For [ profile] mini_nanowrimo.

Huh. I thought they were going to get to a celebratory drink tonight. Apparently not. Aughisky rituals are apparently a lot less wordy then I thought, though full of symbolic actions.


"Lord," Iros said, inclining his head again. He smiled ruefully as he wriggled out of his jacket, then undid his belts.

"Turnspit," Lurcher leaned down to murmur, "get up. You've more to do."

Turnspit nodded, and rose to his feet. He tried to be graceful, but was clumsy from nerves. He brushed a hand through his hair, trying to straighten the tufted mess. As much as I hated getting shaved, I wish I was rid of this damned hair.

Iros smiled reassuringly, and then offered his hands.

I can do this, Turnspit told himself. The formality of it was easy. Hand to his lips, his tongue over the knuckles, then the palm, then press it against his cheek, and repeat with the other. Then wait until Iros pushed his head down gently, and licked him over the eyes, both cheeks, and buried his nose in Turnspit's hair.

"My good Dog," his aughisky murmured, pride warm in his voice.

"Rider," Turnspit acknowledged. Then he took a step back, went down to one knee, and stripped off his shirt. Following the simple directions he'd been given, he held out the unadorned garment.

Iros smiled ruefully, took the shirt – they had had to scavenge for a shirt without borders, after all – then tore it apart. The shriek of the cloth made Turnspit jump, a little. He watched as Iros pulled the ruined garment into strips, and twisted that into a crude band.

Turnspit bowed his head as his aughisky knotted the shirt-rag strip around his neck. Iros reached down, made Turnspit look at him, then pulled off his own shirt.

It was too long again, as Iros helped Turnspit put it on. The sleeves were made for the aughisky's lanky build, all spidery limbs and heavy bones, and came quite far down Turnspit's hands. Iros helped a little, by tying them up with more of the shirt-rag strips.

Iros licked him again, across the eyes, and smiled. "My good Dog…"

"That's done, then," the Brewster murmured. "By the Long Road, Iros, I hope in the end this is a clever choice you've made, instead of a mad one."


From: [identity profile]

Heh-heh, well and truly married, or something. :) Nice job!! I likes.

From: [identity profile]

well, without the expectation of sexual fidelity -- *emotional fidelity*, sure. The formal ritual was necessary because Turnspit needed to have it witnessed to be entirely sure he'd get the legal protections of Dog status.

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