Post by Verasque on Feb 20, 2010 14:22:49 GMT 10
Title: Linger
Rating: PG
Length: 411
Competitor: Joren
Fight: 1/E
Summary: Joren enlists Zahir's help in wooing his girl. It doesn't go to plan. Note: contains shades of K/Z.
Zahir had forgotten. Joren lounged around the knight's quarters, staring at useless items that the Bazhir had collected and thrown uselessly around his temporary chambers. It seemed like the man's years as the King's squire hadn't instilled in him any sense of organisation; for there, among the maps and parchments and weapons, were clothes and wine-skins and candles that had dripped liquor and wax everywhere.
"I have to leave early in the morning," Zahir's voice, muffled and ragged, could now be heard from the other side of the door. Finally, Joren thought in irritation, and rearranged his position to reflect his impatience and unimpressed boredom. Didn't the fool know that Joren's very presence there, now, hung in the balance? He'd have only a quarter of an hour left before he had to leave again. It would be another month before he could return here -- and one month could destroy any chances he ever had with her.
"About time, Alhazz," Joren quipped sarcastically. "Did it take that long to get that blasted poem written down for me?"
"J-Joren?" Zahir's companion whispered, her eyes wide with shock and panic and guilt.
Joren opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Rising to his full height, he turned unknowingly furious blue eyes to his 'friend'. "I suppose you don't have it, do you, sand-scut?"
"What are you--"
"Joren, I..."
Humiliated, he went for the nearest exit, but found Keladry blocking the wall. "Don't go."
"Move, Lump, unless you want your guts twisted."
She didn't even flinch or blink to acknowledge the old derogatory nickname. She just looked up at him, face tired and worn and determined. It was sickening to see all the things he learned to desire for himself in the last few years before him. She had been it.
"Kel..." Zahir spoke from behind, his voice confused. "You know about Joren?"
The lady knight nodded, and Joren found himself tracing with his eyes the column of exposed collarbone that had been bared for Zahir only minutes ago. Feeling betrayed, he turned his head away and mistakingly settled his eyes on the mirror to his side. There was Keladry's reflection, slumped against and barring the wall, with Zahir looking across from her. Joren, like he'd been for years, was nowhere in sight.
"Yes," Kel repeated, stronger. "I know about Joren."
Rating: PG
Length: 411
Competitor: Joren
Fight: 1/E
Summary: Joren enlists Zahir's help in wooing his girl. It doesn't go to plan. Note: contains shades of K/Z.
Zahir had forgotten. Joren lounged around the knight's quarters, staring at useless items that the Bazhir had collected and thrown uselessly around his temporary chambers. It seemed like the man's years as the King's squire hadn't instilled in him any sense of organisation; for there, among the maps and parchments and weapons, were clothes and wine-skins and candles that had dripped liquor and wax everywhere.
"I have to leave early in the morning," Zahir's voice, muffled and ragged, could now be heard from the other side of the door. Finally, Joren thought in irritation, and rearranged his position to reflect his impatience and unimpressed boredom. Didn't the fool know that Joren's very presence there, now, hung in the balance? He'd have only a quarter of an hour left before he had to leave again. It would be another month before he could return here -- and one month could destroy any chances he ever had with her.
"About time, Alhazz," Joren quipped sarcastically. "Did it take that long to get that blasted poem written down for me?"
"J-Joren?" Zahir's companion whispered, her eyes wide with shock and panic and guilt.
Joren opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Rising to his full height, he turned unknowingly furious blue eyes to his 'friend'. "I suppose you don't have it, do you, sand-scut?"
"What are you--"
"Joren, I..."
Humiliated, he went for the nearest exit, but found Keladry blocking the wall. "Don't go."
"Move, Lump, unless you want your guts twisted."
She didn't even flinch or blink to acknowledge the old derogatory nickname. She just looked up at him, face tired and worn and determined. It was sickening to see all the things he learned to desire for himself in the last few years before him. She had been it.
"Kel..." Zahir spoke from behind, his voice confused. "You know about Joren?"
The lady knight nodded, and Joren found himself tracing with his eyes the column of exposed collarbone that had been bared for Zahir only minutes ago. Feeling betrayed, he turned his head away and mistakingly settled his eyes on the mirror to his side. There was Keladry's reflection, slumped against and barring the wall, with Zahir looking across from her. Joren, like he'd been for years, was nowhere in sight.
"Yes," Kel repeated, stronger. "I know about Joren."