Post by rainstormamaya on Mar 9, 2011 9:49:51 GMT 10
Title: Comfort
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 681
Pairing: Team Girl Power (Buri/Thayet)
Round: 1/B
Summary: Buri and Thayet’s first night on the run.
Buri has been dreading this look on her princess’s face. Beautiful as ever, lovely in despair - lovelier, even, her sadness and the flickering light of the fire lending an ethereal quality to her face – but still, despairing. Buri knows enough to understand that giving up is a greater killer than fighting on, and she might have been raised in the lowlands but she is K’miri through and through, and physically incapable of surrendering while she has a standard to rally round. Now that her mother is dead, now that Kalasin is gone, Thayet is that standard.
She drops more dry wood beside the small fire, and it occurs to her to wonder if Thayet has a standard to rally round.
“Thayet?” Buri says, softly, awkwardly. She doesn’t know what she’s trying to do; what help can she possibly be?
“Mm?” Thayet sighs, and flicks her black hair, a stream of liquid ink in the firelight, over her shoulder. She begins to comb it.
“Let me do that,” Buri says, on instinct. Thayet glances at her in surprise, and obediently hands over the comb. It is elaborately carved and smooth with use, and Buri instantly recognises it as Kalasin’s; of course, Thayet would bring nothing unnecessary. This... this isn’t frivolity or vanity. It’s the gift of a memory, of sitting quietly at her mother’s knee while tangles are teased out of hair and stories are told to keep her quiet.
Buri feels the sting of tears, which are not worthy of her. She has no such memory and she has never wished for one before. Her mother has always been her teacher, and her hair has always been as short as a boy’s.
She kneels behind Thayet, and begins to comb. She has done this only a handful of times before and at first she snags on the tangles, making Thayet jump and hiss. If Thayet were any less patient, Buri is sure that she’d be getting a lecture for her mistakes, but Thayet is patient and Buri learns fast, and this... once you get the hang of it, this is soothing, the run of silky hair under the comb and through Buri’s fingers, Thayet’s shoulders and back straight in front of Buri’s hands, the slender curve of her ivory neck vulnerable, even the little round pearl of bone at the base of her neck where her shoulders join her spine beautiful.
Buri comes awake with a start to realise that her situational awareness is severely compromised and Thayet’s hair is tangle-free. Buri blinks, then pulls a rawhide thong from her pocket and starts to plait it tightly, as her mother used to plait her own, quick and deft without the need for a mirror. Buri has never plaited her own hair, and only ever tried to plait her mother’s hair a few times, so it takes her a while to get the hang of it and she has to have several goes – but she gets there, reaches the end of the (fairly) tight, (reasonably) smooth braid and ties it off.
Thayet unties an apple-green ribbon from her wrist, and hands it over without comment. Buri wraps it round the thong, tying it off neatly too.
“Thank you,” Thayet whispers. There is smoke and salt tear-trails in her voice.
Buri’s instincts are telling her what to do next, even though it feels strange to do this for... well, anyone. But this is Thayet. She knows her well, knows her strengths, her weaknesses, and both have been tested thoroughly today.
Buri wraps her arms around Thayet’s shoulders and pulls Thayet back against her chest, pressing her face into the side of Thayet’s neck, doing her best to blanket her in comfort when Thayet is five inches taller than her, though Buri has broader shoulders.
“It was nothing,” Buri mutters into Thayet’s creamy skin, breathing in the faint herbal scent of the soap the convent used, and selfishly, dangerously, she wishes for enough evenings like this to fill out her whole life.
And make no mistake: Buri intends that life to be long.
QC by: inthefire
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 681
Pairing: Team Girl Power (Buri/Thayet)
Round: 1/B
Summary: Buri and Thayet’s first night on the run.
***
Buri has been dreading this look on her princess’s face. Beautiful as ever, lovely in despair - lovelier, even, her sadness and the flickering light of the fire lending an ethereal quality to her face – but still, despairing. Buri knows enough to understand that giving up is a greater killer than fighting on, and she might have been raised in the lowlands but she is K’miri through and through, and physically incapable of surrendering while she has a standard to rally round. Now that her mother is dead, now that Kalasin is gone, Thayet is that standard.
She drops more dry wood beside the small fire, and it occurs to her to wonder if Thayet has a standard to rally round.
“Thayet?” Buri says, softly, awkwardly. She doesn’t know what she’s trying to do; what help can she possibly be?
“Mm?” Thayet sighs, and flicks her black hair, a stream of liquid ink in the firelight, over her shoulder. She begins to comb it.
“Let me do that,” Buri says, on instinct. Thayet glances at her in surprise, and obediently hands over the comb. It is elaborately carved and smooth with use, and Buri instantly recognises it as Kalasin’s; of course, Thayet would bring nothing unnecessary. This... this isn’t frivolity or vanity. It’s the gift of a memory, of sitting quietly at her mother’s knee while tangles are teased out of hair and stories are told to keep her quiet.
Buri feels the sting of tears, which are not worthy of her. She has no such memory and she has never wished for one before. Her mother has always been her teacher, and her hair has always been as short as a boy’s.
She kneels behind Thayet, and begins to comb. She has done this only a handful of times before and at first she snags on the tangles, making Thayet jump and hiss. If Thayet were any less patient, Buri is sure that she’d be getting a lecture for her mistakes, but Thayet is patient and Buri learns fast, and this... once you get the hang of it, this is soothing, the run of silky hair under the comb and through Buri’s fingers, Thayet’s shoulders and back straight in front of Buri’s hands, the slender curve of her ivory neck vulnerable, even the little round pearl of bone at the base of her neck where her shoulders join her spine beautiful.
Buri comes awake with a start to realise that her situational awareness is severely compromised and Thayet’s hair is tangle-free. Buri blinks, then pulls a rawhide thong from her pocket and starts to plait it tightly, as her mother used to plait her own, quick and deft without the need for a mirror. Buri has never plaited her own hair, and only ever tried to plait her mother’s hair a few times, so it takes her a while to get the hang of it and she has to have several goes – but she gets there, reaches the end of the (fairly) tight, (reasonably) smooth braid and ties it off.
Thayet unties an apple-green ribbon from her wrist, and hands it over without comment. Buri wraps it round the thong, tying it off neatly too.
“Thank you,” Thayet whispers. There is smoke and salt tear-trails in her voice.
Buri’s instincts are telling her what to do next, even though it feels strange to do this for... well, anyone. But this is Thayet. She knows her well, knows her strengths, her weaknesses, and both have been tested thoroughly today.
Buri wraps her arms around Thayet’s shoulders and pulls Thayet back against her chest, pressing her face into the side of Thayet’s neck, doing her best to blanket her in comfort when Thayet is five inches taller than her, though Buri has broader shoulders.
“It was nothing,” Buri mutters into Thayet’s creamy skin, breathing in the faint herbal scent of the soap the convent used, and selfishly, dangerously, she wishes for enough evenings like this to fill out her whole life.
And make no mistake: Buri intends that life to be long.
QC by: inthefire