Genesis 113
Jul. 27th, 2006 12:18 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annarti.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
yrae
Title~ Gold
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 113. Another intro fic, this one to Princess Lynnlita of Llayad, the kingdom to Raykin's east. Technically I should have done an intro to Llayad fic first, but Lynnlita is so quintessentially Llayan that there's really no need. The country basically looks like African savanna, but the culture is somewhat more European.
Also, just to confuse the living hell out of you all, the Llayan language only has third person. There's no 'You' or 'I' in their language at all, so when referring to themselves, they'll say, 'Lynnlita will go to sleep,' rather than 'I will go to sleep.' Same for any sentence with 'you'. They tend to ignore the first and second person even when speaking a language that does have them, too, because they think it's rude and uncultured. Yeah. Llayans are insane.
HAHA, Nol competing for Raykin's honour, HAHAHAHAHAAAA~
~ ~ ~
Lynnlita smoothed her fingers over the plush velvet of her dress, the same burgundy-red as her hair. She lightly tossed the pampered ringlets over her shoulder as she admired herself sidelong in the mirror, poking at the lace around her collar so it would sit just right. She squeezed her ruby red lips together to even out the lipstick, rearranged her golden tiara, then snatched her long white gloves from the dressing table and slipped them up over her arms.
‘Oh, Lynnlita is simply stunning!’
The Llayan princess smiled as her older sister gushed at her. ‘As well she should. She has spent all morning dressing!’
‘Oh it shows,’ Amyrallyn said admiringly. ‘How is it Lynnlita inherited Mother’s beautiful locks, while Amyrallyn is reduced to Father’s?’
Lynnlita grinned and scrunched her nose in a dainty shrug. ‘Ask Father,’ she said coyly, then flopped a snowy white boa around her waist. ‘Come, Amyrallyn. The prince is due to make his appearance in less than an hour!’
‘The prince? Oh, that prince.’
‘Well of course ‘that prince’,’ the younger girl scorned, rich velvet hushing against the carpet as she hurried as elegantly as possible down the castle’s hallways. ‘Which was Amyrallyn thinking? Her brother? Her older sister’s husband?’
The older girl laughed, the tinkling sound echoing in the empty stone corridor. ‘Amyrallyn is teasing, Lynnlita. She knows very well which prince to whom Lynnlita refers. He has been all she has spoken of since she learnt he would be here for the tournament.’
Lynnlita paused at the top of the grand staircase, one white-gloved hand on the balustrade. ‘Lynnlita hasn’t been that bad, has she?’
Amyrallyn half-raised her eyebrows in response. Lynnlita sighed and resumed her elegant hurrying for the jousting stadium.
‘Besides,’ she reasoned, sweeping towards the heavy double-doors that led outside, ‘he isn’t here simply to watch the tournament. He is competing. How many men does Amyrallyn know who would willingly compete in the tournament, for nothing but the honour of his kingdom?’
‘What makes Lynnlita think he competes for Raykin’s honour?’
‘Well, Lynnlita would donate her wardrobe to the poor if he was competing for money.’
‘Fair point.’
The servants were ready at the door with heavy velvet cloaks, as rich in colour and texture as the dresses the two princesses wore. Lynnlita checked herself again in the mirror to make sure the cloak didn’t cover too much of her chest, then flicked her curls back once more and swept out the door.
‘The weather is a might nippy,’ Amyrallyn commented as they climbed into the carriage. She was obviously trying her best not to hunch down into her cloak, just as Lynnlita was. ‘Amyrallyn feels like a plucked chicken.’ She looked down at the skin of her upper arm, turning slightly pimpled from the cold.
‘Alas, all must make sacrifices of comfort for beauty,’ Lynnlita told her offhandedly.
Amyrallyn raised one eyebrow, her lips pursed in a mischievous smile. ‘Whose beauty?’ she asked slyly, ‘Lynnlita’s or the prince’s?’
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still mine
Notes~ Genesis 113. Another intro fic, this one to Princess Lynnlita of Llayad, the kingdom to Raykin's east. Technically I should have done an intro to Llayad fic first, but Lynnlita is so quintessentially Llayan that there's really no need. The country basically looks like African savanna, but the culture is somewhat more European.
Also, just to confuse the living hell out of you all, the Llayan language only has third person. There's no 'You' or 'I' in their language at all, so when referring to themselves, they'll say, 'Lynnlita will go to sleep,' rather than 'I will go to sleep.' Same for any sentence with 'you'. They tend to ignore the first and second person even when speaking a language that does have them, too, because they think it's rude and uncultured. Yeah. Llayans are insane.
HAHA, Nol competing for Raykin's honour, HAHAHAHAHAAAA~
Lynnlita smoothed her fingers over the plush velvet of her dress, the same burgundy-red as her hair. She lightly tossed the pampered ringlets over her shoulder as she admired herself sidelong in the mirror, poking at the lace around her collar so it would sit just right. She squeezed her ruby red lips together to even out the lipstick, rearranged her golden tiara, then snatched her long white gloves from the dressing table and slipped them up over her arms.
‘Oh, Lynnlita is simply stunning!’
The Llayan princess smiled as her older sister gushed at her. ‘As well she should. She has spent all morning dressing!’
‘Oh it shows,’ Amyrallyn said admiringly. ‘How is it Lynnlita inherited Mother’s beautiful locks, while Amyrallyn is reduced to Father’s?’
Lynnlita grinned and scrunched her nose in a dainty shrug. ‘Ask Father,’ she said coyly, then flopped a snowy white boa around her waist. ‘Come, Amyrallyn. The prince is due to make his appearance in less than an hour!’
‘The prince? Oh, that prince.’
‘Well of course ‘that prince’,’ the younger girl scorned, rich velvet hushing against the carpet as she hurried as elegantly as possible down the castle’s hallways. ‘Which was Amyrallyn thinking? Her brother? Her older sister’s husband?’
The older girl laughed, the tinkling sound echoing in the empty stone corridor. ‘Amyrallyn is teasing, Lynnlita. She knows very well which prince to whom Lynnlita refers. He has been all she has spoken of since she learnt he would be here for the tournament.’
Lynnlita paused at the top of the grand staircase, one white-gloved hand on the balustrade. ‘Lynnlita hasn’t been that bad, has she?’
Amyrallyn half-raised her eyebrows in response. Lynnlita sighed and resumed her elegant hurrying for the jousting stadium.
‘Besides,’ she reasoned, sweeping towards the heavy double-doors that led outside, ‘he isn’t here simply to watch the tournament. He is competing. How many men does Amyrallyn know who would willingly compete in the tournament, for nothing but the honour of his kingdom?’
‘What makes Lynnlita think he competes for Raykin’s honour?’
‘Well, Lynnlita would donate her wardrobe to the poor if he was competing for money.’
‘Fair point.’
The servants were ready at the door with heavy velvet cloaks, as rich in colour and texture as the dresses the two princesses wore. Lynnlita checked herself again in the mirror to make sure the cloak didn’t cover too much of her chest, then flicked her curls back once more and swept out the door.
‘The weather is a might nippy,’ Amyrallyn commented as they climbed into the carriage. She was obviously trying her best not to hunch down into her cloak, just as Lynnlita was. ‘Amyrallyn feels like a plucked chicken.’ She looked down at the skin of her upper arm, turning slightly pimpled from the cold.
‘Alas, all must make sacrifices of comfort for beauty,’ Lynnlita told her offhandedly.
Amyrallyn raised one eyebrow, her lips pursed in a mischievous smile. ‘Whose beauty?’ she asked slyly, ‘Lynnlita’s or the prince’s?’