Plotinus tl;dr Anon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fan_flashworks2021-02-11 04:02 pm
pantswarrior) wrote in fan_flashworks2021-02-11 04:02 pm
Entry tags:
Vagrant Story: Fanfic: No Assistance Required
Title: No Assistance Required
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PGish
Length: 850ish words
Author notes: We used to ask questions like this in the fandom all the time back in the day. XD
Summary: Buttoning a shirt is one of the many things Sydney does not do in the manner of ordinary men.
-----
The hands were unnerving at the first sighting. If anything, they became more so when one realized they were his hands, and not some sort of elaborate gauntlet that might be removed behind closed doors. But then, after the horror had faded, they were something akin to an object of reverence, for they were physical evidence Sydney had been chosen by the gods.
Hardin had grown accustomed to them some time back, and was almost jaded now, after seeing them so often and in so many contexts, both sacred and mundane. In truth, it was the more mundane moments that now caused him to recall the oddity of them - the clink against a glass goblet when Sydney reached for his drink, the way they gleamed in the sunlight by which Sydney was reading, glinting when he turned the page.
Sydney often went bare to the waist or wore loose robes, perhaps because his mechanical limbs made wearing a proper shirt awkward. Yet there were certain occasions when he must dress formally for propriety's sake - such as during an audience with the duke, for which he was now preparing. As usual, Hardin was merely accompanying Sydney for the journey, and his presence would not be needed nor desired for the meeting itself, leaving him with little else to do at the moment but to sit upon one of the beds in their usual guest suite at the Bardorba manor, watching Sydney ready himself.
Hardin almost asked, upon seeing the shirt Sydney shrugged over his shoulders this time. Usually Sydney favored clothes that were laced or tied, and so often Hardin had seen him manage those easily, even with his unusual fingers. Though he could not recall if he had ever before seen...
Before he dared to tempt Sydney's annoyance by patronizing him with the offer, he found himself somewhat distracted by the sight. Sydney's hands were, after all, his hands, though they were not of flesh, and he was very well aware of their capabilities and their shortcomings. Though Hardin was not sure when Sydney had received them, by the time Hardin had met him, Sydney was accustomed to them - and to finding ways around the common problems they might cause.
A normal man could take the button between his blunt fingertips, find a secure grip upon the smooth, hard silver with his more pliable skin, find the corresponding hole and pull it slightly open as the other hand nudged the button through. But Sydney was no normal man, with no normal hands. Instead he poked the thin points of two metal claws through the buttonhole, catching the corresponding button between them, one on each side of the thread by which they were sewn to the fabric, and tugging them back through. Hardin found the unorthodox technique Sydney had found - and clearly mastered, given his quickness - fascinating. It was not so different, but just different enough to take note. Again he was struck by the oddity of Sydney's hands, and the deftness with which he used them.
It did seem to require most of Sydney's attention, however, for his head was down, watching what he was doing closely so as to sever nothing, nor snag one of the points of his fingers in the fine material. When his eyes rose again, he looked to Hardin briefly with a faint smile of amusement. "All the things you have seen me do with these hands - and still you think to offer me assistance over such an ordinary task as this?"
Of course he had heard the offer before it had died away, while it had not yet reached Hardin's lips. "I would offer my assistance whenever it is needed," Hardin replied, then added somewhat sheepishly, "Yet clearly it is not, in this case."
Sydney shook his head absently, his attention once more on dressing himself as he reached for the more modest leggings he had laid out for the occasion, tucking the shirttails in carefully as he tugged them on. "I do appreciate your solicitude, friend. But yes, I am quite capable of buttoning my shirt. Although..."
The amused smile took on a sly edge as Sydney, now fully dressed but for his boots, reached up to straighten his collar and then closed the few steps between himself and where Hardin sat, resting those meticulous hands upon Hardin's shoulders as Hardin looked up to him. "...When the duke and I have concluded our business, it will be late, I will undoubtedly be weary, and I shall want nothing more than to put the whole of it out of my mind and find my bed. If you would like to offer your assistance... perhaps you would be interested in the unbuttoning...?"
One of those hands rested cool against Hardin's cheek, sharp points landing upon his temple and his jaw, and Hardin resisted the urge to clear his throat, to close his eyes. Even so, his tone was even and nearly wry as he replied. "As I said, whenever you have need."
Sydney chuckled quietly, and the cold points of Sydney's fingertips withdrew as he turned to retrieve his boots.
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PGish
Length: 850ish words
Author notes: We used to ask questions like this in the fandom all the time back in the day. XD
Summary: Buttoning a shirt is one of the many things Sydney does not do in the manner of ordinary men.
-----
The hands were unnerving at the first sighting. If anything, they became more so when one realized they were his hands, and not some sort of elaborate gauntlet that might be removed behind closed doors. But then, after the horror had faded, they were something akin to an object of reverence, for they were physical evidence Sydney had been chosen by the gods.
Hardin had grown accustomed to them some time back, and was almost jaded now, after seeing them so often and in so many contexts, both sacred and mundane. In truth, it was the more mundane moments that now caused him to recall the oddity of them - the clink against a glass goblet when Sydney reached for his drink, the way they gleamed in the sunlight by which Sydney was reading, glinting when he turned the page.
Sydney often went bare to the waist or wore loose robes, perhaps because his mechanical limbs made wearing a proper shirt awkward. Yet there were certain occasions when he must dress formally for propriety's sake - such as during an audience with the duke, for which he was now preparing. As usual, Hardin was merely accompanying Sydney for the journey, and his presence would not be needed nor desired for the meeting itself, leaving him with little else to do at the moment but to sit upon one of the beds in their usual guest suite at the Bardorba manor, watching Sydney ready himself.
Hardin almost asked, upon seeing the shirt Sydney shrugged over his shoulders this time. Usually Sydney favored clothes that were laced or tied, and so often Hardin had seen him manage those easily, even with his unusual fingers. Though he could not recall if he had ever before seen...
Before he dared to tempt Sydney's annoyance by patronizing him with the offer, he found himself somewhat distracted by the sight. Sydney's hands were, after all, his hands, though they were not of flesh, and he was very well aware of their capabilities and their shortcomings. Though Hardin was not sure when Sydney had received them, by the time Hardin had met him, Sydney was accustomed to them - and to finding ways around the common problems they might cause.
A normal man could take the button between his blunt fingertips, find a secure grip upon the smooth, hard silver with his more pliable skin, find the corresponding hole and pull it slightly open as the other hand nudged the button through. But Sydney was no normal man, with no normal hands. Instead he poked the thin points of two metal claws through the buttonhole, catching the corresponding button between them, one on each side of the thread by which they were sewn to the fabric, and tugging them back through. Hardin found the unorthodox technique Sydney had found - and clearly mastered, given his quickness - fascinating. It was not so different, but just different enough to take note. Again he was struck by the oddity of Sydney's hands, and the deftness with which he used them.
It did seem to require most of Sydney's attention, however, for his head was down, watching what he was doing closely so as to sever nothing, nor snag one of the points of his fingers in the fine material. When his eyes rose again, he looked to Hardin briefly with a faint smile of amusement. "All the things you have seen me do with these hands - and still you think to offer me assistance over such an ordinary task as this?"
Of course he had heard the offer before it had died away, while it had not yet reached Hardin's lips. "I would offer my assistance whenever it is needed," Hardin replied, then added somewhat sheepishly, "Yet clearly it is not, in this case."
Sydney shook his head absently, his attention once more on dressing himself as he reached for the more modest leggings he had laid out for the occasion, tucking the shirttails in carefully as he tugged them on. "I do appreciate your solicitude, friend. But yes, I am quite capable of buttoning my shirt. Although..."
The amused smile took on a sly edge as Sydney, now fully dressed but for his boots, reached up to straighten his collar and then closed the few steps between himself and where Hardin sat, resting those meticulous hands upon Hardin's shoulders as Hardin looked up to him. "...When the duke and I have concluded our business, it will be late, I will undoubtedly be weary, and I shall want nothing more than to put the whole of it out of my mind and find my bed. If you would like to offer your assistance... perhaps you would be interested in the unbuttoning...?"
One of those hands rested cool against Hardin's cheek, sharp points landing upon his temple and his jaw, and Hardin resisted the urge to clear his throat, to close his eyes. Even so, his tone was even and nearly wry as he replied. "As I said, whenever you have need."
Sydney chuckled quietly, and the cold points of Sydney's fingertips withdrew as he turned to retrieve his boots.