Sinbad prompt meme!

[pretty_panther]

Sinbad Prompt Meme!

This is the comm's prompt meme for all your creative needs. This is how it works.

• one prompt per comment
• more than one person can respond to a prompt
• you can write fic, make graphics, fanmixes, mini mixes, fanart whatever. fic should be 100 min~
• put any warnings in the subject line
• you can link to your stories elsewhere if you wish
• provide ratings for fiction, artwork and mixes if lyrics content explicit content.
• Use UK ratings. A guide to the ratings can be found in the community profile

Advertise the meme!

<center><img alt="" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7mxlypB101qax6x6o6_r1_250.gif" /> </center> <h1>Sinbad Prompt Meme!</h1> <h3>at the new Sinbad community <lj user="sinbadthesailor"></h3> For all your creative needs. Come leave prompts, create shiny things, be happy! <a href="http://sinbadthesailor.dreamwidth.org/766.html"> come join in here! </a>

Comments

[pretty_panther]

Nala mourns her loss

walking wounded, 1/1, pg

[bigbrasskey]

ridiculously terrible but


With every step she remembers him.

He is there when she lands on foreign shores, desolate and sand-baked, the ground heating her feet through her sandals and coating her skin with dust. He is there when Sinbad ducks her eyes, when he presses his lips together and she can see a thousand thoughts running in his eyes, possessing only the barest grace of not voicing them.

He is there when she takes his dagger from Sinbad's hands. She feels the gentle weight of his palm on her shoulder, his steady voice. She would weep but for the imperative, after all; among strangers she must be strong, and duty must supercede loss.

There are people who must be told. There are measures - whether futile or preventative, whether grasping of ingenious - that must be put into place. Nala has had one desolate moment to weep for him; it will take time before she allows herself another.

Still, she hears her father's voices in the moments when it comforts her and the moments when it does not. She hears his murmur in Razia's cages, smells the oils he used on his hands, glimpses the worried furrow his brow as they trek across the parched desert to questionable fate. Each time she turns anew, her hands opening, her lips parting - each time her heart hurts, a raw and open ache in her chest. She touches her breastbone, feels the emptiness there, the cool wind on her side where once his warmth would have comforted her.

They do not speak of their dead, and none of them are intrude on her loss. The doctor is the only one whose temperament would incline him to do such, and none of them pretend to such familiarity, or even a desire for such.

At times, at night when she wakes, she almost finds herself speaking to a stranger, a sympathetic shoulder, perhaps an aunt whose perfumed hand would stroke her hair and lend a listening ear. It is only that my father, she begins, and abandons the line of thought, though she looks for his face every morning before she can catch herself. I am unsure of my path without him, she tries, but that is untrue; she knows of her fate, her intentions, the roadmap of the new battle she must conduct spider out in her mind and span an age and a legacy.

He was my father, she tells her ghost companion instead, and presses her hands to the mouth in silent grief so as not to wake her companions in the hold. We had only just suffered such a loss.

She has no such friend with her. Every morning she must rise and every day she must stand with them on the rolling deck, keeping the company of strangers and stranded far away from any efforts to undo the damage that has been wrought. Her hands are tied and her feet are free.

Nala will have time to mourn.

She tells herself she cannot take it now.

Re: walking wounded, 1/1, pg

[pretty_panther]

;____; heartbreaking and utterly beautiful. brilliant work

Re: walking wounded, 1/1, pg

[bigbrasskey]

Thank you so much.