Post by Kit on Apr 1, 2011 20:54:52 GMT 10
Title: Raiment
Rating: G
Word Count: 247
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1F
Summary: Rosethorn considers hierarchical change.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Rosie.”
The thrumming pulse of the workroom was unchanged as Lark spoke. Rosethorn watched the steady, strange motions of her back and shoulders—it was movement that she knew, and that tormented her slightly: a foreign language she had heard for years and never learnt to speak. She watched as fabric grew on the loom. And Lark was laughing at her.
“Rosie,” again. “You’ve seen me wave fabric for habits before.”
“Just as you know I wouldn’t ask if—is this his?”
“New cloth with black borders,” Lark returned. “Do you think he shall be glad I made it? Or will he be mortified that your Great Mage house bird is doing something so menial?”
Rosethorn snorted. Crane’s realisation of not just the type of Lark’s magic, but the scope of it, had always unnerved him. “You’re not a house bird yet,” she said. “And you’re being silly. Crane would never notice who made his clothes. He’s too puffed up about being First Dedicate.”
“That’s not quite fair.”
Rosethorn shrugged, walking forward and letting her hand rest on her friend’s bent head, fingers tangling with the curls. “Will you witch it?”
“Sweet?” Lark’s voice was warm, amused. Gentle.
“He’s so puffed up I’d hate for anyone to puncture him before he has a chance,” Rosethorn muttered. “That wouldn’t fair at all.”
“I love you dearly,” Lark said. Both woman watched the fabric as it formed.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: G
Word Count: 247
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1F
Summary: Rosethorn considers hierarchical change.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Rosie.”
The thrumming pulse of the workroom was unchanged as Lark spoke. Rosethorn watched the steady, strange motions of her back and shoulders—it was movement that she knew, and that tormented her slightly: a foreign language she had heard for years and never learnt to speak. She watched as fabric grew on the loom. And Lark was laughing at her.
“Rosie,” again. “You’ve seen me wave fabric for habits before.”
“Just as you know I wouldn’t ask if—is this his?”
“New cloth with black borders,” Lark returned. “Do you think he shall be glad I made it? Or will he be mortified that your Great Mage house bird is doing something so menial?”
Rosethorn snorted. Crane’s realisation of not just the type of Lark’s magic, but the scope of it, had always unnerved him. “You’re not a house bird yet,” she said. “And you’re being silly. Crane would never notice who made his clothes. He’s too puffed up about being First Dedicate.”
“That’s not quite fair.”
Rosethorn shrugged, walking forward and letting her hand rest on her friend’s bent head, fingers tangling with the curls. “Will you witch it?”
“Sweet?” Lark’s voice was warm, amused. Gentle.
“He’s so puffed up I’d hate for anyone to puncture him before he has a chance,” Rosethorn muttered. “That wouldn’t fair at all.”
“I love you dearly,” Lark said. Both woman watched the fabric as it formed.
QC by: journeycat