Intercomm fic: A New Appreciation

[railise]

Title: A New Appreciation
Author: railise
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Marian, pre-S1
Genre: romance
Disclaimer: I have no rights to or association with the show Robin Hood, and get nothing from this other than the fun of playing in the world provided by the BBC and Tiger Aspect.
Notes: For rh_intercomm; from the prompt "dancing"

Robin had always been bored to tears by the dancing lessons his father insisted he take, despite the fact that he was quite good at it. There were much better ways to spend his time-- both time taken up by his instructor, and time spent with local lasses. But, he wasn't given a choice, so he reluctantly learned.

Now, as Marian twirled and clapped across from him, her eyes shining and her smile wide when he repeated the moves, he found himself suddenly very appreciative of those hours spent practicing at the manor.

Perhaps, his father had not been wrong, after all.

Comments

[omteddy2006.livejournal.com]

Well, there's something we have in common...I hated every moment spent at the Women's Club cotillion in my early teens. Now...where's my Robin?

[railise]

I'd think you're more likely to find one than I am, although my jazz dancing classes were fairly painful, too. (We were in lime-green spandex shorts, sleeveless red-and-lime-green plaid tops, matching caps, and lime green slouch socks for one dance show. SURELY there should be some sort of reward for having appeared in public like that??)

[omteddy2006.livejournal.com]

0.0

There aren't enough hawt outlaws in the forest to make up for lime green spandex. I hope all of the photographic evidence of this event were "lost in the fire."

[railise]

Sadly, no. My sisters even scanned one and included it in the scrapbook they made me when I got married, which may or may not have wound up in a (password-protected) Photobucket account.

I forgot there was a "jaunty" netting bow around my neck, too. I guess I was blinded by the spandex and the row of sequins down the front of the shirt.

There is a special place in Hell for the designer of that costume.