10 - Gifting
Dec. 11th, 2008 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamchroninTwilight Dreaming, Chstavr
for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twilightspirit
If it sucks, don't blame me. I *asked* you for a prompt, woman. =p
^_~
Gifting
Mortals had too many holidays. Too many excuses to give each other gifts. And, of course, every female Fae expected gifts from these holidays. It was some sort of proof of devotion to keep track of every single holiday, even though all the Mortal holidays took place as often as once a year.
Once a MORTAL year.
"It's ridiculous," Chstavr muttered, throwing scented oils into a small table cauldron he had on simmer over a magical fire. "Where do they even KEEP all that stuff? Once a year, indeed."
He levitated over and found spices, dead flower petals, and distilled dragon tears from a high shelf. He measured out a little bit of each one and poured them out slowly, carefully, in just the right amount. He infused just a bit of raw magical energy and watched the colors swirl and shift.
The potion became an ink, and from that he wrote a scroll, and within that was a hidden spell. He wrapped it carefully in a cylinder of crystal, and wrapped that decorative paper, and finally added a brightly colored ribbon.
"Happy gift giving occasion," he muttered, the next time he saw Haesia.
She showed dangerous signs of being grateful.
He turned quickly and called over his shoulder. "It's a dead rat."
"Just what I always wanted," she retorted, with just the right amount of sarcasm that he could live with himself again.
for
twilightspiritIf it sucks, don't blame me. I *asked* you for a prompt, woman. =p
^_~
Gifting
Mortals had too many holidays. Too many excuses to give each other gifts. And, of course, every female Fae expected gifts from these holidays. It was some sort of proof of devotion to keep track of every single holiday, even though all the Mortal holidays took place as often as once a year.
Once a MORTAL year.
"It's ridiculous," Chstavr muttered, throwing scented oils into a small table cauldron he had on simmer over a magical fire. "Where do they even KEEP all that stuff? Once a year, indeed."
He levitated over and found spices, dead flower petals, and distilled dragon tears from a high shelf. He measured out a little bit of each one and poured them out slowly, carefully, in just the right amount. He infused just a bit of raw magical energy and watched the colors swirl and shift.
The potion became an ink, and from that he wrote a scroll, and within that was a hidden spell. He wrapped it carefully in a cylinder of crystal, and wrapped that decorative paper, and finally added a brightly colored ribbon.
"Happy gift giving occasion," he muttered, the next time he saw Haesia.
She showed dangerous signs of being grateful.
He turned quickly and called over his shoulder. "It's a dead rat."
"Just what I always wanted," she retorted, with just the right amount of sarcasm that he could live with himself again.
