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Entry tags:
[untitled request fic]
Fandom: Fire Emblem 8
Characters: Rennac, L'Arachel
Word count: <500
Warnings: None
Notes: As requested by Morri, a dance-off.
She found him about two hours before midnight. “I’m not through with you, Rennac,” said L’Arachel.
Of course she wasn’t. She never was. He paused a moment in sharpening his sword and considered lobbing the whetstone into the nearby bushes. “Did you hear that?” he’d say. “That sounded like an atheist. You’d better go check it out.” Then he would escape into the night -
“It was very rude of you to walk away in the middle of our conversation earlier.”
He scowled. “What conversation? I have faint memories of an incredibly self-involved monologue on your part -“
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she said evenly. She didn’t even try to deny it. Did she know what she was like? “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”
“Really.” He hefted the whetstone in one hand. He would listen to her insane and insulting plan first, and then he would throw it. Simple.
“You’re going to have to dance with me again.”
He dropped the stone and raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t learn anything from last time, did you, Princess?”
“I have come prepared. This time I daresay you won’t be able to keep up.”
He got up. “I accept that challenge.”
“Then come. Take my hand.” When he’d done so, L’Arachel called back over her shoulder to someone standing in the shadows. “Clap us a beat. The rhythm I demonstrated for you earlier.” She turned back to Rennac, her eyes glimmering. “This one you can’t possibly know.”
But he did.
“My turn,” he said, smirking down into her surprised and slightly flushed face. He looked outside the ring of firelight - it seemed they had an audience, a larger one than L’Arachel had initially brought along. “Tethys, is that you? Another pattern, if you would. A little faster. Accent every seven.”
“Seven?” said L’Arachel, adjusting the position of her hands. Tethys started clapping out the rhythm, a certain pattern from western Frelia. “Isn’t this one a bit… provincial?”
“If it’s too complicated for you -“
“Never.”
This dance, too, went without misstep on either side. Rennac was just about to suggest - with all the condescending mock deference he could summon - that they stop, since it was clear she would never gain the upper hand. He was clearly too much a gentleman to try to embarrass her in front of all these witnesses, no matter how much he might enjoy it.
She had other ideas, though - and he was hardly going to complain. This was far more entertaining than listening to her speak. “Very well,” she said, “but can you dance both parts?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This time I’ll lead.” And before he could say a thing about it, they spun into motion again.
Characters: Rennac, L'Arachel
Word count: <500
Warnings: None
Notes: As requested by Morri, a dance-off.
She found him about two hours before midnight. “I’m not through with you, Rennac,” said L’Arachel.
Of course she wasn’t. She never was. He paused a moment in sharpening his sword and considered lobbing the whetstone into the nearby bushes. “Did you hear that?” he’d say. “That sounded like an atheist. You’d better go check it out.” Then he would escape into the night -
“It was very rude of you to walk away in the middle of our conversation earlier.”
He scowled. “What conversation? I have faint memories of an incredibly self-involved monologue on your part -“
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she said evenly. She didn’t even try to deny it. Did she know what she was like? “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”
“Really.” He hefted the whetstone in one hand. He would listen to her insane and insulting plan first, and then he would throw it. Simple.
“You’re going to have to dance with me again.”
He dropped the stone and raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t learn anything from last time, did you, Princess?”
“I have come prepared. This time I daresay you won’t be able to keep up.”
He got up. “I accept that challenge.”
“Then come. Take my hand.” When he’d done so, L’Arachel called back over her shoulder to someone standing in the shadows. “Clap us a beat. The rhythm I demonstrated for you earlier.” She turned back to Rennac, her eyes glimmering. “This one you can’t possibly know.”
But he did.
“My turn,” he said, smirking down into her surprised and slightly flushed face. He looked outside the ring of firelight - it seemed they had an audience, a larger one than L’Arachel had initially brought along. “Tethys, is that you? Another pattern, if you would. A little faster. Accent every seven.”
“Seven?” said L’Arachel, adjusting the position of her hands. Tethys started clapping out the rhythm, a certain pattern from western Frelia. “Isn’t this one a bit… provincial?”
“If it’s too complicated for you -“
“Never.”
This dance, too, went without misstep on either side. Rennac was just about to suggest - with all the condescending mock deference he could summon - that they stop, since it was clear she would never gain the upper hand. He was clearly too much a gentleman to try to embarrass her in front of all these witnesses, no matter how much he might enjoy it.
She had other ideas, though - and he was hardly going to complain. This was far more entertaining than listening to her speak. “Very well,” she said, “but can you dance both parts?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This time I’ll lead.” And before he could say a thing about it, they spun into motion again.