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storypaint) wrote2010-02-25 08:18 am
storypaint) wrote2010-02-25 08:18 am
[Magic Knight Rayearth] Maintenance (Clef and Presea)
Title: Maintenance
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Length: 1338 words
Prompt: The Pharle maintaining the Guru's staff.
Pairing: slight Clef/Presea
Other: Precanon.
Excerpt: Clef didn't really need an excuse to visit Presea, most of the time, though he usually had one when he did. No matter the reason, small or large, she was always happy to set aside her other work and sit with him a while.
Any weapon, no matter how well-made, needed regular maintenance, especially as it aged. The staff of the Guru was no exception. It had been very carefully crafted, centuries before, and was a familiar weight in Clef's hands, a constant companion, and of course a useful focus for his magic. The metal showed little wear, beyond the occasional scratch and the two sets of handholds that were duller than the rest of the staff, even after polishing-- the higher grip of the taller man who'd first owned it, and the firmer grip of the Guru Clef.
Clef was not a sloppy magician by nature, but a big or high-energy spell was made more precise by grounding through his staff. And of course, the summoning gems were extremely useful. The staff had served him well for centuries, and it was because of his familiarity with it that he recognized the problem early on. So early on one summer afternoon, he took a trip down to see the Pharle.
Clef didn't really need an excuse to visit Presea, most of the time, though he usually had one when he did. No matter the reason, small or large, she was always happy to set aside her other work and sit with him a while. They talked about Cephiro and literature and life in general. She was one of few people whom he considered a friend, and he always looked forward to her bright smile at the end of the path.
He found her that day in her forge, despite the heat of the day. She'd shucked her usual leather apron and turtleneck in favor of her voluminous but thin Pharle dress, which she'd carefully pinned up to bare most of her well-toned legs. She usually wore that when the weaponry she was making had to have some sort of magic infused into it, and as he slipped into the room (the oppressive temperature stealing his breath for a moment), she was carefully adjusting the gems on a small knife, her gaze focused on the work at hand. The fire was banked in the oven itself, and the fruit of its endeavors lay on the anvil behind her; a short sword, just as carefully crafted as the magical knife, but having no powers of its own.
He liked to watch her work, as one professional observes another, but he was glad when she sighed, satisfied, and rested the knife on the warm anvil next to the short sword. When she looked up and saw Clef in the doorway, she grinned, first, and then quickly wiped at her face, perhaps attempting to brush away her sweat. She only succeeded in smudging something gray across her cheek, which made him smile just a little in amusement. He inclined his head to her in greeting. She waved.
"Just a second!" she called out, and turned around to check the fire and make sure it was properly contained, and her tools in their proper places, before she came toward him, one hand fisted in her dress, the jewel on her headband gleaming. She was still smiling but looked a little sheepish, brushing her arm across her forehead again and leaving another mark.
"It's cooler in the house," she said. "Shall we?"
"If it's no trouble," he answered. She nodded eagerly and he followed her in. She gestured to the couch and he sat down to wait for her as she slipped into another room to clean up. She came back after only a few moments, with the marks wiped away and fresh clothing, adjusting her ponytail, and still smiling brightly. She didn't hesitate before going over to his staff, which he had propped up near her door.
She looked at him, and he nodded, though surprised that she had seemingly known his purpose before asking. Then she ran a hand across the head of it, considering it with her fingertips. She patted it on the nose and then turned back to him, wrapping her hand around the shaft familiarly as if she'd handled it times and times before, which certainly wasn't true. The last maintenance it had needed (he'd struck it against the particularly hard head of someone or something, and one of the gems had come loose) had been done by the Pharle before her.
"I thought last time that you'd be back pretty soon," she said. "I think you need some of the linkages reforged between the gems and the bone. Frequent usage will do that."
He was impressed by the fact that she'd noticed it before him, without ever wielding it, but she was the Pharle, after all. She wasn't just a weaponsmith, but the best one in all of Cephiro.
"You know," she said, "I've always wondered about this thing. It doesn't seem much like you. Though useful for striking people with," she finished offhandedly. He was going to protest that it wasn't the purpose, but there was no judgment in her tone, and perhaps a touch of approval (he wasn't the only Cephiran official with a temper, after all).
"I inherited it," he said instead, "from my predecessor."
"Oh!" she said, bright-eyed. "Did you know his Pharle? It must have been very interesting to watch it being made! You have to be very, very precise with forging something like this. Do you know what kind of animal he used? I've never seen anything quite like it."
Clef responded to her fascination with as much detail as he could remember. Like most times he visited her, they lingered in conversation late into the afternoon, and her fingers played over the staff most of that time. She joined him on the couch and rested the staff across their legs, the head in her lap, and she was clearly considering the best way to repair it even as they joked and conversed. He half-watched her hands, which were ungloved for once. Her fingers were long and thin, her gestures assertive but not rough.
Finally, with reluctance, he told her that he needed to leave, as it was nearly dark and there was work to do tomorrow, after all.
"I'll bring it back to you tomorrow afternoon, then, if that's all right?" she asked, walking him to the door and resting the staff beside it carefully. She tilted her head to one side and smiled. "I'm sure you'll want to check it over when I'm done."
"I trust you with it," he answered, and was nearly surprised that he did, whole-heartedly. The staff was important, but he knew she would handle it with care. If, in fact, he ever wanted another one forged, she had the skills to do it, which was more than he could say about some of the Pharles he had known over the years.
She beamed, and he could only smile back; her grins were infectious. "Tomorrow," she said. "I'll see you then."
"And plan to stay for dinner," he said, looking up at her. "It is the least I can think of in return."
A slight flush settled onto her face and she looked away from him and out the door into the oncoming night. "I'd like that very much," she answered softly.
"Wonderful," he said, somewhat surprised by her sudden quietness, but he didn't ask. Instead he stepped past her and out the door to go back to the palace.
"Wonderful," she half-whispered, so that he almost thought he'd imagined it, and when he looked up at her she was still smiling, so they made their goodbyes and he started down the path. He turned once before he made it out of sight, and there she was still, silhouetted in her doorframe and looking after him. She waved a little and he waved back.
Now there were two things to look forward to for tomorrow: having his staff back in good condition, and getting to spent more time with her. It would be, Clef thought, a very good day.
He probably should maintain that old thing a little more often.
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Length: 1338 words
Prompt: The Pharle maintaining the Guru's staff.
Pairing: slight Clef/Presea
Other: Precanon.
Excerpt: Clef didn't really need an excuse to visit Presea, most of the time, though he usually had one when he did. No matter the reason, small or large, she was always happy to set aside her other work and sit with him a while.
Any weapon, no matter how well-made, needed regular maintenance, especially as it aged. The staff of the Guru was no exception. It had been very carefully crafted, centuries before, and was a familiar weight in Clef's hands, a constant companion, and of course a useful focus for his magic. The metal showed little wear, beyond the occasional scratch and the two sets of handholds that were duller than the rest of the staff, even after polishing-- the higher grip of the taller man who'd first owned it, and the firmer grip of the Guru Clef.
Clef was not a sloppy magician by nature, but a big or high-energy spell was made more precise by grounding through his staff. And of course, the summoning gems were extremely useful. The staff had served him well for centuries, and it was because of his familiarity with it that he recognized the problem early on. So early on one summer afternoon, he took a trip down to see the Pharle.
Clef didn't really need an excuse to visit Presea, most of the time, though he usually had one when he did. No matter the reason, small or large, she was always happy to set aside her other work and sit with him a while. They talked about Cephiro and literature and life in general. She was one of few people whom he considered a friend, and he always looked forward to her bright smile at the end of the path.
He found her that day in her forge, despite the heat of the day. She'd shucked her usual leather apron and turtleneck in favor of her voluminous but thin Pharle dress, which she'd carefully pinned up to bare most of her well-toned legs. She usually wore that when the weaponry she was making had to have some sort of magic infused into it, and as he slipped into the room (the oppressive temperature stealing his breath for a moment), she was carefully adjusting the gems on a small knife, her gaze focused on the work at hand. The fire was banked in the oven itself, and the fruit of its endeavors lay on the anvil behind her; a short sword, just as carefully crafted as the magical knife, but having no powers of its own.
He liked to watch her work, as one professional observes another, but he was glad when she sighed, satisfied, and rested the knife on the warm anvil next to the short sword. When she looked up and saw Clef in the doorway, she grinned, first, and then quickly wiped at her face, perhaps attempting to brush away her sweat. She only succeeded in smudging something gray across her cheek, which made him smile just a little in amusement. He inclined his head to her in greeting. She waved.
"Just a second!" she called out, and turned around to check the fire and make sure it was properly contained, and her tools in their proper places, before she came toward him, one hand fisted in her dress, the jewel on her headband gleaming. She was still smiling but looked a little sheepish, brushing her arm across her forehead again and leaving another mark.
"It's cooler in the house," she said. "Shall we?"
"If it's no trouble," he answered. She nodded eagerly and he followed her in. She gestured to the couch and he sat down to wait for her as she slipped into another room to clean up. She came back after only a few moments, with the marks wiped away and fresh clothing, adjusting her ponytail, and still smiling brightly. She didn't hesitate before going over to his staff, which he had propped up near her door.
She looked at him, and he nodded, though surprised that she had seemingly known his purpose before asking. Then she ran a hand across the head of it, considering it with her fingertips. She patted it on the nose and then turned back to him, wrapping her hand around the shaft familiarly as if she'd handled it times and times before, which certainly wasn't true. The last maintenance it had needed (he'd struck it against the particularly hard head of someone or something, and one of the gems had come loose) had been done by the Pharle before her.
"I thought last time that you'd be back pretty soon," she said. "I think you need some of the linkages reforged between the gems and the bone. Frequent usage will do that."
He was impressed by the fact that she'd noticed it before him, without ever wielding it, but she was the Pharle, after all. She wasn't just a weaponsmith, but the best one in all of Cephiro.
"You know," she said, "I've always wondered about this thing. It doesn't seem much like you. Though useful for striking people with," she finished offhandedly. He was going to protest that it wasn't the purpose, but there was no judgment in her tone, and perhaps a touch of approval (he wasn't the only Cephiran official with a temper, after all).
"I inherited it," he said instead, "from my predecessor."
"Oh!" she said, bright-eyed. "Did you know his Pharle? It must have been very interesting to watch it being made! You have to be very, very precise with forging something like this. Do you know what kind of animal he used? I've never seen anything quite like it."
Clef responded to her fascination with as much detail as he could remember. Like most times he visited her, they lingered in conversation late into the afternoon, and her fingers played over the staff most of that time. She joined him on the couch and rested the staff across their legs, the head in her lap, and she was clearly considering the best way to repair it even as they joked and conversed. He half-watched her hands, which were ungloved for once. Her fingers were long and thin, her gestures assertive but not rough.
Finally, with reluctance, he told her that he needed to leave, as it was nearly dark and there was work to do tomorrow, after all.
"I'll bring it back to you tomorrow afternoon, then, if that's all right?" she asked, walking him to the door and resting the staff beside it carefully. She tilted her head to one side and smiled. "I'm sure you'll want to check it over when I'm done."
"I trust you with it," he answered, and was nearly surprised that he did, whole-heartedly. The staff was important, but he knew she would handle it with care. If, in fact, he ever wanted another one forged, she had the skills to do it, which was more than he could say about some of the Pharles he had known over the years.
She beamed, and he could only smile back; her grins were infectious. "Tomorrow," she said. "I'll see you then."
"And plan to stay for dinner," he said, looking up at her. "It is the least I can think of in return."
A slight flush settled onto her face and she looked away from him and out the door into the oncoming night. "I'd like that very much," she answered softly.
"Wonderful," he said, somewhat surprised by her sudden quietness, but he didn't ask. Instead he stepped past her and out the door to go back to the palace.
"Wonderful," she half-whispered, so that he almost thought he'd imagined it, and when he looked up at her she was still smiling, so they made their goodbyes and he started down the path. He turned once before he made it out of sight, and there she was still, silhouetted in her doorframe and looking after him. She waved a little and he waved back.
Now there were two things to look forward to for tomorrow: having his staff back in good condition, and getting to spent more time with her. It would be, Clef thought, a very good day.
He probably should maintain that old thing a little more often.