It's sunday, there's a ficlet.
May. 16th, 2004 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cpolkFrom ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets is the word of the week, which I won't mention here. you get a word, and you write fiction inspired by that word for 15 minutes (though I'm sure I wrote for longer than that, this time.) Good community.
Copper and Iron are The New Black
Fanfic inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
matociquala and her novel, Blood and Iron
PG for implied violence
No contest: the garrison boots for sure. I sat down in front of the closet and gave them a few swift strokes with the brush. No sense putting a mirror shine on them - probably I shouldn't be buffing them at all. But old habits, you know, and soon enough they glowed softly.
There's a pair of jeans I own - they were once a deep indigo denim, but now they're almost an anatomy lesson, faded to white at the knees, a line of paler blue up the line of the quadricep, to whiskered fades at the back of the knee and where femurs fit into pelvis - they actually paint those wear lines on new jeans, these days. it always looks like a pose. but the best part of these jeans isn't the authentic wear-and-(mended)tear; it's the triangular gusset in the crotch. They fell in a heap on the futon, bedclothes mangled and awry.
T-shirt, black, check.
Hair braided and bound, thirty-three into three, check.
Shoulder holster, check.
thigh sheaths for iron daggers, check.
holdout strap for ankle, check.
forearm snap sheath for left arm, check. If I didn't find that fingerless glove...but it has to be here somewhere. I test the action, and an iron blade juts an inch past my clenched fist. I leave it on as I paw through the drawers for socks and my lucky red underwear, so I can get used to it and forget that it's there.
I slither my way into two heavy on the lycra sports bras. The uniboob sucks; the bounce when you're running like hell sucks worse. T-shirt overtop: the one from my college days that says, "i'm blogging this." Maybe somebody will laugh and give me an advantage in a fight. I get blister goo on my toes and heels, and cheer a little as I find the missing right glove buried in a box full of scarves and winter hats.
I can't avoid it tonight, and it'll call too much attention, but I slip on a collar and ten rings of solid copper, and ornate looking ear cuffs of twisted copper wire. any edge I can get. the old hobs in my boots were replaced with copper long ago, the grommets too, and the chromed buckle on my belt is copper underneath. I put everything on, checking and rechecking to make sure everything is just right, and then settle a knee-length black coat over it all.
A glance in the mirror confirms that I look like I should be in a comic book. Thank god half the street will be dressed like this. I roll my shoulders, set the alarm system and the wards, and march into the night with my jukebox drilling me on thees and thous and elizabethan speech patterns. The fair folk respect the effort of learning their manner and custom. The fair folk respect cleverness and wit. The fair folk respect the protection of copper against their charms, and the threat of iron against their throats more than any rhyme or thou.
I had me a kid to rescue.
* * *
Whee! fun.
15minuteficlets is the word of the week, which I won't mention here. you get a word, and you write fiction inspired by that word for 15 minutes (though I'm sure I wrote for longer than that, this time.) Good community.Copper and Iron are The New Black
Fanfic inspired by
matociquala and her novel, Blood and IronPG for implied violence
No contest: the garrison boots for sure. I sat down in front of the closet and gave them a few swift strokes with the brush. No sense putting a mirror shine on them - probably I shouldn't be buffing them at all. But old habits, you know, and soon enough they glowed softly.
There's a pair of jeans I own - they were once a deep indigo denim, but now they're almost an anatomy lesson, faded to white at the knees, a line of paler blue up the line of the quadricep, to whiskered fades at the back of the knee and where femurs fit into pelvis - they actually paint those wear lines on new jeans, these days. it always looks like a pose. but the best part of these jeans isn't the authentic wear-and-(mended)tear; it's the triangular gusset in the crotch. They fell in a heap on the futon, bedclothes mangled and awry.
T-shirt, black, check.
Hair braided and bound, thirty-three into three, check.
Shoulder holster, check.
thigh sheaths for iron daggers, check.
holdout strap for ankle, check.
forearm snap sheath for left arm, check. If I didn't find that fingerless glove...but it has to be here somewhere. I test the action, and an iron blade juts an inch past my clenched fist. I leave it on as I paw through the drawers for socks and my lucky red underwear, so I can get used to it and forget that it's there.
I slither my way into two heavy on the lycra sports bras. The uniboob sucks; the bounce when you're running like hell sucks worse. T-shirt overtop: the one from my college days that says, "i'm blogging this." Maybe somebody will laugh and give me an advantage in a fight. I get blister goo on my toes and heels, and cheer a little as I find the missing right glove buried in a box full of scarves and winter hats.
I can't avoid it tonight, and it'll call too much attention, but I slip on a collar and ten rings of solid copper, and ornate looking ear cuffs of twisted copper wire. any edge I can get. the old hobs in my boots were replaced with copper long ago, the grommets too, and the chromed buckle on my belt is copper underneath. I put everything on, checking and rechecking to make sure everything is just right, and then settle a knee-length black coat over it all.
A glance in the mirror confirms that I look like I should be in a comic book. Thank god half the street will be dressed like this. I roll my shoulders, set the alarm system and the wards, and march into the night with my jukebox drilling me on thees and thous and elizabethan speech patterns. The fair folk respect the effort of learning their manner and custom. The fair folk respect cleverness and wit. The fair folk respect the protection of copper against their charms, and the threat of iron against their throats more than any rhyme or thou.
I had me a kid to rescue.
Whee! fun.
