(no subject)
Flavor of the Day - 08/04/09 - Equipoise with Hot Fudge
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1267
Word Count : 539
Word of the Day : Equipoise - A state of being equally balanced, equilibrium, as of moral, political, or social interests or forces; Counterbalance
Thank you, Ichthus, who passed on to me her mental image of Rune and Sethan on a seesaw. I knew this was their word, but didn't know how to go about it. So what does this have to do with that or with the word of the day? Not much on the surface, but hopefully you can read something into it. It's all about the last line, really. For the fotd's sake, some other angles might have been more appropriate, but I haven't touched this arc yet, so I didn't really want to be all spoilery.
The bones had settled, the smoke cleared, and an uneasy calm fell about the remains of the village as dazed survivors picked at the wreckage in search of their fellows. This, Rune thought, was where the real work began. There were wounds to tend, homes and lives to rebuild. The worst had been patched and cleared out of the way, as much a blur as the fight itself had been. The rest now milled about, dazed, bleeding.
That's where he found her. A short, thick set woman, she sat among the wreckage, nursing one leg in the bloody remnants of her tattered cloak. No scrabbling to collect loved ones, and no one tending her. No tears for the loss, no fear. She took in the destruction about her with a detached amusement, as if she'd just been deposited in its midst from somewhere dreadfully boring and the whole spectacle had been some sort of show.
Rune crouched beside her, carefully settling his weight among the debris, and held out a hand. "I can take care of that for you."
Dark eyes raked over him, slowly, head to toe, lingering on the outstretched hand. Her lips gave a twitch as she proffered the injured leg, threatening to split into a grin. Not the reaction he'd expect, but he'd learned people handled these sorts of things in all sorts of ways. What mattered was the wound, and he set his attention on that, gently steering the hands and crumpled cloak out of his way.
"You're him, aren't you?" she said.
"Hmm?" He peeled her skirt from her wound, only half listening.
"The warrior."
Rune laughed. He'd heard it before, more times than he could count now, usually out of the mouths of children. He caught her eyes and the laughter died as she seemed to regard him with the same odd humor she did the bloody field. Swallowing hard, he turned back to the injured leg.
He folded what remained of her skirt, draped it across her knee, and cupped a hand behind her calf. A gash ran down her shin, shallow but jagged, the work of a tooth or a claw. She watched as he raised it slowly up to examine it, eyes boring at him with an intensity that made him want to shudder, lips slowly losing the battle against upward motion. That was not the look of someone who'd just been gored by a demon.
"This will sting a bit," he warned, and he swore he herd her try to choke off a laugh as he set his hand to the wound. A rush and a snap and the flesh closed and sealed, and the woman jerked her leg from his grasp.
She gave up fighting the smile as she turned the leg this way and that. A thin pink line, the memory of skin broken and mended, was all that remained "Good as new and not-" She caught his hand firmly in her own, forced it over, and ran her fingers across his bare palm. "Not a mark at all." Her lips spread further, over gleaming white teeth, in a grin as dangerous as the eyes that now sought his. "You're the one I've been looking for."
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1267
Word Count : 539
Word of the Day : Equipoise - A state of being equally balanced, equilibrium, as of moral, political, or social interests or forces; Counterbalance
Thank you, Ichthus, who passed on to me her mental image of Rune and Sethan on a seesaw. I knew this was their word, but didn't know how to go about it. So what does this have to do with that or with the word of the day? Not much on the surface, but hopefully you can read something into it. It's all about the last line, really. For the fotd's sake, some other angles might have been more appropriate, but I haven't touched this arc yet, so I didn't really want to be all spoilery.
The bones had settled, the smoke cleared, and an uneasy calm fell about the remains of the village as dazed survivors picked at the wreckage in search of their fellows. This, Rune thought, was where the real work began. There were wounds to tend, homes and lives to rebuild. The worst had been patched and cleared out of the way, as much a blur as the fight itself had been. The rest now milled about, dazed, bleeding.
That's where he found her. A short, thick set woman, she sat among the wreckage, nursing one leg in the bloody remnants of her tattered cloak. No scrabbling to collect loved ones, and no one tending her. No tears for the loss, no fear. She took in the destruction about her with a detached amusement, as if she'd just been deposited in its midst from somewhere dreadfully boring and the whole spectacle had been some sort of show.
Rune crouched beside her, carefully settling his weight among the debris, and held out a hand. "I can take care of that for you."
Dark eyes raked over him, slowly, head to toe, lingering on the outstretched hand. Her lips gave a twitch as she proffered the injured leg, threatening to split into a grin. Not the reaction he'd expect, but he'd learned people handled these sorts of things in all sorts of ways. What mattered was the wound, and he set his attention on that, gently steering the hands and crumpled cloak out of his way.
"You're him, aren't you?" she said.
"Hmm?" He peeled her skirt from her wound, only half listening.
"The warrior."
Rune laughed. He'd heard it before, more times than he could count now, usually out of the mouths of children. He caught her eyes and the laughter died as she seemed to regard him with the same odd humor she did the bloody field. Swallowing hard, he turned back to the injured leg.
He folded what remained of her skirt, draped it across her knee, and cupped a hand behind her calf. A gash ran down her shin, shallow but jagged, the work of a tooth or a claw. She watched as he raised it slowly up to examine it, eyes boring at him with an intensity that made him want to shudder, lips slowly losing the battle against upward motion. That was not the look of someone who'd just been gored by a demon.
"This will sting a bit," he warned, and he swore he herd her try to choke off a laugh as he set his hand to the wound. A rush and a snap and the flesh closed and sealed, and the woman jerked her leg from his grasp.
She gave up fighting the smile as she turned the leg this way and that. A thin pink line, the memory of skin broken and mended, was all that remained "Good as new and not-" She caught his hand firmly in her own, forced it over, and ran her fingers across his bare palm. "Not a mark at all." Her lips spread further, over gleaming white teeth, in a grin as dangerous as the eyes that now sought his. "You're the one I've been looking for."