Feldspar Tailoring
☙ 40th of Loshis, 2719; Evening ❧
☙ 40th of Loshis, 2719; Evening ❧
Smoke curled up from the charred paper falling to ash in the empty coal scuttle.
It smelled bitter, somehow, though that could very well have been the tailor's imagination running away with him yet again.
He thrust another folded page into the open stove to let it catch, watching the flames lick up the paper, consuming ink and lies, before he dropped it into the ashes of its companions, trying his best to concentrate on the soothing sound of the rain drumming against the tiles.
The wick reached for another, but fingertips brushed bare tin, and he glanced at the open, empty box.
...gone...all of them… all of… him...gone…
The tailor's little iron stove was by no means a forge furnace, but tin is malleable and the box was thin, and he knew as he dropped it swiftly onto the flaming coals, withdrawing his hand quickly, but with care- ...I'll take no more scars from that man… - that the heat would be enough that when he raked out the ashes in the morning it would be nothing more than a lump of metal, all form lost.
There was a new box on the table. He'd seen it while out at the market looking for something to tempt Miranda into eating properly again, and the carved sandalwood and tiny inlaid amethysts had sent a pang of longing through him.
The last week had been...so very hard. Cecelia was wonderful as always, she'd shown up with cooked meals, knowing that the wick was far too worried about his pet to eat properly himself. Rina… she had been unbelievably generous. He'd gone to the galdor in desperation, expecting to be turned away, or at the very least to have to plead his case and promise reparations, but she had sent for her veterinarian immediately and wouldn't take a fort for it, insisting she would do as much for any animal in need. The galdor had firmly quizzed Cecelia, who, mostly bewildered, still knew Juniper well enough to have an inkling of who would want to hurt him like this. Rina's passive… maid? ...companion? … had fussed over him in a businesslike fashion with cold compresses and tea -the already mortified tailor had flatly refused for a doctor to be sent for.
He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it… but was almost pathetically grateful for their kindness nonetheless.
Hands washed, a blanket tucked around his shoulders as much for comfort as the warmth it offered, the little wick ran a hand through tousled ginger locks as he pulled a fresh page towards him, reaching for the words that he knew he had to get out somehow.
Hello, beautiful.
I shouldn't be doing this, not really. It feels self indulgent, foolish- but I also know that if I don't, I'll get no sleep. I need to leave it behind, to set it down. I need to tell someone, but I cannot lay this burden in anyone else’s arms- so I shall tell you, because I have no way to get this to you. Mayhap one day you’ll tell me a place to send you letters, but until then, you’re safe. I can’t have a moment of madness and post the damned thing, no matter how much I want to hear from you.
It’s ridiculous, really. Perhaps I’m doomed to be the man who falls for everyone who’s never there...I’m certainly used to waiting. Sometimes I feel it’s all I ever do. Pathetic, like a dog begging for scraps from the table.
No. I have to stop seeing myself like that. I’m not worthless, I’ve proved it…and the fact that he completely disregards all I’ve accomplished is proof that he never really saw me as anyone worthwhile. I was a pet, trained to sit up and beg, occasionally spoiled… mostly ignored.
And I hate that it took this for me to see it.
I can’t help feeling that if I had realised sooner, I might have broken things off before he took out his frustration on Miranda, before he
Why is this so hard
I miss you. No matter how many cushions I pile into my bed, it feels so empty. Surwood seems to have spoiled me for being alone. It’s not something I’d ever experienced, waking up next to someone, yet now I find myself opening my eyes and half-expecting to see pale hair on the pillow beside me… but there never is. You seem to have twined yourself into my heart
I’m sorry. I know I can be… a lot. I hope your gown isn’t too much. I thought of leaving it with Cecelia for you in case you dropped by while I’m gone, but I confess I just want to see your face when you see it. I hope you come back at least once. I’d hate for it to go to waste, it won’t look half so good on anyone else.
I’m going to Vienda for a few weeks. I was planning a trip for business in any case, and I can’t stand being here where he I think the change will help me focus, and pick up some fresh ideas.
What am I doing. I’m trying to draw out the venom but I keep pushing it back in. He hurt my girl, and I was so angry I tried to ask the mona to hurt him back. He broke my face on my own counter to get me to stop.
I don’t regret trying to hurt him, I think if he hadn’t been distracted he might have gone to kill her and be done with it, and at least the backlash caught him too.
It’s strange. There were times before when I pleaded not to, but he always managed to persuade me somehow. This time he didn’t even try.
I used to love that he was that much bigger than me, stronger than me. I felt small and secure, precious even. Now I just know that I couldn’t make him stop.
I still write without tek, look at this. Even to you. Perfect little secretary. I suppose it’s the ultimate irony that in trying to make me what he wanted he gave me the tools to make my own way.
Mujo ma, hama. Ye started me opening my eyes.
Your Juniper
The tears fell even as he was writing, blurring the ink, making letters run together, but as he dropped the box, letter neatly folded inside, into the drawer under his bed, they suddenly hit him full force.
Still not flying again, his miraan trilled in concern, clawing her way slowly up the hanging coverlet as Juniper collapsed onto his bed, finally letting out all the hurt, the betrayal, the despair. Throat aching with the force of the sobs wracking his small body, the wick clung desperately to a pillow. The tiny scaled head bumping against his cheek was comforting, but somehow made him long even more to just be held, told that it would all be over soon.
...but what if it never is…
It smelled bitter, somehow, though that could very well have been the tailor's imagination running away with him yet again.
He thrust another folded page into the open stove to let it catch, watching the flames lick up the paper, consuming ink and lies, before he dropped it into the ashes of its companions, trying his best to concentrate on the soothing sound of the rain drumming against the tiles.
The wick reached for another, but fingertips brushed bare tin, and he glanced at the open, empty box.
...gone...all of them… all of… him...gone…
The tailor's little iron stove was by no means a forge furnace, but tin is malleable and the box was thin, and he knew as he dropped it swiftly onto the flaming coals, withdrawing his hand quickly, but with care- ...I'll take no more scars from that man… - that the heat would be enough that when he raked out the ashes in the morning it would be nothing more than a lump of metal, all form lost.
There was a new box on the table. He'd seen it while out at the market looking for something to tempt Miranda into eating properly again, and the carved sandalwood and tiny inlaid amethysts had sent a pang of longing through him.
The last week had been...so very hard. Cecelia was wonderful as always, she'd shown up with cooked meals, knowing that the wick was far too worried about his pet to eat properly himself. Rina… she had been unbelievably generous. He'd gone to the galdor in desperation, expecting to be turned away, or at the very least to have to plead his case and promise reparations, but she had sent for her veterinarian immediately and wouldn't take a fort for it, insisting she would do as much for any animal in need. The galdor had firmly quizzed Cecelia, who, mostly bewildered, still knew Juniper well enough to have an inkling of who would want to hurt him like this. Rina's passive… maid? ...companion? … had fussed over him in a businesslike fashion with cold compresses and tea -the already mortified tailor had flatly refused for a doctor to be sent for.
He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it… but was almost pathetically grateful for their kindness nonetheless.
Hands washed, a blanket tucked around his shoulders as much for comfort as the warmth it offered, the little wick ran a hand through tousled ginger locks as he pulled a fresh page towards him, reaching for the words that he knew he had to get out somehow.
Hello, beautiful.
I shouldn't be doing this, not really. It feels self indulgent, foolish- but I also know that if I don't, I'll get no sleep. I need to leave it behind, to set it down. I need to tell someone, but I cannot lay this burden in anyone else’s arms- so I shall tell you, because I have no way to get this to you. Mayhap one day you’ll tell me a place to send you letters, but until then, you’re safe. I can’t have a moment of madness and post the damned thing, no matter how much I want to hear from you.
It’s ridiculous, really. Perhaps I’m doomed to be the man who falls for everyone who’s never there...I’m certainly used to waiting. Sometimes I feel it’s all I ever do. Pathetic, like a dog begging for scraps from the table.
No. I have to stop seeing myself like that. I’m not worthless, I’ve proved it…and the fact that he completely disregards all I’ve accomplished is proof that he never really saw me as anyone worthwhile. I was a pet, trained to sit up and beg, occasionally spoiled… mostly ignored.
And I hate that it took this for me to see it.
I can’t help feeling that if I had realised sooner, I might have broken things off before he took out his frustration on Miranda, before he
Why is this so hard
I miss you. No matter how many cushions I pile into my bed, it feels so empty. Surwood seems to have spoiled me for being alone. It’s not something I’d ever experienced, waking up next to someone, yet now I find myself opening my eyes and half-expecting to see pale hair on the pillow beside me… but there never is. You seem to have twined yourself into my heart
I’m sorry. I know I can be… a lot. I hope your gown isn’t too much. I thought of leaving it with Cecelia for you in case you dropped by while I’m gone, but I confess I just want to see your face when you see it. I hope you come back at least once. I’d hate for it to go to waste, it won’t look half so good on anyone else.
I’m going to Vienda for a few weeks. I was planning a trip for business in any case, and I can’t stand being here where he I think the change will help me focus, and pick up some fresh ideas.
What am I doing. I’m trying to draw out the venom but I keep pushing it back in. He hurt my girl, and I was so angry I tried to ask the mona to hurt him back. He broke my face on my own counter to get me to stop.
I don’t regret trying to hurt him, I think if he hadn’t been distracted he might have gone to kill her and be done with it, and at least the backlash caught him too.
It’s strange. There were times before when I pleaded not to, but he always managed to persuade me somehow. This time he didn’t even try.
I used to love that he was that much bigger than me, stronger than me. I felt small and secure, precious even. Now I just know that I couldn’t make him stop.
I still write without tek, look at this. Even to you. Perfect little secretary. I suppose it’s the ultimate irony that in trying to make me what he wanted he gave me the tools to make my own way.
Mujo ma, hama. Ye started me opening my eyes.
Your Juniper
The tears fell even as he was writing, blurring the ink, making letters run together, but as he dropped the box, letter neatly folded inside, into the drawer under his bed, they suddenly hit him full force.
Still not flying again, his miraan trilled in concern, clawing her way slowly up the hanging coverlet as Juniper collapsed onto his bed, finally letting out all the hurt, the betrayal, the despair. Throat aching with the force of the sobs wracking his small body, the wick clung desperately to a pillow. The tiny scaled head bumping against his cheek was comforting, but somehow made him long even more to just be held, told that it would all be over soon.
...but what if it never is…
...don't you ever stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome...
