“No, no...” they reply. “That’s not my true form. You see, unlike you, the mortals, (they say that word with a certain sort of disdain that’s a bit cliché) I can take on any form I want, so I’ve been seeing to show my true self at a glance. My personality, if you will.”
“The clothes as well?” you ask.
“The clothes as well.”
You consider asking them if they are wearing anything under the illusion. You decide to pass on that question. It’s enough that they deign to answer the others you’ve had so far, you wouldn’t want to anger them and risk... whatever sort of wrath they are capable of unleashing. You’re not quite sure. You’re not even sure what they are, exactly.
“I’ve spent years fine-tuning my face alone,” they boast eagerly. “It had to be perfectly suited. Of course, I had to rid myself of a few innate prejudices one might form about beauty and what sort of beauty applies to oneself, so I even bettered myself in this regard. Unlike what you might claim if you were to simply judge me from the outside, I’m not fuelled by vanity. It is a quest for self-discovery.”
That sounded a little defensive, but who are you to comment? Just a mere “mortal” that’s getting all your home-cultivated honey stolen by a creature seated at your garden table. At least they seem to like it, licking the spoon clear each time they retrieve another bite, not one bit put off by the sickeningly sweet taste.
You tilt your head, wondering, then finally dare to ask that question that could be taken poorly. But they don’t seem to take it poorly, apart from being surprised, as if the answer is obvious.
“The glitter is permanent, yes,” they say. “My cheeks just wouldn’t be the same without it.”
“And...” you hesitate. “Does it... fall off? Get anywhere?”
“No, no. It’s all an illusion, remember?”
“Ah.” You breathe a small sigh of relief. At least, your unexpected guest will not be leaving traces of their passage everywhere.
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Queen of the Rodeo - A Ronance AU
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Nancy Wheeler grew up in the saddle. She's spent more time on horseback than on her own two feet, and she's loved every second.
But on the other side of forty, it's getting harder to ignore what it's cost her.
She'd done her time as rodeo queen like her mother before her, but unlike Karen, Nancy hadn't married up and settled down when her year was done. Instead, when it was time, she passed the crown on to the inimitable Erica Sinclar, and kept competing.
She'd had a good run, too, winning more breakaways than she scratched and constantly breaking her own records on the barrel races. But then her roping partner Barb had taken a bad fall and quit the arena all together, leaving Nancy to face the circuit alone.
Since then, Nancy's been the only rider on Coach Hopper's roster, and the old sheriff has been hinting at his own retirement for a while. Even his lady, the legendary Joyce Byers, idol of every cowgirl west of the Mississippi, had given up rodeos younger than Nancy was now, though she even still worked hard as a rancher.
Joyce certainly hadn't started riding roughstock at thirty like Nancy did, seizing an open slot at a back country rodeo that didn't care too much about propriety. And since then, Nancy’d driven two or three states over any time the WPRA could pull together enough competitors.
Nancy doesn't regret it, even when it hurts, even when she loses.
But it's starting to hurt more often than it doesn't, and she's losing more often than she wins these days. Plus, Barb isn't the only friend Nancy's run off; she burned a lot of bridges and broke a few hearts to earn her place at the top. She still loves the rodeo like nothing else, but it's getting to be lonely.
It’s also a long way down. She's not sure the Harringtons will keep her on as a ranch hand if she's not bringing prizes to their stables, and if she has to leave behind ranching on top of leaving the rodeo…
Something has to give soon, though. Nancy can read the writing on the wall: she's slowing down and even though it's only in milliseconds, it makes a difference on the breakaway.
If Nancy could let go and trust that she'd land on her feet, maybe she could get out of her own way. She's pushed away friends, family, and lovers, but if she'd risk being vulnerable just enough, she could still reconnect with a community – and one woman in particular – that still loves her.
Robin Buckley's parents made a number of decisions about her life that were supposedly for her safety. The wisest was, probably, never letting her near a horse.
So, though she grew up out in ranch country, surrounded by brush and cowboys, Robin's never so much as given a colt a sugar cube, let alone ridden a full grown mare or – heaven forbid – a stallion.
That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate a good rodeo. Or the riders, anyway.
But being an admirer – particularly of a woman's sport – doesn't pay the bills.
Nor does an associate's degree in Spanish, as it turns out. So much for her late nights at the community college.
Once upon a time, Robin had bigger dreams. And it's not impossible to still chase them. Steve'd offered to take her, to load up his truck with their bags and just drive until they got somewhere.
Robin knows she could do something, if she was somewhere. But that means leaving, and as much as Robin once thought she had to, it doesn't feel as necessary as it once did. And it’s a little more frightening, the idea of starting over, now that she’s no longer young and restless.
She has a place here now. She has regulars at the diner, and regulars at the bar, and Steve.
And yeah, sue her. She has some unresolved heartbreak courtesy of the local rodeo queen emeritus. It's been more than a few years since she and Nancy had anything between them, but messy and flash-paper quick as it was, Robin still carries a torch for her.
Hell, Robin has carried a torch for Nancy since they were both thirteen, and Robin wheedled her aunt into taking her to the rodeo for the very first time.
Nancy had been glorious, all red bows and silver thread, lightening quick around the barrels in a perfect clover leaf, strong and steady on a beautiful gray horse that thundered around the pen, kicking dust in its wake.
It's not like Robin had been naïve, going into things. Nancy wasn't the first cowgirl Robin had hooked up with, and she'd known she was hardly Nancy's first partner either. So Robin knew what she was getting with Nancy, the night she'd looked Robin over with those deep brown eyes and smiled honey-sweet.
She knew it wouldn't last, and that was fine.
Until it wasn't, because it did last. Longer than Robin expected, long enough that she forgot to hold back. Long enough that she forgot why she shouldn't fall in love.
She'd gotten burnt pretty bad, for that mistake.
Still, it had been years. Robin had moved on, had other partners, other relationships, had even been in love again.
Her breath still catches when she sees Nancy, and she's learned to live with it. She's just not sure she could live without it.
If she could find the resolve, Robin might find fulfillment elsewhere, where her ear for languages might be appreciated as more than a party trick and she wouldn't be dependent on tips to keep her lights on. But if she'd take a chance and risk her heart one more time, she'd find that the cowgirl of her dreams might be ready for a change of pace, too.
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