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rainbowfic2012-02-15 02:00 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-02-15 02:00 pm
Snow White #6, Tea Rose #13
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Snow White #6 (transformation), Tea Rose #13 (I am afraid that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety)
Style/Supplies Canvas
Word Count: 1,159
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; No standard warnings apply
Summary: Merrus gets to experience yet another weird custom.
One morning, very early, there was a knock on Merrus's door.
He rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the door, only just remembering to throw his cloak on over his naked body. He'd made the mistake once of appearing dressed in nothing whatsoever in front of a Court servant. The look on the young male's face was still difficult for Merrus to describe, and he didn't like remembering it. A mixture of horror, disgust, and anger had clouded the servant's features, and for several awkward moments Merrus had no idea what was wrong. Finally the servant had turned away, pointedly not looking at Merrus, and still the salkiy hadn't realized what scandal he had committed.
Finally he had figured out that appearing unclothed in any capacity--even right after waking up, if one could believe it--was frowned upon in the Court. It hadn't stopped him from sleeping sans clothing, but at least now he remembered to throw something on before answering his door.
Usually.
Why people insisted upon knocking on his door so early in the morning was something Merrus didn't think he would ever understand.
This time, though, it wasn't a servant at his door, but Atro. And he was dressed . . . oddly. Merrus was used to seeing the boy in what he understood was fine clothing: silk shirts, finely knitted tunics embroidered with tiny patterns, creased trousers with no faded spots, and shiny boots. But those clothes, as lavish as they were, still seemed functional and recognizable. Now Atro was wearing a black jacket buttoned halfway up its length, its cuffs and collar lined in brown fur. Underneath the jacket he wore a blinding white shirt with a high stiff collar that Atro kept tugging at uncomfortably. The jacket, unlike his usual tunics, reached only to his waist. His trousers were sharply starched black, his boots knee-high and lined with the same brown fur that was on his jacket. Around his waist he wore an orange cummerbund that was knotted on the side. Merrus had seen some older human males, usually what he understood to be something called "ambassadors," dressed similarly, but it looked strange on Atro. Merrus hoped this wasn't some new dress code Martyn had imposed on his son, and judging by the awkward way Atro stood there in his doorway, Atro hoped the same.
Atro, contrary to Merrus's expectations, didn't launch into a tirade about the clothing horrors his father had inflicted upon him. Instead, he said, "Why aren't you dressed?"
"I am dressed," said Merrus, looking down at his robe. He had closed the front and everything.
Atro rolled his eyes with the kind of derision only a seven-year-old boy could feel. "For the banquets, Merrus!"
"Oh." Now Merrus remembered. Martyn had told him about some kind of celebration that was coming up, which included fancy dinners and balls that Atro would be expected at. And wherever Atro went Merrus went too. Did all that start today? He shook his head to clear it from the last vestiges of sleep. "There's a ball tonight?"
Atro nodded. "The First Night Ball. It's my first time going! So get dressed!"
"It's not until tonight," Merrus yawned. "I'm going back to sleep." He moved to close the door.
Atro pushed at the door. "No!" he said. "You have to get up now and get ready!"
Merrus blinked at him. "Get ready for what?"
"You need a bath, a haircut, and some new clothes, to start," said Martyn, who suddenly appeared around the corner of the door. Merrus stepped back, startled, while Martyn put his hand on Atro's shoulder. Merrus looked up at Martyn's face, trying not to feel resentment. From what he could determine the only time Martyn wanted anything to do with Atro was when he needed the boy for something. Merrus didn't like the displays of affection that happened then, because they felt fake.
"Why do I need all that?" asked Merrus. He didn't like the baths here, where the water was almost unbearably hot and always slightly used, oil and dirt floating in blobs on the surface. He was used to bathing in the cool, moving water of the stream not far from his home village. He wasn't sure what would be accomplished by cutting his hair. And he didn't want to have to wear anything like what Atro was.
Martyn sighed. "Do not question me, Merrus. For the next eight days you are to do what is asked of you. You are not to speak unless I give you permission. You are not to give away anything about your position here. Do you understand?"
Merrus nodded. It was nothing more than what Martyn asked of him always. It was just as well that he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, because no one wanted to speak to him and Merrus had no idea what he would talk about anyway.
"Come, the day has already started and we only have until second sundown," said Martyn. He snapped his fingers at a servant who was passing by at that moment. "Lead Merrus to his bath, please." He tightened his arm around Atro and led the boy away, while Merrus gritted his teeth and allowed the servant to escort him to the baths on the lower level of the Private Hall.
His bath, thankfully, turned out rather different than he was used to. The water, though still too hot for his liking, was at least clean and fresh. This "ball" tonight--and Merrus still wasn't sure what a ball actually was, except for some kind of celebration--must be very important, for Martyn to order fresh baths for everyone. He was scrubbed uncomfortably hard, so that his skin felt raw and vulnerable when he finally got out of the bath, and he was barely given time to recover before he was whisked away to another room, where a chambermaid started cutting his hair.
Merrus had panicked slightly at the idea of a hair cut, with visions of his black curls sliced off, leaving a close-cut layer of hair the same shape as his skull. But the chambermaid seemed to know what she was doing, and all she did was cut of some of the more wayward curls, leaving him with shorter but basically intact hair.
The best part, however, was that after everything else, he was presented with the clothes he was supposed to wear: a long black cloak that buttoned in the front and seemed specially made to blend into the background. Which was exactly what Martyn was probably going for, and Merrus couldn't argue with that.
When he was clean and dressed, Martyn reappeared in his room, Atro still tagging along behind. Martyn looked the salkiy over, said, "That'll do," and beckoned him out of his room. Merrus, sharing a look with Atro, followed Martyn toward the Main Hall and his first Court Ball.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Snow White #6 (transformation), Tea Rose #13 (I am afraid that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety)
Style/Supplies Canvas
Word Count: 1,159
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; No standard warnings apply
Summary: Merrus gets to experience yet another weird custom.
One morning, very early, there was a knock on Merrus's door.
He rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the door, only just remembering to throw his cloak on over his naked body. He'd made the mistake once of appearing dressed in nothing whatsoever in front of a Court servant. The look on the young male's face was still difficult for Merrus to describe, and he didn't like remembering it. A mixture of horror, disgust, and anger had clouded the servant's features, and for several awkward moments Merrus had no idea what was wrong. Finally the servant had turned away, pointedly not looking at Merrus, and still the salkiy hadn't realized what scandal he had committed.
Finally he had figured out that appearing unclothed in any capacity--even right after waking up, if one could believe it--was frowned upon in the Court. It hadn't stopped him from sleeping sans clothing, but at least now he remembered to throw something on before answering his door.
Usually.
Why people insisted upon knocking on his door so early in the morning was something Merrus didn't think he would ever understand.
This time, though, it wasn't a servant at his door, but Atro. And he was dressed . . . oddly. Merrus was used to seeing the boy in what he understood was fine clothing: silk shirts, finely knitted tunics embroidered with tiny patterns, creased trousers with no faded spots, and shiny boots. But those clothes, as lavish as they were, still seemed functional and recognizable. Now Atro was wearing a black jacket buttoned halfway up its length, its cuffs and collar lined in brown fur. Underneath the jacket he wore a blinding white shirt with a high stiff collar that Atro kept tugging at uncomfortably. The jacket, unlike his usual tunics, reached only to his waist. His trousers were sharply starched black, his boots knee-high and lined with the same brown fur that was on his jacket. Around his waist he wore an orange cummerbund that was knotted on the side. Merrus had seen some older human males, usually what he understood to be something called "ambassadors," dressed similarly, but it looked strange on Atro. Merrus hoped this wasn't some new dress code Martyn had imposed on his son, and judging by the awkward way Atro stood there in his doorway, Atro hoped the same.
Atro, contrary to Merrus's expectations, didn't launch into a tirade about the clothing horrors his father had inflicted upon him. Instead, he said, "Why aren't you dressed?"
"I am dressed," said Merrus, looking down at his robe. He had closed the front and everything.
Atro rolled his eyes with the kind of derision only a seven-year-old boy could feel. "For the banquets, Merrus!"
"Oh." Now Merrus remembered. Martyn had told him about some kind of celebration that was coming up, which included fancy dinners and balls that Atro would be expected at. And wherever Atro went Merrus went too. Did all that start today? He shook his head to clear it from the last vestiges of sleep. "There's a ball tonight?"
Atro nodded. "The First Night Ball. It's my first time going! So get dressed!"
"It's not until tonight," Merrus yawned. "I'm going back to sleep." He moved to close the door.
Atro pushed at the door. "No!" he said. "You have to get up now and get ready!"
Merrus blinked at him. "Get ready for what?"
"You need a bath, a haircut, and some new clothes, to start," said Martyn, who suddenly appeared around the corner of the door. Merrus stepped back, startled, while Martyn put his hand on Atro's shoulder. Merrus looked up at Martyn's face, trying not to feel resentment. From what he could determine the only time Martyn wanted anything to do with Atro was when he needed the boy for something. Merrus didn't like the displays of affection that happened then, because they felt fake.
"Why do I need all that?" asked Merrus. He didn't like the baths here, where the water was almost unbearably hot and always slightly used, oil and dirt floating in blobs on the surface. He was used to bathing in the cool, moving water of the stream not far from his home village. He wasn't sure what would be accomplished by cutting his hair. And he didn't want to have to wear anything like what Atro was.
Martyn sighed. "Do not question me, Merrus. For the next eight days you are to do what is asked of you. You are not to speak unless I give you permission. You are not to give away anything about your position here. Do you understand?"
Merrus nodded. It was nothing more than what Martyn asked of him always. It was just as well that he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, because no one wanted to speak to him and Merrus had no idea what he would talk about anyway.
"Come, the day has already started and we only have until second sundown," said Martyn. He snapped his fingers at a servant who was passing by at that moment. "Lead Merrus to his bath, please." He tightened his arm around Atro and led the boy away, while Merrus gritted his teeth and allowed the servant to escort him to the baths on the lower level of the Private Hall.
His bath, thankfully, turned out rather different than he was used to. The water, though still too hot for his liking, was at least clean and fresh. This "ball" tonight--and Merrus still wasn't sure what a ball actually was, except for some kind of celebration--must be very important, for Martyn to order fresh baths for everyone. He was scrubbed uncomfortably hard, so that his skin felt raw and vulnerable when he finally got out of the bath, and he was barely given time to recover before he was whisked away to another room, where a chambermaid started cutting his hair.
Merrus had panicked slightly at the idea of a hair cut, with visions of his black curls sliced off, leaving a close-cut layer of hair the same shape as his skull. But the chambermaid seemed to know what she was doing, and all she did was cut of some of the more wayward curls, leaving him with shorter but basically intact hair.
The best part, however, was that after everything else, he was presented with the clothes he was supposed to wear: a long black cloak that buttoned in the front and seemed specially made to blend into the background. Which was exactly what Martyn was probably going for, and Merrus couldn't argue with that.
When he was clean and dressed, Martyn reappeared in his room, Atro still tagging along behind. Martyn looked the salkiy over, said, "That'll do," and beckoned him out of his room. Merrus, sharing a look with Atro, followed Martyn toward the Main Hall and his first Court Ball.
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Also, the more I read about salkiys, the more interested I get (and the more interested I am in Merrus.)
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Ooh, I want to see what happens next! At the ball! Though I suspect Atro's POV would be more interesting than Merrus'.
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Would an outsider POV work for you? Here is a scene from the ball, though it's kind of just more worldbuilding and establishing Shyrn as a character.
Thank you for reading!
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But he does cause a bit of trouble later on. :)
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