Post by wordy on Apr 19, 2010 23:56:29 GMT 10
Title: Playing in the Dirt (1)
Rating: PG
Length: 260
Summary: Emelan!fic, the first in a series of short drabbles. Modernish AU. Briar/Sandry.
Author’s Notes: Umm, yeah. No excuses for the Briar/Sandry this time. Hopefully some yummy stuff to come.
“I see you have a new gardener,” Daja remarked, peering out the window. The man in the garden looked young, with dark hair and tanned skin, the knees of his trousers covered in dirt and his bare hands equally as grubby.
“Oh, yes,” said Sandry with a wave of her hand. She stood at the kitchen table, arranging a vase of yellow roses. “Briar, he said his name was. I didn’t quite like the way the last one was handling my peaches.”
Daja raised any eyebrow. “Oh?”
Seeing the look on her friend’s face, Sandry shook her head, a small quirk of her lips betraying her amusement. “My peach trees, Daja. I’m hurt that you think me so vulgar.”
Turning back to the window, Daja grinned. “So you haven’t even thought about it?” she teased, watching as the gardener crawled around on his hands and knees, shifting pots and spades, his short dark, hair a striking contrast against his green shirt and the even greener grass.
“No,” answered Sandry firmly.
Daja looked at the man again, with a more critical eye this time. He was kneeling in a pile of dirt as he prepared a flowerbed. Glancing back at Sandry, she managed to catch sight of the look on her face before she turned away. Liar, thought Daja with a carefully hidden smirk.
“Hopefully this one will work out, this time,” Daja said casually. “Not like the last few. They were each gone in a few weeks, if I recall correctly.”
“I think this one will work out,” said Sandry.
Rating: PG
Length: 260
Summary: Emelan!fic, the first in a series of short drabbles. Modernish AU. Briar/Sandry.
Author’s Notes: Umm, yeah. No excuses for the Briar/Sandry this time. Hopefully some yummy stuff to come.
“I see you have a new gardener,” Daja remarked, peering out the window. The man in the garden looked young, with dark hair and tanned skin, the knees of his trousers covered in dirt and his bare hands equally as grubby.
“Oh, yes,” said Sandry with a wave of her hand. She stood at the kitchen table, arranging a vase of yellow roses. “Briar, he said his name was. I didn’t quite like the way the last one was handling my peaches.”
Daja raised any eyebrow. “Oh?”
Seeing the look on her friend’s face, Sandry shook her head, a small quirk of her lips betraying her amusement. “My peach trees, Daja. I’m hurt that you think me so vulgar.”
Turning back to the window, Daja grinned. “So you haven’t even thought about it?” she teased, watching as the gardener crawled around on his hands and knees, shifting pots and spades, his short dark, hair a striking contrast against his green shirt and the even greener grass.
“No,” answered Sandry firmly.
Daja looked at the man again, with a more critical eye this time. He was kneeling in a pile of dirt as he prepared a flowerbed. Glancing back at Sandry, she managed to catch sight of the look on her face before she turned away. Liar, thought Daja with a carefully hidden smirk.
“Hopefully this one will work out, this time,” Daja said casually. “Not like the last few. They were each gone in a few weeks, if I recall correctly.”
“I think this one will work out,” said Sandry.