FIC: Burgundy, Part 2/?
Title: Burgundy
Wordcount: 1,299
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine :(
Summary: When he's finally left alone in Lost-hope, Stephen Black is finally able to explore some of the stranger corners of Faerie, and he meets one denizen in particular who interests him.
Author's Notes: Here is my attempt at looking into the odd little nooks and crannies of Lost-hope....part two. :)
Several days passed before Stephen Black gathered the courage to ask the gentleman with the thistledown hair about the garden and the dark-mouthed girl. The gentleman was in Stephen’s room, arranging some jewels that he had brought for him. They looked exceedingly ancient, and the gentleman has been expounding upon their properties for some time.
“Now, this one, Stephen,” said the gentleman, holding up a ruby the size of a turnip dangling from a gold chain, “this one was worn by Bazajet II during the third conquering of Constantinople, and he had one of his generals beheaded for claiming that he saw their failure to take the city reflected in it.”* The gentleman looped it around Stephen’s neck and stepped back to admire the effect.
Even though the chain and jewel were nearly unbearably heavy, Stephen left the necklace where it was, dangling incongruously against his white shirt. He didn’t want to risk the gentleman’s displeasure by moving it and so spoil this moment for asking about the garden.
The gentleman’s pale brows furrowed at the question, but he spoke lightly. “That old place, Stephen? I’m surprised you should care about such a useless tangle of weeds. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but the roses really are startlingly tenacious. But if its existence bothers you, my dear Stephen, you have only to say the word, and-”
“Oh, no, sir,” Stephen interrupted hastily. “I, ah, actually found it a rather charming place, sir.” He reflected that the wiser course of action might be to not mention the girl with the purple-red mouth.
The gentleman assumed a rather sharp expression. “Stephen, one of those thorns did not scratch you, did they? I know that you, with your patient disposition, would tolerate such a trespass, but I cannot be expected to, Stephen, for your sake.” Stephen assured the gentleman that he has made it through the garden unscathed, and the gentleman seemed satisfied.
That night, Stephen was once again caught up in one of the strange dances at Lost-hope. The lone piper and violinist piped and scraped away their mournful music, and with each whirl of the dance Stephen hoped to catch a glimpse of the girl with the purple mouth.
He was unsuccessful, however, until he finally managed to break away from the crowd of dancers. The gentleman with the thistledown hair was talking animatedly to a man with shark’s teeth, and Stephen was glad for the chance to slip away. He turned a few crumbling-down stone corners and corridors before he came upon the very same door that led into the garden. He was quite surprized- had never known to see the same part of Lost-hope twice thus far, excepting the large hall where the dances were held. The door opened just as easily as it had the first time, and Stephen tried to take the same path.
This time, however, the roses seemed very different. Stephen was sure, for instance, that he had never seen a rose quite that delicate shade of blue before. The path was not the same, either. He kept coming across odd statuary and no matter how many different turns he took, he didn’t see the broken fountain.
Stephen wandered without purpose, now. He did find a little clear stream which prettily reflected the sunset sky above (it was never quite the right time of day, here). He sat on the damp moss of the bank until a shadow blocked the fading light.
Stephen looked up and saw the remarkable hair of the gentleman shining in the last rays of the sun. He was afraid of the gentleman’s reaction to Stephen’s absence from the festivities, but the gentleman merely smiled genially and snapped his fingers.
Stephen sighed. He was once again in the great hall, being tormented by the melancholy music. He let himself be turned and twirled through the steps of the dance until the music finally paused. Breathless, Stephen found himself alone in a rather nondescript corner of one of the farther rooms off of the great hall, the noise of the dancers receding as the grouped back into the larger room. A corridor led off of this room, and he surmised that he might as well continue to explore, if the gentleman was going to be in such a congenial mood.
He came to a courtyard open to a night sky that was replete with unrecognisable constellations. The walls were overgrown with vines, and the corners shadowy. A fountain in the centre, this one in considerably better repair than its mate in the garden, flowed with rather muddy water.
Stephen would have turned back had he not heard a sound from the farthest corner of the courtyard. Curious now, he crept closer, not wanting to alert one of the stranger residents of Lost-hope by making any drastic movements.
Instead of some strange creature, Stephen saw the girl from the garden, wearing the same dirty, moss-green dress in which he had seen her last-but this time, it looked like she was being kissed rather forcefully by the tall man with the shark’s teeth that Stephen had seen talking to the gentleman earlier that evening. Stephen probably would have left then, not wishing to intrude, if it had not been for the way her eyelids fluttered and the extreme pallor of her cheek. She did not look passionate…rather, she looked as though she could not breathe.
At last the shark-toothed man broke away from her, wiped his mouth, and strode back towards the hall with hardly a glance for Stephen. The girl sagged against the wall for support, and Stephen rushed to her, catching her and lowering her more safely to the ground.
She was still pale, but she sat up without falling over again. Stephen noticed that her mouth was stained a deep red all around as well as being covered in tiny bite marks, thanks to the shark-toothed man. Stephen knelt on the ground beside her.
“Madam, what has happened to you? Who is that man? And-” The girl shook her head exhaustedly. Stephen saw that she had finger-shaped bruises around her neck and that the morning-glories in her hair were partially torn out and falling over one eye.
The girl saw the inquiries on Stephen’s face and she sighed through her nose-Stephen noted that she never seemed to open her mouth for anything.
But then she did exactly that, and Stephen saw that her mouth was filled with a deep red wine, as if she had drunk some and forgotten to swallow. Stephen would have asked another question, but she shook her head again and stood up. Stephen rose with her, in case she should fall, and followed her to the fountain. She bent her head and opened her mouth again, and a long stream of red, red wine spilled from her mouth into the muddy water. After a moment, when the wine seemed to run out, she righted herself and turned to face Stephen. She opened her mouth once more, this time with tears in her eyes, and Stephen saw that her mouth was once again filled. He felt filled with sympathy for this girl, used as a drunken amusement for the fey folk of Lost-Hope.
He would have spoke to her once more, but he felt the gentleman’s hand on his shoulder and he was whisked away once more, to his room, with the sun just rising.
*This story of the gentleman’s is certainly very strange, and not at all consistent with the version of history accepted today. The jewel of Bazajet II is mentioned in an accounting of the sultan’s treasures, but no trace of it has been ever been found in any present-day reckoning. In addition, Constantinople is only known to have fallen once.
Wordcount: 1,299
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine :(
Summary: When he's finally left alone in Lost-hope, Stephen Black is finally able to explore some of the stranger corners of Faerie, and he meets one denizen in particular who interests him.
Author's Notes: Here is my attempt at looking into the odd little nooks and crannies of Lost-hope....part two. :)
Several days passed before Stephen Black gathered the courage to ask the gentleman with the thistledown hair about the garden and the dark-mouthed girl. The gentleman was in Stephen’s room, arranging some jewels that he had brought for him. They looked exceedingly ancient, and the gentleman has been expounding upon their properties for some time.
“Now, this one, Stephen,” said the gentleman, holding up a ruby the size of a turnip dangling from a gold chain, “this one was worn by Bazajet II during the third conquering of Constantinople, and he had one of his generals beheaded for claiming that he saw their failure to take the city reflected in it.”* The gentleman looped it around Stephen’s neck and stepped back to admire the effect.
Even though the chain and jewel were nearly unbearably heavy, Stephen left the necklace where it was, dangling incongruously against his white shirt. He didn’t want to risk the gentleman’s displeasure by moving it and so spoil this moment for asking about the garden.
The gentleman’s pale brows furrowed at the question, but he spoke lightly. “That old place, Stephen? I’m surprised you should care about such a useless tangle of weeds. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but the roses really are startlingly tenacious. But if its existence bothers you, my dear Stephen, you have only to say the word, and-”
“Oh, no, sir,” Stephen interrupted hastily. “I, ah, actually found it a rather charming place, sir.” He reflected that the wiser course of action might be to not mention the girl with the purple-red mouth.
The gentleman assumed a rather sharp expression. “Stephen, one of those thorns did not scratch you, did they? I know that you, with your patient disposition, would tolerate such a trespass, but I cannot be expected to, Stephen, for your sake.” Stephen assured the gentleman that he has made it through the garden unscathed, and the gentleman seemed satisfied.
That night, Stephen was once again caught up in one of the strange dances at Lost-hope. The lone piper and violinist piped and scraped away their mournful music, and with each whirl of the dance Stephen hoped to catch a glimpse of the girl with the purple mouth.
He was unsuccessful, however, until he finally managed to break away from the crowd of dancers. The gentleman with the thistledown hair was talking animatedly to a man with shark’s teeth, and Stephen was glad for the chance to slip away. He turned a few crumbling-down stone corners and corridors before he came upon the very same door that led into the garden. He was quite surprized- had never known to see the same part of Lost-hope twice thus far, excepting the large hall where the dances were held. The door opened just as easily as it had the first time, and Stephen tried to take the same path.
This time, however, the roses seemed very different. Stephen was sure, for instance, that he had never seen a rose quite that delicate shade of blue before. The path was not the same, either. He kept coming across odd statuary and no matter how many different turns he took, he didn’t see the broken fountain.
Stephen wandered without purpose, now. He did find a little clear stream which prettily reflected the sunset sky above (it was never quite the right time of day, here). He sat on the damp moss of the bank until a shadow blocked the fading light.
Stephen looked up and saw the remarkable hair of the gentleman shining in the last rays of the sun. He was afraid of the gentleman’s reaction to Stephen’s absence from the festivities, but the gentleman merely smiled genially and snapped his fingers.
Stephen sighed. He was once again in the great hall, being tormented by the melancholy music. He let himself be turned and twirled through the steps of the dance until the music finally paused. Breathless, Stephen found himself alone in a rather nondescript corner of one of the farther rooms off of the great hall, the noise of the dancers receding as the grouped back into the larger room. A corridor led off of this room, and he surmised that he might as well continue to explore, if the gentleman was going to be in such a congenial mood.
He came to a courtyard open to a night sky that was replete with unrecognisable constellations. The walls were overgrown with vines, and the corners shadowy. A fountain in the centre, this one in considerably better repair than its mate in the garden, flowed with rather muddy water.
Stephen would have turned back had he not heard a sound from the farthest corner of the courtyard. Curious now, he crept closer, not wanting to alert one of the stranger residents of Lost-hope by making any drastic movements.
Instead of some strange creature, Stephen saw the girl from the garden, wearing the same dirty, moss-green dress in which he had seen her last-but this time, it looked like she was being kissed rather forcefully by the tall man with the shark’s teeth that Stephen had seen talking to the gentleman earlier that evening. Stephen probably would have left then, not wishing to intrude, if it had not been for the way her eyelids fluttered and the extreme pallor of her cheek. She did not look passionate…rather, she looked as though she could not breathe.
At last the shark-toothed man broke away from her, wiped his mouth, and strode back towards the hall with hardly a glance for Stephen. The girl sagged against the wall for support, and Stephen rushed to her, catching her and lowering her more safely to the ground.
She was still pale, but she sat up without falling over again. Stephen noticed that her mouth was stained a deep red all around as well as being covered in tiny bite marks, thanks to the shark-toothed man. Stephen knelt on the ground beside her.
“Madam, what has happened to you? Who is that man? And-” The girl shook her head exhaustedly. Stephen saw that she had finger-shaped bruises around her neck and that the morning-glories in her hair were partially torn out and falling over one eye.
The girl saw the inquiries on Stephen’s face and she sighed through her nose-Stephen noted that she never seemed to open her mouth for anything.
But then she did exactly that, and Stephen saw that her mouth was filled with a deep red wine, as if she had drunk some and forgotten to swallow. Stephen would have asked another question, but she shook her head again and stood up. Stephen rose with her, in case she should fall, and followed her to the fountain. She bent her head and opened her mouth again, and a long stream of red, red wine spilled from her mouth into the muddy water. After a moment, when the wine seemed to run out, she righted herself and turned to face Stephen. She opened her mouth once more, this time with tears in her eyes, and Stephen saw that her mouth was once again filled. He felt filled with sympathy for this girl, used as a drunken amusement for the fey folk of Lost-Hope.
He would have spoke to her once more, but he felt the gentleman’s hand on his shoulder and he was whisked away once more, to his room, with the sun just rising.
*This story of the gentleman’s is certainly very strange, and not at all consistent with the version of history accepted today. The jewel of Bazajet II is mentioned in an accounting of the sultan’s treasures, but no trace of it has been ever been found in any present-day reckoning. In addition, Constantinople is only known to have fallen once.