Post by Lucca on Sept 9, 2010 18:20:42 GMT -5
Title: Innocent
Author: Lucca
Rating: PG?
Characters/Pairings: Mythiril, mentions of Leon
Warnings: None really? It's in a weird style.
Word Count: 1,143
Summary: The night that changed this Leveret's life forever...
Notes: Fits prompt 13, "Misfortune"
Cold. A chill that ignores your fur and sinks deep in, to your very bones. (This was the first thing she could recall about that night, and she only wished it were the most upsetting). A young Rabbit, disguised of course, haunts the streets of the Capital City, drifting in and out of streetlights like a shadow in her cloak. (Ironically, she couldn’t remember later why she was even there. Surely the reason could not have been more important than her normality, surely whatever-it-was couldn’t have been worth what she gave for it!) She’s hopelessly lost, the little gray-furred Leveret, and the streets she finds herself hopping down are darker, even, then the rest of the city. (And the city was ever so much darker than her Warren. She couldn’t even see the stars, and that lack made her shiver then more than the cold. She wasn’t used to it).
A sound, which her too-large ears pick up. They rise a bit, straining under the hood of her cloak, wanting to be free. But just like her, they cannot. It is their lot in life to hide themselves when near Those Not Like Her. She pauses (oh, if only she had ignored it instead!) and turns, slightly, blue eyes scanning yet another darkened alley, deserted like the rest. Or is it? Is that movement? Before she can decide what to do (before she ever knew what had hit her!) a voice speaks suddenly from behind her.
“Lost, little girl?” Mythiril freezes at the soft tone, choking down a gasp of surprise. She hates dealing with Cards even at the best of times, let alone in such complete and total darkness and an unfamiliar area. Her heart beats wildly in her chest (perhaps it knew what was to come better than she did). When she doesn’t respond (she didn’t know how, she should have run!) the voice goes on, and the Rabbit even feels a weight settle on her shoulder. The claw feels slimy even through the cloak. (Run!) “Most little girls know better than to wander the Outer Bazaar at night.”
Myth clears her throat, tries to find her voice. Finds it, but it’s scared, and comes out weak. “I...I’m sorry. I need to go home, now.” She turns, to face her accoster, to try and wrench her shoulder out of his grasp. (She never should have done that, either.) Gleaming yellow eyes and an inscrutable black beak peer down at her, and Myth shakes, hunches back a bit, feeling as if those eyes can see right through her cloak.
“Now, now...not so fast, little girl,” the Card reprimands her softly, and his beak seems to stretch in a mockery of a grin. “Don’t you want to see what I have for sale, first?” Without waiting for a response, he sweeps her aside with a large, black-feathered wing, herding her over towards a dingy little stall that looks more like a trash receptacle than a shop. Myth stares, too frightened to resist. (Was she even then such a coward? Only a hint of prior knowledge of her fate would have sent her running, lent her feet the fleetness of light!)
On the table, there are a number of strange things. Baubles. Things floating in jars. Books. Jewelry. She can only imagine how much it must all be worth and where this dingy Card had come by such things. Curiosity (dreaded foe of all!) draws her closer, lights her eyes as she looks over the treasures. Perhaps she can bring something for her Father-Jack? Perhaps she can make up for her late arrival with a gift? (Beyond foolish. It had been so far beyond foolish, looking back.) She moves to examine a book, because even though she can’t read it, the cover looks very fancy, when something glints at the edge of her vision. She turns, and sees – pure white, elegant, carefully shaped – bone. Noticing her momentary interest (oh, if only she could have taken it back!) the Card grins, picks up the item, holds it out to her.
“I see ye noticed these bone cuffs! Quite a bargain. Majikal, I shouldn’t wonder,” the Avian Card chortles. He pushes them closer, until they’re close enough to nearly brush Myth’s nose, and, trembling, entranced, she reaches out from beneath the cloak. The cuffs look so large, and she’s sure they’d never fit her tiny paws...but they’re for Leon, anyway, not for her. What a gift these will make, she thinks, wondering at the smoothness of them. She takes them, and is surprised by their lightness. She manages not to drop them, even as the Card moves suddenly in a fury of feathers, forcing her back a few paces. (If only she had been a little clumsier. Nights of putting on tea served her too well!)
The chortling again, and Myth can feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “Relax, I’m not gonna do aught to ya. I merely wan’ to make sure we got an agreement.”
“Of course,” Myth replies, clutching at the bone as if it will save her in case the Card decides to try anything (if only she had feared the item as much as the bird!). “H-how much do you want for them?” (She couldn’t remember, later, how much she’d paid. Probably blocked it out for her own good. She remembered that the Card seemed to vanish along with the rest of his wares as soon as the gold touched his claw, though it could just be her blurry memory.)
Myth hops a step, another, but it’s hard while carrying something so...delicate. She’s afraid it will fall and break and then she’ll be left with nothing to show for all that trouble. Perhaps she can fit them on her own paws? Just for the journey back to the Warren. She’s surprised how easy it is to slip them on. (Just a moment was sufficient to ruin her life!) Her surprise turns into a small cry as she feels the bone shift, tighten, latch onto her like a leech. She paws frantically at them, trying to undo the clasp, trying to get them off. The item wasn’t meant for her! Leverets are never meant to have items, not at all! Especially magical ones!
There’s a flurry of biting, clawing, pawing, crying, trying and trying to get the bracers off. But to no avail. Eventually, Myth is forced to collapse. To acknowledge her failure. Tears sting her eyes and warmth trickles down her back, but not all the bleeding out in the world can undo what has just occurred, she knows. As she feels an unfamiliar jolting tingle travel through her, an odd weight settle into the back of her mind, she shudders.
What has she done? She’s lost...she’s given up...
(And never could she ever get it back.)
Author: Lucca
Rating: PG?
Characters/Pairings: Mythiril, mentions of Leon
Warnings: None really? It's in a weird style.
Word Count: 1,143
Summary: The night that changed this Leveret's life forever...
Notes: Fits prompt 13, "Misfortune"
Cold. A chill that ignores your fur and sinks deep in, to your very bones. (This was the first thing she could recall about that night, and she only wished it were the most upsetting). A young Rabbit, disguised of course, haunts the streets of the Capital City, drifting in and out of streetlights like a shadow in her cloak. (Ironically, she couldn’t remember later why she was even there. Surely the reason could not have been more important than her normality, surely whatever-it-was couldn’t have been worth what she gave for it!) She’s hopelessly lost, the little gray-furred Leveret, and the streets she finds herself hopping down are darker, even, then the rest of the city. (And the city was ever so much darker than her Warren. She couldn’t even see the stars, and that lack made her shiver then more than the cold. She wasn’t used to it).
A sound, which her too-large ears pick up. They rise a bit, straining under the hood of her cloak, wanting to be free. But just like her, they cannot. It is their lot in life to hide themselves when near Those Not Like Her. She pauses (oh, if only she had ignored it instead!) and turns, slightly, blue eyes scanning yet another darkened alley, deserted like the rest. Or is it? Is that movement? Before she can decide what to do (before she ever knew what had hit her!) a voice speaks suddenly from behind her.
“Lost, little girl?” Mythiril freezes at the soft tone, choking down a gasp of surprise. She hates dealing with Cards even at the best of times, let alone in such complete and total darkness and an unfamiliar area. Her heart beats wildly in her chest (perhaps it knew what was to come better than she did). When she doesn’t respond (she didn’t know how, she should have run!) the voice goes on, and the Rabbit even feels a weight settle on her shoulder. The claw feels slimy even through the cloak. (Run!) “Most little girls know better than to wander the Outer Bazaar at night.”
Myth clears her throat, tries to find her voice. Finds it, but it’s scared, and comes out weak. “I...I’m sorry. I need to go home, now.” She turns, to face her accoster, to try and wrench her shoulder out of his grasp. (She never should have done that, either.) Gleaming yellow eyes and an inscrutable black beak peer down at her, and Myth shakes, hunches back a bit, feeling as if those eyes can see right through her cloak.
“Now, now...not so fast, little girl,” the Card reprimands her softly, and his beak seems to stretch in a mockery of a grin. “Don’t you want to see what I have for sale, first?” Without waiting for a response, he sweeps her aside with a large, black-feathered wing, herding her over towards a dingy little stall that looks more like a trash receptacle than a shop. Myth stares, too frightened to resist. (Was she even then such a coward? Only a hint of prior knowledge of her fate would have sent her running, lent her feet the fleetness of light!)
On the table, there are a number of strange things. Baubles. Things floating in jars. Books. Jewelry. She can only imagine how much it must all be worth and where this dingy Card had come by such things. Curiosity (dreaded foe of all!) draws her closer, lights her eyes as she looks over the treasures. Perhaps she can bring something for her Father-Jack? Perhaps she can make up for her late arrival with a gift? (Beyond foolish. It had been so far beyond foolish, looking back.) She moves to examine a book, because even though she can’t read it, the cover looks very fancy, when something glints at the edge of her vision. She turns, and sees – pure white, elegant, carefully shaped – bone. Noticing her momentary interest (oh, if only she could have taken it back!) the Card grins, picks up the item, holds it out to her.
“I see ye noticed these bone cuffs! Quite a bargain. Majikal, I shouldn’t wonder,” the Avian Card chortles. He pushes them closer, until they’re close enough to nearly brush Myth’s nose, and, trembling, entranced, she reaches out from beneath the cloak. The cuffs look so large, and she’s sure they’d never fit her tiny paws...but they’re for Leon, anyway, not for her. What a gift these will make, she thinks, wondering at the smoothness of them. She takes them, and is surprised by their lightness. She manages not to drop them, even as the Card moves suddenly in a fury of feathers, forcing her back a few paces. (If only she had been a little clumsier. Nights of putting on tea served her too well!)
The chortling again, and Myth can feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “Relax, I’m not gonna do aught to ya. I merely wan’ to make sure we got an agreement.”
“Of course,” Myth replies, clutching at the bone as if it will save her in case the Card decides to try anything (if only she had feared the item as much as the bird!). “H-how much do you want for them?” (She couldn’t remember, later, how much she’d paid. Probably blocked it out for her own good. She remembered that the Card seemed to vanish along with the rest of his wares as soon as the gold touched his claw, though it could just be her blurry memory.)
Myth hops a step, another, but it’s hard while carrying something so...delicate. She’s afraid it will fall and break and then she’ll be left with nothing to show for all that trouble. Perhaps she can fit them on her own paws? Just for the journey back to the Warren. She’s surprised how easy it is to slip them on. (Just a moment was sufficient to ruin her life!) Her surprise turns into a small cry as she feels the bone shift, tighten, latch onto her like a leech. She paws frantically at them, trying to undo the clasp, trying to get them off. The item wasn’t meant for her! Leverets are never meant to have items, not at all! Especially magical ones!
There’s a flurry of biting, clawing, pawing, crying, trying and trying to get the bracers off. But to no avail. Eventually, Myth is forced to collapse. To acknowledge her failure. Tears sting her eyes and warmth trickles down her back, but not all the bleeding out in the world can undo what has just occurred, she knows. As she feels an unfamiliar jolting tingle travel through her, an odd weight settle into the back of her mind, she shudders.
What has she done? She’s lost...she’s given up...
(And never could she ever get it back.)
