Disclaimer : I don't own Claymore.
()()()()
Life in the North was pretty dull for the seven survivors of the battle of Pieta. Sleep, train, spar and finally eat. Some would at times dream of revenge against the Organization or against a specific Awakened Being. There was also the Tabitha's occasional naughty dream involving a certain charismatic leader or, in Clare's case, a certain young boy whom she knew was growing out of the 'short and scrawny' phase, and into the 'certified hunk' category.
You could tell by the goofy grin they sported in the morning.
Nonetheless, life was a fairly established routine, sometimes broken by the spontaneous outbreak of a snowball fight. The score so far was : Miria - 20, others - 0.
But on this fateful day, another event had come up to break this routine. For on this day, the survivors, all deadly fighters on their own right, had fallen to an enemy they could never have seen coming.
This enemy had been plaguing the entire world since the dawn of mankind. Like Yoma, it made no difference between men and women, young and old, rich and poor. Worse was that not even Claymores were safe.
"ACHOO!"
It had not come alone, instead bringing its minions with it.
"ACHOO!"
These minions were numerous, annoying on their own, but together they were a force to be reckoned with: tiredness, itchy throat, coughing, sniffling, plugged and runny nose.
"ACHOO!" "ACHOO!" "ACHOO!"
Oh yeah, let's not forget the sneezing.
Who would have thought Claymores could catch a cold?
Yes, five out the seven soon-to-be-called Ghosts of Pieta were stuck in bed due to the plain old common cold. This could be surprising until your remember they are living in frozen wastelands and their usual outfits consist in skin-tight leather bodysuits and in some cases, short (as in very short) skirts.
They really should add cloaks or something.
"This is hell!" Helen shouted, huddled under several blankets.
"Now Helen-san," Cynthia comforted, presenting her a bowl of soup, "don't be so negative." Aside from Yuma, the pig-tailed warrior was the only spared one so she was handling nurse duty.
Helen stared mournfully at the food. "... I can't even taste it." the gluttonous warrior lamented.
"Clare... THIS! IS! ALL! YOUR! FAULT!" Deneve growled. "ACHOO!" An explosive sneeze finished her proclamation. Apparently, superior regenerative abilities did not include a superior immune system.
Clare did not answer, caught in her own misery not to mention the embarrassing memory of that incident. Sneezing in the middle of Windcutter practice can be very hazardous to people around you. Even more so when it leaves them naked in the middle of a snowstorm.
She took a spoonful of the food Yuma gave her and winced. Honestly, Helen wasn't missing anything, Yuma may be a good friend and a nice person, but her cooking downright sucked. At the moment, she would have gladly traded Priscilla's head for a nice plate of Raki's cooking. Or a Raki-shaped bed warmer.
Clare glared enviously at Miria who was laying in the next bed.
Because Miria did have her bed warmer, though hers was female and wore her hair in a braid.
"Tabitha," Miria began, "I appreciate what you doing..."
"Thank you Captain!" the braided warrior beamed, eyes wide with adoration.
"... but I don't see why we are both naked..."
"It's to share body heat, Captain."
"...and what is your hand doing down there?" A hint of Miria's usual steel appeared in her voice but before she could continue, she gripped her head in pain, courtesy of the very large bump there.
You think sneezing is dangerous when using a high-speed cutting technique with a ridiculously sharp sword? Try it when moving at super speed... That tree would forever have a Miria-shaped dent in its trunk. And as if knocking herself out hadn't been enough, the impact had caused all the snow that had gathered on the tree to fall on Miria, meaning the feared Phantom warrior had spent two hours buried in ice-cold snow until the others found her, and an extra hour to get her out.
She swore that if anyone (*cough* Helen) ever called her Frozen Miria, there would be hell to pay.
Cynthia giggled a little. "Still, you must admit this is kind of funny. I mean, who would have thought we half-Yoma could be affected by something so typically human?"
"You wanna trade?" Helen asked.
"I actually envy Awakened Beings now." Deneve moaned.
"Yeah, I've never heard of them getting a cold." Clare sighed.
()()()()
Somewhere in the West.
"ACHOO!"
As the sneeze echoed through the room, a ripple went through the small human form it had originated from. Immediately after, the body dissolved into a mass of black ribbons; however instead of coalescing into the deadly majesty of the awakened form of Riful of West, the ribbons simply flopped lifelessly to the floor like someone had dropped a huge plate of overcooked noodles.
Instead of rising to the towering height, the feared Abyssal remained limply on the floor; slowly, parts of the black mass merged together to form Riful's torso. With a weary, tired voice, she called for her lover.
"Dauf!"
"Yes Riful?"
"Get me some soup! *ACHOO!* Fast! *Sniffle*"
"Huh?" Dauf asked stupidly. "You want some guts soup?"
"No you moron! Chicken soup!"
"Oh yeah! Chicken soup is good for Riful!" the brutish man said dumbly as he left.
Instead of a shout of anger, Riful barely managed to groan. Why couldn't she choose a cute, smart man? She's beat him up later…
"ACHOO!"
… as soon as she managed to untangle herself.
Yes, whenever Riful sneezed, her ribbons would get hopelessly tangled together, so every single time, she would have to spend three hours to undo the knots before she could return to her human form.
As she patiently waited, Riful thought that maybe she should remove her clothes before transforming instead of just tearing through them. It would spare her having to find new ones every time.
After all, it wouldn't do if word got out that the dreaded ruler of the West got a freaking cold. Isley would never let her live it down, and she bet that that thing of hisdidn't have this problem.
()()()()
"Achoo!"
Hearing the dainty sneeze, Raki reached to the side of the bed for a tissue and gently wiped his companion's nose. Humming in satisfaction, Priscilla returned to her snuggling.
'Honestly, what's up with her?' he thought, not at all surprised that his friend had managed to catch a cold.
Why did she always end up walking outside, naked, when they were in the middle of winter in the northern lands?
His body stiffened a little when Priscilla held him closer in an attempt to breathe in his scent despite the olfactory impediment that came with the cold. Ever since it had started, she seemed to think clothes were unnecessary in bed – for both of them, and she didn't hesitate to take matters in her own hands to solve the problem. At least Raki managed to keep her from removing his underwear - usually. Still, it didn't change the fact that he was a healthy fourteen years old boy being hugged by a very cute, if utterly innocent, girl.
Raki heard a thunderous sound coming from outside, muffled a bit by the distance. Something between a sneeze and a horse's neighing; then again, it would have to be either a very big horse, or a very sick one. Maybe someone should put it out of its misery. Wondering when Isley would be back from whatever trip he had gone to, he returned his attention to his friend.
"Priscilla?"
"Mmm?"
"Why do you always come into my bed?" he asked.
"Because you smell nice," she managed to snuggle even deeper and sighed contentedly before adding, "and because I like your warmth."
()()()()
Author note : I know, I know, Claymores are not supposed to feel the cold or to be sick. But this is fanfiction, and everything's allowed, more so if I'm using it for humor – heck I used sex Yoki a couple of times. My point is, I don't care if the premise of the story goes against canon; if you read it and it made you laugh or just smile, it's enough for me.