Guys, I don’t know what to write next in Rin/Girey. I know that there should be more story on their trip, but I’m just not sure WHAT.
Mew.
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A short drabble of Girey, in Osslund, after:
In Context (available in Tales for the Sugar Cat), Unexpected Hello (LJ, and Not. Jealous. (LJ)
Furlough
“Relax.”
It was easy for Karak to say; he was on his third cup of the bitter, greenish drink that the Callanthe drank as a cocktail. Girey had swallowed one small glass by not breathing, but had declined a second, his tongue still burning from the first.
“No, I mean it.” Karak set his glass down, and shook his head warningly. “You’re not in battle anymore, soldier. Let it go.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Girey answered stiffly. Where had Rin and Noni gotten to? There had been a lot of laughing and whispering, and they’d headed upstairs, leaving him shackled to the chair with this one-legged veteran for company.
“You’re still on duty. Rin’s been hauling you across the country for how long, and you’ve still got your back stiff, you’re still acting like you’re on patrol. Relax. You’ve been mustered out.”
“I was captured,” he countered.
“And, not to be rude, but your country was defeated. You can’t lead a noble resistance from the back of your captor’s goat, and, besides, you’re not going to stab her in the back.”
“You seem awfully sure about that.” Never mind that Girey was pretty sure he was right.
“I’m pretty sure about people, that’s all. If she continues to treat you right, you’ll continue to be loyal to her.”
“That’s an exaggeration.” He was not “loyal” to the enemy!
“All right, all right. Another drink?”
“No.” Training kicked in, covering over his sullenness. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough.” And so had the other man, but that wasn’t his place to say.
“Hardly. I could build a table with you, you’re so stiff. So you’re not loyal to her, but you’re not going to stab her. You can’t really escape. So relax. It may not be the rest time you were hoping for, but it’s a rest. You don’t have anything you have to do here.”
He studied his empty glass thoughtfully. “So,” he said, carefully, in Callanthe, “you’re suggesting I look at being taken prisoner as… a furlough?”
The veteran laughed. “You were a commissioned officer, all right. Nobility? Enlisted men know to take every break you get. Never know when another one might come.”
“You might have a point.” Girey leaned back in his seat, pondering Karak’s words. If the soldier had noticed, Rin had; if she thought he was still preparing for battle, she’d never let down her guard around him. Maybe it was time to relax.
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So, I played around a bit with the map of Reiassan.
Assuming an average travel of about 16 miles a day (the terrain is hella rocky, and they don’t have remounts), I blocked out 4-day legs of the trip (conveniently, 1 longitudinal minute(for this planet; Earth’s is 69mi)
It’s a really messy map, and I have to figure out what to to with the one coastal drabble that now doesn’t fit. But. It says that the base length of the trip is 92 days.
This doesn’t include things such as the layover in Ossulund, of course, or the two nights in the cave, but even with that, we’re talking ~ 100 days, or 1 season.
Well, now I have to a) figure out the length of the Reiassani year/season, and b) edit the trip for seasons.
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lilfluff requested Jas-who-will-be-a-boy/Rin or Girey in the kissing meme.
Notes: “Tuathan” is what the Cali royalty call themselves. Girey’s language is not actually Italian, but it’s within close enough that Jas could pick out basic words.
Not canon
Jas knew better.
There were rooms in the sub-sub-sub-basement sections of the Agency where you just didn’t go, and there were rooms where, when you had to clean something, you cleaned very carefully only where you were told to, and didn’t cross the blue lines.
You never crossed the blue lines.
This time, well, the blue line had been under something, and s/he’d moved it (Jas was still coming to terms with pronouns. Everyone here, even the cats who knew better, treated him like a boy. But there was still the little voice in the back of his/her head saying that wasn’t quite right. Yet. Yet?). Jas had moved the box, because it needed to be cleaned.
He was pretty sure he hadn’t tripped, but the next thing he knew, he was falling through a bright blue doorway…
…and landing in the middle of a campfire. He yelped, and stumbled backwards…
…into the arms of the most beautiful non-Tuathan woman he had ever seen. Heart pounding, ass mildly scorched, and still smelling slightly of cleaning products, Jas did the only thing that came to mind.
He kissed her.
He knew the logistics, of course. He’d kissed other slaves, in the barracks, boys and girls, and Lords had kissed her, once or twice, before she shifted to boy’s livery. He knew what he was doing, and, it seemed, so did the woman.
It lasted about three heartbeats before the man, chains jangling, yanked him away. “You came through there?” he asked, in heavily-accented Italian. Jas, now even more disoriented, nodded. The doorway was about four feet up in the air, shining bright blue.
“Go home,” the man grunted, and threw Jas through the doorway.
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