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maderrFor Sammikins, because I <3 her. I am sorry you did not get the job, though I suspect I care more than you ^^
Was supposed to be one for Beej as well, but I have been talking to my beloved Gomi ^_^ So Beej, you will get yours tomorrow ^_~
G'night!
Gille walked along the street, the Earl of Silnor's pretty daughter on his arm. He smiled politely as she spoke, and she laughed delicately at his lazy jokes. She was dark of hair and pale of complexion, lips the color of blood. Wholly natural she would claim, but she was a liar. Her dress only made her more lovely, dark green to bring out her eyes, a fitting color for a woman known to be rapidly jealous. Pink hyacinth were a bright contrast tucked into the brim of her fashionable bonnet.
Yet for all she was known to be jealous, she never batted an eye when Gille attended other women. But of course that was because he was polished and proper, with just enough of an edge, a hint of a closet filled with old bones, that she would be regarded as just bold enough to be pleasing to the man she really sought - the eldest son of the Duke of Chorr. If Gille held any special interest in her, or any other woman, he gave no sign of it. No woman ever seemed to mind.
Most, in fact, appeared perfectly delighted to be seen with him at all. Why wouldn't they? Gille never looked less than his best, even when he was drunk. Even when his words left marks that never faded, his actions left burns that never eased. His dark hair was in its short braid as always, but loose it was thick and soft, hard to stop touching. Not nearly as tempting as his skin though, smooth and hot over muscles a gentleman didn't normally have. That mouth, so crule when it spoke, wicked when it kissed and lapped and bit.
And even seperated by a street, a window and too many problems to ever surmount, Stregoni knew how wonderful he smelled. Heady, dark and spicy; a cold gentleman of the north who favored the rich, exotic scents of the orient.
Fabric rustled, and the deadly quiet of the room was broken by a deep, aching cough. Turning away from the window, Stregoni forced his thoughts back to his patient as she woke, smiling gently and standing to give a fresh dose of her medicine. As he crossed to the bed, he brusehd by a vase of flowers on a small table, knocking petals the floor. Red roses.
Was supposed to be one for Beej as well, but I have been talking to my beloved Gomi ^_^ So Beej, you will get yours tomorrow ^_~
G'night!
Gille walked along the street, the Earl of Silnor's pretty daughter on his arm. He smiled politely as she spoke, and she laughed delicately at his lazy jokes. She was dark of hair and pale of complexion, lips the color of blood. Wholly natural she would claim, but she was a liar. Her dress only made her more lovely, dark green to bring out her eyes, a fitting color for a woman known to be rapidly jealous. Pink hyacinth were a bright contrast tucked into the brim of her fashionable bonnet.
Yet for all she was known to be jealous, she never batted an eye when Gille attended other women. But of course that was because he was polished and proper, with just enough of an edge, a hint of a closet filled with old bones, that she would be regarded as just bold enough to be pleasing to the man she really sought - the eldest son of the Duke of Chorr. If Gille held any special interest in her, or any other woman, he gave no sign of it. No woman ever seemed to mind.
Most, in fact, appeared perfectly delighted to be seen with him at all. Why wouldn't they? Gille never looked less than his best, even when he was drunk. Even when his words left marks that never faded, his actions left burns that never eased. His dark hair was in its short braid as always, but loose it was thick and soft, hard to stop touching. Not nearly as tempting as his skin though, smooth and hot over muscles a gentleman didn't normally have. That mouth, so crule when it spoke, wicked when it kissed and lapped and bit.
And even seperated by a street, a window and too many problems to ever surmount, Stregoni knew how wonderful he smelled. Heady, dark and spicy; a cold gentleman of the north who favored the rich, exotic scents of the orient.
Fabric rustled, and the deadly quiet of the room was broken by a deep, aching cough. Turning away from the window, Stregoni forced his thoughts back to his patient as she woke, smiling gently and standing to give a fresh dose of her medicine. As he crossed to the bed, he brusehd by a vase of flowers on a small table, knocking petals the floor. Red roses.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-03 10:30 am (UTC)