1. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Seconds ticked off and slowly, in that darkness behind shut lids, she gained the little irksome feeling of having forgotten something. Not her child— that was being taken care of, well enough by the faint sound of it — but something else. Her gut told it was mighty important, which didn’t help...
  2. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    She didn’t hurry. Was none, after all, was there — the sailor’s chatter, though muffled by the walls, was cheerful enough and positively unending. Gave that bit of assurance and a blip of location in the house while she meandered about the rest of the rooms. An additional withdrawing room — or...
  3. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    All marks for raising to the challenge. Her lips pursed for the occasion, judgement in her squint. “ Rohan. Short and simple. Peaceful tune. “ She remarked in a hum and a tilt of the head, watching the child raised overhead. Wriggle of — apparently a dolphin? He would be the expert, wouldn’t...
  4. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Angling. She watched the play, as child pulled and tasted at a finger that curled, eyes affixed above to one who told tale and smiled. What did it taste — salt and rope, some grass and sunbleached wood? Probably not sanitary. But she wouldn’t care. The cup in her hand came up into a sip as she...
  5. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    He took instruction well, falling to the task like a fish to water. No stranger at all. She watched it with warm delight, letting herself down against one elbow. A muse relaxing on her laurels and certain she deserved every bit of it. The grub stared, one fist popping loose from where it’d...
  6. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    It was a date, then. She smiled to herself, eyes downcast to the orange as she ripped at its skin, determined to have it off in one large piece. A fun new shape with its tears and twists, like the shoreline of a large isle. Her look flit to Paramviiga as he shifted, inquiring. Fruit changed to...
  7. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    The compliments slipped clean by like water off the back of a duck. Shimmering silver, beautiful little rivers, but failing to sink in all the same. Her expression didn’t flicker, a statuesque mask of faint amusement upon it as he went on. And she listened, slowly draining her tea. “...
  8. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Her attention bounced betwixt those things he described, a blanket of concentration cast over her habitually pleasant expression. In the eyes that looked without seeing, taking in details without memorizing. Just words and the images they conjured. Fall instead of sink. Which one was a faster...
  9. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Laid there on his side in the sun, if just for a fleeting beat, he wickedly resembled a lounging statue of old, those carved from marble to represent whichever indulgence the beholder most desired. Beauty, joy, the shape of the flesh and the thrill. And she hovered motionless, a knowing twist to...
  10. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    “ Well, my love, I do hope that the neighbours look real carefully— “ Glanced over her shoulder and pursed her lips, as if having spied a pair of curious eyes in the shrubs. “ And feel the most soul-blistering envy at our bliss. “ She shrugged, adjusting where her skirt had bunched up at the...
  11. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    She’d hummed a bright tune, folding up the quilted spread off the large, too soft bed upstairs. Had it beneath one arm as she carefully picked two square pillows to go with off the chairs in what had the look of a library right across the hall. Fat tassels in the corners and velvet coverings...
  12. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    A whole year. She bobbed her head, in an inperceptibly small movement. Like it was dangerous to even suggest she accepted such an answer, or the smile or the comforting weight that leaned against hers. Warmth of a body solid with bones and a will and soft with the flesh. It was her turn to...
  13. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Those pretty pictures he’d painted of how it’d be like to go back home and introduce someone dear to it — they all wilted as he spoke of what he’d departed from. She couldn’t but nod heartfelt acknowledgement a the prison of mercies, for how the isles had often felt so similar. Had that not been...
  14. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    She listened, watched the memories and quirks of gesture and expression blow by, all with that pleasant warmth about her. Understanding in the eyes and a hint of melancholy in the corners of the smile — nostalgia or some unfulfilled wish, maybe. Hopes and dreams. Bittersweetness of past things...
  15. Mirka

    Private Rich Colour, Sweet Fruit

    Kharsaga. The flotilla she’d heard of in tales sung and spoken. Pictures drawn from memory, carved on whalebone, embroidered upon garments and deposited on the pages of books. The occasional craft on skin. When her look regarded him again, it was with a different glint, piqued but ultimately...
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