(no subject)
Pear #21. Feast or Famine with a Cherry
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : all over the place - 1250's through 70's
Word Count : 900 - 9 part Pocky Chain
Cherry for present tense.
So, you know this had to be about sweets, right? I am so evil.
Oh, and Rune & Reida, yeah, there's another whole arc I really should get to, huh?
Rune leans back against the couch. There’s a foot dangling beside one shoulder, a lazy hand trailing over the other, and an empty platter between his knees.
“Can’t believe we ate them all,” says Lyssa. It’s somewhere between a statement and a groan.
“I can’t believe you ate them all.” He’s still staring at the dish, dragging a finger through the crumbs.
“Hmph. You helped.”
“I had one, Lyss.”
“You just like to say that.” Her hand does a little dance up his neck.
“You just like me to have one, so you can say you didn’t eat them all.”
The branches rustle overhead, and out pops Kairn, hands full of cherries. He peers down at her, and Reida unfurls her skirt, holding up the hem in both hands so the whole thing hangs like some big, ugly calico net.
Sethan’s watching too, from his own tree, as the berries tumble, with a soft thump, into the waiting fabric. She shoots him a grin and pops one in her mouth.
“Don’t eat them all,” says Kairn.
“I’ll save a few for you.” She plucks a clump of them from her skirt and drops it down the front of her blouse.
There’s a tray on the counter. Three days and not much of a dent in the pile of sugary wafers heaped on it. He picks one up, turns it over, thinks about taking a bite.
They don’t taste the same anymore. And it’s stupid - the same way songs are never quite the right sort of offkey and beds, no matter how small, are too empty - but they don’t.
The cookie meets its fellows with the soft thump of crumbling confectionry. Tomorrow he’ll give the rest away, tell himself, for what good it‘ll do, not to make any more.
There’s a pot on the stove. It’s steaming, smoking…burning. But dinner’s not really what makes the show. It’s the little man with the spoon, trying frantically to beat whatever it is back into the pot, she’s here to see.
Kairn watches out the window, between attacks on dinner, looking for her, but she’s gotten good at hiding. Much better than he has.
She scrawls him a note - Next time, set a plate for me? - and reaches for the wad of silk. She can imagine his face, too bad she’ll have to see it from across the street.
“What are you doing?”
Reida’s stretching up to peer over his shoulder at the cookie tray, with that look that devours everything around her. Nothing can avoid being dissected and catalogued under that stare.
“Making cookies.” As if she hasn’t gathered as much.
There‘s a wrinkle to her nose, a twist in her lips. “What for?”
“It relieves frustrations.”
“Hmph. And then what?”
“I give them to the kids.”
Arms folded, she glares out the window at the wreckage and sniffs again. “Brilliant.”
It won‘t begin to cover the damage, but… “You’d be surprised how far a little sugar goes.”
There’s a pot on the stove, a bubbling vat of red berries and sugar. And there’s a brat with them. But that’s not stopping her from smearing flour on his nose, nor him from licking juices off her fingers. And they’re dancing around the table, all three of them, laughing and rolling out a big sheet of crust.
On the rooftop across the way, Reida shifts her weight against the crumbling tile and tugs her cloak a little more tightly over her shoulders. She tries to settle on the thought that involves forcing the whole pie down the woman’s throat.
“I thought you said this gets the frustrations out.” She’s got her fist curled around a cleaver, going at a sheet of dough like it was a slab of granite.
Rune frowns and edges a bit closer. He’s seen that look. It’s not one to be trusted around cutlery. “It can…”
“Well, I’m just wanting to stab something real now.”
He peers around the hand intent at its carving to find the tray lined with little doughy bodies, half male, half female, most missing one limb or another, the amputated bits scattered among them.
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“Try one?” He’s holding out this disc dredged in pink. Like some grand gesture, some great peace offering of confectionary currency.
She stares at it a long moment. Maybe she’s thinking too hard. Maybe it’s just Rune. Holding a cookie. In the hand that, last night took down a demon. And now that she’s on that subject, she’ll reckon that hand’s been a lot less savory places than that. But isn’t that always the way?
“Reida?” The cookie bobs in front of her.
Sometimes a little sugar goes a long way. Forcing a smile, she plucks it from his fingers.
There’s a tray on the counter. Empty, save a few crumbs. And there’s a body curled up on the couch, heaving deep, slumbing breaths.
Rune doesn’t even blink. He just scratches his neck and shakes his head.
She rolls over, dangles an arm and a foot off the side, lets out something between a snore and a groan.
He grabs a blanket off the foot of his bed and tosses it over her.
She looks strangely peaceful, sprawled out on his couch, this woman he still can‘t pin as friend or foe. Surprising how far a little sugar can go.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : all over the place - 1250's through 70's
Word Count : 900 - 9 part Pocky Chain
Cherry for present tense.
So, you know this had to be about sweets, right? I am so evil.
Oh, and Rune & Reida, yeah, there's another whole arc I really should get to, huh?
Rune leans back against the couch. There’s a foot dangling beside one shoulder, a lazy hand trailing over the other, and an empty platter between his knees.
“Can’t believe we ate them all,” says Lyssa. It’s somewhere between a statement and a groan.
“I can’t believe you ate them all.” He’s still staring at the dish, dragging a finger through the crumbs.
“Hmph. You helped.”
“I had one, Lyss.”
“You just like to say that.” Her hand does a little dance up his neck.
“You just like me to have one, so you can say you didn’t eat them all.”
The branches rustle overhead, and out pops Kairn, hands full of cherries. He peers down at her, and Reida unfurls her skirt, holding up the hem in both hands so the whole thing hangs like some big, ugly calico net.
Sethan’s watching too, from his own tree, as the berries tumble, with a soft thump, into the waiting fabric. She shoots him a grin and pops one in her mouth.
“Don’t eat them all,” says Kairn.
“I’ll save a few for you.” She plucks a clump of them from her skirt and drops it down the front of her blouse.
There’s a tray on the counter. Three days and not much of a dent in the pile of sugary wafers heaped on it. He picks one up, turns it over, thinks about taking a bite.
They don’t taste the same anymore. And it’s stupid - the same way songs are never quite the right sort of offkey and beds, no matter how small, are too empty - but they don’t.
The cookie meets its fellows with the soft thump of crumbling confectionry. Tomorrow he’ll give the rest away, tell himself, for what good it‘ll do, not to make any more.
There’s a pot on the stove. It’s steaming, smoking…burning. But dinner’s not really what makes the show. It’s the little man with the spoon, trying frantically to beat whatever it is back into the pot, she’s here to see.
Kairn watches out the window, between attacks on dinner, looking for her, but she’s gotten good at hiding. Much better than he has.
She scrawls him a note - Next time, set a plate for me? - and reaches for the wad of silk. She can imagine his face, too bad she’ll have to see it from across the street.
“What are you doing?”
Reida’s stretching up to peer over his shoulder at the cookie tray, with that look that devours everything around her. Nothing can avoid being dissected and catalogued under that stare.
“Making cookies.” As if she hasn’t gathered as much.
There‘s a wrinkle to her nose, a twist in her lips. “What for?”
“It relieves frustrations.”
“Hmph. And then what?”
“I give them to the kids.”
Arms folded, she glares out the window at the wreckage and sniffs again. “Brilliant.”
It won‘t begin to cover the damage, but… “You’d be surprised how far a little sugar goes.”
There’s a pot on the stove, a bubbling vat of red berries and sugar. And there’s a brat with them. But that’s not stopping her from smearing flour on his nose, nor him from licking juices off her fingers. And they’re dancing around the table, all three of them, laughing and rolling out a big sheet of crust.
On the rooftop across the way, Reida shifts her weight against the crumbling tile and tugs her cloak a little more tightly over her shoulders. She tries to settle on the thought that involves forcing the whole pie down the woman’s throat.
“I thought you said this gets the frustrations out.” She’s got her fist curled around a cleaver, going at a sheet of dough like it was a slab of granite.
Rune frowns and edges a bit closer. He’s seen that look. It’s not one to be trusted around cutlery. “It can…”
“Well, I’m just wanting to stab something real now.”
He peers around the hand intent at its carving to find the tray lined with little doughy bodies, half male, half female, most missing one limb or another, the amputated bits scattered among them.
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“Try one?” He’s holding out this disc dredged in pink. Like some grand gesture, some great peace offering of confectionary currency.
She stares at it a long moment. Maybe she’s thinking too hard. Maybe it’s just Rune. Holding a cookie. In the hand that, last night took down a demon. And now that she’s on that subject, she’ll reckon that hand’s been a lot less savory places than that. But isn’t that always the way?
“Reida?” The cookie bobs in front of her.
Sometimes a little sugar goes a long way. Forcing a smile, she plucks it from his fingers.
There’s a tray on the counter. Empty, save a few crumbs. And there’s a body curled up on the couch, heaving deep, slumbing breaths.
Rune doesn’t even blink. He just scratches his neck and shakes his head.
She rolls over, dangles an arm and a foot off the side, lets out something between a snore and a groan.
He grabs a blanket off the foot of his bed and tosses it over her.
She looks strangely peaceful, sprawled out on his couch, this woman he still can‘t pin as friend or foe. Surprising how far a little sugar can go.