Post by rainstormamaya on Feb 14, 2010 8:33:06 GMT 10
Title: Tricky One
Rating: PG-13
Length: 548
Competitor: Vania
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Beltane is the one night of the year when nobody asks who you were with.
*******
“You’re not busy, and I’m not busy, and I think you’re beautiful... and it’s Beltane. What do you say, lady knight?”
Kel hears the voice and sees the figure dimly in the darkness, lit only by the few flickering torches which don’t give Kel enough to guess at an identity, but show her in quick flashes the dress cut straight across the shoulders, revealing an expanse of creamy skin, one hip canted provocatively out as the other woman leans against a tree, the bodice of the dress cut close against the lines of her torso and low-necked, short dark curly hair loose and tousled, the wreath of roses in her hair askew.
And, well, it’s Beltane. On Beltane, nobody asks who you’ve been with. Husbands may seek out other men’s wives; wives may seek out other women’s husbands- and men may seek out men, and women may seek out women, and no one will find out who was with who. Beltane is always a wild time, usually fuelled by drink and poppy juice and rainbow dream, and sometimes just by adrenaline and atmosphere and lust.
Kel likes it more than she had expected to. She likes the embers in the palace gardens, the torches and braziers set up to guide the way. She likes that she can wander in the fringe edges of the forest, that someone may find her and ask (Uline, with her moonstone skin and clever fingers; Dom, laughing and kissing her and treating her like a friend and a lover at the same time; Jessamine, telling her that she saw what Neal liked in her and raking her nails up Kel’s back; Zahir, discomfited by this alien tradition and reaching out to the only one who seemed compassionate and different enough to understand, possessive and hard and caramel-sweet.) That someone may ask, and she may say yes, if she wishes.
Tonight, even though she can’t see who it is, she wishes. “Yes. But I don’t know who you are.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the woman a little scornfully, coming closer, toying with the collar of Kel’s shirt and letting her fingers slide down over the cloth, stroking the lines of Kel’s torso, till her hands rest on Kel’s hips. Strong hands- callouses as for an archer.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kel agrees, and follows her deeper into the forest until they come to a small, hidden, leafy hollow, where the unknown woman has stashed a couple of blankets.
“You know the forest very well,” Kel says neutrally, and the shine of white teeth in the darkness shows her a wicked grin.
“Better than the back of my hand,” the other woman says nonchalantly, shaking out the blankets, “and as well as I’d like to know yours,” and that’s an invitation if anything is and Kel moves to stand behind her and kisses her neck and bare shoulders until the woman turns in her arms and kisses her full on the mouth, tongue slipping between her lips, and together they fall.
In the stables the next afternoon, Kel overhears Jasson of Conté complaining to Lachren of Mindelan.
“I mean, Lach, she- she just vanishes! Vanishes, I tell you! And who has to look for her? Me! And when she doesn’t want to be found... ye gods, Lachren, it’s just impossible. That forest- Mithros, she knows it better than the back of her hand!”
The phrase rang a distant bell in Kel’s mind.
“Vania’s always been a tricky one,” Kel’s nephew agrees placidly, shaking out a horse blanket.
Kel drops her hoofpick.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 548
Competitor: Vania
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Beltane is the one night of the year when nobody asks who you were with.
*******
“You’re not busy, and I’m not busy, and I think you’re beautiful... and it’s Beltane. What do you say, lady knight?”
Kel hears the voice and sees the figure dimly in the darkness, lit only by the few flickering torches which don’t give Kel enough to guess at an identity, but show her in quick flashes the dress cut straight across the shoulders, revealing an expanse of creamy skin, one hip canted provocatively out as the other woman leans against a tree, the bodice of the dress cut close against the lines of her torso and low-necked, short dark curly hair loose and tousled, the wreath of roses in her hair askew.
And, well, it’s Beltane. On Beltane, nobody asks who you’ve been with. Husbands may seek out other men’s wives; wives may seek out other women’s husbands- and men may seek out men, and women may seek out women, and no one will find out who was with who. Beltane is always a wild time, usually fuelled by drink and poppy juice and rainbow dream, and sometimes just by adrenaline and atmosphere and lust.
Kel likes it more than she had expected to. She likes the embers in the palace gardens, the torches and braziers set up to guide the way. She likes that she can wander in the fringe edges of the forest, that someone may find her and ask (Uline, with her moonstone skin and clever fingers; Dom, laughing and kissing her and treating her like a friend and a lover at the same time; Jessamine, telling her that she saw what Neal liked in her and raking her nails up Kel’s back; Zahir, discomfited by this alien tradition and reaching out to the only one who seemed compassionate and different enough to understand, possessive and hard and caramel-sweet.) That someone may ask, and she may say yes, if she wishes.
Tonight, even though she can’t see who it is, she wishes. “Yes. But I don’t know who you are.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the woman a little scornfully, coming closer, toying with the collar of Kel’s shirt and letting her fingers slide down over the cloth, stroking the lines of Kel’s torso, till her hands rest on Kel’s hips. Strong hands- callouses as for an archer.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kel agrees, and follows her deeper into the forest until they come to a small, hidden, leafy hollow, where the unknown woman has stashed a couple of blankets.
“You know the forest very well,” Kel says neutrally, and the shine of white teeth in the darkness shows her a wicked grin.
“Better than the back of my hand,” the other woman says nonchalantly, shaking out the blankets, “and as well as I’d like to know yours,” and that’s an invitation if anything is and Kel moves to stand behind her and kisses her neck and bare shoulders until the woman turns in her arms and kisses her full on the mouth, tongue slipping between her lips, and together they fall.
***
In the stables the next afternoon, Kel overhears Jasson of Conté complaining to Lachren of Mindelan.
“I mean, Lach, she- she just vanishes! Vanishes, I tell you! And who has to look for her? Me! And when she doesn’t want to be found... ye gods, Lachren, it’s just impossible. That forest- Mithros, she knows it better than the back of her hand!”
The phrase rang a distant bell in Kel’s mind.
“Vania’s always been a tricky one,” Kel’s nephew agrees placidly, shaking out a horse blanket.
Kel drops her hoofpick.