Title: when serpents bargain
Characters: Tigress, Crane
Summary: Tigress gives a weak smile. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a great leader."
Written for: the mizter
Prompts: Dispute, Leadership, Anger, Envy, Regret
Word count: 800
when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage-
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age
then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind(and not until)
- when serpents bargain, E.E. Cummings
.
The library archives the triumphs and failings of uncountable armies, soldier squadrons infinite and buried on battlefields forsaken. He reaches for yet another scroll, waving his wing over the coiled document to gust off the cobwebs that cocoon the most timeworn ones, and takes care not to crinkle the browned paper as he unrolls it. The fading text is barely legible in the light of Crane's reading candle. Here and there patches of mildew obscure the writing, but what remains is sufficient for understanding.
Xun Dynasty. Battle of White Cliff – Peripheral army of Emperor Xunzhong vs. Mongolian nomadic invaders. Victor: Mongolians. Scribe notes commendable manoeuvring by combat specialist on Xun's army, though exploitation of terrain and weather by Mongolian forces offered large advantage. Sources quote management of manpower by leader of Mongolians. Recommend further investigation with survivor testimony to further improve battle strategies –
Sighing, Crane flops backwards, forgetting the fragile document held in his wings; it disintegrates into a cloud of fibres, flocking against his face. He smells mineral ink and age, and snaps upwards to sneeze and cough at the same time. Crane spends a solid half minute caught in what feels like an attempt to expel his lungs from his mouth and nostrils. When he can finally breathe regularly again, Crane glances down at the ruined remains of what was a five hundred year old record, now atomised and floating in the stifling air.
Master Shifu is going to have a conniption about this.
But research is research, and Crane unearthed what he was looking for. Several dozen accounts and all of chronicled history agree with what he's been suspecting for a while, and if the rest are reasonable, they will, too.
.
The next day, Crane requests a meeting in the Hall of Warriors. The Furious Five stand in a row facing Shifu, who remains seated and is resting his chin on his fist. His scowl confirms his displeasure at Crane's treatment of one of his oldest manuscripts.
"I suggest that a leader should be appointed to head the Furious Five." Crane draws himself up, looking a lot more confident than he really is. Shifu has raised an eyebrow, his mouth turning down slowly at the sides, making him seem even more cantankerous than usual. A case is made: Crane explains the benefits offered by a structural hierarchy, how it maximises operational efficacy through a chain of command. He reasons that micromanagement is needed more urgently with evolving rules of engagement, citing tactical scientists and a few choice reports dredged up in his studies.
"But why?" Viper pipes up from beside him. "We've always worked fine as equals."
Monkey, on the other side of the line, scratches his head. "That's what I was thinking," he mumbles.
"Maybe some of us think themselves better than the rest," Mantis mutters, scraping his appendages against each other.
The aspersion takes a few seconds to register, and an uncomfortable silence wedges between each of them. Crane trains his gaze on his talons, his face burning from the implied suspicion, mingling with the crash of anger surging in his chest.
Then, Shifu speaks. "Tigress, what do you think?"
She hasn't said anything yet, continuing to frown in deep cogitation. When she replies, her words are careful and measured. "The idea has merits, but designating an official leader could threaten the team dynamic. We shouldn't fix something that isn't broken." Tigress throws Crane an apologetic look, but he doesn't see.
Shifu nods contemplatively. "Very well. So it shall be, then."
.
The paper almost shreds in the wake of clumsy brush strokes, soaking gloomily in fluid-spattered misery. On the scroll, the scratches bear no resemblance to Chinese characters whatsoever. Calligraphy has always been relaxing for Crane, but now it aggravates more than anything. He holds his canvass at an angle for better illumination, and ink dribbles delightedly onto both of his wings.
What he will give for an hour in the Training Hall…
His door slides open, and he pivots his head to look. Tigress doesn't seem to notice his most unimpressive position – he's holding the scroll at arm's length to avoid getting more ink onto himself with his brush viced in his beak. Turning back, he lets his instrument clatter onto the floor to speak. "Yeah? What do you want?" The rudeness isn't gratuitous, but it isn't him, and he feels a slight pang of guilt.
Tigress gives a weak smile. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a great leader."
Crane looks around and meets a closed door.
A/N: Abrupt ending is abrupt. But a word limit is still a limit, so, yeah. I've also realised I have a rather annoying penchant for anachronistic descriptors; totally not admitting it before anyone calls me out on it. There's also a scant Mulan reference somewhere in there, if you feel like playing 'Spot the Reference'.
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