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femslashficlets2015-06-03 03:48 pm
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2015-06-03 03:48 pm
Entry tags:
Propriety (#009 - TFLN)
Title: Propriety
Fandom: Fire Emblem (Archanea games)
Pairing: Palla/Minerva
Rating: PG for alcohol
Prompt: TFLN
Word Count: 980
Summary: (856): I've never been this drunk around this many toddlers
Note: Someday I'll let Minerva keep her dignity. For now, here's some post-canon fluff.
Wine is something Minerva has only partaken in on certain occasions: when water is unavailable and when ceremony calls for it. She does not drink it for the buzzed feeling that settled in ten—twenty?—minutes ago, now past the light fluttering of moths to a hornet in her head. However, one of the guests to the party in their little convent brought something harder than Minerva has experience with, and when it’s out of her system she’ll remember whether the girl’s name is Mileecha or Malaysia. For now it’s at least been kept out of the hands of the littlest ones, though Maria looks slightly flushed, and rounding them up seems to be taxing Palla more than herding recruits.
Minerva watches her, lacking the propriety not to stare openly. The candles that were set out during the meal will be stubs soon, and their flickering casts a broken glow along Palla’s features. Her headband has somehow migrated to sit crookedly above her forehead, bending her bangs, and the only thing stopping Minerva from reaching to fix it is that Palla has plopped a toddler onto her lap and another one is clinging to her legs. When Minerva cocks her chin to get a better view of the light against the nape of Palla’s neck, she’s promptly punished with a tiny fist against her collar. She reaches to bat it away and somehow manages not to knock the child off before Palla comes and sees the state Minerva is in, apparently thinking better of putting her in charge.
Palla pulls the toddler up and over her shoulder, and Minerva’s lips simply won’t close, feeling too gummy to press together. The light is now at Palla’s back, a silhouette framed like a portrait. The child at Minerva’s feet tries to climb up before Palla pries that one away and leads her out by the hand.
A few moments later in which Minerva has done nothing but curse her pounding head, Palla returns with a hand on her hip. She says something, but the only way Minerva knows is that the mouth she’s watching is moving. Minerva’s own jaw finally hinges, and then it won’t stop, leaking all manner of words, things she wanted to say but wouldn’t.
“You’re beautiful” is the statement that loosens the stick in the dam. A dozen explanations follow, a jumble of phrases like your hair when you…that don’t satisfy. “You take such good care of us” comes closer to the heart of it, that and odes to Palla’s grace in the air and strength in battle, to her dedication, but it’s not until the sentiment leads into let me take care of you that Palla freezes. She’s been tidying up, murmuring calmly amused responses, but the rag in her hand drops, and she straightens as she turns to Minerva. A couple of the candles have died, and Minerva squints to make out what looks like a blush on Palla’s cheeks.
“You need to lie down,” Palla says. Propriety or not, Minerva lacks the body coordination to do more than let Palla lead her away, and her only awareness after that is of a cot under her muscled back.
“Are you awake?”
Minerva grunts ascent, and Palla makes her rise again to swallow a cup of what seems to be water mixed with bitter herbs. Minerva downs it without complaint, laying back in hopes that if she does, Palla will leave her to rest. It’s probably too optimistic to think the memories of her bumbling are fragments of a dream. She burns with shame at the slip of dignity, but more so with guilt at dumping her feelings on someone who’s already full to bursting yet restrains herself much better.
Palla doesn’t leave, retrieving a tray from the corner with a crust of dark bread, which should be enough of an exercise to chew to fully rouse Minerva. It’s no bother to her; for a princess, she’s more unused to soft food at this point, other than the swill her prison guards had fed her. Palla kneels on the floor and relays the morning’s events; Minerva already slept past sunrise, and the light now hurts her eyes. Palla is close enough to touch, not that Minerva would. It wasn’t the drink or the lighting that made Palla beautiful, but without those things, the thought of speaking of it out loud fills Minerva’s mouth with cotton. Even if it hadn’t, she lost the right to do so after her behavior the night before.
“Palla,” she says, when Palla has gone silent. “Forgive my indecency before. I…”
Palla lifts a hand. “Minerva, please. We know each other well enough.”
Minerva stops to absorb the name, the gentle forgiveness, before closing her eyes to guard from the harsh sun. She hears something shuffling, and then Palla quietly asks, “Did you speak truly?”
“Of course. Do you think mere spirits could make me utter a falsehood?”
When Minerva looks again at Palla, Palla’s hands are wringing, but her bowed head belies a smile. “Of course not. We shall talk more later—I must go watch the little ones. You weren’t the only one driven a bit loopy.”
Minerva doesn’t have time to protest that before Palla takes the tray and leaves. Minerva rolls over, fidgeting under the blanket. Normally she’d work through this sort of thing with a training session, but it’ll be a good few hours before she trusts herself with an axe. For now, she can only lie until her headache subsides, a smile tugging her lips regardless.
Fandom: Fire Emblem (Archanea games)
Pairing: Palla/Minerva
Rating: PG for alcohol
Prompt: TFLN
Word Count: 980
Summary: (856): I've never been this drunk around this many toddlers
Note: Someday I'll let Minerva keep her dignity. For now, here's some post-canon fluff.
Wine is something Minerva has only partaken in on certain occasions: when water is unavailable and when ceremony calls for it. She does not drink it for the buzzed feeling that settled in ten—twenty?—minutes ago, now past the light fluttering of moths to a hornet in her head. However, one of the guests to the party in their little convent brought something harder than Minerva has experience with, and when it’s out of her system she’ll remember whether the girl’s name is Mileecha or Malaysia. For now it’s at least been kept out of the hands of the littlest ones, though Maria looks slightly flushed, and rounding them up seems to be taxing Palla more than herding recruits.
Minerva watches her, lacking the propriety not to stare openly. The candles that were set out during the meal will be stubs soon, and their flickering casts a broken glow along Palla’s features. Her headband has somehow migrated to sit crookedly above her forehead, bending her bangs, and the only thing stopping Minerva from reaching to fix it is that Palla has plopped a toddler onto her lap and another one is clinging to her legs. When Minerva cocks her chin to get a better view of the light against the nape of Palla’s neck, she’s promptly punished with a tiny fist against her collar. She reaches to bat it away and somehow manages not to knock the child off before Palla comes and sees the state Minerva is in, apparently thinking better of putting her in charge.
Palla pulls the toddler up and over her shoulder, and Minerva’s lips simply won’t close, feeling too gummy to press together. The light is now at Palla’s back, a silhouette framed like a portrait. The child at Minerva’s feet tries to climb up before Palla pries that one away and leads her out by the hand.
A few moments later in which Minerva has done nothing but curse her pounding head, Palla returns with a hand on her hip. She says something, but the only way Minerva knows is that the mouth she’s watching is moving. Minerva’s own jaw finally hinges, and then it won’t stop, leaking all manner of words, things she wanted to say but wouldn’t.
“You’re beautiful” is the statement that loosens the stick in the dam. A dozen explanations follow, a jumble of phrases like your hair when you…that don’t satisfy. “You take such good care of us” comes closer to the heart of it, that and odes to Palla’s grace in the air and strength in battle, to her dedication, but it’s not until the sentiment leads into let me take care of you that Palla freezes. She’s been tidying up, murmuring calmly amused responses, but the rag in her hand drops, and she straightens as she turns to Minerva. A couple of the candles have died, and Minerva squints to make out what looks like a blush on Palla’s cheeks.
“You need to lie down,” Palla says. Propriety or not, Minerva lacks the body coordination to do more than let Palla lead her away, and her only awareness after that is of a cot under her muscled back.
xxxxxxx
When Minerva wakes, her vision is spotty like a skyline cut by mountains. It takes a minute to clear it, and when she lifts her chin she sees Palla at the door with one of the clerics, who’s stirring some concoction. Minerva drops her head and bites back a groan.“Are you awake?”
Minerva grunts ascent, and Palla makes her rise again to swallow a cup of what seems to be water mixed with bitter herbs. Minerva downs it without complaint, laying back in hopes that if she does, Palla will leave her to rest. It’s probably too optimistic to think the memories of her bumbling are fragments of a dream. She burns with shame at the slip of dignity, but more so with guilt at dumping her feelings on someone who’s already full to bursting yet restrains herself much better.
Palla doesn’t leave, retrieving a tray from the corner with a crust of dark bread, which should be enough of an exercise to chew to fully rouse Minerva. It’s no bother to her; for a princess, she’s more unused to soft food at this point, other than the swill her prison guards had fed her. Palla kneels on the floor and relays the morning’s events; Minerva already slept past sunrise, and the light now hurts her eyes. Palla is close enough to touch, not that Minerva would. It wasn’t the drink or the lighting that made Palla beautiful, but without those things, the thought of speaking of it out loud fills Minerva’s mouth with cotton. Even if it hadn’t, she lost the right to do so after her behavior the night before.
“Palla,” she says, when Palla has gone silent. “Forgive my indecency before. I…”
Palla lifts a hand. “Minerva, please. We know each other well enough.”
Minerva stops to absorb the name, the gentle forgiveness, before closing her eyes to guard from the harsh sun. She hears something shuffling, and then Palla quietly asks, “Did you speak truly?”
“Of course. Do you think mere spirits could make me utter a falsehood?”
When Minerva looks again at Palla, Palla’s hands are wringing, but her bowed head belies a smile. “Of course not. We shall talk more later—I must go watch the little ones. You weren’t the only one driven a bit loopy.”
Minerva doesn’t have time to protest that before Palla takes the tray and leaves. Minerva rolls over, fidgeting under the blanket. Normally she’d work through this sort of thing with a training session, but it’ll be a good few hours before she trusts herself with an axe. For now, she can only lie until her headache subsides, a smile tugging her lips regardless.