the androgynous keeper of plushfrogs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossfortune) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2015-05-31 12:08 am
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-05-31 12:08 am
four for starting over
Name: Mischa
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: atomic tangerine (the four horsemen), verdigris (broken wall), octarine (he moved in a way that suggested he was attempting the world speed record for the nonchalant walk), halloween orange (all i long for is to roam -- must this be my only home?
Supplies and Styles:
Word Count: 217
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: depression, self-blame.
Summary: Mira wanders, does work, and has an unwanted meeting.
Notes: Someday I will get around to explaining exactly what is up with Mira and his siblings. This story is not that story.
The land still bleeds: the land still bleeds, and the people even more. They’re picking up the pieces as best as they can: there are too many things to do, too many everywhere, and Mira sits on the burned-out remains of an old wall, playing a song to the land. He’s too tired to do anything else, but as long as he has something to give, he’ll give it.
Almost absently, he strokes the bare skin of his throat, and sighs, remembering Ilya. Ilya, who he loves and left behind. Ilya, who probably doesn’t want him to come home.
(Ilya hadn’t been wrong, blaming him: he blames himself. if he’d been a little stronger, had held his place in the circle, just had given more even if it had killed him again, it wouldn’t have happened-)
“Vasilica?”
Even a lifetime away, Mira knows that startled voice, remembers the eldest brother from another life (who was never startled, never afraid, never-) He doesn’t turn for a long moment, and when he does, all he allows Emilian (older, worn, like he will never be-) to see is the Messenger and not the face of the young man who had been his brother, once, that lies beneath.
“No.” he says, and walks away, without another word, and doesn’t look back.
Story: as if words could be undone
Colors: atomic tangerine (the four horsemen), verdigris (broken wall), octarine (he moved in a way that suggested he was attempting the world speed record for the nonchalant walk), halloween orange (all i long for is to roam -- must this be my only home?
Supplies and Styles:
Word Count: 217
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: depression, self-blame.
Summary: Mira wanders, does work, and has an unwanted meeting.
Notes: Someday I will get around to explaining exactly what is up with Mira and his siblings. This story is not that story.
The land still bleeds: the land still bleeds, and the people even more. They’re picking up the pieces as best as they can: there are too many things to do, too many everywhere, and Mira sits on the burned-out remains of an old wall, playing a song to the land. He’s too tired to do anything else, but as long as he has something to give, he’ll give it.
Almost absently, he strokes the bare skin of his throat, and sighs, remembering Ilya. Ilya, who he loves and left behind. Ilya, who probably doesn’t want him to come home.
(Ilya hadn’t been wrong, blaming him: he blames himself. if he’d been a little stronger, had held his place in the circle, just had given more even if it had killed him again, it wouldn’t have happened-)
“Vasilica?”
Even a lifetime away, Mira knows that startled voice, remembers the eldest brother from another life (who was never startled, never afraid, never-) He doesn’t turn for a long moment, and when he does, all he allows Emilian (older, worn, like he will never be-) to see is the Messenger and not the face of the young man who had been his brother, once, that lies beneath.
“No.” he says, and walks away, without another word, and doesn’t look back.