(no subject)
Flavor of the Day - 03/30/2010 - Popinjay with Hot Fudge and Butterscotch
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1220's
Word Count : 874
Word of the Day : popinjay - a vain and talkative person
More of my new fellow, he liked the fotd. I'm not giving him sprinkles, because I have a feeling it would just get revoked somewhere down the line. I could spill, but I think I'll just let him reveal himself as he goes.
Eyes trained on the boys gathered in the grass, feigning a distant interest in their game, Berwyk slid a hand in idle circles over the surface of the table before him. “So,” he kept his voice low as he addressed the man behind him, “what do I call you this time?”
“I think I’ve grown partial to Roul.”
Berwyk cast a look over his shoulder. The man smiled back at him and shoved a lock of chin-length blonde behind an ear.
“Alvon had a few too many angry lovers on his tail,” he said, as if an explanation had been requested. “And their wives,“ he added with a scowl. Bypassing the bench on which Berwyk was seated, he perched himself on the tabletop instead.
“Alvon? Last I heard it was Carlo.”
“Oh, that was ages ago!”
Berwyk shook his head. “Forgive me, I have trouble keeping track.”
Roul, Berwyk made a point of repeating the name to himself, dangled his feet over the edge of the table as he leaned back to watch the apprentices. “Me too, me too,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “But then, you know, one of my pasts catches up with me. Shame they always come looking for an old man and have to settle for his son.”
“Yes,” said Berwyk, with another shake of his head, though he caught himself smiling anyway. “Shame.” One of these days he was going to trip himself up, and Berwyk supposed that would be a shame.
“But,” said Roul, with an eager clap of his hands and a gleam in his eye to match the grin on his face. “I’m here now. I find I’m needing to lie low for a bit, let the world get Alvon out of its system. And magic’s always been a good game.”
“Indeed, it has.” And when a three-hundred year old youth with a goddess in his veins sits himself down on your table and offers to join you, well that only ups the pot. “Well then, Master Roul-”
“Oh please,” said Roul, and he laughed. “I’m an apprentice this time around. Do I look old enough to be a Master to you?” He seemed to take Berwyk’s sniff as an agreement, laughing again as he slid from the table to the bench. “So what is it we’re working on this time?”
Berwyk shrugged. As if they hadn’t been through this phase enough times before. “The usual.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I see you’ve found another stooge to foot your bills.”
“What can I say? The wealthy are ready and willing to sell themselves for the promise of a bit of…youth.” He emphasized the word with a nod to the other’s boyish figure.
“Haha, the living formula, eh?” Roul gave himself a pat on the chest. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it right, once you figure out how to combine your elements properly.”
“I’d have it a lot faster if you’d tell it to me.”
“Ah,” he spread his hands, tipped his head, and mustered his best look of innocence, “but I don’t have it.”
“I don’t see what good these visions of yours are. They never have enough detail in them to be of any use.”
“I told you you’d find it, didn’t I?” said Roul, with mock concern. “Is that not enough?”
It was time to change the subject before he got the urge to throttle the man. Prophecy had to be good for something. He nodded at the crowd of boys, busy scuffling over a ball. “So what do you think of my new apprentice?”
Roul followed his gaze and his face lit up again. “Lovely young man. You know, half the reason I’ve decided to stick around is because I’d like to-”
Berwyk cut him short with the raise of a hand. “Spare me,” he said. The last thing he needed was a vision of his own of Roul seducing his apprentices. “You know that’s not what I meant. What does she think of him?”
“I thought you didn’t like my visions.” He was playing on the table with his hands, pouting like the child he half seemed to be. “‘Useless’ if memory serves…”
“Out with it.”
Roul came to attention and fixed him with a stern look. “He’s not the one.”
“What do you mean, not the one? She practially speaks out his mouth herself.”
“Oh, he’s the one,” he said, floundering with his hands again, “but not the one. You’ve got another lifetime to go, my friend.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, not so glum!” said Roul with a light slap to Berwyk’s back, that left Berwyk tense. “He won’t last long.”
“Is that meant to be a comfort?”
Roul shrugged. “You’re his second master, and the first is not so kind nor patient.”
“Pity. So much more gets done with a chosen around.”
“You know,” said Roul, “long is a relative term. Though, I suppose if I’m to make good on my intentions I’d better get on with it, eh?” His hand met Berwyk’s shoulder again as he rose from the bench. “And you’ve got me now too.”
Right, though Berwyk as he watched Roul prance over to join the game, for whatever good hazy visions and cryptic answers were worth.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1220's
Word Count : 874
Word of the Day : popinjay - a vain and talkative person
More of my new fellow, he liked the fotd. I'm not giving him sprinkles, because I have a feeling it would just get revoked somewhere down the line. I could spill, but I think I'll just let him reveal himself as he goes.
Eyes trained on the boys gathered in the grass, feigning a distant interest in their game, Berwyk slid a hand in idle circles over the surface of the table before him. “So,” he kept his voice low as he addressed the man behind him, “what do I call you this time?”
“I think I’ve grown partial to Roul.”
Berwyk cast a look over his shoulder. The man smiled back at him and shoved a lock of chin-length blonde behind an ear.
“Alvon had a few too many angry lovers on his tail,” he said, as if an explanation had been requested. “And their wives,“ he added with a scowl. Bypassing the bench on which Berwyk was seated, he perched himself on the tabletop instead.
“Alvon? Last I heard it was Carlo.”
“Oh, that was ages ago!”
Berwyk shook his head. “Forgive me, I have trouble keeping track.”
Roul, Berwyk made a point of repeating the name to himself, dangled his feet over the edge of the table as he leaned back to watch the apprentices. “Me too, me too,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “But then, you know, one of my pasts catches up with me. Shame they always come looking for an old man and have to settle for his son.”
“Yes,” said Berwyk, with another shake of his head, though he caught himself smiling anyway. “Shame.” One of these days he was going to trip himself up, and Berwyk supposed that would be a shame.
“But,” said Roul, with an eager clap of his hands and a gleam in his eye to match the grin on his face. “I’m here now. I find I’m needing to lie low for a bit, let the world get Alvon out of its system. And magic’s always been a good game.”
“Indeed, it has.” And when a three-hundred year old youth with a goddess in his veins sits himself down on your table and offers to join you, well that only ups the pot. “Well then, Master Roul-”
“Oh please,” said Roul, and he laughed. “I’m an apprentice this time around. Do I look old enough to be a Master to you?” He seemed to take Berwyk’s sniff as an agreement, laughing again as he slid from the table to the bench. “So what is it we’re working on this time?”
Berwyk shrugged. As if they hadn’t been through this phase enough times before. “The usual.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I see you’ve found another stooge to foot your bills.”
“What can I say? The wealthy are ready and willing to sell themselves for the promise of a bit of…youth.” He emphasized the word with a nod to the other’s boyish figure.
“Haha, the living formula, eh?” Roul gave himself a pat on the chest. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it right, once you figure out how to combine your elements properly.”
“I’d have it a lot faster if you’d tell it to me.”
“Ah,” he spread his hands, tipped his head, and mustered his best look of innocence, “but I don’t have it.”
“I don’t see what good these visions of yours are. They never have enough detail in them to be of any use.”
“I told you you’d find it, didn’t I?” said Roul, with mock concern. “Is that not enough?”
It was time to change the subject before he got the urge to throttle the man. Prophecy had to be good for something. He nodded at the crowd of boys, busy scuffling over a ball. “So what do you think of my new apprentice?”
Roul followed his gaze and his face lit up again. “Lovely young man. You know, half the reason I’ve decided to stick around is because I’d like to-”
Berwyk cut him short with the raise of a hand. “Spare me,” he said. The last thing he needed was a vision of his own of Roul seducing his apprentices. “You know that’s not what I meant. What does she think of him?”
“I thought you didn’t like my visions.” He was playing on the table with his hands, pouting like the child he half seemed to be. “‘Useless’ if memory serves…”
“Out with it.”
Roul came to attention and fixed him with a stern look. “He’s not the one.”
“What do you mean, not the one? She practially speaks out his mouth herself.”
“Oh, he’s the one,” he said, floundering with his hands again, “but not the one. You’ve got another lifetime to go, my friend.”
“Hmph.”
“Oh, not so glum!” said Roul with a light slap to Berwyk’s back, that left Berwyk tense. “He won’t last long.”
“Is that meant to be a comfort?”
Roul shrugged. “You’re his second master, and the first is not so kind nor patient.”
“Pity. So much more gets done with a chosen around.”
“You know,” said Roul, “long is a relative term. Though, I suppose if I’m to make good on my intentions I’d better get on with it, eh?” His hand met Berwyk’s shoulder again as he rose from the bench. “And you’ve got me now too.”
Right, though Berwyk as he watched Roul prance over to join the game, for whatever good hazy visions and cryptic answers were worth.