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rainbowfic2014-08-03 10:02 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-08-03 10:02 pm
Mystic Beach Blue #9, Seafoam #4
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Mystic Beach Blue #9 (here), Seafoam #4 (candle)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Skindiving)
Word Count: 768
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Edward finds an interesting painting.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
It was during the tour of one of the government buildings that Edward happened upon the painting. Dean Schalst was leading the three of them--Edward, Ambassador Trey, and the ambassador’s assistant Joren--down a corridor, pointing out various aspects of architecture and pieces of art. Edward, bored, had stopped listening a long time ago, but his years as a merchant had taught him patience and he was good at hiding it. Sometimes you had to let a customer talk himself out before he was soft enough to buy, and Dean Schalst was a customer of sorts.
Still, it was a bit ridiculous that he had to expound at length upon every painting hung up in the interminable hallway.
So when he skipped one, Edward immediately noticed, and for the first time truly looked at the art.
The painting was mostly in shadow, hung in a small indentation in the wall like most of the other paintings, but unlike the others, it wasn’t lit with any candles. Normally Edward might have thought Dean Schalst had simply not noticed it--he had the myopic squint of an old scholar who had ruined his eyesight reading--but Edward distinctly saw him glance at it before smoothly moving onto the next.
So Edward looked himself.
Even in shadow the painting’s vivid colors made themselves known: deep, rich blues and greens, but Edward wasn’t a man to dwell on technical details. It was the subject matter that stole his breath away.
The creature depicted in the painting was something like a half-woman, half-fish, and Edward was reminded of the stories he had heard of Maston as a younger man: that it held monstrous beings such as this. This was the first evidence he had seen that those stories might be true. Her beguiling smile, peeking through wafting strands of seaweed hair, seemed to beckon him, but there was little that was kind in the creature’s sharp gaze. Edward found himself taking a step back, even though it was only a painting.
“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Dean Schalst. The Dean’s voice creaked to a halt like a water mill in a drought, and Edward saw Ambassador Trey minutely shake his head at him. He would be hearing about his misstep later, but that wasn’t something Edward was going to worry about right now.
Damage done, he asked his question. “This painting, you skipped it. What is it? I’ve never seen such a creature.”
“And nor shall you,” said Dean Schalst, whose flat tone now held a hint of impatience. “It is merely a creature of imagination, improper to be here at all, but there are still some who hold certain superstitions.”
“What superstitions are those?” Edward asked, even as the ambassador, behind the Dean, frantically gestured for him to stop talking. This was the first interesting thing he had seen in the city, and he wanted to know more. He had been starting to think the whole of Maston was little more than Dean Schalst’s ponderous, dry lectures on the history of architecture, nothing like the wild and fantastical place the stories had of it.
“It is an old sailor’s tale,” said the Dean, with the air of a man bored. Edward marveled at how backward he was. “Fishwomen who ensorcel the unwary and lead them to watery graves.” He waved one hand dismissively. “Now, if you would please look over here, this is a portrait of the seventeenth Dean of Trade, a man by the man of--”
“Does having the painting here ward them off?” Edward asked. He should stop soon, because it looked like the ambassador was about to die on the spot. But Dean Schalst hadn’t actually answered his question. That it was a legend he understood well and true, but what superstitions kept the painting itself in place even when some, like the Dean, would rather see it removed?
“No,” said Dean Schalst, his left eye twitching a little. “It is meant as a warning. So those who go to sea may recognize the danger should they come across one.”
“Not much of a warning,” said Edward, “all shoved in the shadows with no candle to light it up.”
“Like I said,” said the Dean stiffly, “it’s nothing more than an old story. If we may please continue?”
Edward nodded at him, because if the ambassador’s glare was anything to go by Edward might be put on the first ship home, and that was going to make people--mostly Atro--angry, not to mention be a disappointment to himself.
Now that Maston had proven it was more than the Dean’s bureaucratic nonsense.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Mystic Beach Blue #9 (here), Seafoam #4 (candle)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Skindiving)
Word Count: 768
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Edward finds an interesting painting.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
It was during the tour of one of the government buildings that Edward happened upon the painting. Dean Schalst was leading the three of them--Edward, Ambassador Trey, and the ambassador’s assistant Joren--down a corridor, pointing out various aspects of architecture and pieces of art. Edward, bored, had stopped listening a long time ago, but his years as a merchant had taught him patience and he was good at hiding it. Sometimes you had to let a customer talk himself out before he was soft enough to buy, and Dean Schalst was a customer of sorts.
Still, it was a bit ridiculous that he had to expound at length upon every painting hung up in the interminable hallway.
So when he skipped one, Edward immediately noticed, and for the first time truly looked at the art.
The painting was mostly in shadow, hung in a small indentation in the wall like most of the other paintings, but unlike the others, it wasn’t lit with any candles. Normally Edward might have thought Dean Schalst had simply not noticed it--he had the myopic squint of an old scholar who had ruined his eyesight reading--but Edward distinctly saw him glance at it before smoothly moving onto the next.
So Edward looked himself.
Even in shadow the painting’s vivid colors made themselves known: deep, rich blues and greens, but Edward wasn’t a man to dwell on technical details. It was the subject matter that stole his breath away.
The creature depicted in the painting was something like a half-woman, half-fish, and Edward was reminded of the stories he had heard of Maston as a younger man: that it held monstrous beings such as this. This was the first evidence he had seen that those stories might be true. Her beguiling smile, peeking through wafting strands of seaweed hair, seemed to beckon him, but there was little that was kind in the creature’s sharp gaze. Edward found himself taking a step back, even though it was only a painting.
“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Dean Schalst. The Dean’s voice creaked to a halt like a water mill in a drought, and Edward saw Ambassador Trey minutely shake his head at him. He would be hearing about his misstep later, but that wasn’t something Edward was going to worry about right now.
Damage done, he asked his question. “This painting, you skipped it. What is it? I’ve never seen such a creature.”
“And nor shall you,” said Dean Schalst, whose flat tone now held a hint of impatience. “It is merely a creature of imagination, improper to be here at all, but there are still some who hold certain superstitions.”
“What superstitions are those?” Edward asked, even as the ambassador, behind the Dean, frantically gestured for him to stop talking. This was the first interesting thing he had seen in the city, and he wanted to know more. He had been starting to think the whole of Maston was little more than Dean Schalst’s ponderous, dry lectures on the history of architecture, nothing like the wild and fantastical place the stories had of it.
“It is an old sailor’s tale,” said the Dean, with the air of a man bored. Edward marveled at how backward he was. “Fishwomen who ensorcel the unwary and lead them to watery graves.” He waved one hand dismissively. “Now, if you would please look over here, this is a portrait of the seventeenth Dean of Trade, a man by the man of--”
“Does having the painting here ward them off?” Edward asked. He should stop soon, because it looked like the ambassador was about to die on the spot. But Dean Schalst hadn’t actually answered his question. That it was a legend he understood well and true, but what superstitions kept the painting itself in place even when some, like the Dean, would rather see it removed?
“No,” said Dean Schalst, his left eye twitching a little. “It is meant as a warning. So those who go to sea may recognize the danger should they come across one.”
“Not much of a warning,” said Edward, “all shoved in the shadows with no candle to light it up.”
“Like I said,” said the Dean stiffly, “it’s nothing more than an old story. If we may please continue?”
Edward nodded at him, because if the ambassador’s glare was anything to go by Edward might be put on the first ship home, and that was going to make people--mostly Atro--angry, not to mention be a disappointment to himself.
Now that Maston had proven it was more than the Dean’s bureaucratic nonsense.
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THIS IS AWESOME.
Thank you so much for posting it.
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Thanks for reading!
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Thanks for reading!