Rave (cheloya) wrote in happenstance, @ 2008-08-24 17:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | against the moon, original, the conductor |
[MULTIVERSE] Original Drabbles
Conductor; Ash, Sticks + spare some change?
London is going to the dogs. Seems like every time he walks down a street there's a new bum with both hands out, and the platforms are even worse. It's not that he isn't sympathetic, either - it's just that he, like most of London, is convinced that you bloody well get what you're given, if you don't try to get anything else. He's had his own dire straights, even if he never quite got to pan-handling, and the only thing pulling him down, in the end, was lack of determination. Which you can't hand over with loose change, no matter how much easier it would make things, so he doesn't try.
Sticks doesn't, either, although he doesn't work as hard to cultivate a warning glare. He shakes his head as he passes, every day with a small, sad smile, and tells them, "You don't want my coin. Not really."
Sticks is too tall to tuck under his arm, but Ash makes a decent attempt.
Against the Moon; Hiru, Sanga + what's underneath
The fins were not the surprise. The surprise was the sheer number of them. Elbows and ears he had known about, yes, and webbed hands and feet, but he had never imagined the lacy dorsal pressed flat along Sanga's spine, nor the sturdy fins fanning out from his hips. It was his own fault, he supposed. He had been trying so hard not to notice anything about the sprite as they travelled the length of the Arrow that he must have succeeded in blocking the bony ridge of the dorsal from his mind.
There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from taking notice, now. Without his finery - the cloth, the brace, the armour - Sanga looked more himself than he had ever been when attempting to follow polite convention. Now, his only garment was a brief kirtle, fitted carefully about his waist and upper thighs, and open at the hips to allow the fins there freedom of movement. His hair was unbound, spilling around him like the strands of an ill-woven cloak. Sometimes, Hiru caught a glimpse of the dorsal fin as it rose and fell in time with Sanga's conversation. Often, he caught himself watching for it.
Against the Moon; Tol, Skeff + lightning
When the sky darkens and the clouds roll forth grumbling displeasure, Skeff smiles and stokes the fire and waits for the sound of soft boots in his garden.
Tol is not the last to leave the Forge - that is the right of the Forgemaster - but he stays as long as he is allowed, finishing projects and ushering acolytes into other safehouses to wait out the storm. A building inhabited almost solely by metal is the last place anyone wants to be when lightning strikes. But Skeff's home is at the opposite end of the village to the forge, and by the time Tol pushes through the heavy rug which serves Skeff as front door, he is sodden and shivering despite the cloak.
Skeff doesn't rise from his cross-legged seat by the hearth. He waits as Tol struggles, first out of his cloak, then out of his boots, and then - slowly - out of his tunic and shirt. The trousers remain, no matter how Skeff rolls his eyes and complains about damp blankets - modesty and propriety are ever a concern to the Technic. But it's almost enough, to hold the warm blanket open for Tol to wrap around himself, his broad damp shoulders and long pale spine. It's almost enough to bed down with him beside the hearth and listen to the rasp of Tol's breathing as he drifts off to sleep.
When he was a child, he didn't sleep through storms because their power and their rage made him nervous. Now, he refuses to sleep, because only when lightning fills the sky does he have the opportunity to stay by Tol as he sleeps, to hold him as they held each other when they were children, and it is almost enough.
Almost.