storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 09:54 pm
storypaint) wrote2009-08-23 09:54 pm
Hospitality (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Hospitality
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 607 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Second in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: He surprised Yuuko by appearing in her parlor in a flurry of bright-gold magic. He turned a self-satisfied smile on the woman draped over the couch, a smile that slipped away as he saw the depths of her rage.
She was not anticipating a customer, and she always knew when one would arrive, generally in enough time to find an elaborate costume and figure out what they would want from her. Not everyone could read the bonds of hitsuzen as well as the witch who called herself (this century) Yuuko Ichihara. She had plenty of practice, she'd say, if she bothered to answer such compliments, a grin slipping across her face.
Clow caught her off guard. It was an event that would be mirrored dozens of times over. When asked, he always said his favorite thing to do was to surprise people.
He surprised Yuuko by appearing in her parlor in a flurry of bright-gold magic. He turned a self-satisfied smile on the woman draped over the couch, a smile that slipped away as he saw the depths of her rage. She was barely clothed at all, in a plain yukata, her eyes dark with illness and irritation.
She didn't ask who he was, or how he'd gotten here. She knew she was going to meet Clow Reed eventually, in a place that was neither dream nor momentary collision. But she'd anticipated his visit for next week, and using the door. The kekkai she maintained over her home didn't make the shop invisible (as it later would), but it gave most magicians pause. He'd punched right through, ignoring it as if it were no firmer than spiderweb.
She had the most awful hangover, and here he was, three feet from her misery, early, and entirely too cheerful. So she rose from her perch, swaying only a little, and kicked him very hard in the shin.
"W-what?" Clow said, instead of the elaborate introduction he'd been planning.
She slunk back to her couch and rested her head in her arms. "Come back when you're supposed to, Reed."
"Yuuko--"
She lifted her head, just a little, and fixed him with a piercing gaze.
"I'll still be here."
Her words would have been more effective had they not been followed by a low moan and rolling onto her back, covering her eyes against the dim light with one pale arm.
He took one step, and then another. She didn't move until there was a hand on her arm, gentle but still invasive.
"What?" she demanded, dropping her arm to her side, looking up at him. He was impeccably dressed, of course, and not hungover at all. He was in fine shape to pay a call.
He smiled. "Here," he said, retrieving a small bottle from a pocket in his cloak and offering it to her. She took it, feeling the thick, cool glass in her hand, but did not move to open it.
"Next week," she said again, firmly, and then shut her eyes and listened to him walk away. He was wearing shoes in her house. How rude. She chalked it up in the mental board she had started keeping of his offenses (began just a moment ago when he had appeared in that golden flash of light).
When the front door shut, she managed to sit up straight. She stared at the bottle for a moment, tracing the English lettering on it until she made a decision, and then she downed it. After a moment, her head cleared, the burn behind her eyes dissipated, and she felt hungry instead of nauseous.
She owed him something already. She scowled and got up to find something to eat. She'd be ready when he came back.
And if he dared manifest in her living room again, she'd kick something other than his shins.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 607 words
Prompt: see lyric prompt below the cut
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: Second in a series; table of contents.
Excerpt: He surprised Yuuko by appearing in her parlor in a flurry of bright-gold magic. He turned a self-satisfied smile on the woman draped over the couch, a smile that slipped away as he saw the depths of her rage.
And my heavy heart sinks deep down under you and
Your twisted words,
Your help just hurts
You are not what I thought you were
-Love Song, Sara Bareilles
She was not anticipating a customer, and she always knew when one would arrive, generally in enough time to find an elaborate costume and figure out what they would want from her. Not everyone could read the bonds of hitsuzen as well as the witch who called herself (this century) Yuuko Ichihara. She had plenty of practice, she'd say, if she bothered to answer such compliments, a grin slipping across her face.
Clow caught her off guard. It was an event that would be mirrored dozens of times over. When asked, he always said his favorite thing to do was to surprise people.
He surprised Yuuko by appearing in her parlor in a flurry of bright-gold magic. He turned a self-satisfied smile on the woman draped over the couch, a smile that slipped away as he saw the depths of her rage. She was barely clothed at all, in a plain yukata, her eyes dark with illness and irritation.
She didn't ask who he was, or how he'd gotten here. She knew she was going to meet Clow Reed eventually, in a place that was neither dream nor momentary collision. But she'd anticipated his visit for next week, and using the door. The kekkai she maintained over her home didn't make the shop invisible (as it later would), but it gave most magicians pause. He'd punched right through, ignoring it as if it were no firmer than spiderweb.
She had the most awful hangover, and here he was, three feet from her misery, early, and entirely too cheerful. So she rose from her perch, swaying only a little, and kicked him very hard in the shin.
"W-what?" Clow said, instead of the elaborate introduction he'd been planning.
She slunk back to her couch and rested her head in her arms. "Come back when you're supposed to, Reed."
"Yuuko--"
She lifted her head, just a little, and fixed him with a piercing gaze.
"I'll still be here."
Her words would have been more effective had they not been followed by a low moan and rolling onto her back, covering her eyes against the dim light with one pale arm.
He took one step, and then another. She didn't move until there was a hand on her arm, gentle but still invasive.
"What?" she demanded, dropping her arm to her side, looking up at him. He was impeccably dressed, of course, and not hungover at all. He was in fine shape to pay a call.
He smiled. "Here," he said, retrieving a small bottle from a pocket in his cloak and offering it to her. She took it, feeling the thick, cool glass in her hand, but did not move to open it.
"Next week," she said again, firmly, and then shut her eyes and listened to him walk away. He was wearing shoes in her house. How rude. She chalked it up in the mental board she had started keeping of his offenses (began just a moment ago when he had appeared in that golden flash of light).
When the front door shut, she managed to sit up straight. She stared at the bottle for a moment, tracing the English lettering on it until she made a decision, and then she downed it. After a moment, her head cleared, the burn behind her eyes dissipated, and she felt hungry instead of nauseous.
She owed him something already. She scowled and got up to find something to eat. She'd be ready when he came back.
And if he dared manifest in her living room again, she'd kick something other than his shins.