Advent Day Three

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Maelfic: Minor Foip warnings for headspace and Glorious Hammer internal politics. A hundred word drabble mostly on the subject of double entendre.

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Sometimes the banter seems safe.

She wonders whether the mystified bemusement of the Mameluks is prudishness or ignorance. Sethet must have some ideas – must stop thinking of him as a Mameluk, he’s his own master - though his blank-faced denial of understanding could be merely a failure of vocabulary.

Intoxication beckons. She does not want, anymore, to be stiff and formal in the face of it.

She craves closeness. Watches the casual contact between the humans - gods damn it all there’s no use pretending.

The words are knife-edge sharp.

She wonders, dimly, whether safety is the illusion, or fear.

Comments

[beornwulf-saxon.livejournal.com]

nice :D