thisbluespirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisbluespirit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2023-08-17 08:54 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2023-08-17 08:54 pm
Nacre #2 [Starfall]
Name: Wrong Key
Story: Starfall
Colors: Nacre #2 (key)
Supplies and Styles: Life Drawing + Silhouette
Word Count: 1691
Rating: G
Warnings: Talk of parental issues.
Notes: Old Ralston, 1337; Zila Fayne/Laonna Torwell. (Sometime after Breakfast in Portcallan, and before Governor Delver leaves for Starfall.)
Summary: Zila meets someone she really likes. It’s just as complicated as everything else.
There was a concert hall and gallery in the square outside the Old Fort and Governor’s offices. Zila had wandered over a few times before during her midday break. They had a small eatery, and sometimes they had musicians playing on the stage. Today, as yesterday, the same small group were up there practising. Zila found her attention straying to the young woman playing the fiddle – today, as yesterday. She stirred her savoury mess of lentils without looking down and then dunked a piece of bread into her cup of Eisterlander Tea, which startled her back into awareness of everything else.
Zila huffed and rubbed a splash of tea from her nose, then hastily set to work on eating the soggy bread before it disintegrated. The fiddler helped by pausing, apparently to write down a phrase of the music. Dark brown hair with tantalising auburn lights fell forward and obscured her face. The piece they’d been working on was new to Zila, maybe their own work, but the faltering notes kept catching at something in her head, and when the woman had played something more familiar earlier, music seemed to flow effortlessly out of her. Zila knew that meant it wasn’t effortless at all. She’d just worked hard enough to get that good.
The musicians began to pack up. Zila straightened, alive to an opportunity about to slip away. She pushed her empty bowl and plate out of her way, and darted over to the wooden dais.
“Hello!” she said, when the woman looked down at her, raising her eyebrow in a way that already seemed familiar. “I was admiring your work. Can I buy you a drink?”
The fiddler, on the point of closing her instrument case, looked hard at Zila, and then laughed, sitting down on the edge of the stage close by. “Why not? I’m clearly not getting any further with this today.”
“I liked it,” said Zila. “What I heard of it. Unusual.” She perched beside her on the boards, and grinned. “I’m Zila Fayne.”
“Laonna Torwell.” She gave Zila a sharp glance that tugged at the edges of something in Zila’s mind, but wouldn’t quite come to the fore. “You sing, don’t you? I came in not so long ago – I heard you. Where did you study?”
Zila straightened. “Eisterway.” Pride leaked into her voice. There was nowhere better in Emoyra.
“So did I.”
“Perhaps we passed each other in the corridors.” That might explain Zila’s persistent if elusive sense of recognition, even if it didn’t feel quite right.
Laonna snapped her case shut, and shifted it round to shoulder it before standing. “I suppose it’s possible. But I’d have thought – well,” she said, and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d have remembered you.”
Zila’s smile widened. She leapt up again, and led the way over to her table; her abandoned plate, bowl and be-crumbed tea cup still untouched. “What do you want?” she asked. “To drink.”
“I’m not sure,” said Laonna. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and gave a slight jump. “Oh, no! Look at the time. I’m afraid I’m based out at Parranshall, and I must leave soon if I want to get back before dark. I’m at the water gardens, there, you see – some performance, some research. It’s an interesting placement.”
Zila sat down, Laonna slipping into the chair next to her. Zila’s cheeks heated, but she tried for nonchalant. “So… you want to meet me another time?”
Laonna opened her mouth to reply, but Zila cut her off – shifting about too hard on her chair, she tilted it sideways and only failed to crash to the floor by Laonna grabbing the seat of it in time to right her.
“I think it would be nice,” Laonna told her, a quiver of suppressed laughter in her voice. “I stay over in Old Ralston some nights, and we could meet up properly, see a concert here – if you want to, that is.”
Zila shrugged, aiming for casual again, despite the incontrovertible evidence that she had already missed that by a long shot. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ll be leaving soon myself, though, so it had better be in the eight nights or so. What do you have to go and hide yourself away in the mountains for?”
“No, no, it’s a wonderful place,” said Laonna, lifting her head. “You ought to see it. And it’s not a permanent position anyway – I’m going back to Eisterway next year to complete the advanced theoretical course.”
Zila screwed up her face. “I always preferred the practical side.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” said Laonna. “Look, I must go or I shall be stuck here. Where can I find you again?”
Zila straightened. “Oh,” she said, sure of impressing her this time, since everyone here in Old Ralston made so much of the Governor, “I work for Governor Delver. Quite closely, actually, although I don’t like to boast.”
Laonna’s reaction could not have been more at odds with that of the average Old Ralstonian. She shot up out of her chair. The colour drained out of her face. “He sent you? That man? Oh, but this is low – this is despicable, even for him! Well, you can tell him I don’t care what he does, I’m not seeing him!” She grabbed the instrument case and scooped up her papers. “Excuse me. I’m afraid we can have nothing more to say to one another.”
Zila scrambled up, nearly tripping over both chair and table in her haste. Her fork went flying and three stray sheets of Laonna’s music shot into the corner of the room, but she didn’t look back, tearing after her. “Laonna! Stop! I don’t understand. What’s wrong? What’s the Governor done to you?”
“As if you don’t know,” said Laonna, turning back, still walking. “Go back, finish your tea – and leave me alone!”
Zila flapped her arms about wildly. “But I don’t! I only came here to eat my lunch in peace. If you don’t want to meet people who work for him, you might not want to hang around somewhere right opposite the Governor’s offices.”
“And yet you just ‘happened’ to come over and speak to me!”
Zila subsided, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Well – yes.”
“I don’t know,” said Laonna, watching her closely. “But it makes no difference. If you work for him, it’s no use us meeting again anywhere.” Her mouth set in a grim line that was definitely reminiscent of someone else Zila knew. “Please. Don’t make a fuss.”
Zila swallowed. “Explain first, can’t you? I didn’t mean anything. I just liked you – liked your music. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Laonna. She tightened her hold on her papers. “Perhaps you didn’t mean anything – but it’s no good.”
“If he hurt you, well, I won’t work for him any more,” said Zila. That would be difficult, but Governor Delver had said she could go somewhere else once they got here, if she wanted. She’d have to hope she wasn’t being followed by murderous government agents, thwarted in their purpose by her, of course, but she could.
Some of the tightness in Laonna’s face eased. “It’s not like that,” she said. “He didn’t do anything to me. He ruined everything for my mother and broke my grandparents’ hearts and I won’t have anything to do with him. Which wouldn’t matter, really, except he still wants to see me. He writes, even if it’s only once a year now.”
“What?” said Zila, taking a step back. “He writes to you to – what?” Zila wasn’t sure how she felt about Governor Delver, but she’d had to travel with him on the journey back here from Portcallan, which had taken days. Since she didn’t really have anything to do here, he employed her to run errands in his office, and altogether she’d spent enough time in his company to know that he wasn’t mad or noticeably cruel. He need not have bothered about her even as much as he had, given what she’d tried to do to him. Perhaps, despite that, he got up to no end of ruthless and devious things to further his policies and his career – Zila wouldn’t know, and she wouldn’t put it past him – but that sort of behaviour would at least be for a reason. There was no sense at all in persisting in writing annually to a family who’d hated him for years.
“To ask to see me, I suppose,” Laonna said. “I don’t open the things.” She must have seen Zila’s lack of comprehension, since she heaved a sigh. “Oh. You really don’t know, do you? It’s – well – he’s my father.”
Zila stared. “What? He can’t be!” Even as she protested, the realisation hit her: that was why Laonna had seemed so familiar. She didn’t look too obviously like the Governor, her colouring being much darker than his fair looks, but so many little tricks of movement and expressions had proved her claim already.
“Unfortunately, he is,” said Laonna. She put her hand tentatively on Zila’s arm. “The thing is, just because he’s someone now, that doesn’t mean he’s changed. Even if he had, I must think of my grandparents first. So – if you stop working for him, let me know. Otherwise, better not to have that drink, I’m afraid. Now, I must go!”
Zila watched Laonna run across the central square. “Well, curse my vile and empty soul,” she muttered, glowering around at the grey stone buildings that surrounded her. She wasn’t sure what to make of Laonna’s tale – parts of it sounded more like a bad ballad than anything else. What she did know was that her luck hadn’t changed yet. The last thing she needed was to take a liking to the Governor’s daughter, even if he’d had one who wasn’t a secret and didn’t hate him, and so, of course, here she was, doing exactly that.
“No,” she added to herself, turning on her heel. “Forget it.” No need for anyone to curse her; she already was, well and truly, and she’d done it all herself.
Story: Starfall
Colors: Nacre #2 (key)
Supplies and Styles: Life Drawing + Silhouette
Word Count: 1691
Rating: G
Warnings: Talk of parental issues.
Notes: Old Ralston, 1337; Zila Fayne/Laonna Torwell. (Sometime after Breakfast in Portcallan, and before Governor Delver leaves for Starfall.)
Summary: Zila meets someone she really likes. It’s just as complicated as everything else.
There was a concert hall and gallery in the square outside the Old Fort and Governor’s offices. Zila had wandered over a few times before during her midday break. They had a small eatery, and sometimes they had musicians playing on the stage. Today, as yesterday, the same small group were up there practising. Zila found her attention straying to the young woman playing the fiddle – today, as yesterday. She stirred her savoury mess of lentils without looking down and then dunked a piece of bread into her cup of Eisterlander Tea, which startled her back into awareness of everything else.
Zila huffed and rubbed a splash of tea from her nose, then hastily set to work on eating the soggy bread before it disintegrated. The fiddler helped by pausing, apparently to write down a phrase of the music. Dark brown hair with tantalising auburn lights fell forward and obscured her face. The piece they’d been working on was new to Zila, maybe their own work, but the faltering notes kept catching at something in her head, and when the woman had played something more familiar earlier, music seemed to flow effortlessly out of her. Zila knew that meant it wasn’t effortless at all. She’d just worked hard enough to get that good.
The musicians began to pack up. Zila straightened, alive to an opportunity about to slip away. She pushed her empty bowl and plate out of her way, and darted over to the wooden dais.
“Hello!” she said, when the woman looked down at her, raising her eyebrow in a way that already seemed familiar. “I was admiring your work. Can I buy you a drink?”
The fiddler, on the point of closing her instrument case, looked hard at Zila, and then laughed, sitting down on the edge of the stage close by. “Why not? I’m clearly not getting any further with this today.”
“I liked it,” said Zila. “What I heard of it. Unusual.” She perched beside her on the boards, and grinned. “I’m Zila Fayne.”
“Laonna Torwell.” She gave Zila a sharp glance that tugged at the edges of something in Zila’s mind, but wouldn’t quite come to the fore. “You sing, don’t you? I came in not so long ago – I heard you. Where did you study?”
Zila straightened. “Eisterway.” Pride leaked into her voice. There was nowhere better in Emoyra.
“So did I.”
“Perhaps we passed each other in the corridors.” That might explain Zila’s persistent if elusive sense of recognition, even if it didn’t feel quite right.
Laonna snapped her case shut, and shifted it round to shoulder it before standing. “I suppose it’s possible. But I’d have thought – well,” she said, and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d have remembered you.”
Zila’s smile widened. She leapt up again, and led the way over to her table; her abandoned plate, bowl and be-crumbed tea cup still untouched. “What do you want?” she asked. “To drink.”
“I’m not sure,” said Laonna. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and gave a slight jump. “Oh, no! Look at the time. I’m afraid I’m based out at Parranshall, and I must leave soon if I want to get back before dark. I’m at the water gardens, there, you see – some performance, some research. It’s an interesting placement.”
Zila sat down, Laonna slipping into the chair next to her. Zila’s cheeks heated, but she tried for nonchalant. “So… you want to meet me another time?”
Laonna opened her mouth to reply, but Zila cut her off – shifting about too hard on her chair, she tilted it sideways and only failed to crash to the floor by Laonna grabbing the seat of it in time to right her.
“I think it would be nice,” Laonna told her, a quiver of suppressed laughter in her voice. “I stay over in Old Ralston some nights, and we could meet up properly, see a concert here – if you want to, that is.”
Zila shrugged, aiming for casual again, despite the incontrovertible evidence that she had already missed that by a long shot. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ll be leaving soon myself, though, so it had better be in the eight nights or so. What do you have to go and hide yourself away in the mountains for?”
“No, no, it’s a wonderful place,” said Laonna, lifting her head. “You ought to see it. And it’s not a permanent position anyway – I’m going back to Eisterway next year to complete the advanced theoretical course.”
Zila screwed up her face. “I always preferred the practical side.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” said Laonna. “Look, I must go or I shall be stuck here. Where can I find you again?”
Zila straightened. “Oh,” she said, sure of impressing her this time, since everyone here in Old Ralston made so much of the Governor, “I work for Governor Delver. Quite closely, actually, although I don’t like to boast.”
Laonna’s reaction could not have been more at odds with that of the average Old Ralstonian. She shot up out of her chair. The colour drained out of her face. “He sent you? That man? Oh, but this is low – this is despicable, even for him! Well, you can tell him I don’t care what he does, I’m not seeing him!” She grabbed the instrument case and scooped up her papers. “Excuse me. I’m afraid we can have nothing more to say to one another.”
Zila scrambled up, nearly tripping over both chair and table in her haste. Her fork went flying and three stray sheets of Laonna’s music shot into the corner of the room, but she didn’t look back, tearing after her. “Laonna! Stop! I don’t understand. What’s wrong? What’s the Governor done to you?”
“As if you don’t know,” said Laonna, turning back, still walking. “Go back, finish your tea – and leave me alone!”
Zila flapped her arms about wildly. “But I don’t! I only came here to eat my lunch in peace. If you don’t want to meet people who work for him, you might not want to hang around somewhere right opposite the Governor’s offices.”
“And yet you just ‘happened’ to come over and speak to me!”
Zila subsided, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Well – yes.”
“I don’t know,” said Laonna, watching her closely. “But it makes no difference. If you work for him, it’s no use us meeting again anywhere.” Her mouth set in a grim line that was definitely reminiscent of someone else Zila knew. “Please. Don’t make a fuss.”
Zila swallowed. “Explain first, can’t you? I didn’t mean anything. I just liked you – liked your music. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Laonna. She tightened her hold on her papers. “Perhaps you didn’t mean anything – but it’s no good.”
“If he hurt you, well, I won’t work for him any more,” said Zila. That would be difficult, but Governor Delver had said she could go somewhere else once they got here, if she wanted. She’d have to hope she wasn’t being followed by murderous government agents, thwarted in their purpose by her, of course, but she could.
Some of the tightness in Laonna’s face eased. “It’s not like that,” she said. “He didn’t do anything to me. He ruined everything for my mother and broke my grandparents’ hearts and I won’t have anything to do with him. Which wouldn’t matter, really, except he still wants to see me. He writes, even if it’s only once a year now.”
“What?” said Zila, taking a step back. “He writes to you to – what?” Zila wasn’t sure how she felt about Governor Delver, but she’d had to travel with him on the journey back here from Portcallan, which had taken days. Since she didn’t really have anything to do here, he employed her to run errands in his office, and altogether she’d spent enough time in his company to know that he wasn’t mad or noticeably cruel. He need not have bothered about her even as much as he had, given what she’d tried to do to him. Perhaps, despite that, he got up to no end of ruthless and devious things to further his policies and his career – Zila wouldn’t know, and she wouldn’t put it past him – but that sort of behaviour would at least be for a reason. There was no sense at all in persisting in writing annually to a family who’d hated him for years.
“To ask to see me, I suppose,” Laonna said. “I don’t open the things.” She must have seen Zila’s lack of comprehension, since she heaved a sigh. “Oh. You really don’t know, do you? It’s – well – he’s my father.”
Zila stared. “What? He can’t be!” Even as she protested, the realisation hit her: that was why Laonna had seemed so familiar. She didn’t look too obviously like the Governor, her colouring being much darker than his fair looks, but so many little tricks of movement and expressions had proved her claim already.
“Unfortunately, he is,” said Laonna. She put her hand tentatively on Zila’s arm. “The thing is, just because he’s someone now, that doesn’t mean he’s changed. Even if he had, I must think of my grandparents first. So – if you stop working for him, let me know. Otherwise, better not to have that drink, I’m afraid. Now, I must go!”
Zila watched Laonna run across the central square. “Well, curse my vile and empty soul,” she muttered, glowering around at the grey stone buildings that surrounded her. She wasn’t sure what to make of Laonna’s tale – parts of it sounded more like a bad ballad than anything else. What she did know was that her luck hadn’t changed yet. The last thing she needed was to take a liking to the Governor’s daughter, even if he’d had one who wasn’t a secret and didn’t hate him, and so, of course, here she was, doing exactly that.
“No,” she added to herself, turning on her heel. “Forget it.” No need for anyone to curse her; she already was, well and truly, and she’d done it all herself.