Ragnar and Delilah
Feb 12, 2011 1:27:54 GMT -5
Post by Kender Bard on Feb 12, 2011 1:27:54 GMT -5
Ragnar took the piece of chalk in his hand and finished off the prophecy he had been transcribing. When he was done, he looked at it, lifted the chalk again, and methodically began to scribble idly all over the board.
“And that, folks, is how a prophecy is ignored,” he remarked cheerfully to himself in the empty room. He took up a piece of felt and wiped the slate board clean again and glanced at the waterclock nearby. It was noon, time for all good little priests to begin their sermons if it was their appointed day. This being Fuoco, it was Etaf’s turn. Ragnar glanced around—his master was not anywhere in sight, of course. He grew very still and strained his hearing until he could barely catch the faint strains of snoring. He gave a small nod of grim satisfaction; noon on Fuoco, and his master was fast asleep, as he should be, dozing off a morning of some imbibed wines.
Ragnar could hardly fault the man; it wasn’t as if they had an audience at all, really. He glanced back over his shoulder to the empty room and sighed, then turned back to the board. Abruptly, he dropped the chalk and began rooting for his holy book. Maybe the room was empty, but it seemed disrespectful to Etaf to not even attempt to give a sermon at all. Then again, he was only twenty-four. What did he know? He wasn’t long out of acolytehood.
Well it wasn’t as if his master would berate him. Locating his book, he cracked it open to a random page and began to read aloud. At first he felt like a damned fool and started to close the book. He got a papercut. Wincing he stuck the finger in his mouth and considered it a warning sign. Finger in mouth, mumbling almost incomprehensibly, he read softly to himself.
It was easy for him to get lost in the passages of the book and, though he was reading aloud, he forgot who he was and where he was for a little while. When he looked up again, he gave a small yelp of surprise to see a young girl, surely no older than ten and most likely younger, sitting on a stool in front of him with a wide grin.
“Who the hel- uh,” Ragnar coughed lightly. “Who are you?”
The little girl giggled. “My name’s Delilah!” she told him with all the self-importance of any young noble. She even sat up a little straighter and lifted her head.
“Your parents will probably wonder where you are,” Ragnar told her. “So why don’t you be a good little girl and shoo now?”
“I told them I was going to the minor temple and they told me I could,” Delilah informed him with a smug ‘I win’ smile. “So I don’t need to go anywhere.”
“You’re not an Etafian, so you really don’t belong here,” Ragnar scowled. The last thing he wanted to have to put up with was babysitting some noble house’s little brat child when he could be getting some cleaning around the temple done.
“How do you know I’m not?” Delilah remarked, eyes a little wide.
“Because there’s two Etafians on this island and I’m one of them,” Ragnar snapped. “Now I’m serious, little girl-“
“Delilah,” she protested.
“Whatever. Go away. There’s valuable things in here and I don’t want your grubby, sticky little child fingers touching things. Go on, shoo!”
“But I want to hear you read some more!” she protested. When Ragnar started to refuse she took a deep breath and both of them paused, staring at one another in an impasse.
Maybe if I wait long enough, she’ll keep holding her breath until she passes out, Ragnar thought hopefully. Then he could go find one of the Soahcians, dump her on him, and get back to his quiet and solitude.
But just as he had finished the thought, Delilah started to squeal with such an ear-splitting intensity that he almost jumped out of his skin.
“All right, all right!” he shouted above her. She stopped immediately, grinning widely at him. “Forces above, you are a hellish child. But it’s not an unreasonable request, so if it keeps you quiet and gets you out of here sooner, then fine.”
Delilah rearranged her skirt to her liking, folded her hands upon her knees, and watched him with undivided attention.
So Ragnar passed the better part of his day reading random selections out of the Book of Stars. By the time he’d finished, his throat parched, the little girl was gone. “Stupid kid,” he muttered. “Probably didn’t hear a word of what I said.”
Then, the same day the following week, she returned. Ragnar wasn’t nearly so startled this time, but he was equally annoyed.
“Why are you back?” he asked her. “Don’t you have friends you should be playing with? Insane little child-plots to be cooking up?”
“It’s Fuoco, so I came to hear you read again,” Delilah told him with a merry smile. She looked for a stool and found one, though it was piled with papers. She gave these a brisk shove and sat down in their place.
Ragnar cried out in dismay, running around trying to gather the scattered pages up. “Damnit! Do you know how long it took to sort these?!”
Delilah bit her lip and, with deliberate movement, bent down and picked up a page that had slipped between the feet of her stool and offered it to him. He snatched it back and she gave a small squeal, leaping up and running out of the room. Feeling a migraine begin to start, Ragnar muttered under his breath and busied himself cleaning up the mess that the little girl had made.
Rather than wait a week, Delilah returned the next day with a handful of the wild flowers that grew on the island. She tiptoed up to Ragnar, who had noticed her and watched her warily, and extended them to him. “I’m sorry I spilled your papers, Lord Priest.”
“My name is Ragnar,” he told her, eyeing the flowers with disdain. “What are these?”
“They’re flowers!” she giggled. “Haven’t you seen a flower before?” Her eyes grew wide and solemn. “Do you live in this temple!? All day? Oh! That’d be boring and sad! You should come outside. I promise it’s not scary. I’ll hold your hand if you like.”
Ragnar wasn’t entirely certain if she was making fun of him or not. He accepted the flowers, looked at them for a moment, and tossed them on a table nearby and went back to his transcribing.
“You’re not very nice,” Delilah scolded him. “Why are you such a mean man?”
“I’m not mean,” Ragnar replied with dignity. “I just have no patience for small children. What are you? Four?”
“I’m six,” Delilah replied indignantly. “A very grown up six. I already have a sister and my mommy has another baby on the way. I’m heir to my House and very smart.”
Ragnar rolled his eyes.
“And I decided that I want to be an Etafian.”
Ragnar snorted again but put down his chalk. “And why would you want that, hmm? Everyone on this island is Soahcian and you act no differently.”
Delilah gave him a look like she couldn’t believe he even had to ask. “So you’re not lonely, of course.”
That took Ragnar aback to the point where he stood speechless before the smiling girl. Then, after a very long pause, he answered, “Well… Thank you, I think. But you shouldn’t choose a faith to simply be nice to someone else. You should follow your heart.”
“Well, I don’t know much about Etaf,” Delilah pointed out. “Maybe I’ll like her after all. Though if she’s like you, I dunno.” She cast a suspicious glance to the Etafian statues in the room by the altar. “But I want to at least know a little. Plus, I like your voice. I wish my daddy had a voice like yours and that he would read to me.”
Ragnar felt briefly flattered, and then like a complete idiot for being flattered by a six year old. “Well. We’ll see. I suppose it can’t hurt to educate you.”
“Will you read today since you didn’t yesterday?” Delilah asked him in such a sweet, wistful tone that Ragnar couldn’t help but feel that to deny her such a small request would be unbearably cold hearted of him.
“Fine,” he consented with a heavy sigh. “But not every day. If you want to hear more, come back next Fuoco.”
“Can I bring Seagull?”
Ragnar blinked. “Pardon?”
“My kitten.”
Ragnar shook his head. “No.”
Delilah gave him a very disapproving look. “You make it very hard to be nice.”
Spreading his hands with a wry smile, he quoted, “’He who questions his faith and still follows through will be justly rewarded.’”
“We’ll nego..negoshate the kitty later,” Delilah told him in a tone so brisk he could only assume she was mimicking one of her parents. Taking a seat that wasn’t currently occupied by anything, she looked at him expectantly.
Ragnar fetched his book and flipped to a random page. It was an exercise in futility, and he knew it, trying to convert such a natural born Soahcian. But at least he had an appreciative audience now.
“And that, folks, is how a prophecy is ignored,” he remarked cheerfully to himself in the empty room. He took up a piece of felt and wiped the slate board clean again and glanced at the waterclock nearby. It was noon, time for all good little priests to begin their sermons if it was their appointed day. This being Fuoco, it was Etaf’s turn. Ragnar glanced around—his master was not anywhere in sight, of course. He grew very still and strained his hearing until he could barely catch the faint strains of snoring. He gave a small nod of grim satisfaction; noon on Fuoco, and his master was fast asleep, as he should be, dozing off a morning of some imbibed wines.
Ragnar could hardly fault the man; it wasn’t as if they had an audience at all, really. He glanced back over his shoulder to the empty room and sighed, then turned back to the board. Abruptly, he dropped the chalk and began rooting for his holy book. Maybe the room was empty, but it seemed disrespectful to Etaf to not even attempt to give a sermon at all. Then again, he was only twenty-four. What did he know? He wasn’t long out of acolytehood.
Well it wasn’t as if his master would berate him. Locating his book, he cracked it open to a random page and began to read aloud. At first he felt like a damned fool and started to close the book. He got a papercut. Wincing he stuck the finger in his mouth and considered it a warning sign. Finger in mouth, mumbling almost incomprehensibly, he read softly to himself.
It was easy for him to get lost in the passages of the book and, though he was reading aloud, he forgot who he was and where he was for a little while. When he looked up again, he gave a small yelp of surprise to see a young girl, surely no older than ten and most likely younger, sitting on a stool in front of him with a wide grin.
“Who the hel- uh,” Ragnar coughed lightly. “Who are you?”
The little girl giggled. “My name’s Delilah!” she told him with all the self-importance of any young noble. She even sat up a little straighter and lifted her head.
“Your parents will probably wonder where you are,” Ragnar told her. “So why don’t you be a good little girl and shoo now?”
“I told them I was going to the minor temple and they told me I could,” Delilah informed him with a smug ‘I win’ smile. “So I don’t need to go anywhere.”
“You’re not an Etafian, so you really don’t belong here,” Ragnar scowled. The last thing he wanted to have to put up with was babysitting some noble house’s little brat child when he could be getting some cleaning around the temple done.
“How do you know I’m not?” Delilah remarked, eyes a little wide.
“Because there’s two Etafians on this island and I’m one of them,” Ragnar snapped. “Now I’m serious, little girl-“
“Delilah,” she protested.
“Whatever. Go away. There’s valuable things in here and I don’t want your grubby, sticky little child fingers touching things. Go on, shoo!”
“But I want to hear you read some more!” she protested. When Ragnar started to refuse she took a deep breath and both of them paused, staring at one another in an impasse.
Maybe if I wait long enough, she’ll keep holding her breath until she passes out, Ragnar thought hopefully. Then he could go find one of the Soahcians, dump her on him, and get back to his quiet and solitude.
But just as he had finished the thought, Delilah started to squeal with such an ear-splitting intensity that he almost jumped out of his skin.
“All right, all right!” he shouted above her. She stopped immediately, grinning widely at him. “Forces above, you are a hellish child. But it’s not an unreasonable request, so if it keeps you quiet and gets you out of here sooner, then fine.”
Delilah rearranged her skirt to her liking, folded her hands upon her knees, and watched him with undivided attention.
So Ragnar passed the better part of his day reading random selections out of the Book of Stars. By the time he’d finished, his throat parched, the little girl was gone. “Stupid kid,” he muttered. “Probably didn’t hear a word of what I said.”
Then, the same day the following week, she returned. Ragnar wasn’t nearly so startled this time, but he was equally annoyed.
“Why are you back?” he asked her. “Don’t you have friends you should be playing with? Insane little child-plots to be cooking up?”
“It’s Fuoco, so I came to hear you read again,” Delilah told him with a merry smile. She looked for a stool and found one, though it was piled with papers. She gave these a brisk shove and sat down in their place.
Ragnar cried out in dismay, running around trying to gather the scattered pages up. “Damnit! Do you know how long it took to sort these?!”
Delilah bit her lip and, with deliberate movement, bent down and picked up a page that had slipped between the feet of her stool and offered it to him. He snatched it back and she gave a small squeal, leaping up and running out of the room. Feeling a migraine begin to start, Ragnar muttered under his breath and busied himself cleaning up the mess that the little girl had made.
Rather than wait a week, Delilah returned the next day with a handful of the wild flowers that grew on the island. She tiptoed up to Ragnar, who had noticed her and watched her warily, and extended them to him. “I’m sorry I spilled your papers, Lord Priest.”
“My name is Ragnar,” he told her, eyeing the flowers with disdain. “What are these?”
“They’re flowers!” she giggled. “Haven’t you seen a flower before?” Her eyes grew wide and solemn. “Do you live in this temple!? All day? Oh! That’d be boring and sad! You should come outside. I promise it’s not scary. I’ll hold your hand if you like.”
Ragnar wasn’t entirely certain if she was making fun of him or not. He accepted the flowers, looked at them for a moment, and tossed them on a table nearby and went back to his transcribing.
“You’re not very nice,” Delilah scolded him. “Why are you such a mean man?”
“I’m not mean,” Ragnar replied with dignity. “I just have no patience for small children. What are you? Four?”
“I’m six,” Delilah replied indignantly. “A very grown up six. I already have a sister and my mommy has another baby on the way. I’m heir to my House and very smart.”
Ragnar rolled his eyes.
“And I decided that I want to be an Etafian.”
Ragnar snorted again but put down his chalk. “And why would you want that, hmm? Everyone on this island is Soahcian and you act no differently.”
Delilah gave him a look like she couldn’t believe he even had to ask. “So you’re not lonely, of course.”
That took Ragnar aback to the point where he stood speechless before the smiling girl. Then, after a very long pause, he answered, “Well… Thank you, I think. But you shouldn’t choose a faith to simply be nice to someone else. You should follow your heart.”
“Well, I don’t know much about Etaf,” Delilah pointed out. “Maybe I’ll like her after all. Though if she’s like you, I dunno.” She cast a suspicious glance to the Etafian statues in the room by the altar. “But I want to at least know a little. Plus, I like your voice. I wish my daddy had a voice like yours and that he would read to me.”
Ragnar felt briefly flattered, and then like a complete idiot for being flattered by a six year old. “Well. We’ll see. I suppose it can’t hurt to educate you.”
“Will you read today since you didn’t yesterday?” Delilah asked him in such a sweet, wistful tone that Ragnar couldn’t help but feel that to deny her such a small request would be unbearably cold hearted of him.
“Fine,” he consented with a heavy sigh. “But not every day. If you want to hear more, come back next Fuoco.”
“Can I bring Seagull?”
Ragnar blinked. “Pardon?”
“My kitten.”
Ragnar shook his head. “No.”
Delilah gave him a very disapproving look. “You make it very hard to be nice.”
Spreading his hands with a wry smile, he quoted, “’He who questions his faith and still follows through will be justly rewarded.’”
“We’ll nego..negoshate the kitty later,” Delilah told him in a tone so brisk he could only assume she was mimicking one of her parents. Taking a seat that wasn’t currently occupied by anything, she looked at him expectantly.
Ragnar fetched his book and flipped to a random page. It was an exercise in futility, and he knew it, trying to convert such a natural born Soahcian. But at least he had an appreciative audience now.
