Post by Eurydice on Jul 16, 2008 16:54:46 GMT -5
((After certain details that Lenorah has told me about recently, she is my new favorite character of the moment. This story takes place about eleven years before "current" Recon.
Oh, also, a picture that I'd been holding onto for potential use as NPC portraits suddenly clicked as being Lenorah and Ian, which amuses me to no end. And I couldn't bear to cut/shrink it down any further, so it is 150x150 instead of normal icon size.
Can't think of a good title.))
She was resplendent, even in the stark simplicity of her clean, white gown. Ian smiled crookedly, watching her as she absently batted at the bright copper hair that was stubbornly refusing to stay completely out of her face. He could imagine her long, athletic legs kicking against the the stiff line of her skirt with equal annoyance. He watched her smooth the cloth against herself, hesitant in action, as if afraid of breaking the image of her own loveliness. She should have known, he thought, that such a thing wasn't possible.
Of course, it really wasn't much of a wedding dress to begin with, but that was neither here nor there.
In the mirror's light, she caught him looking, eyed his reflection in mock rebuke. "Supposed to be bad luck, isn't it?"
"Just looking, Len," Ian smiled. "Thought you made your own luck, anyway."
Lenorah chuckled in reply, giving up on her hair, which, fortunately, usually looked half decent even when it was a mess. "That's what I think, sure. No guarantees that my mother won't flay you alive for getting an early peek, though."
She turned to face him, and they eyed each other for a moment, each clad in spotless white, before bursting into helpless giggles. The white they wore was supposed to stand for chaste purity, and it was, for both of them, a bare-faced lie; she was eighteen, he twenty, and both had taken to heart the adage that "Youth's a stuff will not endure" making the most of what their youth was affording them. It was all so ridiculous, really.
"How did we let them talk us into this again?" she asked, shaking her head ruefully as the laughter subsided.
"It was the old line about familial duty, if I recall," he answered dryly. "We're both born and bred to be susceptible to that in particular."
Lenorah yawned and stretched, then checked herself in the mirror to see that she hadn't disturbed any of the meticulous facets of her appearance that her mother and two aunts had fussed over for the last half hour. She laughed again, a little self-conscious. "I feel like I'm made of glass and about to trip over myself."
"Pretty as a picture," Ian said, coming over to stand behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, nosing her hair out of the way with a gentle nudge. He had a sweet face, despite weather-beaten skin, tawny and marred with the remainders of a dozen minor hurts in battle. His hair, a nondescript brown, had been tamed from its normal state of attractively messy into a surprising semblance of order, framing his face neatly. His eyes were dark and small. They made a very pretty couple; everyone said so, as if it were a consolation of sorts.
They stood like that quietly, for a moment. "You know this is never going to work out," Len murmured as she felt Ian's breath tickling against her cheek.
Ian sighed. "It'll work for as long as it works."
Smirking, Lenorah rested her head against his. "You should be marrying some quiet, well-read, obedient little thing."
"And you," Ian replied, nosing the flowers in her hair, "should be marrying a loud, blunt, cocky bastard who cooks you dinner and takes you out drinking. But hey. It's an imperfect world, isn't it?"
"Oh, gods, it is..." Lenorah giggled.
"Never going to work," Ian echoed.
"Certainly not."
"We'll scream ourselves hoarse."
"Go to bed cross with each other."
A small crowd hurried past outside, eager to be shown to their seats, and the pretty couple in the tent peeked out to watch. Ian smiled; it was his mother's sister, her husband, and a score of children in tow, dressed in brightly embroidered finery. He pointed at the figures showing them in; the ushers were two boys, eight and twelve respectively. "Your brothers having fun?"
"Time of their lives." Len shook her head ruefully. "They get to act all important, tell people where to go." She snorted, watching the two boys. "I think Tiberious is just making it up as he goes along, the little shit. At least Feste's pretending to be organized about it."
They were the last dregs of the wedding guests, that the boys were showing into the grounds. Ian took Lenorah's hands in his, squeezing them lightly. "I should probably go before your aunts come to murder me," he said sheepishly.
"I know."
"We'll make it work."
"I know."
Half-smiling, Ian drew her to him, kissed their intertwined fingers, and darted out to the back of the green. Lenorah watched him go, her husband-to-be, and made one final appraisal of herself in the mirror, throwing the veil over her face and shaking off the butterflies in her stomach. Her great aunt Therese's bony hands came to drag her out into the sun a minute later, leading her to her beaming parents, and together, they started down the aisle.
Oh, also, a picture that I'd been holding onto for potential use as NPC portraits suddenly clicked as being Lenorah and Ian, which amuses me to no end. And I couldn't bear to cut/shrink it down any further, so it is 150x150 instead of normal icon size.
Can't think of a good title.))
She was resplendent, even in the stark simplicity of her clean, white gown. Ian smiled crookedly, watching her as she absently batted at the bright copper hair that was stubbornly refusing to stay completely out of her face. He could imagine her long, athletic legs kicking against the the stiff line of her skirt with equal annoyance. He watched her smooth the cloth against herself, hesitant in action, as if afraid of breaking the image of her own loveliness. She should have known, he thought, that such a thing wasn't possible.
Of course, it really wasn't much of a wedding dress to begin with, but that was neither here nor there.
In the mirror's light, she caught him looking, eyed his reflection in mock rebuke. "Supposed to be bad luck, isn't it?"
"Just looking, Len," Ian smiled. "Thought you made your own luck, anyway."
Lenorah chuckled in reply, giving up on her hair, which, fortunately, usually looked half decent even when it was a mess. "That's what I think, sure. No guarantees that my mother won't flay you alive for getting an early peek, though."
She turned to face him, and they eyed each other for a moment, each clad in spotless white, before bursting into helpless giggles. The white they wore was supposed to stand for chaste purity, and it was, for both of them, a bare-faced lie; she was eighteen, he twenty, and both had taken to heart the adage that "Youth's a stuff will not endure" making the most of what their youth was affording them. It was all so ridiculous, really.
"How did we let them talk us into this again?" she asked, shaking her head ruefully as the laughter subsided.
"It was the old line about familial duty, if I recall," he answered dryly. "We're both born and bred to be susceptible to that in particular."
Lenorah yawned and stretched, then checked herself in the mirror to see that she hadn't disturbed any of the meticulous facets of her appearance that her mother and two aunts had fussed over for the last half hour. She laughed again, a little self-conscious. "I feel like I'm made of glass and about to trip over myself."
"Pretty as a picture," Ian said, coming over to stand behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, nosing her hair out of the way with a gentle nudge. He had a sweet face, despite weather-beaten skin, tawny and marred with the remainders of a dozen minor hurts in battle. His hair, a nondescript brown, had been tamed from its normal state of attractively messy into a surprising semblance of order, framing his face neatly. His eyes were dark and small. They made a very pretty couple; everyone said so, as if it were a consolation of sorts.
They stood like that quietly, for a moment. "You know this is never going to work out," Len murmured as she felt Ian's breath tickling against her cheek.
Ian sighed. "It'll work for as long as it works."
Smirking, Lenorah rested her head against his. "You should be marrying some quiet, well-read, obedient little thing."
"And you," Ian replied, nosing the flowers in her hair, "should be marrying a loud, blunt, cocky bastard who cooks you dinner and takes you out drinking. But hey. It's an imperfect world, isn't it?"
"Oh, gods, it is..." Lenorah giggled.
"Never going to work," Ian echoed.
"Certainly not."
"We'll scream ourselves hoarse."
"Go to bed cross with each other."
A small crowd hurried past outside, eager to be shown to their seats, and the pretty couple in the tent peeked out to watch. Ian smiled; it was his mother's sister, her husband, and a score of children in tow, dressed in brightly embroidered finery. He pointed at the figures showing them in; the ushers were two boys, eight and twelve respectively. "Your brothers having fun?"
"Time of their lives." Len shook her head ruefully. "They get to act all important, tell people where to go." She snorted, watching the two boys. "I think Tiberious is just making it up as he goes along, the little shit. At least Feste's pretending to be organized about it."
They were the last dregs of the wedding guests, that the boys were showing into the grounds. Ian took Lenorah's hands in his, squeezing them lightly. "I should probably go before your aunts come to murder me," he said sheepishly.
"I know."
"We'll make it work."
"I know."
Half-smiling, Ian drew her to him, kissed their intertwined fingers, and darted out to the back of the green. Lenorah watched him go, her husband-to-be, and made one final appraisal of herself in the mirror, throwing the veil over her face and shaking off the butterflies in her stomach. Her great aunt Therese's bony hands came to drag her out into the sun a minute later, leading her to her beaming parents, and together, they started down the aisle.