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tamingthemuseTitle: (none)
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 149-- Triskele
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
In my years as an escape artist, I had fancied that I was a master of sorts at undoing knots. The monkey’s fist, the devil’s tongue, it didn’t matter what they were or how they were done—I could always untangle them, leaving two ends of rope hanging limply in the air.
To-day, the knots were different: I didn’t even know where they were.
I was no magician, but I could sense spells well enough, and I could feel them twisted around me in a massive tangle. I had just woken up in this room, draped all over with spells that were either protection or prison, and I could not even imagine where to start. When I tried to gently feel my way along the spells with my fingers, I encountered nothing but a slightly sticky patch of air.
The room around me was silent and empty, and the walls held no answers.
I sighed softly and fell back to sleep, oddly comforted by the knots I could not untie.
I woke some time later. There was no window in the room; it was instead illuminated by the glowing stones of which it was built. I pondered the strange luminescence absently for a moment, before I was very suddenly struck by an intense sensation of being watched. If no-one was observing me, it could do no harm to turn and see—and if someone was waiting behind me, they could perhaps tell me why I was here and how to escape. This thought firmly in mind, I flipped over quickly.
“Stay still, Hugh,” a woman said. “I can’t untie you if you move, dear.”
I was looking at my assistant, Aurelie. I rarely saw her out of the close-fitting satin dresses she wore onstage, so it came as a slight shock to see her sitting next to me, calmly unpicking the spells in a demure day dress of plain black cotton with grey trim and silver buttons.
“Why the black, Aurelie?” I asked lazily, turning over slowly to allow her to get back to her work. “Are you in mourning?”
She huffed, annoyed. “I thought you were dead, you blithering idiot,” she spat venomously, her vitriol a mask for the tears she was threatening to shed, “until they sent me a letter this morning, telling me that they had finished with you and I was to come fetch you.”
“’They’?” I asked, a slight frown on my face.
“’They’ are... oh, I’ll explain later. Hush now, and let me untangle you.” I fell silent, and felt her fingers picking at the tangles at my back. I hadn’t known she could see magic, much less do it—or be more proficient in it than I.
“There,” she said softly a few minutes later. “They did quite a number on you, Hugh—consider yourself fortunate that they’ve let you go.”
“But what happened?” I asked as she helped me to my feet. “And who are ‘they’?”
“I...” she began, as I turned to face her. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Don’t you remember what happened?”
“We performed at the Pailey Theatre, and I fell asleep on the carriage ride home, and when I woke up... I was here.”
“Well,” she murmured, leading me from the room, “you do realise that you’ve been gone for nigh on two weeks, don’t you? If you’d only been missing a night or two, I would never have even bothered worrying, let alone have had the time to have a mourning war-drobe made. Like I said,” she told me lightly, “I rather thought you were dead.”
“Thanks for your concern, Aurelie,” I muttered dryly, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Now, how’re we supposed to get out of here?”
“Aren’t you the escape artist?” she asked with a laugh.
I laughed with her as we walked out into the sunlight.
Just as we had nearly reached our carriage, though, the sky was very suddenly blotted out as though Aurelie had tossed her skirts over my head.
“Oh, drat,” she said quietly, gripping my hand a little more tightly.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: 149-- Triskele
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
In my years as an escape artist, I had fancied that I was a master of sorts at undoing knots. The monkey’s fist, the devil’s tongue, it didn’t matter what they were or how they were done—I could always untangle them, leaving two ends of rope hanging limply in the air.
To-day, the knots were different: I didn’t even know where they were.
I was no magician, but I could sense spells well enough, and I could feel them twisted around me in a massive tangle. I had just woken up in this room, draped all over with spells that were either protection or prison, and I could not even imagine where to start. When I tried to gently feel my way along the spells with my fingers, I encountered nothing but a slightly sticky patch of air.
The room around me was silent and empty, and the walls held no answers.
I sighed softly and fell back to sleep, oddly comforted by the knots I could not untie.
I woke some time later. There was no window in the room; it was instead illuminated by the glowing stones of which it was built. I pondered the strange luminescence absently for a moment, before I was very suddenly struck by an intense sensation of being watched. If no-one was observing me, it could do no harm to turn and see—and if someone was waiting behind me, they could perhaps tell me why I was here and how to escape. This thought firmly in mind, I flipped over quickly.
“Stay still, Hugh,” a woman said. “I can’t untie you if you move, dear.”
I was looking at my assistant, Aurelie. I rarely saw her out of the close-fitting satin dresses she wore onstage, so it came as a slight shock to see her sitting next to me, calmly unpicking the spells in a demure day dress of plain black cotton with grey trim and silver buttons.
“Why the black, Aurelie?” I asked lazily, turning over slowly to allow her to get back to her work. “Are you in mourning?”
She huffed, annoyed. “I thought you were dead, you blithering idiot,” she spat venomously, her vitriol a mask for the tears she was threatening to shed, “until they sent me a letter this morning, telling me that they had finished with you and I was to come fetch you.”
“’They’?” I asked, a slight frown on my face.
“’They’ are... oh, I’ll explain later. Hush now, and let me untangle you.” I fell silent, and felt her fingers picking at the tangles at my back. I hadn’t known she could see magic, much less do it—or be more proficient in it than I.
“There,” she said softly a few minutes later. “They did quite a number on you, Hugh—consider yourself fortunate that they’ve let you go.”
“But what happened?” I asked as she helped me to my feet. “And who are ‘they’?”
“I...” she began, as I turned to face her. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Don’t you remember what happened?”
“We performed at the Pailey Theatre, and I fell asleep on the carriage ride home, and when I woke up... I was here.”
“Well,” she murmured, leading me from the room, “you do realise that you’ve been gone for nigh on two weeks, don’t you? If you’d only been missing a night or two, I would never have even bothered worrying, let alone have had the time to have a mourning war-drobe made. Like I said,” she told me lightly, “I rather thought you were dead.”
“Thanks for your concern, Aurelie,” I muttered dryly, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Now, how’re we supposed to get out of here?”
“Aren’t you the escape artist?” she asked with a laugh.
I laughed with her as we walked out into the sunlight.
Just as we had nearly reached our carriage, though, the sky was very suddenly blotted out as though Aurelie had tossed her skirts over my head.
“Oh, drat,” she said quietly, gripping my hand a little more tightly.
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Date: 2009-05-31 10:43 am (UTC)More?