Post by Vala on Aug 31, 2017 23:51:14 GMT 10
Series: She’s The Duchess
Title: She's The Duchess
Rating: G
Event: Frisky Fencing
Words: 852
Summary: Emelan Gang AU. Sandry is everything the world ever needed
Comments: ten minutes before the deadline. I can't believe I finished this
___
If Sandry thought using the money she got from sabotaging the tax carts would stop the fire inside of her, she was to be disappointed. In fact, it only seemed to sate the fire inside of her, as if it were pleased for now, but would seek further sustenance.
“Here you go,” she smiled prettily, bending down to hands a little girl a little bag of coins. The girl snatched the bag quickly, as if would disappear into air if she didn’t have any physical proof, scampered back a few steps, but then gave a shy, toothy smile before skipping off.
“You know,” drawled a voice behind her, “You might just be the weirdest thief I’ve ever seen, and believe me,” he paused, “I’ve seen a lot of weird things.”
Sandry spun around indignantly, hands flying to her hips, “Oh yeah,” she challenged, glaring at the boy, “What makes me so weird?”
The boy, a young man really, of about her age she estimated, shrugged carelessly from where he perched on top of a metal cage she had helped create. He slid down languidly, every moment flowing and smooth. He alighted in front of her, mock bowed deeply, and grabbed one of her hands to place a kiss. Instead of blushing as she usually would, she just found herself charmed. His open nature had an almost brotherly feel.
“Come on now,” he teased, “Don’t scowl at me, give me a grin won’tcha?” he wheedled, smiling charismatically.
Sandry found her lips involuntarily upturning, but then scolded herself for being amused.
“Not if you just insulted me I won’t,” she shot back.
“Well that depends. Do you count weird as an insult? I was only saying that on account of you being a thief, managing to steal the tax money, an impressive feat if I do say so myself, but then not even keeping it for yourself but handing it right back out like candy. Tell me, where’s the profit in that?”
Sandry shook her head, braids flying, “There is no profit. I just wanted to help.”
“Well,” his voice was delighted, surprised, as if he had come across an entertaining joke, “Ain’t that an idea. I’m Briar, by the way, and I’m here to escort you to your uncle.”
…
She should have known something was up as soon as she entered the first room. For one, there was the suspicious lack of shady characters loitering around the entrance, combined with soft whispers coming from the other room, as well as the smell of her favourite treat. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed furiously, at Briar’s uproarious laughter.
“Get in there,” he shoved her back, “People are getting antsy.”
Wondrously, she stepped across the threshold into the giant warehouse which was the centre of the gang’s operations and home to her uncle’s throne. The second she came into view, the cheering started.
It wasn’t pretty. Dozens of croaky voices, loud barks, and rough cheers mingled together, creating a raucous, discordant mess of noise. Sandry had never heard anything more beautiful.
She skipped a step, and then walked in. Dozens of people swarmed her, gang members, kids from the street, people from all different backgrounds and occupations, patting her roughly on the back, telling her how her uncle must be proud of such a niece, telling her that her feat of sabotaging the carts was genius, telling her that she was a hero, and that she had saved their family from starvation, given them security, given them hope. Telling her that every single kid in the slums that had heard the story or received her efforts aspired to be her when they grew up.
When she at last made her way through, bewildered, to stand in front of him, she was wrapped in a strong hug.
“You’re a fine person, and a fine thief,” Vedris said gruffly, patting her awkwardly on her shoulder once he pulled away. She beamed, and tried not to show how much she was sniffling. “I’m proud to call you my niece,” he paused, “Even if you didn’t keep the gold.”
She giggled softly, and hiccupped, a wave of emotion washing over her.
“What’s that?” someone in the crowd yelled out, “The niece of a duke. A princess? A lady?”
Vedris frowned, and pulled up another chair beside his, guiding her to sit upon it. He faced the crowd, and spoke clearly, “She’s the Duchess.”
The room exploded with noise once again, and Sandry surveyed it all, atop her throne, smiling crazily and crying at the same time. She sniffed once, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and gazed out at the people here for her. Then she smiled wickedly, eyes telling tales of things to come. For she was the Duchess, and her reign had just begun.
…
“Who’s that?” they whisper as she glides through the halls.
“She’s the duchess,” they whisper back, eye slit up in awe.
Sandry, the girl who everybody loves,
wonders if that sounds right. Hint: it does.