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rainbowfic2013-08-10 11:41 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-10 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
- author: shadowsong26 supreme whumpmaster,
- color: crane white,
- color: fever red,
- color: fire opal,
- story: feredar,
- style: bichromatic,
- style: graffiti,
- style: paint-by-numbers,
- supply: beading wire,
- supply: brush,
- supply: chalk,
- supply: eraser,
- supply: fabric,
- supply: glitter,
- supply: glue,
- supply: modeling clay,
- supply: novelty beads,
- supply: oils,
- supply: seed beads,
- supply: stain
Crane White #15, Fire Opal #20, Fever Red #15
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Going This Far
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Crane White #15. A wicked wind will blow your ribbons from your curls (Deva knows a storm is coming.), Fire Opal #20. Destroy what you love/want most, Fever Red #15. sleep
Supplies and Materials: paint-by-numbers (from Kat), bichromatic, graffiti (Midsummer Night's Dream), eraser (Discovery AU), brush (sinuous), oils, stain, fabric, modeling clay, chalk, seed beads, novelty beads (I hate my job), beading wire, glitter ("The truth is, a moral compass can only point you in the right direction, it can't make you go there. Our culture preaches that you shouldn't be ashamed of anything you do anymore. And unfortunately this city is built on the principle that there's no such thing as guilt. "Do whatever you want, we won't tell." So without a conscience, there's nothing to stop you from killing someone. And evidently you don't even have to feel bad about it." – Gil Grissom, in CSI : Las Vegas), glue ("You could talk your way out of a high-security prison today -- or, at least you think you can")
Word Count: 382
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Deva
Warnings: Drugging
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This takes place in an alternate 986 FY.
Mother always refused to let it get this far. She would have, here, even knowing...even knowing.
I tipped the vial into the teacup and waited for my friend to finish. Not poison--even I have my limits--but...
The boy who was arrested, who my brother drew to Father's attention, had disappeared. I was hardly in Father's confidence, but my friend...my friend did.
At least, gods willing, she wouldn't remember any of this, once the drug wore off.
"I need to know," I started, once she went slack and her eyes, half-lidded, dilated alarmingly. "I need to know what was done with the boy from the marketplace."
"Lots of boys in marketplaces."
"The boy with the dragon."
"He's a secret."
"You can trust me," I wheedled, hating myself more with every word. "I need to find him. I have a message for him."
"He's not allowed messages," my friend said dubiously.
I smiled. "I'm the King's daughter. I'm sure they'll make an exception."
"I suppose," she said. "...my tea's all gone."
"I'll give you more, but I need an answer first," I said.
"An answer?"
"What was done with the boy with the dragon, the one from the market?"
"Hidden away."
"Where?" I was increasingly desperate--the sedative mixed with the truth-drug kicked in later, but I didn't have much more time, and if she didn't answer now...
"Hidden, in the ghost-palace, in the walls..." Her head nodded forward, and my heart sank.
The ghost-palace, the walls...there were supposed to be secret passages all through the palace, and there was a wing that had been boarded up for decades...but I'd never explored them before.
But my baby brother had.
And Andrell...Andrell was part of the Movement. He would help.
Retrieving the boy before Father could...could do whatever it was he had planned...it wouldn't stop the disaster. But it would lessen its impact.
I adjusted the table, set the empty sherry bottle next to my friend, then dragged her over to the couch and stretched her out. We'd done that before, moved from tea to sherry--though she'd never drunk to the point of unconsciousness--so she would be suspicious, perhaps, but not alarmed.
When she was as comfortable as I could make her, I whispered, "I'm sorry," and went to find my brother.
Story: Going This Far
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Crane White #15. A wicked wind will blow your ribbons from your curls (Deva knows a storm is coming.), Fire Opal #20. Destroy what you love/want most, Fever Red #15. sleep
Supplies and Materials: paint-by-numbers (from Kat), bichromatic, graffiti (Midsummer Night's Dream), eraser (Discovery AU), brush (sinuous), oils, stain, fabric, modeling clay, chalk, seed beads, novelty beads (I hate my job), beading wire, glitter ("The truth is, a moral compass can only point you in the right direction, it can't make you go there. Our culture preaches that you shouldn't be ashamed of anything you do anymore. And unfortunately this city is built on the principle that there's no such thing as guilt. "Do whatever you want, we won't tell." So without a conscience, there's nothing to stop you from killing someone. And evidently you don't even have to feel bad about it." – Gil Grissom, in CSI : Las Vegas), glue ("You could talk your way out of a high-security prison today -- or, at least you think you can")
Word Count: 382
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Deva
Warnings: Drugging
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. This takes place in an alternate 986 FY.
Mother always refused to let it get this far. She would have, here, even knowing...even knowing.
I tipped the vial into the teacup and waited for my friend to finish. Not poison--even I have my limits--but...
The boy who was arrested, who my brother drew to Father's attention, had disappeared. I was hardly in Father's confidence, but my friend...my friend did.
At least, gods willing, she wouldn't remember any of this, once the drug wore off.
"I need to know," I started, once she went slack and her eyes, half-lidded, dilated alarmingly. "I need to know what was done with the boy from the marketplace."
"Lots of boys in marketplaces."
"The boy with the dragon."
"He's a secret."
"You can trust me," I wheedled, hating myself more with every word. "I need to find him. I have a message for him."
"He's not allowed messages," my friend said dubiously.
I smiled. "I'm the King's daughter. I'm sure they'll make an exception."
"I suppose," she said. "...my tea's all gone."
"I'll give you more, but I need an answer first," I said.
"An answer?"
"What was done with the boy with the dragon, the one from the market?"
"Hidden away."
"Where?" I was increasingly desperate--the sedative mixed with the truth-drug kicked in later, but I didn't have much more time, and if she didn't answer now...
"Hidden, in the ghost-palace, in the walls..." Her head nodded forward, and my heart sank.
The ghost-palace, the walls...there were supposed to be secret passages all through the palace, and there was a wing that had been boarded up for decades...but I'd never explored them before.
But my baby brother had.
And Andrell...Andrell was part of the Movement. He would help.
Retrieving the boy before Father could...could do whatever it was he had planned...it wouldn't stop the disaster. But it would lessen its impact.
I adjusted the table, set the empty sherry bottle next to my friend, then dragged her over to the couch and stretched her out. We'd done that before, moved from tea to sherry--though she'd never drunk to the point of unconsciousness--so she would be suspicious, perhaps, but not alarmed.
When she was as comfortable as I could make her, I whispered, "I'm sorry," and went to find my brother.