Post by figgsthepirate on Aug 15, 2011 9:31:45 GMT 10
Title: Fan
Rating: G
Word Count: 515
Summary (and any Warnings): It gets him through the nightmares, because it reminds him of her.
Notes: Exploring Neal/Yuki from a more distant point of view.
>>>>>>>>>>>
Neal woke with it clutched in his hand. Slowly, groggily, he opened his fingers to find angry red lines where the steel ribs had pressed deeply into the calloused flesh of his palm. The fan tipped onto the mattress, stark red against the white, like blood spilled onto fresh-fallen snow. Neal shuddered and sat up quickly, feeling his stomach roil.
A knock. “Neal? Are you awake?”
“Come in,” he croaked, scrabbling for his Gift. He drew on it almost frantically, soothing his nausea and the headache that pounded through his skull. He didn’t realize he’d overdrawn until green fire began to trickle from his hands into his lap.
Alanna stepped in, took one look, and went to him immediately. Her cool hands on his forehead revived him, and he cut the green fire off.
“My Gift,” he stammered, looking at his palms, one white, one striped with red. “It was –”
“Don’t.” Her violet eyes warned even as they sympathized. “It’s not allowed.”
Neal bowed his head, fighting the scream that built in his chest. “I know,” he whispered at last. Then, looking around, “What time is it?”
“About five of the clock. Time to get ready.” She took his bicep when he didn’t move, tugging him gently out of the bed. “Or have you decided you don’t want your shield after all?” Her voice was dry as the Bazhir desert, and it pulled him at last from his stupor.
“No, I’ve decided to forgo my shield and become a Player,” he replied, just as dry as she. Beginning to feel more himself, he shooed his knight-mistress – former knight-mistress – from the room and changed from his Ordeal clothes into tunic and hose in the Queenscove colors. Lalasa had insisted in having a hand in his first home fief garments as a full knight, and every stitch was perfectly made, the velvet fitted to his body with all her skill. He still looked tired, but that could hardly be helped. A few green sparks smoothed the bruises beneath his eyes, and a quick flick of his fingers through his hair settled the unruly strands.
A pounding on the door roused him from his self-contemplation. “Queenscove! Are you going to be late to your own knighting?”
Neal’s mouth twitched involuntarily. Alanna was as much a mother hen as Kel, though he’d be facing the point of her sword for mentioning it. One last glance in the mirror, and he strode to the door. At the last second, he paused and turned.
The fan lay on the bed, glowing with a soft red sheen. The steel tines reflected the lamplight like the silver bones of an immortal. Neal though of a pair of mischievous, almond-shaped eyes and plump pink lips curved into a wicked smile, and went to pick up the fan. He turned it over in his hands, careful of the sharp edges, and lifted it to his nose. It smelled of jasmine and sweet woodruff. Neal smiled and pressed a kiss to the thin silk before thrusting it into his belt and striding from the room.
Rating: G
Word Count: 515
Summary (and any Warnings): It gets him through the nightmares, because it reminds him of her.
Notes: Exploring Neal/Yuki from a more distant point of view.
>>>>>>>>>>>
Neal woke with it clutched in his hand. Slowly, groggily, he opened his fingers to find angry red lines where the steel ribs had pressed deeply into the calloused flesh of his palm. The fan tipped onto the mattress, stark red against the white, like blood spilled onto fresh-fallen snow. Neal shuddered and sat up quickly, feeling his stomach roil.
A knock. “Neal? Are you awake?”
“Come in,” he croaked, scrabbling for his Gift. He drew on it almost frantically, soothing his nausea and the headache that pounded through his skull. He didn’t realize he’d overdrawn until green fire began to trickle from his hands into his lap.
Alanna stepped in, took one look, and went to him immediately. Her cool hands on his forehead revived him, and he cut the green fire off.
“My Gift,” he stammered, looking at his palms, one white, one striped with red. “It was –”
“Don’t.” Her violet eyes warned even as they sympathized. “It’s not allowed.”
Neal bowed his head, fighting the scream that built in his chest. “I know,” he whispered at last. Then, looking around, “What time is it?”
“About five of the clock. Time to get ready.” She took his bicep when he didn’t move, tugging him gently out of the bed. “Or have you decided you don’t want your shield after all?” Her voice was dry as the Bazhir desert, and it pulled him at last from his stupor.
“No, I’ve decided to forgo my shield and become a Player,” he replied, just as dry as she. Beginning to feel more himself, he shooed his knight-mistress – former knight-mistress – from the room and changed from his Ordeal clothes into tunic and hose in the Queenscove colors. Lalasa had insisted in having a hand in his first home fief garments as a full knight, and every stitch was perfectly made, the velvet fitted to his body with all her skill. He still looked tired, but that could hardly be helped. A few green sparks smoothed the bruises beneath his eyes, and a quick flick of his fingers through his hair settled the unruly strands.
A pounding on the door roused him from his self-contemplation. “Queenscove! Are you going to be late to your own knighting?”
Neal’s mouth twitched involuntarily. Alanna was as much a mother hen as Kel, though he’d be facing the point of her sword for mentioning it. One last glance in the mirror, and he strode to the door. At the last second, he paused and turned.
The fan lay on the bed, glowing with a soft red sheen. The steel tines reflected the lamplight like the silver bones of an immortal. Neal though of a pair of mischievous, almond-shaped eyes and plump pink lips curved into a wicked smile, and went to pick up the fan. He turned it over in his hands, careful of the sharp edges, and lifted it to his nose. It smelled of jasmine and sweet woodruff. Neal smiled and pressed a kiss to the thin silk before thrusting it into his belt and striding from the room.