storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-08-31 09:54 am
storypaint) wrote2010-08-31 09:54 am
[Magic Knight Rayearth] the art of drawing without an eraser (Clef/Presea)
Title: the art of drawing without an eraser
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Length: 592 words
Prompt: she found him standing, looking lost for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chibidl's birthdayfic
Pairing: Clef/Presea
Other: Set between MKR I and MKR II.
Excerpt: "We'll build a castle in the air," Clef says, and if Presea hadn't seen the dead seriousness of his expression, she'd think that he was joking.
"We'll build a castle in the air," Clef says, and if Presea hadn't seen the dead seriousness of his expression, she'd think that he was joking. But Clef hasn't been joking for a long while - she contemplates that, wonders if it's possible to steal him away for a while and make him laugh, but there are other priorities right now. Like this castle.
Her brow has furrowed because she can't hide her first impression of confusion, and he seems to realize how out of context this is. They're sitting on Fyula, wind whipping through their hair, on their way to the current palace. Though it is mostly empty and dark, and Ferio refuses to stay there, it's a familiar place that they can't help but migrate to in this time of crisis. It wouldn't make sense to have mages meeting at her house, which is too small to hold them in any case, and Clef still has a small apartment in the palace building.
"It's falling to pieces," Clef says, looking out at Cephiro. There's a storm brewing in the west, dark clouds billowing like smoke. He frowns and extends his palm flatly, and an illusion springs up, a tiny picture of the country hovering over his hand. He gestures with his fingers at the edges, already suffering decay.
Presea clasps her hands in her lap, feeling her knuckles turn white under her gloves. She feels strange doing this, clothed like a Pharle but far from her forge. There is no sword that will puncture this problem, no armor that will cover them. She's offered Clef her aid because he needs it, but she still isn't quite sure she's qualified for this job. She's going to try her very best, though. No one could accuse her of doing otherwise.
Clef stares at his illusion. "There's nowhere stable on the ground. We'll have to build in the sky. It will take a lot of work, but we'll have the aid of every mage I can find. They'll all be refugees, eventually - they'll have a vested interest in a comfortable place to stay."
And when the sky falls?
She doesn't ask. She nods and thinks, makes suggestions and brushes a finger across his illusion, tracing paths, just barely not touching. She meets his eyes and stumbles in their blue, and does her best to recover after. There will be time for themselves when Cephiro's future is more certain. She really wants to believe that.
"This might actually work," he says, finally, closing his hand over the illusion, which shatters. He stares at his fist and he looks so sad for a moment that she realizes he's picturing something like that happening for real. This is not an escape plan; Clef wouldn't make those. He will never bail on Cephiro, but he can't be Pillar. So who can save them?
She must be out there, or he, the person who can make this all bright and new again. They'll just have to hold up until then.
She threads their fingers together, hoping that her face shows even a fraction of the support and hope that she feels. He leans his head on her shoulder, silent. She finds herself thinking a prayer to a woman who isn't here anymore.
So instead she talks to the rivers and the trees and the people, the essence of Cephiro. She's never heard Clef pray to the Pillar and she rather suspects that he does this instead. It's honestly just as reassuring - perhaps more. Emeraude had been one. Cephiro was more.
She smiles, and watches the storm build.
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Length: 592 words
Prompt: she found him standing, looking lost for
chibidl's birthdayficPairing: Clef/Presea
Other: Set between MKR I and MKR II.
Excerpt: "We'll build a castle in the air," Clef says, and if Presea hadn't seen the dead seriousness of his expression, she'd think that he was joking.
"We'll build a castle in the air," Clef says, and if Presea hadn't seen the dead seriousness of his expression, she'd think that he was joking. But Clef hasn't been joking for a long while - she contemplates that, wonders if it's possible to steal him away for a while and make him laugh, but there are other priorities right now. Like this castle.
Her brow has furrowed because she can't hide her first impression of confusion, and he seems to realize how out of context this is. They're sitting on Fyula, wind whipping through their hair, on their way to the current palace. Though it is mostly empty and dark, and Ferio refuses to stay there, it's a familiar place that they can't help but migrate to in this time of crisis. It wouldn't make sense to have mages meeting at her house, which is too small to hold them in any case, and Clef still has a small apartment in the palace building.
"It's falling to pieces," Clef says, looking out at Cephiro. There's a storm brewing in the west, dark clouds billowing like smoke. He frowns and extends his palm flatly, and an illusion springs up, a tiny picture of the country hovering over his hand. He gestures with his fingers at the edges, already suffering decay.
Presea clasps her hands in her lap, feeling her knuckles turn white under her gloves. She feels strange doing this, clothed like a Pharle but far from her forge. There is no sword that will puncture this problem, no armor that will cover them. She's offered Clef her aid because he needs it, but she still isn't quite sure she's qualified for this job. She's going to try her very best, though. No one could accuse her of doing otherwise.
Clef stares at his illusion. "There's nowhere stable on the ground. We'll have to build in the sky. It will take a lot of work, but we'll have the aid of every mage I can find. They'll all be refugees, eventually - they'll have a vested interest in a comfortable place to stay."
And when the sky falls?
She doesn't ask. She nods and thinks, makes suggestions and brushes a finger across his illusion, tracing paths, just barely not touching. She meets his eyes and stumbles in their blue, and does her best to recover after. There will be time for themselves when Cephiro's future is more certain. She really wants to believe that.
"This might actually work," he says, finally, closing his hand over the illusion, which shatters. He stares at his fist and he looks so sad for a moment that she realizes he's picturing something like that happening for real. This is not an escape plan; Clef wouldn't make those. He will never bail on Cephiro, but he can't be Pillar. So who can save them?
She must be out there, or he, the person who can make this all bright and new again. They'll just have to hold up until then.
She threads their fingers together, hoping that her face shows even a fraction of the support and hope that she feels. He leans his head on her shoulder, silent. She finds herself thinking a prayer to a woman who isn't here anymore.
So instead she talks to the rivers and the trees and the people, the essence of Cephiro. She's never heard Clef pray to the Pillar and she rather suspects that he does this instead. It's honestly just as reassuring - perhaps more. Emeraude had been one. Cephiro was more.
She smiles, and watches the storm build.