Post by wordy on Sept 27, 2015 17:40:10 GMT 10
Title: Equinox
Rating: G
Prompt: #40 - Holiday
Word Count: 244
Summary: Rosethorn is sent to spread the holiday spirit.
She finds Crane in one of the smaller greenhouses, transplanting seedlings into larger pots. The soil glitters with nutrients enhanced by magic; it crumbles softly as he works his long fingers around a fragile stem, patting and smoothing, cosseting the seedling into its new home. The long sleeves of his robe are buttoned out of the way, and when he glances up at her, long nose catching the light, his namesake makes a brief appearance before his mouth tightens into a frown and the illusion is broken.
"Lark wanted me to extend an invitation," Rosethorn says, leaning her palms on the bench. She bends her fingers and quests towards the seedlings, the barest touch of hello, there. "Spiced cordial and date buns, for the spring equinox."
"The Sunborn service is not scheduled until after noon." He digs his fingertips into a narrow pot and extracts another seedling.
She holds in a sigh, though her expression is less easily controlled. "Lunch, Crane. That's all. Lark will scold me if you don't come."
"I hardly see how that is my problem," he says, but there is a sliver of humour in his voice.
She pushes away from the bench. "Two engagements in one day will not sour your mood any more than it already is. Be there in an hour."
As she leaves, Crane makes a noncommittal noise, but she is confident in his attendance--even crotchety Air Temple dedicates cannot resist Lark's date buns.
Rating: G
Prompt: #40 - Holiday
Word Count: 244
Summary: Rosethorn is sent to spread the holiday spirit.
She finds Crane in one of the smaller greenhouses, transplanting seedlings into larger pots. The soil glitters with nutrients enhanced by magic; it crumbles softly as he works his long fingers around a fragile stem, patting and smoothing, cosseting the seedling into its new home. The long sleeves of his robe are buttoned out of the way, and when he glances up at her, long nose catching the light, his namesake makes a brief appearance before his mouth tightens into a frown and the illusion is broken.
"Lark wanted me to extend an invitation," Rosethorn says, leaning her palms on the bench. She bends her fingers and quests towards the seedlings, the barest touch of hello, there. "Spiced cordial and date buns, for the spring equinox."
"The Sunborn service is not scheduled until after noon." He digs his fingertips into a narrow pot and extracts another seedling.
She holds in a sigh, though her expression is less easily controlled. "Lunch, Crane. That's all. Lark will scold me if you don't come."
"I hardly see how that is my problem," he says, but there is a sliver of humour in his voice.
She pushes away from the bench. "Two engagements in one day will not sour your mood any more than it already is. Be there in an hour."
As she leaves, Crane makes a noncommittal noise, but she is confident in his attendance--even crotchety Air Temple dedicates cannot resist Lark's date buns.
Incidentally, in my personal headcanon Rosethorn is the fabulous cook.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!