Post by Vala on Aug 31, 2017 23:04:38 GMT 10
Series: She’s The Duchess
Title: Together
Rating: G
Event: Synchronised Swimming
Words: 1810
Summary: Emelan Gang AU. Sandry gets an idea in her head and enlists Daja and Tris to help her. After all, there's nothing like sabotaging carts for team bonding.
____
It wasn’t that she was particularly nice or altruistic, Sandry thought. After all, she was a member of Emelan’s most notorious gang which could hardly be considered nice. Just, there was something inside of her that burned when she saw them and the signs of their want: their grubby little faces, missing teeth, greedy, pulling hands that clung and nipped at anyone passing, and the way they tilted their head, eyes watering and begged.
Sandry clenched her fists, and stared out the open window of her carriage. The burning grew, rising out of her gut and up her chest, encasing her heart until she felt aflame with injustice. She furiously wiped away a stray tear and set a determined expression on her face. Oh, how dare those Bags care about emerald earrings more than their people. Or did they not consider those living in the slums people at all?
She wasn’t sure which was worse. Her carriage rode on, each jerk and bump a kick in the gut at how she had ignored them too.
She gazed out the window, “No one’s going to help you,” she whispered softly and it felt so much like a damnation, “But I will.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips, evaporating and sucking away the last of the salt.
She opened her eyes, “Change of plan,” she said, voice hard, to the driver, “Stop by 42 Cheeseman St.”
…
If Sandry was a roaring flame, Daja was a steady burn. Solid, unwavering, always bringing light.
Sandry stood in the doorway of her house, a little unsure of how to enter. It had been a while since she had visited, and she wasn’t quite sure how the little girl in a stained tunic clutching a plain staff fit into this street.
“Sandry!” the door opened, and Daja’s harmonic voice flowed out as the young woman stepped forward, arms open. Sandry collapsed into them gratefully, arms wrapping tightly around her.
“Woah there, come sit down and tell me what problem’s on your mind,” Daja spoke calmly, but Sandry could hear the warm smile in her tone.
She smiled back, Daja had always been able to understand her moods.
She allowed herself to be guided to a seat but rose when she saw Daja move towards the kitchen.
“Let me help,” she protested at Daja’s shake of her head. She flopped back down deep into the armchair, and accepted a cup of tea when Daja returned.
“Well?” Daja’s voice broke through her thoughts and Sandry jolted up, then laughed.
“Alright, I’m talking now,” she grinned. Sandry fell into her story effortlessly, gracious of Daja’s empathetic face. When she finished, Daja’s face was contemplative.
“So you care about the people in the slums. Tell me though, are you merely upset or do you want to do something about it?”
Sandry’s eyes shone, and she smiled wickedly, “I’ve got a plan.”
Daja’s face grew amused, but she nodded seriously, “I’m listening.”
…
“It will only work if we work together,” Sandry whispered fiercely, as they made their way through the town.
Daja murmured confirmation, swinging her staff idly, “So the carts arrive at noon. Who are we meeting again?”
Nodding seriously, blue eyes clear, Sandry replied, “My friend Tris,” she paused, “And my dog.”
Daja’s eyebrows rose and she lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug, “Is that a recent acquisition?”
Sandry flushed pink, “Well, sort of. I wasn’t thinking long term when I picked him up.”
“Of course,” Daja said wryly, slinging an arm around Sandry’s shoulder, “Now that giant thing and the redhead wouldn’t happen to be the people we’re meeting, would they?”
Sandry let out a squeal of joy, and bounded towards them, the dog replying in a similarly jubilant fashion. Tris scowled half-heartedly in reply, as Sandry wrapped her up in a hug, a whirlwind of skirts and ribboned braids. She finally pulled away, and turned to introduce the two other girls and found them facing off with each other, frowns mirrored.
Her smile waned a little, but she forced her tone to stay light, “Daja this is Tris. Tris, Daja.”
“Trader,” Tris’s voice was cold, prim, her hands tucked neatly into her skirt. She turned up her nose and stared disdainfully at Daja’s tunic.
Daja’s grip on her staff tightened, “Merchant.”
Tris sniffed, “Mage, actually.”
“Mage actually,” Daja copied, a dangerous boredom in her tone.
Sensing an upcoming explosion, Sandry diplomatically glided between the two of them, reaching out both hands to place on different shoulders. “Daja. And Tris,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
They broke their glare at the same time, turning to Sandry.
“Please explain why I dragged myself and this small bear down here,” Tris asked, “All I managed to get from the message – if I may add, your handwriting is simply atrocious – was that you had decided to play pariah to those in need and needed help sabotaging a cart do to so.”
Daja nodded sagely, “That sounds about right.”
“I want to hear from Sandry,” Tris snapped back. Daja remained indifferent, her face neutral disinterest.
Sandry spread her hands, placating. When she spoke her voice was quiet, but the authority unmistakeable, “I want to change things. I know,” she took a deep breath, “I know we can’t expect overnight changes no matter how much meddling I do,” she cracked a smile, before turning serious again, “But the first thing we can do is make sure these people have enough money to buy food.”
“I don’t see why we have to help-“ Tris began.
Daja cut in, “I’m in.”
Tris glared icily, “I’m in too. Why us, though?”
“Why not?” Sandry replied, “Someone’s got to. Now, I may have overheard some people in Vedris’ gang talking about some carts travelling through with taxes and wares from outer Emelan. They aren’t going after it because it’s going to be guarded by a mage.”
Tris scowled, “Why didn’t I hear about this?”
Sandry tapped Tris on the nose, “Top secret meeting of Uncle’s,” she paused, “I, of course, just happened to be passing by.”
“Of course,” Daja murmured.
“But, I also know that the mage is just mostly for show. He’s only a student at Lightsbridge specialising in charms.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Lightsbridge,” Tris sniffed.
“Just that they tend not to understand ambient mages,” Sandry and Daja crowed together.
Tris’s eyes lit up with understanding, “Well, that’ll be good surprise when we hit,” she grinned for the first time, teeth flashing. Sandry returned it, and Daja begrudgingly nodded.
“So here’s my idea…”
…
It was almost pitiful how bad the guards were, considering how they were supposed to be guarding the equivalent of a duke’s ransom. After waiting for an hour or so (alas, it was still something Sandry was not used to) the horses and carts had finally entered the square where they lay.
Tris was the first to action, stepping out and summoning a wind to stop the carts where they were, the rushing air startling the horses and halting them. Daja stood beside her, almost protectively, Sandry wondered, as chaos ensued. Noise filled the air, the yelling of the guards, the clanging of the weapons. Sandry let it enclose around her like a shield, and stepped out defiantly.
“They’re just girls,” one of the guards called out, leering. Sandry’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, dress swirling around her feet and head high, the perfect image of a wrathful goddess.
One soldier raised their weapon menacingly, and charged.
“I’ll show you what girls can do,” Sandry yelled passionately. That was when their clothes began to attack them.
The threads seemed to have a mind of their own, tops rising up over heads and wrapping around faces, pants joining legs together, sleeves dragging hands to be bound behind their backs.
Some tried to grab their weapons and stop the onslaught of their fabric, but found the metal to be burning red. The carts shuddered, and fell to the ground, liquidised metal seeping out from underneath. Sandry turned to Daja and grinned, eyes shining with pride.
That was just before the world exploded in light and she heard Daja and Tris scream in unison, the echoes ricocheting in her brain even after she could no longer see.
…
Sandry groaned audibly, opening her eyes blearily to find herself on the stone ground, a few metres away from where she had been standing. Her dog was barking crazily from where they left him tied up, and Daja and Tris were in front of her, hand in hand, their other hands outstretched, pointing, as a prison of lightning and metal grew around a frantically murmuring man.
Shakily uprighting herself, Sandry staggered over, and placed one of her hands upon theirs. Taking strength from each other, the three young mages breathed in in unison, and as they breathed out, pushed with every fibre of their being an endless flow of power and strength, a kaleidoscope of colours exploding in front of their eyes.
Sandry closed her eyes and saw. Saw the three threads of magic, coming out of each of their chests, entwining together an encasing another small glimmer.
Our threads are so weak, she thought, tilting her head. So small, so insignificant by themselves, so easily pulled apart. But together, they are strong. Together, we are strong.
And then suddenly it was over, and they were taking heaving breaths, clutching tightly onto one another as they surveyed what they had truly done.
It was complete carnage, incapacitated soldiers on the ground, wood and metal scattered all over the square. And in the centre, a gleaming dome, a weaving of metal that sparked occasionally with miniature lightning bolts. The chests of coins were on the ground, surrounded by the remains of carts, the horses having run off.
“Sandry,” Tris spoke shakily, voice rising in pitch as her pale face turned accusational, “Were you planning on letting us know we were facing a great mage!”
Sandry stared, then began to smile. Soon she was laughing, hands clutching her stomach as she gasped for air. Daja joined her, and Tris even sheepishly allowed herself a grin, “I’d like a little warning next time,” she grumbled.
“Next time?” Daja raised an eyebrow.
Tris sniffed, “Well if I’m going to spend more time with you, it seems like a fair assumption that Sandry’s going to get some wild idea in her head again, helping some poor soul or other.”
“Hey!” Sandry protested at their knowing gazes, but it fell into a heartfelt beam, “That sounds good,” she murmured softly.
“The three of us,” Daja mused, playing around with the words, “I like that.”
Tris’s eyes gleamed, “Think of the things we will do.”
“Together we’re strong,” Sandry spoke, and clasped their hands.
“Together,” Tris and Daja echoed back.
Title: Together
Rating: G
Event: Synchronised Swimming
Words: 1810
Summary: Emelan Gang AU. Sandry gets an idea in her head and enlists Daja and Tris to help her. After all, there's nothing like sabotaging carts for team bonding.
____
It wasn’t that she was particularly nice or altruistic, Sandry thought. After all, she was a member of Emelan’s most notorious gang which could hardly be considered nice. Just, there was something inside of her that burned when she saw them and the signs of their want: their grubby little faces, missing teeth, greedy, pulling hands that clung and nipped at anyone passing, and the way they tilted their head, eyes watering and begged.
Sandry clenched her fists, and stared out the open window of her carriage. The burning grew, rising out of her gut and up her chest, encasing her heart until she felt aflame with injustice. She furiously wiped away a stray tear and set a determined expression on her face. Oh, how dare those Bags care about emerald earrings more than their people. Or did they not consider those living in the slums people at all?
She wasn’t sure which was worse. Her carriage rode on, each jerk and bump a kick in the gut at how she had ignored them too.
She gazed out the window, “No one’s going to help you,” she whispered softly and it felt so much like a damnation, “But I will.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips, evaporating and sucking away the last of the salt.
She opened her eyes, “Change of plan,” she said, voice hard, to the driver, “Stop by 42 Cheeseman St.”
…
If Sandry was a roaring flame, Daja was a steady burn. Solid, unwavering, always bringing light.
Sandry stood in the doorway of her house, a little unsure of how to enter. It had been a while since she had visited, and she wasn’t quite sure how the little girl in a stained tunic clutching a plain staff fit into this street.
“Sandry!” the door opened, and Daja’s harmonic voice flowed out as the young woman stepped forward, arms open. Sandry collapsed into them gratefully, arms wrapping tightly around her.
“Woah there, come sit down and tell me what problem’s on your mind,” Daja spoke calmly, but Sandry could hear the warm smile in her tone.
She smiled back, Daja had always been able to understand her moods.
She allowed herself to be guided to a seat but rose when she saw Daja move towards the kitchen.
“Let me help,” she protested at Daja’s shake of her head. She flopped back down deep into the armchair, and accepted a cup of tea when Daja returned.
“Well?” Daja’s voice broke through her thoughts and Sandry jolted up, then laughed.
“Alright, I’m talking now,” she grinned. Sandry fell into her story effortlessly, gracious of Daja’s empathetic face. When she finished, Daja’s face was contemplative.
“So you care about the people in the slums. Tell me though, are you merely upset or do you want to do something about it?”
Sandry’s eyes shone, and she smiled wickedly, “I’ve got a plan.”
Daja’s face grew amused, but she nodded seriously, “I’m listening.”
…
“It will only work if we work together,” Sandry whispered fiercely, as they made their way through the town.
Daja murmured confirmation, swinging her staff idly, “So the carts arrive at noon. Who are we meeting again?”
Nodding seriously, blue eyes clear, Sandry replied, “My friend Tris,” she paused, “And my dog.”
Daja’s eyebrows rose and she lifted her broad shoulders in a shrug, “Is that a recent acquisition?”
Sandry flushed pink, “Well, sort of. I wasn’t thinking long term when I picked him up.”
“Of course,” Daja said wryly, slinging an arm around Sandry’s shoulder, “Now that giant thing and the redhead wouldn’t happen to be the people we’re meeting, would they?”
Sandry let out a squeal of joy, and bounded towards them, the dog replying in a similarly jubilant fashion. Tris scowled half-heartedly in reply, as Sandry wrapped her up in a hug, a whirlwind of skirts and ribboned braids. She finally pulled away, and turned to introduce the two other girls and found them facing off with each other, frowns mirrored.
Her smile waned a little, but she forced her tone to stay light, “Daja this is Tris. Tris, Daja.”
“Trader,” Tris’s voice was cold, prim, her hands tucked neatly into her skirt. She turned up her nose and stared disdainfully at Daja’s tunic.
Daja’s grip on her staff tightened, “Merchant.”
Tris sniffed, “Mage, actually.”
“Mage actually,” Daja copied, a dangerous boredom in her tone.
Sensing an upcoming explosion, Sandry diplomatically glided between the two of them, reaching out both hands to place on different shoulders. “Daja. And Tris,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
They broke their glare at the same time, turning to Sandry.
“Please explain why I dragged myself and this small bear down here,” Tris asked, “All I managed to get from the message – if I may add, your handwriting is simply atrocious – was that you had decided to play pariah to those in need and needed help sabotaging a cart do to so.”
Daja nodded sagely, “That sounds about right.”
“I want to hear from Sandry,” Tris snapped back. Daja remained indifferent, her face neutral disinterest.
Sandry spread her hands, placating. When she spoke her voice was quiet, but the authority unmistakeable, “I want to change things. I know,” she took a deep breath, “I know we can’t expect overnight changes no matter how much meddling I do,” she cracked a smile, before turning serious again, “But the first thing we can do is make sure these people have enough money to buy food.”
“I don’t see why we have to help-“ Tris began.
Daja cut in, “I’m in.”
Tris glared icily, “I’m in too. Why us, though?”
“Why not?” Sandry replied, “Someone’s got to. Now, I may have overheard some people in Vedris’ gang talking about some carts travelling through with taxes and wares from outer Emelan. They aren’t going after it because it’s going to be guarded by a mage.”
Tris scowled, “Why didn’t I hear about this?”
Sandry tapped Tris on the nose, “Top secret meeting of Uncle’s,” she paused, “I, of course, just happened to be passing by.”
“Of course,” Daja murmured.
“But, I also know that the mage is just mostly for show. He’s only a student at Lightsbridge specialising in charms.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Lightsbridge,” Tris sniffed.
“Just that they tend not to understand ambient mages,” Sandry and Daja crowed together.
Tris’s eyes lit up with understanding, “Well, that’ll be good surprise when we hit,” she grinned for the first time, teeth flashing. Sandry returned it, and Daja begrudgingly nodded.
“So here’s my idea…”
…
It was almost pitiful how bad the guards were, considering how they were supposed to be guarding the equivalent of a duke’s ransom. After waiting for an hour or so (alas, it was still something Sandry was not used to) the horses and carts had finally entered the square where they lay.
Tris was the first to action, stepping out and summoning a wind to stop the carts where they were, the rushing air startling the horses and halting them. Daja stood beside her, almost protectively, Sandry wondered, as chaos ensued. Noise filled the air, the yelling of the guards, the clanging of the weapons. Sandry let it enclose around her like a shield, and stepped out defiantly.
“They’re just girls,” one of the guards called out, leering. Sandry’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, dress swirling around her feet and head high, the perfect image of a wrathful goddess.
One soldier raised their weapon menacingly, and charged.
“I’ll show you what girls can do,” Sandry yelled passionately. That was when their clothes began to attack them.
The threads seemed to have a mind of their own, tops rising up over heads and wrapping around faces, pants joining legs together, sleeves dragging hands to be bound behind their backs.
Some tried to grab their weapons and stop the onslaught of their fabric, but found the metal to be burning red. The carts shuddered, and fell to the ground, liquidised metal seeping out from underneath. Sandry turned to Daja and grinned, eyes shining with pride.
That was just before the world exploded in light and she heard Daja and Tris scream in unison, the echoes ricocheting in her brain even after she could no longer see.
…
Sandry groaned audibly, opening her eyes blearily to find herself on the stone ground, a few metres away from where she had been standing. Her dog was barking crazily from where they left him tied up, and Daja and Tris were in front of her, hand in hand, their other hands outstretched, pointing, as a prison of lightning and metal grew around a frantically murmuring man.
Shakily uprighting herself, Sandry staggered over, and placed one of her hands upon theirs. Taking strength from each other, the three young mages breathed in in unison, and as they breathed out, pushed with every fibre of their being an endless flow of power and strength, a kaleidoscope of colours exploding in front of their eyes.
Sandry closed her eyes and saw. Saw the three threads of magic, coming out of each of their chests, entwining together an encasing another small glimmer.
Our threads are so weak, she thought, tilting her head. So small, so insignificant by themselves, so easily pulled apart. But together, they are strong. Together, we are strong.
And then suddenly it was over, and they were taking heaving breaths, clutching tightly onto one another as they surveyed what they had truly done.
It was complete carnage, incapacitated soldiers on the ground, wood and metal scattered all over the square. And in the centre, a gleaming dome, a weaving of metal that sparked occasionally with miniature lightning bolts. The chests of coins were on the ground, surrounded by the remains of carts, the horses having run off.
“Sandry,” Tris spoke shakily, voice rising in pitch as her pale face turned accusational, “Were you planning on letting us know we were facing a great mage!”
Sandry stared, then began to smile. Soon she was laughing, hands clutching her stomach as she gasped for air. Daja joined her, and Tris even sheepishly allowed herself a grin, “I’d like a little warning next time,” she grumbled.
“Next time?” Daja raised an eyebrow.
Tris sniffed, “Well if I’m going to spend more time with you, it seems like a fair assumption that Sandry’s going to get some wild idea in her head again, helping some poor soul or other.”
“Hey!” Sandry protested at their knowing gazes, but it fell into a heartfelt beam, “That sounds good,” she murmured softly.
“The three of us,” Daja mused, playing around with the words, “I like that.”
Tris’s eyes gleamed, “Think of the things we will do.”
“Together we’re strong,” Sandry spoke, and clasped their hands.
“Together,” Tris and Daja echoed back.