15min fic #34
Sep. 11th, 2004 03:06 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~ Stolen
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'min is mine, random brewer is mine, fic is mine, no touchie.
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 34. This one was just too~ easy.
~ ~ ~
Yamin pulled on the long, dusty red cloak she wore so often, shrugging it into a more comfortable position on her shoulders and adjusting the hood so she could see clearly enough, but with luck, the average passer-by wouldn’t notice her unnaturally pale complexion. She glanced briefly out her bedroom window to the city below, only just waking up under the grey dawn light, then closed the heavy oak door and drifted with practiced silence down the stairs.
She wove easily through the uncultured suburbs surrounding the palace. So long as she didn’t make eye contact, they paid little attention to her. She had found that the pale, icy blue of her eyes was what made people most uncomfortable. While pale skinned individuals weren’t particularly common in Ni-Yana, they did exist. There were even a few blond and white-haired Tsaythis living in the city, but blue eyes were unique to Yamin and her sister.
As she drew into the higher end of town, palms and other decorative plants became more common. It almost surprised her to note how tall some of the trees had become, but then, she hadn’t seen them for the better part of a decade.
The warm, fresh smell of bread from the local bakery hung in the clear morning air, and Yamin involuntarily took a deep breath to savour the scent. She knew that scent well. Her gaze focussed on the buildings to her immediate left, not trusting herself to turn directly down the street just yet.
One more left turn, then another right. Past the yellow cloth door marked with a green swirl—the home of the seamstress. Next, a pale blue door with a blue zigzag and the word ‘pottery’ written in green at the top. Then a dusty red door, not too different from the colour of Yamin’s cloak, with a straight brown line splitting it vertically—the mark of a carpenter.
The healer grinned at the last door; a row of red dots cutting a horizontal line across the door had been added since she last saw it. It seemed that the old man had finally found himself a woman, of the palace staff, no less.
The smile froze on her face when the next door came into view. She should have expected this. The familiar cream door, decorated with a blue zigzag, red dots and the word ‘rug’ printed carefully in green at the top, was gone. In its place was an orange flap of fabric with a brewer’s orange arch curving through the middle.
She should have expected this. There was no way the place could have been left vacant for so long. But some small part of her had hopes that maybe, just maybe…
Yamin stared at the canvas door for long moments, oblivious to the sounds of the occupant readying himself for the day.
She started when the canvas flap flung open, realising salt water stung her eyes. She stared in dumbfounded curiosity at the burly man who stood in the doorway, not bothering to wipe away the tears.
The man froze, frowning uncomfortably at the pale-skinned girl before him. Yamin did nothing to relieve his discomfort. Her mind was almost completely blank, too stunned to register a coherent thought, not even to wonder just why she was so taken aback. The brewer was no different to any other. He appeared slightly hung-over, as were possibly half the men and women in the district. Or maybe he just wasn’t a morning person. Either way, there was nothing unusual about him at all.
But he wasn’t Mehni. He wasn’t Riona.
The brewer bent down slightly, trying to squint under Yamin’s hood. “Can I help you?” he asked finally, wiping his hands awkwardly on his shirt.
Yamin started again at the sound, then gave a barely distinguishable shake of her head and tore back towards the palace.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ 'min is mine, random brewer is mine, fic is mine, no touchie.
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 34. This one was just too~ easy.
Yamin pulled on the long, dusty red cloak she wore so often, shrugging it into a more comfortable position on her shoulders and adjusting the hood so she could see clearly enough, but with luck, the average passer-by wouldn’t notice her unnaturally pale complexion. She glanced briefly out her bedroom window to the city below, only just waking up under the grey dawn light, then closed the heavy oak door and drifted with practiced silence down the stairs.
She wove easily through the uncultured suburbs surrounding the palace. So long as she didn’t make eye contact, they paid little attention to her. She had found that the pale, icy blue of her eyes was what made people most uncomfortable. While pale skinned individuals weren’t particularly common in Ni-Yana, they did exist. There were even a few blond and white-haired Tsaythis living in the city, but blue eyes were unique to Yamin and her sister.
As she drew into the higher end of town, palms and other decorative plants became more common. It almost surprised her to note how tall some of the trees had become, but then, she hadn’t seen them for the better part of a decade.
The warm, fresh smell of bread from the local bakery hung in the clear morning air, and Yamin involuntarily took a deep breath to savour the scent. She knew that scent well. Her gaze focussed on the buildings to her immediate left, not trusting herself to turn directly down the street just yet.
One more left turn, then another right. Past the yellow cloth door marked with a green swirl—the home of the seamstress. Next, a pale blue door with a blue zigzag and the word ‘pottery’ written in green at the top. Then a dusty red door, not too different from the colour of Yamin’s cloak, with a straight brown line splitting it vertically—the mark of a carpenter.
The healer grinned at the last door; a row of red dots cutting a horizontal line across the door had been added since she last saw it. It seemed that the old man had finally found himself a woman, of the palace staff, no less.
The smile froze on her face when the next door came into view. She should have expected this. The familiar cream door, decorated with a blue zigzag, red dots and the word ‘rug’ printed carefully in green at the top, was gone. In its place was an orange flap of fabric with a brewer’s orange arch curving through the middle.
She should have expected this. There was no way the place could have been left vacant for so long. But some small part of her had hopes that maybe, just maybe…
Yamin stared at the canvas door for long moments, oblivious to the sounds of the occupant readying himself for the day.
She started when the canvas flap flung open, realising salt water stung her eyes. She stared in dumbfounded curiosity at the burly man who stood in the doorway, not bothering to wipe away the tears.
The man froze, frowning uncomfortably at the pale-skinned girl before him. Yamin did nothing to relieve his discomfort. Her mind was almost completely blank, too stunned to register a coherent thought, not even to wonder just why she was so taken aback. The brewer was no different to any other. He appeared slightly hung-over, as were possibly half the men and women in the district. Or maybe he just wasn’t a morning person. Either way, there was nothing unusual about him at all.
But he wasn’t Mehni. He wasn’t Riona.
The brewer bent down slightly, trying to squint under Yamin’s hood. “Can I help you?” he asked finally, wiping his hands awkwardly on his shirt.
Yamin started again at the sound, then gave a barely distinguishable shake of her head and tore back towards the palace.