shadowsong26 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shadowsong26) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-10-29 08:49 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2013-10-29 08:49 pm
Dirt Brown #12, Spilt Ink #16, Mikado Yellow #4
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Mud
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Dirt Brown #12. Mud, Spilt Ink #16. As soon as things start being the way they should be instead of the way they are, I’ll start telling them to you that way., Mikado Yellow #4. When everyone is somebody, then no one’s anybody.
Supplies and Materials: bichromatic, photography, canvas (985 FY), oils, stain, novelty beads ("You do what you have to do/Maybe you could be a liar too." - Liar, Dar Williams), beading wire, glitter ("A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval." – Mark Twain)
Word Count: 203
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mel
Warnings: Slavery, ostracism, skip
acceptance of such as right. ...sorry, I'm really not sure how to describe his mental state here.
.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Mel knew he could run.
He was right by the gates, after all, and while his collar was off, they probably couldn’t stop him. He packed one hell of a punch when he put his mind to it.
He felt the mud underneath him, pulsing, as if it were begging him to reach out and take the chance, promising that he’d be free if only he tried.
And maybe he would, and maybe he’d get caught and killed or worse.
But even if he did, where could he go? Home had been off the table for five years, most of the other major cities were trading posts and too risky, the desert would kill him, the North would refuse him, and Heartwood…
Well, maybe Heartwood. But if the stories of the Blood War were anything to go by, even this was better.
He had nowhere to go, and there was only his miserable little oathbreaking life at stake. And, little though it was, he didn’t really want to lose it anytime soon.
Here, he was alive, here he was one among many, here his history meant nothing.
Maybe, someday, something would change. But for now, he was better off buried in the mud.
Story: Mud
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Dirt Brown #12. Mud, Spilt Ink #16. As soon as things start being the way they should be instead of the way they are, I’ll start telling them to you that way., Mikado Yellow #4. When everyone is somebody, then no one’s anybody.
Supplies and Materials: bichromatic, photography, canvas (985 FY), oils, stain, novelty beads ("You do what you have to do/Maybe you could be a liar too." - Liar, Dar Williams), beading wire, glitter ("A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval." – Mark Twain)
Word Count: 203
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Mel
Warnings: Slavery, ostracism, skip
acceptance of such as right. ...sorry, I'm really not sure how to describe his mental state here.
.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
Mel knew he could run.
He was right by the gates, after all, and while his collar was off, they probably couldn’t stop him. He packed one hell of a punch when he put his mind to it.
He felt the mud underneath him, pulsing, as if it were begging him to reach out and take the chance, promising that he’d be free if only he tried.
And maybe he would, and maybe he’d get caught and killed or worse.
But even if he did, where could he go? Home had been off the table for five years, most of the other major cities were trading posts and too risky, the desert would kill him, the North would refuse him, and Heartwood…
Well, maybe Heartwood. But if the stories of the Blood War were anything to go by, even this was better.
He had nowhere to go, and there was only his miserable little oathbreaking life at stake. And, little though it was, he didn’t really want to lose it anytime soon.
Here, he was alive, here he was one among many, here his history meant nothing.
Maybe, someday, something would change. But for now, he was better off buried in the mud.
no subject
no subject
Heartwood is, I think, a classic dystopia--so long as you follow all the rules, it's a wonderful perfect amazing place to live.
But as soon as you break them, the punishments are horrific as only people whose power is to manipulate and control blood can make them.