(Jointly written by the players of Ali al-Amat and Fio Helston. Some potential for 18+ as the story progresses, just because we are unruly that way.)
?Listen to this,? She twisted in her sprawl on the garden bench to turn toward him, the paper open in her lap. Not the GangSTAR, but a little local news sheet published in one of the nearby villages. She'd bought it from a street vendor earlier, who had five copies because his country cousin was visiting town. "'Local manne, James Bunch, of the Turberry Lane Bunches, found most foully merthered in his home, Tuesday.'"
He sat on the rock surrounding the pond, his back against her bench. One bare foot trailed lazily in the cool water to tease the koi. Dante's head rested on his knee; the greyhound?s eyes were closed in contentment and he snored delicately. Ali's own eyes were closed, his head tilted back to pillow against her waist while he soaked in sunlight as if it recharged his soul. When she moved, it jostled him enough that he responded with a sleepy murmur. ?Merthered??
?Mhmm.? Glancing up from the page, she was greeted with a halo of sunlight ringing the crown of his head. She breathed in, smiled, and exhaled before answering. ?Murdered, I think it means. You should see how they?re spelling things.?
?Hmm.? Sunlight dappled the water as he flexed his foot.
She continued to read aloud, "'Having no family, being advanced in years and a pious manne to boot, the body was not discovered until it began to stinke. The Sheriffe, being duly called to the home, says that nothing of value was stolen, but that there was a mighty struggle, in which the kitchen table was destroyed, and many fine old plates, too.' Ooh ?listen to this ?'His throat were ripped open to the eye of manne ?'" there she paused and looked up again, for commentary, ? ?it actually said that! ?'and his body cruelly tampered with. It were nay the work of a beaste, and all in the county are urged to be vigilant.'? She capped off her commentary with a succinct, ?Huh.?
His sleepy attention took on a rather more pointed quality, at that news. There was no obvious change, nothing that she could put her finger on, but she'd known him long enough to mark the changes and recognize the quality of his silences. He was alert. "Was there anything else??
?Some information about burial services ?which were yesterday. The address of the deceased...? she scanned the article for anything else of note, and then shook her head. ?No, nothing. How far away is Wescourt Townshippe??
?I don't know. I've never been out of the city.? He rolled his head along her hip to look up at her.
She played absently with his hair, the three-quarter-inch bristle soft as a baby's brush against her fingers, trying to correct that little cowlick of his with deft strokes. His dark head was furnace-hot against her hand. ?You never hear much from the villages. It's interesting; I suppose I never thought about them having troubles, too.?
He drew his unencumbered leg up, toes shriveled from the amount of time spent in the water, and draped an arm over that knee. A pensive gaze was cast over the water like a fishing net.
?The paper also says that there are early peas fresh in the farmer's market tomorrow. And something called ?lemonwort?. And...?coneys???
?The macabre and the mundane,? he murmured; and then, louder, ?Coneys are rabbits. Les lapins.?
?Ah. And the lemonwort?? she offered him the paper, if he wanted to see it.
?Sounds like some sort of herb. I don't know that I've ever used it.? Accepting the paper, he shook it out to look it over. The corner tickled the not-quite-dog's whiskers, and the hound muttered fretfully in his sleep.
She eased down on the bench so that she was lying on her back, both knees bent. Her hand dropped to hang from the edge and rest along the length of his arm, and she moved her attention from his hair to his elbow with fickle fingers. He was wearing one of those brilliantly white cotton oxfords, the sleeves rolled up loosely past his elbows, and she could just slip her cool fingers under the edge to slide sensate awareness against the warmth of his bronze skin.
?They had a dance and we missed it,? he read, with some disappointment.
?A dance? I wonder if they have them often? I'm not very good, but it does sound fun.? Overhead, a pair of birds zipped fast and low across the roofline, coming between earth and sky in her line of sight. Immediately following, a gray hawk dove like a valkyrie after them. It screeched a keening cry once it was past their line of vision.
He looked up at that, shading his eyes with a hand and squinting into the sun, but too late, too late. The birds were gone. ?Well, I suppose we could find out when they're held and where this place is.?
?Really?? She lifted her head from the bench a moment, raised the arm that was shielding her eyes from the long slant of the dying sun's rays. ?That could be fun.? The last syllable ended on a high, suspiciously hopeful note.
?Mm. And then, since we?d be there anyway, we could solve the Mystery of the Merthered Auld Git.? The pause was dramatic. ?I suspect that wacky hijinx might ensue.?
She snorted a little breathy laugh. ?I suspect you are right.?
Dante sighed, paws twitching through a dream of chasing who-knew-what. The bruises her nightmare gave him had already faded, but there was a last, lingering itch along his shin, judging by the way he rubbed his palm against it. She let her head drop gently back to its resting spot on the bench seat, feeling the edges of her smile faltering as she caught the gesture. ?There's a star out already.? The sky was a deepening blue, at this tail-end of another day.
?I'm not sure it's a star, cher. Might be a planet.?
?How can you tell the difference?? she asked, frowning around the question.
?Well...the easiest way would be to go look it up on a chart. My glasses are in the house, though.? He folded up the paper and held it back up to her over his own head, narrowly missing her nose. She took it from him and tucked it between her shoulder and the back of the bench, so it wouldn't fly away.
?You know, it was much easier to make wishes when we didn't make such fine distinctions."
?Don't pay attention to me, then. Wish away,? he said with an expansive gesture that opened a hole in his defenses. She took advantage of it, tickling his ribcage with a sneaky, dangling hand. It pulled a huffy little snort and a dodge out of him. Dante's head lost its comfy rest in the process, and the hound moaned out the mid-spring of his discontent.
?Fine. I will,? she sassed. Smiling up into the blue, eyes closed, her wish took form with each curl of her fingers against his ribcage. When her eyes opened, it was released to wing its way toward that pinprick of silver. There were about a million like it flapping around up there. She looked down at him, discovered that he'd twisted up and into a crouch facing her. His fingertips were tented out against the sun-warmed rock, and his chrysoberyl gaze was fixed on her face. The hot desert hardness of his stare had softened into something like adoration as he'd watched her entreaty to the stars.
?What did you wish for?? he rumbled across a whisper?s edge.
?I wished...that you would take me dancing.?
?Oh,? he whispered, all dark silk and promises, ?I think you can be certain of that.? Then he leaned in to kiss her, and fulfill a wish of his own.
?Listen to this,? She twisted in her sprawl on the garden bench to turn toward him, the paper open in her lap. Not the GangSTAR, but a little local news sheet published in one of the nearby villages. She'd bought it from a street vendor earlier, who had five copies because his country cousin was visiting town. "'Local manne, James Bunch, of the Turberry Lane Bunches, found most foully merthered in his home, Tuesday.'"
He sat on the rock surrounding the pond, his back against her bench. One bare foot trailed lazily in the cool water to tease the koi. Dante's head rested on his knee; the greyhound?s eyes were closed in contentment and he snored delicately. Ali's own eyes were closed, his head tilted back to pillow against her waist while he soaked in sunlight as if it recharged his soul. When she moved, it jostled him enough that he responded with a sleepy murmur. ?Merthered??
?Mhmm.? Glancing up from the page, she was greeted with a halo of sunlight ringing the crown of his head. She breathed in, smiled, and exhaled before answering. ?Murdered, I think it means. You should see how they?re spelling things.?
?Hmm.? Sunlight dappled the water as he flexed his foot.
She continued to read aloud, "'Having no family, being advanced in years and a pious manne to boot, the body was not discovered until it began to stinke. The Sheriffe, being duly called to the home, says that nothing of value was stolen, but that there was a mighty struggle, in which the kitchen table was destroyed, and many fine old plates, too.' Ooh ?listen to this ?'His throat were ripped open to the eye of manne ?'" there she paused and looked up again, for commentary, ? ?it actually said that! ?'and his body cruelly tampered with. It were nay the work of a beaste, and all in the county are urged to be vigilant.'? She capped off her commentary with a succinct, ?Huh.?
His sleepy attention took on a rather more pointed quality, at that news. There was no obvious change, nothing that she could put her finger on, but she'd known him long enough to mark the changes and recognize the quality of his silences. He was alert. "Was there anything else??
?Some information about burial services ?which were yesterday. The address of the deceased...? she scanned the article for anything else of note, and then shook her head. ?No, nothing. How far away is Wescourt Townshippe??
?I don't know. I've never been out of the city.? He rolled his head along her hip to look up at her.
She played absently with his hair, the three-quarter-inch bristle soft as a baby's brush against her fingers, trying to correct that little cowlick of his with deft strokes. His dark head was furnace-hot against her hand. ?You never hear much from the villages. It's interesting; I suppose I never thought about them having troubles, too.?
He drew his unencumbered leg up, toes shriveled from the amount of time spent in the water, and draped an arm over that knee. A pensive gaze was cast over the water like a fishing net.
?The paper also says that there are early peas fresh in the farmer's market tomorrow. And something called ?lemonwort?. And...?coneys???
?The macabre and the mundane,? he murmured; and then, louder, ?Coneys are rabbits. Les lapins.?
?Ah. And the lemonwort?? she offered him the paper, if he wanted to see it.
?Sounds like some sort of herb. I don't know that I've ever used it.? Accepting the paper, he shook it out to look it over. The corner tickled the not-quite-dog's whiskers, and the hound muttered fretfully in his sleep.
She eased down on the bench so that she was lying on her back, both knees bent. Her hand dropped to hang from the edge and rest along the length of his arm, and she moved her attention from his hair to his elbow with fickle fingers. He was wearing one of those brilliantly white cotton oxfords, the sleeves rolled up loosely past his elbows, and she could just slip her cool fingers under the edge to slide sensate awareness against the warmth of his bronze skin.
?They had a dance and we missed it,? he read, with some disappointment.
?A dance? I wonder if they have them often? I'm not very good, but it does sound fun.? Overhead, a pair of birds zipped fast and low across the roofline, coming between earth and sky in her line of sight. Immediately following, a gray hawk dove like a valkyrie after them. It screeched a keening cry once it was past their line of vision.
He looked up at that, shading his eyes with a hand and squinting into the sun, but too late, too late. The birds were gone. ?Well, I suppose we could find out when they're held and where this place is.?
?Really?? She lifted her head from the bench a moment, raised the arm that was shielding her eyes from the long slant of the dying sun's rays. ?That could be fun.? The last syllable ended on a high, suspiciously hopeful note.
?Mm. And then, since we?d be there anyway, we could solve the Mystery of the Merthered Auld Git.? The pause was dramatic. ?I suspect that wacky hijinx might ensue.?
She snorted a little breathy laugh. ?I suspect you are right.?
Dante sighed, paws twitching through a dream of chasing who-knew-what. The bruises her nightmare gave him had already faded, but there was a last, lingering itch along his shin, judging by the way he rubbed his palm against it. She let her head drop gently back to its resting spot on the bench seat, feeling the edges of her smile faltering as she caught the gesture. ?There's a star out already.? The sky was a deepening blue, at this tail-end of another day.
?I'm not sure it's a star, cher. Might be a planet.?
?How can you tell the difference?? she asked, frowning around the question.
?Well...the easiest way would be to go look it up on a chart. My glasses are in the house, though.? He folded up the paper and held it back up to her over his own head, narrowly missing her nose. She took it from him and tucked it between her shoulder and the back of the bench, so it wouldn't fly away.
?You know, it was much easier to make wishes when we didn't make such fine distinctions."
?Don't pay attention to me, then. Wish away,? he said with an expansive gesture that opened a hole in his defenses. She took advantage of it, tickling his ribcage with a sneaky, dangling hand. It pulled a huffy little snort and a dodge out of him. Dante's head lost its comfy rest in the process, and the hound moaned out the mid-spring of his discontent.
?Fine. I will,? she sassed. Smiling up into the blue, eyes closed, her wish took form with each curl of her fingers against his ribcage. When her eyes opened, it was released to wing its way toward that pinprick of silver. There were about a million like it flapping around up there. She looked down at him, discovered that he'd twisted up and into a crouch facing her. His fingertips were tented out against the sun-warmed rock, and his chrysoberyl gaze was fixed on her face. The hot desert hardness of his stare had softened into something like adoration as he'd watched her entreaty to the stars.
?What did you wish for?? he rumbled across a whisper?s edge.
?I wished...that you would take me dancing.?
?Oh,? he whispered, all dark silk and promises, ?I think you can be certain of that.? Then he leaned in to kiss her, and fulfill a wish of his own.