| Board : | |
| Author : | |
| Subject : | |
| Date : | |
|
:: You're waiting in the palace corridor when it happens. :: :: The chamber is nearly empty, long since abandoned by :: :: those who think their opinions matter enough to shape the:: :: future of the Kingdom. Their papers litter the tables, :: :: ink drying in half-finished strokes. Tea cools in cups :: :: they will never finish. That is the way of the powerful: :: :: they leave their scraps behind, and others clean up after:: :: them. :: :: She comes into view, carrying a tray of used cups toward :: :: the kitchens. That's when a man steps into the doorway, :: :: blocking her path. Not a councilor -- their tread is :: :: steadier, more certain. This one is different, a shadow :: :: clinging to their light, the kind who attempts to make :: :: themselves matter by prying where they shouldn't. He :: :: stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame and :: :: blocking her path as if he owns the place, too casual :: :: be legit, and about as subtle as a bright lantern in a :: :: dark room. :: :: "You keep turning up, yet no one seems to know who you :: :: are. Why do you suppose that is?" he asks. :: :: She doesn't answer. Her silence holds long enough to be :: :: uncomfortable, and you can see it begin to cut at his :: :: smile. He presses closer in a semi-aggressive stance. :: :: "Come on, girlie. What's a pretty young thing like you :: :: doing working in a place like this?" :: :: You roll your eyes at the obvious attempt. Even you can :: :: tell he's the way off mark with this one. :: :: The woman rests the tray against her hip and studies him,:: :: her gaze steady. When she finally speaks, her voice is :: :: even, unhurried. :: :: "You know," she said, voice flat, "years back someone :: :: tried to read my fortune. They were digging for when and :: :: where I was born, and they decided the Wood Dragon fit. :: :: Maybe because I don't waste words. Maybe because once I :: :: start something, I finish it. He tried to say I was :: :: talented," she says with a smirk. "He was just fishing. :: :: talent, if it even exists, is just persistence honed to a:: :: sharper edge. I don't manipulate easy, and I don't step :: :: aside from challenges. YOU might want to remember that." :: :: Her stare held him a beat too long for comfort before she:: :: continued, "And as for fame and fortune, others can choke:: :: on it. I've seen the price.. I'll stay in the quiet where:: :: the work gets done." :: :: Her story hangs in the air, steady and a bit too clean. :: :: Some part of you knows it's probably just another mask, a:: :: tale worn thin by use. Whether it is her or only a shadow:: :: of her, you can't tell. :: :: The man's smile widens, slow, arrogant, and and self- :: :: satisfied, like he thinks she's handed him a secret. :: :: Shifting the tray back off her hip, she moves to pass. :: :: As she draws closer to him, her voice softens to a purr :: :: and she leans in close. You watch his posture loosen, :: :: shoulders tilting toward her like he expects some secret :: :: offer meant only for him. His breath stills as her voice :: :: drops low, and soft. Straining, you can barely make out :: :: the words. :: :: ... | |