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rainbowfic2013-09-03 03:16 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-03 03:16 pm
Byzantium #1, Tango Pink #2
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Byzantium #1 (men often applaud the imitation and hiss the real thing), Tango Pink #2 (sock hop)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti
Word Count: 1,157
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Eoin and Mina have a disagreement.
Note: Lint Roll answer forthelinesoflearning, who asked Eoin what he wished he could share with someone even though he couldn't. I will let you all decide if the Byzantium prompt refers to Eoin or Mina.
“Eoin. Eoin. Eoin!”
He blinked and tore his gaze away from the other side of the room. “What?”
Mina wrinkled her nose at him, an expression that turned into an outright glare after she looked over her shoulder at what Eoin had been staring at.
“I see you’re too distracted to listen to me,” she said stiffly. “Maybe it’s time for you to leave.”
“No!” he said, leaning forward and grabbing her hand. “Sorry, you’re right. I wasn’t listening.”
“You’re never listening when she’s in the room.” Said with a little force, like a curse word. Eoin frowned. Mina smoothed her expression and shifted on the settee, sliding her hand out of his.
“She interests me, that’s all.” He and Lalin had gotten off to a bad start, but it wasn’t her fault she had never met a real Jasmar before. She wasn’t especially pretty, but she was well-educated. Also a fighter, despite her origins. She had survived a winter sickness that took many each year, and she’d given birth to a healthy baby almost immediately after. She was far more than a frail little alsatmar.
And there was something more to her, something that set her apart from most of the other women at the worshiping house. A faraway look in her eyes, an almost tangible desire to be somewhere else, discontent at how the walls of the house pushed at her and kept her chained. He recognized that feeling as the same as his. He wanted something more out of his life, something important. Something beyond just being a blacksmith’s son, destined to become a blacksmith after his father.
Mina said Lalin was lazy and arrogant, that the distant look Eoin likened to yearning was nothing more than an alsatmar’s disdain at being made to live and work among commoners. But Eoin had talked to Lalin, and he knew better.
“I don’t know why,” said Mina with a little huff. “What’s so interesting about her? That she comes from a House? One whose name she won’t even tell us? That she’s a lazy worker? That she looks down her nose at everyone here? That she’s a terrible mother?”
Eoin blinked at her, shocked. “How can you say that? She loves Aodh!”
Mina snorted. “She practically has to be forced to nurse him. Even when it’s her turn in the nursery, she spends all of her attention on the other babies. She leaves her own son to cry in his cradle. She never sings or talks to him. She doesn’t even look at him while he’s feeding. She stares at the wall and cries, and hands him to the first person she sees the moment he’s done.”
Eoin had seen none of these things happen, but he wasn’t allowed into the inner rooms of the worshiping house. “Well, I suppose it’s difficult.”
“Why would it be difficult?” Mina ducked her head and pushed a strand of dark hair behind one ear, a gesture Eoin knew she thought made her look innocent and alluring. He had no idea why she was doing it in front of him, though.
“Bad memories,” he said. “Wasn’t she cast out of her House because she got with child? I would imagine she might feel some resentment.”
Mina shook her head in disgust. “Aodh is her child. An unloving mother is unnatural.”
Eoin said nothing; Lalin had come back in, carrying a basket full of herbs for the shrines in the front room. She looked over at Eoin for a second, their eyes meeting, and her lips turned up very slightly. Then her gaze shifted to Mina. The tiny smile curdled and she hurried into the next room with her basket.
Eoin sighed.
“She’s never going to love you,” Mina spat, her hands curling into fists. “She hates Jasmara.”
“She doesn’t hate us. She just didn’t understand at first. Now she does.”
“No,” said Mina. “She’ll never understand. Not like other Jasmara. Not like those of us who have lived alongside you our entire lives. She’s just a spoiled alsatmar.” She glared at the door to the shrine room. “No, not even that. She doesn’t have a House anymore. She’s a spoiled nothing.”
“Mina, stop it.”
“What would you do?” Mina asked, standing. “If she loved you? She never will understand you. Would you marry her, knowing there is a whole side to you she will never accept? What if you have children? What if they aren’t Jasmara? Do you think she will stay with her illegal husband instead of taking her children and leaving? What if they are Jasmara? She’ll abandon them with you, you know. Run away to try her fortunes among her own kind. Don’t you see your dream is impossible?”
“Stop it,” said Eoin, also standing. He could feel his face burning. Mina was getting loud, and Lalin was only in the next room, a thin leather flap between him and her. “You think too lowly of her.”
“No, you think too highly,” said Mina. “I live with her. I know what she’s like. She will come to hate and fear you.”
“You’re right, I should go,” said Eoin quietly. Mina grabbed at his hands, a mirror to what he had done earlier with her, but he evaded her grasp. “I’ll see you next worshiping day.”
He hesitated only a moment before pushing aside the leather flap and entering the shrine room, the frontmost room of the worshiping house. To his disappointment, Lalin wasn’t there. Fresh herbs lay in front of the whole wall of shrines, but the room was empty of people. He figured she must have gone out the front and taken the little outdoor path that led into the gardens.
He wondered if she had business in the gardens, or if she had overheard them after all and was too embarrassed to face them again.
Feeling a discomforting mixture of embarrassment and loneliness, Eoin left the worshiping house behind, telling himself it was all right. He would see her again, and soon. Perhaps he would say something to her then.
But even as he tried to cheer himself with that thought, Mina’s words circled in his head. There couldn’t be any truth to them, could there? Lalin had become his friend. She had been afraid of him at first, but she had come to understand.
Hadn’t she?
If she hadn’t, was he willing to disregard that part of himself just to have her?
No, he decided right then. It was too much a part of him, too much a source of pride. He would never be able to fully share what it meant to be a Jasmar with her when she wasn’t one herself, but that was a price he was willing to pay. As long as she accepted who he was. That was enough.
He was certain she did.
kay_brookeStory: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Byzantium #1 (men often applaud the imitation and hiss the real thing), Tango Pink #2 (sock hop)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti
Word Count: 1,157
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Eoin and Mina have a disagreement.
Note: Lint Roll answer for
thelinesoflearning, who asked Eoin what he wished he could share with someone even though he couldn't. I will let you all decide if the Byzantium prompt refers to Eoin or Mina.“Eoin. Eoin. Eoin!”
He blinked and tore his gaze away from the other side of the room. “What?”
Mina wrinkled her nose at him, an expression that turned into an outright glare after she looked over her shoulder at what Eoin had been staring at.
“I see you’re too distracted to listen to me,” she said stiffly. “Maybe it’s time for you to leave.”
“No!” he said, leaning forward and grabbing her hand. “Sorry, you’re right. I wasn’t listening.”
“You’re never listening when she’s in the room.” Said with a little force, like a curse word. Eoin frowned. Mina smoothed her expression and shifted on the settee, sliding her hand out of his.
“She interests me, that’s all.” He and Lalin had gotten off to a bad start, but it wasn’t her fault she had never met a real Jasmar before. She wasn’t especially pretty, but she was well-educated. Also a fighter, despite her origins. She had survived a winter sickness that took many each year, and she’d given birth to a healthy baby almost immediately after. She was far more than a frail little alsatmar.
And there was something more to her, something that set her apart from most of the other women at the worshiping house. A faraway look in her eyes, an almost tangible desire to be somewhere else, discontent at how the walls of the house pushed at her and kept her chained. He recognized that feeling as the same as his. He wanted something more out of his life, something important. Something beyond just being a blacksmith’s son, destined to become a blacksmith after his father.
Mina said Lalin was lazy and arrogant, that the distant look Eoin likened to yearning was nothing more than an alsatmar’s disdain at being made to live and work among commoners. But Eoin had talked to Lalin, and he knew better.
“I don’t know why,” said Mina with a little huff. “What’s so interesting about her? That she comes from a House? One whose name she won’t even tell us? That she’s a lazy worker? That she looks down her nose at everyone here? That she’s a terrible mother?”
Eoin blinked at her, shocked. “How can you say that? She loves Aodh!”
Mina snorted. “She practically has to be forced to nurse him. Even when it’s her turn in the nursery, she spends all of her attention on the other babies. She leaves her own son to cry in his cradle. She never sings or talks to him. She doesn’t even look at him while he’s feeding. She stares at the wall and cries, and hands him to the first person she sees the moment he’s done.”
Eoin had seen none of these things happen, but he wasn’t allowed into the inner rooms of the worshiping house. “Well, I suppose it’s difficult.”
“Why would it be difficult?” Mina ducked her head and pushed a strand of dark hair behind one ear, a gesture Eoin knew she thought made her look innocent and alluring. He had no idea why she was doing it in front of him, though.
“Bad memories,” he said. “Wasn’t she cast out of her House because she got with child? I would imagine she might feel some resentment.”
Mina shook her head in disgust. “Aodh is her child. An unloving mother is unnatural.”
Eoin said nothing; Lalin had come back in, carrying a basket full of herbs for the shrines in the front room. She looked over at Eoin for a second, their eyes meeting, and her lips turned up very slightly. Then her gaze shifted to Mina. The tiny smile curdled and she hurried into the next room with her basket.
Eoin sighed.
“She’s never going to love you,” Mina spat, her hands curling into fists. “She hates Jasmara.”
“She doesn’t hate us. She just didn’t understand at first. Now she does.”
“No,” said Mina. “She’ll never understand. Not like other Jasmara. Not like those of us who have lived alongside you our entire lives. She’s just a spoiled alsatmar.” She glared at the door to the shrine room. “No, not even that. She doesn’t have a House anymore. She’s a spoiled nothing.”
“Mina, stop it.”
“What would you do?” Mina asked, standing. “If she loved you? She never will understand you. Would you marry her, knowing there is a whole side to you she will never accept? What if you have children? What if they aren’t Jasmara? Do you think she will stay with her illegal husband instead of taking her children and leaving? What if they are Jasmara? She’ll abandon them with you, you know. Run away to try her fortunes among her own kind. Don’t you see your dream is impossible?”
“Stop it,” said Eoin, also standing. He could feel his face burning. Mina was getting loud, and Lalin was only in the next room, a thin leather flap between him and her. “You think too lowly of her.”
“No, you think too highly,” said Mina. “I live with her. I know what she’s like. She will come to hate and fear you.”
“You’re right, I should go,” said Eoin quietly. Mina grabbed at his hands, a mirror to what he had done earlier with her, but he evaded her grasp. “I’ll see you next worshiping day.”
He hesitated only a moment before pushing aside the leather flap and entering the shrine room, the frontmost room of the worshiping house. To his disappointment, Lalin wasn’t there. Fresh herbs lay in front of the whole wall of shrines, but the room was empty of people. He figured she must have gone out the front and taken the little outdoor path that led into the gardens.
He wondered if she had business in the gardens, or if she had overheard them after all and was too embarrassed to face them again.
Feeling a discomforting mixture of embarrassment and loneliness, Eoin left the worshiping house behind, telling himself it was all right. He would see her again, and soon. Perhaps he would say something to her then.
But even as he tried to cheer himself with that thought, Mina’s words circled in his head. There couldn’t be any truth to them, could there? Lalin had become his friend. She had been afraid of him at first, but she had come to understand.
Hadn’t she?
If she hadn’t, was he willing to disregard that part of himself just to have her?
No, he decided right then. It was too much a part of him, too much a source of pride. He would never be able to fully share what it meant to be a Jasmar with her when she wasn’t one herself, but that was a price he was willing to pay. As long as she accepted who he was. That was enough.
He was certain she did.
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Thanks for reading!
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no subject
Thanks for reading!