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rainbowfic2018-12-24 02:56 pm
dray) wrote in rainbowfic2018-12-24 02:56 pm
Iceberg #4, Silver #6, Ignition Yellow #20
Name: Dray
Story:everwood
Colors: Iceberg 4) Long Nights, Silver 6) Shine, Ignition Yellow 20) "We used to be something, I can't remember just what"
Supplies and Styles: Illustration, Frame, Beading Wire (Dec. 24th 2018)
Word Count: 1572
Rating: T - Teen, for cursing
Warnings: Note: Re-written January 1st for clarity.
(Some first-draft versions of Owen and Akadine. I'm not fully set on their character designs but this gets the point across!)
The road to Urdasvale was a long one, and Owen had spent two weeks by boat and by track getting there. The village was deep in the mountains after which the Dragontooth Glacier Lake had been named. It was truly kingdom frontier, a land too forbidding for civilized company, or even for most of the magic and monsters that lurked in the massive expanse of the Evermarches.
Urdasvale was unusual for other reasons, too. The village was named after a prominent royal ancestral figure. Left to loose ends, Owen generally researched everything about an area he didn't know from experience, but Urda he had known in passing. The legacy she'd left seemed appropriate. She had briefly been third Queen of the most recent regime of the Tulani-Mayana line and, before that, was a powerful mage and an expansive personality. She'd been one of the first to fully portage up river road all the way to the Dragonteeth, which had at that time been described as the end of the world.
Owen could understand their naming; the mountains jutted so majestically high over the man's head that, even in the late afternoon, they had already cut off the sun's swift setting. Imagining being alone up here before all of the settling had begun, Owen could only imagine. Urda had befriended the naiads and other river folk and made peace with the lake's denizens. She had personally secured the land around its perimeter that the kingdom's people now fished and built upon. She had also left a veritable passal of children in her hundred years before she'd returned to this untamed land one last time and gone missing, which was a favourite tale for speculation among the locals. The rumours ran the gamut from settled anonymous crone still peddling love spells, to tragically eaten by a monstrous lake serpent in a jealous fit.
The mayor of Urdasvale claimed to be a direct descendent, and upheld a few of Urdas' tenets, namely that those who lived within the sheltered valley must not toil as men did. In the past, that had probably meant that Urdasvale was a place for quiet contemplation, and maybe the exploration of magic, but over the last three and a half centuries it had steadily become so populated by women that, for those who knew about it, 'Urdasvale' had halfways become synonymous with 'lesbian enclave'. It meant that while Owen could visit now and again, this was not the perfect place to put down roots. There were people here worth making the journey for. They weren't the sort of company he usually kept, but they were dear to his heart.
Just on the outskirts of the village, he'd tied his mule to a reedy sapling and changed out of his well-worn kit and into his best. This was a tradition. He had spared no expense to ensure that every detail when he came into town would be perfect... except perhaps one. The polished silver buttons of his crimson overcoat did not match the luster of gold on his belt, nor his dark eyes or his warmly reddish hair. He thumbed one with a gloved hand and smiled, because he'd ensured they were well polished to a shine. They were intricate, and they drew the eye. To anyone who didn't know any better, he looked like he'd stepped out of the court hall and had been out for a garden stroll. He looked ridiculous, dressed like this off the side of a weedy trail still caught in the dregs of winter, but he enjoyed that. He had come to like being perceived as the fish out of water.
His ploy to be noticed worked, almost too well. He had booked a room in the singular bed and breakfast and come out into the street when he felt more than saw a shadow looming up quickly behind him. Owen slipped sideways, but wasn't able to avoid a hand grabbing for his bound hair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a weathered and over-eager grin before he was pulled, hair-first, into a side-hug that was fit to crush him against bony ribs.
He immediately pulled away and dusted himself off, fastidious, as a lanky woman punched him hard in the arm. Through a grimace, he tugged the front of his jacket, not entirely needing to pretend the offense he felt at the greeting.
"Owen fucking Goodlace, the man made of smoke in the wind. You've got a lot of fucking nerve to show up around here." She stopped, taken aback as she looked him over more closely. "What's the meaning of this?" she asked, flicking a button under his neck cloth.
"Begging your pardon," Owen replied, sardonic, not apologetic at all. "Akadine, if I remember correctly, I owe you. I'd imagine you'd want me back now and again." He'd barely been looking up at her, instead pretending fascination with a speck of dirt she'd got on his coat. When he did peer, he noted with some trepidation that she'd gathered more lines across her face. She was weathered, yes, but she was also looking old. 'Too soon,' he felt a deep-seated pang. Maybe it was time for the pranks to end...
Akadine sliced her hand, waving his comment away. She stepped up to him so that she could loom down, drop her voice into a hoarse growl. "What is this... this second best? Are you... did you run out of means...?" She was the sort of person to be this hyper-focused and normally Owen drank it up when he could get under his skin. He tried to make a go of it now--she looked older, yes, but her ragged-cropped hair was still coal black and her skin unmarred by more than her usual scars.
He cleared his throat, trying for calm resignation. "Not as valuable a bauble as I used to be. Don't pretend to be concerned over me. We both know you're a hoarder who values gold over a man's heart."
Undeterred, Akadine slipped around by his side and wrapped a possessive arm over his shoulder, physically walking him off the main road and between two buildings. She smelled of sweat and polish and woodsmoke, and she squeezed him close. "I mean it, are you suffering? There isn't nearly as much brocade on this thing as there should be, let alone the buttons. I still have treasure stashed away somewhere if you're really this badly off..."
"You're not going to call on your old band of brigands to rob poor, innocent people just to decorate my torso," Owen said, feigning shock. This close, Akadine felt about the same as she had when he'd been with her years ago.
"I never said I was, and they're not brigands, they uphold the safety of the travel laws--"
Owen snorted, grinning up at the woman. "And that's it?" He could feel himself gazing longer than he meant to, caught up in the scrutiny she was leveling on him.
Akadine made a face, lips twisting into a grimace like she was trying to hold back a grin. She seemed unaware that she was leaning in over him, her arm a vice over his shoulders as she considered him for wholly different reasons. Her strangely pale, mean, sharp glare softened. Owen cleared his throat as she lowered her forehead towards his, though he was loathe to interrupt the direction she'd been going in. This was a little far, for either of them, if this was a prank, and it had been a long time since they'd either been serious.
The little noise may as well have been a physical shove, because Akadine's arm flew from his shoulder and she marched two steps back, half turning away. "Damn you and that stupid grin." She was still glaring, but now she folded her arms desperately tight, standing rigid and pointing her death beam at the shingled walls of the nearby shop. "Catch me up in your rags and those big dark eyes."
"Yes, well." Privately, Owen was delighted; Akadine prided herself in turning the tables when her feathers had been ruffled and he liked it when he won. It was tradition, fulfilled, and he felt more at ease now, even if the way that their relationship had changed in the intervening years had created a kind of tension he wasn't sure how to reconcile. "I'm as capable of flaunting full brocade as ever," he promised her, still dry as he waited for her to settle. "If you want to see it, you'll just have to come out of hiding and into civilized company. Your bandits aren't doing as good a job of keeping the ways safe, so I leave my first-best coat at home these days."
Akadine puffed up and finally released her elbows. "You always demanded the impossible. The day I leave Urdasvale is the day someone buries a lance down my gullet. Come on, you're joining us at dinner whether you like it or not, and you're reacquainting yourself with your investments whether you like it or not, too. The girls barely remember their uncle, you visit so rarely."
"Any more frequently and there'd be cause for suspicion," Owen replied, but he folded his gloved hands behind his back and followed the lanky old wretch with a grin and a blossom of warmth in his breast.
Story:
everwoodColors: Iceberg 4) Long Nights, Silver 6) Shine, Ignition Yellow 20) "We used to be something, I can't remember just what"
Supplies and Styles: Illustration, Frame, Beading Wire (Dec. 24th 2018)
Word Count: 1572
Rating: T - Teen, for cursing
Warnings: Note: Re-written January 1st for clarity.
(Some first-draft versions of Owen and Akadine. I'm not fully set on their character designs but this gets the point across!)
The road to Urdasvale was a long one, and Owen had spent two weeks by boat and by track getting there. The village was deep in the mountains after which the Dragontooth Glacier Lake had been named. It was truly kingdom frontier, a land too forbidding for civilized company, or even for most of the magic and monsters that lurked in the massive expanse of the Evermarches.
Urdasvale was unusual for other reasons, too. The village was named after a prominent royal ancestral figure. Left to loose ends, Owen generally researched everything about an area he didn't know from experience, but Urda he had known in passing. The legacy she'd left seemed appropriate. She had briefly been third Queen of the most recent regime of the Tulani-Mayana line and, before that, was a powerful mage and an expansive personality. She'd been one of the first to fully portage up river road all the way to the Dragonteeth, which had at that time been described as the end of the world.
Owen could understand their naming; the mountains jutted so majestically high over the man's head that, even in the late afternoon, they had already cut off the sun's swift setting. Imagining being alone up here before all of the settling had begun, Owen could only imagine. Urda had befriended the naiads and other river folk and made peace with the lake's denizens. She had personally secured the land around its perimeter that the kingdom's people now fished and built upon. She had also left a veritable passal of children in her hundred years before she'd returned to this untamed land one last time and gone missing, which was a favourite tale for speculation among the locals. The rumours ran the gamut from settled anonymous crone still peddling love spells, to tragically eaten by a monstrous lake serpent in a jealous fit.
The mayor of Urdasvale claimed to be a direct descendent, and upheld a few of Urdas' tenets, namely that those who lived within the sheltered valley must not toil as men did. In the past, that had probably meant that Urdasvale was a place for quiet contemplation, and maybe the exploration of magic, but over the last three and a half centuries it had steadily become so populated by women that, for those who knew about it, 'Urdasvale' had halfways become synonymous with 'lesbian enclave'. It meant that while Owen could visit now and again, this was not the perfect place to put down roots. There were people here worth making the journey for. They weren't the sort of company he usually kept, but they were dear to his heart.
Just on the outskirts of the village, he'd tied his mule to a reedy sapling and changed out of his well-worn kit and into his best. This was a tradition. He had spared no expense to ensure that every detail when he came into town would be perfect... except perhaps one. The polished silver buttons of his crimson overcoat did not match the luster of gold on his belt, nor his dark eyes or his warmly reddish hair. He thumbed one with a gloved hand and smiled, because he'd ensured they were well polished to a shine. They were intricate, and they drew the eye. To anyone who didn't know any better, he looked like he'd stepped out of the court hall and had been out for a garden stroll. He looked ridiculous, dressed like this off the side of a weedy trail still caught in the dregs of winter, but he enjoyed that. He had come to like being perceived as the fish out of water.
His ploy to be noticed worked, almost too well. He had booked a room in the singular bed and breakfast and come out into the street when he felt more than saw a shadow looming up quickly behind him. Owen slipped sideways, but wasn't able to avoid a hand grabbing for his bound hair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a weathered and over-eager grin before he was pulled, hair-first, into a side-hug that was fit to crush him against bony ribs.
He immediately pulled away and dusted himself off, fastidious, as a lanky woman punched him hard in the arm. Through a grimace, he tugged the front of his jacket, not entirely needing to pretend the offense he felt at the greeting.
"Owen fucking Goodlace, the man made of smoke in the wind. You've got a lot of fucking nerve to show up around here." She stopped, taken aback as she looked him over more closely. "What's the meaning of this?" she asked, flicking a button under his neck cloth.
"Begging your pardon," Owen replied, sardonic, not apologetic at all. "Akadine, if I remember correctly, I owe you. I'd imagine you'd want me back now and again." He'd barely been looking up at her, instead pretending fascination with a speck of dirt she'd got on his coat. When he did peer, he noted with some trepidation that she'd gathered more lines across her face. She was weathered, yes, but she was also looking old. 'Too soon,' he felt a deep-seated pang. Maybe it was time for the pranks to end...
Akadine sliced her hand, waving his comment away. She stepped up to him so that she could loom down, drop her voice into a hoarse growl. "What is this... this second best? Are you... did you run out of means...?" She was the sort of person to be this hyper-focused and normally Owen drank it up when he could get under his skin. He tried to make a go of it now--she looked older, yes, but her ragged-cropped hair was still coal black and her skin unmarred by more than her usual scars.
He cleared his throat, trying for calm resignation. "Not as valuable a bauble as I used to be. Don't pretend to be concerned over me. We both know you're a hoarder who values gold over a man's heart."
Undeterred, Akadine slipped around by his side and wrapped a possessive arm over his shoulder, physically walking him off the main road and between two buildings. She smelled of sweat and polish and woodsmoke, and she squeezed him close. "I mean it, are you suffering? There isn't nearly as much brocade on this thing as there should be, let alone the buttons. I still have treasure stashed away somewhere if you're really this badly off..."
"You're not going to call on your old band of brigands to rob poor, innocent people just to decorate my torso," Owen said, feigning shock. This close, Akadine felt about the same as she had when he'd been with her years ago.
"I never said I was, and they're not brigands, they uphold the safety of the travel laws--"
Owen snorted, grinning up at the woman. "And that's it?" He could feel himself gazing longer than he meant to, caught up in the scrutiny she was leveling on him.
Akadine made a face, lips twisting into a grimace like she was trying to hold back a grin. She seemed unaware that she was leaning in over him, her arm a vice over his shoulders as she considered him for wholly different reasons. Her strangely pale, mean, sharp glare softened. Owen cleared his throat as she lowered her forehead towards his, though he was loathe to interrupt the direction she'd been going in. This was a little far, for either of them, if this was a prank, and it had been a long time since they'd either been serious.
The little noise may as well have been a physical shove, because Akadine's arm flew from his shoulder and she marched two steps back, half turning away. "Damn you and that stupid grin." She was still glaring, but now she folded her arms desperately tight, standing rigid and pointing her death beam at the shingled walls of the nearby shop. "Catch me up in your rags and those big dark eyes."
"Yes, well." Privately, Owen was delighted; Akadine prided herself in turning the tables when her feathers had been ruffled and he liked it when he won. It was tradition, fulfilled, and he felt more at ease now, even if the way that their relationship had changed in the intervening years had created a kind of tension he wasn't sure how to reconcile. "I'm as capable of flaunting full brocade as ever," he promised her, still dry as he waited for her to settle. "If you want to see it, you'll just have to come out of hiding and into civilized company. Your bandits aren't doing as good a job of keeping the ways safe, so I leave my first-best coat at home these days."
Akadine puffed up and finally released her elbows. "You always demanded the impossible. The day I leave Urdasvale is the day someone buries a lance down my gullet. Come on, you're joining us at dinner whether you like it or not, and you're reacquainting yourself with your investments whether you like it or not, too. The girls barely remember their uncle, you visit so rarely."
"Any more frequently and there'd be cause for suspicion," Owen replied, but he folded his gloved hands behind his back and followed the lanky old wretch with a grin and a blossom of warmth in his breast.
no subject
also where is this lesbian enclave
asking for a friend
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Thanks for the comment! Still getting a hang of Akadine but I think she's going to be fun.
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no subject