The Autumn Child (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sharpeningthebones) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-01-21 01:05 pm
sharpeningthebones) wrote in rainbowfic2013-01-21 01:05 pm
Quill Grey
Name: Charley
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey: If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. - Toni Morrison
Word Count: 492
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Notes: I love Percival and John so much. Also, the song that John is singing is this one
He embraces myths and legends like others embrace old friends. Percival never says no to a story, never turns away a tale. He welcomes all walks of fable and fancy, welcomes the wonder of the imagination, no matter who's mind the words are spilling from.
~
John sits next to the fire, a guitar in his lap. He strums and sings to himself while Percival works. Neither of them are paying much attention to the other but it doens't matter. They are happy to lose themselves in their own arts, at least for now.
”Myth and magic follow you, there's nothing left that you can do....” John sings the words just loud enough for Percival to hear and his mind starts running. He's heard the song before, heard it at conventions and sung by strangers but it's the first time hes ever heard John sing it, even if it was only to himself.
The ideas start building and building. Myths stalking people, magic strings binding a myth to a person. People travelling with their myths or travelling to find them. A myth and a human falling in love, or falling out of it. People building their personal myths. Magic binding people together. Ttwo people building up a magic system that only they can use....
His mind races and races, tearing through the walls of certainty and dancing in the realms of possibility instead. He wants to do so much, wants to work in a world of magic and wonder and lose himself in stories for a while.
He knows he cant tackle them all, cant possibly write every idea that filters through his head but he wants to try, wants to scratch out every story on the walls and on post cards and on the backs of napkins.
He starts writing on the tabletop, not bothering to start typing beuase writing longhand was always better for him when things like this happened. It gets out the ants, the nest of bugs in his brain that are the ideas.
”The wolf is at the door and the firebird stands--Percival?”
He snaps to attention, eyes wide and almost manic as he studies John. “Yes?”
“You've got the laptop right there, you know.”
He laughs. “I know,” he informs. “But this is better. Oh, and I think you'll have something new to pass around in the next few weeks.”
John arches an eyebrow and Percival just grins. “There's music to be sung, John. Go on ahead and give it a voice.”
John just shakes his head and goes back to playing, leaving Percival to finish scrawling out the various ideas on their table.
~
He never says no to a story, never rejects an idea because it's too common or too odd. He embraces them all because every idea is worth developing, even if it's for his own private collection of stores and not something meant for the world.
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey: If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. - Toni Morrison
Word Count: 492
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Notes: I love Percival and John so much. Also, the song that John is singing is this one
He embraces myths and legends like others embrace old friends. Percival never says no to a story, never turns away a tale. He welcomes all walks of fable and fancy, welcomes the wonder of the imagination, no matter who's mind the words are spilling from.
~
John sits next to the fire, a guitar in his lap. He strums and sings to himself while Percival works. Neither of them are paying much attention to the other but it doens't matter. They are happy to lose themselves in their own arts, at least for now.
”Myth and magic follow you, there's nothing left that you can do....” John sings the words just loud enough for Percival to hear and his mind starts running. He's heard the song before, heard it at conventions and sung by strangers but it's the first time hes ever heard John sing it, even if it was only to himself.
The ideas start building and building. Myths stalking people, magic strings binding a myth to a person. People travelling with their myths or travelling to find them. A myth and a human falling in love, or falling out of it. People building their personal myths. Magic binding people together. Ttwo people building up a magic system that only they can use....
His mind races and races, tearing through the walls of certainty and dancing in the realms of possibility instead. He wants to do so much, wants to work in a world of magic and wonder and lose himself in stories for a while.
He knows he cant tackle them all, cant possibly write every idea that filters through his head but he wants to try, wants to scratch out every story on the walls and on post cards and on the backs of napkins.
He starts writing on the tabletop, not bothering to start typing beuase writing longhand was always better for him when things like this happened. It gets out the ants, the nest of bugs in his brain that are the ideas.
”The wolf is at the door and the firebird stands--Percival?”
He snaps to attention, eyes wide and almost manic as he studies John. “Yes?”
“You've got the laptop right there, you know.”
He laughs. “I know,” he informs. “But this is better. Oh, and I think you'll have something new to pass around in the next few weeks.”
John arches an eyebrow and Percival just grins. “There's music to be sung, John. Go on ahead and give it a voice.”
John just shakes his head and goes back to playing, leaving Percival to finish scrawling out the various ideas on their table.
~
He never says no to a story, never rejects an idea because it's too common or too odd. He embraces them all because every idea is worth developing, even if it's for his own private collection of stores and not something meant for the world.
no subject