Post by Muse on Dec 12, 2011 6:34:28 GMT 10
To: Pandora
Message:
I was so excited to draw your name for Ficmas this year, Pan! I hope you enjoy these Evin-filled fics
There are a few more coming in this series, though I've been having computer issues (mine is dead ) so #11 and #12 may be a few days in coming. Look for them in the regular Tortall fic area, ok?
MUCH LOVE LOVE LOVE
From: Museical
Title: Seven Swans a-Swimming...or, Wherein Evin May Have Gone Too Far, But Discovers An Undercover Agent Anyways.
Rating: PG
Wishlist Item: #1 - Evin!
Summary:It’s Midwinter in Corus but too much gingerbread is not good for anyone. Neither are swans. Particularly if you are Turomot, or Evin. But mostly just Evin. Part seven of “The Twelve Days of Mischief...or, It Came Upon a Midwinter Weird”.
Seven Swans a-Swimming…or, Wherein Evin May Have Gone Too Far, But Discovers An Undercover Agent Anyways.
Yesterday, Evin decided, he had gone too far.
No, not the prank; that was a rather delightful and inspired prank, if he did say so himself. And not the kissing Miri part either, nothing could make him regret that part either.
No. What Evin regretted most was eating that many gingerbread men. But how was he supposed to resist when he could reenact being a dragon eating a small village, complete with tiny screams of horror?
He couldn’t understand why in the world Tarrus believed he had a useless Gift. It was very useful, indeed. Evin had a long list of uses for that particular Gift, and two very well-handled pranks to illustrate said list too.
However, all good things must come to an end, and this was no exception. In fact, this was coming to a fairly abrupt end. The fun was over, certainly, because regardless of the fun he had had, Evin still woke the next day with a very unhappy stomach.
The sight of the cookie crumbs on the dish that he had left on the table last night and the residual smell of gingerbread set his stomach churning. Moving didn’t help either. If he was going to be able to function at all, he’d need something to settle his gut and get it to stop dancing the jig and jostling his overly full stomach.
The walk to the infirmary was unpleasant but necessary, and with great relief Evin staggered through the doorway, perhaps a bit more melodramatically than absolutely necessary.
Inside, Neal looked him up and down as he added a handful of herbs to a potion. “Nothing’s unattached or bleeding. Good job. How can I help?”
“I am terribly upset, in the most stomach-ly unpleasant way,” Evin proclaimed, though only Neal’s eyebrows moved, to migrate ever so slightly towards his hair. “I should think that I might require emergency surgery or a stomach replacement, or at the very least a calming draught for my poor abused digestive system.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid all I can give you for that is willowbark tea,” he commented.
Slouching, Evin protested, “…but it hurts. And besides, you’re already making something! Make me something!”
Neal stirred the contents of the bowl. “See this? It means I’m busy already.”
Pouting, Evin asked, “Well, maybe that will help me. You should give me some!”
“Are you a sick…swan?” Neal cast about for some answer somewhere to give to Evin. “Yeah. This is for them. The Royal Swans have…feather rot. I’m supposed to be…making something to fix that. Yes. That is what I am doing.”
Evin eyed Neal, and noticed that the mage-knight rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches and wouldn’t meet Evin’s eyes. “I don’t believe you…” he said slowly, and Neal’s eye twitched.
Glancing behind Neal, Evin’s eyes passed over his workbench. Bowls, crocks of powders… egg shells…calendula…walnut hulls—wait a second this was too familiar. Grabbing his hair in distress, Evin’s gaze snapped back to Neal’s face, which changed from guilty to guiless moments too slow.
“IT WAS YOU!” Evin screeched, pointing a finger across the room. “YOU were behind the abnormal reddifying of my gorgeous locks!”
“I haven’t a clue what you are nattering on about,” Neal insisted loftily.
“No, no, no, you can’t pull that one on me, I KNOW THE TRUTH NOW!” Evin tugged on his blond curls. “And now you’re doing something else for them too, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?!” He was nearly in hysterics, and a flabbergasted Neal could only watch the scene unfold before him. “You’re helping the Own again—should have known that blood ties people together—and it involves the swans!—Turomot hates ducks, swans are worse—GIANT SWANS, YOU ARE MAGICKING GIANT SWANS—oh, great Mithros, they’re chasing us, my gods man, you are dastardly and SICK—!”
At this, Evin apparently arrived at a standstill, and stood, gaping, at an absolutely dumbstruck Neal whose only reaction was to make interesting shapes with his mouth.
“YOU SHALL NEVER PREVAIL AGAINST ME!” Evin finally yelled, before bursting into a run that flung the door open as he escaped.
Baird peeked his head out from the back work room. “Is everything alright in here?...I heard screaming.”
Neal flushed. “Some Rider must’ve been hit in the head one too many times… came in here with a bunch of conspiracy theories—way off the mark too, you know.”
Baird chuckled drily. “I’m sure.”
At the door, Kel asked, “Neal, is there any reason why Evin Larse is running away from here screaming about you and giant swans?” Her voice was deceptively calm and even, and she ignored Baird’s chuckles.
“You always jump to conclusions, Kel,” Neal informed the room at large. “Simply because you have both feet firmly nailed to the earth, you assume anything the least bit strange is somehow my fault.”
“But it is,” Baird interjects.
“…He thinks I’m working with the Own to prank the Riders.” Neal told Kel, slouching under her steady gaze.
“With giant swans?” Kel asked skeptically. The tiniest furrow of confusion crinkled between her brows.
“…I helped Dom earlier.” Neal further admitted, leaning back against his workbench and scooting the potion he was working on further out of sight. “Now he thinks I’m cooking up some other potion to get them with, even though I told him I wasn’t.”
“What did you say?” Kel’s hands were on her hips, and Neal remembered suddenly why he disliked Kel’s interrogations even more than his own mother’s.
“I only told him it was a cure for feather-rot for the Royal Swans, alright? Sheesh, the man took the word “swan” and ran with it!...literally!” Neal defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Neal, you just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” Baird asked at the same time as Kel wondered,”The Royal Swans have feather rot? I hadn’t heard…are there even such things as Royal Swans?”
“How should I know?” burst out Neal. “It was an excuse, forgive me for saying what came to my mind first!”
Walking over, Baird peered over his son’s shoulder. “What are you making, anyway, then?”
Neal reddened, and pushed the bowl further away from his father, but Baird was quick. “Honeysuckle?” He sniffed the concoction. “Neal, are you making blemish cream again?”
Neal avoided his father’s eyes, but Kel remained confused. “Yuki doesn’t have any skin problems… and she prefers cherry blossom to honeysuckle.”
Baird just grinned. “I don’t think Yuki is the, erm, recipient.”
Neal glared daggers at his father. “Yes, yes, its for me, rub it in a little more. And I happen to like honeysuckle THANK YOU very much.”
He snatched his bowl up and shoved three packets of herbs in his pockets before leaving with his nose in the air. Kel’s eyebrows were nearly part of her hairline, but she watched her friend march off without any comment. Baird sighed.
“I’ve told him for years, if you’re going to pull pranks, you have to keep your mouth shut.” Sharing a conspiratory look with Kel, he added, “It’s the only way I survived childhood.”
Kel stared openly at the Chief Healer, whose only response was, “…Did I say that out loud?”
Kel shook her muddled head before wandering off herself, muttering, “….it’s like it’s attracted to Queenscove. Trouble. Neal. Baird. They’re magnets for it.”
Message:
I was so excited to draw your name for Ficmas this year, Pan! I hope you enjoy these Evin-filled fics
There are a few more coming in this series, though I've been having computer issues (mine is dead ) so #11 and #12 may be a few days in coming. Look for them in the regular Tortall fic area, ok?
MUCH LOVE LOVE LOVE
From: Museical
Title: Seven Swans a-Swimming...or, Wherein Evin May Have Gone Too Far, But Discovers An Undercover Agent Anyways.
Rating: PG
Wishlist Item: #1 - Evin!
Summary:It’s Midwinter in Corus but too much gingerbread is not good for anyone. Neither are swans. Particularly if you are Turomot, or Evin. But mostly just Evin. Part seven of “The Twelve Days of Mischief...or, It Came Upon a Midwinter Weird”.
Seven Swans a-Swimming…or, Wherein Evin May Have Gone Too Far, But Discovers An Undercover Agent Anyways.
Yesterday, Evin decided, he had gone too far.
No, not the prank; that was a rather delightful and inspired prank, if he did say so himself. And not the kissing Miri part either, nothing could make him regret that part either.
No. What Evin regretted most was eating that many gingerbread men. But how was he supposed to resist when he could reenact being a dragon eating a small village, complete with tiny screams of horror?
He couldn’t understand why in the world Tarrus believed he had a useless Gift. It was very useful, indeed. Evin had a long list of uses for that particular Gift, and two very well-handled pranks to illustrate said list too.
However, all good things must come to an end, and this was no exception. In fact, this was coming to a fairly abrupt end. The fun was over, certainly, because regardless of the fun he had had, Evin still woke the next day with a very unhappy stomach.
The sight of the cookie crumbs on the dish that he had left on the table last night and the residual smell of gingerbread set his stomach churning. Moving didn’t help either. If he was going to be able to function at all, he’d need something to settle his gut and get it to stop dancing the jig and jostling his overly full stomach.
The walk to the infirmary was unpleasant but necessary, and with great relief Evin staggered through the doorway, perhaps a bit more melodramatically than absolutely necessary.
Inside, Neal looked him up and down as he added a handful of herbs to a potion. “Nothing’s unattached or bleeding. Good job. How can I help?”
“I am terribly upset, in the most stomach-ly unpleasant way,” Evin proclaimed, though only Neal’s eyebrows moved, to migrate ever so slightly towards his hair. “I should think that I might require emergency surgery or a stomach replacement, or at the very least a calming draught for my poor abused digestive system.”
Neal rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid all I can give you for that is willowbark tea,” he commented.
Slouching, Evin protested, “…but it hurts. And besides, you’re already making something! Make me something!”
Neal stirred the contents of the bowl. “See this? It means I’m busy already.”
Pouting, Evin asked, “Well, maybe that will help me. You should give me some!”
“Are you a sick…swan?” Neal cast about for some answer somewhere to give to Evin. “Yeah. This is for them. The Royal Swans have…feather rot. I’m supposed to be…making something to fix that. Yes. That is what I am doing.”
Evin eyed Neal, and noticed that the mage-knight rubbed his sweaty palms on his breeches and wouldn’t meet Evin’s eyes. “I don’t believe you…” he said slowly, and Neal’s eye twitched.
Glancing behind Neal, Evin’s eyes passed over his workbench. Bowls, crocks of powders… egg shells…calendula…walnut hulls—wait a second this was too familiar. Grabbing his hair in distress, Evin’s gaze snapped back to Neal’s face, which changed from guilty to guiless moments too slow.
“IT WAS YOU!” Evin screeched, pointing a finger across the room. “YOU were behind the abnormal reddifying of my gorgeous locks!”
“I haven’t a clue what you are nattering on about,” Neal insisted loftily.
“No, no, no, you can’t pull that one on me, I KNOW THE TRUTH NOW!” Evin tugged on his blond curls. “And now you’re doing something else for them too, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?!” He was nearly in hysterics, and a flabbergasted Neal could only watch the scene unfold before him. “You’re helping the Own again—should have known that blood ties people together—and it involves the swans!—Turomot hates ducks, swans are worse—GIANT SWANS, YOU ARE MAGICKING GIANT SWANS—oh, great Mithros, they’re chasing us, my gods man, you are dastardly and SICK—!”
At this, Evin apparently arrived at a standstill, and stood, gaping, at an absolutely dumbstruck Neal whose only reaction was to make interesting shapes with his mouth.
“YOU SHALL NEVER PREVAIL AGAINST ME!” Evin finally yelled, before bursting into a run that flung the door open as he escaped.
Baird peeked his head out from the back work room. “Is everything alright in here?...I heard screaming.”
Neal flushed. “Some Rider must’ve been hit in the head one too many times… came in here with a bunch of conspiracy theories—way off the mark too, you know.”
Baird chuckled drily. “I’m sure.”
At the door, Kel asked, “Neal, is there any reason why Evin Larse is running away from here screaming about you and giant swans?” Her voice was deceptively calm and even, and she ignored Baird’s chuckles.
“You always jump to conclusions, Kel,” Neal informed the room at large. “Simply because you have both feet firmly nailed to the earth, you assume anything the least bit strange is somehow my fault.”
“But it is,” Baird interjects.
“…He thinks I’m working with the Own to prank the Riders.” Neal told Kel, slouching under her steady gaze.
“With giant swans?” Kel asked skeptically. The tiniest furrow of confusion crinkled between her brows.
“…I helped Dom earlier.” Neal further admitted, leaning back against his workbench and scooting the potion he was working on further out of sight. “Now he thinks I’m cooking up some other potion to get them with, even though I told him I wasn’t.”
“What did you say?” Kel’s hands were on her hips, and Neal remembered suddenly why he disliked Kel’s interrogations even more than his own mother’s.
“I only told him it was a cure for feather-rot for the Royal Swans, alright? Sheesh, the man took the word “swan” and ran with it!...literally!” Neal defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Neal, you just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” Baird asked at the same time as Kel wondered,”The Royal Swans have feather rot? I hadn’t heard…are there even such things as Royal Swans?”
“How should I know?” burst out Neal. “It was an excuse, forgive me for saying what came to my mind first!”
Walking over, Baird peered over his son’s shoulder. “What are you making, anyway, then?”
Neal reddened, and pushed the bowl further away from his father, but Baird was quick. “Honeysuckle?” He sniffed the concoction. “Neal, are you making blemish cream again?”
Neal avoided his father’s eyes, but Kel remained confused. “Yuki doesn’t have any skin problems… and she prefers cherry blossom to honeysuckle.”
Baird just grinned. “I don’t think Yuki is the, erm, recipient.”
Neal glared daggers at his father. “Yes, yes, its for me, rub it in a little more. And I happen to like honeysuckle THANK YOU very much.”
He snatched his bowl up and shoved three packets of herbs in his pockets before leaving with his nose in the air. Kel’s eyebrows were nearly part of her hairline, but she watched her friend march off without any comment. Baird sighed.
“I’ve told him for years, if you’re going to pull pranks, you have to keep your mouth shut.” Sharing a conspiratory look with Kel, he added, “It’s the only way I survived childhood.”
Kel stared openly at the Chief Healer, whose only response was, “…Did I say that out loud?”
Kel shook her muddled head before wandering off herself, muttering, “….it’s like it’s attracted to Queenscove. Trouble. Neal. Baird. They’re magnets for it.”