|Subject:||I had fun with this one, thanks!|
|Author:||SlyRook (Authenticated as Ivysonnet)|
|Date:||October 9, 2012 at 6:52:24 PM|
|Reply to:||Duel Prompts Game by Siân|
Her head whipped up from where she had bent it, readying herself to slip through the net of branches before her. Her light, green eyes darted down both sides of the dusty, country road, but she saw nothing. Passing it off as the wind, she turned back to the brambles and fallen logs. Beyond it she could see the wildly unkempt road as it curved up into forested hills. She bent again, and a smile swept across her softly bowed lips as she remembered that first day that it had caught her attention.
Since no one had ever spoken of it before, she hadn’t even been aware that the place existed, not until the wind had blown her bandana into the thicket. She maneuvered her way carefully over the fallen branches. But when she reached the other side, pausing only to remove her shoes and skirt to reveal a worn pair of work pants, she charged up the hill with wild abandon, exulting in the sweet, soft grass beneath her toes and the release from the inhibitions of her peers.
It seemed to her as if the feral flowers on either side of the road had been made into bouquets especially for her, and that the wind blowing through her auburn hair was a personal friend saying, “Welcome back.” When she finally reached the top of the embankment she slowed, and approached the empty air before her.
She smiled and put on a convincing farce of her mother’s voice, “Women can’t wear pants. It isn’t ladylike to run dear Fay, what would your father think? How are you going to catch a husband if you don’t do your hair up like the other girls?”
She switched back to herself, “And why not?”
She mimed a fan in front of her face and put on a rather distressed expression as she shifted back into her mother’s voice, “Because no one had ever questioned it before darling. Oh! The very idea! It makes me faint.”
She snapped the pretend fan closed, becoming herself, “And speaking of hair,” she pulled the pins out from her ginger locks and fanned it out around her head, allowing it to float down near her waist. It hung for a second. Then the wind blew through it and the sensation caused her to laugh aloud.
She threw her arms wide as if to embrace the land below her, “Oh mother! If you could only share this taste of freedom! Surely then you would see the silliness of it all, but then your heart would be just as restless as mine. But still…” She turned a neat twirl on the ledge, “I feel as though I could fly.” Heart bursting with satisfaction and joy, Fay allowed herself to fall back into the grass, elated.
“I never would have believed it. Fay. Our dear Fay. In workmen’s pants.”
Fay jumped, twisting at her torso, eyes wide, “William!” She barely breathed the word. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline pulsing, leaves and bits of grass hanging from her hair. She felt like a trapped rabbit as she stared up at the brawny youth in front of her, muscles bulging from weeks under the summer sun, tending to the crops. Instead of his usual coveralls, she was surprised to see him wearing a rather nice, white button-up shirt over one of his less-stained pairs of pants.
Up over the spray of freckles that lay scatted over the bridge of his nose, and beneath his sun-bleached hair, his eyes sparkled an impish hazel, “I think it’s rather becoming.”
“William I– I –” Her hands went up over her head in a gesture of pleading, “PLEASE, don’t tell me mother. I–” She blinked, her hands receding from in front of her face, “What.”
“I said you look fetching in ‘em.” He extended a basket that held what looked to be a recently picked flower bouquet covered with a checkered layer of cloth, “Lunch?”
Fay stared at him, “I’m not in trouble.”
“Mum’s the word, just not yours, of course. Ham or chicken?”
She turned to face him, watching him set out the picnic things, and crossed her legs.
He caught her staring, “What?”
“You aren’t… well,” she waved her hand, trying to find the words.
“Shocked, angry, upset?”
She stopped, “Yes.”
“What?” He looked at her sideways, “Because I came upon my beloved Fay bein’ herself?” He ‘tched’ his tongue, “I don’t think so.”
“My mother would be furious.”
He waggled a piece of meat at her, “Do I look like this chicken to you?” He went back to the sandwiches, “Because last time I checked I was a man with my head still firmly on, even if my heart went and gave itself away all sneaky-like.” He paused, just briefly, as if to wipe his knife, “Though… last time I checked,” he snuck a sideways glance at her, “it was good and well protected.”
She looked down, abashed, and then back up at him from under her bangs, “I love you.”
He stopped and smiled, meeting her gaze full on, “I know.”
A breeze blew up, and Fay unconsciously leaned into him as he continued making lunch, “Chicken. I’d like the chicken.”
Another 'What am I?'
Voiceless it cries,
This message was edited by the author on October 9, 2012 at 6:53:36 PM
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