My mouth tastes of ginger and mango.

[taennyn]

In other news, I think I need

sparks!

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Edit: Since LJ no longer allows us to have comment titles at all, here's what's been done so far. :)

Wild Roses:
Cat's eyes, or something else, in the verge of a darkening forest. - early Trickwood Unification, Geoffrey, Hernén, several wolves
new and interesting ways to give yourself a headache -

Comments

[taennyn]

Reluctantly handling something extremely fragile without breaking it. - Falcons' Feathers Part 1, Irina, around the time of talking airlock

She hadn't gotten used to the walls talking to her. She didn't want to, either, and if he would have let her she'd have slept in the horse while he carried on his half-laughing argument with the air.

He wouldn't let her, of course, and he'd put her to work. 'Take this from the cargo compartments to either me or where I've been putting things' level work, mostly sealed boxes that she was desperately curious about but not stupid enough to open.

'Mostly' wasn't 'all', and frankly she'd have been happier if she couldn't see what she was about to try moving. She'd even checked to make sure there weren't any other firebirds for him to have been talking about.

But there was only one firebird, a sculpture as long as her arm from tailfeathers to crown and nearly as wide in the wingspan, and she could watch the primary wingfeathers shiver as she breathed near it.

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment as she clenched and unclenched her fingers, fluttered them to make sure she could feel every bit of them, then, still holding her breath, she eased her fingertips under the firebird's belly, lifted, heart at the top of her throat.

It lifted like it was taking flight, about to break its wings on her arms as it downstroked. Still moving as slowly, as smoothly as she could, she got her feet fully under her, stood.

She'd made a nest of torn-up insulation in an empty crate. Carefully sifted it so she'd known there were no rough edges, but she was still anticipating a crunch, a crack, as she began to ease the firebird down.

Nothing. She breathed out, aiming the stream of air at the outside of the crate. Stood up again, moving a little faster, and crossed to the wall. Pressed her thumb into an unmarked panel, slid the false layer aside to reveal the grid of a voice pickup. "Ka--Khenbish?" she called, fuming at herself for slipping on the name. Yesterday he'd been Kavin. The day before, the same, the day before that Bikram, all pompous round rumbling tones.

"Yeah?" he asked back. She could hear his breathing over the pickup, and wondered where he'd hidden the communication setup; she hadn't seen it, but he sounded like he was moving, squirming through a tight space.

"Where do you want the firebird?" she inquired, half-turning to look at the crate.

"Ah!" he squirmed some more, rolling over, then banged his palm against something metallic, and she winced away from her end. "Grandmother, where would you like a firebird?"

"Roasted on a spit, feathers scattered around my feet and bones in my teeth," the acerbic voice she was trying desperately not to get used to echoed out of his pickup. It rumbled around her, shook her hand where it was still touching the wall to keep the communication system open.

"A sculpture of a firebird?" he said after a moment, more tentative than she'd ever heard him speak.

"Ah!" There was a pause, then "Do I have any trophies of war left, grandson?" the voice asked, and Irina would never have guessed that something without a real face could sound so weary, so old. It made her heart hurt to hear it.

"Yes, Grandmother," Khenbish said gently. Soothing, almost, the way Irina herself might talk to a great-aunt who wasn't sure where she was, or what year it was.

"Put it there, then," his grandmother said, and he rolled over again in his confined space. Said, still gently, "I'll meet you in her front hall."

"Do I need to worry about you dropping on my head?"

He laughed into the pickup. "No, that's you, remember?"

[klgaffney]

the sculpture sounds glorious, if not creepy in context, and yeah, so, so delicate. *pets the use of prompt.*

i also like the moment of "ARGH. FORGOT WHICH NAME HE IS USING TODAY," and that, despite the fact that the creepy-as-hell, she can still have pity. <3

also, hee! at the last.

[taennyn]

One could form the impression that Baba Yagas abandoned community-spirits don't much care for firebirds, for some reason!

Am glad the delicacy came across okay--I was mostly getting the 'ohgodi'mgoingtobreakthisthing' feed. With hints of 'oh, my god, why am i heeeeeeere' and 'god you're annoying'. >.>

[billradish]

Makes you want to breathe carefully just reading it.

I love the different levels in relationships here, and the subtle layers of emotion. Also the yaga's initial reaction to the firebird question.

And additionally, what Kammy said.