Fifteen minute challenge.
Jan. 31st, 2006 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanA fifteen minute challenge exchange from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen. The word was: Strangers.
Title: Fate
Fandom: Original (it's mine, I tell you!)
Rating: G
He had never been afraid of talking to strangers. When he was young, his mother used to say he took after his father in that way: “As if the whole world was already full of your friends, just waiting for you to meet them.” He had laughed, at the time. It was hard to imagine his serious, hardened father as the friendly, gregarious young man his mother described. His father was always kind to him, of course, but his parents were not ones to go out and chat with every person they met on the street. But it was true; talking to strangers was the way to make new friends. Easy. Easy as pie.
So it didn’t seem that odd to him, asking to join a group of people he’d never met before. They had done him a service, and were heading in his direction. The wolf made him nervous, but the four strangers had been welcoming enough; the redhead with the charming smile, the disciple of Nori with her otherworldy gravity, the easygoing athlete, the driven, provincial girl. A worthy group of friends to fall into.
And so, when he saw her injured in the inn, it wasn’t her beauty that made him volunteer to help her. She was beautiful, stunningly so, though he’d heard that the Canfortish were, as a rule. But she was hurt, and he could make her stop hurting. Why wouldn’t he help her? She was just a friend he hadn’t met yet.
And why would he tell the others that she had a secret, even though he knew, from that first night? Her deep, midnight blue eyes held such a soft pleading when they met his, such gratitude when she realized he wouldn’t give her away. She never felt like a stranger – she felt like a friend. His hands fit around her ankle to knit bone and sinew back together, and it felt like it was meant to be. They were meant to be.
Tahar had written a song, about the night he met Zarina. But he never could capture the sense of familiarity that she conveyed…the trust she gave him, right from the beginning. It was only much, much later that he knew. She had always been, and always would be, a stranger.
rougen. The word was: Strangers.Title: Fate
Fandom: Original (it's mine, I tell you!)
Rating: G
He had never been afraid of talking to strangers. When he was young, his mother used to say he took after his father in that way: “As if the whole world was already full of your friends, just waiting for you to meet them.” He had laughed, at the time. It was hard to imagine his serious, hardened father as the friendly, gregarious young man his mother described. His father was always kind to him, of course, but his parents were not ones to go out and chat with every person they met on the street. But it was true; talking to strangers was the way to make new friends. Easy. Easy as pie.
So it didn’t seem that odd to him, asking to join a group of people he’d never met before. They had done him a service, and were heading in his direction. The wolf made him nervous, but the four strangers had been welcoming enough; the redhead with the charming smile, the disciple of Nori with her otherworldy gravity, the easygoing athlete, the driven, provincial girl. A worthy group of friends to fall into.
And so, when he saw her injured in the inn, it wasn’t her beauty that made him volunteer to help her. She was beautiful, stunningly so, though he’d heard that the Canfortish were, as a rule. But she was hurt, and he could make her stop hurting. Why wouldn’t he help her? She was just a friend he hadn’t met yet.
And why would he tell the others that she had a secret, even though he knew, from that first night? Her deep, midnight blue eyes held such a soft pleading when they met his, such gratitude when she realized he wouldn’t give her away. She never felt like a stranger – she felt like a friend. His hands fit around her ankle to knit bone and sinew back together, and it felt like it was meant to be. They were meant to be.
Tahar had written a song, about the night he met Zarina. But he never could capture the sense of familiarity that she conveyed…the trust she gave him, right from the beginning. It was only much, much later that he knew. She had always been, and always would be, a stranger.
