Post by Kit on Apr 12, 2011 15:38:51 GMT 10
Title: New Old Threads: Accords
Series: Speculation AU-verse, around the time of Chapter Nine.
Rating: PG
Words: 392
Summary: I could not get this scene to play nicely with the main text, but excluding it would have been too sad. Briar raids Crane's greenhouse.
“Stop, thief!”
Dedicate Briarmoss straightened, small, dead needles falling from his fingers. “Not ever,” he said.
Crane spluttered.
“Oh, fine. Not recently. But look at it, man.”
“At you,” The Air Dedicate snapped. “Unable to keep your hands off a one-hundred-and-thirty year old shakkan tree? It is priceless—”
“—and pining.”
“It’s pine.”
“Ah, stuff yourself.” Briar looked down at the miniature tree and scowled. “You’ve been asking and asking for a right long time now,” he said. “And does it look any better?”
“—you cannot think to simply fix things.” Crane moved to step between the slender Earth dedicate and the plant that did its best to express a world of beauty and power in perfect form. He flinched as Briar laid a hand on his arm.
“I can fix this,” he said, dark.
“You have a new hoard to contend with,” Crane sniffed. “One of which at least seems entirely unsuitable. Shakkans need—”
“—seasonal lives. You’re not dealing with an orchid. And, you know, you’d probably like Niva if you just—”
“—it’s unspeakable for you to suggest any such thing. I’m not parting with it.”
“Your pride?”
“The plant.”
Briar’s hand moved, clinging briefly to the taller man’s shoulder, the angular, cleanly shaven side of his face. “You can’t,” Crane said, slow and hoarse.
“Can’t fix things, old man. I know. But Green Man help me, I am leaving with that shakkan.”
“Ingrate.”
“And right about it. You couldn’t tend this plant if your life depended on it. Which it doesn’t. So it’s hardly going to kill you if—oh, fine.”
Crane, not stepping away from him, merely raised his eyebrows.
“One of my tomato plants.”
“Hah.” Crane stepped further in rather than away, exchanging space and breath with the other man, who let his free hand press against the slick glass. “With a charm to wither as soon as it’s transplanted? Thank you, no.”
“A charm for it to flourish in your care.” He kissed him, hard and swift, feeling Crane’s teeth close about his lower lip. “Withering,” he gasped, “Only works for true thieves.”
Briar felt the man blush before he saw it, only slowly breaking off the kiss.
The shakkan’s song was a low, unhappy drone in the back of his head, modulating gradually up to hope.
Series: Speculation AU-verse, around the time of Chapter Nine.
Rating: PG
Words: 392
Summary: I could not get this scene to play nicely with the main text, but excluding it would have been too sad. Briar raids Crane's greenhouse.
“Stop, thief!”
Dedicate Briarmoss straightened, small, dead needles falling from his fingers. “Not ever,” he said.
Crane spluttered.
“Oh, fine. Not recently. But look at it, man.”
“At you,” The Air Dedicate snapped. “Unable to keep your hands off a one-hundred-and-thirty year old shakkan tree? It is priceless—”
“—and pining.”
“It’s pine.”
“Ah, stuff yourself.” Briar looked down at the miniature tree and scowled. “You’ve been asking and asking for a right long time now,” he said. “And does it look any better?”
“—you cannot think to simply fix things.” Crane moved to step between the slender Earth dedicate and the plant that did its best to express a world of beauty and power in perfect form. He flinched as Briar laid a hand on his arm.
“I can fix this,” he said, dark.
“You have a new hoard to contend with,” Crane sniffed. “One of which at least seems entirely unsuitable. Shakkans need—”
“—seasonal lives. You’re not dealing with an orchid. And, you know, you’d probably like Niva if you just—”
“—it’s unspeakable for you to suggest any such thing. I’m not parting with it.”
“Your pride?”
“The plant.”
Briar’s hand moved, clinging briefly to the taller man’s shoulder, the angular, cleanly shaven side of his face. “You can’t,” Crane said, slow and hoarse.
“Can’t fix things, old man. I know. But Green Man help me, I am leaving with that shakkan.”
“Ingrate.”
“And right about it. You couldn’t tend this plant if your life depended on it. Which it doesn’t. So it’s hardly going to kill you if—oh, fine.”
Crane, not stepping away from him, merely raised his eyebrows.
“One of my tomato plants.”
“Hah.” Crane stepped further in rather than away, exchanging space and breath with the other man, who let his free hand press against the slick glass. “With a charm to wither as soon as it’s transplanted? Thank you, no.”
“A charm for it to flourish in your care.” He kissed him, hard and swift, feeling Crane’s teeth close about his lower lip. “Withering,” he gasped, “Only works for true thieves.”
Briar felt the man blush before he saw it, only slowly breaking off the kiss.
The shakkan’s song was a low, unhappy drone in the back of his head, modulating gradually up to hope.