Post by Rachy on Feb 24, 2014 16:45:55 GMT 10
Title: Prior Reflection
Rating: PG
For: skylar
Prompt: #1: Lark/Rosethorn
Summary: Lark reflects before an important caller arrives.
Dear Skylar,
I’m sorry this is at the end of the Exchange, but I hope you still enjoy ♥
The scent of spices fills the air, and she stirs the pot of rice absently, humming an old Trader song, half remembering the beats and claps as they echo through her mind. The rain patters intermittently against the window and she is glad that unlike Rosethorn, she does not feel the need to be outside in the remaining dregs of winter, two weeks into spring. Lark takes two bowls out and places them on the table, and reaches for a third before realizing that they do not have any guests for dinner, or any students, rare as they may be.
Life at Discipline is settled now, several years into their residence together, and free of the courtesy that bracketed their first year together. Familiarity eased into their haven, slight outsiders as they were, and their romance had grown slowly over time until it was as natural as their friendship was. Their vows did not allow for anything other than a persistent attachment. Their own wants and desires were of lesser importance, found unspoken, whispered upon lips and written into skin by gentle fingers and tender words spoken in passionate moments. It was enough for them, however, and they found contentment in whatever private moments they could scrounge together, always less when they had students with them. They had not had students stay with them for several months, and even then there had only been brief stays of adjustment.
It was enough to make her wish for another student, to help them adjust and settle and discover themselves and perhaps their magic the way she had when she had first arrived in Winding Circle, not so long ago. It was not likely, however, as she knew many of the new arrivals were simply boarders with a home in Summersea at the end of the day, or novices with control over their magic. She misses the opportunity to help most of all, as teaching weaving to the new Water novices is not quite as fulfilling a prospect. She places bread and the carving knife on the table, and sets out the silverware, a crash of thunder causing her to jump. She huffs a rueful laugh and cannot help but smile when she hears the door snap close and Rosethorn is there.
“I thought you would wash up, first.” Lark smiles, her gaze lingering across the dirt streaked across Rosethorn’s habit and arms.
“I did not fancy getting soaked. Or have you missed the rain that has come with that thunder?” Rosethorn replies, her eyebrows raised.
“You are quite a distraction.” Lark smiled, and reached out for Rosethorn.
Rosethorn cups Lark’s face in her hands, slightly clammy from rain, dirt still clinging to her thumbs. They kiss with a practiced familiarity that is comforting, knowledge rather than instinct guiding lips and hands in order to please. Lark weaves a hand through Rosethorn’s hair, her fingers brushing through damp spots as she tugs her close and twines her other hand around her waist, fingers splayed across the small of her back to keep her near. The intoxicating and fresh smell of recent rain and dirt accompanies Rosethorn’s every slight shift of move, and Lark nestles her face in Rosethorn’s hair as Rosethorn nuzzles her way along her neck, gently nipping at her exposed collarbone. She gives an appreciative moan and Rosethorn pulls away, regarding her with the soft, warm and loving gaze she always delights in seeing.
“I should go wash.” Rosethorn says, fondness creeping into her tone, but Lark takes her hands and kisses her smile and they linger contentedly in the warmth of the kitchen hearth. Rosethorn lets her go with a sigh of regret, reaching up to cup her face in her hand, and Lark smiles when she wipes the dirt off her cheek.
“We don’t have the midnight services tonight.” Rosethorn says softly, smiling, and Lark presses a kiss against her hand. Rosethorn goes to wash and Lark returns to the rice. Rosethorn chops vegetables for a salad and Lark places the pot of rice on the table, and they sit on their stools peacefully next to each other.
“I saw Crane today. He said his tomato plants were appearing quite well, and he hoped our gardens were not getting too flooded in this rain.” Lark says after they have served themselves, and watches Rosethorn’s reaction.
“Hmph.” Rosethorn replies, stabbing a slice of tomato with force. It seemed Rosethorn and Crane were still on the waspish stage of their relationship, and things had not eased into the calmer, near-friendly rivalry that usually came once significant time had passed since they had last worked together.
“It won’t be too long before the crocuses bloom. The bulbs you liked last year are looking healthy, so long as the rain isn’t too much for them.” Rosethorn smiles, and Lark smiles back.
“They were so beautiful, I’m sure it won’t be.” Lark replies, and a knock at the door interrupts them. Lark glances out the window and sees it is still raining quite heavily, and shares a concerned look with Rosethorn as she stands and walks to the door. She opens it to find Niklaren Goldeye standing there, the hood of his coat covering his face from the rain.
“Niko!” She smiles with delight, opening the door wider and ushering him in. “Here, let me take your coat. You’ll join us for dinner?”
“If it is not too much of an intrusion, I would be grateful.” He replies, smoothing his hair back from his face.
“Not an intrusion at all.” Rosethorn replies, collecting another plate and placing it on the table, and grabbing another stool. They sit and Niko takes a slice of bread and some rice.
“What brings you back to Winding Circle? We thought you would still be travelling for some time yet.” Lark asks curiously.
“So did I, and I think I may need to still. There are some recent additions to Winding Circle I found, new students that may have some difficulties.” Niko frowns, a perplexed expression spreading across his face.
“Oh?” Lark and Rosethorn reply.
Rating: PG
For: skylar
Prompt: #1: Lark/Rosethorn
Summary: Lark reflects before an important caller arrives.
Dear Skylar,
I’m sorry this is at the end of the Exchange, but I hope you still enjoy ♥
The scent of spices fills the air, and she stirs the pot of rice absently, humming an old Trader song, half remembering the beats and claps as they echo through her mind. The rain patters intermittently against the window and she is glad that unlike Rosethorn, she does not feel the need to be outside in the remaining dregs of winter, two weeks into spring. Lark takes two bowls out and places them on the table, and reaches for a third before realizing that they do not have any guests for dinner, or any students, rare as they may be.
Life at Discipline is settled now, several years into their residence together, and free of the courtesy that bracketed their first year together. Familiarity eased into their haven, slight outsiders as they were, and their romance had grown slowly over time until it was as natural as their friendship was. Their vows did not allow for anything other than a persistent attachment. Their own wants and desires were of lesser importance, found unspoken, whispered upon lips and written into skin by gentle fingers and tender words spoken in passionate moments. It was enough for them, however, and they found contentment in whatever private moments they could scrounge together, always less when they had students with them. They had not had students stay with them for several months, and even then there had only been brief stays of adjustment.
It was enough to make her wish for another student, to help them adjust and settle and discover themselves and perhaps their magic the way she had when she had first arrived in Winding Circle, not so long ago. It was not likely, however, as she knew many of the new arrivals were simply boarders with a home in Summersea at the end of the day, or novices with control over their magic. She misses the opportunity to help most of all, as teaching weaving to the new Water novices is not quite as fulfilling a prospect. She places bread and the carving knife on the table, and sets out the silverware, a crash of thunder causing her to jump. She huffs a rueful laugh and cannot help but smile when she hears the door snap close and Rosethorn is there.
“I thought you would wash up, first.” Lark smiles, her gaze lingering across the dirt streaked across Rosethorn’s habit and arms.
“I did not fancy getting soaked. Or have you missed the rain that has come with that thunder?” Rosethorn replies, her eyebrows raised.
“You are quite a distraction.” Lark smiled, and reached out for Rosethorn.
Rosethorn cups Lark’s face in her hands, slightly clammy from rain, dirt still clinging to her thumbs. They kiss with a practiced familiarity that is comforting, knowledge rather than instinct guiding lips and hands in order to please. Lark weaves a hand through Rosethorn’s hair, her fingers brushing through damp spots as she tugs her close and twines her other hand around her waist, fingers splayed across the small of her back to keep her near. The intoxicating and fresh smell of recent rain and dirt accompanies Rosethorn’s every slight shift of move, and Lark nestles her face in Rosethorn’s hair as Rosethorn nuzzles her way along her neck, gently nipping at her exposed collarbone. She gives an appreciative moan and Rosethorn pulls away, regarding her with the soft, warm and loving gaze she always delights in seeing.
“I should go wash.” Rosethorn says, fondness creeping into her tone, but Lark takes her hands and kisses her smile and they linger contentedly in the warmth of the kitchen hearth. Rosethorn lets her go with a sigh of regret, reaching up to cup her face in her hand, and Lark smiles when she wipes the dirt off her cheek.
“We don’t have the midnight services tonight.” Rosethorn says softly, smiling, and Lark presses a kiss against her hand. Rosethorn goes to wash and Lark returns to the rice. Rosethorn chops vegetables for a salad and Lark places the pot of rice on the table, and they sit on their stools peacefully next to each other.
“I saw Crane today. He said his tomato plants were appearing quite well, and he hoped our gardens were not getting too flooded in this rain.” Lark says after they have served themselves, and watches Rosethorn’s reaction.
“Hmph.” Rosethorn replies, stabbing a slice of tomato with force. It seemed Rosethorn and Crane were still on the waspish stage of their relationship, and things had not eased into the calmer, near-friendly rivalry that usually came once significant time had passed since they had last worked together.
“It won’t be too long before the crocuses bloom. The bulbs you liked last year are looking healthy, so long as the rain isn’t too much for them.” Rosethorn smiles, and Lark smiles back.
“They were so beautiful, I’m sure it won’t be.” Lark replies, and a knock at the door interrupts them. Lark glances out the window and sees it is still raining quite heavily, and shares a concerned look with Rosethorn as she stands and walks to the door. She opens it to find Niklaren Goldeye standing there, the hood of his coat covering his face from the rain.
“Niko!” She smiles with delight, opening the door wider and ushering him in. “Here, let me take your coat. You’ll join us for dinner?”
“If it is not too much of an intrusion, I would be grateful.” He replies, smoothing his hair back from his face.
“Not an intrusion at all.” Rosethorn replies, collecting another plate and placing it on the table, and grabbing another stool. They sit and Niko takes a slice of bread and some rice.
“What brings you back to Winding Circle? We thought you would still be travelling for some time yet.” Lark asks curiously.
“So did I, and I think I may need to still. There are some recent additions to Winding Circle I found, new students that may have some difficulties.” Niko frowns, a perplexed expression spreading across his face.
“Oh?” Lark and Rosethorn reply.