Post by Carbon Kiwi on May 29, 2011 8:11:45 GMT 10
Title: Sick [2]
Rating: G
Word Count: 266
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings:
Summary: When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight.
Notes: This is why one should never write under the influence - including microbes.
When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight. She had teased him relentlessly about his own bout with it (“I swear, you men always play it up as if it’s the end of the world”) and it was finally time for revenge.
He had Lark fix him up a briar—rose—handkerchief, exaggerating a few sniffles. The handkerchief he then wrapped (with Sandry’s assistance) and placed in a box of Daja’s making. It was inscribed with, “For Rosie Rosie of the Red Nosie”.
Briar hid behind the doorframe as she opened the mysterious gift left on her workshop stool. She read the box engraving. “Briar Moss, I will have your throat for this!” she screeched.
He ran from the building and signed to Tris, who called to some wind that prevented Rosethorn’s chase—not that she had much of a chase in her, given her incapacitated state of illness.
She caught her breath after the quick jog and watched the boy disappear. When he stopped and turned, he was just able to see her at last shrug, glance at the handkerchief and blow her nose.
He grinned. It worked!
Doesn’t mean she won’t slaughter you later, Daja answered; he could feel her grin.
Or me, Tris added. She shot him a bolt of magic. So you better keep your deal about my chores for a week.
Lark just smiled at the handkerchief, too—so she really didn’t know! Sandry was beaming through her magic. Too bad she’ll probably catch it next. Sandry cut out for a few seconds. Or not. I just sneezed.
Rating: G
Word Count: 266
Pairing: Circlecest
Round/Fight: 4/A
Warnings:
Summary: When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight.
Notes: This is why one should never write under the influence - including microbes.
When Rosethorn caught Briar’s little illness, he took the greatest delight. She had teased him relentlessly about his own bout with it (“I swear, you men always play it up as if it’s the end of the world”) and it was finally time for revenge.
He had Lark fix him up a briar—rose—handkerchief, exaggerating a few sniffles. The handkerchief he then wrapped (with Sandry’s assistance) and placed in a box of Daja’s making. It was inscribed with, “For Rosie Rosie of the Red Nosie”.
Briar hid behind the doorframe as she opened the mysterious gift left on her workshop stool. She read the box engraving. “Briar Moss, I will have your throat for this!” she screeched.
He ran from the building and signed to Tris, who called to some wind that prevented Rosethorn’s chase—not that she had much of a chase in her, given her incapacitated state of illness.
She caught her breath after the quick jog and watched the boy disappear. When he stopped and turned, he was just able to see her at last shrug, glance at the handkerchief and blow her nose.
He grinned. It worked!
Doesn’t mean she won’t slaughter you later, Daja answered; he could feel her grin.
Or me, Tris added. She shot him a bolt of magic. So you better keep your deal about my chores for a week.
Lark just smiled at the handkerchief, too—so she really didn’t know! Sandry was beaming through her magic. Too bad she’ll probably catch it next. Sandry cut out for a few seconds. Or not. I just sneezed.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!