storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-08-17 03:42 pm
storypaint) wrote2010-08-17 03:42 pm
[Magic Knight Rayearth/Avatar] Balancing Act (Clef/Presea)
Title: Balancing Act
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth/Avatar: The Last Airbender
Length: 3879 words
Prompt: None. I just had this awful idea to write a Rayearth/Avatar fusion. I'm so sorry.
Pairing: Clef/Presea
Other: Takes the MKR characters and tosses them into the Avatar world, so knowledge of both canons is recommended.
Excerpt: Presea had been living in Cephiro for fifteen years when a tiny, lavender-haired man came to their village. He had an accent that was impossible to place, and a scowl that discouraged most questioning. Despite his unwillingness to talk at first, he stayed. After a few months, he muttered something about a deplorable lack of education among the children, and he began to teach.
Refugees were not unusual throughout the Hundred Years War. Even in a small village like Cephiro, they still trickled through in small groups and duos, the pain in their eyes often reflected on their bodies. Most didn't stay, only pausing on the way to another Earth Kingdom city, searching for a better life.
Presea liked her life in Cephiro, even under Fire Nation rule. At least, no one would think otherwise after seeing her bright smile and the caress of her fingertips on a new sword. A female blacksmith was certainly odd, but she'd inherited her trade as her father's only heir, and they had been residents of Cephiro since Presea was five.
She kept for herself for the most part after her father died, in a little cottage on the edge of the forest, and if the migrants often stopped in for tea before moving on, nothing was said about that either. If she repaired their weapons and encouraged their hearts, one can only assume that the occupying soldiers didn't know; this wasn't hard to imagine, as they were focused on the bigger cities.
Presea had been living in Cephiro for fifteen years when a tiny, lavender-haired man came to their village. He had an accent that was impossible to place, and a scowl that discouraged most questioning. Despite his unwillingness to talk at first, he stayed. After a few months, he muttered something about a deplorable lack of education among the children, and he began to teach.
Presea could read and write; as a young woman in her twenties with a career, she had no real reason to listen in to his lessons. She did sometimes, anyway. Clef thawed with the children, even if he pretended gruffness. He had a soft smile and the warm competence of a practiced teacher.
She didn't ask where he came from. She didn't ask him anything, but showed up one day as he let class out. She pressed a book into Clef's arms, cocked her head to one side, and smiled.
"I haven't read this one," he said. After that, they were friends.
*
Clef was well-traveled, Presea found out. They passed away many a fascinating hour in tea and discussion. She taught him without judgment how to pass as a native - local customs, history, and holidays.
Their friendship provoked gossip after a while, because there was little else to talk about in the village besides the war, and romantic speculation was much more pleasant. And anyone who saw the way they glanced at each other would realize that the rumor had a foundation, even if he was a foreign refugee more than twice her age.
It might have proceeded in a predictable manner, but the trickle of refugees became a surge, and they were all whispering the same thing.
The Avatar is back. The Avatar is going to defeat the Fire Nation.
Of course, the occupying forces discouraged this talk, even coming to the village one day to make sure there were no rebels hiding among them. Presea's forge seemed abandoned, though she lurked in her home in the dark, sword in hand and ear pressed to the door, waiting.
No one came and she slept sitting up, waking fitfully with the dawn to the sound of a knock too subtle for a military man. She rubbed at her neck and peered through the crack of the door. Clef smiled softly at her. He had a wooden staff in his hand, one she hadn't seen before.
"I was hoping you hadn't gone yet," he said. "May I come in?"
She let him in, glancing uneasily at the unsheathed sword held awkwardly in her hand. He seemed unsurprised.
"I need you to fix this for me, if you can," he said, fingers playing over the staff. It looked well-preserved to her. He met her puzzled gaze and sighed.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said. "I'm sorry."
He gave the staff a shake and it flipped open. Now she could see what was wrong - it wasn't a staff, but a glider, and the pinions and wings had been broken or cracked with age or use. It looked just like the picture on the wanted poster in town - like an airbender's staff.
She took a shaky step toward him. One hand brushed the polished wood, but then she drew closer and gently plucked at the soft wooden headband that covered his forehead. He nodded, catching her fingers in his for a breathless moment, and then he pulled it off. The tattoo was shockingly blue against his pale skin.
"I thought he was the last," she mumbled.
"The thing about nomads is," he answered, his voice just as soft, "they don't stay in temples all the time. And if you don't fly, it's easy to hide."
"Clef!" she said in amazement. She seemed to realize, after a moment's astonished silence, that she was standing much too close for propriety. With a blush, she stepped back and began to examine the staff.
"I've never fixed one of these," she said, "but I think I have the tools. Of course..." She shut her eyes and breathed. "...This won't carry two, will it?"
When she opened them again, he was staring up at her intently. She met his gaze as a blush traveled up her neck and across her face. Slowly, he smiled.
"I'll introduce you to Fyula," he said. The name meant nothing to her, but her heart pounded at the easy way he'd accepted her offer of companionship.
"Well, let me fix this first," she said, glancing longingly at her forge. It would be hard to leave behind. But she'd made her choice long ago. There could be another forge when the Earth Kingdom - when the world - was free.
"I'll keep watch," he said, and so she spent the next few hours adapting the use of her bow-making equipment. When she handed the glider to him, his fingers grasped the handle with a cheerful familiarity, and she followed him outside.
There had always been a certain ethereal quality about Clef; she'd attributed it to the way he'd sidled into town from nowhere and hadn't quite fit in. Now she saw it in the way the wind tossed his bangs in his face and the ease with with he took to the sky.
"Be right back," he called before flitting away just over the trees.
The flying bison was certainly the strangest thing she'd seen to date, but Clef offered her a hand to help her up, and he didn't let go, even after she'd settled.
Tomorrow, Presea thought, she'd show him why the flame in her forge never went out. Today, the journey was enough. They had their own fire.
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth/Avatar: The Last Airbender
Length: 3879 words
Prompt: None. I just had this awful idea to write a Rayearth/Avatar fusion. I'm so sorry.
Pairing: Clef/Presea
Other: Takes the MKR characters and tosses them into the Avatar world, so knowledge of both canons is recommended.
Excerpt: Presea had been living in Cephiro for fifteen years when a tiny, lavender-haired man came to their village. He had an accent that was impossible to place, and a scowl that discouraged most questioning. Despite his unwillingness to talk at first, he stayed. After a few months, he muttered something about a deplorable lack of education among the children, and he began to teach.
Refugees were not unusual throughout the Hundred Years War. Even in a small village like Cephiro, they still trickled through in small groups and duos, the pain in their eyes often reflected on their bodies. Most didn't stay, only pausing on the way to another Earth Kingdom city, searching for a better life.
Presea liked her life in Cephiro, even under Fire Nation rule. At least, no one would think otherwise after seeing her bright smile and the caress of her fingertips on a new sword. A female blacksmith was certainly odd, but she'd inherited her trade as her father's only heir, and they had been residents of Cephiro since Presea was five.
She kept for herself for the most part after her father died, in a little cottage on the edge of the forest, and if the migrants often stopped in for tea before moving on, nothing was said about that either. If she repaired their weapons and encouraged their hearts, one can only assume that the occupying soldiers didn't know; this wasn't hard to imagine, as they were focused on the bigger cities.
Presea had been living in Cephiro for fifteen years when a tiny, lavender-haired man came to their village. He had an accent that was impossible to place, and a scowl that discouraged most questioning. Despite his unwillingness to talk at first, he stayed. After a few months, he muttered something about a deplorable lack of education among the children, and he began to teach.
Presea could read and write; as a young woman in her twenties with a career, she had no real reason to listen in to his lessons. She did sometimes, anyway. Clef thawed with the children, even if he pretended gruffness. He had a soft smile and the warm competence of a practiced teacher.
She didn't ask where he came from. She didn't ask him anything, but showed up one day as he let class out. She pressed a book into Clef's arms, cocked her head to one side, and smiled.
"I haven't read this one," he said. After that, they were friends.
*
Clef was well-traveled, Presea found out. They passed away many a fascinating hour in tea and discussion. She taught him without judgment how to pass as a native - local customs, history, and holidays.
Their friendship provoked gossip after a while, because there was little else to talk about in the village besides the war, and romantic speculation was much more pleasant. And anyone who saw the way they glanced at each other would realize that the rumor had a foundation, even if he was a foreign refugee more than twice her age.
It might have proceeded in a predictable manner, but the trickle of refugees became a surge, and they were all whispering the same thing.
The Avatar is back. The Avatar is going to defeat the Fire Nation.
Of course, the occupying forces discouraged this talk, even coming to the village one day to make sure there were no rebels hiding among them. Presea's forge seemed abandoned, though she lurked in her home in the dark, sword in hand and ear pressed to the door, waiting.
No one came and she slept sitting up, waking fitfully with the dawn to the sound of a knock too subtle for a military man. She rubbed at her neck and peered through the crack of the door. Clef smiled softly at her. He had a wooden staff in his hand, one she hadn't seen before.
"I was hoping you hadn't gone yet," he said. "May I come in?"
She let him in, glancing uneasily at the unsheathed sword held awkwardly in her hand. He seemed unsurprised.
"I need you to fix this for me, if you can," he said, fingers playing over the staff. It looked well-preserved to her. He met her puzzled gaze and sighed.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said. "I'm sorry."
He gave the staff a shake and it flipped open. Now she could see what was wrong - it wasn't a staff, but a glider, and the pinions and wings had been broken or cracked with age or use. It looked just like the picture on the wanted poster in town - like an airbender's staff.
She took a shaky step toward him. One hand brushed the polished wood, but then she drew closer and gently plucked at the soft wooden headband that covered his forehead. He nodded, catching her fingers in his for a breathless moment, and then he pulled it off. The tattoo was shockingly blue against his pale skin.
"I thought he was the last," she mumbled.
"The thing about nomads is," he answered, his voice just as soft, "they don't stay in temples all the time. And if you don't fly, it's easy to hide."
"Clef!" she said in amazement. She seemed to realize, after a moment's astonished silence, that she was standing much too close for propriety. With a blush, she stepped back and began to examine the staff.
"I've never fixed one of these," she said, "but I think I have the tools. Of course..." She shut her eyes and breathed. "...This won't carry two, will it?"
When she opened them again, he was staring up at her intently. She met his gaze as a blush traveled up her neck and across her face. Slowly, he smiled.
"I'll introduce you to Fyula," he said. The name meant nothing to her, but her heart pounded at the easy way he'd accepted her offer of companionship.
"Well, let me fix this first," she said, glancing longingly at her forge. It would be hard to leave behind. But she'd made her choice long ago. There could be another forge when the Earth Kingdom - when the world - was free.
"I'll keep watch," he said, and so she spent the next few hours adapting the use of her bow-making equipment. When she handed the glider to him, his fingers grasped the handle with a cheerful familiarity, and she followed him outside.
There had always been a certain ethereal quality about Clef; she'd attributed it to the way he'd sidled into town from nowhere and hadn't quite fit in. Now she saw it in the way the wind tossed his bangs in his face and the ease with with he took to the sky.
"Be right back," he called before flitting away just over the trees.
The flying bison was certainly the strangest thing she'd seen to date, but Clef offered her a hand to help her up, and he didn't let go, even after she'd settled.
Tomorrow, Presea thought, she'd show him why the flame in her forge never went out. Today, the journey was enough. They had their own fire.