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rainbowfic2023-03-31 11:16 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2023-03-31 11:16 pm
Halloween Orange #16
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Spat
'Verse: Untitled Intrigues Story
Colors: Halloween Orange #16. There’s no way to run or hide when the thing you fear’s inside.
Supplies and Materials: canvas, pastels (Year of the OTP Prompt List: March prompt, 'make me'), novelty beads
Word Count: 438
Rating: PG
Characters: Larien, Metanrye
Warnings: Not really, nope.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Stretching the prompt a little bit by making it kind of Silly because Why Not. Anyway, Larien and Metanrye married fairly young/in their late teens, and sometimes they do in fact act their age.
It had been a very long day; Father was being more of a self-righteous ass than usual, Tahnrin had that particular look on his face that meant he’d been plotting something that had paid off, and Idan had--gods above, Larien hadn’t been that annoying at his age, had he?
Well, even if he had, two years--or even one; look at Tahnrin--clearly made a difference in making one act like a godsdamned human being and not an incorrigible, half-feral little--
He’d hoped things would improve when he joined Metanrye in their rooms for a private dinner, but, no. His wife was very pregnant and clearly very annoyed about something, though what, he couldn’t even begin to guess.
He had no idea which of them had started the fight--if he were honest with himself, he would probably have to admit that they were both at least a little bit at fault--but by halfway through the meal they were exchanging irritating little barbed insults; about her shoes, or his coat; about the way he snored, or the way she tossed and turned at night.
For some reason, when she started in on the way he would tap his pen against the desk when he was deep in thought, that was the last straw.
“Will you stop?” he snapped, slamming a hand down on the table.
She slammed her nearly-full glass down, just as hard, splattering red juice everywhere. “Make me,” she snapped back, then folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.
For a moment, they sat there, glowering at each other across the table.
And then the corner of Metanrye’s mouth twitched a little, and it occurred to them how frankly ridiculous the whole thing had been.
He bit his lip, refusing to be the first one to admit it and start laughing--gods, and I was complaining about Idan being immature, perhaps I owe him an apology…
Her shoulders started shaking a little, but she kept her eyes square on his, determined.
Which was what broke him at last. He let out an entirely undignified little snort, and that set her off at last.
When they finally regained control of themselves, the very air felt somehow lighter.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was rude.”
“Yes, well,” he said, reaching over to refill her glass. “I was hardly a gentleman tonight.”
She just smiled at him, but--he truly did love her smile.
“Although,” he said, settling back into his seat, “I do not snore.”
She laughed again, and rolled her eyes. “As you say, my love,” she said. “Just as you say.”
Story: Spat
'Verse: Untitled Intrigues Story
Colors: Halloween Orange #16. There’s no way to run or hide when the thing you fear’s inside.
Supplies and Materials: canvas, pastels (Year of the OTP Prompt List: March prompt, 'make me'), novelty beads
Word Count: 438
Rating: PG
Characters: Larien, Metanrye
Warnings: Not really, nope.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Stretching the prompt a little bit by making it kind of Silly because Why Not. Anyway, Larien and Metanrye married fairly young/in their late teens, and sometimes they do in fact act their age.
It had been a very long day; Father was being more of a self-righteous ass than usual, Tahnrin had that particular look on his face that meant he’d been plotting something that had paid off, and Idan had--gods above, Larien hadn’t been that annoying at his age, had he?
Well, even if he had, two years--or even one; look at Tahnrin--clearly made a difference in making one act like a godsdamned human being and not an incorrigible, half-feral little--
He’d hoped things would improve when he joined Metanrye in their rooms for a private dinner, but, no. His wife was very pregnant and clearly very annoyed about something, though what, he couldn’t even begin to guess.
He had no idea which of them had started the fight--if he were honest with himself, he would probably have to admit that they were both at least a little bit at fault--but by halfway through the meal they were exchanging irritating little barbed insults; about her shoes, or his coat; about the way he snored, or the way she tossed and turned at night.
For some reason, when she started in on the way he would tap his pen against the desk when he was deep in thought, that was the last straw.
“Will you stop?” he snapped, slamming a hand down on the table.
She slammed her nearly-full glass down, just as hard, splattering red juice everywhere. “Make me,” she snapped back, then folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.
For a moment, they sat there, glowering at each other across the table.
And then the corner of Metanrye’s mouth twitched a little, and it occurred to them how frankly ridiculous the whole thing had been.
He bit his lip, refusing to be the first one to admit it and start laughing--gods, and I was complaining about Idan being immature, perhaps I owe him an apology…
Her shoulders started shaking a little, but she kept her eyes square on his, determined.
Which was what broke him at last. He let out an entirely undignified little snort, and that set her off at last.
When they finally regained control of themselves, the very air felt somehow lighter.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was rude.”
“Yes, well,” he said, reaching over to refill her glass. “I was hardly a gentleman tonight.”
She just smiled at him, but--he truly did love her smile.
“Although,” he said, settling back into his seat, “I do not snore.”
She laughed again, and rolled her eyes. “As you say, my love,” she said. “Just as you say.”
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