iA/N: This takes place in Alanda, in ordinance with Mercedes Lackey's
Bardic Voices Books.
This started as an experiment in P.O.V., I felt that I needed to brush up on my present tense writing skills, and it went from there… If I give a warning, it'll give it away, so just don't flame me about…certain aspects, okay? I hope I got you all hooked and wanting to read…\
bOne Night with a Gypsy\, also titled bA Promise\
Her feet are of a uniform hardness that tells of calluses repeatedly rubbed away by a pumice stone. The sloping lines of an ankle flow into a pair of smooth muscular legs, hidden by the layered folds of silk that the gypsy wears. The crimson, ocher, emerald and sapphire layers conform to wide hips, and the creases of the shirtwaist hide a somewhat generous but firm stomach. Her bosom swells the front of the dress and the scarlet of just off-shoulder straps borders the creamy warmth of her shoulder and arm. Her hands are strong and fingers thick, but the skin is soft and the fingernails clean. The neck gracefully supports an oval shaped face with a sharp jaw line and prominent chin. Her lips are symmetrical and rose petal pink, resting just below a long, straight nose. The hazel eyes staring back at you are fringed by black lashes just beneath serenely arched brows. A wide forehead leads up to her hairline, and from there falls a curtain of warm chestnut that curls slightly under when it reaches her shoulders.
You look closer at her face, at the dark depth and foresty greenness of her russet jade eyes. They shine with tears and as you peer deeper into them, you can almost see the echoes of mislaid hopes and false dreams, but burning beneath them is an irrevocable faith. She moves, steps forward to quiet the shying mare before her. The horse ceases her complaining the moment that the girl's slightly pink hand contacts the mare's velvety nose. Your face is scant thumblengths from hers, and you can feel her breath on your neck and smell the scent of rosemary in her hair and on her skin.
Now she retracts with a shaky sigh, not quite mourning what could be. She ambles towards her wagon and sits on the oaken step, beckoning you with her eyes. Leaving your horse untethered, you follow her and sit at her side. The aura of magic around her is nearly palpable, and for one fleeting moment you think you see her hair glow silvery and ears taper to a point, but as she turns her head to look at you, your vision returns to normal and the sun's glare no longer plays havoc with your eyes. You feel her gaze upon you, and you look at the forest floor, cushioned in pine needles, until she has completed her inspection of you.
She returns to her guise of watching the woods as a sort of sentry, and you sieze the opportunity to examine her posture and dress. She sits leaning forward, hands clasped over her knees, her entire body folded to take up very little space but to use all she did take up to her advantage. Her wrists hold silver bangles and bracelets woven of embroidery floss, and on her right hand there is a set of three silver rings, one of which has tiny crystals embedded in it. Hanging from her neck is an amber pendant and a silver chain with chrome-like black-silver amulet dangling from it. Her last necklace makes you sharply draw in your breath as you contemplate the meaning of the pendant.
It is the sign of a witch, a five-pointed star inscribed in a circle. You look away, flushed, to realize that she is staring at you with an odd expression present in her face. She speaks the first words: "I do not know why what I am shocks you so. Usually it is my actions that shock folk, not my attire." Your eyes find their way back to her face, and you see that her eyes sparkle in merriment and her mouth twitches at the corners, betraying her desire to laugh at her own joke.
"I…I'm sorry for my rudeness," you say, tounge heavy with shame at your hasty judgment.
"Sorry, why should you be sorry? You are right to think that I follow the Goddess, I am proud of it, else I would not wear my devotion so conspicuously. If I were going to harm you with some arcane spell that would set you afire, I would have done so already, wouldn't I? I do see fit to tell you that you trespass on the lands of my clan, but I also see fit to invite you to stay a while." You catch the slight intonation at the end of her statement and look to her eyes.
"Perhaps…overnight?" you say, astounded by your own boldness. She smiles.
"Did I imply otherwise?" At your silence, she leans forward and wraps one hand around the nape of your neck, pulling your face to hers. Her lips press against yours, and her tounge swiftly breaks through into your mouth. Reveling in that one kiss, you lean backwards at its end and look at the ethereal maiden who granted you it.
"I refuse to spend a night with a woman whose name I do not know," you say, already craving her. She looks at you mysteriously from beneath her veil of dark lashes, and says finally her name, which rings into the warm sunniness of the afternoon.
"Tierra," she says in her rich alto voice. "And yours?"
"Sheridan." She accepts that with a nod and kisses you again. As Tierra leads you into the wagon, you know you won't forget staying with her tonight.
When the morning dawns, you find Tierra up and already dressed, today in crisp ruby satin and silvery sky blue. You pull on your same tunic from yesterday and hop out of bed, eager to see the gypsy woman, as if to prove to yourself that she was real and that last night had really happened.
She wrinkles her nose and smiles at you, and at the same time presses a meat pastry and an apple into your hands.
"Eat quickly, I've got to join the rest of the clan. Last night was the last one of my sentry shift, I'll not be here should you come back tomorrow." You pause mid-bite and look at Tierra in disbelief.
"I'll never see you again?" you ask in incredulity.
"You can't have expected me to just stay here forever. As much as I like you, I must admit, I did think you'd have more sense than to ask a gypsy to stay in one place for just a lover." She notices your tears, wipes them away with one soft finger, and kisses you, as if to make up for hurting you. "Now, put on your skirts and get onto your horse, Lady Sherri, and just promise you won't forget me." At this she takes off her set of rings and puts them on the table. You look to see that they are all conjoined, and can never come apart. You hesitantly put them on your finger and look up into the face of the beautiful gypsy. You find her eyes, pleasant in their bronzed olive color, and whisper: "I promise."
iA/N: HAH! That will teach you all to assume things about my stories. I bet you all got a bit of a shock to find out that Sheridan was *gasp* female. By the way, this fic actually started as me describing myself as a gypsy (oh that I were…unfortunately, I'm just another teenage girl who reads fantasy novels and lives in the 'burbs…) and turned into an actual piece of writing that I like. Perhaps another chapter/epilogue type thingy will come if I get reviews for this one…I mean lots of reviews, as in, more than five, and from different people too.
Also, in case you care to know, the description was fairly accurate, if not inclined to make me a bit more attractive than I really am (not that it's possible…oh Goddess, who am I kidding?). Okay, so I conveniently left out certain body parts because there really is no good way to describe them, and I never was any good at girl/girl slash so that's why this is not a lemon…(I'm working on the girl/girl thing, I sorta have to have examples of the stuff to read so that I can actually develop some sense of how to write it, and girl/girl is not as easy to come by as guy/guy.)
Just another note (oh dear, I do seem to have a really long A/N on this fic, don't I?) I'll accept anything, even flames…but if it's something about my religion (yes, that part of the describing was accurate as well…though I don't have a pendant like that, but I really want one…my birthday is coming up, all!) then be warned, I won't accept it as being constructive criticism, and all you'll get is a bunch of email from me explaining why Wicca is not any cause for distress and if you're cowardly enough to not log in or give a valid email address, be warned that I will get very angry and write a reply to your stupid and cowardly comments. And I'm not one to mince words. I curse and scream and yell quite well, I keep myself in practice. And don't give me crap about the girl/girl thing, or else I will rant and rave and end up crying because guess what? Tierra is based on me, WHOLLY. As in, Tierra=Katie (Don't call me that, I hate my mundane name…Amaris is a better name to call me by)/ Amaris Moonsong/ Lady Morgana/ Tigress Aurora/ Lyraen DreamWeaver/ Silvermist. So there. nya.
REVIEW PLEASE! ^__^
~`~Amaris Moonsong~`~ (yes, yet another change in my pen name…)\
This started as an experiment in P.O.V., I felt that I needed to brush up on my present tense writing skills, and it went from there… If I give a warning, it'll give it away, so just don't flame me about…certain aspects, okay? I hope I got you all hooked and wanting to read…\
bOne Night with a Gypsy\, also titled bA Promise\
Her feet are of a uniform hardness that tells of calluses repeatedly rubbed away by a pumice stone. The sloping lines of an ankle flow into a pair of smooth muscular legs, hidden by the layered folds of silk that the gypsy wears. The crimson, ocher, emerald and sapphire layers conform to wide hips, and the creases of the shirtwaist hide a somewhat generous but firm stomach. Her bosom swells the front of the dress and the scarlet of just off-shoulder straps borders the creamy warmth of her shoulder and arm. Her hands are strong and fingers thick, but the skin is soft and the fingernails clean. The neck gracefully supports an oval shaped face with a sharp jaw line and prominent chin. Her lips are symmetrical and rose petal pink, resting just below a long, straight nose. The hazel eyes staring back at you are fringed by black lashes just beneath serenely arched brows. A wide forehead leads up to her hairline, and from there falls a curtain of warm chestnut that curls slightly under when it reaches her shoulders.
You look closer at her face, at the dark depth and foresty greenness of her russet jade eyes. They shine with tears and as you peer deeper into them, you can almost see the echoes of mislaid hopes and false dreams, but burning beneath them is an irrevocable faith. She moves, steps forward to quiet the shying mare before her. The horse ceases her complaining the moment that the girl's slightly pink hand contacts the mare's velvety nose. Your face is scant thumblengths from hers, and you can feel her breath on your neck and smell the scent of rosemary in her hair and on her skin.
Now she retracts with a shaky sigh, not quite mourning what could be. She ambles towards her wagon and sits on the oaken step, beckoning you with her eyes. Leaving your horse untethered, you follow her and sit at her side. The aura of magic around her is nearly palpable, and for one fleeting moment you think you see her hair glow silvery and ears taper to a point, but as she turns her head to look at you, your vision returns to normal and the sun's glare no longer plays havoc with your eyes. You feel her gaze upon you, and you look at the forest floor, cushioned in pine needles, until she has completed her inspection of you.
She returns to her guise of watching the woods as a sort of sentry, and you sieze the opportunity to examine her posture and dress. She sits leaning forward, hands clasped over her knees, her entire body folded to take up very little space but to use all she did take up to her advantage. Her wrists hold silver bangles and bracelets woven of embroidery floss, and on her right hand there is a set of three silver rings, one of which has tiny crystals embedded in it. Hanging from her neck is an amber pendant and a silver chain with chrome-like black-silver amulet dangling from it. Her last necklace makes you sharply draw in your breath as you contemplate the meaning of the pendant.
It is the sign of a witch, a five-pointed star inscribed in a circle. You look away, flushed, to realize that she is staring at you with an odd expression present in her face. She speaks the first words: "I do not know why what I am shocks you so. Usually it is my actions that shock folk, not my attire." Your eyes find their way back to her face, and you see that her eyes sparkle in merriment and her mouth twitches at the corners, betraying her desire to laugh at her own joke.
"I…I'm sorry for my rudeness," you say, tounge heavy with shame at your hasty judgment.
"Sorry, why should you be sorry? You are right to think that I follow the Goddess, I am proud of it, else I would not wear my devotion so conspicuously. If I were going to harm you with some arcane spell that would set you afire, I would have done so already, wouldn't I? I do see fit to tell you that you trespass on the lands of my clan, but I also see fit to invite you to stay a while." You catch the slight intonation at the end of her statement and look to her eyes.
"Perhaps…overnight?" you say, astounded by your own boldness. She smiles.
"Did I imply otherwise?" At your silence, she leans forward and wraps one hand around the nape of your neck, pulling your face to hers. Her lips press against yours, and her tounge swiftly breaks through into your mouth. Reveling in that one kiss, you lean backwards at its end and look at the ethereal maiden who granted you it.
"I refuse to spend a night with a woman whose name I do not know," you say, already craving her. She looks at you mysteriously from beneath her veil of dark lashes, and says finally her name, which rings into the warm sunniness of the afternoon.
"Tierra," she says in her rich alto voice. "And yours?"
"Sheridan." She accepts that with a nod and kisses you again. As Tierra leads you into the wagon, you know you won't forget staying with her tonight.
When the morning dawns, you find Tierra up and already dressed, today in crisp ruby satin and silvery sky blue. You pull on your same tunic from yesterday and hop out of bed, eager to see the gypsy woman, as if to prove to yourself that she was real and that last night had really happened.
She wrinkles her nose and smiles at you, and at the same time presses a meat pastry and an apple into your hands.
"Eat quickly, I've got to join the rest of the clan. Last night was the last one of my sentry shift, I'll not be here should you come back tomorrow." You pause mid-bite and look at Tierra in disbelief.
"I'll never see you again?" you ask in incredulity.
"You can't have expected me to just stay here forever. As much as I like you, I must admit, I did think you'd have more sense than to ask a gypsy to stay in one place for just a lover." She notices your tears, wipes them away with one soft finger, and kisses you, as if to make up for hurting you. "Now, put on your skirts and get onto your horse, Lady Sherri, and just promise you won't forget me." At this she takes off her set of rings and puts them on the table. You look to see that they are all conjoined, and can never come apart. You hesitantly put them on your finger and look up into the face of the beautiful gypsy. You find her eyes, pleasant in their bronzed olive color, and whisper: "I promise."
iA/N: HAH! That will teach you all to assume things about my stories. I bet you all got a bit of a shock to find out that Sheridan was *gasp* female. By the way, this fic actually started as me describing myself as a gypsy (oh that I were…unfortunately, I'm just another teenage girl who reads fantasy novels and lives in the 'burbs…) and turned into an actual piece of writing that I like. Perhaps another chapter/epilogue type thingy will come if I get reviews for this one…I mean lots of reviews, as in, more than five, and from different people too.
Also, in case you care to know, the description was fairly accurate, if not inclined to make me a bit more attractive than I really am (not that it's possible…oh Goddess, who am I kidding?). Okay, so I conveniently left out certain body parts because there really is no good way to describe them, and I never was any good at girl/girl slash so that's why this is not a lemon…(I'm working on the girl/girl thing, I sorta have to have examples of the stuff to read so that I can actually develop some sense of how to write it, and girl/girl is not as easy to come by as guy/guy.)
Just another note (oh dear, I do seem to have a really long A/N on this fic, don't I?) I'll accept anything, even flames…but if it's something about my religion (yes, that part of the describing was accurate as well…though I don't have a pendant like that, but I really want one…my birthday is coming up, all!) then be warned, I won't accept it as being constructive criticism, and all you'll get is a bunch of email from me explaining why Wicca is not any cause for distress and if you're cowardly enough to not log in or give a valid email address, be warned that I will get very angry and write a reply to your stupid and cowardly comments. And I'm not one to mince words. I curse and scream and yell quite well, I keep myself in practice. And don't give me crap about the girl/girl thing, or else I will rant and rave and end up crying because guess what? Tierra is based on me, WHOLLY. As in, Tierra=Katie (Don't call me that, I hate my mundane name…Amaris is a better name to call me by)/ Amaris Moonsong/ Lady Morgana/ Tigress Aurora/ Lyraen DreamWeaver/ Silvermist. So there. nya.
REVIEW PLEASE! ^__^
~`~Amaris Moonsong~`~ (yes, yet another change in my pen name…)\