Post by Carbon Kiwi on Jul 30, 2011 14:29:35 GMT 10
Title: Dedicated to Humour
Rating: PG-13
Couple/Character: Dedicate Rosethorn, Mind-healer Dedicate Cicelysong
Event: Humour high jump
Words: 510
Warnings: A very strange Rosethorn.
Summary: “Always some small truths to them, jokes.”
Notes: So I'm not actually funny. That may be more of a warning, though.
“It was a long year,” Rosethorn acknowledged as she settled in her customary chair, “the year I met the Circle children.”
“I’ve heard they were exhausting children,” Cicelysong mentioned with a grin.
“Adding ‘exhausting’ is redundant, surely,” the other corrected. “They were children, after all.”
“An earthquake, pirate attack, forest fire and plague all in one year.” Cicelysong shook her head, amazed and awed at Rosethorn’s resilience—along with Lark’s, the children’s, the other teachers and many Emelanese residents or visitors.
“Yes. That and my death.”
Dedicate Cicelysong drew a breath. It always unnerved her to recall that her patient had already died once and that she was healing the mind of the previously dead.
“Now, keep your humour,” Rosethorn instructed with a distinct tartness to her tone. “I wouldn’t value the difficulty of some words without it. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the children’s help I may have died during the pirate attack. You recall the bandage problem?”
Cicelysong groaned. “I do.”
“Lark and I were not so fond of Water Dedicates then. Sometimes not now either.”
“Nor was or am I, sometimes. A bit hypocritical, given my stylistic senses.” She gestured to the clear, clean blue of her habit.
Rosethorn snorted. “There’s the good humour. Lark and I had a running joke: how many Water dedicates does it take to watch supplies?”
“The whole temple?”
“Double the number of eyes.”
Cicelysong grinned. “Sounds about right. But we of the Water aren’t above a joke that jibes, either. How many Earth dedicates does it take to plough a field?”
“One.”
“We don’t know: they won’t stop ploughing each other.”
The answer surprised Rosethorn enough to throw her into a fit of coughing laughter. Cicelysong joined her. They caught their breaths after a moment.
“That’s not too bad,” Rosethorn conceded with an impish grin. “There’s been many a field or garden that suffered negligence when Lark was around.”
“Glad to hear it,” Cicelysong responded with a full smile. It shifted to a more conspiratorial tone. “I seldom check the supply rooms myself; I’m not sure I’d ever notice anything amiss until we were out of it.”
“Always some small truths to them, jokes. Except those directly regarding me, you understand.”
“Of course.”
Rosethorn touched her finger to her chin. “During the few moments when things were lighter in Gyongxe—usually after we managed to steal a meal—we shared a few jokes of our own. What’s worse than a Yanjingi army?”
“What?”
“Their partners’ complaints about their breath. What’s worse than the army’s breath?”
“Their teeth?”
“Their alcohol. What do you call a drunken Yanjingi?”
“A soldier?”
“You got it.” Rosethorn laughed and shook her head. “It was the worst year of my life—worse than death, which I know—yet I also saw how the darkest times can form solidarity stronger than any other. I’m not sure it happens without a little humour.”
“That’s a wonderful point.”
“Of course it is: I made it.”
Dedicate Cicelysong laughed. Rosethorn smiled at the sound; she knew how precious it was.
Rating: PG-13
Couple/Character: Dedicate Rosethorn, Mind-healer Dedicate Cicelysong
Event: Humour high jump
Words: 510
Warnings: A very strange Rosethorn.
Summary: “Always some small truths to them, jokes.”
Notes: So I'm not actually funny. That may be more of a warning, though.
“It was a long year,” Rosethorn acknowledged as she settled in her customary chair, “the year I met the Circle children.”
“I’ve heard they were exhausting children,” Cicelysong mentioned with a grin.
“Adding ‘exhausting’ is redundant, surely,” the other corrected. “They were children, after all.”
“An earthquake, pirate attack, forest fire and plague all in one year.” Cicelysong shook her head, amazed and awed at Rosethorn’s resilience—along with Lark’s, the children’s, the other teachers and many Emelanese residents or visitors.
“Yes. That and my death.”
Dedicate Cicelysong drew a breath. It always unnerved her to recall that her patient had already died once and that she was healing the mind of the previously dead.
“Now, keep your humour,” Rosethorn instructed with a distinct tartness to her tone. “I wouldn’t value the difficulty of some words without it. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the children’s help I may have died during the pirate attack. You recall the bandage problem?”
Cicelysong groaned. “I do.”
“Lark and I were not so fond of Water Dedicates then. Sometimes not now either.”
“Nor was or am I, sometimes. A bit hypocritical, given my stylistic senses.” She gestured to the clear, clean blue of her habit.
Rosethorn snorted. “There’s the good humour. Lark and I had a running joke: how many Water dedicates does it take to watch supplies?”
“The whole temple?”
“Double the number of eyes.”
Cicelysong grinned. “Sounds about right. But we of the Water aren’t above a joke that jibes, either. How many Earth dedicates does it take to plough a field?”
“One.”
“We don’t know: they won’t stop ploughing each other.”
The answer surprised Rosethorn enough to throw her into a fit of coughing laughter. Cicelysong joined her. They caught their breaths after a moment.
“That’s not too bad,” Rosethorn conceded with an impish grin. “There’s been many a field or garden that suffered negligence when Lark was around.”
“Glad to hear it,” Cicelysong responded with a full smile. It shifted to a more conspiratorial tone. “I seldom check the supply rooms myself; I’m not sure I’d ever notice anything amiss until we were out of it.”
“Always some small truths to them, jokes. Except those directly regarding me, you understand.”
“Of course.”
Rosethorn touched her finger to her chin. “During the few moments when things were lighter in Gyongxe—usually after we managed to steal a meal—we shared a few jokes of our own. What’s worse than a Yanjingi army?”
“What?”
“Their partners’ complaints about their breath. What’s worse than the army’s breath?”
“Their teeth?”
“Their alcohol. What do you call a drunken Yanjingi?”
“A soldier?”
“You got it.” Rosethorn laughed and shook her head. “It was the worst year of my life—worse than death, which I know—yet I also saw how the darkest times can form solidarity stronger than any other. I’m not sure it happens without a little humour.”
“That’s a wonderful point.”
“Of course it is: I made it.”
Dedicate Cicelysong laughed. Rosethorn smiled at the sound; she knew how precious it was.