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rainbowfic2016-01-06 08:14 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2016-01-06 08:14 pm
Blue Opal #8, Celestial Blue #2
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Blue Opal #8 (placid), Celestial Blue #2 (thou shalt not)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Eraser
Word Count: 922
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Ava examines her new accommodations.
Notes: Part 4 of the Ava kidnapping plot. Sort of an interlude. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Blue Opal.
Ava was left alone after the Araithus departed. She paced the room for a bit, counting out the steps to determine its size. Verdict: surprisingly large, either for a student's quarters or a prison cell. She wandered over to the bookcase, pulling out books at random and trying to parse their titles, regretting that she hadn't expended more effort in learning to read the salkiy language. It just hadn't seemed useful. Her father was the only native speaker she knew, and the few letters she had seen him write had always been in one of the human languages, depending upon recipient. There were so many other things to learn and remember, why spend so much time on something she would never use?
Still, she could pick her way through the titles, at least, and Ava set the books aside, satisfied. It would get easier with practice, she thought, and she might have a lot of time for practice indeed. Her father would come for her, but it would take him a long time: the Araithus's message had to reach him, across a vast continent and and even vaster sea, and unless he could make the Araithus's transport spell work as it should, he would have to repeat the journey in reverse to get to her.
But he would come, no doubt about that.
Ava wondered if there was some way to get a message to him herself, to tell him to not come. This was nothing more than a trap, a scheme to drag him into yet another war, another piece of horror that would leave him even quieter and more broken than before. She couldn't bear the thought of her gentle father being made to go through all that again.
But even if she had the ability to send a message, she knew guiltily, she wouldn't do it. She had no desire to spend her life a prisoner of salkiys. And what if he refused the Araithus's demands? How long would the Araithus keep her prisoner alive then?
Ava didn't want to see her father hurt. Neither did she want to die.
She sat on the bed, thinking perhaps she should come up with an escape plan for herself and her father, when he got there. A way for him to rescue her, but that would allow both of them to leave without getting involved in the salkiys' affairs. Because she knew he would have no such plan of his own. Her mother had always said her father's greatest weakness was his sense of obligation. If he made a deal to fight for the salkiys in return for his daughter's safety, he would honor that agreement. It would never even occur to him to break it.
Ava would have to do it for him.
A sound at the room's entrance startled her; as she looked over the door cracked open slowly, timidly, and after a pause that was just slightly too long, a young male salkiy slid into the room, his eyes downcast and a tray of food in his hands.
"I'm to have servants?" she said loudly with a scoff, mostly to unsettle the clearly nervous young salkiy.
It worked. He jumped and his eyes flew up at her for just a moment before he wrenched his face away. A wooden bowl rattled against the tray as the salkiy set it down on the table.
"Food," he said, gesturing to the tray. He spoke in a heavily-accented version of the merchant's tongue. Ava had learned it herself as a child, but it had been years since she'd heard it.
She felt her face grow hot with anger. "I speak your language," she said. "Far better than either of us speak the merchant tongue."
The salkiy stared at her, unblinking, as if her words had frozen him to the spot.
"What sort of food?" she asked, standing and stepping over to the tray. Some kind of soup in the bowl, thin and yellow with chunks of an unidentifiable green vegetable in it. A stack of hard, brown slices of something was set off to the side. Ava pointed to it. "What is this?"
The salkiy looked to where she was pointing, as if he didn't know what was there. Ava felt like shaking him. "Bread," he finally said, still in the merchant's tongue.
"I do not speak that language," she snapped.
He stared at her.
"Speak to me properly!"
The salkiy covered one eye with his left hand, a gesture Ava could only guess at the meaning of, then turned and fled, only slowing long enough to pull the door closed.
Ava waited a moment too long before bounding across the room and trying the handle. The young salkiy had been so nervous perhaps he would forget...but no, she was too late. Her hand landed on the handle at the same time as the sound of a key turning in the lock. She tried anyway, yanking at the handle a few times in frustration as it refused to give.
She trudged back to the bed, stopping to grab one of the slices the salkiy had claimed was bread. She took a bite and made a face. Tasted like bread, yes, but hard and dry. There was no honey or gravy to make it more palatable. Ava eyed the soup, but decided she wasn't very hungry after all.
She laid back on the bed and stared at the stone ceiling. This was going to be a very long wait.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Blue Opal #8 (placid), Celestial Blue #2 (thou shalt not)
Styles/Supplies: Frame, Eraser
Word Count: 922
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Ava examines her new accommodations.
Notes: Part 4 of the Ava kidnapping plot. Sort of an interlude. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Blue Opal.
Ava was left alone after the Araithus departed. She paced the room for a bit, counting out the steps to determine its size. Verdict: surprisingly large, either for a student's quarters or a prison cell. She wandered over to the bookcase, pulling out books at random and trying to parse their titles, regretting that she hadn't expended more effort in learning to read the salkiy language. It just hadn't seemed useful. Her father was the only native speaker she knew, and the few letters she had seen him write had always been in one of the human languages, depending upon recipient. There were so many other things to learn and remember, why spend so much time on something she would never use?
Still, she could pick her way through the titles, at least, and Ava set the books aside, satisfied. It would get easier with practice, she thought, and she might have a lot of time for practice indeed. Her father would come for her, but it would take him a long time: the Araithus's message had to reach him, across a vast continent and and even vaster sea, and unless he could make the Araithus's transport spell work as it should, he would have to repeat the journey in reverse to get to her.
But he would come, no doubt about that.
Ava wondered if there was some way to get a message to him herself, to tell him to not come. This was nothing more than a trap, a scheme to drag him into yet another war, another piece of horror that would leave him even quieter and more broken than before. She couldn't bear the thought of her gentle father being made to go through all that again.
But even if she had the ability to send a message, she knew guiltily, she wouldn't do it. She had no desire to spend her life a prisoner of salkiys. And what if he refused the Araithus's demands? How long would the Araithus keep her prisoner alive then?
Ava didn't want to see her father hurt. Neither did she want to die.
She sat on the bed, thinking perhaps she should come up with an escape plan for herself and her father, when he got there. A way for him to rescue her, but that would allow both of them to leave without getting involved in the salkiys' affairs. Because she knew he would have no such plan of his own. Her mother had always said her father's greatest weakness was his sense of obligation. If he made a deal to fight for the salkiys in return for his daughter's safety, he would honor that agreement. It would never even occur to him to break it.
Ava would have to do it for him.
A sound at the room's entrance startled her; as she looked over the door cracked open slowly, timidly, and after a pause that was just slightly too long, a young male salkiy slid into the room, his eyes downcast and a tray of food in his hands.
"I'm to have servants?" she said loudly with a scoff, mostly to unsettle the clearly nervous young salkiy.
It worked. He jumped and his eyes flew up at her for just a moment before he wrenched his face away. A wooden bowl rattled against the tray as the salkiy set it down on the table.
"Food," he said, gesturing to the tray. He spoke in a heavily-accented version of the merchant's tongue. Ava had learned it herself as a child, but it had been years since she'd heard it.
She felt her face grow hot with anger. "I speak your language," she said. "Far better than either of us speak the merchant tongue."
The salkiy stared at her, unblinking, as if her words had frozen him to the spot.
"What sort of food?" she asked, standing and stepping over to the tray. Some kind of soup in the bowl, thin and yellow with chunks of an unidentifiable green vegetable in it. A stack of hard, brown slices of something was set off to the side. Ava pointed to it. "What is this?"
The salkiy looked to where she was pointing, as if he didn't know what was there. Ava felt like shaking him. "Bread," he finally said, still in the merchant's tongue.
"I do not speak that language," she snapped.
He stared at her.
"Speak to me properly!"
The salkiy covered one eye with his left hand, a gesture Ava could only guess at the meaning of, then turned and fled, only slowing long enough to pull the door closed.
Ava waited a moment too long before bounding across the room and trying the handle. The young salkiy had been so nervous perhaps he would forget...but no, she was too late. Her hand landed on the handle at the same time as the sound of a key turning in the lock. She tried anyway, yanking at the handle a few times in frustration as it refused to give.
She trudged back to the bed, stopping to grab one of the slices the salkiy had claimed was bread. She took a bite and made a face. Tasted like bread, yes, but hard and dry. There was no honey or gravy to make it more palatable. Ava eyed the soup, but decided she wasn't very hungry after all.
She laid back on the bed and stared at the stone ceiling. This was going to be a very long wait.
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I'm so happy you posted more of this. Ava and the young one's interaction is just fascinating!
I'm excited all over again for this!
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Thanks for reading!
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I'm glad there's more of this! :D
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He does speak the language she expects, but there's a reason he's not using it in front of her.
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Thanks for reading!