[June 17][Suikoden III] Blooming Season
Jun. 16th, 2009 01:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreBlooming Season
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: June 17 - This is the death of beauty
Series: Suikoden III
Character/Pairing: Luc, Sarah
Rating: K
Words: 1008
Warnings: n/a
Notes: n/a
.............................................
The second month of the new year had come and gone and the plum trees shed their blossoms to sprout pale green leaves when Luc took the opportunity a warm day provided to leave the tower and walk down to the beach. The sun shined from a slight angle behind spiky, needle-laden boughs of pine, whose leavings crunched under his boots on the broken stone path, a brown and yellow carpet with spots of new-fallen green needles. High, wispy clouds made the light white. The surf pounded on the rocky beach, and the rush of the tide receding beneath the foam echoed between the cliffs on that side of the island, lent the broken columns bordering the walk the illusion of a voice. Sarah once tried to explain what ruins sounded like to her, and how their voices differed, but while unable to pin specific words to the ones they found in Harmonia, or Toran, she said the stones here sounded like the ocean.
She was young when he asked, perhaps six or seven - they didn't know her true age, only that she remembered a certain number of springs from the snowy wasteland she described as home. Maybe, she mused, staring up at the jagged break of a wall, they're trying to hide from their hunters. Like us. He told her it was ridiculous to attribute humanity to objects, and she looked up at him with her water-crystal eyes and laughed.
Luc took a tributary path, one that ran parallel to the beach and climbed onto the bluffs, and found her in the branches of an orange tree at the end, where it widened into a gallery of crumbled benches and columns broken in half or down to the base. The bricks were nearly buried in sand and the grasses that took root there, some of them bowed up in the flat areas, broken by bushes and ground-crawling strawberry vines bare of leaves. The fruit grove had once been planted in neat rows, but like the ruins had fallen apart - the trees died, or dropped seed in the water channels, and now it was a forest Sarah liked to venture into on warm days for shade, and in the winter for fruit.
"Master Luc." Her voice was muffled, faint - her golden hair glinted between the branches. He squinted, saw her straddling a branch quite high, her skirt gathered around her knees. Her feet were bare and dirty. "Am I needed for something?" She leaned forward on the branch, looked down. Her hair fanned over her shoulders and shaded her face.
He blinked up against the glare. "No." She'd changed so much; even her color had deepened, and her round face had narrowed into a more elegant shape, her pale lips into a full pout. Her figure had slimmed, her legs-- she was taller than he was, though only by a hair. The dress he purchased for a new year's gift, to indulge her fancy, fit snugly around her shape, and he regretted giving it to her. He couldn't look away when she stretched her arms up to bend a branch out of her way. She was a silhouette against a bright spot of sky for a moment. "No, nothing I can think of."
Sometimes he speculated on her bloodline. At least ten noble families could be traced northward, some exiled, others impoverished, and she said her home was up there, where the years were mostly snow, sometimes broken by blooming seasons. Was she one of them? Did her family sell her to the Temple for money, or status? To bribe?
A branch snapped, and Sarah tossed an orange down to a basket on the other side of the trunk. It bounced against the side and rolled over the others into a corner. His eyes snapped to follow it. "These are the last of the season," she said. "I think we should make marmalade. They're not sweet enough to eat plain." The leaves rustled, broke, crumbled, and the branches bent under her weight as she shimmied downward, catching on her skirt and pulling it to show her long legs, her thigh.
He ripped his eyes away again. "Sarah--" Heat rushed to his face, but it was the sun - it was breaking through the clouds, brightening to yellow and dappling the crumbling bricks with shadows. "You shouldn't climb trees in skirts. It's inappropriate."
"Nobody is looking."
Luc turned his face up again before his brain caught up, jerked his head away again, gave her a sideways glance when she laughed and settled on the lowest branch. Her hands smoothed her skirt over her knees and it gathered around her dusty feet in deep blue folds. "Are you finished?" Her head tilted, and he said, "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Sarah's skirt flared when she jumped down, grabbed his hands when she stumbled. "Your mysterious trips off the island?"
He looked at her. She was old enough to stop changing now - for a little while. Maybe ten years, or twenty. Then it would start again, and instead of growing taller, prettier, she would shrivel to dust. "You could say that." Luc steered her toward the basket, picked up one handle. She took the other side. "I'll be taking a long trip," he said. The oranges rolled around the bottom of the basket. It would be the last time he left this island - the last time he did anything, if his plans came together. He wouldn't have to watch her grow old and weak.
Her gait slowed. He saw her frown in his peripheral vision, then bite her lip. "Where?"
Luc shrugged and wished for a breeze to cool his face, his neck. "The Grasslands."
.
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: June 17 - This is the death of beauty
Series: Suikoden III
Character/Pairing: Luc, Sarah
Rating: K
Words: 1008
Warnings: n/a
Notes: n/a
.............................................
The second month of the new year had come and gone and the plum trees shed their blossoms to sprout pale green leaves when Luc took the opportunity a warm day provided to leave the tower and walk down to the beach. The sun shined from a slight angle behind spiky, needle-laden boughs of pine, whose leavings crunched under his boots on the broken stone path, a brown and yellow carpet with spots of new-fallen green needles. High, wispy clouds made the light white. The surf pounded on the rocky beach, and the rush of the tide receding beneath the foam echoed between the cliffs on that side of the island, lent the broken columns bordering the walk the illusion of a voice. Sarah once tried to explain what ruins sounded like to her, and how their voices differed, but while unable to pin specific words to the ones they found in Harmonia, or Toran, she said the stones here sounded like the ocean.
She was young when he asked, perhaps six or seven - they didn't know her true age, only that she remembered a certain number of springs from the snowy wasteland she described as home. Maybe, she mused, staring up at the jagged break of a wall, they're trying to hide from their hunters. Like us. He told her it was ridiculous to attribute humanity to objects, and she looked up at him with her water-crystal eyes and laughed.
Luc took a tributary path, one that ran parallel to the beach and climbed onto the bluffs, and found her in the branches of an orange tree at the end, where it widened into a gallery of crumbled benches and columns broken in half or down to the base. The bricks were nearly buried in sand and the grasses that took root there, some of them bowed up in the flat areas, broken by bushes and ground-crawling strawberry vines bare of leaves. The fruit grove had once been planted in neat rows, but like the ruins had fallen apart - the trees died, or dropped seed in the water channels, and now it was a forest Sarah liked to venture into on warm days for shade, and in the winter for fruit.
"Master Luc." Her voice was muffled, faint - her golden hair glinted between the branches. He squinted, saw her straddling a branch quite high, her skirt gathered around her knees. Her feet were bare and dirty. "Am I needed for something?" She leaned forward on the branch, looked down. Her hair fanned over her shoulders and shaded her face.
He blinked up against the glare. "No." She'd changed so much; even her color had deepened, and her round face had narrowed into a more elegant shape, her pale lips into a full pout. Her figure had slimmed, her legs-- she was taller than he was, though only by a hair. The dress he purchased for a new year's gift, to indulge her fancy, fit snugly around her shape, and he regretted giving it to her. He couldn't look away when she stretched her arms up to bend a branch out of her way. She was a silhouette against a bright spot of sky for a moment. "No, nothing I can think of."
Sometimes he speculated on her bloodline. At least ten noble families could be traced northward, some exiled, others impoverished, and she said her home was up there, where the years were mostly snow, sometimes broken by blooming seasons. Was she one of them? Did her family sell her to the Temple for money, or status? To bribe?
A branch snapped, and Sarah tossed an orange down to a basket on the other side of the trunk. It bounced against the side and rolled over the others into a corner. His eyes snapped to follow it. "These are the last of the season," she said. "I think we should make marmalade. They're not sweet enough to eat plain." The leaves rustled, broke, crumbled, and the branches bent under her weight as she shimmied downward, catching on her skirt and pulling it to show her long legs, her thigh.
He ripped his eyes away again. "Sarah--" Heat rushed to his face, but it was the sun - it was breaking through the clouds, brightening to yellow and dappling the crumbling bricks with shadows. "You shouldn't climb trees in skirts. It's inappropriate."
"Nobody is looking."
Luc turned his face up again before his brain caught up, jerked his head away again, gave her a sideways glance when she laughed and settled on the lowest branch. Her hands smoothed her skirt over her knees and it gathered around her dusty feet in deep blue folds. "Are you finished?" Her head tilted, and he said, "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Sarah's skirt flared when she jumped down, grabbed his hands when she stumbled. "Your mysterious trips off the island?"
He looked at her. She was old enough to stop changing now - for a little while. Maybe ten years, or twenty. Then it would start again, and instead of growing taller, prettier, she would shrivel to dust. "You could say that." Luc steered her toward the basket, picked up one handle. She took the other side. "I'll be taking a long trip," he said. The oranges rolled around the bottom of the basket. It would be the last time he left this island - the last time he did anything, if his plans came together. He wouldn't have to watch her grow old and weak.
Her gait slowed. He saw her frown in his peripheral vision, then bite her lip. "Where?"
Luc shrugged and wished for a breeze to cool his face, his neck. "The Grasslands."
.
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no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 09:44 pm (UTC)I liked this! As always, I'm not great at coming up with interesting responses to stories, but I feel like I might want to draw this scene (prismacolors with a watercolor background, I think).
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Date: 2009-06-16 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-19 06:53 am (UTC)Creative imagery as always. The bitterness, despair (and, not to mention, the not-quite-there UST, hohoho) is palpable. I love your use of sparse dialogues that shows more, instead of tell.
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Date: 2009-06-20 06:25 am (UTC)