Ominae: Err… "the story for VC 2 an internal one?" Sorry, but I don't think I caught the meaning of that…? *sweat drop*
Cloner4000: I fully expect to use the wrench within a chapter or two. On whose head, though, is beyond me. There's not too much reason to use it on Celes… yet. :3 And when I do my evil deeds a few chapters later, you'll see what I mean by implication and detail. *cough*
I'm starting to wonder if I should inject a few more viewpoints into the story, to add dramatic irony – or if I should now limit myself to the perspectives of my two characters. I really don't want it to seem like nothing important is going on… but I also don't want to look like I thrust my characters back into action on a whim. Suggestions, folks?
For now, though, Celes makes a baaaaaaaad decision, but perhaps some would say the reward was worth it…
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Shing!
The sound was reminiscent of a sword leaving its scabbard, but the truth was far more mundane. Sighing, Isara absent-mindedly rolled the device against the workbench again, producing that same noise. It looked like a wheel – indeed, it was. The bearings inside of it, though, were far from perfect, producing the grating noise of metal on metal. At the end of the roll, she pulled it back up to eye level, watching the metal disc merrily spin a few times before coming to a screeching sudden halt. She made an unhappy expression. She knew she was overly expectant, but some part of her expected the bearings she'd just cast to be a little more regular.
In reality, the fact that such bearings even fit together and rolled at all was impressive. Oh well.
Impatient with herself, she put the wheel back down next to its three mates, and snapped herself upright out of her chair. For some reason she couldn't explain rationally, she expected Celes to share lunch with her today. It wasn't as if she had any reason to expect such a thing – Celes always worked until the "end" of the day, occupying himself with the small hurts and illnesses of the villagers. Supposedly, he wanted to educate them further about how to treat themselves properly with the most modern methods in his spare time; smiling, she remembered how he'd come back complaining about Naru's unsanitary and painful way to "treat" a burn.
She could do him one favor, though.
As she'd just crafted the four wheels for the forge, the furnace was still stoked and burning hot. It would be a criminal waste of fuel to let all that heat go to waste.
With that in mind, Isara grabbed all the buckets she could and walked outside.
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Rolling to a stop at the crest of the last hill, Celes swallowed.
There it was. Truthfully, the building wasn't nearly as much of a shack as he'd assumed. Smiling, he thought of how Isara would scold him for thinking of a garage as a ramshackle building. "A good garage is better than a house. You live in a house. You have to work in a garage. You can get away with sleeping with a draft, but the drive-belts of your vehicle won't."
He shook his head. Don't think about that right now. Think on how you're going to answer her…
Would she be angry with him for being so brusque in his writing? Angry for being so ambiguous? Or would she just pretend it never happened, and keep the knowledge of it to herself?
Slowly, he felt the thought processes in his mind lock into endless loops, circular logic that had no end. So much for taking things rationally.
And so he let his arms push him down of their own accord.
His crutches were with him today, a small change of procedure that simplified the normal returning ritual. Normally, they were a drag to carry around – but seeing as Isara hadn't been awake when he'd left, he'd taken them with him, more out of arbitrary desire than any need. By sliding them both through the two hooks for his bag and coat on the back of the chair, it wasn't particularly difficult – although the additional width it gave him had caused him to clip passerby more than once, much to their bemusement.
Once again, he rolled to stop, but this time he was in front of the door. Gingerly, he stood, keeping all his weight on his left foot. Retrieving his crutches and bag, he checked himself. Self-consciously, he smoothed his clothing, widened his stance a bit, patted his hair down, played with his eyeband – all nervous motions. He realized he hadn't taken off the thick gloves that protected his hands – those got shaken off and thrown into the seat.
Once again, he checked himself, but this time internally. What was he thinking? Just call out and walk in.
Mind still too busy to call, though, he only accomplished the second goal successfully.
Instantly, he decided that that had been the best and worst action of his life.
Because Isara was bathing right in the center of the room..
For a moment, he stood frozen with one crutch in the air, about to come down. Likewise, she stared at him from her sitting position on the other side of the room, like a deer in headlight, dark hair hanging limply in the steam down either side of her face. Creamy white skin set off by the black furnace behind her, she was submersed in suds to right beneath her bare breasts –
"Valkyrur!" he cursed.
That was all Celes let himself see before instantly attempting to flee the scene. Moving backwards with crutches was a near impossibility, though, and he toppled like a felled tree into the doorway, banging his head on the frame.
His mind spun, both from impact and thought. He should have called. But – was this her reaction to his note? To – offer herself to him?
No, wait, that was stupid. She had no way of knowing he'd be back this early. In fact, she'd probably decided to bathe now, while he still gone, because she obviously wouldn't do it while he was there. That's what they had established previously, anyways – when he'd needed to bathe, she'd always gone to finish whatever business in town she might have had.
And now he had most likely offended her beyond all repair.
There was the sound of splashing water, then running foot steps. "Celes!" he heard her cry out.
No, no, no! Don't –
Oh. Well, at least she had a towel.
Not that it did much for the situation.
"I… ow… sorry," he ended lamely, sitting up, although he took great pains to keep his gaze downwards as much as possible. "I thought I might surprise you by actually coming back before dark, for once –"
That sounded extremely lecherous of him. "Not surprise like that!" he swiftly added. Against his will, he let his gaze rise, watching her body gracefully curve into her face, which was twisted in an expression of worry and care.
His head throbbed; his vision blurred. A second involuntary, "Ow…" of pain escaped his lips before he could suppress it.
Immediately, she scurried off. There was the sensuous sound of clothes on bare skin – it was too bad he was too dizzy to care.
"Celes, get up, please," she said gently.
"No," he replied, like an impudent child. "The world is falling out from underneath me."
"You said this how you treat concussion."
"I lied." He was, of course, lying right now.
"No, you weren't," she said impatiently, and before he could argue any further, she grabbed him from underneath his arms and hoisted him up. Automatically, his feet squared themselves, but once again the brace confounded him, sending his foot skittering sideways. But before he could fall completely, she'd braced herself, supporting his weight for him as he scrambled to put himself in a better position.
Still taking his weight for him, she pulled him back a few steps, then slid out from behind him; he threw out his hands, catching himself on the wall and ending his instability for good.
Well, that solved that problem.
Both of them stood there, breathing hard, mere steps away from each other yet refusing to meet each other's gazes. Seconds slipped by; Celes could feel the moisture in the air, acknowledging the presence of the bath.
Eventually, Isara spoke. "Well…" she started awkwardly.
"That was a mistake of mine," he joked, but only half-heartedly.
She shuffled, bringing her chin up to look at him. "Well… there's nothing to worry about."
Ta-thump. "… what do you mean by that?" Just how had she interpreted that note? Was this –
"You appear to be capable of rational thought and speech. Just stay awake for the next hour and I won't have anything to worry about," she ended with a smile.
Oh. Never mind. The Imperial finally brought his own head up, the awkwardness passing. "I suppose." She was dressed in her sleepwear, probably the first thing that had come to hand.
"Oh, and in case you were wondering… yes, I made sure to clean the wound, just as you asked."
Her chest wound, what had driven them together in the first place. "Heh. Sometimes I think…", but then he shut his mouth as he guiltily – and silently – wondered if he should have thanked the sniper who shot her for letting him meet her – and then mentally made sure to never bring that up around her, ever.
"What?"
"Never mind."
He held out a hand – automatically, Isara bent down, picked up his crutches, and handed them over. "I suppose," he started, "I should let you finish your bath."
She flushed at that, he noticed with interest. He decided to also not point out that her wet hair, still dripping, had soaked the top of her nightshirt, which now clung in a rather interesting fashion on her body. "But it's cold outside, and… your head –"
"It won't be cold if I do something useful," he deflected. He wondered if his chivalrous smile was a bit too wide. "And I promise I won't go unconscious on you."
She wrinkled her brow. "… you sure?"
"Positive." He just needed to escape this situation before he did something stupid.
"Well… alright then. See you in a bit." Voice shaking with – something – she turned her back on him and began walking back to the bath in a clear dismissal.
Celes decided that hanging around to watch her continue was no longer an option, and turned to go –
Paper rustled underneath one of his crutches; he snapped his head back to ensure she hadn't heard. Seeing her gather up the towel and clothes again – slowly, to give him time to leave – he quickly reached down with a hand and snatched it – no, them – into his hand.
He recognized his own handwriting, or artwork, as it more closely resembled, immediately. Four pages of confused writing, both trying to be standoffish and yet intimate at the same time.
Frantically, he cast his eyes about the room – noting the first page sitting elegantly on the corner of the workbench, corners aligned with the table's edges in a precise manner. So she hadn't read these pages, then – why else would they be laying haphazardly on the ground?
"Celes? Are you leaving?" Isara called, leaning amusedly against the edge of the tub. Thankfully, she hadn't undressed yet, although why she would was beyond him.
The pages disappeared behind his body as he straightened and turned towards the door. "Just leaving," he called back.
It was better that she didn't read those and get a wrong impression. He'd tell her exactly what he thought face to face…
Later.
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*awkward turtle*
So yeah. That wasn't strange at all. Don't be afraid of getting bogged down, though, I'm counting the days until the festival as well! That'll be great fun to write.
Unfortunately, though, school starts in two days for me. Writing will most definitely slow. I'll work hard, but fully expect updates to take anywhere from four days to a week now… but I will try to make the blurbs more substantial, if not quite enough to make up for time. Sorry… but the alternative is me failing, and then where would this story be? :p
Of course, there's this thing called a review button that would really inspire me. Even if you don't really read OC fics… give an opinion on the quality of writing. Every little bit helps!
