In the beginning...

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

It was an odd kind of post A-Level treat. Some teenagers went on skiing holidays, some were bought cars. She was taken to the middle of a bleak moorland (on which, somewhere, endangered flowers bloomed, though not at this time of year), and then largely left to amuse herself while her parents renewed old acquaintances and her brother took a posse of like-minded young men back down to the village pub.

She was glad to be here, though, in a place where she could sense the earth's heartbeat beneath her feet, where the gentle tugging of the wind at her hair seemed to lift with it the guilt and hurt and sadness of walking away from the man she loved.

"Hi. Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I'm not looking for a relationship right now." She said it almost automatically, before even turning round. Even at eighteen she knew the line, and knew as well that the rejection had to be given clearly and early to avoid worse hurt later.

His stunned expression gave way to slightly hysterical laughter. "Well, I guess at least I know where I stand. Are you Uncle Arthur's girl? I'm Rob." He held out a hand and she shook it. She could see the family resemblance now; something about the chiselled shape of the nose, the dark lashes around light blue-grey eyes. His grip was firm, his fingers dry and warm on hers. "Everyone else went down to the pub. You want to go join them?"

"Do I look like I care how Man Utd do?"

He raised his eyebrows at her long-suffering tone. "I suppose pretty and football mad was hoping for a bit much. OK, OK, I get the message. I'll see you around, 'K?" He took a few steps back and turned to go.

She winced. "Wait. I'm sorry."

He paused and looked back as she ran to catch him up. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm not usually quite that rude. I just broke up with my boyfriend, and... I'm a bit prickly."

"Prickly like a cactus," he agreed, but waited for her to fall in beside him. "Don't worry, if you hate football that much you're in no danger from me."

"I... don't mind it, most of the time," she said cautiously. She really didn't want a relationship, but the dry, analytical part of her mind told her to stop burning her bridges.

"I seeeeeeee," he said with an evaluating look that she met with a carefully-practised cool gaze, one eyebrow lifted. His lips twitched. "Pub or café?"

"Pub," she said firmly. "But you're buying."

He laughed. "OK, Miss Cactus. Ow. Ow. That look is killing me. OK, what should I call you when I don't want to die?"

"How about Sulien?" she suggested dryly. "It is my name, after all."

Comments

[pmp.livejournal.com]

Ok, how old IS Sulien?? I had a mental image of late 20's/early 30's?

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

That's fantastic.

I actually have a Bodmin NPC story floating around in my brain at the moment...