Post by Carbon Kiwi on May 1, 2011 8:47:32 GMT 10
Title: That Time of Moon [6]
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,083
Pairing: Briar/Daja/Sandry/Tris [Team Circlecest]
Round/Fight: 2/C
Warnings: Menses
Summary: Briar's steps into understanding women--since he has to live with 5 of them.
Notes: Wrote this before I read Nicki's 'Monthly' story, but am now tickled pink.
Rosethorn smacked her palm against her forehead three times before Lark caught the hand and held it, all within the safety of Rosethorn’s closed bedroom.
“How did he know?” was all she could summon up.
“He must have seen you in the garden—and your condition must have kept you from noticing.” Lark kissed Rosethorn at the hairline. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“So you say! The boy never heard of moondays and now he knows I—” Lark caught the other hand before it finished the journey up to Rosethorn’s forehead. “I can never face him again.”
“Wouldn’t make you much of a woman, would it?” Lark’s eyebrow was raised high when Rosethorn took a sidelong look. She coloured immediately; Lark seldom used guilt as an incentive.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Lark sighed. “We’re going to have a household meeting on it. The girls need us Rosethorn—they lost their families before they could learn much about it. I know Traders, too; they tend to gain their moon faster than the rest of us. It’s no good to keep them going on myths and misbeliefs. The sooner they know the truth of it all, the better.”
Rosethorn had clearly focused on the first statement. “We?”
“Yes: we. You will join us.”
“How can I face them?”
“By knowing someday they will be you, and the way you deal with this impacts the way they someday will. And how Briar will treat it in the future.” Lark leaned her forehead against Rosethorn’s, catching her eyes and admiring the brown irises, so lovely even when filled with such dread. “And I will make it worth your while. I’ll answer the questions, too.”
Rosethorn grunted. It was as close to a ‘yes’ as Lark was ever likely to score. She kissed her partner, tracing a tongue between their lips as a hint of what might be to come if this met with success.
“Thank you, Rosie.”
Rosethorn sighed. “Thank you brewing my tea. And the ginger wrap. And for…everything. I won’t let it happen again.”
Lark laughed to hear the contradiction in those statements. She smiled. Rosethorn blushed and hid her face in her hands. Lark rested an arm over Rosethorn’s shoulder, rubbing a hand up and down the woman’s arms.
“Four brothers, and never anything like this,” Rosethorn grumbled into her hands. “That boy is a menace and mastermind of mischief.”
In the evening, the girls finished their portion of the washing up at record speed; Briar lagged behind until Lark caught his eye. Rosethorn had scarcely spoken during the meal, not even to correct Briar’s grammar.
At last Lark summoned them all around the table. Instead of sitting where she normally did at the table head, she sat on a bench near Rosethorn. Briar nicked the seat before one of the girls could. He looked up, saw Rosethorn and looked away.
“Briar,” she called to him over the table. There was the merest dusting of colour to her cheeks; her eyes were narrowed some. She looked closer to herself, at least. “It’s fine. Don’t dwell on it or I’ll nail you to the roof like the thatch you’re so fond of.”
Briar grinned. Rosethorn forgave him for finding out about her moondays, then. He corrected his expression to one of proper fear and nearly lost it again when Rosethorn snorted.
Lark caught all their eyes, ending with Rosethorn, and then smiled. “Moon times, then,” she introduced, the smile still faintly present. “Filled with myth and mystic power…”
She explained that it was nothing to be frightened of, that even if it hurt there were remedies—she had them all try some of Rosethorn’s crampbark and chamomile tea; they found it to be palatable, even Briar. She showed them the ingredients and a cloth like the one Briar had seen Rosethorn with, all white and shaped like the number Tris had taught him was an 8.
Lark told them it meant a woman was physically able to bear children—but that it didn’t mean she should, for that was a big decision that could easily wait a number of years. They all agreed that they knew adults didn’t always sleep in bed. Lark took a brewing jar from Rosethorn’s workroom and explained it was something women could take if they wanted to ‘not sleep’ in a bed with a man without having a child—but that not all women spent time in bed with men, nor all men with women. She explained that all that was material for another year, but if anyone had any question, ask her.
Lark finished her lesson by turning to Rosethorn and then back to the children. “But preferably not when Rosethorn’s around.” She gasped and turned once more. “Rosie, did you just kick me?”
“What? Oh, my leg must have slipped…”
But Briar knew that look: it meant the person was up to no good. It made him smile to see it on Rosethorn’s face.
He found he didn’t mind the talk, after all, either. But girls sure were a different sort of creature. They wouldn’t have any excuse to laugh at him for not knowing any more, at least. There was that.
“Briar?”
He looked up at Lark.
“Niko should be around again soon. He’ll speak with you—with the girls around or not, depending on what you want.”
Briar considered it for a moment. Then he grinned. “They can stick around.”
He smiled at the sounds of three synchronised groans across the table. Payback was fun.
You’re terrible, Tris told him.
Takes one to know one, he responded as Lark turned to Rosethorn and said, “Maybe I’ll just invite Crane,” all smiling and light-hearted.
I knew Pirisi was right when she told me never to like boys.
(“Rosie, kick me one more time and I’ll never brew you another cup of tea!”)
If I can’t trust boys and I can’t trust kaqs, why did I trust a boy-kaq?
(“My foot slips when it slips. It’s these cramps, Lark, clearly.”)
Briar just sat there grinning at the head of the table, reigning over his domain. He’d be the man of the house yet, he decided. Living with girls—grown or not—was at least entertaining. Or it was, it was until five sets of female eyes turned toward him…but in an instant he was gone again, safe in his nest, while the young and older woman chuckled, laughed or straight-out cackled.
QC by PeroxidePirate
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,083
Pairing: Briar/Daja/Sandry/Tris [Team Circlecest]
Round/Fight: 2/C
Warnings: Menses
Summary: Briar's steps into understanding women--since he has to live with 5 of them.
Notes: Wrote this before I read Nicki's 'Monthly' story, but am now tickled pink.
Rosethorn smacked her palm against her forehead three times before Lark caught the hand and held it, all within the safety of Rosethorn’s closed bedroom.
“How did he know?” was all she could summon up.
“He must have seen you in the garden—and your condition must have kept you from noticing.” Lark kissed Rosethorn at the hairline. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“So you say! The boy never heard of moondays and now he knows I—” Lark caught the other hand before it finished the journey up to Rosethorn’s forehead. “I can never face him again.”
“Wouldn’t make you much of a woman, would it?” Lark’s eyebrow was raised high when Rosethorn took a sidelong look. She coloured immediately; Lark seldom used guilt as an incentive.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Lark sighed. “We’re going to have a household meeting on it. The girls need us Rosethorn—they lost their families before they could learn much about it. I know Traders, too; they tend to gain their moon faster than the rest of us. It’s no good to keep them going on myths and misbeliefs. The sooner they know the truth of it all, the better.”
Rosethorn had clearly focused on the first statement. “We?”
“Yes: we. You will join us.”
“How can I face them?”
“By knowing someday they will be you, and the way you deal with this impacts the way they someday will. And how Briar will treat it in the future.” Lark leaned her forehead against Rosethorn’s, catching her eyes and admiring the brown irises, so lovely even when filled with such dread. “And I will make it worth your while. I’ll answer the questions, too.”
Rosethorn grunted. It was as close to a ‘yes’ as Lark was ever likely to score. She kissed her partner, tracing a tongue between their lips as a hint of what might be to come if this met with success.
“Thank you, Rosie.”
Rosethorn sighed. “Thank you brewing my tea. And the ginger wrap. And for…everything. I won’t let it happen again.”
Lark laughed to hear the contradiction in those statements. She smiled. Rosethorn blushed and hid her face in her hands. Lark rested an arm over Rosethorn’s shoulder, rubbing a hand up and down the woman’s arms.
“Four brothers, and never anything like this,” Rosethorn grumbled into her hands. “That boy is a menace and mastermind of mischief.”
In the evening, the girls finished their portion of the washing up at record speed; Briar lagged behind until Lark caught his eye. Rosethorn had scarcely spoken during the meal, not even to correct Briar’s grammar.
At last Lark summoned them all around the table. Instead of sitting where she normally did at the table head, she sat on a bench near Rosethorn. Briar nicked the seat before one of the girls could. He looked up, saw Rosethorn and looked away.
“Briar,” she called to him over the table. There was the merest dusting of colour to her cheeks; her eyes were narrowed some. She looked closer to herself, at least. “It’s fine. Don’t dwell on it or I’ll nail you to the roof like the thatch you’re so fond of.”
Briar grinned. Rosethorn forgave him for finding out about her moondays, then. He corrected his expression to one of proper fear and nearly lost it again when Rosethorn snorted.
Lark caught all their eyes, ending with Rosethorn, and then smiled. “Moon times, then,” she introduced, the smile still faintly present. “Filled with myth and mystic power…”
She explained that it was nothing to be frightened of, that even if it hurt there were remedies—she had them all try some of Rosethorn’s crampbark and chamomile tea; they found it to be palatable, even Briar. She showed them the ingredients and a cloth like the one Briar had seen Rosethorn with, all white and shaped like the number Tris had taught him was an 8.
Lark told them it meant a woman was physically able to bear children—but that it didn’t mean she should, for that was a big decision that could easily wait a number of years. They all agreed that they knew adults didn’t always sleep in bed. Lark took a brewing jar from Rosethorn’s workroom and explained it was something women could take if they wanted to ‘not sleep’ in a bed with a man without having a child—but that not all women spent time in bed with men, nor all men with women. She explained that all that was material for another year, but if anyone had any question, ask her.
Lark finished her lesson by turning to Rosethorn and then back to the children. “But preferably not when Rosethorn’s around.” She gasped and turned once more. “Rosie, did you just kick me?”
“What? Oh, my leg must have slipped…”
But Briar knew that look: it meant the person was up to no good. It made him smile to see it on Rosethorn’s face.
He found he didn’t mind the talk, after all, either. But girls sure were a different sort of creature. They wouldn’t have any excuse to laugh at him for not knowing any more, at least. There was that.
“Briar?”
He looked up at Lark.
“Niko should be around again soon. He’ll speak with you—with the girls around or not, depending on what you want.”
Briar considered it for a moment. Then he grinned. “They can stick around.”
He smiled at the sounds of three synchronised groans across the table. Payback was fun.
You’re terrible, Tris told him.
Takes one to know one, he responded as Lark turned to Rosethorn and said, “Maybe I’ll just invite Crane,” all smiling and light-hearted.
I knew Pirisi was right when she told me never to like boys.
(“Rosie, kick me one more time and I’ll never brew you another cup of tea!”)
If I can’t trust boys and I can’t trust kaqs, why did I trust a boy-kaq?
(“My foot slips when it slips. It’s these cramps, Lark, clearly.”)
Briar just sat there grinning at the head of the table, reigning over his domain. He’d be the man of the house yet, he decided. Living with girls—grown or not—was at least entertaining. Or it was, it was until five sets of female eyes turned toward him…but in an instant he was gone again, safe in his nest, while the young and older woman chuckled, laughed or straight-out cackled.
QC by PeroxidePirate