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rainbowfic2014-02-19 12:33 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-02-19 12:33 am
Entry tags:
Iceberg #13, Canary Yellow #9
Name: Greenling
Story: Lords of Strife and Cunning
Colors: Iceberg #13 (hot chocolate), Canary Yellow #9 (The peculiarity of prudery is to multiply sentinels, in proportion as the fortress is less threatened.)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 963
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A slightly odd man makes his entrance in a slightly odd city. An intro for the second main character.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
On a singularly hot day in the early dry season in the City Carved Out Of The Hills- which it may be noted was a much shorter name in the local dialect- when the sun's pinkish light began to dip in the sky and the streets filled with schoolchildren, and all the old people of the town came out into the middle-valley to feel the soft wind and taste the beer and iced drinks from the merchants- that was the perfect day for a storyteller. Striding into town in his dark Southern bear-hide cloak, smelling strongly of alchemy on a day when the heat made even the most even-tempered person pray for distraction, he could create a following even before he sat down on some street corner, feigning weariness, to ply his trade. With any talent, the crowd would be blocking traffic before moonrise.
Vaska arrived a week later, in the middle of the night, after the year had decided it needed one last massive, unexpected squall and soaked his cloak through to rot. He was covered in mud, weighed down with water, and smelled uncomfortably of fungus and cat. The single guard at the wall, probably asleep, didn't even notice someone approaching. Still, he made do.
Rings of buildings spread from halfway around one of the largest hills to most of the way up a third; the higher up, the nicer and newer and larger the buildings were, which from the ground gave an odd sense of flat perspective. The poorer buildings, and a few small outlying farms, spilled out beyond the gates as cities tended to. Dim strips of alchemical light-paint rimmed the roofs of some of the buildings, brightly visible in the middle of the night, helpfully guiding Vaska to the area of town still awake at such an hour. He could see just fine in the waning moon's light, but it also meant there was an apothecary somewhere, which was a good sign of life, especially as the night district in question was small, consisting of perhaps half a dozen shops and two inns, one of which he guessed from the ornamentation was also a brothel. Curious, he waved at Tek to heel, and snuck a little closer, considering where to start.
The possible-brothel was very... clean was the best word for it. He would have expected someone outside, or at least a host in the doorway, and the windows were few and small. Inside, small groups are well-clothed people, both in the sense of amount and expense, were speaking quietly on couches, drinking tea. It didn't seem like any brothel he'd ever seen, or any inn or teashop for that matter; something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Meanwhile, the sounds of drunken song could be heard from inside the inn. The lights were warm and the inside smelled of stew and sweets, so he decided to pick that one.
These were solidly human lands, as far as Vaska knew, and the clientele was as expected. He waited until the song had ended; the room went a lot quieter, and most eyes were on him, or on the unusually large dog-shaped creature at his side; mumbled remarks about the smell lingered in the corners of the room. He ignored them and approached the bar.
"Evening," said the innkeeper before he could say anything, a large, pale-skinned tradeswoman from the look of her. She sat behind the bar, and her expression was curious and unafraid- also good. "Out late, are you? Looking for a room?"
"Please," Vaska replied with a soft rumble, "and a warm drink, if you don't mind."
"Sweet or hard?"
He wasn't certain about her terminology, but he knew the answer. "Sweet, thank you."
He paid for the room, and she summoned a younger girl who was probably her daughter to take his things up to a room. By that time, Tek had already made his way over to the low fireplace to laze without him, so Vaska found a seat. Most of the clientele was middle-aged or older and a little rough around the edges, though his attention was drawn to a pretty young man sitting next to a bald, frog-frowned grump giving him the stink eye. He wore what looked like a stitched-up potato sack, almost odder for the subtropics than Vaska's ex-bear-cloak. It was this one that broke the silence.
"Evening, stranger." His voice wasn't entirely unfriendly, but it came close.
"Good evening. Beautiful town you've got here, very picturesque," he answered cheerily.
"Early in the year for merchants?" An older, white-haired woman with her eyes on her drink spoke up. Someone grumbled about getting back to the songs, probably louder than they thought they were being.
"In fact, I'm a storyteller." Vaska smiled broadly. "Among other things, but that's my reason for travelling."
"A storyteller?" said the first man gruffly. "Such as what? Is that some strange word for historian?"
"Not exactly. I'm more of an entertainer." A meal and drink was brought to him, the latter smelling strongly of chocolate. This was "sweet"? He raised an eyebrow. "Like an acting troupe, sort of, but there's just the one of me."
"That's..." The man looked as if he were too confused to reflexively disapprove. "Different." He snorted and took another drink.
"Well, as I seem to have interrupted your current plans, I could give you a free sample?" Vaska's eyes flickered over to the younger man's, hoping (unsuccessfully) to catch his attention. The man was silent; a round of rumbling discussion made its way through the room. Someone complained about the dog.
Finally, the innkeeper spoke up again herself: "Just get to something, you all. It's too blasted quiet in here."
Vaska grinned like a shark, cutting in before anyone else could reply. "All right then!" He leaned back in his chair and began.
Story: Lords of Strife and Cunning
Colors: Iceberg #13 (hot chocolate), Canary Yellow #9 (The peculiarity of prudery is to multiply sentinels, in proportion as the fortress is less threatened.)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 963
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A slightly odd man makes his entrance in a slightly odd city. An intro for the second main character.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
On a singularly hot day in the early dry season in the City Carved Out Of The Hills- which it may be noted was a much shorter name in the local dialect- when the sun's pinkish light began to dip in the sky and the streets filled with schoolchildren, and all the old people of the town came out into the middle-valley to feel the soft wind and taste the beer and iced drinks from the merchants- that was the perfect day for a storyteller. Striding into town in his dark Southern bear-hide cloak, smelling strongly of alchemy on a day when the heat made even the most even-tempered person pray for distraction, he could create a following even before he sat down on some street corner, feigning weariness, to ply his trade. With any talent, the crowd would be blocking traffic before moonrise.
Vaska arrived a week later, in the middle of the night, after the year had decided it needed one last massive, unexpected squall and soaked his cloak through to rot. He was covered in mud, weighed down with water, and smelled uncomfortably of fungus and cat. The single guard at the wall, probably asleep, didn't even notice someone approaching. Still, he made do.
Rings of buildings spread from halfway around one of the largest hills to most of the way up a third; the higher up, the nicer and newer and larger the buildings were, which from the ground gave an odd sense of flat perspective. The poorer buildings, and a few small outlying farms, spilled out beyond the gates as cities tended to. Dim strips of alchemical light-paint rimmed the roofs of some of the buildings, brightly visible in the middle of the night, helpfully guiding Vaska to the area of town still awake at such an hour. He could see just fine in the waning moon's light, but it also meant there was an apothecary somewhere, which was a good sign of life, especially as the night district in question was small, consisting of perhaps half a dozen shops and two inns, one of which he guessed from the ornamentation was also a brothel. Curious, he waved at Tek to heel, and snuck a little closer, considering where to start.
The possible-brothel was very... clean was the best word for it. He would have expected someone outside, or at least a host in the doorway, and the windows were few and small. Inside, small groups are well-clothed people, both in the sense of amount and expense, were speaking quietly on couches, drinking tea. It didn't seem like any brothel he'd ever seen, or any inn or teashop for that matter; something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Meanwhile, the sounds of drunken song could be heard from inside the inn. The lights were warm and the inside smelled of stew and sweets, so he decided to pick that one.
These were solidly human lands, as far as Vaska knew, and the clientele was as expected. He waited until the song had ended; the room went a lot quieter, and most eyes were on him, or on the unusually large dog-shaped creature at his side; mumbled remarks about the smell lingered in the corners of the room. He ignored them and approached the bar.
"Evening," said the innkeeper before he could say anything, a large, pale-skinned tradeswoman from the look of her. She sat behind the bar, and her expression was curious and unafraid- also good. "Out late, are you? Looking for a room?"
"Please," Vaska replied with a soft rumble, "and a warm drink, if you don't mind."
"Sweet or hard?"
He wasn't certain about her terminology, but he knew the answer. "Sweet, thank you."
He paid for the room, and she summoned a younger girl who was probably her daughter to take his things up to a room. By that time, Tek had already made his way over to the low fireplace to laze without him, so Vaska found a seat. Most of the clientele was middle-aged or older and a little rough around the edges, though his attention was drawn to a pretty young man sitting next to a bald, frog-frowned grump giving him the stink eye. He wore what looked like a stitched-up potato sack, almost odder for the subtropics than Vaska's ex-bear-cloak. It was this one that broke the silence.
"Evening, stranger." His voice wasn't entirely unfriendly, but it came close.
"Good evening. Beautiful town you've got here, very picturesque," he answered cheerily.
"Early in the year for merchants?" An older, white-haired woman with her eyes on her drink spoke up. Someone grumbled about getting back to the songs, probably louder than they thought they were being.
"In fact, I'm a storyteller." Vaska smiled broadly. "Among other things, but that's my reason for travelling."
"A storyteller?" said the first man gruffly. "Such as what? Is that some strange word for historian?"
"Not exactly. I'm more of an entertainer." A meal and drink was brought to him, the latter smelling strongly of chocolate. This was "sweet"? He raised an eyebrow. "Like an acting troupe, sort of, but there's just the one of me."
"That's..." The man looked as if he were too confused to reflexively disapprove. "Different." He snorted and took another drink.
"Well, as I seem to have interrupted your current plans, I could give you a free sample?" Vaska's eyes flickered over to the younger man's, hoping (unsuccessfully) to catch his attention. The man was silent; a round of rumbling discussion made its way through the room. Someone complained about the dog.
Finally, the innkeeper spoke up again herself: "Just get to something, you all. It's too blasted quiet in here."
Vaska grinned like a shark, cutting in before anyone else could reply. "All right then!" He leaned back in his chair and began.