(no subject)
Dec. 23rd, 2005 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenA short response to the Bleach 209 spread:
"Kiiiisuke," Yoruichi yowled, balling up tighter. "What part of your brilliance needed to take us here again? It's cold."
"Aaah, it's okay, it's okay!" Urahara pat her on the head. "There will be warm places! And interesting things! And vodka!"
The cat gave a low, dangerous hiss. "It had better be laced with cream."
And now, some more Tactics shorts:
“…I’m sorry,” murmured Ovelia, closing the book. “‘What need has a princess for idle time in libraries.’”
She regretted her words immediately: for a moment certain they had killed the Bishop. He looked absolutely stricken, all color fled from his wise old face and his hands opening and closing, as though he would like to have clutched his chest.
“Oh, no, my dear,” said Simon, taking her hands, bidding her to reopen it. The pages were yellow and the binding felt rough and warm with age. “No. There will be no such admonishments here.”
“Oh, ahah. Welcome back, Father!”
“You rotten kit,” said Orlandu, staring up at the globes frozen in the center of the room. There were seven of them, all Stopped in the various points of a fall. “When were you planning on telling me about this little trick.”
“When I’d gotten it.” Olan jumped down from the shelf he’d been balancing on, ducking under one of the larger objects. Experimentally, he nudged it out of its place with the back of his hand. It remained hanging in the empty air. He passed his fingers under it and over it. Then, he looked to his father with a grin. “…which…would be today, I think!”
“Hm,” said Orlandu, consideringly.
The lower floors of Igros were wracked by a terrible screaming.
“Oh, God. And here, it begins,” muttered Dycedarg.
Zalbag looked up. “…if that’s a battle cry my sword is a herring.”
…and he swung a left, down the stairs, before his elder brother even had the mind to question.
The door to the old armory was locked. It took three strikes to rusty lock to sunder it. Zalbag strode into the darkness, lifting his arm against the unbidden breath of a cold draft. He shook the ice off with a loud oath. The castle wraith was bent over a shield on the opposite side of the room, one rickety white arm extended, hand spread—it was missing its middle and ring fingers. It was also shy a head. But Zalbag could hardly be bothered to make much note of such details. It fled no sooner than he’d begun to draw his sword, with a bow.
“As you should,” he huffed. “We’re ones living here now.”
A rattled breath came from his left, Zalbag glanced over. Ramza was huddled by the door, clutching a rusty knife. His eyes wide and his color somewhere close to ash. He responded with a jerk and the hoarse beginnings of another scream. It died in his throat. The knife hit the floor.
“And exactly how long,” asked Zalbag, taking back to the stairs with the child under his arm. “Have you been locked in there?”
“After morning prayer I…” Ramza’s voice broke off in a sound ‘nghh.’
“Morning—that was hours ago. Damn! Let’s get you some potions—wait ‘till then to be sick. And be grateful! …it was probably only one of our distant ancestors…”
Surprisingly, the boy didn’t find that much the comfort.
“The winter after the war ended, I think…?” Reis shook her head in thought. “The…the older war, I mean. I slept. In a cave. In the north, maybe?”
“I may have found it,” said Beowulf. He was stretched out beside her, his hands folded behind his head. “Three mouths, and a group of red dragons. They didn’t like me very much.”
“Oh, they were brothers. They don’t like anyone,” Reis laughed, it sounded a little like a purr in the back of her throat. “They certainly didn’t like me. I was twice their size. I told them I…”
She’d stopped. Beowulf blinked, and touched her knee worriedly. “Reis?”
Reis shuffled in her crouch, shoulders high and head bowed. “…I told them I would not abide by them, and that they should show me some courtesy-- I should not go on so, should I?”
“Hm?”
“About…” she slunk her arms around her knees. “About. Things. Like this…”
“Reis…” Beowulf began. He paused.
“My love,” he said instead, so that there could be no question, staring up at her fondly in the filtered light of the tent. “I hope you did. And I hope that you told them that you were the prettiest dragon on the whole damn continent.”
Reis made a low sound, and in a moment wormed forward to curl against him, soft skin and the long, serpentine grace of her body.
“…and that if they dared say otherwise, that you would claw their faces off.”
“I did,” she whispered. “I did say something like that.”
“Good,” murmured Beowulf. He kissed her nose.
"Kiiiisuke," Yoruichi yowled, balling up tighter. "What part of your brilliance needed to take us here again? It's cold."
"Aaah, it's okay, it's okay!" Urahara pat her on the head. "There will be warm places! And interesting things! And vodka!"
The cat gave a low, dangerous hiss. "It had better be laced with cream."
And now, some more Tactics shorts:
“…I’m sorry,” murmured Ovelia, closing the book. “‘What need has a princess for idle time in libraries.’”
She regretted her words immediately: for a moment certain they had killed the Bishop. He looked absolutely stricken, all color fled from his wise old face and his hands opening and closing, as though he would like to have clutched his chest.
“Oh, no, my dear,” said Simon, taking her hands, bidding her to reopen it. The pages were yellow and the binding felt rough and warm with age. “No. There will be no such admonishments here.”
“Oh, ahah. Welcome back, Father!”
“You rotten kit,” said Orlandu, staring up at the globes frozen in the center of the room. There were seven of them, all Stopped in the various points of a fall. “When were you planning on telling me about this little trick.”
“When I’d gotten it.” Olan jumped down from the shelf he’d been balancing on, ducking under one of the larger objects. Experimentally, he nudged it out of its place with the back of his hand. It remained hanging in the empty air. He passed his fingers under it and over it. Then, he looked to his father with a grin. “…which…would be today, I think!”
“Hm,” said Orlandu, consideringly.
The lower floors of Igros were wracked by a terrible screaming.
“Oh, God. And here, it begins,” muttered Dycedarg.
Zalbag looked up. “…if that’s a battle cry my sword is a herring.”
…and he swung a left, down the stairs, before his elder brother even had the mind to question.
The door to the old armory was locked. It took three strikes to rusty lock to sunder it. Zalbag strode into the darkness, lifting his arm against the unbidden breath of a cold draft. He shook the ice off with a loud oath. The castle wraith was bent over a shield on the opposite side of the room, one rickety white arm extended, hand spread—it was missing its middle and ring fingers. It was also shy a head. But Zalbag could hardly be bothered to make much note of such details. It fled no sooner than he’d begun to draw his sword, with a bow.
“As you should,” he huffed. “We’re ones living here now.”
A rattled breath came from his left, Zalbag glanced over. Ramza was huddled by the door, clutching a rusty knife. His eyes wide and his color somewhere close to ash. He responded with a jerk and the hoarse beginnings of another scream. It died in his throat. The knife hit the floor.
“And exactly how long,” asked Zalbag, taking back to the stairs with the child under his arm. “Have you been locked in there?”
“After morning prayer I…” Ramza’s voice broke off in a sound ‘nghh.’
“Morning—that was hours ago. Damn! Let’s get you some potions—wait ‘till then to be sick. And be grateful! …it was probably only one of our distant ancestors…”
Surprisingly, the boy didn’t find that much the comfort.
“The winter after the war ended, I think…?” Reis shook her head in thought. “The…the older war, I mean. I slept. In a cave. In the north, maybe?”
“I may have found it,” said Beowulf. He was stretched out beside her, his hands folded behind his head. “Three mouths, and a group of red dragons. They didn’t like me very much.”
“Oh, they were brothers. They don’t like anyone,” Reis laughed, it sounded a little like a purr in the back of her throat. “They certainly didn’t like me. I was twice their size. I told them I…”
She’d stopped. Beowulf blinked, and touched her knee worriedly. “Reis?”
Reis shuffled in her crouch, shoulders high and head bowed. “…I told them I would not abide by them, and that they should show me some courtesy-- I should not go on so, should I?”
“Hm?”
“About…” she slunk her arms around her knees. “About. Things. Like this…”
“Reis…” Beowulf began. He paused.
“My love,” he said instead, so that there could be no question, staring up at her fondly in the filtered light of the tent. “I hope you did. And I hope that you told them that you were the prettiest dragon on the whole damn continent.”
Reis made a low sound, and in a moment wormed forward to curl against him, soft skin and the long, serpentine grace of her body.
“…and that if they dared say otherwise, that you would claw their faces off.”
“I did,” she whispered. “I did say something like that.”
“Good,” murmured Beowulf. He kissed her nose.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-24 06:29 am (UTC)old comment but WHATEV'
Date: 2006-02-01 05:45 am (UTC)