Post by Seek on May 5, 2013 0:08:30 GMT 10
Title: Gang
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 617 words
Summary: Raoul saves Buri's life in the Lower City.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Crossfire series.
Warnings: Violence. Possibly graphic.
-
There are parts of the Lower City where it’s not a good place to be K’miri. Spitting blood from between her teeth, Buri twists her curving K’miri knife about and smiles, baring teeth. “Oh, come on boys,” she says, “Who wants to be next?”
She’s bleeding from too many cuts. Knife fights are messy that way, and you have to be prepared to get cut. The trick is taking the cuts where it doesn’t matter. She’s thoroughly outnumbered, and there are parts of the Lower City where the Provost’s Guard are absolutely useless. She should’ve listened to her Riders, and Buri grimly thinks that one way or another, she’s not going to make that mistake again.
They taunt her, with lewd threats and all sorts of remarks that reference her K’miri heritage, things she’d like to take their tongue for. She kicks one of them between the legs and slashes another in the eyes. She hurls a third to the ground with a shoulder throw and then stamps on his fingers until he screams, something snaps, and his knife clatters to the ground. She stoops down to pick that up. A knife she can use, even throw. And it’s one weapon they can’t use against her. She’d give anything to have carried some K’miri throwing stars with her right now, but she doesn’t have them. She was supposed to meet Raoul for a shared dinner between long-suffering comrades and fellow Commanders at an inn in the Lower City. He’s sworn that they serve brilliant beef pies but she couldn’t find the inn, and ended up in a dark alley where she shouldn’t be.
At least her back’s to the wall, so they can’t come at her from behind. One of them tries to pin her down and wrest the knife from her grasp; she flick-drives his friend’s knife deep into his throat. Blood washes over her hand as she leaves it there and shoves the screaming-gurgling-thrashing body off her. He’s already a corpse, he just doesn’t quite know it yet.
“Fiesty barbarian slut,” one of them sneers, and then cries out as a large form smashes his way through them.
“You’re late,” Raoul says casually, to her. His dark eyes flick to the thieves. His sword gleams in his hand. His punch hits the sneering rogue in the throat and floors him. Another charges him, tries to knife him. Raoul’s sword takes him in the stomach and then he rips his blade free. Raoul’s repetoire of unarmed combat moves is almost as wide as hers. He’s taken lessons from the Shang Wolf, and he has the advantage of strength and his large build on his side. Anyone he hits stays down, and while he’s not Alanna’s equal, he’s still a terror with a sword.
“And you need to work on your sense of good timing,” Buri replies, and now the grin on her face has nothing to do with the knife fight. “Any slower and I wouldn’t even have saved any of them for you.”
-
At dinner, because she refuses to let those Tortallan louts ruin their evening plans, she lets him dab at those cuts with a wet, clean cloth. She’s been in worse scrapes before, Buri informs him.
“I know,” Raoul says. He insists on seeing to her cuts anyway. He adds, “I heard what they were saying. They shouldn’t have said those to you.”
She pats his hand. “Raoul,” she informs him, “You’re too idealistic. That’s nice, but they’ll keep on saying it anyway.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But they’re wrong.”
The dessert, when it comes, is entirely worth the trouble. They share it, a sweet, flaky apple pie with hints of cinnamon.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 617 words
Summary: Raoul saves Buri's life in the Lower City.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Crossfire series.
Warnings: Violence. Possibly graphic.
-
There are parts of the Lower City where it’s not a good place to be K’miri. Spitting blood from between her teeth, Buri twists her curving K’miri knife about and smiles, baring teeth. “Oh, come on boys,” she says, “Who wants to be next?”
She’s bleeding from too many cuts. Knife fights are messy that way, and you have to be prepared to get cut. The trick is taking the cuts where it doesn’t matter. She’s thoroughly outnumbered, and there are parts of the Lower City where the Provost’s Guard are absolutely useless. She should’ve listened to her Riders, and Buri grimly thinks that one way or another, she’s not going to make that mistake again.
They taunt her, with lewd threats and all sorts of remarks that reference her K’miri heritage, things she’d like to take their tongue for. She kicks one of them between the legs and slashes another in the eyes. She hurls a third to the ground with a shoulder throw and then stamps on his fingers until he screams, something snaps, and his knife clatters to the ground. She stoops down to pick that up. A knife she can use, even throw. And it’s one weapon they can’t use against her. She’d give anything to have carried some K’miri throwing stars with her right now, but she doesn’t have them. She was supposed to meet Raoul for a shared dinner between long-suffering comrades and fellow Commanders at an inn in the Lower City. He’s sworn that they serve brilliant beef pies but she couldn’t find the inn, and ended up in a dark alley where she shouldn’t be.
At least her back’s to the wall, so they can’t come at her from behind. One of them tries to pin her down and wrest the knife from her grasp; she flick-drives his friend’s knife deep into his throat. Blood washes over her hand as she leaves it there and shoves the screaming-gurgling-thrashing body off her. He’s already a corpse, he just doesn’t quite know it yet.
“Fiesty barbarian slut,” one of them sneers, and then cries out as a large form smashes his way through them.
“You’re late,” Raoul says casually, to her. His dark eyes flick to the thieves. His sword gleams in his hand. His punch hits the sneering rogue in the throat and floors him. Another charges him, tries to knife him. Raoul’s sword takes him in the stomach and then he rips his blade free. Raoul’s repetoire of unarmed combat moves is almost as wide as hers. He’s taken lessons from the Shang Wolf, and he has the advantage of strength and his large build on his side. Anyone he hits stays down, and while he’s not Alanna’s equal, he’s still a terror with a sword.
“And you need to work on your sense of good timing,” Buri replies, and now the grin on her face has nothing to do with the knife fight. “Any slower and I wouldn’t even have saved any of them for you.”
-
At dinner, because she refuses to let those Tortallan louts ruin their evening plans, she lets him dab at those cuts with a wet, clean cloth. She’s been in worse scrapes before, Buri informs him.
“I know,” Raoul says. He insists on seeing to her cuts anyway. He adds, “I heard what they were saying. They shouldn’t have said those to you.”
She pats his hand. “Raoul,” she informs him, “You’re too idealistic. That’s nice, but they’ll keep on saying it anyway.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But they’re wrong.”
The dessert, when it comes, is entirely worth the trouble. They share it, a sweet, flaky apple pie with hints of cinnamon.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!