Post by Muse on Dec 12, 2011 6:38:13 GMT 10
For: Pandora
MUCH LOVE and extra sparkles!
From: Muse
Title: Eight Maids a-Milking, or, Wherein Evin's Imagination Runs Away With Him and Raoul and Buri Are Witnesses.
Rating: PG-13
Wishlist Item: #1 - Evin!
Summary:It’s Midwinter in Corus and the Riders can't seem to keep Evin from his odd ideas. Part eight of “The Twelve Days of Mischief...or, It Came Upon a Midwinter Weird”.
Rated for: Evin and Dom imbibing alcohol...author does not condone underage drinking or the over-consumption of alcoholic beverages.
Eight Maids a-Milking, or, Wherein Evin's Imagination Runs Away With Him and Raoul and Buri Are Witnesses.
“Dom has to be hiding something from us,” Evin told the Riders decisively, as they huddled together and discussed tactics. “There is no other way; we must sacrifice ourselves for the good of Rider-kind.”
Miri simply raised her eyebrows at this.
“We must take a stand upon what is good and righteous in order to head off the plans of the dastardly Own!” Evin exclaimed. “To the Jugged Hare!”
This last brought a rousing cheer of support from the Riders.
“I shall go and, using the finest Rider techniques, I shall interrogate Domitan of Masbolle and discover the future plans of the King’s Own this Midwinter! There shall be no more unhappy accidents for the Riders, and certainly no giant swans at our backs!”
“What is he talking about?” Ysbel poked Padrach in the side.
He shrugged. “No idea; brilliant plan, though.”
“We shall rendezvous outside the Inn when our plan is complete!” Evin finished triumphantly. “Let us go, for man and honor!”
“Fancy seeing you here, Masbolle,” Evin drawled the moment he drew close enough for Dom to hear his voice in the main room of the popular inn. Dom, seated at a table to one side of the room, looked up.
“Come to torture me with more gingerbread, Larse?” Dom replied. Evin shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin.
“What, must I always be the harbinger of ill luck?” he wondered. “Mayhaps I simply wish to partake in some of the infamous ale of this house.”
Dom snorted indelicately into his mug.
Stepping up to Dom’s table, Evin planted his hands on either side of Dom’s plate. “Actually, I demand to know what you have up your sleeves.”
Dom traced patterns in the sauce on his plate. “My arms.”
“No, really,” Evin ground out. “You have to be planning another prank. I saw your cousin, he is a shifty one!”
Dom drained his mug, than looked mournfully back inside the empty depths. “Alright, fine. I’ll tell you…if you can outdrink me.”
Evin rolled up his sleeves. “You’re on!”
The first round, Dom found, was more awkward than anything. Throughout the entire mug, Evin refused to break eye contact. His stupid expressions, half masked by the mug itself, almost caused Dom to spit ale all over the table on a few occasions, and the attention of one of the flower girls was a welcome diversion when he reached the bottom.
The fourth round ended up being more than a little distracting for Evin, who found that it was impossible to remain in eye contact with Dom when the flower girl perched on the sergeant’s knee insisted on playing footsie with Evin under the table…and then her toes crept up higher, too.
The seventh round was punctuated by comments coming from behind Evin, and it was only after his ale had disappeared that he happened to look over to see who the voices belonged to.
“Is that one seriously yours?” Raoul asked Buri, pointing not-so-discreetly at Evin.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Is that seriously one of your best squad leaders?”
Dom chose the moment to burp loudly.
“This country is in so much trouble…” came Buri’s voice from where her hands covered her face.
Raoul laughed, and unsure if the big man was laughing at him or Buri, Evin decided it was easier to just call for an eighth round of tankards and be done with it; Dom couldn’t hold out too much longer, anyway.
The comments didn’t stop though, and this time Dom heard them too. Buri’s emphatic voice was rather hard to miss, even through the pleasant haze creeping across Evin’s vision.
“YOU can never retire, because I’M going to retire and there can be NO CHANCE of both of them being in charge of pointy objects at the same time.”
It was like being accosted on multiple sides—Buri’s voice on the one, the ale that may be contributing the tiniest bit to the whole world-spinning-thing on the other. Buri, he decided, could be a famous opera singer with pipes like that. Maybe Ma knew someone hiring...
Decisively, Evin came to the conclusion that it was time to wrap things up. Also, he may be dangerously close to the condition known as “smashed” or “completely and utterly wasted”, which was not the goal of this exercise.
“You know,” Evin remarked casually, leaning in as yet more tankards were delivered to their table. “I can balance a mug on the back of my hand, see?”
He placed his hand on the table, then showily placed a full mug on the back of his hand. “Betcha you can’t do that!”
Dom, ignoring the way the edges of the room tilted slightly when he moved his head, studied the mug and Evin’s hand. He thought blearily to himself that there had to be a catch to this, somewhere, but Evin made it look so easy.
“Psh, easy. I can balance two!”
Evin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, it’s more difficult than it looks…”
“I can do it!” Dom insisted, slapping both hands on the table. “Just watch.”
“If you’re sure,” Evin said, even as he placed two full mugs on the back of Dom’s hands.
Dom held his breath for a moment, then let it out when he clearly had the mugs balanced. “There, see?”
He looked up, but Evin was no where in sight. The doors to the inn were swinging, however, and from Buri and Raoul’s muffled snorts of laughter (it was too much to call what Raoul was doing “hiding”, although “slumped in his seat wracked with fits of pure mirth” was closer) Dom inferred that Evin had run out while Dom had been staring intently at his hands.
Dom made to stand, before realizing that his hands were held to the table by two heavy, full mugs of ale.
“Wait, I can’t move—EVIN LARSE YOU COME BACK HERE!”
Outside, Evin ran into Miri, who had seen him get up to leave and gestured the rest of the Riders over.
“All done,” Evin announced cheerfully. “He can’t get up without spilling all that ale on himself.”
As they moved back in the general direction of the palace, Elnore puzzled over what she had just seen.
“I don’t exactly understand what was just accomplished,” Elnore whispered to Miri.
“Don’t hurt yourself trying,” Miri advised. “Sometimes its better to simply not ask.”
“D’you think Buri’d consider a career in opera?” Evin wondered, glancing at Miri before his eyes crossed.
“Definitely not asking.” Miri repeated, slightly horrorstruck.
MUCH LOVE and extra sparkles!
From: Muse
Title: Eight Maids a-Milking, or, Wherein Evin's Imagination Runs Away With Him and Raoul and Buri Are Witnesses.
Rating: PG-13
Wishlist Item: #1 - Evin!
Summary:It’s Midwinter in Corus and the Riders can't seem to keep Evin from his odd ideas. Part eight of “The Twelve Days of Mischief...or, It Came Upon a Midwinter Weird”.
Rated for: Evin and Dom imbibing alcohol...author does not condone underage drinking or the over-consumption of alcoholic beverages.
Eight Maids a-Milking, or, Wherein Evin's Imagination Runs Away With Him and Raoul and Buri Are Witnesses.
“Dom has to be hiding something from us,” Evin told the Riders decisively, as they huddled together and discussed tactics. “There is no other way; we must sacrifice ourselves for the good of Rider-kind.”
Miri simply raised her eyebrows at this.
“We must take a stand upon what is good and righteous in order to head off the plans of the dastardly Own!” Evin exclaimed. “To the Jugged Hare!”
This last brought a rousing cheer of support from the Riders.
“I shall go and, using the finest Rider techniques, I shall interrogate Domitan of Masbolle and discover the future plans of the King’s Own this Midwinter! There shall be no more unhappy accidents for the Riders, and certainly no giant swans at our backs!”
“What is he talking about?” Ysbel poked Padrach in the side.
He shrugged. “No idea; brilliant plan, though.”
“We shall rendezvous outside the Inn when our plan is complete!” Evin finished triumphantly. “Let us go, for man and honor!”
“Fancy seeing you here, Masbolle,” Evin drawled the moment he drew close enough for Dom to hear his voice in the main room of the popular inn. Dom, seated at a table to one side of the room, looked up.
“Come to torture me with more gingerbread, Larse?” Dom replied. Evin shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin.
“What, must I always be the harbinger of ill luck?” he wondered. “Mayhaps I simply wish to partake in some of the infamous ale of this house.”
Dom snorted indelicately into his mug.
Stepping up to Dom’s table, Evin planted his hands on either side of Dom’s plate. “Actually, I demand to know what you have up your sleeves.”
Dom traced patterns in the sauce on his plate. “My arms.”
“No, really,” Evin ground out. “You have to be planning another prank. I saw your cousin, he is a shifty one!”
Dom drained his mug, than looked mournfully back inside the empty depths. “Alright, fine. I’ll tell you…if you can outdrink me.”
Evin rolled up his sleeves. “You’re on!”
The first round, Dom found, was more awkward than anything. Throughout the entire mug, Evin refused to break eye contact. His stupid expressions, half masked by the mug itself, almost caused Dom to spit ale all over the table on a few occasions, and the attention of one of the flower girls was a welcome diversion when he reached the bottom.
The fourth round ended up being more than a little distracting for Evin, who found that it was impossible to remain in eye contact with Dom when the flower girl perched on the sergeant’s knee insisted on playing footsie with Evin under the table…and then her toes crept up higher, too.
The seventh round was punctuated by comments coming from behind Evin, and it was only after his ale had disappeared that he happened to look over to see who the voices belonged to.
“Is that one seriously yours?” Raoul asked Buri, pointing not-so-discreetly at Evin.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Is that seriously one of your best squad leaders?”
Dom chose the moment to burp loudly.
“This country is in so much trouble…” came Buri’s voice from where her hands covered her face.
Raoul laughed, and unsure if the big man was laughing at him or Buri, Evin decided it was easier to just call for an eighth round of tankards and be done with it; Dom couldn’t hold out too much longer, anyway.
The comments didn’t stop though, and this time Dom heard them too. Buri’s emphatic voice was rather hard to miss, even through the pleasant haze creeping across Evin’s vision.
“YOU can never retire, because I’M going to retire and there can be NO CHANCE of both of them being in charge of pointy objects at the same time.”
It was like being accosted on multiple sides—Buri’s voice on the one, the ale that may be contributing the tiniest bit to the whole world-spinning-thing on the other. Buri, he decided, could be a famous opera singer with pipes like that. Maybe Ma knew someone hiring...
Decisively, Evin came to the conclusion that it was time to wrap things up. Also, he may be dangerously close to the condition known as “smashed” or “completely and utterly wasted”, which was not the goal of this exercise.
“You know,” Evin remarked casually, leaning in as yet more tankards were delivered to their table. “I can balance a mug on the back of my hand, see?”
He placed his hand on the table, then showily placed a full mug on the back of his hand. “Betcha you can’t do that!”
Dom, ignoring the way the edges of the room tilted slightly when he moved his head, studied the mug and Evin’s hand. He thought blearily to himself that there had to be a catch to this, somewhere, but Evin made it look so easy.
“Psh, easy. I can balance two!”
Evin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, it’s more difficult than it looks…”
“I can do it!” Dom insisted, slapping both hands on the table. “Just watch.”
“If you’re sure,” Evin said, even as he placed two full mugs on the back of Dom’s hands.
Dom held his breath for a moment, then let it out when he clearly had the mugs balanced. “There, see?”
He looked up, but Evin was no where in sight. The doors to the inn were swinging, however, and from Buri and Raoul’s muffled snorts of laughter (it was too much to call what Raoul was doing “hiding”, although “slumped in his seat wracked with fits of pure mirth” was closer) Dom inferred that Evin had run out while Dom had been staring intently at his hands.
Dom made to stand, before realizing that his hands were held to the table by two heavy, full mugs of ale.
“Wait, I can’t move—EVIN LARSE YOU COME BACK HERE!”
Outside, Evin ran into Miri, who had seen him get up to leave and gestured the rest of the Riders over.
“All done,” Evin announced cheerfully. “He can’t get up without spilling all that ale on himself.”
As they moved back in the general direction of the palace, Elnore puzzled over what she had just seen.
“I don’t exactly understand what was just accomplished,” Elnore whispered to Miri.
“Don’t hurt yourself trying,” Miri advised. “Sometimes its better to simply not ask.”
“D’you think Buri’d consider a career in opera?” Evin wondered, glancing at Miri before his eyes crossed.
“Definitely not asking.” Miri repeated, slightly horrorstruck.