Post by Carbon Kiwi on May 29, 2011 7:54:54 GMT 10
Title: Dark and Stormy Night [10]
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 385
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings: Mention of male anatomy
Summary: “My favourite was the Bride story..."
Notes: It was a dark and stormy night...*dun dun dun*. No, not really.
Tris turned to Sandry and tapped the woman with the corner of her book. “Sandry, we haven’t heard your favourite Rosethorn story.”
“My favourite?” Sandry repeated. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, minimally discernable in the firelight of the study. “You all will laugh at me.”
“As if we haven’t laughed at each other enough,” Briar countered. “But we can promise to be kind.”
“I can,” Tris agreed. Her eyebrow rose with her grin. “But can you trust a street-urchin?”
“What’s your favourite story, Sandry?” Daja reiterated, voice low and smooth; she had just shared her own favourite story—the Storm Hag. She cut Tris and Briar a glance.
“My favourite was the Bride story,” Sandry answered. “The pretty, picky girl of the village at last falling for a dashing man home from Lightsbridge and the two setting out to marry.” She took a breath and added further theatrics to her voice. “But the bad-and-beautiful, independent and well-travelled bar wench had caught his eye, so on the day of the wedding he snuck off with her instead and left the pretty village girl behind. She died on the spot.”
Briar sat forward in his chair. “How’d she get him back? I can’t remember, but girls always do…”
“Even from death?” Tris cackled. “You have more confidence in us than I. But go on, Sandry.”
“After the man’s father died, he snuck into the graveyard to seek forgiveness from his father, who had supported the bride. She rose from the grave, all shining white dress and flaming hair and maggot eyes, and grasped his hand in a handshake. He escaped with a blackened hand. The death ate him from inside before a healer could inspect it outright.”
Daja grinned. “I remember Rosethorn’s moral: never marry a prat who thinks with his prick.”
“She got nasty when we were 14, didn’t she?” Briar smiled fondly. “But she did tell us that in her personal version, the bad girl seduced the pretty girl and left the Lightsbridge man to his toys.” Briar’s eyes widened. “I just realised she meant Crane! …and she didn’t leave him entirely alone, did she?”
“Lark insisted the pretty girl seduced the bad girl, too,” Sandry added with a giggle. “But either way none of us is married yet, so perhaps the message stuck!”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 385
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings: Mention of male anatomy
Summary: “My favourite was the Bride story..."
Notes: It was a dark and stormy night...*dun dun dun*. No, not really.
Tris turned to Sandry and tapped the woman with the corner of her book. “Sandry, we haven’t heard your favourite Rosethorn story.”
“My favourite?” Sandry repeated. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, minimally discernable in the firelight of the study. “You all will laugh at me.”
“As if we haven’t laughed at each other enough,” Briar countered. “But we can promise to be kind.”
“I can,” Tris agreed. Her eyebrow rose with her grin. “But can you trust a street-urchin?”
“What’s your favourite story, Sandry?” Daja reiterated, voice low and smooth; she had just shared her own favourite story—the Storm Hag. She cut Tris and Briar a glance.
“My favourite was the Bride story,” Sandry answered. “The pretty, picky girl of the village at last falling for a dashing man home from Lightsbridge and the two setting out to marry.” She took a breath and added further theatrics to her voice. “But the bad-and-beautiful, independent and well-travelled bar wench had caught his eye, so on the day of the wedding he snuck off with her instead and left the pretty village girl behind. She died on the spot.”
Briar sat forward in his chair. “How’d she get him back? I can’t remember, but girls always do…”
“Even from death?” Tris cackled. “You have more confidence in us than I. But go on, Sandry.”
“After the man’s father died, he snuck into the graveyard to seek forgiveness from his father, who had supported the bride. She rose from the grave, all shining white dress and flaming hair and maggot eyes, and grasped his hand in a handshake. He escaped with a blackened hand. The death ate him from inside before a healer could inspect it outright.”
Daja grinned. “I remember Rosethorn’s moral: never marry a prat who thinks with his prick.”
“She got nasty when we were 14, didn’t she?” Briar smiled fondly. “But she did tell us that in her personal version, the bad girl seduced the pretty girl and left the Lightsbridge man to his toys.” Briar’s eyes widened. “I just realised she meant Crane! …and she didn’t leave him entirely alone, did she?”
“Lark insisted the pretty girl seduced the bad girl, too,” Sandry added with a giggle. “But either way none of us is married yet, so perhaps the message stuck!”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!