Everyday setting meme: other
Mar. 31st, 2011 04:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonPrompt from curiouslyenough.
Baking. Painting. Reading. Guitar. Ventriloquism. And then it looked like some dust might have settled in the two hours since she'd last tidied up, so she tidied up again. And then the fresh-baked pie aroma was starting to fade, so she made another pie, because was anything more inviting and homey than the smell of pie? Maybe Pascal didn't seem impressed, but Rapunzel wasn't actually sure his opinion counted, because how good a sense of smell did chameleons even have? What if he'd never appreciated pie smell, all this time? That would be horrible! She considered doing a little research, but then turned to her bookshelf and remembered that she only had three books and none of them were about herpetology.
It was now nine o'clock. So much free time before Mother came home! She was sure she could find something to do. Because wasn't she the luckiest girl, here in her own tower with all these nice things to keep herself amused?
"Well, aren't I?" she asked Pascal, a little desperately. He shook his head.
Maybe she could sigh wistfully and stare out into the meadow. That was becoming an ever-larger part of her routine, and usually it could be counted on to take up fifteen minutes to an hour. She absently scooped Pascal up and deposited him on her shoulder on her way over to open the window.
A rectangular shadow passed over the sun. That was not part of the routine. It dropped down and swooped closer - and Mother would have told her to be afraid, because nothing good ever came from outside, but she didn't go in and shut the window immediately.
It was some kind of flying rug. And there was a person on it - a really beautiful person. A woman (no fangs - men had fangs), but closer to her age than to Mother's.
"Good morning," said the stranger. "Is this your tower? It's beautiful."
"Eek," said Rapunzel.
The stranger smiled. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't think anyone lived here. I'm Jasmine."
"Jasmine," Rapunzel repeated thoughtfully. It didn't sound like the name of a thug. "You... have a nice carpet."
The carpet seemed to wave a tassel at her in appreciation. Well, if it could fly, who was to say it couldn't do that, too? Jasmine laughed. "Thank you. I'm borrowing it from a friend."
She had such a nice laugh. She seemed like such a nice person. And someone who had friends with flying carpets would probably have no reason to go after someone else's magic hair, right? "I'm Rapunzel. It's nice to meet you." That was the first step in making friends: introductions. Next somebody was supposed to invite somebody else somewhere. Maybe she should invite Jasmine in - but no, if Mother knew, she would be so mad. Mother didn't believe in guests, because guests were just dangerous people inside your house instead of outside. "So what is it like?" she said finally.
"What is what like? Riding the carpet?"
"The world."
Jasmine looked surprised, then ... disappointed? What was that look? "How often do you get out of this tower?"
"Um, never?" Now Jasmine seemed really displeased. Rapunzel hurried on, in case that had sounded ungrateful or something. "But that's fine, because it's a nice tower and it's not really safe out there and -"
Jasmine stood up and held out her hand. "Do you want to change that?"
"I - could I?"
"Absolutely."
"Won't it be dangerous?"
"Rapunzel. I know all about this. If you want to get out, I can make it happen. You shouldn't let anyone stop you."
Rapunzel glanced at Pascal. He nodded decisively. She turned to Jasmine, biting her lip. "Can I be back by dinnertime?"
"In that case, there won't be time to see the entire world," Jasmine said dryly, "but it's up to you."
The hardest part of the operation was getting Rapunzel's hair (or at least enough of it that it wouldn't create drag, or draw too much attention fluttering randomly out of the sky) onto the carpet. The actual flight was unbelievably smooth, and full of amazing sights, and may or may not have entailed a musical number.
(They decided to go for another ride the next Thursday. Miles away, some doofus named Eugene Fitzherbert suddenly became irrelevant.)
Baking. Painting. Reading. Guitar. Ventriloquism. And then it looked like some dust might have settled in the two hours since she'd last tidied up, so she tidied up again. And then the fresh-baked pie aroma was starting to fade, so she made another pie, because was anything more inviting and homey than the smell of pie? Maybe Pascal didn't seem impressed, but Rapunzel wasn't actually sure his opinion counted, because how good a sense of smell did chameleons even have? What if he'd never appreciated pie smell, all this time? That would be horrible! She considered doing a little research, but then turned to her bookshelf and remembered that she only had three books and none of them were about herpetology.
It was now nine o'clock. So much free time before Mother came home! She was sure she could find something to do. Because wasn't she the luckiest girl, here in her own tower with all these nice things to keep herself amused?
"Well, aren't I?" she asked Pascal, a little desperately. He shook his head.
Maybe she could sigh wistfully and stare out into the meadow. That was becoming an ever-larger part of her routine, and usually it could be counted on to take up fifteen minutes to an hour. She absently scooped Pascal up and deposited him on her shoulder on her way over to open the window.
A rectangular shadow passed over the sun. That was not part of the routine. It dropped down and swooped closer - and Mother would have told her to be afraid, because nothing good ever came from outside, but she didn't go in and shut the window immediately.
It was some kind of flying rug. And there was a person on it - a really beautiful person. A woman (no fangs - men had fangs), but closer to her age than to Mother's.
"Good morning," said the stranger. "Is this your tower? It's beautiful."
"Eek," said Rapunzel.
The stranger smiled. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't think anyone lived here. I'm Jasmine."
"Jasmine," Rapunzel repeated thoughtfully. It didn't sound like the name of a thug. "You... have a nice carpet."
The carpet seemed to wave a tassel at her in appreciation. Well, if it could fly, who was to say it couldn't do that, too? Jasmine laughed. "Thank you. I'm borrowing it from a friend."
She had such a nice laugh. She seemed like such a nice person. And someone who had friends with flying carpets would probably have no reason to go after someone else's magic hair, right? "I'm Rapunzel. It's nice to meet you." That was the first step in making friends: introductions. Next somebody was supposed to invite somebody else somewhere. Maybe she should invite Jasmine in - but no, if Mother knew, she would be so mad. Mother didn't believe in guests, because guests were just dangerous people inside your house instead of outside. "So what is it like?" she said finally.
"What is what like? Riding the carpet?"
"The world."
Jasmine looked surprised, then ... disappointed? What was that look? "How often do you get out of this tower?"
"Um, never?" Now Jasmine seemed really displeased. Rapunzel hurried on, in case that had sounded ungrateful or something. "But that's fine, because it's a nice tower and it's not really safe out there and -"
Jasmine stood up and held out her hand. "Do you want to change that?"
"I - could I?"
"Absolutely."
"Won't it be dangerous?"
"Rapunzel. I know all about this. If you want to get out, I can make it happen. You shouldn't let anyone stop you."
Rapunzel glanced at Pascal. He nodded decisively. She turned to Jasmine, biting her lip. "Can I be back by dinnertime?"
"In that case, there won't be time to see the entire world," Jasmine said dryly, "but it's up to you."
The hardest part of the operation was getting Rapunzel's hair (or at least enough of it that it wouldn't create drag, or draw too much attention fluttering randomly out of the sky) onto the carpet. The actual flight was unbelievably smooth, and full of amazing sights, and may or may not have entailed a musical number.
(They decided to go for another ride the next Thursday. Miles away, some doofus named Eugene Fitzherbert suddenly became irrelevant.)
