more, jauntily, and settled back against the wall. Now, he had her.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair...?"
Challenge: Cookies and Cream #9 - wait
Extra: Malt ("somehow wicked and obscure" - birthday prompt from
brocade_slipper )
Story: Last World Without
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 200
Summary: 'Come out, come out, wherever you are'
Notes: A new character, and more Jayce backstory.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme"
He paused, leaning forward to catch the slightest sound. Nothing.
"Remember me to one who lives there"
He smiled, then raised his voice, letting it echo down the corridors.
"She once was a true love of mine."
Still nothing. He knew she was here, though, could hear her heartbeat thud-thud-thudding through the walls. She was scared.
"Tell her to make me a cambric shirt"
A step forward. He closed his eyes, listening to the stuttering gauze-lightness of her stifled breathing, picturing a round pebble falling into a pile of dirt with each thud-thud of blood through her heart. A pile of grave-dirt.
"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme."
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. He could almost taste the copper sweetness of her fear.
More pebbles, ripping the gauze.
Thud-thud.
"Without any thread or needlework"
Another brief pause, and enough time for the ragged gauze to stitch itself roughly together again.
"And she shall be a true love of mine."
There. There it was. A slight gasp, a rip, a tear. Thud-thud-thud-thud.
He whistled a few bars more, jauntily, and settled back against the wall. Now, he had her.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair...?"