Meant to start this weeks ago, but life got in the way a bit. So, starting today, I will be posting a piece of writing and a piece of art every day here in the blog. Both will likely be more than a bit rough, but it should be good practice for me and encourage me to do things besides role-play, work, and sleep. Expect lots of ridiculous fluff. Writing will be posted behind breaks (assuming I can figure how to work them properly), and all potentially objectionable content will be clearly labelled as such.
For your listening pleasure, here’s a clip of me reading a scene from a silly story that I may or may not finish someday. (Just like the rest? Yea, pretty well.)
Ridiculous men rolling around in the hay, or “The Vessel: Part One”
Without further ado, the scene for today features Máire and those lovely Troll boys.
Máire Gort Luis and Mikha'el ben Ya'aqov'el
Mikha’el and his advisors were in the midst of a meeting. They stood around the thick circular table as they discussed recent scouting reports and where they should strike next. Just as Arieh leaned over the map to tap beside the name of one particular settlement, raised voices came from outside the tent. Two belonged to the guards stationed at the tent entrance, and one, a loud snap of a woman’s voice, belonged to Máire. Arieh frowned up at Mikha’el while the other advisors exchanged nervous glances. Mikha’el, chuckling, gestured from Arieh toward the entrance. The young Troll sighed, but that was his only sign of protest. No sooner had he exited the tent then the young red-head came stomping in. Her brows were twisted low over her flashing eyes, and her lips set in a thin line of obvious disapproval. Shaking his head, Arieh returned behind her. She stormed right up to Mikha’el and smacked at his arm with the back of her hand. Mikha’el waved for the advisors to leave and said, “We’ll finish this later.” As he did so, she smacked him again with her palm and then again with the back of the same hand. All but Arieh left; the young Troll watched Máire and folded his arms across his chest.
“Who the ‘ell do you think I am?” Her voice was low and full of gravel. She used both hands now to beat against his chest. Her palms slapped loud against his leather jerkin, and the blows undoubtedly hurt her far more than him.
Grabbing her wrists and holding her hands still, Mikha’el arched one eyebrow and tilted his head to stare down at her. ”You are Máire Gort Luis, daughter of Brigit Luis Tinne, no?” he retorted calmly.
One side of her lips lifted into a snarl. “I dun’ need nor wan’ your servin’ wenches ‘avin’ a damn thing t’ do with the raisin’ of my daughter!”
“Ah.” One side of his lips lifted into a grin. ”I shall be sure to remind them that—”
“No,” she growled and struggled to hit him again. Even in her rage, she was not half as strong as the Chieftain’s son. ”Order them never to interfere again!”
Mikha’el lifted his eyes to nod to Arieh. The other Troll frowned; he lifted one eyebrow. Arieh left then, and Mikha’el, releasing her wrists, slumped back into the chair behind him. ”It is done,” he sighed as he looked up at her. She was actually taller than him from his position, though not by much, and if he choose to sit up straight, they would be able to look at each other eye-to-eye. As it was, he preferred those flashing green eyes glaring down into his yellow pools of calm.
“O, that’s it, is it?” she sneered. ”A nod to Arieh, and you can fix anything, is that it?”
Grinning slightly, he shrugged. ”Well, I’m not fixing anything, actually. It is Arieh—”
She silenced him with a hard slap across his cheek and nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply at the lingering sting. ”Feel any better?” he asked with a drawn-out exhale. Her only reply was another slap on the same cheek. His eyes stared up into hers, and only then did he notice the fear hidden behind the flashing. Gently, his hand reached for her, but she twisted from his touch and turned from him.
Folding her arms over her chest, she huffed, “Just who do you think you are!”
“I know exactly who I am, Lady, and I have never pretended to be anyone else.”
With a sudden jerk, she was leaning down over his face. Her small hands squeezed uselessly at his thick throat and tugged hard at the grey hair at the back of his scalp. His upturned face was ever that wild serenity as he pulled her into the chair. With her knees braced on either side of him, she stared down into his eyes. Slowly, the tension drained from her hands to be replaced by a trembling. Gentle in that quaking, they slid down his neck to rest on his chest, and she sat back to rest on his knees. His eyes remained on hers, even as she blinked at the fold of her thin legs over his.
“Lady,” he muttered as his arm wrapped around her small frame, “it doesn’t have to be—”
The flutter of the tent flaps, one against the other, drew his eyes over to Arieh as the troll returned. Máire stiffened and pulled herself from his lap. An ache settled in his chest as again he reached for her hand, and again she twisted to avoid his touch. After glancing over her shoulder to Arieh, she stared down at Mikha’el for a moment before quickly turning and leaving. Mikha’el rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand over his eyes.
“That woman is crazed.”
Dropping his hand into his lap, Mikha’el sighed and glared up at Arieh. At least the troll had the courtesy to wait until Máire was not in the tent and to speak in their native tongue, rather than one the young lady might understand. ”Is there a problem?” he asked with a rough edge to his words.
Arieh shook his head. ”Just stating the obvious. There’s a not a troll woman living, dead, or unborn who would dare interrupt a meeting of the Chieftain’s son and his advisors.”
“Yes,” Mikha’el mumbled with a nod, “and what a damn shame that is.”
This scene was brought you in part by “When the Day Met the Night” by Panic at the Disco.
