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31_days2005-11-18 10:42 pm
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-11-18 10:42 pm
[November 18] [Original] The First Fall of Snow // Small Gods
Two-in-one deal. :o Same characters. The second is a ficlet set in this year's 'Christmas Project'; an all-out alternate-universe that explores the wonderful possibilities of Palomir as some kind of Ebenezer Scrooge character. XD
Title: The First Fall of Snow
Day/Theme: November 18// Bring you to your knees
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Palomir
Rating: G
"Snow and sunlight," Gale says, and Palomir doesn't need to look up to see her dancing in the snowfall, bright as crystal and twice as clear. She's always been easy to read. Today isn't any different.
He doesn't have very fond memories of the last time he spent with Gale in the snow and the winter, and the thought makes his lips turn down, just a little. The girl is paying more attention to him than he thought, though, and in the next moment she's bounded back to his side, all wide-eyed concern and soppy dramatics. "Hey, are you alright?"
Palomir would like to reiterate, as he does to everyone else, that he is, in fact, not a cripple, and he's getting along perfectly well without having to crutch along with her help. Somehow, though, Gale just isn't the kind of person you speak to like that, and the retort gets stuck in his throat before he can think why he's even bothering for her sake. Instead, he grunts noncommittally. "I'm fine," he tells her, gruff and no-nonsense, then efficiently proceeds to redirect the conversation away from himself, and onto more pressing topics, such as her. "You shouldn't let yourself get so wet, you know," he points out, more than a touch disapprovingly. "You'll get a cold."
It's an exercise in futility, he surmises, but there's no harm in attempting it, anyway.
As he expects, however, Gale greets the gentle reprimand with a snort of derision, dancing away over the snow and humming happily, lost somewhere inside her own head.
"Stop being such a grouchypants, Palomir," she sings out. "It's almost Yule!"
She doesn't add that it's only the second Yule spent with her that he'll have been actually conscious for, and he's not certain if he's grateful or annoyed at her for refraining from mentioning it. It's unlike her to be so sensitive about things, though he supposes she's learnt a lot from working amongst such a restrained people.
Palomir almost feels a pang, at that. Somehow, he doesn't want to imagine her ever being that closed up.
In an eyeblink, though, the moment of awkwardness has been smoothed over, and Gale's gaily romping around the snow-covered yard. The elf feels faintly foolish, watching her, as out of place as a scarecrow in a grassfield, but he stays nonetheless, watching her dance her way through the drifts of white.
"The ground looks so different when it's covered in snow, doesn't it?" Gale queries, out of the blue, and Palomir doesn't startle to realize that she's beside him again, when just seconds ago she was on the other side of the yard.
Gale doesn't wait for an answer before she goes on. "It's so clean," she marvels, like she's never seen snow before in her life. "It's so pretty and smooth and -- aaagh!"
Her prattling rises on a shriek of ill-appreciated surprise as her foot snags on something under the pristine white covering the earth, and she trips.
Without a thought, Palomir's already reaching down for her, military-honed reflexes kicking into gear the moment he catches sight of her tipping over in his peripheral vision.
"Oof!"
Not quite fast enough. Gale's landed right into his arms, but now the cold, bone-chilling snow has begun to seep into the cloth of his right trouser leg, where he's dropped to one knee in the snow. He grimaces.
"You're so clumsy, Gale," Palomir mutters, not for the first time and not for the last -- but for all that, the reprimand is not unkindly. Gingerly, he tugs the girl back to her feet. "Come on, we've spent enough time outside. We'd better go back in."
Without waiting for her response, he turns back and heads towards the porch. He surreptitiously tries not to shrug off the feeling of her weight against his arms; it's just Gale, after all.
In the meantime, left in his wake, Gale touches a hand to her chin wonderingly, and feels strangely like she's just missed sight of something important.
Title: Small Gods
Day/Theme: November 18// Bring you to your knees
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Palomir
Rating: G
"You make the best pasta," Gale manages through a mouthful of al dente fettucine, chomping furiously before swallowing. "I swear, you're some kind of kitchen god." She jams her fork back into the plateful of noodles before her and twirls it ferociously, winding up a ridiculously humongous amount before cramming the entire wad into her mouth.
Kitchen god or not, Palomir can't help but grimace at her manners.
"Please, Gale," and he'd like to say something along the lines of 'Anything tastes good when you've been living off food coupons for six months, for god's sake,' but that's not only rude but unneccessarily critical, considering he's only known this girl -- really known her -- for the past two hours. Instead, what he says is, "You should slow down. You're going to end up choking yourself."
As if on cue, Gale coughs and gags, thumping a hand against her chest frantically before grabbing for the glass of water by her plate and downing easily half of it in one gulp.
"Aaaaahhh," she wails, pressing her forehead to the cool marble counter and sighing deeply. "That's much, much better."
Palomir can do little more than blink.
"I'm serious, though," Gale says then, waving her now-unloaded fork at him emphatically. "If people knew that you could cook this well, they'd be falling on their knees and begging you for your secret recipe. 'Mr. Mirhalas!' they'd say, 'can you teach us, oh mighty lord of the spatula and saucepan, your special techniques for making the deliciousest noodles of deliciousness?'" At some point in the narrative, her gestures have become more violent and dramatic, until at last Palomir is forced to snap his hand out and gingerly guide the fork tines away from his eyeball.
"I think," he says at last, "That you've had entirely too much of that pasta sauce."
Title: The First Fall of Snow
Day/Theme: November 18// Bring you to your knees
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Palomir
Rating: G
"Snow and sunlight," Gale says, and Palomir doesn't need to look up to see her dancing in the snowfall, bright as crystal and twice as clear. She's always been easy to read. Today isn't any different.
He doesn't have very fond memories of the last time he spent with Gale in the snow and the winter, and the thought makes his lips turn down, just a little. The girl is paying more attention to him than he thought, though, and in the next moment she's bounded back to his side, all wide-eyed concern and soppy dramatics. "Hey, are you alright?"
Palomir would like to reiterate, as he does to everyone else, that he is, in fact, not a cripple, and he's getting along perfectly well without having to crutch along with her help. Somehow, though, Gale just isn't the kind of person you speak to like that, and the retort gets stuck in his throat before he can think why he's even bothering for her sake. Instead, he grunts noncommittally. "I'm fine," he tells her, gruff and no-nonsense, then efficiently proceeds to redirect the conversation away from himself, and onto more pressing topics, such as her. "You shouldn't let yourself get so wet, you know," he points out, more than a touch disapprovingly. "You'll get a cold."
It's an exercise in futility, he surmises, but there's no harm in attempting it, anyway.
As he expects, however, Gale greets the gentle reprimand with a snort of derision, dancing away over the snow and humming happily, lost somewhere inside her own head.
"Stop being such a grouchypants, Palomir," she sings out. "It's almost Yule!"
She doesn't add that it's only the second Yule spent with her that he'll have been actually conscious for, and he's not certain if he's grateful or annoyed at her for refraining from mentioning it. It's unlike her to be so sensitive about things, though he supposes she's learnt a lot from working amongst such a restrained people.
Palomir almost feels a pang, at that. Somehow, he doesn't want to imagine her ever being that closed up.
In an eyeblink, though, the moment of awkwardness has been smoothed over, and Gale's gaily romping around the snow-covered yard. The elf feels faintly foolish, watching her, as out of place as a scarecrow in a grassfield, but he stays nonetheless, watching her dance her way through the drifts of white.
"The ground looks so different when it's covered in snow, doesn't it?" Gale queries, out of the blue, and Palomir doesn't startle to realize that she's beside him again, when just seconds ago she was on the other side of the yard.
Gale doesn't wait for an answer before she goes on. "It's so clean," she marvels, like she's never seen snow before in her life. "It's so pretty and smooth and -- aaagh!"
Her prattling rises on a shriek of ill-appreciated surprise as her foot snags on something under the pristine white covering the earth, and she trips.
Without a thought, Palomir's already reaching down for her, military-honed reflexes kicking into gear the moment he catches sight of her tipping over in his peripheral vision.
"Oof!"
Not quite fast enough. Gale's landed right into his arms, but now the cold, bone-chilling snow has begun to seep into the cloth of his right trouser leg, where he's dropped to one knee in the snow. He grimaces.
"You're so clumsy, Gale," Palomir mutters, not for the first time and not for the last -- but for all that, the reprimand is not unkindly. Gingerly, he tugs the girl back to her feet. "Come on, we've spent enough time outside. We'd better go back in."
Without waiting for her response, he turns back and heads towards the porch. He surreptitiously tries not to shrug off the feeling of her weight against his arms; it's just Gale, after all.
In the meantime, left in his wake, Gale touches a hand to her chin wonderingly, and feels strangely like she's just missed sight of something important.
Title: Small Gods
Day/Theme: November 18// Bring you to your knees
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Palomir
Rating: G
"You make the best pasta," Gale manages through a mouthful of al dente fettucine, chomping furiously before swallowing. "I swear, you're some kind of kitchen god." She jams her fork back into the plateful of noodles before her and twirls it ferociously, winding up a ridiculously humongous amount before cramming the entire wad into her mouth.
Kitchen god or not, Palomir can't help but grimace at her manners.
"Please, Gale," and he'd like to say something along the lines of 'Anything tastes good when you've been living off food coupons for six months, for god's sake,' but that's not only rude but unneccessarily critical, considering he's only known this girl -- really known her -- for the past two hours. Instead, what he says is, "You should slow down. You're going to end up choking yourself."
As if on cue, Gale coughs and gags, thumping a hand against her chest frantically before grabbing for the glass of water by her plate and downing easily half of it in one gulp.
"Aaaaahhh," she wails, pressing her forehead to the cool marble counter and sighing deeply. "That's much, much better."
Palomir can do little more than blink.
"I'm serious, though," Gale says then, waving her now-unloaded fork at him emphatically. "If people knew that you could cook this well, they'd be falling on their knees and begging you for your secret recipe. 'Mr. Mirhalas!' they'd say, 'can you teach us, oh mighty lord of the spatula and saucepan, your special techniques for making the deliciousest noodles of deliciousness?'" At some point in the narrative, her gestures have become more violent and dramatic, until at last Palomir is forced to snap his hand out and gingerly guide the fork tines away from his eyeball.
"I think," he says at last, "That you've had entirely too much of that pasta sauce."