Post by mistrali on Nov 6, 2018 20:00:03 GMT 10
Title (Working Title): Meetings
Summary: Sarai calls Bronau out on his racism/classism. Written for MPP #51, Conversations
Warnings: Probably in need of a beta. Racism and classism (as in canon). Needless to say, I don't advocate or endorse racism.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sarai/Bronau
Notes: I wanted to have Sarai actually confront Bronau about his views. I also wasn't sure how blunt or diplomatic to make Sarai (after all, this is her father's friend, he outranks her and he's much older than her, so she might be careful about offending him outright), but I didn't want her to take Bronau's comments lying down.
Same with Bronau: there are a couple of ways to interpret his actions and attitudes in TC. He is either outright vindictive, lacking in empathy and incapable of true attachment, or he has some finer feelings but they’ve been subsumed due to his circumstances and his... lust for power. It’s never made clear what his actual attitude towards Sarai is. Does he view her and the Balitangs as total collateral or does he actually enjoy spending time with her/them? I probably should have made his internal dialogue crueller in this fic.
Bronau made his way to their usual meeting spot, pleasantly anticipating seeing Sarai again. The way she’d laughed at his jokes that afternoon on the way back from Pohon had gladdened his heart. Even with her hair escaping its curls, and dust on her riding tunic, she’d looked exquisite.
Tonight she was waiting for him already, dressed in a magenta gown that flattered her figure. He swept her up in an embrace, then went to kiss her. But she turned away and tugged him down to perch beside her on the lip of the fountain. “Not now, Your Highness. Let’s just sit,” she murmured, staring at her lap.
“What’s the matter?” he asked gently, when she made no move to speak. “Are you unwell?” It was food poisoning, most likely - you never quite knew what exotic tidbits the people living in these backwaters would serve up.
Her eyes blazed into his, and her blush deepened. “At Inti… you called the raka ‘pigs’. I know Your Highness is not used to village life. But, well, it may have slipped Your Highness’ mind that these were my mother’s lands. I am half-raka, after all - how can you feel as you do towards raka, and court me?”
Ah, so she thought herself compared to those mud-grubbers! Silly child. He reminded himself of all the creditors he owed, and murmured, “If I’ve offended you, Sarai, I offer my deepest apologies.”
That was the way to treat these high-strung noblewomen - they always lapped up anything if you only used the right voice. “You’re passionate and intelligent. You know how to mix in society. You stand head and shoulders over that rabble out there.” He made an expansive gesture in the direction of the fields.
She actually pulled away from him then, as if wounded. “How can you say such things?” she cried. “They’re people too!”
He unclenched his teeth with an effort. Surely she wasn’t expecting him to apologise for speaking the plain truth?
“Sarai, forget them. What I mean is -"
“You’re Father’s friend, Your Highness,” she said rapidly. “I shouldn’t presume to instruct you on proper conduct. But I’ve heard such things from my Rajmuat friends. I thought a man of your age…” She clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap. Her lower lip trembled, and her breath came fast and uneven.
"I've hurt you," said Bronau, softening. Poor girl, she was as inept as a villager at hiding her feelings, and obviously unfamiliar with the climate outside Rajmuat - how could she not be, being so young? And given her family history, he might have expected a more flexible attitude towards racial matters.
“I truly am sorry, Sarai. I meant no slight against Sarugani. And I realise Winna and your father are more liberal in their views.”
She nodded, gave a shuddering sigh, then whispered, “I know, Your Highness. Let’s not argue, please. And let’s not talk about Papa or Winna. Or anything at all."
He leaned closer to stroke her cheek, noting the rose scent she wore. A peridot pendant dangled at the cusp of her collar; he lowered his hands to touch it, just brushing the skin beneath. It was her only adornment tonight. For answer, she entwined her hands with his and rested her head against his shoulder.
“When we return to Rajmuat, I’ll see you draped in Yamani cloth of gold,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms and deliberately roughening his voice, “to accentuate your radiance.”
He punctuated his words with a series of lingering kisses. When they finally parted, Sarai was flushed and melting. He would've liked to savour her touch, but it was growing late.
Summary: Sarai calls Bronau out on his racism/classism. Written for MPP #51, Conversations
Warnings: Probably in need of a beta. Racism and classism (as in canon). Needless to say, I don't advocate or endorse racism.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sarai/Bronau
Notes: I wanted to have Sarai actually confront Bronau about his views. I also wasn't sure how blunt or diplomatic to make Sarai (after all, this is her father's friend, he outranks her and he's much older than her, so she might be careful about offending him outright), but I didn't want her to take Bronau's comments lying down.
Same with Bronau: there are a couple of ways to interpret his actions and attitudes in TC. He is either outright vindictive, lacking in empathy and incapable of true attachment, or he has some finer feelings but they’ve been subsumed due to his circumstances and his... lust for power. It’s never made clear what his actual attitude towards Sarai is. Does he view her and the Balitangs as total collateral or does he actually enjoy spending time with her/them? I probably should have made his internal dialogue crueller in this fic.
Bronau made his way to their usual meeting spot, pleasantly anticipating seeing Sarai again. The way she’d laughed at his jokes that afternoon on the way back from Pohon had gladdened his heart. Even with her hair escaping its curls, and dust on her riding tunic, she’d looked exquisite.
Tonight she was waiting for him already, dressed in a magenta gown that flattered her figure. He swept her up in an embrace, then went to kiss her. But she turned away and tugged him down to perch beside her on the lip of the fountain. “Not now, Your Highness. Let’s just sit,” she murmured, staring at her lap.
“What’s the matter?” he asked gently, when she made no move to speak. “Are you unwell?” It was food poisoning, most likely - you never quite knew what exotic tidbits the people living in these backwaters would serve up.
Her eyes blazed into his, and her blush deepened. “At Inti… you called the raka ‘pigs’. I know Your Highness is not used to village life. But, well, it may have slipped Your Highness’ mind that these were my mother’s lands. I am half-raka, after all - how can you feel as you do towards raka, and court me?”
Ah, so she thought herself compared to those mud-grubbers! Silly child. He reminded himself of all the creditors he owed, and murmured, “If I’ve offended you, Sarai, I offer my deepest apologies.”
That was the way to treat these high-strung noblewomen - they always lapped up anything if you only used the right voice. “You’re passionate and intelligent. You know how to mix in society. You stand head and shoulders over that rabble out there.” He made an expansive gesture in the direction of the fields.
She actually pulled away from him then, as if wounded. “How can you say such things?” she cried. “They’re people too!”
He unclenched his teeth with an effort. Surely she wasn’t expecting him to apologise for speaking the plain truth?
“Sarai, forget them. What I mean is -"
“You’re Father’s friend, Your Highness,” she said rapidly. “I shouldn’t presume to instruct you on proper conduct. But I’ve heard such things from my Rajmuat friends. I thought a man of your age…” She clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap. Her lower lip trembled, and her breath came fast and uneven.
"I've hurt you," said Bronau, softening. Poor girl, she was as inept as a villager at hiding her feelings, and obviously unfamiliar with the climate outside Rajmuat - how could she not be, being so young? And given her family history, he might have expected a more flexible attitude towards racial matters.
“I truly am sorry, Sarai. I meant no slight against Sarugani. And I realise Winna and your father are more liberal in their views.”
She nodded, gave a shuddering sigh, then whispered, “I know, Your Highness. Let’s not argue, please. And let’s not talk about Papa or Winna. Or anything at all."
He leaned closer to stroke her cheek, noting the rose scent she wore. A peridot pendant dangled at the cusp of her collar; he lowered his hands to touch it, just brushing the skin beneath. It was her only adornment tonight. For answer, she entwined her hands with his and rested her head against his shoulder.
“When we return to Rajmuat, I’ll see you draped in Yamani cloth of gold,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms and deliberately roughening his voice, “to accentuate your radiance.”
He punctuated his words with a series of lingering kisses. When they finally parted, Sarai was flushed and melting. He would've liked to savour her touch, but it was growing late.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!