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rivendellroseSilly plot-bunny.
Anyway, this is just a little bit, sort of a companion-piece or answer to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theladyfeylene's recent fic on the subject of sight. I meant for it to be primarily a meditation on scent, but... along the way, it acquired a plot, of sorts, and it refused to stick to what I'd intended.
In any event, it's just a silly thing, no real purpose or great meaning. I liked it, though.
Title: Tapestry of Scent
Author: Rosalindjen
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made. Ask if for some weird reason you want to post it somewhere.
Dedication and credit for inspiration must go to Fey, for both her RP Severus, and for her recent fic. For some reason, most of my bunnies at the moment tend to be replies to her fics. Hey... I'll take what I can get. *Shakes head*
Summary: Not-quite-stream-of-consciousness bit of Remus' thoughts regarding Severus. I reserve the right to play with this more until I like it, because it's not quite what I want. Un-beta'd.
In the mind of a werewolf, scent came above all. In memories and in daily life, Remus Lupin’s world was a collage of smells and an olfactory tapestry. Especially on those rare afternoons when he could slip out of the castle and move down by the lake to study, rather than staying indoors.
Hogwarts was full of the scents of stone and parchment and students, fabric and dust and woodsmoke – comforting and familiar, but stifling for Remus on days when his wolfish side was in ascendency. Outside, though… outside was a flurry of scents that changed with the weather and the season, and grounded Remus even as they awoke parts of him that normally he kept under tight control. And today was one of those days when he could enjoy that freedom.
He sat cross-legged beneath a spreading oak, the musty-smelling autmn leaves blanketing the fresh scent of the grass around him and making a thinning canopy of the branches above. The colour of the leaves made him think of cinnamon, but there was no such spice in the air today, except the slight hints of rosemary and lavender from the herb gardens down by the greenhouse. The sharp, peaty smell of the marshy land down by the lake was there, though, and beyond it a slight tang – the bitter scent of herbs – a garden’s worth, and more - mixed with the biting touch of clinical alcohol and formaldehyde. Remus tilted his head, pretending to stretch and massage his neck as he attuned to that scent, trying to trace its source in the shifting autumn breeze.
Finally picking the direction he thought the wind brought its news from, he tilted his head slightly in that path, and found exactly what he’d hoped – the slight, black-clad Slytherin, thin as the trail of scent the wind had brought him, rested with his back against a nearby tree, his legs curled up like those of a spider, a heavy potions text leaning against his knees.
A wash of scent-memory came over Remus, and for a moment he closed his eyes to give it free reign. The old paper and leather, dust and ink in the library, and the scent of Severus, who always seemed to carry potions on his skin like a subtle armour. And beneath those smells lay a scent that intrigued Remus – something that human language had no words for, beyond the musk and scents of skin and hair, and a slight spiciness like the scent of tea. And a guilty memory of his own aroused scent – sweat and musk and other things best unmentioned – when he noticed the black eyes that glittered with something that wasn’t entirely malice, or the delicate curve of black strands of hair across a pale, starkly-proportioned face. And from the other boy again, a touch of fear melting into anger when Sirius, with his summery scents of grass and broom polish, sat down beside him, barely caught on the rush of air as the Slytherin abandoned his place at the next table and stalked out of the library.
And now here they were again. It was in these moments, when peace was over the grounds and the wind stirred all sorts of intriguing smells to Remus’ nose, that he was most tempted to do the unthinkable – to wander over to the tree where the Slytherin sat, and settle himself at the other boy’s side. Perhaps offer a few words of friendship, or perhaps just sit, quietly, and breathe deep of the scents the Slytherin carried on his skin, trying to get to the deepest levels, that were of Severus himself rather than the masks and barriers he put up to the world. Surely he would be repaid, if he ever followed that impulse, with a sneer and a snide remark. But there were times when instinct, scent, and a half-understood feeling of kinship made him want to do it anyway, made him wonder if those sardonic insults were the only way Severus Snape knew to deal with human interaction, and whether a patient and determined person might dig through them to a real person, with all the feelings and humanity that Remus smelled on the other boy. And sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if he didn’t smell the slightest hints of something other than anger or fear on the Slytherin, when they crossed paths in the school.
And it was exactly this memory Remus was lost in when suddenly he realized that those dark eyes (darker even than the scent that followed the Slytherin, calling to mind the smells of night and cool forest places) were no longer intent upon the text before them, but angled up just a bit. Staring. Locked with his eyes.
Remus bit his lip until the taste of blood just started to touch his tongue, then stood. Damn all of this, but it was stupid to just stare and then do nothing when the gaze was returned. He walked over to the other boy, the scent of crushed grass following him and the musty smell of the leafless maple that Snape sat beneath before him. And beneath and above them, growing increasingly stronger the closer he got, the complex tapestry of scent he associated with Severus.
He shuffled his feet, pausing just outside the perimeter of the branches. The smells were making him practically dizzy, or maybe that was the situation? He licked his lips, which suddenly were too dry and tasted of the cold air. “Hi.”
It was a start.
Anyway, this is just a little bit, sort of a companion-piece or answer to
theladyfeylene's recent fic on the subject of sight. I meant for it to be primarily a meditation on scent, but... along the way, it acquired a plot, of sorts, and it refused to stick to what I'd intended. In any event, it's just a silly thing, no real purpose or great meaning. I liked it, though.
Title: Tapestry of Scent
Author: Rosalindjen
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made. Ask if for some weird reason you want to post it somewhere.
Dedication and credit for inspiration must go to Fey, for both her RP Severus, and for her recent fic. For some reason, most of my bunnies at the moment tend to be replies to her fics. Hey... I'll take what I can get. *Shakes head*
Summary: Not-quite-stream-of-consciousness bit of Remus' thoughts regarding Severus. I reserve the right to play with this more until I like it, because it's not quite what I want. Un-beta'd.
In the mind of a werewolf, scent came above all. In memories and in daily life, Remus Lupin’s world was a collage of smells and an olfactory tapestry. Especially on those rare afternoons when he could slip out of the castle and move down by the lake to study, rather than staying indoors.
Hogwarts was full of the scents of stone and parchment and students, fabric and dust and woodsmoke – comforting and familiar, but stifling for Remus on days when his wolfish side was in ascendency. Outside, though… outside was a flurry of scents that changed with the weather and the season, and grounded Remus even as they awoke parts of him that normally he kept under tight control. And today was one of those days when he could enjoy that freedom.
He sat cross-legged beneath a spreading oak, the musty-smelling autmn leaves blanketing the fresh scent of the grass around him and making a thinning canopy of the branches above. The colour of the leaves made him think of cinnamon, but there was no such spice in the air today, except the slight hints of rosemary and lavender from the herb gardens down by the greenhouse. The sharp, peaty smell of the marshy land down by the lake was there, though, and beyond it a slight tang – the bitter scent of herbs – a garden’s worth, and more - mixed with the biting touch of clinical alcohol and formaldehyde. Remus tilted his head, pretending to stretch and massage his neck as he attuned to that scent, trying to trace its source in the shifting autumn breeze.
Finally picking the direction he thought the wind brought its news from, he tilted his head slightly in that path, and found exactly what he’d hoped – the slight, black-clad Slytherin, thin as the trail of scent the wind had brought him, rested with his back against a nearby tree, his legs curled up like those of a spider, a heavy potions text leaning against his knees.
A wash of scent-memory came over Remus, and for a moment he closed his eyes to give it free reign. The old paper and leather, dust and ink in the library, and the scent of Severus, who always seemed to carry potions on his skin like a subtle armour. And beneath those smells lay a scent that intrigued Remus – something that human language had no words for, beyond the musk and scents of skin and hair, and a slight spiciness like the scent of tea. And a guilty memory of his own aroused scent – sweat and musk and other things best unmentioned – when he noticed the black eyes that glittered with something that wasn’t entirely malice, or the delicate curve of black strands of hair across a pale, starkly-proportioned face. And from the other boy again, a touch of fear melting into anger when Sirius, with his summery scents of grass and broom polish, sat down beside him, barely caught on the rush of air as the Slytherin abandoned his place at the next table and stalked out of the library.
And now here they were again. It was in these moments, when peace was over the grounds and the wind stirred all sorts of intriguing smells to Remus’ nose, that he was most tempted to do the unthinkable – to wander over to the tree where the Slytherin sat, and settle himself at the other boy’s side. Perhaps offer a few words of friendship, or perhaps just sit, quietly, and breathe deep of the scents the Slytherin carried on his skin, trying to get to the deepest levels, that were of Severus himself rather than the masks and barriers he put up to the world. Surely he would be repaid, if he ever followed that impulse, with a sneer and a snide remark. But there were times when instinct, scent, and a half-understood feeling of kinship made him want to do it anyway, made him wonder if those sardonic insults were the only way Severus Snape knew to deal with human interaction, and whether a patient and determined person might dig through them to a real person, with all the feelings and humanity that Remus smelled on the other boy. And sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered if he didn’t smell the slightest hints of something other than anger or fear on the Slytherin, when they crossed paths in the school.
And it was exactly this memory Remus was lost in when suddenly he realized that those dark eyes (darker even than the scent that followed the Slytherin, calling to mind the smells of night and cool forest places) were no longer intent upon the text before them, but angled up just a bit. Staring. Locked with his eyes.
Remus bit his lip until the taste of blood just started to touch his tongue, then stood. Damn all of this, but it was stupid to just stare and then do nothing when the gaze was returned. He walked over to the other boy, the scent of crushed grass following him and the musty smell of the leafless maple that Snape sat beneath before him. And beneath and above them, growing increasingly stronger the closer he got, the complex tapestry of scent he associated with Severus.
He shuffled his feet, pausing just outside the perimeter of the branches. The smells were making him practically dizzy, or maybe that was the situation? He licked his lips, which suddenly were too dry and tasted of the cold air. “Hi.”
It was a start.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:20 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it - it really became a sort of trance-thing, not at all the heavily descriptive series of actual thoughts that I'd been planning. But hey... if it works, I'm not arguing. ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:22 pm (UTC)I don;t think the thoughts would have worked as well. It's more basic, more instinctual, more natural, more Remus.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:26 pm (UTC)No, you're right... he doesn't think in real sentences, he thinks more in images and flashes of scent and sense memory. And since these are his thoughts, a more streaming way of writing it fits better...
no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:54 pm (UTC)Greatestjournal hates me tonight, and I keep having nightmare images of the mods coming to us and being like "hey, we can't have this every-night smut-talk going on between your characters." *Headdesk*
... And I don't know why the hell I'm writing that to you, but it's done and, as you said, I find it mildly humorous, now.
Damn it, I put a comma in my icon keywords again, I hate when I do that.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-07 11:58 pm (UTC)That or you know, we're just conversation exhibitionists. ;-)
I wonder if anyone even reads what they talk about anymore. Once it gets to be that many comments, I have the feeling some people probably wander away.
I take it that's a bad thing?
no subject
Date: 2004-09-08 12:03 am (UTC)I know - I really do wonder. Of course, the only person online right now is poor Lestrange-player. So you realize, some poor girl in Indonesia with a name I keep forgetting (Ayu? Was that it?) thinks we're flipping insane.
Yeah, it lists both sides of the comma separately.
Damn it, I'm hungry. That's not good at this time of night.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-08 12:05 am (UTC)Ayu, yes. Rodolphus and Sev have been chatting about potions. But that seems to be over now, which is damn good for poor Sev. ;-)
Aha, I can see how that would be an issue.
Blargh, I'm hungry, too. I keep thinking 'mmm, ramen and bread'....
no subject
Date: 2004-09-08 12:09 am (UTC)Yeah, poor Sev. He's being tormented by his werewolf. XD
Mmm. See, I was thinking about the muffins, but now that you mention the bread... there's that lovely loaf of French bread out there. Mmm, French bread.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-08 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-08 12:19 am (UTC)