Marina Bernadette Beauvais (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marinabeauvais) wrote2014-12-10 10:45 pm
marinabeauvais) wrote2014-12-10 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
Drabble: Noël, Jour Neuf
For once, she found a secret on the grounds before Danni did, thin fingers prying the loose stone out gently. In a cottage as old as this, she thought, you must always be on the lookout for secrets. And to think this all started because her servant, who bragged constantly (though not without basis) about her sharp eyes and memory, couldn't find the tomatoes so that she could teach her how to make some proper food, oh, s'rry--
"'Anythin', Miss 'rina?" someone seemed to call from up above, but Marina paid it no mind. There was a musty smell in the air, like the tombs of old she uncovered and excavated, mixing with a scent that reminded one of horsesick, along with a cloud of fine, white dust; she breathed, and, in the hollow that was now revealed, her eyes discerned a shadow in the shape of a--
(No, not a shadow; in a fit of inattention her eyes had wandered to the long shadow on the packed, hoofbeaten ground rather than what cast it--a bottle, smooth white ceramic as cold as the mountains during first snow fall, with the familiar horsehead stopper of bone. But even that glinted in the bright sunlight, she saw, as she set the rest of the meal in front of her--cheese, meat dumplings, dried curds. Her stomach ached; it had been a hard few hours riding, but worth it to get away from the court, if only for a few moments; how she could not wait to fill up her belly as her mare was doing a few meters away! The horse was grazing on the golden green grass, the light playing off her white coat, as it played off the bottle of heady liquid, as it played off, she realized with a detatched sort of delight, everything. And all the while, before, while, and long, long after she had passed from the Earth, it would continue this dance, the sun galloping, as tireless as the best of the khan's stallions, across the endless blue and white plains that was called the sky...)
--familiar looking bottle. A bottle of airag, here? The archaeologist wondered who had rented this cottage before she had. Regardless... "Miss Flint," she called to the girl she knew was waiting at the very top as she was climbing up the stairs that led to the kitchen proper, "Please fetch me my gloves and other basic tools; there seems to be something rather interesting in the pantry."
She smiled at the groan of protest that elicted, follwed by the sound of two scuffed boots shuffling away, but it took on a different sort of meaning when she paused mid-climb. She turned; she looked at the yawning gap, the now barely-visible bottle resting within it; she looked at the ceiling, and her hands began to tingle with a familiar sensation.
Then she turned and continued her traverse up the staircase, but she was away still in yet another place and time.
"'Anythin', Miss 'rina?" someone seemed to call from up above, but Marina paid it no mind. There was a musty smell in the air, like the tombs of old she uncovered and excavated, mixing with a scent that reminded one of horsesick, along with a cloud of fine, white dust; she breathed, and, in the hollow that was now revealed, her eyes discerned a shadow in the shape of a--
(No, not a shadow; in a fit of inattention her eyes had wandered to the long shadow on the packed, hoofbeaten ground rather than what cast it--a bottle, smooth white ceramic as cold as the mountains during first snow fall, with the familiar horsehead stopper of bone. But even that glinted in the bright sunlight, she saw, as she set the rest of the meal in front of her--cheese, meat dumplings, dried curds. Her stomach ached; it had been a hard few hours riding, but worth it to get away from the court, if only for a few moments; how she could not wait to fill up her belly as her mare was doing a few meters away! The horse was grazing on the golden green grass, the light playing off her white coat, as it played off the bottle of heady liquid, as it played off, she realized with a detatched sort of delight, everything. And all the while, before, while, and long, long after she had passed from the Earth, it would continue this dance, the sun galloping, as tireless as the best of the khan's stallions, across the endless blue and white plains that was called the sky...)
--familiar looking bottle. A bottle of airag, here? The archaeologist wondered who had rented this cottage before she had. Regardless... "Miss Flint," she called to the girl she knew was waiting at the very top as she was climbing up the stairs that led to the kitchen proper, "Please fetch me my gloves and other basic tools; there seems to be something rather interesting in the pantry."
She smiled at the groan of protest that elicted, follwed by the sound of two scuffed boots shuffling away, but it took on a different sort of meaning when she paused mid-climb. She turned; she looked at the yawning gap, the now barely-visible bottle resting within it; she looked at the ceiling, and her hands began to tingle with a familiar sensation.
Then she turned and continued her traverse up the staircase, but she was away still in yet another place and time.
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