la_marquise (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
la_marquise) wrote2008-04-23 07:15 pm
la_marquise) wrote2008-04-23 07:15 pm
Techno peasant pixel whatever.
Okay, why not. Here's a scene from Living with Ghosts that didn't make it into the final cut.
[Unknown site tag]
Half-way across the city, Kenan Orcandros was smiling. "Clever," he said, "but are we being clever enough?"
"Of course." Sky-eyed Cuenulaan did not turn to face him. Instead, she concentrated upon her reflection in her copper-backed mirror. "I have told you before: you overestimate their sensitivity. They are lazy, these Merafiens."
"Some-one in this city..."
"Lazy, but not credulous." She hesitated. "Nothing will be suspected."
"Have you word yet, from the harbour?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It is good, as expected."
"You will share with me no details?"
"Perhaps."She turned her attention from her face to her hair, pinning it up. "Pass me that comb, please. No, the silver one." He rose, and complied.
"Will I site it for you, also?"
"If you wish." She turned a little, looking up at him. The loose hair slid forward, across her breast. Her expression bespoke a certain confident indolence. "If it would please you."
"It might." Bending, he kissed her neck. There was a small bruise beginning to show there: his smile took on a possessive quality.
She reached behind her, sliding a hand against his head. "Will you delay me still further?"
"I have no hurry."
"And no thought for any other than yourself?" His teeth sank into the white flesh of her shoulder: she hissed. "I do not care to be hurt."
"At present."
Her hand tangled in his short hair: she gave it a sudden, sharp, tug. "Do not forget yourself."
"Myself, or my place?" Their eyes met in the mirror. He was no longer smiling. "I am initiate, sweet Cuena. No longer mere acolyte."
"And I, initiatrix. Do not forget that, either." She took her hand away, and held it out before her, palm up. A narrow scar ran across it, and down her wrist. "The binding is mine. You lack the knowledge needed to hold it."
"As yet." His tone was curiously flat. "Mine was the blood spillt in first payment."
"Your blood, and others'." She was calm. "You must be patient, or you will be unable to reap your rewards."
"I have had six years of patience." He sighed, looking down at the comb he held. "It is too slow, this power of yours."
"Do you have another?" Cuenulaan twisted on her stool, so that she faced him. "You didn't chose a simple course for your vengeance. To harm one person - Yvelliane d'Illandre, say - that would be simple. But to harm a city: that is hard, and this city harder than any. The old forces do not flow here. They must be coaxed. Even the waters are mixed, and thus guarded against my kind."
"Our kind." He stared at her: she did not drop her gaze. "You cannot deny me."
"Nor do I seek to. But your blood is that of the clans: you glory in that. Not wholly pure, but..." His eyes narrowed. She smiled. "But none the worse for it, although it is not the true good blood."
"You honour me too much." His tone was cold. "Remember, Cuena, it took my Orcandrin, clan, blood to bind the power, and to free it. Lacking me, you might not have done it."
"Orcandrin blood can be found in other veins than yours."
"Other willing veins?"
"Perhaps not." She took his hand. "Don't be angry, my Kenan. We have no need to fear each other. The river turns at our bidding, and the Merafiens have no eyes to see it."
He hesitated. "Yet you still counsel patience."
"I must: the process cannot be hastened."
"Yviane Allandur..."
"Is nothing." She took the comb from him, and dropped it on the table. "You are yourself undarios, now. You have the eyes to see her measure." He frowned. "There is no-one in Merafi who can see your hand in this."
"I am not unwatched. There are those in my escort who charge themselves with that duty."
Cuenulaan waved a hand, dismissive. "Your grandfather's spies. Unimportant."
"Spies, also, of Urien Armenwy. You may set my grandsire at naught, but Urien Swanhame is to be feared."
"He can do nothing."
"And his out-clan bastard? My so-loyal Iareth kai-reth Yscoithi?"
"Mixed blood, and blind." Taking his hands, Cuenulaan rubbed her cheek on one of them. "You are quite safe. You have but to watch, and wait."
"For your apposite moment?" She nodded. "Mayhap you are right, but I mislike this waiting."
She rose, and put her arms about him. "It will not seem long, after."
He stood straight, unyielding within her embrace. "You forget, then? Does not the other dwell here in Merafi?"
"What of it?"
"Once, you had hopes of him, not unlike those which you now fulfil through me."
She smiled, slowly. "Is that your fear? That I will abandon you?"
"Assuredly not." But he did not sound assured. "An he lives yet here, then will he see our working. And he may speak of what he has seen."
She shook her head. "It's makes no difference if he does. He won't be heeded. A foreigner - a Tarnaroqui - and a whore: he'll find no audience."
"I mislike his presence," Kenan repeated. Absently, his hands played with her hair. "Has he not friends at court?"
"None that will matter. He cannot affect us: he lacks the strength."
"Your one failure?" His voice was not quite kind. "I have wondered at it, often and often."
"That I failed?" The sky-blue eyes swept down, demure, insincere.
"That you let him live."
"He has his uses." She looked up, and her eyes now were languid. "And I do not readily give up what is mine." Her finger drew a line from his ribs to his groin. "That is my nature."
"Let me dispose of him."
"No."
"Let me, then, contact him, and ensure he presents no danger."
"That is my role. I will keep him misinformed."
"I like it not." Kenan caught her wrist. "You have said it: I am now undarios. That makes of me your equal, does it not?" She made no reply, watching him. His grip tightened: she gasped. "This Edelis of yours: he is a weakness. You should free yourself of him."
"I choose otherwise."
"That is unwise." The strap of her petticoat had slipped, revealing another bruise on her shoulder. He put his other hand, thoughtfully, lightly, about her throat. "Beautiful Cuenulaan."
She placed a hand over his, so that his grip tightened. She smiled. Her eyes were huge. Her perfume covered him, intoxicating. Standing on tip-toe, she leant against him, and inhaled. Her breasts were warm against him. "Forget him."
He swallowed, and kissed her, without tenderness. Her proximity, as ever, confused him. He said, a little shakily, "You call him yours. I do not care to share."
She returned the kiss, laughing. "Not even you can have everything exactly as you want it, my Kenan."
He shivered. Then he took hold of the neck of her petticoat, and tore it. "Mayhap not," he said, "but be sure of this, my Cuena: I can try."
[Unknown site tag]
Half-way across the city, Kenan Orcandros was smiling. "Clever," he said, "but are we being clever enough?"
"Of course." Sky-eyed Cuenulaan did not turn to face him. Instead, she concentrated upon her reflection in her copper-backed mirror. "I have told you before: you overestimate their sensitivity. They are lazy, these Merafiens."
"Some-one in this city..."
"Lazy, but not credulous." She hesitated. "Nothing will be suspected."
"Have you word yet, from the harbour?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It is good, as expected."
"You will share with me no details?"
"Perhaps."She turned her attention from her face to her hair, pinning it up. "Pass me that comb, please. No, the silver one." He rose, and complied.
"Will I site it for you, also?"
"If you wish." She turned a little, looking up at him. The loose hair slid forward, across her breast. Her expression bespoke a certain confident indolence. "If it would please you."
"It might." Bending, he kissed her neck. There was a small bruise beginning to show there: his smile took on a possessive quality.
She reached behind her, sliding a hand against his head. "Will you delay me still further?"
"I have no hurry."
"And no thought for any other than yourself?" His teeth sank into the white flesh of her shoulder: she hissed. "I do not care to be hurt."
"At present."
Her hand tangled in his short hair: she gave it a sudden, sharp, tug. "Do not forget yourself."
"Myself, or my place?" Their eyes met in the mirror. He was no longer smiling. "I am initiate, sweet Cuena. No longer mere acolyte."
"And I, initiatrix. Do not forget that, either." She took her hand away, and held it out before her, palm up. A narrow scar ran across it, and down her wrist. "The binding is mine. You lack the knowledge needed to hold it."
"As yet." His tone was curiously flat. "Mine was the blood spillt in first payment."
"Your blood, and others'." She was calm. "You must be patient, or you will be unable to reap your rewards."
"I have had six years of patience." He sighed, looking down at the comb he held. "It is too slow, this power of yours."
"Do you have another?" Cuenulaan twisted on her stool, so that she faced him. "You didn't chose a simple course for your vengeance. To harm one person - Yvelliane d'Illandre, say - that would be simple. But to harm a city: that is hard, and this city harder than any. The old forces do not flow here. They must be coaxed. Even the waters are mixed, and thus guarded against my kind."
"Our kind." He stared at her: she did not drop her gaze. "You cannot deny me."
"Nor do I seek to. But your blood is that of the clans: you glory in that. Not wholly pure, but..." His eyes narrowed. She smiled. "But none the worse for it, although it is not the true good blood."
"You honour me too much." His tone was cold. "Remember, Cuena, it took my Orcandrin, clan, blood to bind the power, and to free it. Lacking me, you might not have done it."
"Orcandrin blood can be found in other veins than yours."
"Other willing veins?"
"Perhaps not." She took his hand. "Don't be angry, my Kenan. We have no need to fear each other. The river turns at our bidding, and the Merafiens have no eyes to see it."
He hesitated. "Yet you still counsel patience."
"I must: the process cannot be hastened."
"Yviane Allandur..."
"Is nothing." She took the comb from him, and dropped it on the table. "You are yourself undarios, now. You have the eyes to see her measure." He frowned. "There is no-one in Merafi who can see your hand in this."
"I am not unwatched. There are those in my escort who charge themselves with that duty."
Cuenulaan waved a hand, dismissive. "Your grandfather's spies. Unimportant."
"Spies, also, of Urien Armenwy. You may set my grandsire at naught, but Urien Swanhame is to be feared."
"He can do nothing."
"And his out-clan bastard? My so-loyal Iareth kai-reth Yscoithi?"
"Mixed blood, and blind." Taking his hands, Cuenulaan rubbed her cheek on one of them. "You are quite safe. You have but to watch, and wait."
"For your apposite moment?" She nodded. "Mayhap you are right, but I mislike this waiting."
She rose, and put her arms about him. "It will not seem long, after."
He stood straight, unyielding within her embrace. "You forget, then? Does not the other dwell here in Merafi?"
"What of it?"
"Once, you had hopes of him, not unlike those which you now fulfil through me."
She smiled, slowly. "Is that your fear? That I will abandon you?"
"Assuredly not." But he did not sound assured. "An he lives yet here, then will he see our working. And he may speak of what he has seen."
She shook her head. "It's makes no difference if he does. He won't be heeded. A foreigner - a Tarnaroqui - and a whore: he'll find no audience."
"I mislike his presence," Kenan repeated. Absently, his hands played with her hair. "Has he not friends at court?"
"None that will matter. He cannot affect us: he lacks the strength."
"Your one failure?" His voice was not quite kind. "I have wondered at it, often and often."
"That I failed?" The sky-blue eyes swept down, demure, insincere.
"That you let him live."
"He has his uses." She looked up, and her eyes now were languid. "And I do not readily give up what is mine." Her finger drew a line from his ribs to his groin. "That is my nature."
"Let me dispose of him."
"No."
"Let me, then, contact him, and ensure he presents no danger."
"That is my role. I will keep him misinformed."
"I like it not." Kenan caught her wrist. "You have said it: I am now undarios. That makes of me your equal, does it not?" She made no reply, watching him. His grip tightened: she gasped. "This Edelis of yours: he is a weakness. You should free yourself of him."
"I choose otherwise."
"That is unwise." The strap of her petticoat had slipped, revealing another bruise on her shoulder. He put his other hand, thoughtfully, lightly, about her throat. "Beautiful Cuenulaan."
She placed a hand over his, so that his grip tightened. She smiled. Her eyes were huge. Her perfume covered him, intoxicating. Standing on tip-toe, she leant against him, and inhaled. Her breasts were warm against him. "Forget him."
He swallowed, and kissed her, without tenderness. Her proximity, as ever, confused him. He said, a little shakily, "You call him yours. I do not care to share."
She returned the kiss, laughing. "Not even you can have everything exactly as you want it, my Kenan."
He shivered. Then he took hold of the neck of her petticoat, and tore it. "Mayhap not," he said, "but be sure of this, my Cuena: I can try."
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