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Pistachio #6. Reward with Whipped Cream and Sprinkles
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1249 (16-yr-old Farran)
Word Count : 355
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, really?” said Sylvia, hand planted on her slender hips. “How many of you did she pick?”
Farran frowned and pulled a leg up onto the bed. “Eight.” Dark brows knit over bright blue eyes as Sylvia held what Farran supposed was the most menacing position the tiny girl could manage. She sighed and trained her gaze on the foot tucked in front of her. “All right, so it is a big deal. I just didn’t want to rub your nose in it.”
The mattress bounced as Sylvia sat down behind her “What?” she said. “I can’t just be happy for you?”
“Sorry, Sylvi,” said Farran, as the other took up her usual habit of twining fingers through her hair. “Of course you can. And thanks.”
“So what does it mean, anyway?”
“Extra lessons.” She smiled as gentle hands slid down her back, weaving her hair together.
“That’s not much of a reward.”
“No,” said Farran with a grin. “I don’t suppose you would think so. I rather like it though, having someone decent to spar with for a change.” The hands retreated. “Oh, come, Syl. I didn’t mean-”
“You did so.”
Farran turned to face her, the half-formed braid flopping against her shoulders. Sylvia held her arms across her breast, hands tucked out of sight, and her soft lips thrust into a pout. Farran brought a hand to brush a stray curl from her face. “It’s not as if you’re bad so much as you’re just too sweet, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you, and-” Sylvia tensed and pulled away. “Gods, I’m just digging myself deeper, aren’t I?”
Sylvia sighed and pulled her own hands out of hiding to chase the wayward hair back into place. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really want to spar anyway.”
“You could come watch. Dalton’s there almost every day. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the company.”
The scowl returned. “Right. That wouldn’t be awkward.”
Farran leveled a stare at her friend and the finger she jabbed at her perfectly round little nose. “Only so long as you don't keep saying so.”
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1249 (16-yr-old Farran)
Word Count : 355
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, really?” said Sylvia, hand planted on her slender hips. “How many of you did she pick?”
Farran frowned and pulled a leg up onto the bed. “Eight.” Dark brows knit over bright blue eyes as Sylvia held what Farran supposed was the most menacing position the tiny girl could manage. She sighed and trained her gaze on the foot tucked in front of her. “All right, so it is a big deal. I just didn’t want to rub your nose in it.”
The mattress bounced as Sylvia sat down behind her “What?” she said. “I can’t just be happy for you?”
“Sorry, Sylvi,” said Farran, as the other took up her usual habit of twining fingers through her hair. “Of course you can. And thanks.”
“So what does it mean, anyway?”
“Extra lessons.” She smiled as gentle hands slid down her back, weaving her hair together.
“That’s not much of a reward.”
“No,” said Farran with a grin. “I don’t suppose you would think so. I rather like it though, having someone decent to spar with for a change.” The hands retreated. “Oh, come, Syl. I didn’t mean-”
“You did so.”
Farran turned to face her, the half-formed braid flopping against her shoulders. Sylvia held her arms across her breast, hands tucked out of sight, and her soft lips thrust into a pout. Farran brought a hand to brush a stray curl from her face. “It’s not as if you’re bad so much as you’re just too sweet, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you, and-” Sylvia tensed and pulled away. “Gods, I’m just digging myself deeper, aren’t I?”
Sylvia sighed and pulled her own hands out of hiding to chase the wayward hair back into place. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really want to spar anyway.”
“You could come watch. Dalton’s there almost every day. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the company.”
The scowl returned. “Right. That wouldn’t be awkward.”
Farran leveled a stare at her friend and the finger she jabbed at her perfectly round little nose. “Only so long as you don't keep saying so.”