Post by Kit on Feb 15, 2010 17:27:32 GMT 10
Title: Sorrowless Field, IV
Rating: PG
Length: 320
Competitor: Neal
Round: 1/C
Summary: The words progress, Kel forgets herself
I dreamt last night
of a Sorrowlessfield
I saw you…
Her hand was surprising, quick and hard and rain-cold against his wrist. She held it up, curious and squinting and familiar with his body and impossible handwriting. “You’re writing your love letters on your body now?” She eyed him, very dry.
“Such a great and terrible romantic."
"Unhand me, Lump!"
"In my own good time," Kel muttered, still squinting. "You’re missing a space, you know. Several spaces?”
“It works better that way. I’ve always written on my hands, Kel. I was Master Oakbridge’s blue-tinged despair…”
Kel laughed. “Come to dinner. Your patients are sleeping.”
“Only if you get out of those wet things.”
“I as on my way—”
“—to dinner, in a sodden jerkin. Honestly, Kel. You’ll have to peel out of that. And listen to me, sounding like The Lioness with her grownup babies.”
Kel shook her head. “I don’t know what’s come over you lately—”
“—It’s not a love poem.”
“Excuse me?”
Neal shifted, examining the blurred, leaking words sprawled across the pale skin of his forearm. “This. It’s not a love-anything. It’s just something. You said something the other week, and it made me—”
“—Neal," said Kel. "If anyone had told me at thirteen I’d be the cause of your poetry, I would have gladly kissed My Lord Wyldon, danced up the Needle, and turned a cartwheel As it is now,” she shrugged, grinning. “You ought just come to dinner. Vegetables seem vital for any creative process. They’re good for the bowels.”
Neal spluttered. “Did you just imply I produce shi—”
“--I am the still silence of a pond after new snow,” said Kel, laughter darkening the edges of her words with extra pressure. “I imply nothing. I am simply here.”
Still spluttering, he felt her fingers move lightly through his hair before she turned, and left him for the kitchens, leaving puddles in her wake.
Rating: PG
Length: 320
Competitor: Neal
Round: 1/C
Summary: The words progress, Kel forgets herself
I dreamt last night
of a Sorrowlessfield
I saw you…
Her hand was surprising, quick and hard and rain-cold against his wrist. She held it up, curious and squinting and familiar with his body and impossible handwriting. “You’re writing your love letters on your body now?” She eyed him, very dry.
“Such a great and terrible romantic."
"Unhand me, Lump!"
"In my own good time," Kel muttered, still squinting. "You’re missing a space, you know. Several spaces?”
“It works better that way. I’ve always written on my hands, Kel. I was Master Oakbridge’s blue-tinged despair…”
Kel laughed. “Come to dinner. Your patients are sleeping.”
“Only if you get out of those wet things.”
“I as on my way—”
“—to dinner, in a sodden jerkin. Honestly, Kel. You’ll have to peel out of that. And listen to me, sounding like The Lioness with her grownup babies.”
Kel shook her head. “I don’t know what’s come over you lately—”
“—It’s not a love poem.”
“Excuse me?”
Neal shifted, examining the blurred, leaking words sprawled across the pale skin of his forearm. “This. It’s not a love-anything. It’s just something. You said something the other week, and it made me—”
“—Neal," said Kel. "If anyone had told me at thirteen I’d be the cause of your poetry, I would have gladly kissed My Lord Wyldon, danced up the Needle, and turned a cartwheel As it is now,” she shrugged, grinning. “You ought just come to dinner. Vegetables seem vital for any creative process. They’re good for the bowels.”
Neal spluttered. “Did you just imply I produce shi—”
“--I am the still silence of a pond after new snow,” said Kel, laughter darkening the edges of her words with extra pressure. “I imply nothing. I am simply here.”
Still spluttering, he felt her fingers move lightly through his hair before she turned, and left him for the kitchens, leaving puddles in her wake.