A scene, not a story. I was bored.
Oct. 22nd, 2003 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreAs I observed to a friend last night, it seems much easier for me to write a scene between Sarah and Albert instead of Sarah and Luc. I conclude that I must be writing Albert very badly, for that to be the case. In all honesty, while I like him, he isn't a character I feel a great connection with.
But this, as a scene I wrote simply for the sake of writing, is crap anyway. Thus, the characterization issue doesn't matter much, eh?
This is connected to Nothing But a Dance in a very nebulous way, but it references ideas I've had about conversations between these two that are not in writing, and (if you're lucky) never will be.
The grasses wavered like the surface of a golden lake, and a human form emerged from that disturbace and sent it away with a flick of her hand. She fell to her knees and dropped her staff to clutch at her side, breaking into sobs. If there had been any watchers, they might have winced in sympathy at that, for either the tears or the wound.
But no one was around, and Sarah was perfectly content to keep it that way.
The battle for the ceremonial ruins still raged in the distance, though the fighting was not as fierce now as before. Only Yuber and the creatures Luc had summoned were left now. Her own part of the battle was a miserable failure. One strike, and she had been forced to retreat.
Her hand, when she pulled it away, was covered in blood. The wound itself wasn't terrible, beyond the biting pain - just distracting, and agonizing enough at first that her concentration was unsalvagable. Perhaps she should be grateful that it wasn't inflicted by that self-righteous knight, but it didn't really matter at all who did the deed... only that it kept her from being of any use right now, and she would have to expend valuable energy to heal it. The fight wasn't over yet. They would be pushed back into the ruins themselves, but they still had the runes. Luc still had his chance to complete the ceremony.
That wouldn't last long. She didn't have much more to give. Maybe Yuber would be more successful, as he was almost certainly faring better.
Yuber. They were relying on /Yuber/ now. It would be enough to make her cry, but she was already doing just fine on that front.
"What a shameful display."
Sarah jumped and tried to twist around, then bit back an exclamation of pain. She recognized the voice - Albert. He must have been watching from the entrance, and if there was one person she hoped to never cry with... How had she not heard him coming? "What do you want?" she managed, hunching over the wound, hand pressed to it tightly.
The strategist strode calmly around her and folded into a sitting position before her, depositing a bundle of clothing in her lap, and a scroll between them. He seemed completely uninterested in the battle in the distance. "You can still leave. Say the word, and it will be done."
Not this again. "I told you I wouldn't." Sarah wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and made a valiant effort to hold her tears back. It was easier with him there. "Why are you still here?"
"I'm your strategist." An eyebrow quirked, and Albert tilted his head, though he did not smile as she thought he would. "And you look miserable. I'm only trying to save you from making a mistake."
"You're only trying to get rid of me so you can betray Master Luc."
Albert did smile then, and his faint laugh sounded genuinely amused, but always with that derisive undertone. "And you would be easy to kill right now. Even I have enough skill with a rune to do the job." His amusement faded somewhat as he gazed at her critically. "You're already defeated. And we both know I've already made my own arragements. I'm giving you a last chance to do the same."
"Just go away." Sarah's gaze dropped to the clothes in her lap, and her eyes misted up again despite her best efforts. Of course he didn't care about Luc's goal, but he could have kept it to himself, at least, and not bothered her with it. Surely he didn't believe she would leave.
He seemed intent not to leave it at that, however. "You're going to let him die, then? Help him to it, even?" He made a sound suspiciously like scolding, mocking. "True love, I see."
Sarah was on her feet in an instant, fists clenched and the tears she'd tried to hold let loose to stream down her face. The clothes fell onto the grass in a heap. "And how would you know? You wouldn't recognize love if it slapped you in the face!"
"As you're about to do now?"
She spun on her heel before she could be tempted to waste energy on a spell. Albert knew nothing. /Nothing/. He might have inherited the genius of his family, but that didn't enlighten him to anything that mattered. The /nerve/ he had to imply... to say...
"The scroll is for healing. I thought you'd want to reserve your energy for the battle to come." There was the sound of grass and coat rustling as Albert got to his feet, and his voice was a little more distant when he spoke again. "Get yourself cleaned up, then. You should look your best for your last meeting."
His receding footsteps told her when he finally left, though he'd paused again just a few more seconds before doing so, maybe hoping she would change her mind. If he thought a dance and a few kind words would persuade her to turn her back on Luc, he certainly did /not/ know love.
But he was right. In part. She shouldn't walk in like this. And the wound was throbbing - she couldn't concentrate like this.
Sarah turned around again as soon as she couldn't hear him anymore, and found Albert to be a white blur far ahead - going to retrieve Yuber, probably. Well, good. And if he got trapped by the battle for a little while, even better. It would take time to change, and she didn't want them looking for her again until she was finished.
First things first. She settled down on the ground again, mindful of her injury, and picked up the scroll. It was a second-level healing spell. Not spectacular, but enough to stop the bleeding and knit the skin, and perhaps enable her to last through another battle, though she would still be significantly weakened. She cast it quickly, and as soon as the cold prickling of the magic left her body, she wiped her hands on her skirt and picked up the clothes Albert brought.
His words stayed with her, perhaps to plague her in place of the vanished wound. He would be right under other circumstances, with other people. Looking in from the outside, she might think the same thing. Love, one would think, could bridge a gap like this. It would give her the strength to stand up to Luc and draw him away from the abyss of death.
But that was a storybook case. Reality was not as kind. Luc made his intentions clear, and in allowing her to accompany him, he trusted she would not go back on her word to help him. If that promise ever broke, she would be removed. Whatever feelings she harbored inside, they would not save her from that fate.
The bundle of clothes blurred into a mass of shadows and light. There was no point! She tried, and failed. If she tried again to stop him now, she would be gone, and he would go on with his plans. What good would that do? They were all going to die anyway, and Sarah would rather die /with/ Luc, than opposing him.
She looked up again, blinking her tears away. Albert was out of sight. There weren't many places to change in the ruins, so hopefully he would stay that way.
Notes on the scene:
- Insert the obligatory "it's crap and I hate it" here. But this time, I'm right. Bwahah.
- I did not intend to imply anything special about Sarah and Albert, beyond the idea that he tried to get her to change her mind in the past.
- Even Sarah is kind of flat here. I attribute that to the unfortunate fact that, when I first imagined this scene, I didn't write it. Since then, I've forgotten a lot about what I wanted to see in her thoughts. An edit will fix that, but I'm too lazy right now.
- There are reflections of my essay here. Shame I didn't write it better.
The moral of the story: don't let me get bored!
But this, as a scene I wrote simply for the sake of writing, is crap anyway. Thus, the characterization issue doesn't matter much, eh?
This is connected to Nothing But a Dance in a very nebulous way, but it references ideas I've had about conversations between these two that are not in writing, and (if you're lucky) never will be.
The grasses wavered like the surface of a golden lake, and a human form emerged from that disturbace and sent it away with a flick of her hand. She fell to her knees and dropped her staff to clutch at her side, breaking into sobs. If there had been any watchers, they might have winced in sympathy at that, for either the tears or the wound.
But no one was around, and Sarah was perfectly content to keep it that way.
The battle for the ceremonial ruins still raged in the distance, though the fighting was not as fierce now as before. Only Yuber and the creatures Luc had summoned were left now. Her own part of the battle was a miserable failure. One strike, and she had been forced to retreat.
Her hand, when she pulled it away, was covered in blood. The wound itself wasn't terrible, beyond the biting pain - just distracting, and agonizing enough at first that her concentration was unsalvagable. Perhaps she should be grateful that it wasn't inflicted by that self-righteous knight, but it didn't really matter at all who did the deed... only that it kept her from being of any use right now, and she would have to expend valuable energy to heal it. The fight wasn't over yet. They would be pushed back into the ruins themselves, but they still had the runes. Luc still had his chance to complete the ceremony.
That wouldn't last long. She didn't have much more to give. Maybe Yuber would be more successful, as he was almost certainly faring better.
Yuber. They were relying on /Yuber/ now. It would be enough to make her cry, but she was already doing just fine on that front.
"What a shameful display."
Sarah jumped and tried to twist around, then bit back an exclamation of pain. She recognized the voice - Albert. He must have been watching from the entrance, and if there was one person she hoped to never cry with... How had she not heard him coming? "What do you want?" she managed, hunching over the wound, hand pressed to it tightly.
The strategist strode calmly around her and folded into a sitting position before her, depositing a bundle of clothing in her lap, and a scroll between them. He seemed completely uninterested in the battle in the distance. "You can still leave. Say the word, and it will be done."
Not this again. "I told you I wouldn't." Sarah wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and made a valiant effort to hold her tears back. It was easier with him there. "Why are you still here?"
"I'm your strategist." An eyebrow quirked, and Albert tilted his head, though he did not smile as she thought he would. "And you look miserable. I'm only trying to save you from making a mistake."
"You're only trying to get rid of me so you can betray Master Luc."
Albert did smile then, and his faint laugh sounded genuinely amused, but always with that derisive undertone. "And you would be easy to kill right now. Even I have enough skill with a rune to do the job." His amusement faded somewhat as he gazed at her critically. "You're already defeated. And we both know I've already made my own arragements. I'm giving you a last chance to do the same."
"Just go away." Sarah's gaze dropped to the clothes in her lap, and her eyes misted up again despite her best efforts. Of course he didn't care about Luc's goal, but he could have kept it to himself, at least, and not bothered her with it. Surely he didn't believe she would leave.
He seemed intent not to leave it at that, however. "You're going to let him die, then? Help him to it, even?" He made a sound suspiciously like scolding, mocking. "True love, I see."
Sarah was on her feet in an instant, fists clenched and the tears she'd tried to hold let loose to stream down her face. The clothes fell onto the grass in a heap. "And how would you know? You wouldn't recognize love if it slapped you in the face!"
"As you're about to do now?"
She spun on her heel before she could be tempted to waste energy on a spell. Albert knew nothing. /Nothing/. He might have inherited the genius of his family, but that didn't enlighten him to anything that mattered. The /nerve/ he had to imply... to say...
"The scroll is for healing. I thought you'd want to reserve your energy for the battle to come." There was the sound of grass and coat rustling as Albert got to his feet, and his voice was a little more distant when he spoke again. "Get yourself cleaned up, then. You should look your best for your last meeting."
His receding footsteps told her when he finally left, though he'd paused again just a few more seconds before doing so, maybe hoping she would change her mind. If he thought a dance and a few kind words would persuade her to turn her back on Luc, he certainly did /not/ know love.
But he was right. In part. She shouldn't walk in like this. And the wound was throbbing - she couldn't concentrate like this.
Sarah turned around again as soon as she couldn't hear him anymore, and found Albert to be a white blur far ahead - going to retrieve Yuber, probably. Well, good. And if he got trapped by the battle for a little while, even better. It would take time to change, and she didn't want them looking for her again until she was finished.
First things first. She settled down on the ground again, mindful of her injury, and picked up the scroll. It was a second-level healing spell. Not spectacular, but enough to stop the bleeding and knit the skin, and perhaps enable her to last through another battle, though she would still be significantly weakened. She cast it quickly, and as soon as the cold prickling of the magic left her body, she wiped her hands on her skirt and picked up the clothes Albert brought.
His words stayed with her, perhaps to plague her in place of the vanished wound. He would be right under other circumstances, with other people. Looking in from the outside, she might think the same thing. Love, one would think, could bridge a gap like this. It would give her the strength to stand up to Luc and draw him away from the abyss of death.
But that was a storybook case. Reality was not as kind. Luc made his intentions clear, and in allowing her to accompany him, he trusted she would not go back on her word to help him. If that promise ever broke, she would be removed. Whatever feelings she harbored inside, they would not save her from that fate.
The bundle of clothes blurred into a mass of shadows and light. There was no point! She tried, and failed. If she tried again to stop him now, she would be gone, and he would go on with his plans. What good would that do? They were all going to die anyway, and Sarah would rather die /with/ Luc, than opposing him.
She looked up again, blinking her tears away. Albert was out of sight. There weren't many places to change in the ruins, so hopefully he would stay that way.
Notes on the scene:
- Insert the obligatory "it's crap and I hate it" here. But this time, I'm right. Bwahah.
- I did not intend to imply anything special about Sarah and Albert, beyond the idea that he tried to get her to change her mind in the past.
- Even Sarah is kind of flat here. I attribute that to the unfortunate fact that, when I first imagined this scene, I didn't write it. Since then, I've forgotten a lot about what I wanted to see in her thoughts. An edit will fix that, but I'm too lazy right now.
- There are reflections of my essay here. Shame I didn't write it better.
The moral of the story: don't let me get bored!
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Re: Are you kidding me?!!!
Date: 2005-05-31 04:14 am (UTC)