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Jul 10, 2009

I have been meaning to do this for ages. Gimme a plane, and a flash rule. I might as well do this properly.



Jul 10, 2009

Mercedes posted:

Well poo poo. I have no electricity in my drat house.

You have five and a half hours and thumbs.

Jul 10, 2009

Before I am an idiot and fall asleep forgetting to post this:

Prompt: Elemental Plane of Air
Flash Rule:

Last Breath, 897 words

With a spray of leaves, she leaps, breathless, from the seaside cliff, skimming across the ocean to churn up great waves and frolic in the salty froth of their breaking. She glides above the ocean, picking up a scrap of cloth set out by mortals to court her favor. She accompanies them out to sea, watching the sun rise and fall, again and again. Eventually, her fascination leaves her languishing in their sails, entranced by the heavens for days until their prayers and rituals rouse her from her slumber. It takes her time to wake, but soon she picks up speed, leaving them as she reaches the shoreline.

She finds trees and leaves again on this shore, the foliage trembling and trunks leaning with her passing, inspiring the forest to emulate the ocean in her wake. Then, trees give way to scrubby hills and valleys. She leaps from hilltop to hilltop and soars through the valleys, savoring the faint smell of smoke as she smears it across the sky from the chimneys that clog one of the valleys. Lost in the heady aroma, she glides up the mountainside before a new aroma captures her attention.

Sweat. Fear. Only a hint on her first pass, so she soars up the mountain, somersaulting off of the peak and drifting slowly down, circling until she finds the source. Men. Two of them. Well, two that matter. Dancing, back and forth along a mountain path, the edges lined with men that did not. She circles down, watching them dance, waiting for a break in which she could insert herself.

The break apart and she pounces, rushing down to press herself against the handsome one. Her hand grazes against his cheek, running through his hair, whipped up by the breeze. Her eyes, inches from him, stare intently, and his stare back, and through her, to his opponent. He reassumes his stance, whipping his sword through where she stands and facing the other man once more.

With a huff she swirls back together, kicking up dust on the path in her irritation. But she had never taken no for an answer before, and today is no exception. As they clash together once more, blades touching and dancing around each other, points cutting through the air and jabbing past, she is there. She swirls around steel, whipping around their heels as they dance.

She favors the handsome one, savoring his flowing movements and the way his long hair moves in the wind. The other is fine, but his shaved head and the menís stripped torsos stand impassive and unmoved by her touch. His sword, though, entrances her, every movement sharp and precise, stirring currents in her heart as she dips and twirls beneath them.

Swords clash together, their edges binding for a moment, and the bald man shoves, throwing the other to the ground, followed quickly by the point of a sword. The one on the ground is too quick, however, rolling free and springing to his feet. The sword point catches him across the torso as he staggers back, sending a new fragrance splattering through the air to land on the path and drip down his heaving chest. Suddenly less steady on his feet, the man whips back his hair and resumes his stance, the circling beginning once again.

The fighters turn, watching as her presence blows the dust from the one who had fallen and picks up the droplets of sweat and blood that fall from him. The pretty one blinks first, lunging and attacking ferociously. The bald man merely backs up, retreating as his enemy churns the air, chasing him around the small arena.

He cannot retreat forever. As an errant lunge forces him to stumble into the crowd, he comes back with a counterattack, drawing his blade across his opponentís forearm, and leaving a deep gash in the sword-arm in its wake. He uses the distraction to dart past, opening more distance between him and the wounded man.

There is a short pause, for just a moment, as they part, nothing moving but the wind swirling around them in excitement. Then a shout fills the air, and the blooded man charges, any pretense of finesse or subtlety abandoned. Swords crash together. Once. Again, this time the young man grabbing the otherís sword arm and pulling them together with desperate strength. They turn together in a deadly dance as they wrestle for control. Once again the man is thrown back, this time retaining his feet, but not enough composure to dodge the sword point that buries itself in his chest, withdrawing just as quickly.

He looks down, then up again, as if to resume the fight, but his legs fail him, and he tumbles to his knees, gasping for breath, then his side, rolling onto his back. As one, the crowd remove their hats, a gentle breeze running through the feathers and waving the corners of their coats. Even the bald man looks down solemnly, sword pointed to the ground.

She kneels behind the handsome one, pressing her lips to his and giving him one final lung-full of air with the kiss. His eyes shoot open, staring up at her in shock, the mortal seeing her at last. Then his chest rattles, the man exhaling slowly. For a moment his last breath lingers, before it is gone, lost in the wind.

Jul 10, 2009

In. Let's buck the trend and go He.

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