Moonbird
05-05-08, 12:28 PM
Closed. A rather peculiar solo. Prequel to...nothing; just set about two years before the current Rhia. Description is one of my hated things so there will be more show, less tell, hopefully, in this story.
And there are 'oh my god' naughty situations here that aren't suitable for li'l ones. Forgot to say. Read at your own peril, yada yada yada.
She was a diplomat's nightmare.
It was back when Rhia was still working as an 'ambassador', or so she liked to call it. Really, all she did was wander around being polite. Sampling local food and culture, kissing some babies, trying on some outfits, all in the name of love, peace and co-operation. It had been going well for months now. Just bad luck, that was all. A spanner in the works. A spanner named Fiona.
She'd come over from one of the 'unexplored' countries on the map. Rhia had known she was going to be a nightmare from sight. Could've been the crazy look in her eyes, could've been the untidy mass of her hair, but it was probably the flask of red-brown liquid she drank from.
"It's just juice. From a fruit."
"What fruit gives juice like that? It's more like soup than juice."
"It's a good fruit."
But Rhia had smiled sweetly, dropped a curtsey and been so courteous you would have thought she believed every word. Perhaps she did.
---
She looked up, and he entered without knocking.
"So you've landed up here, then," he said. There was no expression in his voice or face.
Hers was full of pity. "Yes."
He sat down. The chairs were rickety, but not uncomfortable. He'd grown a beard; changed his hair. His eyes were older. It felt like she was meeting him for the very first time, a young girl in a too-tight white dress, thrown off by his magical stories. "Rhiona."
She shook her head.
"Rhia."
"Yes."
And now their voices were quiet and guarded. "How is your father?" he enquired, with the air of someone who must finish what he has started.
"Very well, I believe. And your mother?" Her eyes held no comfort for him.
"No worse."
"That is good, then."
"Yes."
The pause dragged on too long. He rose once more, strolling around the small room that was her temporary home. She watched him.
The natives here claimed that they hated direct eye-contact, as it saw through the thin membrane of the eyes and into the soul itself; but whenever Rhia happened to look up at one, they were always staring right at her. She didn't mind. Her soul was clean. Or at least, acceptably grubby. But she could look at him with no shame or shyness, because neither of them believed in souls, and both of them knew that the other was pure and deadly poison.
"How are you getting on with the natives?" she asked, a polite smile quirking her lips.
"They seem friendly enough," he replied briefly.
She nodded, and bent her head to arrange the tea set. Her red hair was combed neatly and tied with a white ribbon, and it fell about her face in orderly waves. When she looked up, his expression was unfathomable - and yet -
The unspoken question lingered on his eyes. Had it been hanging there since that day, so many years ago; like a tick or some other loathesome parasite, clinging onto his smiles and frowns; always unasked, and always unanswered?
As the fake amost-crying expression spread across her face, she shook her head. And she knew, as she did so, that every shake was an arrow to his heart and a bullet to his brain; and she finally felt the triumph and the joy of the kill.
---
"Manipulative bitch!"
"Hypocritical parasite."
"You fucking whore!"
"Don't even try it, you pathetic moron."
"What are you going to do, fuck me and get me charged for rape?"
"Be quiet."
"Yeah, because you're so good at it."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Just like you did to-"
The neat snick! of a knife through a pair of slim, white ribs.
---
"Are you - sure?"
In uttering the words that should have remained unsaid, he had broken their, again unspoken, vow of silence. So she was perfectly within her rights to do as she did, to scream, and to yell, and to plead and sob. She had always been such a very good actress. She dragged off her overcoat (there was little heating in the dwelling) and pawed and kneaded at her skirt and shirt until they were rumpled and untidy. She shook at her hair until the locks were once more unruly, like they had been on that day, now so very long ago. And then she smiled a tight, menacing smile, and she left the room still crying with hacking sobs.
And he now had an inkling of what she was about to do. With desperate energy he shouted her name -"Rhia! Rhiona!" but she didn't listen. He sat down heavily, and bowed his head.
Not again...oh, not again.
And there are 'oh my god' naughty situations here that aren't suitable for li'l ones. Forgot to say. Read at your own peril, yada yada yada.
She was a diplomat's nightmare.
It was back when Rhia was still working as an 'ambassador', or so she liked to call it. Really, all she did was wander around being polite. Sampling local food and culture, kissing some babies, trying on some outfits, all in the name of love, peace and co-operation. It had been going well for months now. Just bad luck, that was all. A spanner in the works. A spanner named Fiona.
She'd come over from one of the 'unexplored' countries on the map. Rhia had known she was going to be a nightmare from sight. Could've been the crazy look in her eyes, could've been the untidy mass of her hair, but it was probably the flask of red-brown liquid she drank from.
"It's just juice. From a fruit."
"What fruit gives juice like that? It's more like soup than juice."
"It's a good fruit."
But Rhia had smiled sweetly, dropped a curtsey and been so courteous you would have thought she believed every word. Perhaps she did.
---
She looked up, and he entered without knocking.
"So you've landed up here, then," he said. There was no expression in his voice or face.
Hers was full of pity. "Yes."
He sat down. The chairs were rickety, but not uncomfortable. He'd grown a beard; changed his hair. His eyes were older. It felt like she was meeting him for the very first time, a young girl in a too-tight white dress, thrown off by his magical stories. "Rhiona."
She shook her head.
"Rhia."
"Yes."
And now their voices were quiet and guarded. "How is your father?" he enquired, with the air of someone who must finish what he has started.
"Very well, I believe. And your mother?" Her eyes held no comfort for him.
"No worse."
"That is good, then."
"Yes."
The pause dragged on too long. He rose once more, strolling around the small room that was her temporary home. She watched him.
The natives here claimed that they hated direct eye-contact, as it saw through the thin membrane of the eyes and into the soul itself; but whenever Rhia happened to look up at one, they were always staring right at her. She didn't mind. Her soul was clean. Or at least, acceptably grubby. But she could look at him with no shame or shyness, because neither of them believed in souls, and both of them knew that the other was pure and deadly poison.
"How are you getting on with the natives?" she asked, a polite smile quirking her lips.
"They seem friendly enough," he replied briefly.
She nodded, and bent her head to arrange the tea set. Her red hair was combed neatly and tied with a white ribbon, and it fell about her face in orderly waves. When she looked up, his expression was unfathomable - and yet -
The unspoken question lingered on his eyes. Had it been hanging there since that day, so many years ago; like a tick or some other loathesome parasite, clinging onto his smiles and frowns; always unasked, and always unanswered?
As the fake amost-crying expression spread across her face, she shook her head. And she knew, as she did so, that every shake was an arrow to his heart and a bullet to his brain; and she finally felt the triumph and the joy of the kill.
---
"Manipulative bitch!"
"Hypocritical parasite."
"You fucking whore!"
"Don't even try it, you pathetic moron."
"What are you going to do, fuck me and get me charged for rape?"
"Be quiet."
"Yeah, because you're so good at it."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Just like you did to-"
The neat snick! of a knife through a pair of slim, white ribs.
---
"Are you - sure?"
In uttering the words that should have remained unsaid, he had broken their, again unspoken, vow of silence. So she was perfectly within her rights to do as she did, to scream, and to yell, and to plead and sob. She had always been such a very good actress. She dragged off her overcoat (there was little heating in the dwelling) and pawed and kneaded at her skirt and shirt until they were rumpled and untidy. She shook at her hair until the locks were once more unruly, like they had been on that day, now so very long ago. And then she smiled a tight, menacing smile, and she left the room still crying with hacking sobs.
And he now had an inkling of what she was about to do. With desperate energy he shouted her name -"Rhia! Rhiona!" but she didn't listen. He sat down heavily, and bowed his head.
Not again...oh, not again.