A Happy Occasion (Kiwi-Strawberry, RHC, FotW + Summer Challenge Week 5 + Caramel)
Master Work: Sparksong
Challenges/Toppings/Extras: Kiwi-Strawberry #4 (waltz), Red-Hot Cinnamon #1 (tinder/kindling), FotW (Vinegar #23 [hazardous to your health]) + Summer Challenge Week 5: Celebrations + Caramel
Rating: PG-13 to be safe; there is a little language.
Title: A Happy Occasion…
Summary: …Naturally, Picked Apart and Groused Over by One Graceless Brother-in-Law.
Wordcount: 1,709
Notes: One year after the (as of now, nonexistent) plot-thing ends. This may get Chopped Nuts later depending on whether I want to kill someone off. Or rather, who I kill off, since it isn’t really a question of will I, won’t I anymore.
Irene truly was the worst dancer her now brother-in-law (dear Gods, he thought, that makes us kin) had ever seen.
He was a bit embarrassed for the onlookers - having to watch Côme mangle the First Dance to keep his oblivious bride from falling flat on her face; gliding into a step only to stop short as she tripped over his feet; and probably getting a crick in his neck from their disparate heights besides - but he couldn’t help wandering back to the fact that, due to some convoluted order of succession, he would have to step in soon to get trampled on by Irene.
Finally, the couple drew apart so only their fingers were clasped as they circled each other. Here Irene was, at last, in her element (well, not entirely; she was in the heavy traditional wedding garb and drenched in perfume instead of her enemies’ blood after all) - stalking an opponent on the battlefield perhaps, from the way her other hand kept straying down her hip and her eyes kept darting between her husband’s feet and his mouth.
A strange way to imagine one’s love, he thought, but if it stopped the sacrilege that was the previous ceremonial dance parts, he couldn’t care. Good thing she didn’t have her sword on her.
There was his cue. He stepped into the circle just as the tempo shifted; across the way Zahra picked up her skirts and mirrored him in the lunges and whirls of this part. Luckily, she was nearly as well-versed in dance - at least this style - as the twins, and Conri caught a flash of hope on his brother’s face as he and Irene drew together (stomp, wince) and back again, this time clasping each other by the wrist.
Conri and Zahra had, by this time, each traveled a quarter of the circle and taken a box from the priest at either point. He bowed to the man of the Gods over the miniature wooden chest, imagining Zahra at the other side doing the same, and without moving his upper body turned on his heel to face the couple again, who he knew were now back to back, palm to palm. Conri straightened to find his twin smiling serenely at him. Even as the edge of Irene’s thrown-back veil brushed his forehead. (Their height difference had never been more obvious.)
He fought back a strangled sound that rose deep in his throat (was that a laugh or sob?) and instead concentrated on holding the box steady. He stalked forward as if to offer the box to Côme, but at the last minute he (and Zahra, facing Irene on the other side) turned and circled around sunwise to face his new kin.
This was the third-to-last part, and arguably the most important: the Marking. He dipped forward to offer the box to his sister-in-law, praying she would remember the ceremony properly.
Her right hand twitched, as if to move.
Something must have shown in his face - and really, all of them were quite lucky she was so practiced at reading subtle signs of the mouth and eyes, even if this was a far different situation than a duel or war - for she swallowed hard and brought up her left hand on cue to dip her pointer finger into the jar nestled within the box.
It came up coated in brown dye-paint, and she turned around to mark the first lines on her husband’s face.
He couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she turned back some tense moments later her forehead, nose and chin were decorated with blue. He hadn’t studied the various designs used for the Marking - the same symbol could mean vastly different things in Lauhkina or Elith or Arvel, and their combinations affected the meaning as well - so he had no idea what the swirls on her temples with the long tails meeting at her hair part meant, or the straight line running from that point, down her nose and lips to spread out like roots on her chin. It reminded him rather of a standing candleholder he had seen in the city years ago.
He hoped that whatever they had chosen for their Markings, they had gotten it right.
Irene repeated the process, this time with black on her right pointer finger, and as soon as she turned to paint her husband Conri retreated to give the box to the other priest.
Almost over, he thought. Time to get his toes crushed.
Zahra matching him step for step, he entered the circle again and drew his in-law (he was, technically, playing the part reserved for his and Côme’s own father as the next available blood relative, and Zahra was surrogate for Irene’s mother for a host of reasons - not least of which was that she was, in a way, group matron) away for the Kin Dance, the last part of ceremony before the evening would take a plunge into the abyss of wild celebration and free-for-all partying.
This one was much less intimate than the husband-wife dances of before, but no less sacred and binding. Conri had, once upon a time, studied the messages latent in each expression and gesture (side-step, stomp, arms opening - was I supposed to smile just now? Shit!), but he had practiced for this occasion with only the surface motions in mind. Besides the look of utter concentration on Irene’s fresh painted face as she swayed uncertainly through her own role was distracting him. It was doubtful she knew that there was a gesture that meant my soul is shelter, or a step that said you need for nothing, or…
They touched foreheads as they bowed to one another, then made their way to the center of the circle, hand in hand. Zahra was smiling as she and Côme joined them, fresh from their own identical dance, and his brother looked exhilarated through the dye-paint Irene had slathered him with. He joined his free hand with hers, and the four of them held there for a second before Conri and Zahra broke away back to their original positions outside the circle.
Only then were the couple allowed to kiss to end the ceremony. Julian - who seemed to appear out of thin air - held their clasped hands aloft. “Now and forever!” he boomed to the crowd. “Now let’s celebrate, shall we?”
Cheers and the clinking of glasses was his reply.
~o~
Conri had no less than four women ask him to dance in the following hour. He tolerated two of them slobbering all over him - and one who was actually quite polite about it, but he still wasn’t going to marry her - but he bolted from the last before she even opened her mouth.
Takoda captured him as he darted past on the way to the head table, and he found himself praying the girls would come back if only to save him from the inane prattling. And prattle he did (about what he could never grasp, because as soon as he got an inkling of one thought process Takoda would change the subject) past the dancing circle where couples twined and the already-drunk shimmied, past the head table - where he made eye contact with Julian (save me) and the bride’s brother burst out laughing so hard he fell right off his chair - past the twin concentrations of chaos that were the kegs, past Briar carving up a deer for the spit, and to the shore of Lauhkina Lake.
Later on this spot would be full of people watching the midnight fireworks over the water, but for now…
Now there was only Meivu and two hassled servants. The latter, on loan from some local noble, were busy stacking the bonfire wood just so under the river-daughter’s critical eye.
“Hey Bubbles,” Takoda murmured, and Conri realized with a jolt that be had fallen silent some time before.
She nodded to him suspiciously, but he glided on past, letting go of Conri’s wrist and wandering over to the lonely dock jutting out into the lake some fifty paces away. He stood peering into the water for many long moments - Meivu and the servants went back to their business not far into this pause - while Conri debated whether he should just turn around and brave the women again. (A fat lot of good the head table’s false refuge would do him; his brother was busy with his wife and Julian had proven he was just a jerk without a soul.)
But, in the end his curiosity (damn his knowledge-seeking nature!) won out. He trudged over to the dock with a heavy heart of dread.
Takoda had the nerve to look surprised. “Well, that’s new! Come and sit with me, yeah? It’ll be some time before Princess gets too deep in her own cups to keep watch on the alcohol.” He grinned and flopped down on the dock, leaning back on his elbows and dangling his bare feet (when did he take his boots off?) over the edge so his toes brushed the water.
Conri sat down a great deal more stiffly, keeping himself firmly on the dock. There were fish in there.
Just as he thought this Takoda sucked in a breath and jerked his toes out. “Tickles,” he said by way of explanation. Conri could have sworn he saw a bit of blood, but Gods knew he wasn’t going to look any closer.
“Aha! Now that they’ve got a taste of man-flesh, they’ll be back for more!” Takoda laughed easily as he folded his legs.
The water rippled, and the biggest fish Conri had ever seen - outside of books - launched out of the water right in front of them and flopped back down, drenching the two men in the spray.
They sat sputtering for a moment. Only a moment, of course, with Tak around. “I have the Sight!” he breathed and broke into hysterical giggles even as the two of them scrambled to get back from the water.
“No, you just have uncanny luck,” Conri grumbled, shivering in the cloudless evening.
Takoda twirled around, arms flung out. “Same thing, darlin’. Same thing.”
Challenges/Toppings/Extras: Kiwi-Strawberry #4 (waltz), Red-Hot Cinnamon #1 (tinder/kindling), FotW (Vinegar #23 [hazardous to your health]) + Summer Challenge Week 5: Celebrations + Caramel
Rating: PG-13 to be safe; there is a little language.
Title: A Happy Occasion…
Summary: …Naturally, Picked Apart and Groused Over by One Graceless Brother-in-Law.
Wordcount: 1,709
Notes: One year after the (as of now, nonexistent) plot-thing ends. This may get Chopped Nuts later depending on whether I want to kill someone off. Or rather, who I kill off, since it isn’t really a question of will I, won’t I anymore.
Irene truly was the worst dancer her now brother-in-law (dear Gods, he thought, that makes us kin) had ever seen.
He was a bit embarrassed for the onlookers - having to watch Côme mangle the First Dance to keep his oblivious bride from falling flat on her face; gliding into a step only to stop short as she tripped over his feet; and probably getting a crick in his neck from their disparate heights besides - but he couldn’t help wandering back to the fact that, due to some convoluted order of succession, he would have to step in soon to get trampled on by Irene.
Finally, the couple drew apart so only their fingers were clasped as they circled each other. Here Irene was, at last, in her element (well, not entirely; she was in the heavy traditional wedding garb and drenched in perfume instead of her enemies’ blood after all) - stalking an opponent on the battlefield perhaps, from the way her other hand kept straying down her hip and her eyes kept darting between her husband’s feet and his mouth.
A strange way to imagine one’s love, he thought, but if it stopped the sacrilege that was the previous ceremonial dance parts, he couldn’t care. Good thing she didn’t have her sword on her.
There was his cue. He stepped into the circle just as the tempo shifted; across the way Zahra picked up her skirts and mirrored him in the lunges and whirls of this part. Luckily, she was nearly as well-versed in dance - at least this style - as the twins, and Conri caught a flash of hope on his brother’s face as he and Irene drew together (stomp, wince) and back again, this time clasping each other by the wrist.
Conri and Zahra had, by this time, each traveled a quarter of the circle and taken a box from the priest at either point. He bowed to the man of the Gods over the miniature wooden chest, imagining Zahra at the other side doing the same, and without moving his upper body turned on his heel to face the couple again, who he knew were now back to back, palm to palm. Conri straightened to find his twin smiling serenely at him. Even as the edge of Irene’s thrown-back veil brushed his forehead. (Their height difference had never been more obvious.)
He fought back a strangled sound that rose deep in his throat (was that a laugh or sob?) and instead concentrated on holding the box steady. He stalked forward as if to offer the box to Côme, but at the last minute he (and Zahra, facing Irene on the other side) turned and circled around sunwise to face his new kin.
This was the third-to-last part, and arguably the most important: the Marking. He dipped forward to offer the box to his sister-in-law, praying she would remember the ceremony properly.
Her right hand twitched, as if to move.
Something must have shown in his face - and really, all of them were quite lucky she was so practiced at reading subtle signs of the mouth and eyes, even if this was a far different situation than a duel or war - for she swallowed hard and brought up her left hand on cue to dip her pointer finger into the jar nestled within the box.
It came up coated in brown dye-paint, and she turned around to mark the first lines on her husband’s face.
He couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she turned back some tense moments later her forehead, nose and chin were decorated with blue. He hadn’t studied the various designs used for the Marking - the same symbol could mean vastly different things in Lauhkina or Elith or Arvel, and their combinations affected the meaning as well - so he had no idea what the swirls on her temples with the long tails meeting at her hair part meant, or the straight line running from that point, down her nose and lips to spread out like roots on her chin. It reminded him rather of a standing candleholder he had seen in the city years ago.
He hoped that whatever they had chosen for their Markings, they had gotten it right.
Irene repeated the process, this time with black on her right pointer finger, and as soon as she turned to paint her husband Conri retreated to give the box to the other priest.
Almost over, he thought. Time to get his toes crushed.
Zahra matching him step for step, he entered the circle again and drew his in-law (he was, technically, playing the part reserved for his and Côme’s own father as the next available blood relative, and Zahra was surrogate for Irene’s mother for a host of reasons - not least of which was that she was, in a way, group matron) away for the Kin Dance, the last part of ceremony before the evening would take a plunge into the abyss of wild celebration and free-for-all partying.
This one was much less intimate than the husband-wife dances of before, but no less sacred and binding. Conri had, once upon a time, studied the messages latent in each expression and gesture (side-step, stomp, arms opening - was I supposed to smile just now? Shit!), but he had practiced for this occasion with only the surface motions in mind. Besides the look of utter concentration on Irene’s fresh painted face as she swayed uncertainly through her own role was distracting him. It was doubtful she knew that there was a gesture that meant my soul is shelter, or a step that said you need for nothing, or…
They touched foreheads as they bowed to one another, then made their way to the center of the circle, hand in hand. Zahra was smiling as she and Côme joined them, fresh from their own identical dance, and his brother looked exhilarated through the dye-paint Irene had slathered him with. He joined his free hand with hers, and the four of them held there for a second before Conri and Zahra broke away back to their original positions outside the circle.
Only then were the couple allowed to kiss to end the ceremony. Julian - who seemed to appear out of thin air - held their clasped hands aloft. “Now and forever!” he boomed to the crowd. “Now let’s celebrate, shall we?”
Cheers and the clinking of glasses was his reply.
~o~
Conri had no less than four women ask him to dance in the following hour. He tolerated two of them slobbering all over him - and one who was actually quite polite about it, but he still wasn’t going to marry her - but he bolted from the last before she even opened her mouth.
Takoda captured him as he darted past on the way to the head table, and he found himself praying the girls would come back if only to save him from the inane prattling. And prattle he did (about what he could never grasp, because as soon as he got an inkling of one thought process Takoda would change the subject) past the dancing circle where couples twined and the already-drunk shimmied, past the head table - where he made eye contact with Julian (save me) and the bride’s brother burst out laughing so hard he fell right off his chair - past the twin concentrations of chaos that were the kegs, past Briar carving up a deer for the spit, and to the shore of Lauhkina Lake.
Later on this spot would be full of people watching the midnight fireworks over the water, but for now…
Now there was only Meivu and two hassled servants. The latter, on loan from some local noble, were busy stacking the bonfire wood just so under the river-daughter’s critical eye.
“Hey Bubbles,” Takoda murmured, and Conri realized with a jolt that be had fallen silent some time before.
She nodded to him suspiciously, but he glided on past, letting go of Conri’s wrist and wandering over to the lonely dock jutting out into the lake some fifty paces away. He stood peering into the water for many long moments - Meivu and the servants went back to their business not far into this pause - while Conri debated whether he should just turn around and brave the women again. (A fat lot of good the head table’s false refuge would do him; his brother was busy with his wife and Julian had proven he was just a jerk without a soul.)
But, in the end his curiosity (damn his knowledge-seeking nature!) won out. He trudged over to the dock with a heavy heart of dread.
Takoda had the nerve to look surprised. “Well, that’s new! Come and sit with me, yeah? It’ll be some time before Princess gets too deep in her own cups to keep watch on the alcohol.” He grinned and flopped down on the dock, leaning back on his elbows and dangling his bare feet (when did he take his boots off?) over the edge so his toes brushed the water.
Conri sat down a great deal more stiffly, keeping himself firmly on the dock. There were fish in there.
Just as he thought this Takoda sucked in a breath and jerked his toes out. “Tickles,” he said by way of explanation. Conri could have sworn he saw a bit of blood, but Gods knew he wasn’t going to look any closer.
“Aha! Now that they’ve got a taste of man-flesh, they’ll be back for more!” Takoda laughed easily as he folded his legs.
The water rippled, and the biggest fish Conri had ever seen - outside of books - launched out of the water right in front of them and flopped back down, drenching the two men in the spray.
They sat sputtering for a moment. Only a moment, of course, with Tak around. “I have the Sight!” he breathed and broke into hysterical giggles even as the two of them scrambled to get back from the water.
“No, you just have uncanny luck,” Conri grumbled, shivering in the cloudless evening.
Takoda twirled around, arms flung out. “Same thing, darlin’. Same thing.”