fic:revelations and overindulgencest
Title: Revelations and Overindulgences
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 1000
Fandom: Original
Prompt: image
Challenge: picfor1000
One would think after several hundred years of life a person-or more precisely-a witch would've created a cure for hangovers. Perhaps avoiding the urge to overindulge could be considered a cure, but as Lotte stared up at an only semi-familiar ceiling she found that particular cure ineffective at the moment. A yawn stretched her mouth wide, making her eyes water and jaw pop in protest. One eye closed as she attempted to bring the ceiling into focus as she contemplated just rolling over and falling back asleep.
The sinfully comfortable bedding was not helping her muster the strength to remain awake, but the call of nature did. She forced herself to sit up and rained gold glitter across the ivory ruching. Lotte frowned down at the dress she’d been wearing the previous night, but the sight of the rather delicate-girly seemed too misogynist a phrase-bedding told she’d at least stumbled into the right bed. She and Goldilocks, well, if Goldilocks had stolen from werewolves and not bears, but of course then she would’ve been eaten for her audacity.
A snorful-something between a snore and sniffle-escaped said wolf and Lotte nudged her with a still stocking covered foot. The covers shifted and she saw Bryn in the same fully clothed predicament as herself which made her smile and disentangle herself from the sheets. A wide carpet protected her nearly bare feet from the cold concrete that was the floor of the upper level of the loft. She allowed herself a fruitless search for shoes before she made a beeline for the stairs leading down to the main floor.
The upper level sat above the closet, bathroom and elevator and Lotte thought the false privacy of the bedroom clever, mostly because she’d originally created the loft for her own use. It was the third story of the building she owned near the heart of the city. The bottom level was her book store and the second housed a rather extensive collection of interesting bobbles-hence the need for a live in guard dog-er-friend. She hesitated, halfway down the stairs, as the epiphany hit.
Anna Bryn Margarit Lowell was her friend. She didn’t have friends. Lotte had allies. People who weren’t trying to kill her and people who were, but not friends. Not really and a little wolf changed all that. Nature beat out her urge to hug the beast and instead she finished making her way downstairs and into the bathroom.
She exited with damp hands and the knowledge that Bryn needed towels that were not on the floor. Something solidified beneath her feet and Lotte stumbled, before stopping to look down at the shadowless form beneath her. Mau stared up at her mournfully and she knelt, running those damp hangs along his now corporeal form in retaliation of his effort to trip her. He mewled in protest before dissipating and she followed her nose towards the scent of coffee and the island Bryn currently occupied inside the kitchen.
Her hair, which had been done in artful curls the night before, now lay limp against her back. Lotte didn’t comment, she’d seen her own in the mirror and wasn’t in any position to mock, and instead helped herself to a mug. Bryn’s coffee maker made only cups and she selected a medium roast from the carrousel beside it. There was a small mason jar filled with sugar cubes beside that carrousel and she smiled at it the machine poured her a cup.
Bryn drank her coffee black as pitch with no sweetening. Lotte added three cubes to her own cup before retrieving a spoon to help along the dissolving. She watched Bryn struggle her way through the act of lifting the cup to her mouth before inclining her head. “Did you know we were friends?”
The coffee slipped past her mouth to scald her chin. “What?” She knew the look she was receiving and it was irksome-and likely warranted. Bryn’s full response of, “Of course we’re friends.”
“Right,” Lotte agreed, taking a sip before adding, “Of course.”
“I might dream of dropping a house on you sometimes, but that’s a given.” She sputtered and caught Bryn’s smirk as she finished, “’Cause have you met you?”
“What does that even mean?” Lotte snapped back. “Have you met you? How does one even meet one’s self?”
“Kids today.”
“No. You do not get to use that excuse again. You used that one last night when you made, ‘Nut up or shut up,’ our toast.” Her eyes narrowed. “Several times.”
“Just because you don’t get the nuances of today’s generation-”
“Nuances?” Her interruption was ignored.
“Doesn’t give you the right to get snippy with me.”
Lotte exhaled and brought the mug up to take a drink before she said something else snippy,. The annoyance passed after the third sip and she set the mug down before stating, “How bad is your hangover?”
“There’s a speaker thrumming inside my head and my mouth feels like I ate a squirrel.” She made a face. “Tail and all.”
Her own headache was more subtle than that and, taking pity on her wolf, she allowed the glamour she used at all times to fade. The constant hum of the spell slipped away-along with some of the ache in her skull-to reveal the scars. They lined the inside of her forearms and had long ago faded from pink to tan. Bryn’s head inclined, nose twitching at her use of magic before she caught sight of the markings.
Grey eyes studied the flat lines upon her skin that symbolized the loss of her family to her father’s greed and a demon’s twisted sense of morality. Since Bryn was her friend-apparently-she understood that it cost Lotte something to bare them to her and she lifted her mug in toast. Much like they’d toasted last night.
“Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.” She agreed with the clink of ceramic.
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 1000
Fandom: Original
Prompt: image
Challenge: picfor1000
One would think after several hundred years of life a person-or more precisely-a witch would've created a cure for hangovers. Perhaps avoiding the urge to overindulge could be considered a cure, but as Lotte stared up at an only semi-familiar ceiling she found that particular cure ineffective at the moment. A yawn stretched her mouth wide, making her eyes water and jaw pop in protest. One eye closed as she attempted to bring the ceiling into focus as she contemplated just rolling over and falling back asleep.
The sinfully comfortable bedding was not helping her muster the strength to remain awake, but the call of nature did. She forced herself to sit up and rained gold glitter across the ivory ruching. Lotte frowned down at the dress she’d been wearing the previous night, but the sight of the rather delicate-girly seemed too misogynist a phrase-bedding told she’d at least stumbled into the right bed. She and Goldilocks, well, if Goldilocks had stolen from werewolves and not bears, but of course then she would’ve been eaten for her audacity.
A snorful-something between a snore and sniffle-escaped said wolf and Lotte nudged her with a still stocking covered foot. The covers shifted and she saw Bryn in the same fully clothed predicament as herself which made her smile and disentangle herself from the sheets. A wide carpet protected her nearly bare feet from the cold concrete that was the floor of the upper level of the loft. She allowed herself a fruitless search for shoes before she made a beeline for the stairs leading down to the main floor.
The upper level sat above the closet, bathroom and elevator and Lotte thought the false privacy of the bedroom clever, mostly because she’d originally created the loft for her own use. It was the third story of the building she owned near the heart of the city. The bottom level was her book store and the second housed a rather extensive collection of interesting bobbles-hence the need for a live in guard dog-er-friend. She hesitated, halfway down the stairs, as the epiphany hit.
Anna Bryn Margarit Lowell was her friend. She didn’t have friends. Lotte had allies. People who weren’t trying to kill her and people who were, but not friends. Not really and a little wolf changed all that. Nature beat out her urge to hug the beast and instead she finished making her way downstairs and into the bathroom.
She exited with damp hands and the knowledge that Bryn needed towels that were not on the floor. Something solidified beneath her feet and Lotte stumbled, before stopping to look down at the shadowless form beneath her. Mau stared up at her mournfully and she knelt, running those damp hangs along his now corporeal form in retaliation of his effort to trip her. He mewled in protest before dissipating and she followed her nose towards the scent of coffee and the island Bryn currently occupied inside the kitchen.
Her hair, which had been done in artful curls the night before, now lay limp against her back. Lotte didn’t comment, she’d seen her own in the mirror and wasn’t in any position to mock, and instead helped herself to a mug. Bryn’s coffee maker made only cups and she selected a medium roast from the carrousel beside it. There was a small mason jar filled with sugar cubes beside that carrousel and she smiled at it the machine poured her a cup.
Bryn drank her coffee black as pitch with no sweetening. Lotte added three cubes to her own cup before retrieving a spoon to help along the dissolving. She watched Bryn struggle her way through the act of lifting the cup to her mouth before inclining her head. “Did you know we were friends?”
The coffee slipped past her mouth to scald her chin. “What?” She knew the look she was receiving and it was irksome-and likely warranted. Bryn’s full response of, “Of course we’re friends.”
“Right,” Lotte agreed, taking a sip before adding, “Of course.”
“I might dream of dropping a house on you sometimes, but that’s a given.” She sputtered and caught Bryn’s smirk as she finished, “’Cause have you met you?”
“What does that even mean?” Lotte snapped back. “Have you met you? How does one even meet one’s self?”
“Kids today.”
“No. You do not get to use that excuse again. You used that one last night when you made, ‘Nut up or shut up,’ our toast.” Her eyes narrowed. “Several times.”
“Just because you don’t get the nuances of today’s generation-”
“Nuances?” Her interruption was ignored.
“Doesn’t give you the right to get snippy with me.”
Lotte exhaled and brought the mug up to take a drink before she said something else snippy,. The annoyance passed after the third sip and she set the mug down before stating, “How bad is your hangover?”
“There’s a speaker thrumming inside my head and my mouth feels like I ate a squirrel.” She made a face. “Tail and all.”
Her own headache was more subtle than that and, taking pity on her wolf, she allowed the glamour she used at all times to fade. The constant hum of the spell slipped away-along with some of the ache in her skull-to reveal the scars. They lined the inside of her forearms and had long ago faded from pink to tan. Bryn’s head inclined, nose twitching at her use of magic before she caught sight of the markings.
Grey eyes studied the flat lines upon her skin that symbolized the loss of her family to her father’s greed and a demon’s twisted sense of morality. Since Bryn was her friend-apparently-she understood that it cost Lotte something to bare them to her and she lifted her mug in toast. Much like they’d toasted last night.
“Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year.” She agreed with the clink of ceramic.