fic: Tempting Gods (original, PG)
Tempting Gods
by volta arovet
an original story
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 260
for the thegalecity prompt "Liar's greeting"
"Poor morrow, sister Agatha," Wordsworth said, doffing his cap. "Are you bringing your hens' eggs to the fair today?"
Agatha adjusted the cover on her basket so not one speckled shell shone up at the sky. "Aye, that I am, brother Wordsworth, tho they are like as to break before I reach the market square." She smiled at him, coquettish for all her many years. "And clotted cream from my new cow, tho she gives naught but sour milk. I'll save ye some, as it will be poor to sell."
"Thank you kindly, it will do my dear old mother well, as she is quite ill and like to die at any moment." He offered his arm, and she gratefully let him carry the basket as they walked down the road.
"Good morning!" a stranger in a stovetop hat called out, striding up to them. His metal cane tapped merrily on the cobblestones; they pretended not to see him. "Lovely day, isn't it? I don't suppose you could show me the way to the local fair? It's said to be marvelous."
"It is a poor fair," Agatha said quickly, casting her eyes to the sky. "Little to be talked about or enjoyed."
"I believe it will rain today," Wordsworth added. "Not a good day for a fair, at all."
"What are you talking about?" The stranger waved his cane at the sky. "It's a lovely day, not a cloud in the--"
Lightning stuck the cane, and the man fell to the ground.
"Daft fool, tempting fate like that," Agatha said sadly.
"May we all meet the same fate," Wordsworth said, quite sincerely.
by volta arovet
an original story
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: 260
for the thegalecity prompt "Liar's greeting"
"Poor morrow, sister Agatha," Wordsworth said, doffing his cap. "Are you bringing your hens' eggs to the fair today?"
Agatha adjusted the cover on her basket so not one speckled shell shone up at the sky. "Aye, that I am, brother Wordsworth, tho they are like as to break before I reach the market square." She smiled at him, coquettish for all her many years. "And clotted cream from my new cow, tho she gives naught but sour milk. I'll save ye some, as it will be poor to sell."
"Thank you kindly, it will do my dear old mother well, as she is quite ill and like to die at any moment." He offered his arm, and she gratefully let him carry the basket as they walked down the road.
"Good morning!" a stranger in a stovetop hat called out, striding up to them. His metal cane tapped merrily on the cobblestones; they pretended not to see him. "Lovely day, isn't it? I don't suppose you could show me the way to the local fair? It's said to be marvelous."
"It is a poor fair," Agatha said quickly, casting her eyes to the sky. "Little to be talked about or enjoyed."
"I believe it will rain today," Wordsworth added. "Not a good day for a fair, at all."
"What are you talking about?" The stranger waved his cane at the sky. "It's a lovely day, not a cloud in the--"
Lightning stuck the cane, and the man fell to the ground.
"Daft fool, tempting fate like that," Agatha said sadly.
"May we all meet the same fate," Wordsworth said, quite sincerely.