As of Yet Untitled
Prologue
Author: Indigo
Email: mignight_mysterie@hotmail.com
Scene: Ravel and Lagâlen are on their way to the unknown continent, in their ship. There is not wind, and the hot day wears on. It is sometime in the late morning/early afternoon, and Ravel lies down in the shade, hot and tired. Lagâlen lies near her, eyes staring up at the sky.
Ravel sighs, eyelids drooping heavily. Slowly, she begins to sing. In fluent French, the words spill out from her lips as Lagâlen turns to watch her.
'I know that song,' he says suddenly, and Ravel pauses and looks over at him.
'Mmm?' she asks in reply.
He nods. 'From a movie…I can't remember which one.'
'Moulin Rouge.' Ravel provides him with the answer. 'I can't remember what it's called…what's it called? I don't know.'
'It's beautiful; keep singing it,' he says, his voice getting softer as he slips slowly but inexorably into sleep.
Ravel picks up where she left off, watching him with expressionless eyes. Slowly, his eyes close and the elf passes quietly into the world of slumber.
She trails off, mid-sentence. She watches him silently, watching his chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of a sleeper. She gazes tiredly at his timeless face, swathed with the innocence of a sleeping child; at the fall of his long hair about him.
She rolls onto her right side, and almost of its own accord, her hand rises up and reaches out to touch him. Her hand stops abruptly; she fights it, trying to pull her hand back. Her hand falters; but she lets it go. Her hand reaches for him, moving gently over his cheek, his lips, sweeping the hair off his forehead.
She inches herself closer to him; he stirs. She almost jerks her hand away, but it remains, touching his cheek, remains even when she herself slips into a dreamless slumber.
An hour or so later, Lagâlen's eyes flicker open. In a dazed sort of half-sleep, his blurry gaze wavers around before focussing on Ravel's sleeping form. His sight sharpens, sharpens too much, and he sees a hand on his cheek; a hand which he had known was there even before he had opened his eyes.
Lagâlen looks at the hand, then with his gaze follows it back to its owner.
Ravel.
The blond elf jerks back and sits up in one fluid motion. Ravel's hand thumps solidly onto the deck. She stirs, shifts position slightly. Her outstretched hand slides fingers gently over wood.
'Lagâlen…' she mumbles sleepily, but in her languor, her words come out more like, '…agâlen…'
The elf of the same name stares at the sleeping girl in complete and utter shock. He has, himself, run out of synonyms for the word "shocked" after being floored by this event.
'Lasgâlen, help me,' he whispers as an oath. Gracefully, he rises from his seat on the deck and walks over to the prow of the ship. He puts his fair head in his hands was he walks, turning once to look back at Ravel. He then turns away from her, looking out over the prow to the wide ocean beyond. 'I know not what to do. This girl, she makes me sick in both heart and head: heart because I…I…'
He pauses, glances back at her, then frowns at the sea. 'And head because I won't admit it.'
He slumps down onto the deck, in a way that an elf would call ungainly, but a human would still find graceful.
Ravel, Ravel, Ravel, he thinks. Why is it that I cannot find the words to express my…feelings…for you? Why is it that I say I cannot find them, and yet know three small words that exactly describe my feelings? I do not dare admit this to you.
He turns back once more to look at her, and his face softens into an almost wistful expression. His voice comes out in a soft, velvety whisper. 'And yet that is precisely what I want to do.'
Ravel rises in the late afternoon, finding Lagâlen looking out at the sea from the prow. 'Lagâlen!' she calls.
He turns to face her so quickly that his hair whips around him. He remains silent, holding her gaze. Her face twists into a expression of both curiosity and concern. 'Lagâlen?'
Ravel moves towards him; he looks away, out at the sea. For a split-second, she hesitates, but then moves on firmly. Her light footfalls make no sound on the deck. She reaches him and stands close behind him. Her hand moves to his shoulder.
'Lagâlen?' she asks again just as her hand contacts his shoulder. He flinches, visibly, and Ravel, suddenly feeling ill, uncontrollably jerks her hand away.
Lagâlen, after several seconds, turns to look at Ravel. His mouth opens. 'Ravel, I have something to tell you,' he means to say, but never gets farther than the second word.
Ravel is no longer behind him.
Up in the sky, storm clouds begin to brew.
Prologue
Author: Indigo
Email: mignight_mysterie@hotmail.com
Scene: Ravel and Lagâlen are on their way to the unknown continent, in their ship. There is not wind, and the hot day wears on. It is sometime in the late morning/early afternoon, and Ravel lies down in the shade, hot and tired. Lagâlen lies near her, eyes staring up at the sky.
Ravel sighs, eyelids drooping heavily. Slowly, she begins to sing. In fluent French, the words spill out from her lips as Lagâlen turns to watch her.
'I know that song,' he says suddenly, and Ravel pauses and looks over at him.
'Mmm?' she asks in reply.
He nods. 'From a movie…I can't remember which one.'
'Moulin Rouge.' Ravel provides him with the answer. 'I can't remember what it's called…what's it called? I don't know.'
'It's beautiful; keep singing it,' he says, his voice getting softer as he slips slowly but inexorably into sleep.
Ravel picks up where she left off, watching him with expressionless eyes. Slowly, his eyes close and the elf passes quietly into the world of slumber.
She trails off, mid-sentence. She watches him silently, watching his chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of a sleeper. She gazes tiredly at his timeless face, swathed with the innocence of a sleeping child; at the fall of his long hair about him.
She rolls onto her right side, and almost of its own accord, her hand rises up and reaches out to touch him. Her hand stops abruptly; she fights it, trying to pull her hand back. Her hand falters; but she lets it go. Her hand reaches for him, moving gently over his cheek, his lips, sweeping the hair off his forehead.
She inches herself closer to him; he stirs. She almost jerks her hand away, but it remains, touching his cheek, remains even when she herself slips into a dreamless slumber.
An hour or so later, Lagâlen's eyes flicker open. In a dazed sort of half-sleep, his blurry gaze wavers around before focussing on Ravel's sleeping form. His sight sharpens, sharpens too much, and he sees a hand on his cheek; a hand which he had known was there even before he had opened his eyes.
Lagâlen looks at the hand, then with his gaze follows it back to its owner.
Ravel.
The blond elf jerks back and sits up in one fluid motion. Ravel's hand thumps solidly onto the deck. She stirs, shifts position slightly. Her outstretched hand slides fingers gently over wood.
'Lagâlen…' she mumbles sleepily, but in her languor, her words come out more like, '…agâlen…'
The elf of the same name stares at the sleeping girl in complete and utter shock. He has, himself, run out of synonyms for the word "shocked" after being floored by this event.
'Lasgâlen, help me,' he whispers as an oath. Gracefully, he rises from his seat on the deck and walks over to the prow of the ship. He puts his fair head in his hands was he walks, turning once to look back at Ravel. He then turns away from her, looking out over the prow to the wide ocean beyond. 'I know not what to do. This girl, she makes me sick in both heart and head: heart because I…I…'
He pauses, glances back at her, then frowns at the sea. 'And head because I won't admit it.'
He slumps down onto the deck, in a way that an elf would call ungainly, but a human would still find graceful.
Ravel, Ravel, Ravel, he thinks. Why is it that I cannot find the words to express my…feelings…for you? Why is it that I say I cannot find them, and yet know three small words that exactly describe my feelings? I do not dare admit this to you.
He turns back once more to look at her, and his face softens into an almost wistful expression. His voice comes out in a soft, velvety whisper. 'And yet that is precisely what I want to do.'
Ravel rises in the late afternoon, finding Lagâlen looking out at the sea from the prow. 'Lagâlen!' she calls.
He turns to face her so quickly that his hair whips around him. He remains silent, holding her gaze. Her face twists into a expression of both curiosity and concern. 'Lagâlen?'
Ravel moves towards him; he looks away, out at the sea. For a split-second, she hesitates, but then moves on firmly. Her light footfalls make no sound on the deck. She reaches him and stands close behind him. Her hand moves to his shoulder.
'Lagâlen?' she asks again just as her hand contacts his shoulder. He flinches, visibly, and Ravel, suddenly feeling ill, uncontrollably jerks her hand away.
Lagâlen, after several seconds, turns to look at Ravel. His mouth opens. 'Ravel, I have something to tell you,' he means to say, but never gets farther than the second word.
Ravel is no longer behind him.
Up in the sky, storm clouds begin to brew.