15min fic #115
Oct. 31st, 2005 11:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Purple Shirts
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ All of 'em are mine~
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 115. Pretty self-explanitory, I think.
~ ~ ~
Kurae rested his back against the cool stone wall of the archery range and yawned widely. The other twelve members of the Own lined up along the wall were looking similarly bored, despite the loud cheering of the crowd behind the three competing blade archers.
The riders of the Own rarely showed any outward interest when another’s position was in jeopardy, let alone a purple shirt. It was very rare that the challenger actually succeeded, and with the blade archers it didn’t matter anyway—at least it would mean a period of time when they wouldn’t be pelted by pebbles and peanuts while the new purple shirt settled in.
“Yoryl,” Melraan said blandly, introducing the short, noodle-armed boy standing between the two blade archers of the Own. “He’s more on-target than Garyn is.”
“Faster, too,” Emon added behind a yawn.
“Bit of a wimp, though,” Kurae noted, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t look as though he’s got a muscle to keep him warm.”
“That’s what I figure,” Melraan agreed. “He’ll be gone once they get to the close combat.”
The three blade archers strode down to the end of the archery range to retrieve their daggers, and even over the noise of the crowd Kurae could hear Kaen and Garyn taunting the afternoon’s challenger. Yoryl seemed to take it all good-naturedly though, and bent to pick up a pebble, which he then ditched at Kaen, drawing a sharp breath from half of the spectator Own riders.
“He’s worse than either of them already,” Emon muttered.
“There’s no way he could get in,” Melraan said reassuringly, then shook one hand weakly at the challenger. “Look at him! He’s a whelp!”
“That’s what you said about Nimay,” Emon reminded him, and if I remember correctly, she very nearly knocked you off your pedestal.”
Melraan snorted. “Pessimist. You know damn well I was poking fun at her. This guy really is meatless.”
Kurae was only partly listening to his colleagues. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he was more interested in watching the ensuing battle. Or was it the combatants?
He shook his head firmly and steeled his gaze. No, that was wrong.
Somehow though, he found his heart beating just slightly faster when it looked as though Yoryl would become yet another unsuccessful challenger. Worse than that, his heartbeat quickened still when he felt that the noodle-armed little blade archer may just succeed.
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ All of 'em are mine~
Notes~ 15 minute fic, word 115. Pretty self-explanitory, I think.
Kurae rested his back against the cool stone wall of the archery range and yawned widely. The other twelve members of the Own lined up along the wall were looking similarly bored, despite the loud cheering of the crowd behind the three competing blade archers.
The riders of the Own rarely showed any outward interest when another’s position was in jeopardy, let alone a purple shirt. It was very rare that the challenger actually succeeded, and with the blade archers it didn’t matter anyway—at least it would mean a period of time when they wouldn’t be pelted by pebbles and peanuts while the new purple shirt settled in.
“Yoryl,” Melraan said blandly, introducing the short, noodle-armed boy standing between the two blade archers of the Own. “He’s more on-target than Garyn is.”
“Faster, too,” Emon added behind a yawn.
“Bit of a wimp, though,” Kurae noted, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t look as though he’s got a muscle to keep him warm.”
“That’s what I figure,” Melraan agreed. “He’ll be gone once they get to the close combat.”
The three blade archers strode down to the end of the archery range to retrieve their daggers, and even over the noise of the crowd Kurae could hear Kaen and Garyn taunting the afternoon’s challenger. Yoryl seemed to take it all good-naturedly though, and bent to pick up a pebble, which he then ditched at Kaen, drawing a sharp breath from half of the spectator Own riders.
“He’s worse than either of them already,” Emon muttered.
“There’s no way he could get in,” Melraan said reassuringly, then shook one hand weakly at the challenger. “Look at him! He’s a whelp!”
“That’s what you said about Nimay,” Emon reminded him, and if I remember correctly, she very nearly knocked you off your pedestal.”
Melraan snorted. “Pessimist. You know damn well I was poking fun at her. This guy really is meatless.”
Kurae was only partly listening to his colleagues. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he was more interested in watching the ensuing battle. Or was it the combatants?
He shook his head firmly and steeled his gaze. No, that was wrong.
Somehow though, he found his heart beating just slightly faster when it looked as though Yoryl would become yet another unsuccessful challenger. Worse than that, his heartbeat quickened still when he felt that the noodle-armed little blade archer may just succeed.