ext_158887 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2009-10-26 02:34 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-10-26 02:34 pm
[Oct. 26] [Original] Observations Over Soup
Title: Observations Over Soup
Day/Theme: Oct. 26, 2009 "Shining in my soup bowl"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Bashir, Shiv, and Shank
Rating: PG
At another way station that evening, a pair of scruffy characters, a muscular man and a pig-tailed woman, caught Bashir's eye. He sipped a thin soup straight from the bowl. It tasted like garlic and dried fish flakes. The priests of this shrine had already given away all their spoons by the time he was served, but Bashir didn't really mind. Amusingly enough, Simcha carried his own spoon, and one for Saselia too.
The air was tepid, drawing Bashir out to sit under the rising moon, which reflected languidly in his bowl. He liked the summer- the warmth, the long days, the fresh fruit- it was a livelier time of year, bringing every citizen of Silesia out into the roads and the plazas. "No more bread? You ate it all?" the skinny woman was addressing her companion.
"I got too hungry. I couldn't help it," he shrugged. He had a strange accent Bashir could not place, tense and angular, cracking off his contractions. He had been idly watching the two for about five minutes now. Their clothes were normal enough, but their demeanor and visible scars told a different story. Bashir had never seen a woman with a scar that large on her face before. It looked like her cheek had been cut with something jagged. The man's scars were more conventional, trailing up and down his arms. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine he had once been a soldier or a mercenary, but paired with the blond woman, the possibility of their being bandits or con artists rose in his mind.
He finished the soup and set the bowl down at his side. Even if they were criminals, as long as he didn't see them doing something wrong, Bashir was content to leave them alone. Just because he had been invested with the power of an inquisitor didn't mean he was going to look for ways to use it. His target was in Oxa. He didn't plan on even attempting to persecute anyone along the way. He had neither the power nor the inclination to do so.
As the suspicious duo came back toward the way station, Bashir looked down, placing his hand against the compass under his robe, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. The woman paused beside him and leaned over to address him. "Would you like me to take that bowl for you?" she offered.
"Oh, uh," he picked up the bowl and passed it to her. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
"Well, we have ours to take in anyway." If she had caught his gaze upon them, she obviously didn't care. She was smiling. Bashir forced himself to smile back.
Day/Theme: Oct. 26, 2009 "Shining in my soup bowl"
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Bashir, Shiv, and Shank
Rating: PG
At another way station that evening, a pair of scruffy characters, a muscular man and a pig-tailed woman, caught Bashir's eye. He sipped a thin soup straight from the bowl. It tasted like garlic and dried fish flakes. The priests of this shrine had already given away all their spoons by the time he was served, but Bashir didn't really mind. Amusingly enough, Simcha carried his own spoon, and one for Saselia too.
The air was tepid, drawing Bashir out to sit under the rising moon, which reflected languidly in his bowl. He liked the summer- the warmth, the long days, the fresh fruit- it was a livelier time of year, bringing every citizen of Silesia out into the roads and the plazas. "No more bread? You ate it all?" the skinny woman was addressing her companion.
"I got too hungry. I couldn't help it," he shrugged. He had a strange accent Bashir could not place, tense and angular, cracking off his contractions. He had been idly watching the two for about five minutes now. Their clothes were normal enough, but their demeanor and visible scars told a different story. Bashir had never seen a woman with a scar that large on her face before. It looked like her cheek had been cut with something jagged. The man's scars were more conventional, trailing up and down his arms. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine he had once been a soldier or a mercenary, but paired with the blond woman, the possibility of their being bandits or con artists rose in his mind.
He finished the soup and set the bowl down at his side. Even if they were criminals, as long as he didn't see them doing something wrong, Bashir was content to leave them alone. Just because he had been invested with the power of an inquisitor didn't mean he was going to look for ways to use it. His target was in Oxa. He didn't plan on even attempting to persecute anyone along the way. He had neither the power nor the inclination to do so.
As the suspicious duo came back toward the way station, Bashir looked down, placing his hand against the compass under his robe, hoping that he hadn't been caught staring. The woman paused beside him and leaned over to address him. "Would you like me to take that bowl for you?" she offered.
"Oh, uh," he picked up the bowl and passed it to her. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
"Well, we have ours to take in anyway." If she had caught his gaze upon them, she obviously didn't care. She was smiling. Bashir forced himself to smile back.