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shinonFandom: Fire Emblem 8
Characters: Rennac, L'Arachel, Dozla
Word count: 900
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "narcissistic." WOW I'VE MISSED THESE WEIRDOS.
L'Arachel stood before a full-length mirror, admiring her new ceremonial armor. She turned one way and the other, positioned herself in front of the lamp and behind it, watching the light play from every angle on every surface of positive yards of filigree.
“Have you ever considered how fortunate you are?” she said, without turning from her reflection.
From his guard position by the door, Dozla said, with every evidence of perfect truth, “Every day!”
Rennac said, “I don't follow.”
At this L'Arachel did turn. “Really? I wonder at you.” Jingling faintly, she approached his chair – he'd taken the plushest one in the room, hoping to sneak in a nap while Her Highness here stood around admiring herself. (She had unfortunately kept talking enough to make that impossible.) She rested one gloved hand on the chair back, very near his face; when he leaned away it only put him in the path of her supercilious stare. She said, “I am beautiful and intelligent, I am a pleasant traveling companion and really quite tolerant of your foibles, and now” - pause to gesture at her new armor - “I am taking an active hand in my own protection. So that you'll hardly have to do anything anymore. One could argue I keep you on only as an indulgence.”
Rennac stared at her, hardly knowing which point to object to first. From the door Dozla interposed, “You can't be thinking of sending the lad away, Your Highness. After all this time together!”
Rennac looked at him over the chair back. “You stay out of this, old man.”
Dozla went on: “Anyway, he may not be the brightest, or the most motivated, but his sword strikes true! And you know he's got a good heart in there, somewhere down deep -”
“No! No I don't. You're not helping.” He got up, and turned his ire back to its proper target. Generally she handed down pronouncements from on horseback, or atop some conveniently placed dais or rock outcropping or fallen tree or something; he sometimes forgot he was taller than her, and he so seldom got to put it to use. “Let me ask you this, Princess: do you think about how fortunate you are?”
“Often,” she said. He ignored this.
“Not only did you somehow manage to get someone in your entourage with some much-needed common sense, I'm well-connected in trade, I can break any lock that's ever been invented, I look like this, and I was specifically educated in how to entertain high-class ladies. And your account is in arrears! You should thank your saints every day I don't cut my losses and go get into land speculation.” This didn't get the reaction he wanted, or much of one at all. “And I bet you took a bath on this,” he said, flicking a fingernail against one of the pauldrons of this armor she was so proud of. It gave a faint pinging sound that was not the least bit convincing. “Sheer flimflammery. And now you'll just be twice as convinced you're invincible, and I'll have to work harder.”
From over his shoulder: “Might do you good.”
“No one asked you, Dozla.”
“Try the breastplate,” said L'Arachel.
“What?”
“If you're testing the materials, try this.” She reached behind her back, undid a few straps, and in a moment was holding the plate in question up before him. Nice of her to do that; he would have balked at hitting her in the chest. Skeptically, he took it off her hands, and...
“Huh.”
“This part,” said L'Arachel, “being crucial to my defense, is good steel. The outer surface is highly decorated, of course, but that isn't all. In this, it's exactly like me. A perfect union of form and function. I'm surprised you didn't know any better.”
“And it shines like her, too!” Dozla said.
Rennac shot him an irritated look. “What are you so proud of? Did you make it yourself? Don't answer that,” he added, because Dozla's trouble with the concept of rhetorical questions was not a headache he needed right now. He returned the breastplate to L'Arachel. “Fine. It's not as completely impractical as it looks. That was only part of the issue -”
L'Arachel raised a hand to cut him off. “Yes, I remember. And to all that ranting and complaining I would like to say this. I don't thank the saints for your continued presence, because you don't believe in them.”
Dozla said, “It's one of those foibles of yours she was talking about.”
“It's not – never mind.”
L'Arachel went on. “You assure me that no higher power has any influence over you. If that's the case, I have no reason to consult them about you. I have been blessed many times over, and you're not part of that – very well. You're here for completely unrelated reasons. You're here because you decided to be, and let's not pretend you will ever decide differently.”
“Oh, you just wait,” he said, although aware, even as the words left his mouth, of how feeble a retort it was.
“I shall be glad to. Meanwhile – Dozla, be a dear and help me get this back on? I wasn't done admiring myself.”
Characters: Rennac, L'Arachel, Dozla
Word count: 900
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "narcissistic." WOW I'VE MISSED THESE WEIRDOS.
L'Arachel stood before a full-length mirror, admiring her new ceremonial armor. She turned one way and the other, positioned herself in front of the lamp and behind it, watching the light play from every angle on every surface of positive yards of filigree.
“Have you ever considered how fortunate you are?” she said, without turning from her reflection.
From his guard position by the door, Dozla said, with every evidence of perfect truth, “Every day!”
Rennac said, “I don't follow.”
At this L'Arachel did turn. “Really? I wonder at you.” Jingling faintly, she approached his chair – he'd taken the plushest one in the room, hoping to sneak in a nap while Her Highness here stood around admiring herself. (She had unfortunately kept talking enough to make that impossible.) She rested one gloved hand on the chair back, very near his face; when he leaned away it only put him in the path of her supercilious stare. She said, “I am beautiful and intelligent, I am a pleasant traveling companion and really quite tolerant of your foibles, and now” - pause to gesture at her new armor - “I am taking an active hand in my own protection. So that you'll hardly have to do anything anymore. One could argue I keep you on only as an indulgence.”
Rennac stared at her, hardly knowing which point to object to first. From the door Dozla interposed, “You can't be thinking of sending the lad away, Your Highness. After all this time together!”
Rennac looked at him over the chair back. “You stay out of this, old man.”
Dozla went on: “Anyway, he may not be the brightest, or the most motivated, but his sword strikes true! And you know he's got a good heart in there, somewhere down deep -”
“No! No I don't. You're not helping.” He got up, and turned his ire back to its proper target. Generally she handed down pronouncements from on horseback, or atop some conveniently placed dais or rock outcropping or fallen tree or something; he sometimes forgot he was taller than her, and he so seldom got to put it to use. “Let me ask you this, Princess: do you think about how fortunate you are?”
“Often,” she said. He ignored this.
“Not only did you somehow manage to get someone in your entourage with some much-needed common sense, I'm well-connected in trade, I can break any lock that's ever been invented, I look like this, and I was specifically educated in how to entertain high-class ladies. And your account is in arrears! You should thank your saints every day I don't cut my losses and go get into land speculation.” This didn't get the reaction he wanted, or much of one at all. “And I bet you took a bath on this,” he said, flicking a fingernail against one of the pauldrons of this armor she was so proud of. It gave a faint pinging sound that was not the least bit convincing. “Sheer flimflammery. And now you'll just be twice as convinced you're invincible, and I'll have to work harder.”
From over his shoulder: “Might do you good.”
“No one asked you, Dozla.”
“Try the breastplate,” said L'Arachel.
“What?”
“If you're testing the materials, try this.” She reached behind her back, undid a few straps, and in a moment was holding the plate in question up before him. Nice of her to do that; he would have balked at hitting her in the chest. Skeptically, he took it off her hands, and...
“Huh.”
“This part,” said L'Arachel, “being crucial to my defense, is good steel. The outer surface is highly decorated, of course, but that isn't all. In this, it's exactly like me. A perfect union of form and function. I'm surprised you didn't know any better.”
“And it shines like her, too!” Dozla said.
Rennac shot him an irritated look. “What are you so proud of? Did you make it yourself? Don't answer that,” he added, because Dozla's trouble with the concept of rhetorical questions was not a headache he needed right now. He returned the breastplate to L'Arachel. “Fine. It's not as completely impractical as it looks. That was only part of the issue -”
L'Arachel raised a hand to cut him off. “Yes, I remember. And to all that ranting and complaining I would like to say this. I don't thank the saints for your continued presence, because you don't believe in them.”
Dozla said, “It's one of those foibles of yours she was talking about.”
“It's not – never mind.”
L'Arachel went on. “You assure me that no higher power has any influence over you. If that's the case, I have no reason to consult them about you. I have been blessed many times over, and you're not part of that – very well. You're here for completely unrelated reasons. You're here because you decided to be, and let's not pretend you will ever decide differently.”
“Oh, you just wait,” he said, although aware, even as the words left his mouth, of how feeble a retort it was.
“I shall be glad to. Meanwhile – Dozla, be a dear and help me get this back on? I wasn't done admiring myself.”
no subject
Date: 2021-06-07 09:13 pm (UTC)