[Wild Roses] Some Kind of Love Song
Title: never a firebird story
'Verse/characters: Some Kind of Love Song; Takashi, Arianhrod, Ulysse
Prompt: 56F "indirect"
Word Count: 2235
Notes: Linked in with so much for winter being quiet, is before on the hazards of sharing a bed
Apparently Takashi is how we start new prompt lists, considering he started D with 'breaking the rules'. O.o;
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She was tired, though I doubted she'd even admitted it to herself. It wasn't bags under her eyes that would tip anyone off, but she'd let me braid her hair, and hadn't bothered weaving lightning in after me. Hadn't bothered with earrings, either, not even the ones she owned that were nothing more than pretty.
Even at her laziest, she couldn't seem to resist layering, though. She'd started at skin--which was distracting enough even without the extremely pleasant memory of last night to help me along--and conjured a tangle of coloured fabric from a drawer I'd been pretty sure was empty. The fabric proved to be some sort of leafy mixture of sea and forest green underwear and a a sea-green and bright blue bra embroidered heavily with scales and kelp leaves. I noticed how well the colours played up the paleness of her skin, then quickly occupied myself throwing on last night's clothes so I didn't pounce. My shoes had faded back into their original socks, so I sat at the foot of the bed and started up on the knots again, trying for sturdier leather, taller boots, just in case she stayed away too long.
That didn't keep me from noticing the way she'd put a faded-green sleeveless shirt over her bra, then a pair of tweedy trousers I hadn't seen her wear before. She tucked the shirt into the pants, then pulled a dark-brown shirt with copper stitching on over her head, shooting her arms out through the half-length sleeves in a way that looked both practiced and disconcertingly dangerous. She didn't bother actually touching her hair to pull it out from underneath her shirts, just tugged on the air over her head with one hand and made a twisting gesture with the other that freed her braid and wrapped it around her neck with the ease of long practice. The copper on her sleeves almost looked like thread-bindings or the swirls of a tornado's winds around her upper arms; it was a lot plainer than the things I'd first seen her in, obviously everyday wear instead of ambassadorial. For the first time, I caught myself wondering if this was the sort of thing Arianhrod wore, when she wasn't being Princess Arianhrod Sabaey--or borrowing someone else's clothes, as she'd had to do a few times in the wood.
I drew up a knee and rested my chin on it, trying not to grin too obviously at the memory of her stomping around in one of her brothers' overshirts and borrowed boots. She still didn't know I'd been the source of the boots, and I wasn't planning to tell her. After a moment of pleasant reverie, I realised she was still getting dressed. I was a little amazed; I only wore that many layers when two of them were layers of illusory skin and a third was one of my tails tied up in fire. But there was a brown skirt overtop of her trousers, and a sleeveless grey coat hanging open as she sat down on the edge of the head of the bed to pull on her boots.
As she did up the top buttons, not looking at me, she asked something I'd never have expected.
But she did, and there was no thought involved in the skin I chose. I was in comfortable old clothes anyway--that I reached for a comfortable skin wasn't a surprise.
Surprised her though, and I smothered a laugh at the way her eyes widened. Smiled at her, instead, and felt my skin settle closer, anchoring in a way I hadn't entirely expected.
She didn't bother calling me on it, just flicked a sweater out from under the bed and tossed it to me. As I scuffled my way into it, reacquainting myself with the length of my arms and the scratch of old callouses, I snuck the experimental boots onto my feet with a tail and wriggled my toes experimentally. Good enough for the moment, and I replied to her challenge without thinking.
I only barely dodged the pillow she threw, still not really thinking about much besides her, and heard myself say "I was in a court you visited this last winter." Which was even sort of the truth, if you squinted, and she paused, looking at me, my pillow hovering next to her hand.
"I nearly picked a mage-fight without knowing what I was doing, and you just about hit me in the face with a lightning bolt before you realised what was going on." I smiled at her again, nearly grinning an old, old grin. "I tasted copper and lightning for days afterwards, and because I'm a little mad, I teased you about being a firebird, made you cherries in the depths of the winter, and you actually laughed."
"Did I?" she sniped at me, but my pillow dropped back into place and hers flew back the length of the bed to join it. She was trying really hard not to laugh, and I couldn't help smiling softer at her.
"You did," I said, sure. "We're still courting. Or rather, I'm courting, and you haven't decided whether or not to actually hit me with a lightning bolt."
"I suppose I'm letting you tag along after me in the hopes of being able to make that decision," she told me, standing up to belt her coat closed, and let me swoop in to kiss both her cheekbones. Her skin was amazingly soft, and my smile broadened as I leaned back a little to murmur "Precisely."
"Well, fire-bird lover," she murmured back, smiling up at me in a way that made me want to pounce all over again, "what names do you wear, so my brothers know what to yell in case someone tries to drop a tree or a cannon on you?"
And with that I had an explanation as to why she was going anywhere, and couldn't decide if she was teasing. I bit my lower lip, then remarked "To stick with the theme I should really be Vanya or Ivan, but I think that might be a little obvious--" not that I knew whether or not her brothers would know firebird stories, and I was going to meet her brothers--"Jack?" I suggested.
"Have a surname?" she challenged immediately, and I blinked at her.
"Taylor, Savage, Martin, or Gibson?"
She blinked back, surprised by something, then shrugged a little. "I think not Savage," she offered. "You will have to wear the name a while."
"I like Gibson," I told her cheerfully, because I did, then inquired "Shall we?"
"Ulysse," she said, looking past me and taking a step forward, "Light me a beacon--and I'm bringing someone with me."
As she moved, I noticed a couple things about her skirt. First, if the violets embroidered along the hem meant she was in a sweet retiring modest mood I'd throw myself naked into one of the rivers her brothers were claiming, and second, it was cut short enough to show the distracting curves of her calves. Booted calves, to be sure, and there were sturdy trousers disguised under the skirt, not skin, but still immensely distracting.
Which was how I managed to go from comfortably slouched next to her to carefully not flailing in an invisible rope that held me upright by her side in the space of a heartbeat. I couldn't really even see the beacon her brother lit for her, or the structure of the rope holding me. I could feel the design of the spell that moved us, but it wouldn't have done me much good in the time I had. Good thing I didn't mind being tossed around like a wood chip in a hurricane.
It actually took an effort not to be grinning like an idiot as I got my first good solid look at her brother. Ulysse, as it happened; I'd met the Prince Ruadhan nearly four times already, Donnel twice, and Fintain sort of in passing. Hernén--and Donnel, to be fair--had way too many wolves trailing his heels for me to be comfortable wandering through his presence on a regular basis, and Geoffrey was always tied up in organization. Which ordinarily would've meant I'd have spent significant time around the Prince Geoffrey, but I hadn't. Never let it be said I can't keep an end goal in mind.
The closest I'd been to Ulysse was when I'd handed her up onto his riverboat, when she first went into the woods. I hadn't caught the depths, then, but standing maybe three feet away from the man . . yeah. Old and powerful and aligned to things I couldn't touch, in a way his sister and most of his brothers weren't. Interesting.
I was probably still grinning a little from the trip, judging by the mildly bemused look he shot me, but he reoriented fast and looked down at her.
She looked back up, and if it hadn't been for the easy way they stood in one another's space I'd have never guessed them for siblings. He was tall and dark and broad, wearing a cabled sweater so old it'd felted and faded, and he hadn't shaved in a couple days. She was small and still a little too thin, and her braid echoed the copper threads around her arms in a way the brown wool it was stitched on just didn't. He fit our surroundings; she looked like she was on some sort of Country Outing, capitals necessary, and if his hair had half the curl hers did, I'd be shocked to hear it. And yet, it was obvious they were related.
He was tilting his head at her, like he'd expected her to do something she hadn't, yet, and he glanced at me as he did.
She waved a dismissive hand, like she was dispersing smoke from a room, and he reoriented towards her again. Automatically, if I was any judge, and that was a wonderful subtle tell as to how much time they'd spent together. I wasn't sure there was anyone I could do a trick like that with.
"Where are they?" she asked while I was distracted thinking it over, and Ulysse jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards a path leading uphill.
"Just follow the yelling," he replied, but blinked when she did just that, leaving me standing in front of him with nothing like a proper introduction. We both watched her go, violets swarming around her boots, then he looked back at me.
"Jack Gibson," I told him before he could do more than draw breath to say something, offering my hand with a crooked smile that felt more comfortable on my mouth than I'd remembered. "I don't b'lieve we've met."
"Ulysse Sabaey," he replied, taking my hand after a barely-noticeable hesitation. Rope callouses rasped against the pen and guitar callouses I'd belatedly thickened just before our palms met. His touch was oddly gentle, friendly but brief, and as he let go I realised that a handshake might mean something slightly different when it's entirely possible the hand you're touching can toss a fireball by snapping a couple of fingers.
Or might as well be made of glass. I still had a couple fading bruises to remind me how strong she was, and her brother didn't feel like he was much weaker.
"Should I have warned you that I don't think she's had any tea today?" I asked, and watched his laugh lines appear with a combination of triumph and awe swirling in my gut.
"Now I wish I'd followed her," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "She's going to out-yell both of 'em and I won't get to watch."
I managed to choke my laugh down into a grin, one he returned just as broadly.
As I drew breath to speak, she roared "Sit DOWN," loud enough it echoed a little, and I inclined my head politely that direction, offered "Sounds like you might still manage to catch the tail end?"
"Nah," he shrugged, turning towards a different path slowly enough it was an obvious invitation for me to join him. As I did, he added "That'll have set Dón back on his heels enough that he won't be yelling back anymore. Now it'll all be vicious negotiations and trying to persuade her that leveling something is a perfectly valid reaction, and that's never as much fun."
I couldn't help but shake my head at that, and he grinned down at me. "Come as a surprise?"
"Nah," I replied, echoing his intonation, "she just about threw a lightning bolt at me before she realised I wasn't actually challenging her."
His grin grew, deepening the smile lines in the cheek I could see, trailing him half a step behind and to the right. "Now that sounds like a story that should be shared over breakfast. Care to join me?"
"My pleasure," I told him, and meant it. Though I'd have to be careful to keep the conversation to me and a little to her, instead of letting her brother tell me too much about her. I'd only just gotten her to stop tensing up when I got curious about something; I wasn't planning to let that slip backwards because she'd let me come with her.
She'd made a gesture, whether or not she'd ever admit it. I wasn't stupid enough to think about making her regret it.
'Verse/characters: Some Kind of Love Song; Takashi, Arianhrod, Ulysse
Prompt: 56F "indirect"
Word Count: 2235
Notes: Linked in with so much for winter being quiet, is before on the hazards of sharing a bed
Apparently Takashi is how we start new prompt lists, considering he started D with 'breaking the rules'. O.o;
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She was tired, though I doubted she'd even admitted it to herself. It wasn't bags under her eyes that would tip anyone off, but she'd let me braid her hair, and hadn't bothered weaving lightning in after me. Hadn't bothered with earrings, either, not even the ones she owned that were nothing more than pretty.
Even at her laziest, she couldn't seem to resist layering, though. She'd started at skin--which was distracting enough even without the extremely pleasant memory of last night to help me along--and conjured a tangle of coloured fabric from a drawer I'd been pretty sure was empty. The fabric proved to be some sort of leafy mixture of sea and forest green underwear and a a sea-green and bright blue bra embroidered heavily with scales and kelp leaves. I noticed how well the colours played up the paleness of her skin, then quickly occupied myself throwing on last night's clothes so I didn't pounce. My shoes had faded back into their original socks, so I sat at the foot of the bed and started up on the knots again, trying for sturdier leather, taller boots, just in case she stayed away too long.
That didn't keep me from noticing the way she'd put a faded-green sleeveless shirt over her bra, then a pair of tweedy trousers I hadn't seen her wear before. She tucked the shirt into the pants, then pulled a dark-brown shirt with copper stitching on over her head, shooting her arms out through the half-length sleeves in a way that looked both practiced and disconcertingly dangerous. She didn't bother actually touching her hair to pull it out from underneath her shirts, just tugged on the air over her head with one hand and made a twisting gesture with the other that freed her braid and wrapped it around her neck with the ease of long practice. The copper on her sleeves almost looked like thread-bindings or the swirls of a tornado's winds around her upper arms; it was a lot plainer than the things I'd first seen her in, obviously everyday wear instead of ambassadorial. For the first time, I caught myself wondering if this was the sort of thing Arianhrod wore, when she wasn't being Princess Arianhrod Sabaey--or borrowing someone else's clothes, as she'd had to do a few times in the wood.
I drew up a knee and rested my chin on it, trying not to grin too obviously at the memory of her stomping around in one of her brothers' overshirts and borrowed boots. She still didn't know I'd been the source of the boots, and I wasn't planning to tell her. After a moment of pleasant reverie, I realised she was still getting dressed. I was a little amazed; I only wore that many layers when two of them were layers of illusory skin and a third was one of my tails tied up in fire. But there was a brown skirt overtop of her trousers, and a sleeveless grey coat hanging open as she sat down on the edge of the head of the bed to pull on her boots.
As she did up the top buttons, not looking at me, she asked something I'd never have expected.
But she did, and there was no thought involved in the skin I chose. I was in comfortable old clothes anyway--that I reached for a comfortable skin wasn't a surprise.
Surprised her though, and I smothered a laugh at the way her eyes widened. Smiled at her, instead, and felt my skin settle closer, anchoring in a way I hadn't entirely expected.
She didn't bother calling me on it, just flicked a sweater out from under the bed and tossed it to me. As I scuffled my way into it, reacquainting myself with the length of my arms and the scratch of old callouses, I snuck the experimental boots onto my feet with a tail and wriggled my toes experimentally. Good enough for the moment, and I replied to her challenge without thinking.
I only barely dodged the pillow she threw, still not really thinking about much besides her, and heard myself say "I was in a court you visited this last winter." Which was even sort of the truth, if you squinted, and she paused, looking at me, my pillow hovering next to her hand.
"I nearly picked a mage-fight without knowing what I was doing, and you just about hit me in the face with a lightning bolt before you realised what was going on." I smiled at her again, nearly grinning an old, old grin. "I tasted copper and lightning for days afterwards, and because I'm a little mad, I teased you about being a firebird, made you cherries in the depths of the winter, and you actually laughed."
"Did I?" she sniped at me, but my pillow dropped back into place and hers flew back the length of the bed to join it. She was trying really hard not to laugh, and I couldn't help smiling softer at her.
"You did," I said, sure. "We're still courting. Or rather, I'm courting, and you haven't decided whether or not to actually hit me with a lightning bolt."
"I suppose I'm letting you tag along after me in the hopes of being able to make that decision," she told me, standing up to belt her coat closed, and let me swoop in to kiss both her cheekbones. Her skin was amazingly soft, and my smile broadened as I leaned back a little to murmur "Precisely."
"Well, fire-bird lover," she murmured back, smiling up at me in a way that made me want to pounce all over again, "what names do you wear, so my brothers know what to yell in case someone tries to drop a tree or a cannon on you?"
And with that I had an explanation as to why she was going anywhere, and couldn't decide if she was teasing. I bit my lower lip, then remarked "To stick with the theme I should really be Vanya or Ivan, but I think that might be a little obvious--" not that I knew whether or not her brothers would know firebird stories, and I was going to meet her brothers--"Jack?" I suggested.
"Have a surname?" she challenged immediately, and I blinked at her.
"Taylor, Savage, Martin, or Gibson?"
She blinked back, surprised by something, then shrugged a little. "I think not Savage," she offered. "You will have to wear the name a while."
"I like Gibson," I told her cheerfully, because I did, then inquired "Shall we?"
"Ulysse," she said, looking past me and taking a step forward, "Light me a beacon--and I'm bringing someone with me."
As she moved, I noticed a couple things about her skirt. First, if the violets embroidered along the hem meant she was in a sweet retiring modest mood I'd throw myself naked into one of the rivers her brothers were claiming, and second, it was cut short enough to show the distracting curves of her calves. Booted calves, to be sure, and there were sturdy trousers disguised under the skirt, not skin, but still immensely distracting.
Which was how I managed to go from comfortably slouched next to her to carefully not flailing in an invisible rope that held me upright by her side in the space of a heartbeat. I couldn't really even see the beacon her brother lit for her, or the structure of the rope holding me. I could feel the design of the spell that moved us, but it wouldn't have done me much good in the time I had. Good thing I didn't mind being tossed around like a wood chip in a hurricane.
It actually took an effort not to be grinning like an idiot as I got my first good solid look at her brother. Ulysse, as it happened; I'd met the Prince Ruadhan nearly four times already, Donnel twice, and Fintain sort of in passing. Hernén--and Donnel, to be fair--had way too many wolves trailing his heels for me to be comfortable wandering through his presence on a regular basis, and Geoffrey was always tied up in organization. Which ordinarily would've meant I'd have spent significant time around the Prince Geoffrey, but I hadn't. Never let it be said I can't keep an end goal in mind.
The closest I'd been to Ulysse was when I'd handed her up onto his riverboat, when she first went into the woods. I hadn't caught the depths, then, but standing maybe three feet away from the man . . yeah. Old and powerful and aligned to things I couldn't touch, in a way his sister and most of his brothers weren't. Interesting.
I was probably still grinning a little from the trip, judging by the mildly bemused look he shot me, but he reoriented fast and looked down at her.
She looked back up, and if it hadn't been for the easy way they stood in one another's space I'd have never guessed them for siblings. He was tall and dark and broad, wearing a cabled sweater so old it'd felted and faded, and he hadn't shaved in a couple days. She was small and still a little too thin, and her braid echoed the copper threads around her arms in a way the brown wool it was stitched on just didn't. He fit our surroundings; she looked like she was on some sort of Country Outing, capitals necessary, and if his hair had half the curl hers did, I'd be shocked to hear it. And yet, it was obvious they were related.
He was tilting his head at her, like he'd expected her to do something she hadn't, yet, and he glanced at me as he did.
She waved a dismissive hand, like she was dispersing smoke from a room, and he reoriented towards her again. Automatically, if I was any judge, and that was a wonderful subtle tell as to how much time they'd spent together. I wasn't sure there was anyone I could do a trick like that with.
"Where are they?" she asked while I was distracted thinking it over, and Ulysse jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards a path leading uphill.
"Just follow the yelling," he replied, but blinked when she did just that, leaving me standing in front of him with nothing like a proper introduction. We both watched her go, violets swarming around her boots, then he looked back at me.
"Jack Gibson," I told him before he could do more than draw breath to say something, offering my hand with a crooked smile that felt more comfortable on my mouth than I'd remembered. "I don't b'lieve we've met."
"Ulysse Sabaey," he replied, taking my hand after a barely-noticeable hesitation. Rope callouses rasped against the pen and guitar callouses I'd belatedly thickened just before our palms met. His touch was oddly gentle, friendly but brief, and as he let go I realised that a handshake might mean something slightly different when it's entirely possible the hand you're touching can toss a fireball by snapping a couple of fingers.
Or might as well be made of glass. I still had a couple fading bruises to remind me how strong she was, and her brother didn't feel like he was much weaker.
"Should I have warned you that I don't think she's had any tea today?" I asked, and watched his laugh lines appear with a combination of triumph and awe swirling in my gut.
"Now I wish I'd followed her," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "She's going to out-yell both of 'em and I won't get to watch."
I managed to choke my laugh down into a grin, one he returned just as broadly.
As I drew breath to speak, she roared "Sit DOWN," loud enough it echoed a little, and I inclined my head politely that direction, offered "Sounds like you might still manage to catch the tail end?"
"Nah," he shrugged, turning towards a different path slowly enough it was an obvious invitation for me to join him. As I did, he added "That'll have set Dón back on his heels enough that he won't be yelling back anymore. Now it'll all be vicious negotiations and trying to persuade her that leveling something is a perfectly valid reaction, and that's never as much fun."
I couldn't help but shake my head at that, and he grinned down at me. "Come as a surprise?"
"Nah," I replied, echoing his intonation, "she just about threw a lightning bolt at me before she realised I wasn't actually challenging her."
His grin grew, deepening the smile lines in the cheek I could see, trailing him half a step behind and to the right. "Now that sounds like a story that should be shared over breakfast. Care to join me?"
"My pleasure," I told him, and meant it. Though I'd have to be careful to keep the conversation to me and a little to her, instead of letting her brother tell me too much about her. I'd only just gotten her to stop tensing up when I got curious about something; I wasn't planning to let that slip backwards because she'd let me come with her.
She'd made a gesture, whether or not she'd ever admit it. I wasn't stupid enough to think about making her regret it.