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metamorphosis2012-04-12 09:25 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2012-04-12 09:25 pm
Entry tags:
360;
Title: perpetuous
Characters: Spada Belforma, Luca Milda
Rating: G
95/365. GoT/TOI thing. Or something.
The Wall is a cold, harsh place, and it's honestly no place for someone Luca Milda (too used to the comforts of home, someone who was good with books and not much in the way of the sword) to be, yet the slight, slender boy stands beside him. Spada Belforma watches him carefully, sees the way he shakes from the biting wind and from the height of the Wall, and swaddles him in a coal black cloak. It isn't the first time Luca's dragged himself from bed to find Spada on his watch, and Spada feels it won't be the last. Not by a long shot. He can't say he despises the company - Luca's not a bad covnersation partner, once he got started - but it makes him a little uncomfortable to have to keep an eye out for danger (although the men in the commons whispered there wasn't any; Ser Ricardo Soldato always put them in their place with that cold, piercing blue gaze of his) while making sure the fool didn't tumble himself off and into the darkness below. If the fall didn't kill him (and, mercy willing, it would) whatever was out there, where the Rangers patrolled, would.
"Do you ever wonder why we're here?" Luca's voice startles him a little - it's soft and wheedling, like the breeze, and if he hadn't been watching him at that moment he would've thought it was just it - and Spada frowns a little, trying to decide on an answer. Or the meaning of it. Here at the Wall, or something else? The first is easy enough to answer (he was here because he was the seventh son of Lord Durante Belforma; there was nothing for him at home, but he could rise high here -- and Luca knows his own story just as well) but if it's something else, there's no helping. He settles for shrugging and waiting for the boy to explain himself, glancing away when Luca tries to catch his eyes and sets his lips together in a petulant frown. "Spada?"
"What's that even mean?" He asks, starting up his walk again. He hears Luca hesitate behind him, before the soft footfalls (unassuming, used to hiding and staying out of trouble) keep a beat seconds past his own. Luca's voice is a little louder - the wind's a little harder and it works against him, pushing his voice back instead of forward and so he works harder to have himself heard. "I mean -- not here on the Wall, because I guess that's pretty obvious, but, um... Why were we born here, in this land? We could've been in Areulla just as easily, and then we'd be hating the people we eat and drink with today. "
"Who knows?" His own voice sounds eerily distant, and he pauses to make sue he isn't just talking to himself. The wind rushes through him - he momentaily gripes over his decision to give his cloak to Luca instead of keeping it for himself - and he turns, thankful for the darkness hiding his smile when Luca jolts to a stop. "You shouldn't worry 'bout stuff like that up here, Luca. When your mind wanders, so do your feet. One minute you'll be thinkin' about that pretty servin' wench back home, and the next--" he kicks a stray rock off the edge of the Wall with the side of his boot. There's no sound for a long while; there's barely a sound when he does hit, soft for rock on rock, and Luca licks his lips (a habit that might as well earn him frostbite, if he kept it up in the coming winter) nervously.
"Okay. I understand." Luca puses, and there's another question he won't part with and Spada pretends he doesn't feel in the air, just for the sake of keeping up his rounds. "Thank you for letting me keep you company, Spada. I haven't been sleeping well."
"No kiddin'." Another rock skitters close to the edge and Spada furrows his brow at the shoddy gravel work. Who had done this part of the Wall--? "You should go back down though, unless you're thinkin' of stayin' up the rest of the night. I don't think that'd improve your swordsmanship much though."
Luca's embarrassment comes off of him in waves, but he makes a soft grunt of agreement and - once they get close enough to the basket down - takes his leave of Spada, giving a long, lingering look as he's lowered down. Spada stays long enough see him off, at least, and when the lad's scampering back to his warm bedroll he turns his face northward and keeps on, feeling fatigue starting to slip into his bones. It always did, after talking to Luca.
Characters: Spada Belforma, Luca Milda
Rating: G
95/365. GoT/TOI thing. Or something.
The Wall is a cold, harsh place, and it's honestly no place for someone Luca Milda (too used to the comforts of home, someone who was good with books and not much in the way of the sword) to be, yet the slight, slender boy stands beside him. Spada Belforma watches him carefully, sees the way he shakes from the biting wind and from the height of the Wall, and swaddles him in a coal black cloak. It isn't the first time Luca's dragged himself from bed to find Spada on his watch, and Spada feels it won't be the last. Not by a long shot. He can't say he despises the company - Luca's not a bad covnersation partner, once he got started - but it makes him a little uncomfortable to have to keep an eye out for danger (although the men in the commons whispered there wasn't any; Ser Ricardo Soldato always put them in their place with that cold, piercing blue gaze of his) while making sure the fool didn't tumble himself off and into the darkness below. If the fall didn't kill him (and, mercy willing, it would) whatever was out there, where the Rangers patrolled, would.
"Do you ever wonder why we're here?" Luca's voice startles him a little - it's soft and wheedling, like the breeze, and if he hadn't been watching him at that moment he would've thought it was just it - and Spada frowns a little, trying to decide on an answer. Or the meaning of it. Here at the Wall, or something else? The first is easy enough to answer (he was here because he was the seventh son of Lord Durante Belforma; there was nothing for him at home, but he could rise high here -- and Luca knows his own story just as well) but if it's something else, there's no helping. He settles for shrugging and waiting for the boy to explain himself, glancing away when Luca tries to catch his eyes and sets his lips together in a petulant frown. "Spada?"
"What's that even mean?" He asks, starting up his walk again. He hears Luca hesitate behind him, before the soft footfalls (unassuming, used to hiding and staying out of trouble) keep a beat seconds past his own. Luca's voice is a little louder - the wind's a little harder and it works against him, pushing his voice back instead of forward and so he works harder to have himself heard. "I mean -- not here on the Wall, because I guess that's pretty obvious, but, um... Why were we born here, in this land? We could've been in Areulla just as easily, and then we'd be hating the people we eat and drink with today. "
"Who knows?" His own voice sounds eerily distant, and he pauses to make sue he isn't just talking to himself. The wind rushes through him - he momentaily gripes over his decision to give his cloak to Luca instead of keeping it for himself - and he turns, thankful for the darkness hiding his smile when Luca jolts to a stop. "You shouldn't worry 'bout stuff like that up here, Luca. When your mind wanders, so do your feet. One minute you'll be thinkin' about that pretty servin' wench back home, and the next--" he kicks a stray rock off the edge of the Wall with the side of his boot. There's no sound for a long while; there's barely a sound when he does hit, soft for rock on rock, and Luca licks his lips (a habit that might as well earn him frostbite, if he kept it up in the coming winter) nervously.
"Okay. I understand." Luca puses, and there's another question he won't part with and Spada pretends he doesn't feel in the air, just for the sake of keeping up his rounds. "Thank you for letting me keep you company, Spada. I haven't been sleeping well."
"No kiddin'." Another rock skitters close to the edge and Spada furrows his brow at the shoddy gravel work. Who had done this part of the Wall--? "You should go back down though, unless you're thinkin' of stayin' up the rest of the night. I don't think that'd improve your swordsmanship much though."
Luca's embarrassment comes off of him in waves, but he makes a soft grunt of agreement and - once they get close enough to the basket down - takes his leave of Spada, giving a long, lingering look as he's lowered down. Spada stays long enough see him off, at least, and when the lad's scampering back to his warm bedroll he turns his face northward and keeps on, feeling fatigue starting to slip into his bones. It always did, after talking to Luca.