Post by Carbon Kiwi on May 29, 2011 7:55:45 GMT 10
Title: Dark and Stormy Night [11]
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 588
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings: Mention of male anatomy
Summary: “We have a letter. It looks like mischief.”
Notes: It was a dark and stormy night...*dun dun dun*. No, not really.
Rosethorn raised an eyebrow as the runner handed her an envelope. Rosethorn & Lark, she read, in impeccable and looping font.
“Lark?” she called.
The woman appeared from her workroom door. “Yes, Rosie?”
“We have a letter. It looks like mischief.”
“Then let us open it!” Lark hurried to the table and gestured for her partner to join her. Rosie sat and broke the seal, removing a ribbon-tied folded letter. The ribbon slithered away under Lark’s watch. Rosethorn untied the letter.
Rosethorn (and Lark), (“That’s Sandry,” Lark declared. Rosethorn nodded.)
It was a dark and stormy night… (Rosethorn groaned, but it turned to a grin soon after.) Tris reminds me that you hate that introduction, but it’s true and it sets the scene. We’re all here at Cheeseman House as this is written; a storm is surging above us. (Briar hurries to add that Tris protected the plants. Tris has flicked his ear now, reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to tell. Daja should look after them…)
(The font changed. “Tris,” Lark decided.) Yes, the plants are protected. I told Briar not to run his mouth about it but your plants are worth it, so if ever bad enough weather arises that you feel the need for further fortifications…I’m available. Not that you would need them, for unlike Briar, I’m sure you’ve discovered wonderful techniques of your own. (“I knew she was a clever girl,” Rosethorn stated with a smirk. “Dolt of a boy clearly doesn’t remember anything I taught him…”)
(The font changed once more. “Daja,” Lark announced.) What Sandry and Tris meant to write is that we upheld your tradition—fireside storm-stories. We picked our favourites:Bloody Narie (Tris) (“That one is a personal favourite,” Rosie said, voice filled with humour.); the Dog Lick (Briar) (“Only because he sleeps on the floor, silly boy.”); the Storm Hag (mine) (“I caught her humming the tune occasionally.”); and the Bride Story (Sandry’s) (“I wasn’t sure they would remember that one,” Rosethorn admitted. Lark blushed and replied, “With the moral ‘don’t marry a prat who thinks with his prick’, Rosie? You thought they wouldn’t remember that? Or deciding that I was a beautiful bad-girl bar-wench who came and seduced you away from a Lightsbridge man?” “Lark, we’ll never get through this letter if we dwell.”)
(A final font appeared. “Briar,” Rosethorn snapped before Lark. “I would recognise it half in sleep.”) I’ve just performed the Rosethorn Scream; Sandry screamed as she heard it. Hah! She’s not immune either. And Lark, I don’t forget that you screamed once as well—how many times had you heard that story? (“Ten, and that boy’s memory is too long,” Lark decided with a light smile. Rosethorn snorted. “What have I been saying all along?”)
(Sandry’s font returned.) What we mean to say is that we love you and have brought some of Discipline here. You are both invited when next you are available. We would love a few more Rosethorn storm-stories; Tris could make the storm just for you. (“I should hope not,” Rosethorn stated dryly. “And they’ve gone all soppy. I had no part in raising them, Lark.” “No, of course not, Rosie.”)
Keep well,
Sandry, Tris, Daja & Briar
Lark folded up the letter. “There now, wasn’t that nice?”
Rosethorn crossed her arms and grinned. “Nice enough, if my stories can still spook them.”
Glaki peeked in from her bedroom, teenage features touched with make-up. “Did I hear ‘stories’?”
Lark groaned.
Rosethorn beckoned. “Have you heard the one about the four mages…?”
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 588
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings: Mention of male anatomy
Summary: “We have a letter. It looks like mischief.”
Notes: It was a dark and stormy night...*dun dun dun*. No, not really.
Rosethorn raised an eyebrow as the runner handed her an envelope. Rosethorn & Lark, she read, in impeccable and looping font.
“Lark?” she called.
The woman appeared from her workroom door. “Yes, Rosie?”
“We have a letter. It looks like mischief.”
“Then let us open it!” Lark hurried to the table and gestured for her partner to join her. Rosie sat and broke the seal, removing a ribbon-tied folded letter. The ribbon slithered away under Lark’s watch. Rosethorn untied the letter.
Rosethorn (and Lark), (“That’s Sandry,” Lark declared. Rosethorn nodded.)
It was a dark and stormy night… (Rosethorn groaned, but it turned to a grin soon after.) Tris reminds me that you hate that introduction, but it’s true and it sets the scene. We’re all here at Cheeseman House as this is written; a storm is surging above us. (Briar hurries to add that Tris protected the plants. Tris has flicked his ear now, reminding him that he wasn’t supposed to tell. Daja should look after them…)
(The font changed. “Tris,” Lark decided.) Yes, the plants are protected. I told Briar not to run his mouth about it but your plants are worth it, so if ever bad enough weather arises that you feel the need for further fortifications…I’m available. Not that you would need them, for unlike Briar, I’m sure you’ve discovered wonderful techniques of your own. (“I knew she was a clever girl,” Rosethorn stated with a smirk. “Dolt of a boy clearly doesn’t remember anything I taught him…”)
(The font changed once more. “Daja,” Lark announced.) What Sandry and Tris meant to write is that we upheld your tradition—fireside storm-stories. We picked our favourites:Bloody Narie (Tris) (“That one is a personal favourite,” Rosie said, voice filled with humour.); the Dog Lick (Briar) (“Only because he sleeps on the floor, silly boy.”); the Storm Hag (mine) (“I caught her humming the tune occasionally.”); and the Bride Story (Sandry’s) (“I wasn’t sure they would remember that one,” Rosethorn admitted. Lark blushed and replied, “With the moral ‘don’t marry a prat who thinks with his prick’, Rosie? You thought they wouldn’t remember that? Or deciding that I was a beautiful bad-girl bar-wench who came and seduced you away from a Lightsbridge man?” “Lark, we’ll never get through this letter if we dwell.”)
(A final font appeared. “Briar,” Rosethorn snapped before Lark. “I would recognise it half in sleep.”) I’ve just performed the Rosethorn Scream; Sandry screamed as she heard it. Hah! She’s not immune either. And Lark, I don’t forget that you screamed once as well—how many times had you heard that story? (“Ten, and that boy’s memory is too long,” Lark decided with a light smile. Rosethorn snorted. “What have I been saying all along?”)
(Sandry’s font returned.) What we mean to say is that we love you and have brought some of Discipline here. You are both invited when next you are available. We would love a few more Rosethorn storm-stories; Tris could make the storm just for you. (“I should hope not,” Rosethorn stated dryly. “And they’ve gone all soppy. I had no part in raising them, Lark.” “No, of course not, Rosie.”)
Keep well,
Sandry, Tris, Daja & Briar
Lark folded up the letter. “There now, wasn’t that nice?”
Rosethorn crossed her arms and grinned. “Nice enough, if my stories can still spook them.”
Glaki peeked in from her bedroom, teenage features touched with make-up. “Did I hear ‘stories’?”
Lark groaned.
Rosethorn beckoned. “Have you heard the one about the four mages…?”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!