shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-08-15 06:58 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-15 06:58 pm
Summertime Blues #13, Byzantium #7, Bittersweet #10
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Avocation
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Summertime Blues #13. Lacrimae Rerum, Byzantium #7. From the old ox, the young one learns to plow., Bittersweet #10. endings and beginnings
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (lint roller, kay_brooke's question: Deshell, when you were a kid, how did you imagine your life would turn out?), photography, bichromatic, canvas, acrylic, feathers, chalk, seed beads, yarn, glue ("Emotional obstacles may appear in your immediate surroundings today, even when you're doing everything just right...You cannot change the current situation by reinventing your history. Instead, create your future by cultivating your dreams.")
Word Count: 386
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Deshell
Warnings: Arson
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Could I have a Byzantium color tag, please?
Mamma and Papa owned a tavern, and Deshell loved it there. For most of his childhood, he was knew exactly where he’d be when he grew up—behind the bar, like Daddy, married to someone like Mamma who sang and kept the mood lively—but not too lively, where there were fights and stuff.
The details of it all appealed to him—not the drinks, it was mostly ale Papa brewed himself and a little bit of distilled spirits he bought from Islanders and sold for twice as much. But keeping things organized, and knowing when to intervene and toss people out. That part of running the place. Maybe his sister could take over brewing, she liked that part.
But when he was eleven, though, the tavern was set on fire.
No one was hurt—it wasn’t open yet, and Mamma and Rosha were at the market, and Papa was down by the docks trading Islanders for spirits. Deshell was walking home from school when he saw the smoke.
No matter that it didn’t burn all the way down, no matter how much Mamma and Papa told him different, no matter how they had savings and were able to get by just with brewing until they could repair and reopen, Deshell still blamed himself. If he’d gotten home sooner, he could’ve seen whoever started the fire, maybe stopped it faster so they wouldn’t’ve had to close at all.
When the Inspector found the man who did it, all of Deshell’s plans changed in an instant.
As soon as he turned fifteen, he joined the police.
Story: Avocation
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Summertime Blues #13. Lacrimae Rerum, Byzantium #7. From the old ox, the young one learns to plow., Bittersweet #10. endings and beginnings
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (lint roller, kay_brooke's question: Deshell, when you were a kid, how did you imagine your life would turn out?), photography, bichromatic, canvas, acrylic, feathers, chalk, seed beads, yarn, glue ("Emotional obstacles may appear in your immediate surroundings today, even when you're doing everything just right...You cannot change the current situation by reinventing your history. Instead, create your future by cultivating your dreams.")
Word Count: 386
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Deshell
Warnings: Arson
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always. Could I have a Byzantium color tag, please?
Mamma and Papa owned a tavern, and Deshell loved it there. For most of his childhood, he was knew exactly where he’d be when he grew up—behind the bar, like Daddy, married to someone like Mamma who sang and kept the mood lively—but not too lively, where there were fights and stuff.
The details of it all appealed to him—not the drinks, it was mostly ale Papa brewed himself and a little bit of distilled spirits he bought from Islanders and sold for twice as much. But keeping things organized, and knowing when to intervene and toss people out. That part of running the place. Maybe his sister could take over brewing, she liked that part.
But when he was eleven, though, the tavern was set on fire.
No one was hurt—it wasn’t open yet, and Mamma and Rosha were at the market, and Papa was down by the docks trading Islanders for spirits. Deshell was walking home from school when he saw the smoke.
No matter that it didn’t burn all the way down, no matter how much Mamma and Papa told him different, no matter how they had savings and were able to get by just with brewing until they could repair and reopen, Deshell still blamed himself. If he’d gotten home sooner, he could’ve seen whoever started the fire, maybe stopped it faster so they wouldn’t’ve had to close at all.
When the Inspector found the man who did it, all of Deshell’s plans changed in an instant.
As soon as he turned fifteen, he joined the police.
no subject
I really like this backstory for Deshell. It makes a lot of sense.
no subject
I didn't know any of this until I sat down to write it. Deshell hasn't been very forthcoming about his life before meeting Fesha.