Post by EymberFyire on Apr 16, 2013 16:06:52 GMT 10
Title: The Rule of Thirds, PG
Rating: PG
Word Count: 561
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: “In that surprised moment, Kel realizes that if anyone understood being seen as a symbol, it was quiet, compassionate Lalasa.”.
Warnings: Implied emotional unfaithfulness. Feelings.
“It’s just hard, Lalasa...” and while this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other since she returned from the North it is the first chance they have had to sit and talk. Kel knows the look of worry the other woman wears, knows the way Lalasa’s eyes are trailing over Kel’s gaunt face, the cheek bones sharper than when she left. Taking in the fine lines and bagged eyes that make her look older than her 22 years.
Lalasa’s shop was silent when Kel entered, and the older woman was lighting a fire to ward the chill of the winter months away. Now they stand before the hearth as Lalasa fits Kel for clothes that aren’t military issued, passing stories back and forth. Filling the nuances of the years that letters hadn’t reached.
“What’s hard, Lady Kel?” and though she has a loop of string around Kel’s bicep as she measures, Lalasa’s eyes are filled with concern.
Kel pauses, eyes searching the ether for her answer as she tries to put words to it. “I wasn’t just Kel, when I was there. I was the Commander. It’s...” and she pauses fingers coming up to pinch the bone above her eye as she furrows her brow in frustration.
“Lonely.” finishes Lalasa. Kel drops her hand and looks up, but Lalasa isn’t looking at her - she’s gazing out the window towards the rest of Corus. In that surprised moment, Kel realizes that if anyone understood being seen as a symbol it was quiet, compassionate Lalasa. Former maid turned merchant. Hero to the lower class.
Kel nods in agreement. “Lonely.”
Outside, the sounds are muffled by the fall of fresh snow, and they listen to the odd echo as stray travelers pass by, footfalls distorted and strange. Kel isn’t sure what to say, whether she should break the silence.
Lalasa slips the knotted cord around Kel’s waist, hands grazing the protruding hip bones in dismay. She looks up and freezes, her brown eyes inscrutable as they meet Kel’s own.
It has been so long since Kel has had someone as an equal.
“I just...” she pauses, tongue thick with confusion and stuck to the roof of her mouth, colliding with her teeth. “ I...” and the words are stumbling over the rush of heat that sweeps over her face as Lalasa takes a step closer to her. She can smell her hair. Cinnamon and cotton.
They are frozen like that for an instant, inches apart and a chasm between them. The space is cramped. The space is infinite. Things are warring inside Kel’s head, like honor, desire, duty, but after all the death and the fear and responsibility it just feels good to be unguarded for a moment.
Slowly, agonizingly, Lalasa reaches a hand up to tuck a strand of Kel’s hair behind her ear. Her fingers are incredibly delicate, precise. The tips graze Kel’s ear and her breath leaves her sharply in one exhalation, eyes closing, hand clenching the chair next to her.
She has no idea what she will do, or say, seems frozen in place, when the silence is shattered by the bells from a nearby temple. It’s as if she has been freed, and then she is bolting, running from the shop, leaving behind her cloak and an urgent, distraught voice that calls her name down the snow-lined streets.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 561
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: “In that surprised moment, Kel realizes that if anyone understood being seen as a symbol, it was quiet, compassionate Lalasa.”.
Warnings: Implied emotional unfaithfulness. Feelings.
“It’s just hard, Lalasa...” and while this isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other since she returned from the North it is the first chance they have had to sit and talk. Kel knows the look of worry the other woman wears, knows the way Lalasa’s eyes are trailing over Kel’s gaunt face, the cheek bones sharper than when she left. Taking in the fine lines and bagged eyes that make her look older than her 22 years.
Lalasa’s shop was silent when Kel entered, and the older woman was lighting a fire to ward the chill of the winter months away. Now they stand before the hearth as Lalasa fits Kel for clothes that aren’t military issued, passing stories back and forth. Filling the nuances of the years that letters hadn’t reached.
“What’s hard, Lady Kel?” and though she has a loop of string around Kel’s bicep as she measures, Lalasa’s eyes are filled with concern.
Kel pauses, eyes searching the ether for her answer as she tries to put words to it. “I wasn’t just Kel, when I was there. I was the Commander. It’s...” and she pauses fingers coming up to pinch the bone above her eye as she furrows her brow in frustration.
“Lonely.” finishes Lalasa. Kel drops her hand and looks up, but Lalasa isn’t looking at her - she’s gazing out the window towards the rest of Corus. In that surprised moment, Kel realizes that if anyone understood being seen as a symbol it was quiet, compassionate Lalasa. Former maid turned merchant. Hero to the lower class.
Kel nods in agreement. “Lonely.”
Outside, the sounds are muffled by the fall of fresh snow, and they listen to the odd echo as stray travelers pass by, footfalls distorted and strange. Kel isn’t sure what to say, whether she should break the silence.
Lalasa slips the knotted cord around Kel’s waist, hands grazing the protruding hip bones in dismay. She looks up and freezes, her brown eyes inscrutable as they meet Kel’s own.
It has been so long since Kel has had someone as an equal.
“I just...” she pauses, tongue thick with confusion and stuck to the roof of her mouth, colliding with her teeth. “ I...” and the words are stumbling over the rush of heat that sweeps over her face as Lalasa takes a step closer to her. She can smell her hair. Cinnamon and cotton.
They are frozen like that for an instant, inches apart and a chasm between them. The space is cramped. The space is infinite. Things are warring inside Kel’s head, like honor, desire, duty, but after all the death and the fear and responsibility it just feels good to be unguarded for a moment.
Slowly, agonizingly, Lalasa reaches a hand up to tuck a strand of Kel’s hair behind her ear. Her fingers are incredibly delicate, precise. The tips graze Kel’s ear and her breath leaves her sharply in one exhalation, eyes closing, hand clenching the chair next to her.
She has no idea what she will do, or say, seems frozen in place, when the silence is shattered by the bells from a nearby temple. It’s as if she has been freed, and then she is bolting, running from the shop, leaving behind her cloak and an urgent, distraught voice that calls her name down the snow-lined streets.