![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreMonday Morning
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 5 - ano sa
Words: 1557
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Notes: modern AU, I swear I'll write something serious again, someday. Set two or three years before the "Too Good to be True" and "A Half-Truth."
......................................................
Sanaki twisted her pen in its cap, watching the raised, plastic HI-TEC logo appear and disappear, again and again, with a thin squeak she could barely hear over the lawnmower and trimmers outside, even with the windows closed. The walls were as thin as the glass, and she wondered how Sephiran and Zelgius were able to stand the arrangement when they both must have-- friends over. Micaiah, for instance, who offered ever so generously to let Sanaki have the couch last night in return for keeping her overnight. I have an appointment at eight-thirty - I would have told you earlier, but-- but someone could surely drive Sanaki to class instead, while Micaiah borrowed the car. Sephiran had a car. He'd do it.
Sanaki wondered if anybody had bothered to notify him. She'd been too busy ripping her sister a new one for springing the arrangement on her like that. The couch was barely long enough, even for her, and the old orange quilt they lent her smelled like it was in the cupboard for longer than she'd been alive. She came over to study - because Sephiran was nice enough to offer help with her homework, though he had to gain something from it. With her there, he wasn't a third wheel; with Sanaki to talk to, he didn't have to compete for Micaiah's attention. She would sit with him at the counter, or on the floor by the coffee table in the crowded living room while the others watched a game or played one, and it would all be noise in the background, like the gardeners outside.
The refrigerator hummed on across the kitchen and Sanaki shifted on her bar stool, shoving a stack of CD cases over with her elbow so she'd have room to write. Her binder paper was pale pink, the pen a darker shade; she sounded the katakana on the label out: cheh-ah-ree peen-ku. Her list of that week's kanji spanned sixteen lines in the margin beginning with kokoro, ending with kanashii, and she started with okoru in the middle, because it fit her mood.
"Still angry?" A shadow dimmed the light from the sliding glass door, warming her back.
Sephiran's voice at her back startled the pen out of her hands. It rolled over the edge of the counter, into the sink, clattering on the porcelain. The clock on the microwave had read seven forty-five when she started; now it was eight fifteen, and her sheet of paper was almost full.
Sanaki stood on the bar around her stool and bent over the counter to retrieve her pen. "It's just my homework." The leather cushion creaked when she sat down again. "They said you're usually up by now. Tired?"
He took the stool next to hers and leaned on the counter. He seemed to like wearing white; he'd barely changed from the day before, still wearing white pants and a plain white t-shirt, and only the lack of wrinkles made her think he hadn't just slept in it. His fingers pushed into his hair, combed it back messily so it fell in clumps and strands over his shoulders, his arms, his back. It slid over his face again the moment he let it go. "Something like that." Sephiran shook it all back and held it with one hand when he looked over. "Zelgius said something about giving you a ride--? I wasn't quite awake when he knocked this morning."
"Don't worry about it." Sanaki slid her pen between the rings of her binder, latched it, and flipped it closed. "I don't even have a change of clothes. It's only one class."
"I'm sorry." When she looked at him, he was rubbing his eyes. "That phone call with my mother-- you were already asleep when I hung up. I would have said something."
She rolled her neck to relieve the tension, worked her shoulders back, even stretched her arms up toward the ceiling to crack her back before she pulled inward again and stared at her knees, pressing the hem of her skirt over them. Wear longer dresses, her grandmother always said, though her skirts usually weren't far above her knees. You're not supposed to show everything at once. Just this once, Sanaki wished she'd listened; her skin was stuck to the cushion, her skirt hanging over the edge, too short to be pulled under. He wasn't looking, he never did - but there would be creases and imprints on her skin, and she didn't like that. It looked bad. As it was, her clothes could probably use a wash. She couldn't brush her hair, or her teeth, or--
"Do you like pancakes?"
Sanaki blinked at the clock - eight twenty - and glanced at him in her peripheral vision. "What?" He was looking at her. She jerked her head in the other direction, and fumbled with unzipping her bag, on the stool to her right. "Yes, I like them." He didn't say anything. She shoved her binder in behind her used copy of History of the Byzantine State and Society. "They're a pain to make."
He laughed at that, a soft sound almost like a sigh. "So I'm told."
There was a folding brush in the front pocket of her backpack, the kind with plastic bristles and knobs on the end, which she tried not to use. It snapped her hair, just ripped through it, but she pulled it out anyway and unfolded it on the counter. Her fingers caught in her hair as soon as she pulled it over her shoulder to pick at. The kitchen tile glared bright white, the steel knobs and handles glinting. The counters were empty except for a toaster and a block of knives. No appliances. "Do you have a mix? I can make--"
"No, that isn't what I meant." Sephiran smiled at the counter, his dark eyebrows drawing together. "You do this so differently here." He looked at her, eyes following her hands as they combed from the top of her head to the ends of her hair, and his fingers curled slightly on his knees. "There's a pancake house down on Mayberry, in Old Town. I've never had the opportunity to go, so I thought..."
His eyes moved up to her face, and Sanaki pulled the rest of her hair over the other shoulder, stabbing her fingers in to pick at a knot, and pulled each hair out one at a time. Her ears felt hot. "Well-- since I'm not going to class..." She looked down at the wrinkles creasing her shirt. "If you don't mind being seen with me like this, I mean."
She heard him shift on the stool, then his feet hit the floor. "You look fine." His hair brushed her elbow as he passed, walking around the kitchen to the hallway. "I have something you can wear. Micaiah used it once when she forgot her bag."
Anything of his would be three sizes too big for Sanaki - and it would still look better. Button-down shirts wrinkled when she breathed too hard; sleeping in one was too much to ask. You look fine, he'd said. Talk about a paragon of Japanese courtesy. She heard the echo when he opened the door closest to the mouth of the hallway, the one she was told belonged to Zelgius, and that in itself was going above and beyond the call of duty, given what must have gone on inside.
Sanaki wrinkled her nose and pulled the brush through her hair. It pulled, and snagged, and her scalp twinged.
Sephiran came out to join her again in a pale blue, collared shirt, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He handed her another shirt, white with slim purple and blue vertical stripes. "It shrank in the laundry," he said when she held it up to his chest and lifted her eyebrows.
Sanaki held it to her shoulders. The sleeves were too long, but the hem ended before her skirt did, so it could be tucked in. Micaiah would pull it off better. She was taller, her shoulders a little broader, and she wore tomboyish clothes - that was what their mother called them.
"You can use my bathroom," he said, moving out of her way.
She nodded, thanked him, and headed for the hall, feeling his eyes on her back. It would be the perfect time to trip over the edge of the living room rug, or even her own feet, but Sanaki made it around the ugly green couch without incident and turned to peer around the corner. He was watching, as she thought, but glanced immediately into the kitchen - maybe at the clock. "I was wondering," she said, and he met her eyes again. "What do we do so differently here?"
Sephiran smiled, eyes creasing, gleaming green in the morning light. "Get dressed, and I'll tell you over breakfast."
.......................................................................
I thought about continuing, but it'd be such a mundane date. And-- how one picks girls up in Japan probably varies as much as it does here, but what I heard sounded a little more, uh, convoluted, or roundabout, than usual. I just want to disclaim, because one person's experience isn't always universal, and it wasn't mine to begin with.
Anyway, it would be appropriate if Sephiran were a little old-fashioned in that sense. His mom certainly would be. :D
I feel like I should post something else - Child-like Empress and Elysium are both waiting, not to mention the Chronicle. But this is all I felt like doing.
.
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 5 - ano sa
Words: 1557
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Notes: modern AU, I swear I'll write something serious again, someday. Set two or three years before the "Too Good to be True" and "A Half-Truth."
......................................................
Sanaki twisted her pen in its cap, watching the raised, plastic HI-TEC logo appear and disappear, again and again, with a thin squeak she could barely hear over the lawnmower and trimmers outside, even with the windows closed. The walls were as thin as the glass, and she wondered how Sephiran and Zelgius were able to stand the arrangement when they both must have-- friends over. Micaiah, for instance, who offered ever so generously to let Sanaki have the couch last night in return for keeping her overnight. I have an appointment at eight-thirty - I would have told you earlier, but-- but someone could surely drive Sanaki to class instead, while Micaiah borrowed the car. Sephiran had a car. He'd do it.
Sanaki wondered if anybody had bothered to notify him. She'd been too busy ripping her sister a new one for springing the arrangement on her like that. The couch was barely long enough, even for her, and the old orange quilt they lent her smelled like it was in the cupboard for longer than she'd been alive. She came over to study - because Sephiran was nice enough to offer help with her homework, though he had to gain something from it. With her there, he wasn't a third wheel; with Sanaki to talk to, he didn't have to compete for Micaiah's attention. She would sit with him at the counter, or on the floor by the coffee table in the crowded living room while the others watched a game or played one, and it would all be noise in the background, like the gardeners outside.
The refrigerator hummed on across the kitchen and Sanaki shifted on her bar stool, shoving a stack of CD cases over with her elbow so she'd have room to write. Her binder paper was pale pink, the pen a darker shade; she sounded the katakana on the label out: cheh-ah-ree peen-ku. Her list of that week's kanji spanned sixteen lines in the margin beginning with kokoro, ending with kanashii, and she started with okoru in the middle, because it fit her mood.
"Still angry?" A shadow dimmed the light from the sliding glass door, warming her back.
Sephiran's voice at her back startled the pen out of her hands. It rolled over the edge of the counter, into the sink, clattering on the porcelain. The clock on the microwave had read seven forty-five when she started; now it was eight fifteen, and her sheet of paper was almost full.
Sanaki stood on the bar around her stool and bent over the counter to retrieve her pen. "It's just my homework." The leather cushion creaked when she sat down again. "They said you're usually up by now. Tired?"
He took the stool next to hers and leaned on the counter. He seemed to like wearing white; he'd barely changed from the day before, still wearing white pants and a plain white t-shirt, and only the lack of wrinkles made her think he hadn't just slept in it. His fingers pushed into his hair, combed it back messily so it fell in clumps and strands over his shoulders, his arms, his back. It slid over his face again the moment he let it go. "Something like that." Sephiran shook it all back and held it with one hand when he looked over. "Zelgius said something about giving you a ride--? I wasn't quite awake when he knocked this morning."
"Don't worry about it." Sanaki slid her pen between the rings of her binder, latched it, and flipped it closed. "I don't even have a change of clothes. It's only one class."
"I'm sorry." When she looked at him, he was rubbing his eyes. "That phone call with my mother-- you were already asleep when I hung up. I would have said something."
She rolled her neck to relieve the tension, worked her shoulders back, even stretched her arms up toward the ceiling to crack her back before she pulled inward again and stared at her knees, pressing the hem of her skirt over them. Wear longer dresses, her grandmother always said, though her skirts usually weren't far above her knees. You're not supposed to show everything at once. Just this once, Sanaki wished she'd listened; her skin was stuck to the cushion, her skirt hanging over the edge, too short to be pulled under. He wasn't looking, he never did - but there would be creases and imprints on her skin, and she didn't like that. It looked bad. As it was, her clothes could probably use a wash. She couldn't brush her hair, or her teeth, or--
"Do you like pancakes?"
Sanaki blinked at the clock - eight twenty - and glanced at him in her peripheral vision. "What?" He was looking at her. She jerked her head in the other direction, and fumbled with unzipping her bag, on the stool to her right. "Yes, I like them." He didn't say anything. She shoved her binder in behind her used copy of History of the Byzantine State and Society. "They're a pain to make."
He laughed at that, a soft sound almost like a sigh. "So I'm told."
There was a folding brush in the front pocket of her backpack, the kind with plastic bristles and knobs on the end, which she tried not to use. It snapped her hair, just ripped through it, but she pulled it out anyway and unfolded it on the counter. Her fingers caught in her hair as soon as she pulled it over her shoulder to pick at. The kitchen tile glared bright white, the steel knobs and handles glinting. The counters were empty except for a toaster and a block of knives. No appliances. "Do you have a mix? I can make--"
"No, that isn't what I meant." Sephiran smiled at the counter, his dark eyebrows drawing together. "You do this so differently here." He looked at her, eyes following her hands as they combed from the top of her head to the ends of her hair, and his fingers curled slightly on his knees. "There's a pancake house down on Mayberry, in Old Town. I've never had the opportunity to go, so I thought..."
His eyes moved up to her face, and Sanaki pulled the rest of her hair over the other shoulder, stabbing her fingers in to pick at a knot, and pulled each hair out one at a time. Her ears felt hot. "Well-- since I'm not going to class..." She looked down at the wrinkles creasing her shirt. "If you don't mind being seen with me like this, I mean."
She heard him shift on the stool, then his feet hit the floor. "You look fine." His hair brushed her elbow as he passed, walking around the kitchen to the hallway. "I have something you can wear. Micaiah used it once when she forgot her bag."
Anything of his would be three sizes too big for Sanaki - and it would still look better. Button-down shirts wrinkled when she breathed too hard; sleeping in one was too much to ask. You look fine, he'd said. Talk about a paragon of Japanese courtesy. She heard the echo when he opened the door closest to the mouth of the hallway, the one she was told belonged to Zelgius, and that in itself was going above and beyond the call of duty, given what must have gone on inside.
Sanaki wrinkled her nose and pulled the brush through her hair. It pulled, and snagged, and her scalp twinged.
Sephiran came out to join her again in a pale blue, collared shirt, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He handed her another shirt, white with slim purple and blue vertical stripes. "It shrank in the laundry," he said when she held it up to his chest and lifted her eyebrows.
Sanaki held it to her shoulders. The sleeves were too long, but the hem ended before her skirt did, so it could be tucked in. Micaiah would pull it off better. She was taller, her shoulders a little broader, and she wore tomboyish clothes - that was what their mother called them.
"You can use my bathroom," he said, moving out of her way.
She nodded, thanked him, and headed for the hall, feeling his eyes on her back. It would be the perfect time to trip over the edge of the living room rug, or even her own feet, but Sanaki made it around the ugly green couch without incident and turned to peer around the corner. He was watching, as she thought, but glanced immediately into the kitchen - maybe at the clock. "I was wondering," she said, and he met her eyes again. "What do we do so differently here?"
Sephiran smiled, eyes creasing, gleaming green in the morning light. "Get dressed, and I'll tell you over breakfast."
.......................................................................
I thought about continuing, but it'd be such a mundane date. And-- how one picks girls up in Japan probably varies as much as it does here, but what I heard sounded a little more, uh, convoluted, or roundabout, than usual. I just want to disclaim, because one person's experience isn't always universal, and it wasn't mine to begin with.
Anyway, it would be appropriate if Sephiran were a little old-fashioned in that sense. His mom certainly would be. :D
I feel like I should post something else - Child-like Empress and Elysium are both waiting, not to mention the Chronicle. But this is all I felt like doing.
.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-02 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-04 09:49 am (UTC)I shouldn't be typing, but I wanted to thank you for the comment. <3
no subject
Date: 2009-05-04 12:39 pm (UTC)