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tamingthemuse2008-05-17 02:34 am
tekia.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2008-05-17 02:34 am
Entry tags:
Prompt#95 - Mime - Love Potion No. 184 - Tekia - Original
Title: Love Potion No. 184
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Mime
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Zita has chosen the man to be her husband. Now she just has to get his attention.
This one should work.
It had better work.
Zita eyed the green liquid in the tiny glass vial. It was thick enough to leave a residue on the sides as she tipped it toward the fire. The light tried in vain to pierce the liquid, only making it glow faintly. She twisted her lips in a frown.
It had better work.
She had spent many long nights working on this formula. Innumerable failed experiments littered her notes and left a vile taste in her mouth. If this one failed she was sure to have to spend even longer looking for the correct formula. She was going to have to start from scratch.
She wasn’t looking forward to that. It had better work.
Before she could worry herself to death, she twisted the cork out and gulped down the contents in one go. The liquid tasted bitter and coated her tongue, instantly drying out her mouth. She made a face as she set aside the vial, licking her lips.
She waited a moment. Then another. Was there a way to tell if it had worked?
She gave her arms a look over, making sure her skin hadn’t turned an odd shade of green like it had with the very first batch. Then she smelled her fingernails. Batch number nine had made them smell like mushrooms. Her hair was still soft and dry, unlike the oily mess batch number forty-two had made it.
Lightly tapping her fingers on the counter of her grandfather’s apothecary shop, she glanced around the dim room. Light from the open door spilled into the dusty room, lighting up motes like little fairies and casting the rest of the room in shadows. Along the walls were similar vials of other herbs and liquids her family spent days upon days drying and mixing. On the back wall was a curtain that hid the back room, where her father and grandfather were currently making up more medicines and salves.
She poked her head through and waved to her beloved grandfather. He huffed a laugh at her, somehow always able to read her mind, and motioned her to rush off before her father noticed her hovering in the doorway.
Zita retreated to the front room and her grandfather joined her shortly.
“Off with you, lass. Show that boy what he’s missing.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek and raced out the door. Very ladylike, of course. On the front stoop, she snatched the basket waiting to be filled with wild herbs and set out to find that boy.
Terre was the most handsome boy in all of the village. When she was twelve, Zita had decided that he would be her husband. Unfortunately, Terre’s eye was elsewhere. By her fifteenth year, Zita feared that he would never notice her. So she had started making her love potions. One, someday, was surely to work, right?
She found the boys right where she knew they would be. In the field just west of the village, where her grandfather’s favorite spot for hunting wild herbs hid between the thick lining of trees gathered. Pushing her hair behind an ear, she approached, eyes demurely lowered.
“Zita!”
She smiled shyly at the boys as they waved to her. Terre was not one of the three that gathered around her, which made her shoulders droop, but she blushed nonetheless when the other boys paid welcomed attention to her.
She opened her mouth to greet them, then froze.
Her eyes widened and she felt the blood leave her face. Her grip on the basket grew taunt and her knuckles turned white with the pressure.
The bloody potion had taken her voice!
Blinking back tears, she gathered her senses, and grinned at the boys. Tilting her chin to one side, she waved one finger at them, her eyes telling them they were being naughty to approach her thus. Catching on, the boys returned to their game, only closer to where she settled down to work, pulling and plucking at herbs. The first few handfuls were useless as she took out her anger on the poor, blameless, grasses.
The ball startled her as it landed beside her and rolled to a stop amid the folds of her skirts. She gaped at it a moment before she turned her eyes up to see Terre jogging toward her. Gulping, she quickly picked up the ball and stood.
She held it out to him.
“Thanks, Zita.”
She smiled the coy smile she had practiced in the window that turned a mirror come nightfall until she had it just right. Terre didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were lowered to her basket, noticing instead the mangled herbs.
“Those don’t look so good, Zita. Are you sure old man Raggie is going to be able to use them?”
She opened her mouth before she remembered she couldn’t speak. Snapping her lips together with a click of her teeth, she forced a smile and shrugged. She made cutting motions with her fingers.
Terre frowned in confusion at her. “What’s that mean?”
She shrugged again and resumed kneeling and plucking. Terre remained where he was a full moment, and she could feel his gaze on her back, then he moved away when the others called for him.
Not long after, the ball returned to her little space. She smiled at the ball. Maybe the potion hadn’t worked, but it was Terre that was coming after the ball for the second time.
“Zita, the ball is near your knee. Would you mind?”
She turned her head to look up at him, squinting in the direct sunlight. She shook her head. Terre hesitated a moment before kneeling and snatching the ball. He glanced up and found himself nearly nose to nose with the girl. His eyes widened and Zita smiled, fluttering her lashes at him.
He quickly stood and retreated, but Zita didn’t miss how he kept looking back toward her.
Biting her lip least she grinned in triumph, she realized her basket could hold no more. Huffing in anger, she hoisted the basket to her hip and turned to watch the boys a moment longer. Their game had taken them further away from her, but she could see Terre watching her.
She deliberately turned her back on him and plucked a flower from the field that had missed being trampled by the boys. She faked surprise at the flower, then bowed low to an invisible partner, holding the flower close to her nose and fluttering her lashes. When she stood, she held out her hand in a courtly manner and walked away with her fanciful beau.
The potion hadn’t worked. It wasn’t a love potion, but it had gotten Terre’s attention. When she got her voice back, as she was sure to do, she would have to work on that new formula, but she wasn’t half as miffed about that anymore.
He was still watching her.
More pressing, how was she going to explain having no voice with no voice to her father?
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Mime
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Zita has chosen the man to be her husband. Now she just has to get his attention.
This one should work.
It had better work.
Zita eyed the green liquid in the tiny glass vial. It was thick enough to leave a residue on the sides as she tipped it toward the fire. The light tried in vain to pierce the liquid, only making it glow faintly. She twisted her lips in a frown.
It had better work.
She had spent many long nights working on this formula. Innumerable failed experiments littered her notes and left a vile taste in her mouth. If this one failed she was sure to have to spend even longer looking for the correct formula. She was going to have to start from scratch.
She wasn’t looking forward to that. It had better work.
Before she could worry herself to death, she twisted the cork out and gulped down the contents in one go. The liquid tasted bitter and coated her tongue, instantly drying out her mouth. She made a face as she set aside the vial, licking her lips.
She waited a moment. Then another. Was there a way to tell if it had worked?
She gave her arms a look over, making sure her skin hadn’t turned an odd shade of green like it had with the very first batch. Then she smelled her fingernails. Batch number nine had made them smell like mushrooms. Her hair was still soft and dry, unlike the oily mess batch number forty-two had made it.
Lightly tapping her fingers on the counter of her grandfather’s apothecary shop, she glanced around the dim room. Light from the open door spilled into the dusty room, lighting up motes like little fairies and casting the rest of the room in shadows. Along the walls were similar vials of other herbs and liquids her family spent days upon days drying and mixing. On the back wall was a curtain that hid the back room, where her father and grandfather were currently making up more medicines and salves.
She poked her head through and waved to her beloved grandfather. He huffed a laugh at her, somehow always able to read her mind, and motioned her to rush off before her father noticed her hovering in the doorway.
Zita retreated to the front room and her grandfather joined her shortly.
“Off with you, lass. Show that boy what he’s missing.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek and raced out the door. Very ladylike, of course. On the front stoop, she snatched the basket waiting to be filled with wild herbs and set out to find that boy.
Terre was the most handsome boy in all of the village. When she was twelve, Zita had decided that he would be her husband. Unfortunately, Terre’s eye was elsewhere. By her fifteenth year, Zita feared that he would never notice her. So she had started making her love potions. One, someday, was surely to work, right?
She found the boys right where she knew they would be. In the field just west of the village, where her grandfather’s favorite spot for hunting wild herbs hid between the thick lining of trees gathered. Pushing her hair behind an ear, she approached, eyes demurely lowered.
“Zita!”
She smiled shyly at the boys as they waved to her. Terre was not one of the three that gathered around her, which made her shoulders droop, but she blushed nonetheless when the other boys paid welcomed attention to her.
She opened her mouth to greet them, then froze.
Her eyes widened and she felt the blood leave her face. Her grip on the basket grew taunt and her knuckles turned white with the pressure.
The bloody potion had taken her voice!
Blinking back tears, she gathered her senses, and grinned at the boys. Tilting her chin to one side, she waved one finger at them, her eyes telling them they were being naughty to approach her thus. Catching on, the boys returned to their game, only closer to where she settled down to work, pulling and plucking at herbs. The first few handfuls were useless as she took out her anger on the poor, blameless, grasses.
The ball startled her as it landed beside her and rolled to a stop amid the folds of her skirts. She gaped at it a moment before she turned her eyes up to see Terre jogging toward her. Gulping, she quickly picked up the ball and stood.
She held it out to him.
“Thanks, Zita.”
She smiled the coy smile she had practiced in the window that turned a mirror come nightfall until she had it just right. Terre didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were lowered to her basket, noticing instead the mangled herbs.
“Those don’t look so good, Zita. Are you sure old man Raggie is going to be able to use them?”
She opened her mouth before she remembered she couldn’t speak. Snapping her lips together with a click of her teeth, she forced a smile and shrugged. She made cutting motions with her fingers.
Terre frowned in confusion at her. “What’s that mean?”
She shrugged again and resumed kneeling and plucking. Terre remained where he was a full moment, and she could feel his gaze on her back, then he moved away when the others called for him.
Not long after, the ball returned to her little space. She smiled at the ball. Maybe the potion hadn’t worked, but it was Terre that was coming after the ball for the second time.
“Zita, the ball is near your knee. Would you mind?”
She turned her head to look up at him, squinting in the direct sunlight. She shook her head. Terre hesitated a moment before kneeling and snatching the ball. He glanced up and found himself nearly nose to nose with the girl. His eyes widened and Zita smiled, fluttering her lashes at him.
He quickly stood and retreated, but Zita didn’t miss how he kept looking back toward her.
Biting her lip least she grinned in triumph, she realized her basket could hold no more. Huffing in anger, she hoisted the basket to her hip and turned to watch the boys a moment longer. Their game had taken them further away from her, but she could see Terre watching her.
She deliberately turned her back on him and plucked a flower from the field that had missed being trampled by the boys. She faked surprise at the flower, then bowed low to an invisible partner, holding the flower close to her nose and fluttering her lashes. When she stood, she held out her hand in a courtly manner and walked away with her fanciful beau.
The potion hadn’t worked. It wasn’t a love potion, but it had gotten Terre’s attention. When she got her voice back, as she was sure to do, she would have to work on that new formula, but she wasn’t half as miffed about that anymore.
He was still watching her.
More pressing, how was she going to explain having no voice with no voice to her father?