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fan_flashworks2021-11-05 01:27 pm
pantswarrior) wrote in fan_flashworks2021-11-05 01:27 pm
Entry tags:
Vagrant Story: Fanfic: Rehearsal
Title: Rehearsal
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PG-13/T
Length: 1800ish words
Author notes: This was one of those challenges where as soon as I saw the prompt I just started laughing. "Okay boys, fine, now I have an excuse to write something like that for you."
Summary: When you observe a religion founded by a belly dancer, preparing for holiday rituals can be... a mite strange.
-----
Though the days were becoming longer, the sky still grew dark during the dinner hour - and with the sundown came a chill, for the river that flowed through the heart of Leá Monde had not yet warmed from the winter's cold. After gathering for the evening meal in the common dining hall, the brethren of Müllenkamp once more parted, each seeking his or her own way to pass the few hours before sleep. Most, quite sensibly, were doing so indoors.
Hardin would have expected Sydney to head for the library after dinner as was his habit, but instead he spotted Sydney turning the other direction, towards the courtyard of the keep. They'd not seen one another all day except in passing, and after a moment's hesitation, Hardin decided to follow.
Given Sydney's talents, he noticed almost at once and he paused, turning back and waiting for Hardin to catch up. "Would you care to join me, then?" Sydney asked, appearing slightly amused.
Amused was preferable to offended. "That depends upon what you may be doing," replied Hardin. "I was curious, but would not intrude."
"The springtime ritual approaches," Sydney said simply. "I had thought to practice my part, just as the musicians are practicing their own."
Indeed, elsewhere in the keep Hardin could now hear the faint sound of pipes and drums, and he nodded. "Of course. I suppose I will leave you to it, then."
Though Hardin intended to turn away, Sydney's eyes lingered, held Hardin fast as surely as his hands might. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to join me?" Sydney asked again. "There is yet time, and despite your reluctance, I believe you have the requisite grace. It is not so different from the forms you use to prepare for battle, and I know you learn quickly."
Oh. Hardin hadn't realized Sydney meant that part of the ritual, though that also made sense. "I appreciate your confidence," Hardin said, chuckling quietly, "but I am no dancer. I need not take part - I will be content to watch." Content, and then some. Sydney was most certainly a dancer.
"Indeed - you could be," Sydney observed with a smile, "if you choose to join me."
Hardin considered. It seemed as if Sydney truly wanted his company, rather than merely offering only because Hardin had approached him. He had been in a particularly good mood of late, perhaps because of the approaching holiday, and Hardin had nothing planned for the evening. He could do worse than to spend it with Sydney - especially as that likely meant spending the night with Sydney afterward. "Well then, if you don't mind a small audience," Hardin agreed with a smile of his own.
Though it was a bit strange, Hardin thought as he followed Sydney out to the courtyard, for Hardin had seen Sydney instructing some of their brethren in the communal dance many of them would offer together around the fire, but in all the time they had spent together for the past several months, never had he seen Sydney practice his other dance before, the one he and their Lady would dance on their own. Perhaps he hadn't; perhaps he knew it so well, he rarely had need for more than the occasional runthrough to make certain. Or perhaps he practiced alone more often than Hardin realized, and this was only the first time Hardin had noticed to ask where he was going.
In but a week's time, the ritual fire would be burning hot and bright in the center of the courtyard, its crackle accompanied by laughter and revelry and music and feasting. At present it was silent and still and cold, lit only by the moon and the stars overhead in a clear frigid sky, and the faint pulsing of the magic circle where the fire would be built. It was enough to see the shape of Sydney, pale as his skin and hair were against the darkness of night, his metal arms touched with unearthly blue as he halted before the glow that only he and their brethren could see, looking down at it fondly for a moment before raising his eyes to Hardin at his side. "I suppose you should find a seat - unless you have changed your mind...?"
Hardin shook his head with a laugh and looked about as he stepped back. "I will leave the dancing to you. I still say mine would not be so pleasing to the Lady as yours."
"Our Lady does not demand perfection, understanding as she is," Sydney told him, lifting his arms in a graceful arc, the plates of his wrists clicking as he flexed them. "She knows that each of her children offers what they are able and willing - and you bring to her table many offerings other than dance. She is pleased with you just as you are; my suggestion is mine alone, and of no consequence."
Hardin had not been looking for reassurance, but it was welcome regardless. He bowed his head in a moment of humble gratitude before he took up one of the short wooden boxes piled against the wall, left from their overwinter provisioning. "Does that not mean you have no need to practice, then?" he asked, settling himself down upon it a short distance from the circle. "Surely your many offerings are more than sufficient, watching over her children and her city so diligently as you do."
"That is what she tells me," Sydney said, almost absently, as his face turned upwards to the heavens in preparation. "Even so, the dance is a gift she and I share, a connection between us, and I would honor her legacy to the best of my ability before our gods."
Hardin made no reply, for with that, Sydney bowed deeply and began to dance. Not only would Hardin not have distracted him, but Sydney's dancing was... distracting in its own right.
Hardin had only met the brethren of Müllenkamp late in the previous winter, and become one of their number early that spring. He had not seen their seasonal rituals so many times as of yet, certainly not enough to become jaded at the sight of Sydney dancing. He was not sure such a thing was possible.
However, regardless of how fascinated he was by watching Sydney, he remained dimly aware that this was not what most would consider normal or even acceptable. In spite of his denials, Hardin had some experience with dance - only a few basic steps, required learning in his youth due to his father's title and the likelihood that he would inherit the same. Motions that were formal, prescribed, very stiff. Little more than walking a path dictated; very much as his own life had once seemed. The dance that Sydney danced for their Lady was as far removed from such things as a dance could be - it was wild, instinctive, flowing naturally as he swayed and shook to a rhythm heard now only within his heart, but for his steps upon the cobblestones of the courtyard keeping time.
Further, though Hardin had never had time nor inclination for idle debauchery, during his days in the PeaceGuard he had accompanied some of his fellows in their pursuits. He had seen dances of this sort before, in taverns and inns of ill repute - and despite his lack of interest in casual affairs, he had to concede that the shaking of the hips, the smooth, languid motions of the arms, the ornaments and veils that did little to cover the bare skin beneath, were unquestionably alluring. Of course they were - this sort of dance was meant to be a suggestive display, and it served its purpose very well. Proof, one of his men had said once, that women were all witches, able to enchant a man without saying a word.
Hardin had scoffed in his heart at the time; the entire idea of witches had been absurd to him, let alone marking all women as something to be distrusted or feared. But now he had met the witches, lived among them, called them his sisters and his brothers... and if anyone, man or woman, could be said to be a witch capable of enchanting someone on sight, it would be Sydney. Beyond the power granted him by his gods, Hardin had been enchanted by him nearly from the moment they met.
It was strange also, Hardin thought, that although such dances were traditionally performed by women, when Sydney danced, it was not the slightest bit feminine. Though his movements were every bit as light and graceful as the female dancers, there was a distinctly masculine air somehow - beyond the bare flat chest, body unadorned but for the metal arms that glinted blue in the magical aura and the dark tattoo that covered his back, he moved with intent. His steps were stalking as much as gliding, sharp and precise as the tip of a dagger, a hunter closing in on his prey. ...A very skilled hunter, for Hardin was certain that he could not have moved if he had wished to.
And certainly he was the hunter's prey; Sydney caught Hardin's eye over his shoulder for a moment as he danced with his back turned, the inverted Rood tattoo rippling with the movement of his muscles, and he wore a sly smile. Hardin half-closed his eyes, but only briefly, in mild exasperation at the unsubtle motion of Sydney's hips. Sydney knew perfectly well what his dance was doing to Hardin, and it was intentional. 'My suggestion is mine alone', indeed. Tricky bastard. As with many other ways Sydney was able to coax forth exactly the reaction he wished, knowing what Sydney was doing did not keep Hardin from being affected. Yet in this case, Hardin did not particularly mind the manipulation, for it was late in the evening, and there was nothing more to tend to beyond the growing ache that Sydney roused in him...
And perhaps the corresponding ache in Sydney's own body, for Hardin found when Sydney turned again that the tight, half-laced leggings Sydney wore seemed even more indecent than they usually did. With a flourish of blue-touched metal, Sydney began to approach him, still half-dancing, for his arms swayed and hips shook with each step - up until he had come close enough for Hardin to catch them between his hands, stilling them barely a handsbreadth before his face. Despite the chill in the air, Hardin felt very... warm. "I dare say," he told Sydney, raising his head to look him in the eye, "you have no need for further practice."
"Need...?" Sydney mused, his smile coy as he peered down at Hardin seated before him, and rested his hands lightly upon Hardin's shoulders. "Not need, no - merely desire."
"And not solely for the dance," Hardin muttered, allowing his fingers to slide back, to caress, to squeeze what lay beneath the thin leather. Sydney's smile only deepened.
Fandom: Vagrant Story
Rating: PG-13/T
Length: 1800ish words
Author notes: This was one of those challenges where as soon as I saw the prompt I just started laughing. "Okay boys, fine, now I have an excuse to write something like that for you."
Summary: When you observe a religion founded by a belly dancer, preparing for holiday rituals can be... a mite strange.
-----
Though the days were becoming longer, the sky still grew dark during the dinner hour - and with the sundown came a chill, for the river that flowed through the heart of Leá Monde had not yet warmed from the winter's cold. After gathering for the evening meal in the common dining hall, the brethren of Müllenkamp once more parted, each seeking his or her own way to pass the few hours before sleep. Most, quite sensibly, were doing so indoors.
Hardin would have expected Sydney to head for the library after dinner as was his habit, but instead he spotted Sydney turning the other direction, towards the courtyard of the keep. They'd not seen one another all day except in passing, and after a moment's hesitation, Hardin decided to follow.
Given Sydney's talents, he noticed almost at once and he paused, turning back and waiting for Hardin to catch up. "Would you care to join me, then?" Sydney asked, appearing slightly amused.
Amused was preferable to offended. "That depends upon what you may be doing," replied Hardin. "I was curious, but would not intrude."
"The springtime ritual approaches," Sydney said simply. "I had thought to practice my part, just as the musicians are practicing their own."
Indeed, elsewhere in the keep Hardin could now hear the faint sound of pipes and drums, and he nodded. "Of course. I suppose I will leave you to it, then."
Though Hardin intended to turn away, Sydney's eyes lingered, held Hardin fast as surely as his hands might. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to join me?" Sydney asked again. "There is yet time, and despite your reluctance, I believe you have the requisite grace. It is not so different from the forms you use to prepare for battle, and I know you learn quickly."
Oh. Hardin hadn't realized Sydney meant that part of the ritual, though that also made sense. "I appreciate your confidence," Hardin said, chuckling quietly, "but I am no dancer. I need not take part - I will be content to watch." Content, and then some. Sydney was most certainly a dancer.
"Indeed - you could be," Sydney observed with a smile, "if you choose to join me."
Hardin considered. It seemed as if Sydney truly wanted his company, rather than merely offering only because Hardin had approached him. He had been in a particularly good mood of late, perhaps because of the approaching holiday, and Hardin had nothing planned for the evening. He could do worse than to spend it with Sydney - especially as that likely meant spending the night with Sydney afterward. "Well then, if you don't mind a small audience," Hardin agreed with a smile of his own.
Though it was a bit strange, Hardin thought as he followed Sydney out to the courtyard, for Hardin had seen Sydney instructing some of their brethren in the communal dance many of them would offer together around the fire, but in all the time they had spent together for the past several months, never had he seen Sydney practice his other dance before, the one he and their Lady would dance on their own. Perhaps he hadn't; perhaps he knew it so well, he rarely had need for more than the occasional runthrough to make certain. Or perhaps he practiced alone more often than Hardin realized, and this was only the first time Hardin had noticed to ask where he was going.
In but a week's time, the ritual fire would be burning hot and bright in the center of the courtyard, its crackle accompanied by laughter and revelry and music and feasting. At present it was silent and still and cold, lit only by the moon and the stars overhead in a clear frigid sky, and the faint pulsing of the magic circle where the fire would be built. It was enough to see the shape of Sydney, pale as his skin and hair were against the darkness of night, his metal arms touched with unearthly blue as he halted before the glow that only he and their brethren could see, looking down at it fondly for a moment before raising his eyes to Hardin at his side. "I suppose you should find a seat - unless you have changed your mind...?"
Hardin shook his head with a laugh and looked about as he stepped back. "I will leave the dancing to you. I still say mine would not be so pleasing to the Lady as yours."
"Our Lady does not demand perfection, understanding as she is," Sydney told him, lifting his arms in a graceful arc, the plates of his wrists clicking as he flexed them. "She knows that each of her children offers what they are able and willing - and you bring to her table many offerings other than dance. She is pleased with you just as you are; my suggestion is mine alone, and of no consequence."
Hardin had not been looking for reassurance, but it was welcome regardless. He bowed his head in a moment of humble gratitude before he took up one of the short wooden boxes piled against the wall, left from their overwinter provisioning. "Does that not mean you have no need to practice, then?" he asked, settling himself down upon it a short distance from the circle. "Surely your many offerings are more than sufficient, watching over her children and her city so diligently as you do."
"That is what she tells me," Sydney said, almost absently, as his face turned upwards to the heavens in preparation. "Even so, the dance is a gift she and I share, a connection between us, and I would honor her legacy to the best of my ability before our gods."
Hardin made no reply, for with that, Sydney bowed deeply and began to dance. Not only would Hardin not have distracted him, but Sydney's dancing was... distracting in its own right.
Hardin had only met the brethren of Müllenkamp late in the previous winter, and become one of their number early that spring. He had not seen their seasonal rituals so many times as of yet, certainly not enough to become jaded at the sight of Sydney dancing. He was not sure such a thing was possible.
However, regardless of how fascinated he was by watching Sydney, he remained dimly aware that this was not what most would consider normal or even acceptable. In spite of his denials, Hardin had some experience with dance - only a few basic steps, required learning in his youth due to his father's title and the likelihood that he would inherit the same. Motions that were formal, prescribed, very stiff. Little more than walking a path dictated; very much as his own life had once seemed. The dance that Sydney danced for their Lady was as far removed from such things as a dance could be - it was wild, instinctive, flowing naturally as he swayed and shook to a rhythm heard now only within his heart, but for his steps upon the cobblestones of the courtyard keeping time.
Further, though Hardin had never had time nor inclination for idle debauchery, during his days in the PeaceGuard he had accompanied some of his fellows in their pursuits. He had seen dances of this sort before, in taverns and inns of ill repute - and despite his lack of interest in casual affairs, he had to concede that the shaking of the hips, the smooth, languid motions of the arms, the ornaments and veils that did little to cover the bare skin beneath, were unquestionably alluring. Of course they were - this sort of dance was meant to be a suggestive display, and it served its purpose very well. Proof, one of his men had said once, that women were all witches, able to enchant a man without saying a word.
Hardin had scoffed in his heart at the time; the entire idea of witches had been absurd to him, let alone marking all women as something to be distrusted or feared. But now he had met the witches, lived among them, called them his sisters and his brothers... and if anyone, man or woman, could be said to be a witch capable of enchanting someone on sight, it would be Sydney. Beyond the power granted him by his gods, Hardin had been enchanted by him nearly from the moment they met.
It was strange also, Hardin thought, that although such dances were traditionally performed by women, when Sydney danced, it was not the slightest bit feminine. Though his movements were every bit as light and graceful as the female dancers, there was a distinctly masculine air somehow - beyond the bare flat chest, body unadorned but for the metal arms that glinted blue in the magical aura and the dark tattoo that covered his back, he moved with intent. His steps were stalking as much as gliding, sharp and precise as the tip of a dagger, a hunter closing in on his prey. ...A very skilled hunter, for Hardin was certain that he could not have moved if he had wished to.
And certainly he was the hunter's prey; Sydney caught Hardin's eye over his shoulder for a moment as he danced with his back turned, the inverted Rood tattoo rippling with the movement of his muscles, and he wore a sly smile. Hardin half-closed his eyes, but only briefly, in mild exasperation at the unsubtle motion of Sydney's hips. Sydney knew perfectly well what his dance was doing to Hardin, and it was intentional. 'My suggestion is mine alone', indeed. Tricky bastard. As with many other ways Sydney was able to coax forth exactly the reaction he wished, knowing what Sydney was doing did not keep Hardin from being affected. Yet in this case, Hardin did not particularly mind the manipulation, for it was late in the evening, and there was nothing more to tend to beyond the growing ache that Sydney roused in him...
And perhaps the corresponding ache in Sydney's own body, for Hardin found when Sydney turned again that the tight, half-laced leggings Sydney wore seemed even more indecent than they usually did. With a flourish of blue-touched metal, Sydney began to approach him, still half-dancing, for his arms swayed and hips shook with each step - up until he had come close enough for Hardin to catch them between his hands, stilling them barely a handsbreadth before his face. Despite the chill in the air, Hardin felt very... warm. "I dare say," he told Sydney, raising his head to look him in the eye, "you have no need for further practice."
"Need...?" Sydney mused, his smile coy as he peered down at Hardin seated before him, and rested his hands lightly upon Hardin's shoulders. "Not need, no - merely desire."
"And not solely for the dance," Hardin muttered, allowing his fingers to slide back, to caress, to squeeze what lay beneath the thin leather. Sydney's smile only deepened.