Post by Muse on Jun 1, 2013 21:50:04 GMT 10
Title: Hiring Staff
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 569
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 3A
Summary: Jon holds his breath and hopes that he’s read his Champion right. References past canon-character death
Alanna is grooming Darkmoon when Jon finds her in the stables. Like her, he’s dressed plainly, but even rough spun brown breeches and a plain white shirt can’t disguise him, with his still mostly-coal black hair and infamous Conte eyes. He’s so noticeable, she thinks, briefly forgetting her own copper curls and violet eyes.
Leaning on the door to Darkmoon’s stall, Jon chews on a piece of straw lazily, watching Alanna brush wisps of bedding and dust from Darkmoon’s hocks. The simple rhythm is soothing, as is the sound to the straw beneath Alanna’s feet as she circles her mount.
“You going to stand there all day and watch me work?” Alanna asks as she straightens up, shoving her hair out of her face. “Here, make yourself useful.”
Jon catches the brush before it can smack him in the face and lets himself in. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Darkmoon inspects Jon carefully, nosing at his pockets for the expected carrot—“here, you spoiled terror”—before Jon is able to move to Darkmoon’s other side, working the brush in circles as the stallion leans into him.
Alanna feels down Darkmoon’s leg, picking up his hoof and holding it between her knees in order to clean it. “About what?”
Jon can’t see her face, so he crosses his fingers behind his back when he says, “We’ve hired a new person for the palace training staff.”
Alanna moves to Darkmoon’s rear hoof, waiting for the horse to shift his weight, before she speaks up again, “Who is it? Do I know them?”
Darkmoon lips at Jon’s sleeve impatiently when he stops the motion of the brush. Jon pushes away the stallion’s nose, and Darkmoon twitches his hide impatiently. Alanna, watching Jon with a bemused expression, raises an eyebrow.
“It’s me,” a wry voice answers for Jon, footsteps coming closer to the stall. The figure who speaks appears in the doorway, sturdy and wiry and somehow ageless, though Jon knows the reason why a member of Shang would want what amounts to a permanent position, and why this particular Shang is agreeable to a post in this particular court. Alanna straightens abruptly, dropping Darkmoon’s hoof carelessly as the pick falls from suddenly numb fingers
Eda Bell stands there, a small smile on her face. “Well met, Lioness. It’s been a while.”
Alanna gapes, emotions and memories tumbling through her head.
Dry, desert wind. Brilliant, blinding sun, and the sting of salty tears sliding down her cheeks. Grief.
“Wildcat,” Alanna croaks, reaching forward to grip her firm hand in greeting, familiar calluses (even after all these years) on unfamiliar palms.
Practice the kicks off your left side, I don't care if they tire you out more than the right-side kicks.
“Lioness.” Eda’s voice is warm. “Have you been keeping up with your practice?”
A sudden grin breaks out over Alanna’s face, and Jon hides his own answering grin in Darkmoon’s mane. “Go on,” he says, waving at the two women. “I can finish up here.”
The two women wander off together in the direction of the practice courts, and Jon can hear Alanna’s indignation as Eda ribs Alanna (playfully, for a woman as gruff as the Wildcat) about kicks off of her left side.
It worked.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 569
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 3A
Summary: Jon holds his breath and hopes that he’s read his Champion right. References past canon-character death
Alanna is grooming Darkmoon when Jon finds her in the stables. Like her, he’s dressed plainly, but even rough spun brown breeches and a plain white shirt can’t disguise him, with his still mostly-coal black hair and infamous Conte eyes. He’s so noticeable, she thinks, briefly forgetting her own copper curls and violet eyes.
Leaning on the door to Darkmoon’s stall, Jon chews on a piece of straw lazily, watching Alanna brush wisps of bedding and dust from Darkmoon’s hocks. The simple rhythm is soothing, as is the sound to the straw beneath Alanna’s feet as she circles her mount.
“You going to stand there all day and watch me work?” Alanna asks as she straightens up, shoving her hair out of her face. “Here, make yourself useful.”
Jon catches the brush before it can smack him in the face and lets himself in. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Darkmoon inspects Jon carefully, nosing at his pockets for the expected carrot—“here, you spoiled terror”—before Jon is able to move to Darkmoon’s other side, working the brush in circles as the stallion leans into him.
Alanna feels down Darkmoon’s leg, picking up his hoof and holding it between her knees in order to clean it. “About what?”
Jon can’t see her face, so he crosses his fingers behind his back when he says, “We’ve hired a new person for the palace training staff.”
Alanna moves to Darkmoon’s rear hoof, waiting for the horse to shift his weight, before she speaks up again, “Who is it? Do I know them?”
Darkmoon lips at Jon’s sleeve impatiently when he stops the motion of the brush. Jon pushes away the stallion’s nose, and Darkmoon twitches his hide impatiently. Alanna, watching Jon with a bemused expression, raises an eyebrow.
“It’s me,” a wry voice answers for Jon, footsteps coming closer to the stall. The figure who speaks appears in the doorway, sturdy and wiry and somehow ageless, though Jon knows the reason why a member of Shang would want what amounts to a permanent position, and why this particular Shang is agreeable to a post in this particular court. Alanna straightens abruptly, dropping Darkmoon’s hoof carelessly as the pick falls from suddenly numb fingers
Eda Bell stands there, a small smile on her face. “Well met, Lioness. It’s been a while.”
Alanna gapes, emotions and memories tumbling through her head.
Dry, desert wind. Brilliant, blinding sun, and the sting of salty tears sliding down her cheeks. Grief.
“Wildcat,” Alanna croaks, reaching forward to grip her firm hand in greeting, familiar calluses (even after all these years) on unfamiliar palms.
Practice the kicks off your left side, I don't care if they tire you out more than the right-side kicks.
“Lioness.” Eda’s voice is warm. “Have you been keeping up with your practice?”
A sudden grin breaks out over Alanna’s face, and Jon hides his own answering grin in Darkmoon’s mane. “Go on,” he says, waving at the two women. “I can finish up here.”
The two women wander off together in the direction of the practice courts, and Jon can hear Alanna’s indignation as Eda ribs Alanna (playfully, for a woman as gruff as the Wildcat) about kicks off of her left side.
It worked.