[IoM] Paradise
Dec. 2nd, 2007 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreParadise
Author: Amber Michelle
Fandom: Illusion of Memory "canon."
Words: 923
Other installments: n/a, at the moment.
Notes:
Recipe and explanation of Du'a/Dukka. Next time I'm on a cooking kick, I'll have to try my hand at some Egyptian recipes. My last try (Khabli Palau) went surprisingly well.
.............................................
In Judas's estimation, Cyrene was a refreshing change from Aragon, as far as port cities went. It was clean, the buildings made of brick and plaster, whitewashed or painted in pastel peaches and greens, and topped by maroon tiles. The upper streets were paved in slate, and the main thoroughfare, closed to all but foot traffic, was lined with shops, restraunts, and picturesque inns that he refused to pay for, despite his desire for a real bath house and a room in which he didn't have to share a bed. Raeger wasn't the worst companion he'd ever had, but she slept restlessly, and he found himself relegated to a foot-wide sliver at the edge of the mattress every morning, she sprawled in a tangle of limbs and sheets. More than once, he'd pondered simply kicking her out in the night. She probably wouldn't wake up.
He wove his way out of the bazaar when he judged the time an hour before noon. The ring on his finger burned, but the day wasn't yet hot enough to cause discomfort - only bright and beginning to warm, as the paving soaked in the heat and the walls amplified the sunlight. Judas questioned the wisdom of painting everything white and other shades of pale, given its location, but- he didn't have to live there, and thus didn't have to care. Much.
The crowds thinned to almost nothing by the time he reached the inn. Even the common room was mostly empty, where light streamed through the mesh shutters enough for him to see. The proprieter graced him with a glance and a nod, which he didn't return.
"What is 'Dukka'?" Raeger asked as soon as he made it back to the room.
He latched the door and joined her at the little table in the corner, letting his satchel thump onto the floor, only thinking better of it when the glass clinked in warning. "Why?"
"I just ordered it with bread. It won't kill me, will it?"
Judas snorted. "No. It should be fine."
She eyed him. "It reminded me of that inscription - Duat? But she pronounced it differently."
"Why would you think of-- oh." He took the menu she offered and chuckled. "Nice."
"Couldn't she be really pretentious and write the whole thing in hieroglyphs?" Raeger slumped into her chair with a frown edging toward a pout, glaring out the window. She pulled the mesh closed at his motion. "I don't know why I'm so bad at reading Hieratic."
He shrugged. It wouldn't help to tell her she was good - she wasn't. "Language is like that."
"You mean I am?"
A knock on the door saved Judas from answering. He watched her hurry over. Her posture seemed fine, a little tired maybe; her hair was dry at the ends, almost crunchy and bleached blond. They'd been out in the desert for a little over a month, and even near the coast the climate was inhospitable, and the sun harsher than it was up north where she belonged. One of them - usually both - would be sour for days after re-entering civilization and reintroducing their bodies to decent ways of living. And yet, what a strange line of questioning. What did she care if she could read Hieratic, problems with selling oneself into slavery aside? She hadn't done that again, yet.
Yet. His mouth twisted. It wasn't her fault, he reminded himself. These cities were full of greasy, ill-meaning merchants with sharp eyes for a pretty face or an attractive build. Her masculine clothing would only fool some.
It wasn't fooling him, and he wished it would.
He lifted the satchel onto his lap and started arranging the items on the table in front of him, forcing the scullery maid delivering the food to leave Raeger's lunch on the other side where it belonged. Her glance kept flicking in his direction when she laid out the repast. He murmured a thank you, pretended not to notice, and gestured for his companion to latch the door again before coming to the table.
"I had a godawful time with Yamato script," he said when she sat down again. "Still can't read a menu."
Raeger ripped her flatbread into small, foldable pieces on her plate. "It looks like chicken-scratch."
"My thoughts exactly." He stole a piece, grinning at her protest, and dipped it in oil, then the crumbly nut mixture. "Hieroglyphs are like that. Hieratic is more like the scrawl at Lorien."
"So." She stuffed her mouth with nuts and bread, raising her eyebrows.
Judas shrugged. "Care to learn Yamato?"
"Jerk."
He shucked his coat and pulled at the strings of his shirt, examining his purchases. They could have done without glass bottles; pottery was sturdier, but nobody with products worth buying could stomach the shame of using such bland, functional vessels.
"W-what are you doing?"
"Taking my shirt off." He didn't bother to look up.
"Why?" she screeched. "Keep it on!"
Judas bared his teeth and pulled it over his head, tempted into a real laugh when her face colored, red as a pomegranate, and she snatched another piece of bread to tear into little, bite-sized pieces. "You're such a child."
Raeger glared at him, hunched over her plate, before realizing what she was looking at and snapping her eyes back down. "I'm not a child," she muttered at the table.
"No," he said, opening a squat, round jar of cocoa butter. It felt like paradise, or silk, when he spread it over his arm. "I suppose you are not."
.............................................
I haven't written "canon" Judas and Raeger in quite a while. This is part one of five, in which things will change between them whether they like it or not.
I'm doing so much editing in my classes that I had to take a break, and write something that I don't intend to spend that time on at all. :P
Author: Amber Michelle
Fandom: Illusion of Memory "canon."
Words: 923
Other installments: n/a, at the moment.
Notes:
Recipe and explanation of Du'a/Dukka. Next time I'm on a cooking kick, I'll have to try my hand at some Egyptian recipes. My last try (Khabli Palau) went surprisingly well.
.............................................
In Judas's estimation, Cyrene was a refreshing change from Aragon, as far as port cities went. It was clean, the buildings made of brick and plaster, whitewashed or painted in pastel peaches and greens, and topped by maroon tiles. The upper streets were paved in slate, and the main thoroughfare, closed to all but foot traffic, was lined with shops, restraunts, and picturesque inns that he refused to pay for, despite his desire for a real bath house and a room in which he didn't have to share a bed. Raeger wasn't the worst companion he'd ever had, but she slept restlessly, and he found himself relegated to a foot-wide sliver at the edge of the mattress every morning, she sprawled in a tangle of limbs and sheets. More than once, he'd pondered simply kicking her out in the night. She probably wouldn't wake up.
He wove his way out of the bazaar when he judged the time an hour before noon. The ring on his finger burned, but the day wasn't yet hot enough to cause discomfort - only bright and beginning to warm, as the paving soaked in the heat and the walls amplified the sunlight. Judas questioned the wisdom of painting everything white and other shades of pale, given its location, but- he didn't have to live there, and thus didn't have to care. Much.
The crowds thinned to almost nothing by the time he reached the inn. Even the common room was mostly empty, where light streamed through the mesh shutters enough for him to see. The proprieter graced him with a glance and a nod, which he didn't return.
"What is 'Dukka'?" Raeger asked as soon as he made it back to the room.
He latched the door and joined her at the little table in the corner, letting his satchel thump onto the floor, only thinking better of it when the glass clinked in warning. "Why?"
"I just ordered it with bread. It won't kill me, will it?"
Judas snorted. "No. It should be fine."
She eyed him. "It reminded me of that inscription - Duat? But she pronounced it differently."
"Why would you think of-- oh." He took the menu she offered and chuckled. "Nice."
"Couldn't she be really pretentious and write the whole thing in hieroglyphs?" Raeger slumped into her chair with a frown edging toward a pout, glaring out the window. She pulled the mesh closed at his motion. "I don't know why I'm so bad at reading Hieratic."
He shrugged. It wouldn't help to tell her she was good - she wasn't. "Language is like that."
"You mean I am?"
A knock on the door saved Judas from answering. He watched her hurry over. Her posture seemed fine, a little tired maybe; her hair was dry at the ends, almost crunchy and bleached blond. They'd been out in the desert for a little over a month, and even near the coast the climate was inhospitable, and the sun harsher than it was up north where she belonged. One of them - usually both - would be sour for days after re-entering civilization and reintroducing their bodies to decent ways of living. And yet, what a strange line of questioning. What did she care if she could read Hieratic, problems with selling oneself into slavery aside? She hadn't done that again, yet.
Yet. His mouth twisted. It wasn't her fault, he reminded himself. These cities were full of greasy, ill-meaning merchants with sharp eyes for a pretty face or an attractive build. Her masculine clothing would only fool some.
It wasn't fooling him, and he wished it would.
He lifted the satchel onto his lap and started arranging the items on the table in front of him, forcing the scullery maid delivering the food to leave Raeger's lunch on the other side where it belonged. Her glance kept flicking in his direction when she laid out the repast. He murmured a thank you, pretended not to notice, and gestured for his companion to latch the door again before coming to the table.
"I had a godawful time with Yamato script," he said when she sat down again. "Still can't read a menu."
Raeger ripped her flatbread into small, foldable pieces on her plate. "It looks like chicken-scratch."
"My thoughts exactly." He stole a piece, grinning at her protest, and dipped it in oil, then the crumbly nut mixture. "Hieroglyphs are like that. Hieratic is more like the scrawl at Lorien."
"So." She stuffed her mouth with nuts and bread, raising her eyebrows.
Judas shrugged. "Care to learn Yamato?"
"Jerk."
He shucked his coat and pulled at the strings of his shirt, examining his purchases. They could have done without glass bottles; pottery was sturdier, but nobody with products worth buying could stomach the shame of using such bland, functional vessels.
"W-what are you doing?"
"Taking my shirt off." He didn't bother to look up.
"Why?" she screeched. "Keep it on!"
Judas bared his teeth and pulled it over his head, tempted into a real laugh when her face colored, red as a pomegranate, and she snatched another piece of bread to tear into little, bite-sized pieces. "You're such a child."
Raeger glared at him, hunched over her plate, before realizing what she was looking at and snapping her eyes back down. "I'm not a child," she muttered at the table.
"No," he said, opening a squat, round jar of cocoa butter. It felt like paradise, or silk, when he spread it over his arm. "I suppose you are not."
.............................................
I haven't written "canon" Judas and Raeger in quite a while. This is part one of five, in which things will change between them whether they like it or not.
I'm doing so much editing in my classes that I had to take a break, and write something that I don't intend to spend that time on at all. :P
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Date: 2007-12-23 01:10 pm (UTC)