Post by Deleted on Apr 19, 2013 22:01:16 GMT 10
Title: Warm and Heavy
Rating: G
Word Count: 637
Pairing: Dedicate Crane/Dedicate Lark/Dedicate Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: Daja wakes to... something.. Set before Circle Opens.
Daja wakes to... something.
It's still early. The sky is just leaving behind night's bruised purple to become that flat, light grey before dawn, forming a smooth backdrop against the familiar objects -- made into odd shapes by the darkness -- outside Discipline's window. Light curves in gentle ways around the furniture in Discipline's main rooms. She rubs her eyes, blinking against the ever-present shimmer of magic in the corner of her eye.
She is no longer sleepy. She had been exhausted when she returned from the forge the night before, but it was a good, clean exhaustion from a job done well, with only her success or failure, or possibly her pride, hinging on the result. No lives caught on the quality of worked metal. Less responsibility.
She's still not sure what woke her, but dismisses it for now.
There's a faint chill in the gentle, barely felt breeze whispering as it enters, but Daja's blankets are warm from the heat radiating from her body. She's about to slip out from between them when she hears... something. A soft thump from Lark's room. Floorboards creaking. In the near silence, even whispers are discernable -- and Daja hears Rosethorn's soft laughter, drifting through the utter stillness.
She closes her eyes, as footsteps grows nearer -- two pairs of feet, golden and fair, bringing their owners to their predawn ceremonies, she thinks, turning her head to shield her still sensitive eyes from flickers of magic. She waits until the footsteps pass, until the creak of Discipline's door swinging open, then the click as it shuts, have come and gone. Daja opens her eyes again, rises, and begins to roll up her blankets before the morning's begun.
Daja has just bent over when Lark appears in the corner of her eye -- still very much inside Discipline -- smoothing the front of her habit.
"Good morning," Lark murmurs, her familiar, pleasant smile as warm as her voice. "You're up early."
Daja nods. "I feel much better."
Lark studies her for a moment, then nods.
"I thought you'd gone already," Daja can't stop herself from saying, just as Lark reaches the door.
Lark pauses, and there is again careful consideration in her eyes. Daja's cheeks warm; she's about to turn away and leave it be, but she doesn't need to. Lark seems to come to a decision, and beckons Daja over to stand beside her.
Curious despite herself, Daja comes, following Lark's gaze pointed. There are two figures by Discipline's front gate. One is short and stocky and utterly familiar. Her arms are crossed, but she's not tense, as Daja would have expected -- because she recognises the second figure, too, though it took her longer. Tall, thin, and standing not quite straight, as if he's unable to support his own figure, though Daja knows he can and does labour for hours in his greenhouse.
She sees, out of the corner of her eye, that Lark's watching her -- there's no worry in her eyes, but Lark is watching her, not the other two. Daja feels the weight of trust on her shoulders; it feels warm rather than heavy.
Thoughts, choices, flow through her mind, and Daja chooses the one that feels right. She smiles at Lark, wordless at first, and then, "They're so prickly, both."
Lark laughs. "That they are." A glance at the sky. "It's almost dawn. I shouldn't be late." A kiss on Daja's cheek, and she's gone to join Crane and Rosethorn.
Daja watches from the door, for a few moments. Crane's height, Rosethorn's more diminutive figure, and Lark in between, turning to murmur something in Rosethorn's ear. Arms and shoulders brushing, just barely touching, as they leave, until the flicker of magic has vanished.
She watches for a moment longer, then continues with her day.
Rating: G
Word Count: 637
Pairing: Dedicate Crane/Dedicate Lark/Dedicate Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: Daja wakes to... something.. Set before Circle Opens.
Daja wakes to... something.
It's still early. The sky is just leaving behind night's bruised purple to become that flat, light grey before dawn, forming a smooth backdrop against the familiar objects -- made into odd shapes by the darkness -- outside Discipline's window. Light curves in gentle ways around the furniture in Discipline's main rooms. She rubs her eyes, blinking against the ever-present shimmer of magic in the corner of her eye.
She is no longer sleepy. She had been exhausted when she returned from the forge the night before, but it was a good, clean exhaustion from a job done well, with only her success or failure, or possibly her pride, hinging on the result. No lives caught on the quality of worked metal. Less responsibility.
She's still not sure what woke her, but dismisses it for now.
There's a faint chill in the gentle, barely felt breeze whispering as it enters, but Daja's blankets are warm from the heat radiating from her body. She's about to slip out from between them when she hears... something. A soft thump from Lark's room. Floorboards creaking. In the near silence, even whispers are discernable -- and Daja hears Rosethorn's soft laughter, drifting through the utter stillness.
She closes her eyes, as footsteps grows nearer -- two pairs of feet, golden and fair, bringing their owners to their predawn ceremonies, she thinks, turning her head to shield her still sensitive eyes from flickers of magic. She waits until the footsteps pass, until the creak of Discipline's door swinging open, then the click as it shuts, have come and gone. Daja opens her eyes again, rises, and begins to roll up her blankets before the morning's begun.
Daja has just bent over when Lark appears in the corner of her eye -- still very much inside Discipline -- smoothing the front of her habit.
"Good morning," Lark murmurs, her familiar, pleasant smile as warm as her voice. "You're up early."
Daja nods. "I feel much better."
Lark studies her for a moment, then nods.
"I thought you'd gone already," Daja can't stop herself from saying, just as Lark reaches the door.
Lark pauses, and there is again careful consideration in her eyes. Daja's cheeks warm; she's about to turn away and leave it be, but she doesn't need to. Lark seems to come to a decision, and beckons Daja over to stand beside her.
Curious despite herself, Daja comes, following Lark's gaze pointed. There are two figures by Discipline's front gate. One is short and stocky and utterly familiar. Her arms are crossed, but she's not tense, as Daja would have expected -- because she recognises the second figure, too, though it took her longer. Tall, thin, and standing not quite straight, as if he's unable to support his own figure, though Daja knows he can and does labour for hours in his greenhouse.
She sees, out of the corner of her eye, that Lark's watching her -- there's no worry in her eyes, but Lark is watching her, not the other two. Daja feels the weight of trust on her shoulders; it feels warm rather than heavy.
Thoughts, choices, flow through her mind, and Daja chooses the one that feels right. She smiles at Lark, wordless at first, and then, "They're so prickly, both."
Lark laughs. "That they are." A glance at the sky. "It's almost dawn. I shouldn't be late." A kiss on Daja's cheek, and she's gone to join Crane and Rosethorn.
Daja watches from the door, for a few moments. Crane's height, Rosethorn's more diminutive figure, and Lark in between, turning to murmur something in Rosethorn's ear. Arms and shoulders brushing, just barely touching, as they leave, until the flicker of magic has vanished.
She watches for a moment longer, then continues with her day.