ignite (ignite) wrote in eclectivity, @ 2008-06-24 11:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | aithne, ceallach, fade to silver, redemptora |
FIC: Fade to Silver [Remptora, Recruits, Aithne, Ceallach]
Title: These Boots Are
Verse: Fade To Silver
Characters: Redemptora, Recruits, Aithne & Ceallach
Notes: Prompts from Karen loosely followed XD
Summary: Every new recruit follows tradition.
They make nary a sound…at least in a perfect world they’d be a picture of the silent warrior’s they were training to be, stealth personified enough to make Master Keogh actually crack the semblance of a smile for once. Reality is hardly that well crafted however and while they may hold fast to the illusion, this ragtag bunch are making more noise then a gaggle of geese chasing after a intruder to their nest.
“Ssssh!”
“Stop saying sssh! You’re makin’ more noise with the ssshes!”
Giggles break into undignified snorts as hands muffle mouths and eyes peer around the corner. They’re covert, they’re the most promising recruits into Scaithe Forces and not a Master would bat an eyelid should they be handpicked for placement in any of the Special Forces…even to serve under the soon to be Prince-General himself. Of course should they see them now their words of praise would fall over themselves in attempts to crawl back into the mouths that uttered them. Here is no group of prodigies just a handful of Youths high on the thrill of doing something they’re really not supposed to.
“He’s not going to be in his quarters is he?”
“Course he is, idiot!”
“Ow!”
“Everyone knows he’ll only part with ‘em to bathe and he’s not gonna bathe in the baths with us is he?”
“Then how the hell…”
“Ssssh! Damn it! Stop askin’ questions and just keep lookout!”
Irritation sparks fierce but brief in crimson eyes but can’t last against the force of the familiar thrill Redemptora finds in the makings of a good theft. True, without her tagalongs she’d have their prize in her grasp far before now but who was she to break an age old tradition? Of course traditions change as ages wore on and it was something different as time progressed by even she recognized their prize was a difficult ask for mere amateurs.
“Stay here. I’ll go and you lot keep an eye out.”
“But I wanna…”
“You’ll only screw it up. ‘M quicker than the lotta ya. Stay. I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t wait for any protests (any muffled by more sshes and hands clapping over mouths anyways) and creeps down the hall. Without the others she’s silent, quick…down the hall and past the few warriors than lurk the halls in this part of the barracks before any make register of her presence. The door opens with the slightest creak but nothing loud enough to draw eyes in her direction. She slips past, closes the door behind her with the barest slick of the lock and makes her way across the room.
It’s…she doesn’t know what she was expecting. Granted she’s spent far more time with him then any other of the recruits (hand-picked from a trial likely to lead to her imprisonment with naught but one of those smirk’s and a twinkling of violet eyes that betrayed nothing of his intentions only his amusement) but any visions of behind that carved wooden door are insignificant to actually being there.
Redeptora doesn’t spend more then a moment to notice the tidy but lived in room, idly registering the unmade bed and clothes strewn across its surface, before she’s moving toward the sound that could only be someone’s attempt at singing in the bath. Either that or someone was strangling a cat, she couldn’t decide.
Her goal sits propped by the door, dark, buckled leather beckoning with it’s well-worn yet well polished gleam. The caterwauling from the other room hasn’t ceased and there’s no way anyone could hear her almost-silent footsteps over that racket so Redemptora creeps forward. Slowly…steadily…each step carefully planned and with every slight movement she grows closer to her prize.
They would be the first to succeed where all recruits before them had failed and as her fingertips close around the clasp of one buckle she basks in the glow of future glory now resting in her fingertips.
“Oi, Princeling! Uncle wants you to get your ass down…”
Dem’s stomach chases the squeak of surprise as it passes through her lips, settling in her throat with all the familiarity of a bad meal. Fingers betraying her intentions, she can’t move fast enough to remove herself from the incriminating pose before mismatched eyes lay their gaze on her crouched form.
“…to listen to him rabbit on ‘bout something to do with something I wasn’t listening to.”
She gives the former professional thief not so retired a wink, beckoning to the door with one careless gesture and Redemptora doesn’t pause long enough to allow any chance for the Lady to change her mind nor to realize the ‘singing’ from the other room had long since ceased.
Dashing from the room, pausing only to drop a bow in passing and daring enough to offer a jaunty grin, Redemptora skitters out into the hallway with the boots held high and the cheers of her team greeting her as she skids around the corner.
“Keogh’s new brats stole your boots.” Aithne smirks as she wanders into her cousin’s bathroom, hardly plagued by any sense of modesty where his nakedness is concerned.
“And you didn’t bother to stop them.” Ceallach opens one lazy eye to peer up at the redhead in mild amusement.
“I figured a head start was only fair.” Aithne perches on the side of the bath, fingertips dragging through the warm water.
“Kind of you.” Ceallach lets his eye slip close again not bothering the bat away Aithne’s fingertips as they move to ruffle at his hair. He’s busy concentrating on the retreating recruits, whispering to the Shadows pooled against the walls like eagerly waiting puddles and it’s only when Redmeptora turns a corner not far away from where she’d oh so cleverly swiped Ceallach’s precious boots do they reach out and snag her ankles.
Another squark escapes her lips as she goes tumbling down…her and her gang both and they land in an undignified heap of tangled limbs. A cry of dismay…it could have been from any of their lips but no one can place who’s it truly originates from…farewells the boots as they are carried off on a rippling tide of Shadow.
“We were so damn close!”
“Your knee is in my side!”
“Get your hair out of my nose!”
Redemptora drops her forehead into her palms.