(no subject)
Cotton Candy #23. Experiment with Hot Fudge
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : late 1260's
Word Count : 463
“Hold this.”
Tristan opened his mouth protest, but a battered metal bowl forced its way into his hands. A glance at the mound of translucent pink ooze within brought a garbled sound of revulsion to his lips. He whipped his head away, the quivering mess held at arm’s length.
“That looks even worse than the last batch,” he said, his nose twitching at the acrid odor wafting up from the goo.
“Don’t move,” said Sethan.
“What?” Before he’d had time for more than the one word response, a sharp pain tore across his arm.
The bowl tipped and wobbled in his grasp, its contents sliding about with a loud, wet slapping nearly as offensive as the smell. His sleeve was torn, an ugly red gash cut across his arm near the shoulder. He spied the knife, now embedded in the table, bone handle still vibrating from the force of impact, as Sethan made to snatch the dangerously listing bowl back from his grasp.
“What the hell was that for?” Relieved of the bowl, he clutched at the wounded limb.
Sethan dipped a hand into the goo, while Tristan examined his bloodied arm. “Testing something,” he said.
“Could have warned me.”
“Right,” said Sethan, casually working a fistfull of the stuff between his fingers, “I’m sure you would have let me proceed if I had just said please.”
“What is this even about?” He tried not to watch the mound of pink rolling back and forth in Sethan’s hand, each turn he gave it accompanied by a soft splat.
“It doesn’t seem as if I’ve got this right for use in a construct yet, but I think I might have discovered something better. Give me your arm.”
“Why should-” Sethan’s free hand closed over his wrist and he gave him a pull. “Hey!” He pressed the slime to the wound, and Tristan bit back a curse at the cold and the wet sliding down his arm.
Even before Sethan let him go, the ooze began to shift, bubbling around the wound, his skin tingling wherever it touched. “What did you-” The words died as the gash drew closed, as if touched by magic, an angry red line its only remains.
“It works, then,” said Sethan.
Tristan forced his jaw shut to glare at him. “Could have tried it on yourself.”
Sethan grinned. “Now what fun would that be?”
“Don’t know,” said Tristan. “Let’s find out.”
Magic rose with a brief surge and a pop, and Sethan’s blood joined his own on the blade of the knife still jutting from the table.
Sethan eyed the slice on his arm that mirrored the one Tristan had borne a moment ago, and shook his head. “Very funny,” he said, slapping another handful of the slime on himself.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : late 1260's
Word Count : 463
“Hold this.”
Tristan opened his mouth protest, but a battered metal bowl forced its way into his hands. A glance at the mound of translucent pink ooze within brought a garbled sound of revulsion to his lips. He whipped his head away, the quivering mess held at arm’s length.
“That looks even worse than the last batch,” he said, his nose twitching at the acrid odor wafting up from the goo.
“Don’t move,” said Sethan.
“What?” Before he’d had time for more than the one word response, a sharp pain tore across his arm.
The bowl tipped and wobbled in his grasp, its contents sliding about with a loud, wet slapping nearly as offensive as the smell. His sleeve was torn, an ugly red gash cut across his arm near the shoulder. He spied the knife, now embedded in the table, bone handle still vibrating from the force of impact, as Sethan made to snatch the dangerously listing bowl back from his grasp.
“What the hell was that for?” Relieved of the bowl, he clutched at the wounded limb.
Sethan dipped a hand into the goo, while Tristan examined his bloodied arm. “Testing something,” he said.
“Could have warned me.”
“Right,” said Sethan, casually working a fistfull of the stuff between his fingers, “I’m sure you would have let me proceed if I had just said please.”
“What is this even about?” He tried not to watch the mound of pink rolling back and forth in Sethan’s hand, each turn he gave it accompanied by a soft splat.
“It doesn’t seem as if I’ve got this right for use in a construct yet, but I think I might have discovered something better. Give me your arm.”
“Why should-” Sethan’s free hand closed over his wrist and he gave him a pull. “Hey!” He pressed the slime to the wound, and Tristan bit back a curse at the cold and the wet sliding down his arm.
Even before Sethan let him go, the ooze began to shift, bubbling around the wound, his skin tingling wherever it touched. “What did you-” The words died as the gash drew closed, as if touched by magic, an angry red line its only remains.
“It works, then,” said Sethan.
Tristan forced his jaw shut to glare at him. “Could have tried it on yourself.”
Sethan grinned. “Now what fun would that be?”
“Don’t know,” said Tristan. “Let’s find out.”
Magic rose with a brief surge and a pop, and Sethan’s blood joined his own on the blade of the knife still jutting from the table.
Sethan eyed the slice on his arm that mirrored the one Tristan had borne a moment ago, and shook his head. “Very funny,” he said, slapping another handful of the slime on himself.