fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2009-05-03 11:08 pm
witticaster) wrote2009-05-03 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
064
So I tried to write out something that I mentioned to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thereoncewas, that I've had in mind to write but haven't found a way to do well yet. I still don't think I succeeded here, and posting this is actually making me kind of skittery, but. It's a try, and so be it and et cetera.
Niko/Promise, like everything I write in tcls fandom is turning into.
Evenings found us walking together in Central Park, talking about past, present, and future. As of late, it was often past, and often Promise's. The bleak smiles that had sometimes accompanied her stories of life in plague times never seemed far from her face, but she spoke candidly.
It was in bed one night, when a particularly long strand of black pearls, looped twice loosely around her neck, rested between her breasts, that I asked her why. Why it was that she never came to bed unadorned.
I received a sad smile in return, and she shifted in my arms to look up at me. There we sat for several moments, as she chose her words.
"Because it's decadent," she finally said, idly rubbing a pearl between her fingers. "It's so ostentatious that it couldn't be understood as anything else."
What she did not say, what lurked within her words, was clear; it was written in the dark violet of her eyes. Promise sighed, breaking our shared gaze, and her face disappeared behind a curtain of sleek hair.
thereoncewas, that I've had in mind to write but haven't found a way to do well yet. I still don't think I succeeded here, and posting this is actually making me kind of skittery, but. It's a try, and so be it and et cetera.Niko/Promise, like everything I write in tcls fandom is turning into.
Evenings found us walking together in Central Park, talking about past, present, and future. As of late, it was often past, and often Promise's. The bleak smiles that had sometimes accompanied her stories of life in plague times never seemed far from her face, but she spoke candidly.
It was in bed one night, when a particularly long strand of black pearls, looped twice loosely around her neck, rested between her breasts, that I asked her why. Why it was that she never came to bed unadorned.
I received a sad smile in return, and she shifted in my arms to look up at me. There we sat for several moments, as she chose her words.
"Because it's decadent," she finally said, idly rubbing a pearl between her fingers. "It's so ostentatious that it couldn't be understood as anything else."
What she did not say, what lurked within her words, was clear; it was written in the dark violet of her eyes. Promise sighed, breaking our shared gaze, and her face disappeared behind a curtain of sleek hair.
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