Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2011 6:00:46 GMT 10
Title: Bluebell
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 589
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Bluebell: luck, truth. All about Rosethorn and Crane's on/off relationship. Rated for implied sex. Rosethorn's Garden #4
Note: "Eight years. It took six of us eight years to blend these essences, to reduce the need to experiment on human beings. Xiyun Mountstrider, from Yanjing, died of breakbone fever in the third year. We thought we would never succeed without him. Ulra Stormborn went blind in the fifth year. First Dedicate Elmbrook took Ibaru fever and bled to death inside her skin in the seventh year, and we continued the work." -- Briar's Book, Chapter 12
First Dedicate Elmsbrook died on a warm summer's day. She was survived by her estranged daughter, her devastated lover, and her two students-turned-peers on the Human Essence Project. At the very end, Rosethorn and Crane had been forced to leave their former teacher's side, or risk the failure of the strand of a theory they'd been following for the past three years.
It felt to Rosethorn almost as though they had chosen the project over Elmsbrook's life, even if she called herself a ninny in her head, because by the time they emerged from the laboratory, cautiously hopeful that this final test would confirm the viability of the essence of any single age group, the news had been waiting for three hours. The delicate hope, the fragile reconciliation she thought she might build with Crane, had shattered. They'd walked to the morgue in silence.
They returned to work the next day. She wasn't in idiot, and both of them remembered the terrible screaming during the previous epidemic. They'd had to suspend work on the project, and the first cure the four mages felt secure enough to test on a patient sent two of their ten patients into intermittent screaming and seizures. By the time they perfected the treatment, over a period of three more days and three nights of haunting dreams, the two had died.
As she and Crane checked the results of their research, and their colleague checked hers, Rosethorn couldn't help but wonder who among them was next.
Rosethorn's results showed progress towards a possible broad diagnostic powder, but they were set aside in favour of following Crane's. Rosethorn wondered if Crane, too, was reliving the breakthrough Xiyun gave his life to complete, for he made no sarcastic comment, no gloating witticism.
(She had known, four years ago. She'd been roused from her nightmares by his tossing and turning, and they'd lost themselves in each other in their desperate passion until they reached some modicum of peace. They'd risen side by side so often that it had taken months to get used to waking alone.)
For the next seven days, Rosethorn and Crane performed experiment after experiment, remixing the keys and relying on the luck of the draw for success. For the next seven nights, Rosethorn dreamt of her volunteers' faces as they died around her, her old nightmare returned. For the next seven mornings, long before dawn, Rosethorn woke with her former teacher's name on her lips.
On the seventh night, Rosethorn forced herself out of bed and walked to the door, opening it before Crane could knock. They stared at each other, and each saw the same conflict written across the other's face, saw the chance to drown it with something else. In so many ways, they were like young saps planted in the same soil, branches facing away but roots still the same distance apart. She had been about to head into his rooms, and knock on the door, and that was a truth of their relationship.
They spoke little, like in the last days of their relationship, a far cry from the laughter and playfulness of the early courtship, but the next day, Rosethorn rose with the sun and not before.
The morning after, they arrived to an outcome that knocked the wind out of Rosethorn, sudden fierce joy at the good fortune that had presented the project with success. And because this, too, was a truth of their relationship, they spent that night, and ones after that, in their own rooms, alone.
QC by PeroxidePirate
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 589
Pairing: Crane/Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/F
Summary: Bluebell: luck, truth. All about Rosethorn and Crane's on/off relationship. Rated for implied sex. Rosethorn's Garden #4
Note: "Eight years. It took six of us eight years to blend these essences, to reduce the need to experiment on human beings. Xiyun Mountstrider, from Yanjing, died of breakbone fever in the third year. We thought we would never succeed without him. Ulra Stormborn went blind in the fifth year. First Dedicate Elmbrook took Ibaru fever and bled to death inside her skin in the seventh year, and we continued the work." -- Briar's Book, Chapter 12
First Dedicate Elmsbrook died on a warm summer's day. She was survived by her estranged daughter, her devastated lover, and her two students-turned-peers on the Human Essence Project. At the very end, Rosethorn and Crane had been forced to leave their former teacher's side, or risk the failure of the strand of a theory they'd been following for the past three years.
It felt to Rosethorn almost as though they had chosen the project over Elmsbrook's life, even if she called herself a ninny in her head, because by the time they emerged from the laboratory, cautiously hopeful that this final test would confirm the viability of the essence of any single age group, the news had been waiting for three hours. The delicate hope, the fragile reconciliation she thought she might build with Crane, had shattered. They'd walked to the morgue in silence.
They returned to work the next day. She wasn't in idiot, and both of them remembered the terrible screaming during the previous epidemic. They'd had to suspend work on the project, and the first cure the four mages felt secure enough to test on a patient sent two of their ten patients into intermittent screaming and seizures. By the time they perfected the treatment, over a period of three more days and three nights of haunting dreams, the two had died.
As she and Crane checked the results of their research, and their colleague checked hers, Rosethorn couldn't help but wonder who among them was next.
Rosethorn's results showed progress towards a possible broad diagnostic powder, but they were set aside in favour of following Crane's. Rosethorn wondered if Crane, too, was reliving the breakthrough Xiyun gave his life to complete, for he made no sarcastic comment, no gloating witticism.
(She had known, four years ago. She'd been roused from her nightmares by his tossing and turning, and they'd lost themselves in each other in their desperate passion until they reached some modicum of peace. They'd risen side by side so often that it had taken months to get used to waking alone.)
For the next seven days, Rosethorn and Crane performed experiment after experiment, remixing the keys and relying on the luck of the draw for success. For the next seven nights, Rosethorn dreamt of her volunteers' faces as they died around her, her old nightmare returned. For the next seven mornings, long before dawn, Rosethorn woke with her former teacher's name on her lips.
On the seventh night, Rosethorn forced herself out of bed and walked to the door, opening it before Crane could knock. They stared at each other, and each saw the same conflict written across the other's face, saw the chance to drown it with something else. In so many ways, they were like young saps planted in the same soil, branches facing away but roots still the same distance apart. She had been about to head into his rooms, and knock on the door, and that was a truth of their relationship.
They spoke little, like in the last days of their relationship, a far cry from the laughter and playfulness of the early courtship, but the next day, Rosethorn rose with the sun and not before.
The morning after, they arrived to an outcome that knocked the wind out of Rosethorn, sudden fierce joy at the good fortune that had presented the project with success. And because this, too, was a truth of their relationship, they spent that night, and ones after that, in their own rooms, alone.
QC by PeroxidePirate
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!