☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"
"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"
In a feat of social inadequacy that is impressive even to me, the woman says, The party may not be boring, but even a crowd would not stop me from boredom should it claim me. She says this in a flat tone that is half-familiar; it could have come just as easily from my own mouth, but I have too much training and status to be so blunt in public. I consider her briefly. It isn’t quite an answer, but it is enough of one to prevent me from inquiring after her boredom, and what I might do to ease it.
(Charitability does not much suit me, anyways.)
When I ask her if I might help her, she is silent for a long, long time. Some violence seems to come over her, a deep breath that somehow feels sharp around the edges; her eyes rise up to meet mine, and her stare is somehow a challenge. I meet it, unblinking.
I have a feeling that she is more bark than bite. She might like to be all bite (and she is something like a snake, though the kind that bares its fangs) – but, if she were, I don’t think that she would make all her sharp edges so obvious. I spend my days keeping company with a man who used to be an assassin, after all. I know that the most useful blade is the one that no one else knows you have. That is why he is all friendly smiles and witty remarks.
Ishak is stained in more blood than I would care to consider. You’d never know it, from the way that you can catch him gossiping with the maids and offering courtesy after courtesy to each passing partygoer. You’d never know it, save perhaps for the way he can move as soundlessly as a breath of desert wind, and that is precisely why he is so dangerous.
I don’t know what she is trying to get from me, or what she is searching for, and I am not sure that I care – I am not sure that I could care, even if I wanted to. But this is my brother’s party, and I am a host, and she is watching me like a viper. It would be a shame to back away now.
When her voice comes out, half-snarl, I don’t even flinch. Why would I? I have stood still and hard as stone with my own surgical blade pressed to my throat. Should you help me, Ruth? If I were Pilate, I’m sure that my response would be some sharp retort about an inability to make small talk at parties, but I simply look at her like I used to look at the corpses that I would bring in from the desert to practice dissection, and I run my tongue along my teeth. The edges of my lips curve up in a hollow, polite smile that is utterly meaningless.
“I suppose,” I say, slowly, “that depends on what you would ask of me.”
@Dalmatia || dal is SUCH a babe....her intensity.... || Jeannine Hall Gailey, "Rapunzel: I like the Quiet"
(Charitability does not much suit me, anyways.)
When I ask her if I might help her, she is silent for a long, long time. Some violence seems to come over her, a deep breath that somehow feels sharp around the edges; her eyes rise up to meet mine, and her stare is somehow a challenge. I meet it, unblinking.
I have a feeling that she is more bark than bite. She might like to be all bite (and she is something like a snake, though the kind that bares its fangs) – but, if she were, I don’t think that she would make all her sharp edges so obvious. I spend my days keeping company with a man who used to be an assassin, after all. I know that the most useful blade is the one that no one else knows you have. That is why he is all friendly smiles and witty remarks.
Ishak is stained in more blood than I would care to consider. You’d never know it, from the way that you can catch him gossiping with the maids and offering courtesy after courtesy to each passing partygoer. You’d never know it, save perhaps for the way he can move as soundlessly as a breath of desert wind, and that is precisely why he is so dangerous.
I don’t know what she is trying to get from me, or what she is searching for, and I am not sure that I care – I am not sure that I could care, even if I wanted to. But this is my brother’s party, and I am a host, and she is watching me like a viper. It would be a shame to back away now.
When her voice comes out, half-snarl, I don’t even flinch. Why would I? I have stood still and hard as stone with my own surgical blade pressed to my throat. Should you help me, Ruth? If I were Pilate, I’m sure that my response would be some sharp retort about an inability to make small talk at parties, but I simply look at her like I used to look at the corpses that I would bring in from the desert to practice dissection, and I run my tongue along my teeth. The edges of my lips curve up in a hollow, polite smile that is utterly meaningless.
“I suppose,” I say, slowly, “that depends on what you would ask of me.”
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HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
