Amethyst and white rose thorns
By Nix Winter
Disclaimers: I don't own Duo. Or L2, or I'd have free tuition at the university there.
Warnings: Way after EW, original character how has a violent past and a rather amoral out look at best.. there will be two Duos
Pairings: None yet, very likely Duo and OC, 1x2
Duo turned over on the bed. The gentle rise and fall of the ship was hardly noticeable, but it kept him from napping.. Covered by only the sheet, his braid trailed down his back, lay like a rope over his waist. He tried matching his breathing to the slow and subtle rocking of the ship and it didn't work.
His dreams the night before had been disturbing. Both like a siren song and like the watery dark that followed the feeling of them had followed him into the light of day, but left no traces that he could grasp his understanding around. Dreams, over the years, had taken on mystical meaning to him, as if they could explain his soul to him when nothing else really good. This dream was like the sweet melody of a song of love that slipped away, he kept trying to reach into the dream, to rewrite it.
It wasn't working, so he sighed, rolled onto his back, braid an uncomfortable and familiar lump under his shoulder. Peace had held this time, after the battle for Earth the last time. He'd been sixteen then. Now he was eighteen. Two and a half years, and he'd thought that more would have changed. He threw an arm over his eyes and gave one more attempt to falling back to sleep. At the very edge, between waking and dreaming, he caught the scent of some cologne, sharp and clean, a flash of white and dark, and he hadn't any clue what it meant. His arm slide off his face, over the top of his head, brushing back chestnut bangs that always needed cutting, revealing a heart shaped face, thin lips that still had a bit of curve to them. When his eyes opened, the shift in outward mood was already in motion. Eyes of rare violet, amethyst soul, though hardly anyone saw past the smile that slipped onto his face.
The sheet slid from him as he sat up and stood, revealing hard body, lines on his stomach and a very small white rose tattoo where his hip bone was, the vine trailing very slightly around the side of his lean body. He stretched, arms over his head, flexing his pecs and shoulders. He'd done a lot of things since the end of the war, but mostly spare parts acquisition, via legal means, mostly. Salvage. It was good work and he loved taking things apart as much as he loved putting them together.
This love of salvage had led him to a new love, a more difficult love. Archeology. Broken things were beautiful to read, to understand. And in some way, he was looking for some way to read and understand the broken deepness of his own soul. Looking for the past in a past before whatever parents he'd had were ever born.
Quickly he dressed, faded blue jeans, a black tee-shirt with University L2 on the front in neon garish colors. Maybe some of the other pilots would come to this vacation and he could hang out with some old friends. See how they were doing. There would be a lot of people on this ship. Maybe he could find the one that matched that lonesome song dream that wouldn't leave him along, he thought, as he stepped out of his cabin into the hall, which he hated already, too small, too enclosed for him. Odd that a colonist bred rat should find enclosed ship hallways claustrophobic. Quickly he made his way out onto the deck, some place close to the fore of the ship, so he could lean over a bit, pretend the wind blowing in his face meant they were moving fast. There were times when even the beautiful Earth herself felt claustrophobic to him, compared to the vast expanse of space. The moon was a damn sight prettier down here though.
On a whim, he un fastened his braid, combing his fingers through it, fanning it out, seeing if the sea breeze would lift the hair, soak it with the scent of one of Earth's ocean. He needed a beer sometime, something dark and German maybe.
In another time and place
He opened his eyes. Not another part of his body moved from where he sat in meditation. He knew already. They would fail in this final battle. He had known for weeks. Not with all his effort could he force his eyes closed again. Behind his closed eyes he smelled the ocean, felt silk strands blowing and dancing against his cheek. His chest felt too tight, as if his heart could not beat fast enough to move his blood just then, or rather it was beating too fast and not achieving it's goals. He wasn't sure now, which had started first, the visions of the violet eyed man, or the visions of their destruction.
The room around him, sparse scrubbed gray stone, un-shuttered arched windows, four, for balance, all with the captured soul of a defeated opponent flickering like a candle in the imprisoning orb, the room suited him, matched him, balanced and imprisoned by fate and family. He was the chalice, the voice, Brai'lirn Clawlong son of Zir Crawlong, and the family's living sacrifice to the god Perfect. He knelt in the center of his meditation room, in a castle he'd taken from a family rival himself, personally slaying all the former residents.
Midnight black hair dusted his bare shoulders, coffee black eyes stared forward, afraid to close, for fear of feeling that violet-eyed man again. The back of his hands rested on his knees, fingers relaxed, and up his arms, over the pale skin, dozens of perfectly drawn scars crisscrossed. No one had ever seen these scars, these touches of the family god, the proof of payment.
In two days, he would have them no more. He slowly forced his eyes closed. Perhaps he wanted another vision of the violet haired man, another moment of unbearable sweet that he would never have.
Disclaimers: I don't own Duo. Or L2, or I'd have free tuition at the university there.
Warnings: Way after EW, original character how has a violent past and a rather amoral out look at best.. there will be two Duos
Pairings: None yet, very likely Duo and OC, 1x2
Duo turned over on the bed. The gentle rise and fall of the ship was hardly noticeable, but it kept him from napping.. Covered by only the sheet, his braid trailed down his back, lay like a rope over his waist. He tried matching his breathing to the slow and subtle rocking of the ship and it didn't work.
His dreams the night before had been disturbing. Both like a siren song and like the watery dark that followed the feeling of them had followed him into the light of day, but left no traces that he could grasp his understanding around. Dreams, over the years, had taken on mystical meaning to him, as if they could explain his soul to him when nothing else really good. This dream was like the sweet melody of a song of love that slipped away, he kept trying to reach into the dream, to rewrite it.
It wasn't working, so he sighed, rolled onto his back, braid an uncomfortable and familiar lump under his shoulder. Peace had held this time, after the battle for Earth the last time. He'd been sixteen then. Now he was eighteen. Two and a half years, and he'd thought that more would have changed. He threw an arm over his eyes and gave one more attempt to falling back to sleep. At the very edge, between waking and dreaming, he caught the scent of some cologne, sharp and clean, a flash of white and dark, and he hadn't any clue what it meant. His arm slide off his face, over the top of his head, brushing back chestnut bangs that always needed cutting, revealing a heart shaped face, thin lips that still had a bit of curve to them. When his eyes opened, the shift in outward mood was already in motion. Eyes of rare violet, amethyst soul, though hardly anyone saw past the smile that slipped onto his face.
The sheet slid from him as he sat up and stood, revealing hard body, lines on his stomach and a very small white rose tattoo where his hip bone was, the vine trailing very slightly around the side of his lean body. He stretched, arms over his head, flexing his pecs and shoulders. He'd done a lot of things since the end of the war, but mostly spare parts acquisition, via legal means, mostly. Salvage. It was good work and he loved taking things apart as much as he loved putting them together.
This love of salvage had led him to a new love, a more difficult love. Archeology. Broken things were beautiful to read, to understand. And in some way, he was looking for some way to read and understand the broken deepness of his own soul. Looking for the past in a past before whatever parents he'd had were ever born.
Quickly he dressed, faded blue jeans, a black tee-shirt with University L2 on the front in neon garish colors. Maybe some of the other pilots would come to this vacation and he could hang out with some old friends. See how they were doing. There would be a lot of people on this ship. Maybe he could find the one that matched that lonesome song dream that wouldn't leave him along, he thought, as he stepped out of his cabin into the hall, which he hated already, too small, too enclosed for him. Odd that a colonist bred rat should find enclosed ship hallways claustrophobic. Quickly he made his way out onto the deck, some place close to the fore of the ship, so he could lean over a bit, pretend the wind blowing in his face meant they were moving fast. There were times when even the beautiful Earth herself felt claustrophobic to him, compared to the vast expanse of space. The moon was a damn sight prettier down here though.
On a whim, he un fastened his braid, combing his fingers through it, fanning it out, seeing if the sea breeze would lift the hair, soak it with the scent of one of Earth's ocean. He needed a beer sometime, something dark and German maybe.
In another time and place
He opened his eyes. Not another part of his body moved from where he sat in meditation. He knew already. They would fail in this final battle. He had known for weeks. Not with all his effort could he force his eyes closed again. Behind his closed eyes he smelled the ocean, felt silk strands blowing and dancing against his cheek. His chest felt too tight, as if his heart could not beat fast enough to move his blood just then, or rather it was beating too fast and not achieving it's goals. He wasn't sure now, which had started first, the visions of the violet eyed man, or the visions of their destruction.
The room around him, sparse scrubbed gray stone, un-shuttered arched windows, four, for balance, all with the captured soul of a defeated opponent flickering like a candle in the imprisoning orb, the room suited him, matched him, balanced and imprisoned by fate and family. He was the chalice, the voice, Brai'lirn Clawlong son of Zir Crawlong, and the family's living sacrifice to the god Perfect. He knelt in the center of his meditation room, in a castle he'd taken from a family rival himself, personally slaying all the former residents.
Midnight black hair dusted his bare shoulders, coffee black eyes stared forward, afraid to close, for fear of feeling that violet-eyed man again. The back of his hands rested on his knees, fingers relaxed, and up his arms, over the pale skin, dozens of perfectly drawn scars crisscrossed. No one had ever seen these scars, these touches of the family god, the proof of payment.
In two days, he would have them no more. He slowly forced his eyes closed. Perhaps he wanted another vision of the violet haired man, another moment of unbearable sweet that he would never have.