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Entry tags:
(untitled Shinon flashfic)
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Characters: Shinon, Boyd
Word count: ~650
Warnings: Violence, ambiguous death of major character
Notes: (Aside from being possessed to write weird Zelda shit for exactly two weeks in March,) I'm having something of a writing drought this year. Went back through my scrap files today and found that, in February, I'd written the first three paragraphs of something for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
feflashfriday and then bailed out of even that as too much commitment. And then I was like, "well, it's Friday now. I dunno how much effort I put into this the first go-round but I'll set a timer for one hour and whatever I can do with this in that time, that's getting posted." So, this isn't edited and there are things about it I would fix if I'd had more time, but - hey, I actually completed a thing.
HELPFULLY ENOUGH, the prompt at the time was like, "Make An Old Favorite Suffer." ... ... Hey Shinon c'mere.
"I asked him if he could do it," said Shinon. "He said yes."
The tent flap billowed open in between them and Rhys hurried out, white around the lips. It was only this that checked Boyd's momentum. Rhys's white robes flurried away, the tent flapped closed, and Boyd lost his opening to grab Shinon by the throat.
Instead he said, "He's fourteen."
Shinon said, "Closer to grown-up than you think."
"But he's not grown up! That's my baby brother in there, and you left him!"
"He said he could do it."
"Yeah, you said that. At least get a new excuse, you prick. You had to know -" He was advancing again, and Shinon sidestepped, eyes narrowing. If they were about to have a brawl, better bring it out of the path, away from the healing tent.
"Had to know what? Had to know he has to be wrapped in cotton batting and have his hand held every second of the day? I know he doesn't have a mother, so whose tit do you think he should still be attached to? Yours or Oscar's?"
Rhys came back, with a fresh staff in hand and a roll of bandaging trailing from his arms. Boyd had to stop, again, until he was gone. Mist had drilled into him not to start fights in front of Rhys. Shame.
"You're the ballista guy," said Boyd. "You were always the ballista guy." They were circling. He didn't notice Shinon steering him slowly out to the edge of camp. "Don't tell me 'he said he could do it.' Why did you let him? Why weren't you the one -"
"Getting my head smashed open?" Shinon snorted. "Never woulda happened. I woulda been listening for attacks from behind." He shrugged. "If he lives, he'll learn from this."
"If he lives -" Cords stood out in Boyd's neck.
They'd moved far enough now. Shinon stopped moving. "Hit me, then. You get one freebie. Come on."
Boyd was fast, but Shinon was faster - and Boyd had a huge obvious wind-up behind every strike, whether with axe or fist. Shinon had plenty of time to adjust, to take the blow at a better angle. Even to get away. Instead Boyd's fist smashed into his throat.
His vision went black for a heartbeat, then two. The pain came after. "If that doesn't shut you up," Boyd was saying, as he straightened his neck out and drew a raspy breath.
And smiled, nastily. "No such luck." It did hurt to talk, but not as much as it would later. "He wants an adult job, so he has to take adult risks. Maybe if you two took him more seriously -"
"You don't know anything about my family," and Boyd was starting another swing, but Shinon didn't have to give him this one, and swung aside. Boyd was like a bull, like what they used to throw in Daein's arenas to chase people around when they didn't have laguz. He'd wear himself out. Maybe they'd both get worn out, and Rolf would either be alive or dead when it was over. Either outcome was something to get drunk about - good or bad, at least it was simple. It was the time until then that killed.
It was the distance between his position and the ballista. The time that passed between the wet sound of impact, the cut-off cry of "Uncle Sh-", three arrows' flights and a mad sprint to Rolf's body. That was -
How would he have put it to Rolf?
Probably, "That's just war, kid."
So he had a stupid fistfight with Boyd until Oscar and Titania came and pulled them apart. Titania told him to take a walk - go have Mist check out his windpipe once he'd cooled off a little - he cursed them all out, but by then he was barely audible, and went away.
Inside the tent Rhys was still working. Outside, Rolf's nearest and dearest waited for news. And kept on waiting.
Characters: Shinon, Boyd
Word count: ~650
Warnings: Violence, ambiguous death of major character
Notes: (Aside from being possessed to write weird Zelda shit for exactly two weeks in March,) I'm having something of a writing drought this year. Went back through my scrap files today and found that, in February, I'd written the first three paragraphs of something for
feflashfriday and then bailed out of even that as too much commitment. And then I was like, "well, it's Friday now. I dunno how much effort I put into this the first go-round but I'll set a timer for one hour and whatever I can do with this in that time, that's getting posted." So, this isn't edited and there are things about it I would fix if I'd had more time, but - hey, I actually completed a thing.HELPFULLY ENOUGH, the prompt at the time was like, "Make An Old Favorite Suffer." ... ... Hey Shinon c'mere.
"I asked him if he could do it," said Shinon. "He said yes."
The tent flap billowed open in between them and Rhys hurried out, white around the lips. It was only this that checked Boyd's momentum. Rhys's white robes flurried away, the tent flapped closed, and Boyd lost his opening to grab Shinon by the throat.
Instead he said, "He's fourteen."
Shinon said, "Closer to grown-up than you think."
"But he's not grown up! That's my baby brother in there, and you left him!"
"He said he could do it."
"Yeah, you said that. At least get a new excuse, you prick. You had to know -" He was advancing again, and Shinon sidestepped, eyes narrowing. If they were about to have a brawl, better bring it out of the path, away from the healing tent.
"Had to know what? Had to know he has to be wrapped in cotton batting and have his hand held every second of the day? I know he doesn't have a mother, so whose tit do you think he should still be attached to? Yours or Oscar's?"
Rhys came back, with a fresh staff in hand and a roll of bandaging trailing from his arms. Boyd had to stop, again, until he was gone. Mist had drilled into him not to start fights in front of Rhys. Shame.
"You're the ballista guy," said Boyd. "You were always the ballista guy." They were circling. He didn't notice Shinon steering him slowly out to the edge of camp. "Don't tell me 'he said he could do it.' Why did you let him? Why weren't you the one -"
"Getting my head smashed open?" Shinon snorted. "Never woulda happened. I woulda been listening for attacks from behind." He shrugged. "If he lives, he'll learn from this."
"If he lives -" Cords stood out in Boyd's neck.
They'd moved far enough now. Shinon stopped moving. "Hit me, then. You get one freebie. Come on."
Boyd was fast, but Shinon was faster - and Boyd had a huge obvious wind-up behind every strike, whether with axe or fist. Shinon had plenty of time to adjust, to take the blow at a better angle. Even to get away. Instead Boyd's fist smashed into his throat.
His vision went black for a heartbeat, then two. The pain came after. "If that doesn't shut you up," Boyd was saying, as he straightened his neck out and drew a raspy breath.
And smiled, nastily. "No such luck." It did hurt to talk, but not as much as it would later. "He wants an adult job, so he has to take adult risks. Maybe if you two took him more seriously -"
"You don't know anything about my family," and Boyd was starting another swing, but Shinon didn't have to give him this one, and swung aside. Boyd was like a bull, like what they used to throw in Daein's arenas to chase people around when they didn't have laguz. He'd wear himself out. Maybe they'd both get worn out, and Rolf would either be alive or dead when it was over. Either outcome was something to get drunk about - good or bad, at least it was simple. It was the time until then that killed.
It was the distance between his position and the ballista. The time that passed between the wet sound of impact, the cut-off cry of "Uncle Sh-", three arrows' flights and a mad sprint to Rolf's body. That was -
How would he have put it to Rolf?
Probably, "That's just war, kid."
So he had a stupid fistfight with Boyd until Oscar and Titania came and pulled them apart. Titania told him to take a walk - go have Mist check out his windpipe once he'd cooled off a little - he cursed them all out, but by then he was barely audible, and went away.
Inside the tent Rhys was still working. Outside, Rolf's nearest and dearest waited for news. And kept on waiting.
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YOOOOO this whipped??? can't believe it's as short as it is; you pack so much in here. love clever!shinon leading boyd away; love self!hating!shinon taking the blow; love ht etension of Rhys's understated presence, ty for an excellent post-america-day read
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