Post by devilinthedetails on Sept 27, 2018 0:43:57 GMT 10
Title: Naxen's Fancy
Rating: PG-13 for references to alcoholism
Prompt: Forbidden
Summary: Alex and Gary enjoy a forbidden night in Corus.
Naxen’s Fancy
“I think we may have finally found people more flexible than you, Alex.” Gary nudged Alex as the two of them sat on a crowded bench, watching tumblers flip between bright balls thrown in the air by jugglers. It was a crisp autumn night, and they had snuck out of the palace–because any freedom at night was a stolen, forbidden pleasure never granted by Duke Gareth, who only granted hours of free time (which Alex typically ended up filling with work he could never catch up on no matter how he tried) during the mornings and afternoons–to enjoy Players performing in a Corus district that had once been wealthy but now was more hard-working than it was prosperous, its worn people and buildings both bearing hallmarks of having seen better days. Alex might have wondered how Gary had learned about such an event in a district that wasn’t what anyone would define as high-class if he hadn’t been best friends with the younger Naxen long enough to know that Gary had devious ways of discovering every piece of information that could possibly be important.
“They’re acrobatic.” Alex avenged himself with an elbow to Gary’s ribs. “I doubt they know which end of the sword to hold, however.”
“They’re tumblers, not swordsmen.” Gary chuckled, cheering along with the applauding audience as the bowing tumblers and jugglers retreated so the next act–a Carthaki sword dance–could begin. “Here come the swordsmen now. I bet they know which end of the sword to hold.”
“Anyone would know what end of those swords to hold.” Alex stuck up his nose, scornful of the Carthaki sickle swords. “The bent blade makes it obvious. Those Carthaki swords are more suited to entertainments and executions than proper duels.”
“This entertainment.” Gary’s eyes were fixed admiringly on the swirling swords. “Enjoy it or at least let me.”
“We hillmen dance better with our swords.” Alex’s fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword, as reassuring in its staunch presence at his side as always. “For us, it’s not a matter of entertainment but of pride.”
“Everything is about pride with you hillmen.” Gary clapped heartily for the Carthaki sword dances, who saluted the crowd with raised blades before stepping back so fire-breathers could perform before the gasping masses. “Can you swallow your pride long enough for me to watch the fire-breathers swallow flames in peace?”
With an eye roll at how easy a lad sharp as Gary was to entertain, Alex reluctantly subsided into silence, but couldn’t remain quiet when Gary whistled admiringly as he might at a beautiful court lady, “What stunning magic fire-breathing is.”
“Fire-breathing isn’t magic.” Alex snorted as the fire-breathers streamed out orange and red flames like the dragons that had centuries ago been banished to the Immortal Realms. “It’s mere misdirection.”
“You don’t have the Gift,” pointed out Gary tartly as the streams of fire formed into shapes on the wind howling off the Olorun. “You wouldn’t know enough about magic to fill an acorn top.”
“I know enough to spot a misdirection simple as fire-breathing from a league away,” retorted Alex. “You see the illusion too. You’re just pretending not to...”
“I’m pretending not to so I can enjoy the show.” Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Gary pushed himself off the bench. “Unfortunately, I can’t enjoy the show with your constant complaining. Let’s go find some food. Even you won’t be able to grumble when you’re eating.”
The prospect of food always appealed to Alex, who was forever hungry and living in the hope that if he ate more he would grow out of his short stature, so he followed Gary along the street to a vendor selling smoking hot apple cider and pears poached in honey, cinnamon, ginger, and walnuts.
As they waited in the jostling line, the spicy scents of cinnamon and ginger wafting to them on the wind that cooled their cheeks to apples, Alex noticed a weather-beaten sign–proclaiming Naxen’s Fancy– creaking over an eating-house that had the slightly melancholy bearing of a once proud establishment humbled along with the district surrounding it.
“Look.” He tapped Gary’s shoulder and jerked his chin across the street once Gary glanced at him. “It’s an eating-house named after your family. Do you suppose you’d get a free drink if you went inside and asked for one.”
“If there’s anything Father has taught me, it’s nothing is free.” Gary’s mock philosophical air slid into a grin. “The place is probably an homage to a drunkard ancestor of mine, in which case I shouldn’t acknowledge the existence of anywhere named after a weak branch that should have been sawed off the family tree.”
“Every family has their drunkards.” Alex should know that. His own father was one, but Alex tried not to dwell on that on a night dedicated to freedom and forbidden joys like this.
“Maybe the eating-house was named after an even more disreputable ancestor,” Gary continued his joke, deftly dodging the forbidden subject of Alex’s drunkard father who had to swallow his shame at the fate of the once proud hillmen in endless vats ale and wine. “Perhaps the Naxen name was sullied by someone who went into business. My blood might even be tainted by a mathematician’s.”
“Nothing could be more terrifying to you.” Alex kept his face so blank that even he didn’t know whether it hid forbidden laughter or pain. “I know how you hate mathematics.”
Rating: PG-13 for references to alcoholism
Prompt: Forbidden
Summary: Alex and Gary enjoy a forbidden night in Corus.
Naxen’s Fancy
“I think we may have finally found people more flexible than you, Alex.” Gary nudged Alex as the two of them sat on a crowded bench, watching tumblers flip between bright balls thrown in the air by jugglers. It was a crisp autumn night, and they had snuck out of the palace–because any freedom at night was a stolen, forbidden pleasure never granted by Duke Gareth, who only granted hours of free time (which Alex typically ended up filling with work he could never catch up on no matter how he tried) during the mornings and afternoons–to enjoy Players performing in a Corus district that had once been wealthy but now was more hard-working than it was prosperous, its worn people and buildings both bearing hallmarks of having seen better days. Alex might have wondered how Gary had learned about such an event in a district that wasn’t what anyone would define as high-class if he hadn’t been best friends with the younger Naxen long enough to know that Gary had devious ways of discovering every piece of information that could possibly be important.
“They’re acrobatic.” Alex avenged himself with an elbow to Gary’s ribs. “I doubt they know which end of the sword to hold, however.”
“They’re tumblers, not swordsmen.” Gary chuckled, cheering along with the applauding audience as the bowing tumblers and jugglers retreated so the next act–a Carthaki sword dance–could begin. “Here come the swordsmen now. I bet they know which end of the sword to hold.”
“Anyone would know what end of those swords to hold.” Alex stuck up his nose, scornful of the Carthaki sickle swords. “The bent blade makes it obvious. Those Carthaki swords are more suited to entertainments and executions than proper duels.”
“This entertainment.” Gary’s eyes were fixed admiringly on the swirling swords. “Enjoy it or at least let me.”
“We hillmen dance better with our swords.” Alex’s fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword, as reassuring in its staunch presence at his side as always. “For us, it’s not a matter of entertainment but of pride.”
“Everything is about pride with you hillmen.” Gary clapped heartily for the Carthaki sword dances, who saluted the crowd with raised blades before stepping back so fire-breathers could perform before the gasping masses. “Can you swallow your pride long enough for me to watch the fire-breathers swallow flames in peace?”
With an eye roll at how easy a lad sharp as Gary was to entertain, Alex reluctantly subsided into silence, but couldn’t remain quiet when Gary whistled admiringly as he might at a beautiful court lady, “What stunning magic fire-breathing is.”
“Fire-breathing isn’t magic.” Alex snorted as the fire-breathers streamed out orange and red flames like the dragons that had centuries ago been banished to the Immortal Realms. “It’s mere misdirection.”
“You don’t have the Gift,” pointed out Gary tartly as the streams of fire formed into shapes on the wind howling off the Olorun. “You wouldn’t know enough about magic to fill an acorn top.”
“I know enough to spot a misdirection simple as fire-breathing from a league away,” retorted Alex. “You see the illusion too. You’re just pretending not to...”
“I’m pretending not to so I can enjoy the show.” Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Gary pushed himself off the bench. “Unfortunately, I can’t enjoy the show with your constant complaining. Let’s go find some food. Even you won’t be able to grumble when you’re eating.”
The prospect of food always appealed to Alex, who was forever hungry and living in the hope that if he ate more he would grow out of his short stature, so he followed Gary along the street to a vendor selling smoking hot apple cider and pears poached in honey, cinnamon, ginger, and walnuts.
As they waited in the jostling line, the spicy scents of cinnamon and ginger wafting to them on the wind that cooled their cheeks to apples, Alex noticed a weather-beaten sign–proclaiming Naxen’s Fancy– creaking over an eating-house that had the slightly melancholy bearing of a once proud establishment humbled along with the district surrounding it.
“Look.” He tapped Gary’s shoulder and jerked his chin across the street once Gary glanced at him. “It’s an eating-house named after your family. Do you suppose you’d get a free drink if you went inside and asked for one.”
“If there’s anything Father has taught me, it’s nothing is free.” Gary’s mock philosophical air slid into a grin. “The place is probably an homage to a drunkard ancestor of mine, in which case I shouldn’t acknowledge the existence of anywhere named after a weak branch that should have been sawed off the family tree.”
“Every family has their drunkards.” Alex should know that. His own father was one, but Alex tried not to dwell on that on a night dedicated to freedom and forbidden joys like this.
“Maybe the eating-house was named after an even more disreputable ancestor,” Gary continued his joke, deftly dodging the forbidden subject of Alex’s drunkard father who had to swallow his shame at the fate of the once proud hillmen in endless vats ale and wine. “Perhaps the Naxen name was sullied by someone who went into business. My blood might even be tainted by a mathematician’s.”
“Nothing could be more terrifying to you.” Alex kept his face so blank that even he didn’t know whether it hid forbidden laughter or pain. “I know how you hate mathematics.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!