500 Words - "Jagertanzerin I"
May. 1st, 2004 06:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caraigThe title of this is 'Jagertanzerin,' very crude German for, 'Hunting Dancer.' When I started it, I sort of realized it was going to take more than one episode for it, so I've split it up some. I didn't think it was going to take up more than two, however, though it seems like it's going to.
For those of you who were following the storyline with Okana Ng and Jessica Kaine I will be re-writing the latest part to that soon enough. It really did not turn out all that well.
Markstraatsburg at night was a field of lights filtering from rough glass windows out onto the snow, glittering yellow like motes of wheat worriedly awaitng harvest. To Fuchsmaus, the city was nice in a somewhat rough way.
She made her way down the hill to the gates, keeping one eye on the Schwartzwood to the north. The watchtowers were dark trees rising above the tangled wall of the forest's edge, against the midnight blue sky and touched by the full moon's light. Nothing stirred there this evening, which was fortunate. Also fortunate was that she could not see the patches of felled trees that the Erbfeinde had made in their attacks. Her entry into the city was not hindered by anything other than a quick glance at her by the guard and a curt nod.
She walked through the streets. She had never been here before but her father and her tutor had told her all that she had needed to know about it....
"You are headstrong, Swanlinde. Perhaps too much so. But if it is your wish to become one of the panzerkriegen at Markstraatsburg, holding the walls against the Erbfeinde, then so be it."
She knew exactly where she was headed, but even then she did not need the map of the city memorized. She merely followed the bawdy singing coming from one of the many pubs. In fact, one beer-hall in particular.
Swanlinde was hesitant about going in. It had all the sound and stink of where even a lesser noble's kinder had no place being. But Fuchsmaus could hardly wait any longer and pushed forward inside.
It had no name, in fact it was rather decrepit. But the main hall was large, and warm, and the host was welcoming of the panzerkriegen. As were the serving maids and men -- or at least they pretended well enough to enjoy the carousing of the panzerkriegen. She grimaced a little at the sight, but some part of her was thrilled. If something was going to happen, it would be here.
She was not immediately noticed. The panzerkriegen in their heavy plate armor of weisstahl were loud and boistrous, singing songs, flirting and groping the beer-hall's help -- male and female, as appropriate. Her dun-colored robe and hood let her blend in with people well enough. She made her way to the bar, and ordered a mug of the watered-down grog and a plate of food. The greyish meat was probably just short of inedible, but the bread was at least warm if stale, and the grog would let it go down.
"You wish me to train her in what, meister?"
"You heard me. And you heard her, as well. She wishes to fight the Erbfeinde."
"It is a hard life, meister. Markstraatsburg has minimal supplies and the death rate amongst the defenders is terribly high."
"She is a hard girl."
"But your family has no history of being panzerkriegen--"
"Then let that change. Now."
"Hoi! A new one has come!"
She jarred her attention back to Markstraatsburg and the boistrous voice that came too closely. She turned slightly, looking up at the hulking panzerkrieger towering above her. She figured that if she were to strain herself, she might be able to touch both his shoulders.
Despite his hulking size, he had a broad smile, the cheerfully leering visage of one enjoying the carousing of the evening. "You're a little small, fair one," he said (she would swear his voice was so deep it came from lungs that were bottomless,) but if you're willing, I'll be gentle." The wink he gave cleared up any possible doubt as to what he was talking about.
"I'm not here to be a dirne," she said calmly and sharply. Swanlinde was taken strongly aback by his affrontery. Fuchsmaus was no less insulted... but she was also eager. Though wether to see just how gentle the panzerkrieger would be, or to kick his armored arse, she wasn't entirely sure.
Her answer, however, surprised him, and he blinked for a moment, then grinned again, starting to sit beside her. "Well, if you're new to Markstraatsburg, I'm more than happy to show a fair one like you what it's like he--"
Fuchsmaus waited until he was just putting his weight on the stool, before kicking it out from under him. With a clatter and clang of weisstahl upon oak, the panzerkriegen fell into a heap on the floor, spluttering. While Fuchsmaus inwardly laughed and hadn't wanted it any other way, Swanlinde was saddened that her introduction to the panzerkrieger would be in this manner.
Fuchsmaus stood quickly, kicking the chairs out of the way and casting the edges of the cloak outward so she could have her arms ready for any retaliation from the fallen panzerkriegen.
He was, indeed, incensed. "Why you little--!" And then he fell silent, staring, seeing what the other patrons had seen perhaps a few moments earlier. Her armor -- for armor it was -- was of white-dyed boiled leather, and in a style not unlike that of the panzerkriegens' own plate armor. Instead of a zweihander at her back, which would have been a miniscule weapon, a pair of short, heavy swords hung in scabbards. And, what Swanlinde was perhaps most proud of, the lining of her cloak was likewise white linen, with thick embroidery suggestive of feathers.
By all rights, and the gold circlet binding her ash-brown hair, she was a panzerkriegen in all but size. It was this that gave the hulking armored soldiers their pause.
Swanlinde let them stare for a few moments, before deciding it was long enough. She nodded a little, and walked for the door with magestic slowness, Fuchsmaus adding a slightly proud sway to her step.
For those of you who were following the storyline with Okana Ng and Jessica Kaine I will be re-writing the latest part to that soon enough. It really did not turn out all that well.
Markstraatsburg at night was a field of lights filtering from rough glass windows out onto the snow, glittering yellow like motes of wheat worriedly awaitng harvest. To Fuchsmaus, the city was nice in a somewhat rough way.
She made her way down the hill to the gates, keeping one eye on the Schwartzwood to the north. The watchtowers were dark trees rising above the tangled wall of the forest's edge, against the midnight blue sky and touched by the full moon's light. Nothing stirred there this evening, which was fortunate. Also fortunate was that she could not see the patches of felled trees that the Erbfeinde had made in their attacks. Her entry into the city was not hindered by anything other than a quick glance at her by the guard and a curt nod.
She walked through the streets. She had never been here before but her father and her tutor had told her all that she had needed to know about it....
"You are headstrong, Swanlinde. Perhaps too much so. But if it is your wish to become one of the panzerkriegen at Markstraatsburg, holding the walls against the Erbfeinde, then so be it."
She knew exactly where she was headed, but even then she did not need the map of the city memorized. She merely followed the bawdy singing coming from one of the many pubs. In fact, one beer-hall in particular.
Swanlinde was hesitant about going in. It had all the sound and stink of where even a lesser noble's kinder had no place being. But Fuchsmaus could hardly wait any longer and pushed forward inside.
It had no name, in fact it was rather decrepit. But the main hall was large, and warm, and the host was welcoming of the panzerkriegen. As were the serving maids and men -- or at least they pretended well enough to enjoy the carousing of the panzerkriegen. She grimaced a little at the sight, but some part of her was thrilled. If something was going to happen, it would be here.
She was not immediately noticed. The panzerkriegen in their heavy plate armor of weisstahl were loud and boistrous, singing songs, flirting and groping the beer-hall's help -- male and female, as appropriate. Her dun-colored robe and hood let her blend in with people well enough. She made her way to the bar, and ordered a mug of the watered-down grog and a plate of food. The greyish meat was probably just short of inedible, but the bread was at least warm if stale, and the grog would let it go down.
"You wish me to train her in what, meister?"
"You heard me. And you heard her, as well. She wishes to fight the Erbfeinde."
"It is a hard life, meister. Markstraatsburg has minimal supplies and the death rate amongst the defenders is terribly high."
"She is a hard girl."
"But your family has no history of being panzerkriegen--"
"Then let that change. Now."
"Hoi! A new one has come!"
She jarred her attention back to Markstraatsburg and the boistrous voice that came too closely. She turned slightly, looking up at the hulking panzerkrieger towering above her. She figured that if she were to strain herself, she might be able to touch both his shoulders.
Despite his hulking size, he had a broad smile, the cheerfully leering visage of one enjoying the carousing of the evening. "You're a little small, fair one," he said (she would swear his voice was so deep it came from lungs that were bottomless,) but if you're willing, I'll be gentle." The wink he gave cleared up any possible doubt as to what he was talking about.
"I'm not here to be a dirne," she said calmly and sharply. Swanlinde was taken strongly aback by his affrontery. Fuchsmaus was no less insulted... but she was also eager. Though wether to see just how gentle the panzerkrieger would be, or to kick his armored arse, she wasn't entirely sure.
Her answer, however, surprised him, and he blinked for a moment, then grinned again, starting to sit beside her. "Well, if you're new to Markstraatsburg, I'm more than happy to show a fair one like you what it's like he--"
Fuchsmaus waited until he was just putting his weight on the stool, before kicking it out from under him. With a clatter and clang of weisstahl upon oak, the panzerkriegen fell into a heap on the floor, spluttering. While Fuchsmaus inwardly laughed and hadn't wanted it any other way, Swanlinde was saddened that her introduction to the panzerkrieger would be in this manner.
Fuchsmaus stood quickly, kicking the chairs out of the way and casting the edges of the cloak outward so she could have her arms ready for any retaliation from the fallen panzerkriegen.
He was, indeed, incensed. "Why you little--!" And then he fell silent, staring, seeing what the other patrons had seen perhaps a few moments earlier. Her armor -- for armor it was -- was of white-dyed boiled leather, and in a style not unlike that of the panzerkriegens' own plate armor. Instead of a zweihander at her back, which would have been a miniscule weapon, a pair of short, heavy swords hung in scabbards. And, what Swanlinde was perhaps most proud of, the lining of her cloak was likewise white linen, with thick embroidery suggestive of feathers.
By all rights, and the gold circlet binding her ash-brown hair, she was a panzerkriegen in all but size. It was this that gave the hulking armored soldiers their pause.
Swanlinde let them stare for a few moments, before deciding it was long enough. She nodded a little, and walked for the door with magestic slowness, Fuchsmaus adding a slightly proud sway to her step.
