Snip for a chat discussion on dialogue.
Dec. 3rd, 2009 12:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
necia_phoenixFeel free to comment. This has not been edited.
It is rough and unedited and more than likely will NEVER make it to the final draft. I was exploring the way these two characters interact.
Valen is a swordsman and is of a race called Rahaun, loosely based on elves.
Trisha is a hume (a human with a very distant Rahaun ancestor)
Valen stared at the figure crouched beside the cupboard in the galley of the ship. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. For six months the Lordkiller had traveled with them before all hell broke loose. He had kept his distance then. He'd been in a dead end situation with a woman he should have left long before. Now was a bit different. He cleared his throat smiling when she barely turned her head. The end of her braid was coiled on the floor.
“If you were going to attack, Valen, you already would have.” she said dryly.
She closed the cupboard, stood and turned. She was taller than most women, her body lean. The breeches and leather vest did little to hide and more to enhance her curves. Valen let his eyes wander, enjoying a view he doubted he'd get to see again. Her sleeveless vest left her arms bare, strangely enough she had shed the cloak she'd been wearing earlier in the sewer. The over-sized hat that usually hid her features was resting on the counter behind her. She tipped her head to one side, her skin was pale, alabaster, no doubt a side effect of wearing that ridiculous hat.
Valen wasn't sure what was more distracting; her height and the way her clothing clung like a second skin over her very generous curves or the cool golden eyes that studied him as she hooked her thumbs in the wide sword belt.
“What are you doing on the ship?” he asked, mouth dry. He made no effort to hide the fact he was looking her up and down. She was worth several looks. If one wanted to forget that the weapons on her, the rapier, the knives and small crossbow, were weapons she regularly used, and used well. He'd seen her fighting up north. There was a good reason the people of Purgatory called her the Lordkiller. A slender eyebrow arched.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
She turned her back on him and opened one of the cupboards. “Ahh! There it is!”
He grinned as she pulled the bottle of red wine down and took two wineglasses. She moved with an unconscious sway to her hips. She slid into the booth and set the bottle on the table with a thump.
“You do realize this isn't your ship.” he said, mimicking her dry tone. She popped the cork out of the bottle and filled both glasses.
“I am fully aware of that fact, Lord Valen.” She turned sideways, resting her back against the wall her legs on the seat of the booth, on arm on the back of the booth, the other propped on the table. She lifted the nearest wineglass and watched the swirling wine.
“Then I ask again, Trisha, what the hell are you doing on the ship?” Valen rested his hands on the end of the table staring down at her as she sipped the wine. She arched an eyebrow staring up at him with those fascinating lions eyes.
“Drinking your wine, what the hell does it look like?” She set the wineglass down and leaned her head back, her booted foot jiggling. “What are you doing back on the ship? I thought Zander had you all snug in the palace.”
“With mechthol in the sewers I hesitate to sleep on shore.” He took the other wineglass and took a sip, not breaking eye contact.
“That makes sense.”
“I find it odd that the Lordkiller would hide though.” Valen drawled.
Her jiggling foot stilled and her face went blank before she gave a slight shrug and lifted her wine again.
“My orders were vague, I need a break.”
“So you came here?” Valen inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He half expected her to come at him with her knives. He slid into the seat opposite of her. She kicked her boots off. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you I will. I thought you lot would be holed up with the damn parliament.” She sipped her wine and closed her eyes.
“I suppose it isn't easy being the head assassin in town, huh?” He sipped at the wine watching her. For a moment he thought she had fallen asleep. She finally shrugged.
“Peace and quiet is hard to come by in this damn city.”
“Surprised that it even bothers you. You bitched enough about the quiet of the north.”
Her eyes opened and she gave a brief, breathtaking smile. “I guess I got used to it.”
It took Valen a few heartbeats to clear his head to choke out “Disillusioned with the guild?” He inwardly cursed. He was no untried youth yet he felt like one around her. And she was a hume!
She shrugged and downed the wine. Staring at the empty glass she reached over and refilled it.
Valen sipped his own wine, watching her. She belonged in a royal court, not as the head assassin of a crazy crime lord. She set the wineglass down, running her finger along the rim of the glass. Valen finished his and stood. He circled the table, standing at the end of her seat staring down at her. He held out his hands, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself. He was gambling. They'd danced around each other for six months in the North. She tipped her head again eyebrows arched.
“Stay the night.” He held his breath.
**hands out cloth to wipe blood from eyes
It is rough and unedited and more than likely will NEVER make it to the final draft. I was exploring the way these two characters interact.
Valen is a swordsman and is of a race called Rahaun, loosely based on elves.
Trisha is a hume (a human with a very distant Rahaun ancestor)
Valen stared at the figure crouched beside the cupboard in the galley of the ship. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. For six months the Lordkiller had traveled with them before all hell broke loose. He had kept his distance then. He'd been in a dead end situation with a woman he should have left long before. Now was a bit different. He cleared his throat smiling when she barely turned her head. The end of her braid was coiled on the floor.
“If you were going to attack, Valen, you already would have.” she said dryly.
She closed the cupboard, stood and turned. She was taller than most women, her body lean. The breeches and leather vest did little to hide and more to enhance her curves. Valen let his eyes wander, enjoying a view he doubted he'd get to see again. Her sleeveless vest left her arms bare, strangely enough she had shed the cloak she'd been wearing earlier in the sewer. The over-sized hat that usually hid her features was resting on the counter behind her. She tipped her head to one side, her skin was pale, alabaster, no doubt a side effect of wearing that ridiculous hat.
Valen wasn't sure what was more distracting; her height and the way her clothing clung like a second skin over her very generous curves or the cool golden eyes that studied him as she hooked her thumbs in the wide sword belt.
“What are you doing on the ship?” he asked, mouth dry. He made no effort to hide the fact he was looking her up and down. She was worth several looks. If one wanted to forget that the weapons on her, the rapier, the knives and small crossbow, were weapons she regularly used, and used well. He'd seen her fighting up north. There was a good reason the people of Purgatory called her the Lordkiller. A slender eyebrow arched.
“Looking.”
“For what?”
She turned her back on him and opened one of the cupboards. “Ahh! There it is!”
He grinned as she pulled the bottle of red wine down and took two wineglasses. She moved with an unconscious sway to her hips. She slid into the booth and set the bottle on the table with a thump.
“You do realize this isn't your ship.” he said, mimicking her dry tone. She popped the cork out of the bottle and filled both glasses.
“I am fully aware of that fact, Lord Valen.” She turned sideways, resting her back against the wall her legs on the seat of the booth, on arm on the back of the booth, the other propped on the table. She lifted the nearest wineglass and watched the swirling wine.
“Then I ask again, Trisha, what the hell are you doing on the ship?” Valen rested his hands on the end of the table staring down at her as she sipped the wine. She arched an eyebrow staring up at him with those fascinating lions eyes.
“Drinking your wine, what the hell does it look like?” She set the wineglass down and leaned her head back, her booted foot jiggling. “What are you doing back on the ship? I thought Zander had you all snug in the palace.”
“With mechthol in the sewers I hesitate to sleep on shore.” He took the other wineglass and took a sip, not breaking eye contact.
“That makes sense.”
“I find it odd that the Lordkiller would hide though.” Valen drawled.
Her jiggling foot stilled and her face went blank before she gave a slight shrug and lifted her wine again.
“My orders were vague, I need a break.”
“So you came here?” Valen inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He half expected her to come at him with her knives. He slid into the seat opposite of her. She kicked her boots off. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you I will. I thought you lot would be holed up with the damn parliament.” She sipped her wine and closed her eyes.
“I suppose it isn't easy being the head assassin in town, huh?” He sipped at the wine watching her. For a moment he thought she had fallen asleep. She finally shrugged.
“Peace and quiet is hard to come by in this damn city.”
“Surprised that it even bothers you. You bitched enough about the quiet of the north.”
Her eyes opened and she gave a brief, breathtaking smile. “I guess I got used to it.”
It took Valen a few heartbeats to clear his head to choke out “Disillusioned with the guild?” He inwardly cursed. He was no untried youth yet he felt like one around her. And she was a hume!
She shrugged and downed the wine. Staring at the empty glass she reached over and refilled it.
Valen sipped his own wine, watching her. She belonged in a royal court, not as the head assassin of a crazy crime lord. She set the wineglass down, running her finger along the rim of the glass. Valen finished his and stood. He circled the table, standing at the end of her seat staring down at her. He held out his hands, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself. He was gambling. They'd danced around each other for six months in the North. She tipped her head again eyebrows arched.
“Stay the night.” He held his breath.
**hands out cloth to wipe blood from eyes
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-03 07:27 pm (UTC)Though I must admit, the very end seems a bit abrupt. But that's without knowing what happened before, if I knew it might not seem that way.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-03 07:40 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting. :)