Post by silverdust on May 20, 2007 14:33:52 GMT -7
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"Hold still, dear princeling, of you'll upset my night's labor!"
"It is best if you do so; she is not going to let up."
"The empress speaks the truth! The quest for beauty is relentless, especially from an artist such as myself."
"...you are having too much fun with this."
It was an odd and exotic troupe that camped about the foot of the Grande Carousel, a play of vibrant colors and laughter. Schehera's rose-rue fur glimmered like wine in the shadows of the painted horses, the crystalline beads and silver clips twinkling at her side as bright as her melodious cajoling. She was in the anthro form she so preferred, its dexterous fingers much more suited for her artistry than clumsy paws. At the moment they were tangled in the raven locks of their newest companion, braiding and adorning as it fitted her whim and wonder. She smirked lightly, admiring her handiwork.
The young artifact at her feet had no choice but to sit still and bear it. Apparently, rarity and lineage had meant nothing to the older girl; he was just as subject to play doll as the queen lounging beside him. He shot a sidelong glance at her, questioning. Artemisius raised her eyes, and smiled reassuringly. She pawed lazily at her own mane, dripping with gold bells and talismans. "You look fine Malik, better than mine, even."
The naga gave a disbelieving snort. "That is not exactly what I was looking for."
Schehera's paw clipped him lightly on the back of the skull. "Hush now, little king. You do wrong to doubt my hand. As if I, weaver of beautiful stories, would do half as badly with locks. Even so, you'll come away like you're wearing the veil of stars."
"Veils are for females."
"Well, my prince is quite the beautiful one. Skin like smoked alabaster, eyes like an Egyptian king. These lovely strands could've been spun by Arachne out of midnight's tears and the ink of shadows..."
Artemisius flicked her wings lightly, the movement sending a gust that sent the bells into song. "You are very cruel Scheherazade, in a prettier tongue, but cruel nonetheless."
--
Their laughter reached Armande, perched high in the trees. No doubt the children knew he was there; he had promised Kaemonji that he would not let his child out of his sight until he reached the age to protect himself. But at the same time, youth was a short and fleeting time, and to be hovered over constantly would do as much damage as abandonment. So he protected at a distance, enough to reassure Malik that his guardian was there, but removed enough to let him learn to live on his own.
He was sure that the young child he had taken up with, Artemisius, lived in the same arrangement. A god-king would not leave his children defenseless. And he sensed her guardian, there, faint, lurking like he till they were needed. He wondered if living under a constant gaze would cripple them, would cause them to rebel...but...
He glanced down, through the shadow of leaves, at the three figures. No demigods, no rarities, just three children, playing as all children might. They had no need of him, perhaps not now, perhaps not ever. He smiled lightly. If only Kaemonji could see...
www.geocities.com/flipside_yin/EU172F.jpg
www.geocities.com/flipside_yin/EU077F.jpg
www.geocities.com/flipside_yin/EU107M.jpg
"Hold still, dear princeling, of you'll upset my night's labor!"
"It is best if you do so; she is not going to let up."
"The empress speaks the truth! The quest for beauty is relentless, especially from an artist such as myself."
"...you are having too much fun with this."
It was an odd and exotic troupe that camped about the foot of the Grande Carousel, a play of vibrant colors and laughter. Schehera's rose-rue fur glimmered like wine in the shadows of the painted horses, the crystalline beads and silver clips twinkling at her side as bright as her melodious cajoling. She was in the anthro form she so preferred, its dexterous fingers much more suited for her artistry than clumsy paws. At the moment they were tangled in the raven locks of their newest companion, braiding and adorning as it fitted her whim and wonder. She smirked lightly, admiring her handiwork.
The young artifact at her feet had no choice but to sit still and bear it. Apparently, rarity and lineage had meant nothing to the older girl; he was just as subject to play doll as the queen lounging beside him. He shot a sidelong glance at her, questioning. Artemisius raised her eyes, and smiled reassuringly. She pawed lazily at her own mane, dripping with gold bells and talismans. "You look fine Malik, better than mine, even."
The naga gave a disbelieving snort. "That is not exactly what I was looking for."
Schehera's paw clipped him lightly on the back of the skull. "Hush now, little king. You do wrong to doubt my hand. As if I, weaver of beautiful stories, would do half as badly with locks. Even so, you'll come away like you're wearing the veil of stars."
"Veils are for females."
"Well, my prince is quite the beautiful one. Skin like smoked alabaster, eyes like an Egyptian king. These lovely strands could've been spun by Arachne out of midnight's tears and the ink of shadows..."
Artemisius flicked her wings lightly, the movement sending a gust that sent the bells into song. "You are very cruel Scheherazade, in a prettier tongue, but cruel nonetheless."
--
Their laughter reached Armande, perched high in the trees. No doubt the children knew he was there; he had promised Kaemonji that he would not let his child out of his sight until he reached the age to protect himself. But at the same time, youth was a short and fleeting time, and to be hovered over constantly would do as much damage as abandonment. So he protected at a distance, enough to reassure Malik that his guardian was there, but removed enough to let him learn to live on his own.
He was sure that the young child he had taken up with, Artemisius, lived in the same arrangement. A god-king would not leave his children defenseless. And he sensed her guardian, there, faint, lurking like he till they were needed. He wondered if living under a constant gaze would cripple them, would cause them to rebel...but...
He glanced down, through the shadow of leaves, at the three figures. No demigods, no rarities, just three children, playing as all children might. They had no need of him, perhaps not now, perhaps not ever. He smiled lightly. If only Kaemonji could see...
----> 
