finally finishing a summer prompt
Vanilla Malt Custard #2. it takes two to whisper quietly with Butterscotch
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : ~300 years pre-story
Word Count : ~800
Already failing at the whole chronological thing - but at least I wrote something! I've been working on notes and plotting and I felt like playing with some backstory (and getting one of my summer prompts done FINALLY). If you are familiar with my canon, you probably know Luka by a different name (or names?) and yes chances are he is who you think he is (and if you don't know him, it doesn't hurt anything).
The lab was dark and empty for the night, save for the one apprentice who’d crept back in to stare longingly at the cauldron of gently bubbling syrup that still hung over the magically maintained coals in the hearth. He perched, cross-legged, atop one of the heavily scarred and stained tables that filled the room, gazing into the slowly churning pool of bright blue.
“I wonder what it tastes like,” said Luka, well aware that he need not speak the words aloud. Conversations never felt quite right when confined entirely to one’s head.
Like death, came the voice only he could ever hear.
Luka scowled. “That hardly answers my question.”
Well, said the voice, and he wished she had a face to go with that tone she always had when he was trying her patience. Given the ingredients, I imagine it tastes like honey with perhaps a touch of mint. And I’m sure it has a lovely aftertaste that lingers right up until the point where your throat closes up and you find yourself writhing on the floor. After that I reckon you don’t have the presence left to think about such things.
Luka sighed. He’d had such high hopes this time. To take a sip and live forever - forget honey, what did triumph taste like? Of course, the last potion Garilus had fashioned set both the boy that drank it and the lab on fire. Or so he heard. At the goddess’s behest, he’d found himself an errand that conveniently put two days travel between himself and the lab at the time.
“Master Garilus thinks it’s going to work this time,” he said anyway, as if that would change matters.
Yes, I’m sure Master Garilus has complete faith in his abilities. That’s why you and your little friends get to drink his concoctions first.
“He’s going to get it right eventually though, isn’t he?” This was the fifth recipe the old man swore would be the one. He didn’t particularly fancy growing old himself before he got his hands on it.
Yes, and when he does, I’ll let you know. Until then, quit being a whiny brat about it. You’re still practically a child and in no danger of being too decrepit to appreciate eternal life anytime soon.
Luka hated it when she answered the thoughts he hadn’t spoken the same as if he had. He went silent, glowering at the pot and trying not to think anything at all. The goddess didn’t say anything either, but he could still feel her presence at the corner of his mind, as if she were watching him, waiting for him to grow tired of the silence and make a move.
Eventually, he obliged. “What’s it like?” he said. “Always seeing everything before it happens?”
It gets old a lot faster than you’d think.
He found that hard to believe. Who wouldn't want to always be a step ahead of everyone else? What visions she did give him had gotten him this far. He could only begin to imagine what he'd do if she would let him see it all. But then gods didn't have the luxury of actually getting to act on their plans.
“Is that why you’re always so cryptic? Am I a diversion to you? Or is that one of the rules gods are bound to, like only talking to certain people?”
He wasn’t particularly expecting an answer, but he didn’t anticipate her laughter either and wasn’t sure of what to make of it.
I thought I was perfectly clear about what would happen if you were to drink this potion.
“I meant the bigger picture. The prophecies - don’t think for a moment I don’t know you wrote every word of every one of them. Why me. What you need me to stick around for a few hundred years to do.”
There was a long pause that left him wondering if perhaps he’d overstepped his bounds.
I take it the fact that I like you won’t be an adequate answer.
“Nothing’s ever that simple with you.”
You are an excellent diversion.
Luka flushed at that, certain it was a reference to her recent habit of intruding on every intimate moment he had.
Give it a hundred years or so and see how you feel about talking to people.
“See? There you go being cryptic again.”
How’s this for clarity? Get your scrawny little ass on the road now before Garilus solves your little mystery about what the blue stuff tastes like and I have to find myself a new diversion.
“Clear enough for me,” said Luka, hopping from the table. He gave the pot one last, wistful look as he headed for the door, wondering what the potion he would get to drink would look like. Then he frowned. “What poor sucker is going to drink that tomorrow?”
Marcus.
“Pity,” he said, around the lump that was suddenly rising in his throat. “I rather liked him.”
Me too, she said, with a tone that left him blushing again.
He hurried from the room, as if somehow that would permit him to leave the conversation along with the deadly pot, but he suspected he was in for a long and far from lonely night on the road.
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : ~300 years pre-story
Word Count : ~800
Already failing at the whole chronological thing - but at least I wrote something! I've been working on notes and plotting and I felt like playing with some backstory (and getting one of my summer prompts done FINALLY). If you are familiar with my canon, you probably know Luka by a different name (or names?) and yes chances are he is who you think he is (and if you don't know him, it doesn't hurt anything).
The lab was dark and empty for the night, save for the one apprentice who’d crept back in to stare longingly at the cauldron of gently bubbling syrup that still hung over the magically maintained coals in the hearth. He perched, cross-legged, atop one of the heavily scarred and stained tables that filled the room, gazing into the slowly churning pool of bright blue.
“I wonder what it tastes like,” said Luka, well aware that he need not speak the words aloud. Conversations never felt quite right when confined entirely to one’s head.
Like death, came the voice only he could ever hear.
Luka scowled. “That hardly answers my question.”
Well, said the voice, and he wished she had a face to go with that tone she always had when he was trying her patience. Given the ingredients, I imagine it tastes like honey with perhaps a touch of mint. And I’m sure it has a lovely aftertaste that lingers right up until the point where your throat closes up and you find yourself writhing on the floor. After that I reckon you don’t have the presence left to think about such things.
Luka sighed. He’d had such high hopes this time. To take a sip and live forever - forget honey, what did triumph taste like? Of course, the last potion Garilus had fashioned set both the boy that drank it and the lab on fire. Or so he heard. At the goddess’s behest, he’d found himself an errand that conveniently put two days travel between himself and the lab at the time.
“Master Garilus thinks it’s going to work this time,” he said anyway, as if that would change matters.
Yes, I’m sure Master Garilus has complete faith in his abilities. That’s why you and your little friends get to drink his concoctions first.
“He’s going to get it right eventually though, isn’t he?” This was the fifth recipe the old man swore would be the one. He didn’t particularly fancy growing old himself before he got his hands on it.
Yes, and when he does, I’ll let you know. Until then, quit being a whiny brat about it. You’re still practically a child and in no danger of being too decrepit to appreciate eternal life anytime soon.
Luka hated it when she answered the thoughts he hadn’t spoken the same as if he had. He went silent, glowering at the pot and trying not to think anything at all. The goddess didn’t say anything either, but he could still feel her presence at the corner of his mind, as if she were watching him, waiting for him to grow tired of the silence and make a move.
Eventually, he obliged. “What’s it like?” he said. “Always seeing everything before it happens?”
It gets old a lot faster than you’d think.
He found that hard to believe. Who wouldn't want to always be a step ahead of everyone else? What visions she did give him had gotten him this far. He could only begin to imagine what he'd do if she would let him see it all. But then gods didn't have the luxury of actually getting to act on their plans.
“Is that why you’re always so cryptic? Am I a diversion to you? Or is that one of the rules gods are bound to, like only talking to certain people?”
He wasn’t particularly expecting an answer, but he didn’t anticipate her laughter either and wasn’t sure of what to make of it.
I thought I was perfectly clear about what would happen if you were to drink this potion.
“I meant the bigger picture. The prophecies - don’t think for a moment I don’t know you wrote every word of every one of them. Why me. What you need me to stick around for a few hundred years to do.”
There was a long pause that left him wondering if perhaps he’d overstepped his bounds.
I take it the fact that I like you won’t be an adequate answer.
“Nothing’s ever that simple with you.”
You are an excellent diversion.
Luka flushed at that, certain it was a reference to her recent habit of intruding on every intimate moment he had.
Give it a hundred years or so and see how you feel about talking to people.
“See? There you go being cryptic again.”
How’s this for clarity? Get your scrawny little ass on the road now before Garilus solves your little mystery about what the blue stuff tastes like and I have to find myself a new diversion.
“Clear enough for me,” said Luka, hopping from the table. He gave the pot one last, wistful look as he headed for the door, wondering what the potion he would get to drink would look like. Then he frowned. “What poor sucker is going to drink that tomorrow?”
Marcus.
“Pity,” he said, around the lump that was suddenly rising in his throat. “I rather liked him.”
Me too, she said, with a tone that left him blushing again.
He hurried from the room, as if somehow that would permit him to leave the conversation along with the deadly pot, but he suspected he was in for a long and far from lonely night on the road.