#ajustking

FIRST PLACE:ajustking

SECOND PLACE:prxncecharming

THIRD PLACE:xconfinadax

Send my muse kisses you want to give them!

a sweet kiss on the cheek

It would do well for her not to underestimate people. Of course, Edmund is an interesting case, in that she doesn't think little of him, but is more accustomed to his smile. Facing him head on is a completely adverse experience.

He isn't a little boy swinging a butter knife, but the King of Narnia wielding his mighty sword. She has to check herself.

The clang of their swords sounds through the hall. They have been going at it for what seems like hours to some, but only minutes to her. She smirks as she manages to get up close, only for him to deflect her sword.

Somehow he frees her sword from her hand. It skitters across the floor and before she can dive for it he traps her with the steel of his sword. He graciously takes the winning point.

With a sigh she bows her head in defeat, but her smile is back seconds later. What a fun game!

Send me a '₩' for my muse's reaction of yours dumping a bucket of water on them.

“ – an’ ye have t’ try some of this, too!” she said, poking a fork in his face. Her plate had yet to be empty the entire night, as was her goblet. The harvest had been good to DunBroch this year, and what better way to celebrate than to share in its bounty with allies?

“Ye’re not stuffed already, are ye?” She made a face. “Oh, lamb. Whit say we go fer a walk, then? Ye’ll feel better.”

Fire crackled. Fifty or so clansmen spent the better part of the day coaxing a bonfire from sticks and twigs, and now it was a sight to behold. If anything it seemed more of a focal point than the dining hall, the air heavy with laughter as people joined in dance and song.

The princess weaved between several dance partners, before meeting the Narnian king again. “Having fun?” she asked, smiling drowsily. And then, “Och, ye’re worrying too much. I’m not standing too close.” The little flame working its way up her skirts begged to differ.

He seemed surprisingly agile then (though he had eaten and drank the least) and she had no idea where he had produced the bucket. Or that it could possibly hold so much water.

Send me a ▲ for my muse's response to your muse breaking down in tears

Her initial reaction is to be angry; it's true she isn't the best cook, but she also hasn't poisoned anyone yet. She puts her hands on her hips. "Well bum 'n parsley to yer Turkish delight! Apple tarts are better."

Send me 'I want the K' and I'll use a number generator to write a drabble about my muse kissing your muse.

Eskimo Kiss

Her soggy cloak weighed her down. Making her way passed the mouth of the cave she gasped, pushing back her heavy wet bangs. “Edmund!” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. In return she received her own distorted echoes. She grunted.

They had been separated in the storm. As hard as the rain was coming down, she couldn’t be sure if he had been going in the same direction as her. She could only hope.

She made her way blindly through the cave, crying out when her foot caught over something and she fell. She felt the wind getting knocked out of her, and remained on her back for some time. Water from the stalagmites dripped on her face.

“Merida!”

She sat up, breathing heavily. “Edmund!”  She pulled herself up and bolted through the darkness, narrowly avoiding falling over again. There was no warning when she rammed into another body.