kawa~ inspiration #108

[annarti.livejournal.com]

Title~ Annoyance
Authors~ Annarti and Sallie
Disclaimer~ Death and War are property of the Sallie, Genesis is property of the Sallie and the Garney, and everyone/thing else is property of the 'narti *wipes brow*
Notes~ kawa~ #108. Another of those joint ficcus, written in our hotel room in Edinburgh when we had nothing better to do. The lesson? Never let two posh gits talk to each other =D;

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“Death, Death, Death!” Genesis squeaked, scampering from the stable doors, across to where the Reaper was standing. “Horsies!”

Death looked down at the little girl who skidded to a stop and landed firmly on her bottom at his feet. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Genesis.”

“Death see,” Genesis insisted, pouting up at him a little – a definite look of Jenii coming through her childlike happiness for a moment. She tugged on the perfectly tailored hem of his black trousers.

“I regret to tell you, Genesis, that generally animals dislike my presence,” Death told the girl blandly. He nodded back towards the stables, “Look, I do believe another steed is being brought out for your inspection.”

Genesis squealed happily and promptly forgot her momentary guardian, dashing back towards the stables and leaving Death standing alone against the nearest fencing again.

A polite cough came from behind, obviously meant to gain attention. He turned to see a young woman with pampered red-brown curls tumbling to her shoulders. She smiled something of forced smile and rubbed one arm nervously.

“Princess Lynnlita of Llayad is at the gentleman’s service,” she said quietly. Death raised an eyebrow—somehow a woman of such… ample stature, didn’t suit the weak, uncertain voice that came from her mouth.

The Force declined to take the young woman’s hand – far too many people found him being just that close to be more than uncomfortable – but he did bow elegantly from the waist a moment. “A pleasure to meet you, Princess Lynnlita; I am generally referred to as ‘The Reaper’.”

The princess’s delicate eyebrows dipped low in confusion. “A farmer?” she enquired, her eyes scanning Death’s very un-farmer-like attire.

Death smiled almost wryly, “One supposes it could be taken that way.” He casually fixed his cuffs, speaking idly in a manner which almost made his chosen topic seem trivial – or maybe that made him hope anyone listening might tune it out. “I am the Force of Death, therefore what I supposedly reap is by far different than corns and wheats. I was also created with a scythe as a magical conduit and weapon, as were my fellow Apocalyptic Horsemen, which only added to the ‘respectful’ nickname one would suppose.”

Lynnlita nodded, her expression showing that she’d understood at least half of what the Reaper had told her. She stepped confidently forward to stand beside the Force, her long Llayan skirts hushing quietly in the ever-present Raykinian breeze. Death followed her gaze to one of the zebras—called Llayan horses over here—as it pranced around the open area of the stable.

“Lynnlita doesn’t suppose the Reaper knows of the Force War?” Her eyes didn’t move from the zebra, only adding emphasis to her apparently casual question.

Death pondered how to actually answer that question in the politest of terms for a moment, before settling on his usual admittance that he knew War better than he wished to. “I do indeed know him rather well. He is one of my fellow Horsemen, generally considered the one closest to my own aptitudes and powers; although he is not one with whom I have – what might be considered – an ideal alliance.”

The princess’s eyebrows arched over her half-lidded eyes. “Lynnlita is in acquiescence with the Reaper’s statement,” she murmured, almost to herself. She sighed lightly and set her hands on the top of the fence, resting her chin on them. Something else was on the Llayan’s mind, and if War had any part in it, Death could very easily guess what it might be.

The Reaper cast his eyes back over towards where Genesis was playing for a moment, although he didn’t really need to look at her to know what she was doing and where she was. “So, one can assume you have met War recently,” He spoke more as a statement than a question, looking back at the princess politely. “May I offer my sincerest apologies for anything he may have said to you that caused you any discomposure?”

Lynnlita’s curls bounced as she shook her head and glanced sideways at the Reaper. “The only person who can apologise for a man’s actions is himself,” she said primly, then looked back over at what Death assumed was her zebra, and the tiny blond giggling at its hooves. “In any case, it wasn’t so much what he said as what he did.”

“Ah,” Death said in an extremely knowing tone. He could think of at least twenty insulting things War could do - and indeed would do – even to a princess from other world. “I see,” He added after a moment’s silence, since he could not once again apologise on War’s behalf.

“If it’s any consolation to you, I doubt he’ll be stopping by here for a while.” The Reaper wasn’t really sure of that, but it might be enough for her mind to think so.

The princess nodded silently, the kind of nod that told she wasn’t really listening. For a few moments the conversation ceased, being replaced by rushing wind and a whinnying horse from the stable opposite.

“I hate him!” Lynnlita burst out suddenly, the use of the first person standing out after usual, formal way of speaking. “He made Lynnlita blush. She couldn’t meet his eyes for the sincerity she thought she saw in them! He tried to pull Lynnlita from her true love. He made her fall for War instead, and then he—” She broke off suddenly, as though realising that her voice had risen in volume since she’d begun her tirade. She took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing in a barely audible whisper. “He slapped me.”

Death watched the Llayan princess work her way through her sudden explosion in perfect silence, and with a slowly raising eyebrow. He cleared his throat once she had finished, although certainly not from nerves, rubbing one of his temples slowly with a willowy finger. “Well, one can certainly see why he would have caused you so much distaste.”

“Lynnlita apologises,” she went on quietly, giving a short laugh as she hooked her hair behind one ear to keep it from blowing over her face. “She has been in the Reaper’s presence not yet ten minutes, and already she complains to him of one of his closest companions.”

Death waved one of his hands dismissively, leaning against the fencing again, sure that the princess had – in some small way at least – worked through her aggressions. “I assure you, it is nothing. As I believe I mentioned, we do not have the most ideal of friendships.”

The Llayan gave another of those short, almost apologetic laughs. “He was so sweet and charming.” She’d switched to her native language now, evidently conscious of any potentially eavesdropping Raykinians. “Lynnlita has been charmed by so many fine gentlemen before, she was certain she knew all their guiles, but… War was different, somehow.” She sighed irritably, frowning at her inability to put her feelings into words.

Yes, Death thought silently, War has had more practise at faking it, is the original womaniser and has been nominated for an Oscar. He brushed some dust from the sleeve of his suit calmly, preventing himself from saying anything along the lines of that thought until he thought of some better way of phrasing things. He doubted he’d ever had a conversation about War for quite this long – and he regularly talked to Pestilence.

“War is certainly different,” Death finally intoned in his usual emotionless and smooth manner, slipping easily into Llayan to follow the princess’s lead. “Therefore, many might make mention that War, and his differences, are not worth the princess worrying herself sick over.”

“One might think so,” Lynnlita muttered, “And yet, here she stands, pouring her feelings of bitter hatred to a complete stranger.”

Death glanced at where Genesis was happily playing with the equines, before looking up towards the sky coolly. “People might even comment that the princess does seem to talk quite a lot about someone she so despises – and that not all of it is particularly insulting,” The Reaper pointed out, politely and terribly innocently.

Lynnlita’s head snapped around to look up at the white-haired Force, but she couldn’t hold the glare for long before she turned back to the horses. “Master Reaper is as bad as War,” she accused playfully.

“One is merely making an observation,” Death replied honestly. He looked back down towards the ground, or more accurately the blond girl pulling his trouser-leg again, switching to English. “Yes, Genesis?”

“Death, horsie!” Genesis beamed.

“I’m aware, Genesis.”

“Come see!”

“Once again, I remind you that animals do not care for my presence,” Death told her patiently.

Genesis huffed and then looked at Lynnlita curiously, before looking back at Death. “Who?”

“Princess Lynnlita of Llayad,” The Reaper told the little girl, adding, “who is obsessed by War, apparently.”

Genesis scowled, “Bad War, ass.”

“Indeed.” Death nodded back towards the stable, “I do believe there’s a mare you haven’t yet met.”

Genesis squealed and ran off again, leaving Death with the Llayan princess again. It was almost a shame, conversations about equines, even with infants, were infinitely more interesting than conversations about War.

“She’s a darling,” Lynnlita said wistfully, “She seems to have a great fondness for horses.” It was a blatantly obvious change of subject, but one Death almost welcomed.

“Thank you, since her father is not here to do so,” Death slipped back into Llayan as easily as he slipped into any language he’d long mastered. “She is the daughter of another of one’s fellow Horsemen, and obviously following in the equestrian footsteps.”

“Another Horseman?” Lynnlita exclaimed, “How many of them are there?”

“Four; the Force of Pestilence, the Force of Famine, the Force of War and the Force of Death,” Death listed in his usual bland manner.

The princess shrank down behind the fence just slightly. “That sounds a formidable band of riders,” she noted.

A sudden explosion of boisterous voices burst out from behind, visibly jumping Lynnlita out of her thoughts. Four men in blue shirts—archers, Death had been told, probably the four from the King’s Own—were striding purposefully and rather noisily towards the stables.

“Reaper!” the tallest of them—Gylepi by name—yelled out across the courtyard, “Would you like us to take the Llayan off your hands?”

The one Death recognised as Prince Nolryn shoved Gylepi and shook a threatening finger at him.

The Force, unfortunately for his own sanity sometimes, was always a perfect gentleman. Therefore, “I’m unsure that is the proper way to refer to a lady of high standing,” was all he could afford to answer.

Lynnlita shifted nervously beside him. “Lynnlita should leave,” she said politely, then curtsied deeply. “It was a pleasure to have met the Reaper. Thank you for allowing Lynnlita to speak her mind.”

“It’s quite all right,” Death assured her. “It was a pleasure to have met Lynnlita, also.”

The princess smiled sweetly, then swept off in her long skirts towards the four archers.

“Death! Horise!” Genesis reminded Death, just in case the Reaper had forgotten.

“Indeed, Genesis,” Death replied smoothly, before looking over at prince Nolryn and raising an eyebrow in a clear ‘a moment of your time’ gesture.

The prince frowned briefly, then said something to his companions and made his way over to the Reaper.

“He hasn’t kicked her in the head yet, I hope,” he said, grinning and gesturing towards his stallion.

“No, she’s exceptionally good with equines – or avoiding their hooves,” Death said dryly. “Pardon my assumptions, but I believe you are going to see and speak to War long before I do, therefore I would like you to warn him.”

Nol raised his eyebrows and slung one arm over the fence. “What about, exactly?” he asked, glancing at the departing princess.

“Merely that I am going to have to hurt him, should he ever try and ‘seduce’ a princess again,” Death replied calmly, although there was always an uncomfortable air around him that made words like that ring forebodingly.

Nolryn blinked a few times. “Oh don’t,” he said finally, shaking his head discouragingly, “She deserves every bit of it. Taste of her own medicine and all that.”

“Perhaps so, however, I’m unsure what I have done that is so bad that I needed to be punished in such a manner.”

The prince laughed aloud. “She tends to have that effect on the more intellectually inclined,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Quite,” Death closed his eyes and sighed.

Genesis decided she was bored trying to get Death’s attention by repeating the word ‘horsie’, so she sat herself on Nol’s foot and gnawed at his shoe. “Stupid male,” She growled, “horsie like me better you.”

Nolryn raised a bemused eyebrow and set a flat look on Death. “Please to be removing your charge from my person. I have training I really need to get onto.”

“Even though if you removed her yourself, it might be a lesson in diplomacy, I shall.” Death looked at Genesis seriously, “Tell me Genesis, have you completed your homework for this weekend yet?”

Genesis looked at Death blankly, before her eyes widened to the size of saucers and she squeaked, before quickly covering it up with a grunt. “Homework!” She quickly removed herself from the stupid-male’s foot and clung to Death’s leg.

“There you are,” the Reaper told the crown prince calmly, as he bent gracefully to pick up the blonde girl. “Please tell Gylepi that Genesis enjoyed herself and was most grateful of the invitation.”

“Stupid male,” Genesis taunted, sticking her tongue out at Nol.

“Stupid female,” Nol returned, then jumped the fence and jogged towards the horse stable.

Death looked at Genesis, “At least we were both too polite to mention that we’d heard he really needed training.”

Genesis smirked, “Bad Death.”

“Indeed,” The Reaper said blandly, although there was a touch of amusement in his eyes as he disappeared from the spot he was standing in.