Post by Carbon Kiwi on Apr 24, 2011 8:21:56 GMT 10
Title: Maturity and Mischief
Rating: G
Word Count: 445
Pairing: Lark / Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 2B
Warnings:
Summary: Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a kid.
Rosethorn once thought Lark would grow out of her mischief—from the chaotic grown child she had been in the days of her novitiate to a matured, structured dedicate. And perhaps it was true, for Lark had matured, but that wasn’t to say the rest had left; it just hid sometimes, when the moment called for it. Now Rosethorn just smiled and shook her head to think she had believed a person grew out of that, or for wishing that the woman would. Lark’s behaviour was not a reflection on Rosethorn, and so it was not her business to be embarrassed.
She watched Lark playing outside with Little Bear and Glaki—or she watched where she knew Lark was, hiding behind the tree again.
Rosethorn wondered, now, why she would have ever wanted Lark to grow beyond mirthful mischief. She herself, after all, had scarcely outgrown grumpiness.
Glaki ran around the garden—Rosethorn winced—and saw Lark behind the tree. The woman jumped out, yaskedasi veil around her neck to comfort the girl, and hollered, “You found me!” as if in utmost agony; she fell to the floor, where Glaki piled on her. Rosethorn chuckled.
Lark was simultaneously the oldest and youngest person she had ever known. The woman had the potential for endless maturity and integrity, but could equally possess the agile lightness and imagination of a child, her mischief included in both. It was quite clearly not something worth growing out of.
“Now you go hide,” Lark murmured; Rosethorn heard it with assistance from her eaves-dropping vines. Glaki squealed and ran off again. Lark was at Rosethorn’s side soon after.
“How long should I wait this time?” she wondered, eyes set to sparkling. “She already has more patience than most academic mages I’ve seen…”
“Double it,” Rosethorn agreed, smirking. “Give her five minutes. I’ll make you some tea.” She squeaked when Lark poked her bottom and glared over her shoulder, though she couldn’t stop her laughter. “You are an utter pest.”
“Says the woman who won’t play hide-and-seek with me anymore.”
“I was a novice!”
“A novice who had more fun.” Lark leaned back in her chair and suddenly Rosethorn could see, beyond the wrinkling skin and hooded eyes, the shining light of Paraskeve’s humour. Rosethorn rolled her eyes—and in the action felt the surging presence of old Niva; she snorted.
“Perhaps. If you’re good I may even join the game after tea.”
Lark whistled through her grin. “Won’t that be something.”
Rosethorn smiled at the kettle on the heath. Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a kid.
QC by PeroxidePirate
Rating: G
Word Count: 445
Pairing: Lark / Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 2B
Warnings:
Summary: Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a kid.
Rosethorn once thought Lark would grow out of her mischief—from the chaotic grown child she had been in the days of her novitiate to a matured, structured dedicate. And perhaps it was true, for Lark had matured, but that wasn’t to say the rest had left; it just hid sometimes, when the moment called for it. Now Rosethorn just smiled and shook her head to think she had believed a person grew out of that, or for wishing that the woman would. Lark’s behaviour was not a reflection on Rosethorn, and so it was not her business to be embarrassed.
She watched Lark playing outside with Little Bear and Glaki—or she watched where she knew Lark was, hiding behind the tree again.
Rosethorn wondered, now, why she would have ever wanted Lark to grow beyond mirthful mischief. She herself, after all, had scarcely outgrown grumpiness.
Glaki ran around the garden—Rosethorn winced—and saw Lark behind the tree. The woman jumped out, yaskedasi veil around her neck to comfort the girl, and hollered, “You found me!” as if in utmost agony; she fell to the floor, where Glaki piled on her. Rosethorn chuckled.
Lark was simultaneously the oldest and youngest person she had ever known. The woman had the potential for endless maturity and integrity, but could equally possess the agile lightness and imagination of a child, her mischief included in both. It was quite clearly not something worth growing out of.
“Now you go hide,” Lark murmured; Rosethorn heard it with assistance from her eaves-dropping vines. Glaki squealed and ran off again. Lark was at Rosethorn’s side soon after.
“How long should I wait this time?” she wondered, eyes set to sparkling. “She already has more patience than most academic mages I’ve seen…”
“Double it,” Rosethorn agreed, smirking. “Give her five minutes. I’ll make you some tea.” She squeaked when Lark poked her bottom and glared over her shoulder, though she couldn’t stop her laughter. “You are an utter pest.”
“Says the woman who won’t play hide-and-seek with me anymore.”
“I was a novice!”
“A novice who had more fun.” Lark leaned back in her chair and suddenly Rosethorn could see, beyond the wrinkling skin and hooded eyes, the shining light of Paraskeve’s humour. Rosethorn rolled her eyes—and in the action felt the surging presence of old Niva; she snorted.
“Perhaps. If you’re good I may even join the game after tea.”
Lark whistled through her grin. “Won’t that be something.”
Rosethorn smiled at the kettle on the heath. Nothing kept a person young like a never-ending stream of children and a partner with the heart and mischief of a kid.
QC by PeroxidePirate