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rainbowfic2012-03-11 11:08 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2012-03-11 11:08 pm
Sulphur #16, Angel Cake #15
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Subtlety
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Sulphur #16. Fire, Angel Cake #15. Fire born
Supplies and Materials: pastels (my current gen card G1 Bluffing), oils, feathers
Word Count: 820
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Prince Isshiri
Warnings: Enslavement, some internalized ablism
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri grew steadily unhappier as his week in Feredar went on. It grew harder and harder to stand aside and ignore the collared earth-mages, harder to hold onto his temper and his gift and keep from giving himself away.
Most of the slaves he'd seen were earth-mages, especially in the parts of the city he was frequenting. They were used to maintain buildings and roads, and occasionally statues. But there were other slaves, with different collars. He'd seen a pair of captive water-mages helping an earth-mage repair a fountain, and one surly metal-mage repairing prison cells in the local police station. He'd even spotted a despondent air-mage, working with messenger birds. He hadn't seen any fire-mages in collars, as he hadn't seen lightning- or blood-mages or bards, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. If he was identified, of course, he'd be put in a collar of his own. He certainly didn't like that idea.
On the other hand...
I was sent here to learn exactly how bad the situation for mages in Feredar was. I can't really report on that unless I see all of it. "Damn you to the coldest, dankest corner of hell," he muttered aloud in his mother's general direction.
"Beg pardon?" a woman who was examining a very pretty pair of wine goblets asked him.
He jumped a little and smiled at her. "Apologies, milady. I was just thinking that your beauty would bring cheer to the coldest, dankest corner of the underworld." Ye gods, that was awful. I can just picture the look on 'Lani's face if she heard me using a line like that.
Not that the woman wasn't attractive. She was remarkably so, as a matter of fact, and, from the way she fluttered and smiled and denied him modestly, she was one of those pretty girls, the ones who feel such compliments are merely their due. At minimum. He felt marginally better for the bad line.
He flirted shamelessly with her for another few minutes, and got her to buy the goblets. It had even been a relatively enjoyable experience. He certainly wasn't the hedonist his older sister was, but the pretty girl had been willing enough to toss him a bone or two, and had bought the glassware for a little more than it was worth. It felt nice. He didn't receive much of that sort of attention at home, given his...incompleteness, but he'd often found a girl or two willing to flirt with a mysterious desert man since leaving home.
Even if he did most of the work.
Smiling faintly, he secreted the money away, then checked to make sure there were police watching. If he were going to get that fuller picture, no time like the present to start. Especially since his visa ran out tomorrow. It's been a while since I've done anything flashy. This will be even more fun than the flirting.
He pulled off his gloves and focused, pulling heat from the air and a little spark from himself to give it life. In one hand, under the table, he shaped it into a dragon, of the sort that haunted fairy tales common in this part of the world. Isshiri then looked up, deliberately met a policeman's eyes, and loosed the dragon in the marketplace.
Grinning, he fed it more life so it swelled to something majestic, swooping around--always avoiding actually setting anything on fire, of course, but making no few people shriek in terror or wonder or both.
To their credit, the police responded quickly, grabbing a bucket of water to try and quench the dragon. Isshiri felt it hit, a cold shock to one side, but he didn't let the dragon go out. Not yet. He'd have to release it before it took more than two or three more hits, or he'd die with it, but he wasn't going down without a fight. Not after what these monsters were doing to decent mages.
The fight was over quicker than he would've liked, and left him shivering and disoriented. He'd just barely let go of the dragon in time, and he knew from experience that it would likely be a day or two before he felt properly warm again, let alone capable of performing more magic. The police trapped his hands in a stone box, knowing that most fire-mages wouldn't be able to work up enough heat to melt it, and even those few would end up burning their hands beyond repair.
So I'm not the first fire-mage they've caught, he mused, following contritely where they led. Now I've just got to glean what I can from wherever they put their slaves.
And then get out again, of course.
...oh, fuck.
He’d forgotten to plan that out first. Dammit. I knew I'd forgotten something. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Groaning internally, he stumbled along between the police, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Story: Subtlety
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Sulphur #16. Fire, Angel Cake #15. Fire born
Supplies and Materials: pastels (my current gen card G1 Bluffing), oils, feathers
Word Count: 820
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Prince Isshiri
Warnings: Enslavement, some internalized ablism
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Isshiri grew steadily unhappier as his week in Feredar went on. It grew harder and harder to stand aside and ignore the collared earth-mages, harder to hold onto his temper and his gift and keep from giving himself away.
Most of the slaves he'd seen were earth-mages, especially in the parts of the city he was frequenting. They were used to maintain buildings and roads, and occasionally statues. But there were other slaves, with different collars. He'd seen a pair of captive water-mages helping an earth-mage repair a fountain, and one surly metal-mage repairing prison cells in the local police station. He'd even spotted a despondent air-mage, working with messenger birds. He hadn't seen any fire-mages in collars, as he hadn't seen lightning- or blood-mages or bards, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. If he was identified, of course, he'd be put in a collar of his own. He certainly didn't like that idea.
On the other hand...
I was sent here to learn exactly how bad the situation for mages in Feredar was. I can't really report on that unless I see all of it. "Damn you to the coldest, dankest corner of hell," he muttered aloud in his mother's general direction.
"Beg pardon?" a woman who was examining a very pretty pair of wine goblets asked him.
He jumped a little and smiled at her. "Apologies, milady. I was just thinking that your beauty would bring cheer to the coldest, dankest corner of the underworld." Ye gods, that was awful. I can just picture the look on 'Lani's face if she heard me using a line like that.
Not that the woman wasn't attractive. She was remarkably so, as a matter of fact, and, from the way she fluttered and smiled and denied him modestly, she was one of those pretty girls, the ones who feel such compliments are merely their due. At minimum. He felt marginally better for the bad line.
He flirted shamelessly with her for another few minutes, and got her to buy the goblets. It had even been a relatively enjoyable experience. He certainly wasn't the hedonist his older sister was, but the pretty girl had been willing enough to toss him a bone or two, and had bought the glassware for a little more than it was worth. It felt nice. He didn't receive much of that sort of attention at home, given his...incompleteness, but he'd often found a girl or two willing to flirt with a mysterious desert man since leaving home.
Even if he did most of the work.
Smiling faintly, he secreted the money away, then checked to make sure there were police watching. If he were going to get that fuller picture, no time like the present to start. Especially since his visa ran out tomorrow. It's been a while since I've done anything flashy. This will be even more fun than the flirting.
He pulled off his gloves and focused, pulling heat from the air and a little spark from himself to give it life. In one hand, under the table, he shaped it into a dragon, of the sort that haunted fairy tales common in this part of the world. Isshiri then looked up, deliberately met a policeman's eyes, and loosed the dragon in the marketplace.
Grinning, he fed it more life so it swelled to something majestic, swooping around--always avoiding actually setting anything on fire, of course, but making no few people shriek in terror or wonder or both.
To their credit, the police responded quickly, grabbing a bucket of water to try and quench the dragon. Isshiri felt it hit, a cold shock to one side, but he didn't let the dragon go out. Not yet. He'd have to release it before it took more than two or three more hits, or he'd die with it, but he wasn't going down without a fight. Not after what these monsters were doing to decent mages.
The fight was over quicker than he would've liked, and left him shivering and disoriented. He'd just barely let go of the dragon in time, and he knew from experience that it would likely be a day or two before he felt properly warm again, let alone capable of performing more magic. The police trapped his hands in a stone box, knowing that most fire-mages wouldn't be able to work up enough heat to melt it, and even those few would end up burning their hands beyond repair.
So I'm not the first fire-mage they've caught, he mused, following contritely where they led. Now I've just got to glean what I can from wherever they put their slaves.
And then get out again, of course.
...oh, fuck.
He’d forgotten to plan that out first. Dammit. I knew I'd forgotten something. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Groaning internally, he stumbled along between the police, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.
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Thank you ^^
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Good job.
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Thank you ^^
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He jumped a little and smiled at her. "Apologies, milady. I was just thinking that your beauty would bring cheer to the coldest, dankest corner of the underworld." Ye gods, that was awful. I can just picture the look on 'Lani's face if she heard me using a line like that.
Not that the woman wasn't attractive. She was remarkably so, as a matter of fact, and, from the way she fluttered and smiled and denied him modestly, she was one of those pretty girls, the ones who feel such compliments are merely their due. At minimum. He felt marginally better for the bad line.
Is charming and great character building. And then the end. Well, someone's got an adventure coming, I suppose :X.
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Many adventures for Isshiri, yes.
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Yeah, Isshiri is a seventeen-year-old mage who works with fire. Lots of impulsiveness there :D