D U N E
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D
une was not pretty enough to work “the party of the season,” but they needed the help- almost the entire low quarter would be working that evening- and to Dune’s fundamental problem there were... solutions. It started with a bath. The water (so much water, he almost cried) was doused excessively with rose oil and ran from his skin a shade of brown so dark it looked black. Next came the hair. Two mares braided his mane and tail as it was wet, only to take out the painstaking braids once it had dried. For texture, they said, smiling at Dune’s reaction to this latest insanity.Then there was the paint. Made with flecks of real gold, if the rumors were true- and he had no reason to doubt they were. A man applied it in swirls and spirals all across the left side of the bay’s body, the patterns overlapping in such a way they formed different shapes depending on where you stood. You might see figures dancing from one angle, suns and shooting stars from another. The right side of his body was left bare, an empty canvas to which the painting could be compared and marvelled at, for who would think such beauty could take form from something so ordinary?!
“Don’t sweat,” the painter said as he ushered Dune from the room with a heavy sigh.
“You realize we live in a desert--” he was on the verge of commenting when the door was promptly shut in his face.
Fast forward to that evening- no, it’s night, definitely night, the boy has just been so focused that time has slipped away when he wasn’t looking. The party is crowded, the music loud (and decent), and Dune is inevitably beginning to sweat as he sweeps back and forth dispensing drinks and collecting empty glasses.
He’d say this is the worst job ever, but have you seen the poor fools who have to pretend to be statues? (gods, rich people are so weird) At least as a server he could move around at normal speed- in fact he moved quickly, because he wasn’t interested in conversations with most of these patrons. He had been instructed not just to serve but to entertain, to hold lovely and interesting conversations… but in front of anyone he didn’t like the look of, he pretended to be mute.
He’s standing toward the periphery, scanning for anyone in need of his services, when he spots a young mare who looks like she just fell from the sky. He felt the same way, too, when he first entered the Ieshan estate. Except his expression back then was probably painted more with disgust than awe.
Dune steps forward and draws the stranger’s attention with a soft “ahem.” When he catches her gaze, he smiles. A working smile- the polite warmth of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She seems nice and all, but he’s very nearly to the end of his shift and dead on his feet. “A drink, miss? Looks like you could use one.” A small tray floats between them, on it a collection of paper-thin goblets each filled with a different-colored liquid.
we look almost happy out in the sun, while we bleed to death from wounds we don't
know about
