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femslashficlets2016-07-20 01:29 am
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2016-07-20 01:29 am
Entry tags:
A Fresh Poison Each Week (#068 - poison)
Title: A Fresh Poison Each Week
Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates
Pairing: Camilla/Beruka
Rating: PG
Prompt: 068 - poison
Word Count: 710
Summary: One could imagine that if they were sliced open, Beruka would bleed poison and Camilla would bleed wine.
Note: Non-gory mentions of facial injuries. Intended as Conquest fic, but contains no plot spoilers.
The cut runs an inch and a half down Beruka’s jaw. It’s scabbing over, already on its way to becoming a scar, and it’s small enough that she skipped the medical tent in favor of sneaking into the mess hall before it could fill with chatter. She didn’t count on Camilla finding her, or on her lady fussing over a nick from a shuriken, one hand tilting Beruka’s chin and the other clasping her own cheek.
“I’ve had far worse.”
“But your adorable face,” Camilla says with a cluck of her tongue. “I suppose it will make you look even tougher, but…”
There’s nothing adorable about Beruka, nor anything tough about failing to dodge, but she’s given up on arguing such points. Having held still for long enough, she flinches away from Camilla’s thumb and forefinger, as their softness makes her notice the hard bench. A puff of air blows against her nose, and Camilla’s bang bobs. “That color… Was it poisoned?”
“Yes.” Beruka inspects her wrist guard, which took the greater scratch. She washed it before letting Camilla near.
“We need a healer to at least look at it, then! Even if it’s nothing deadly…”
“I’m immune to this one.”
“Another one? Have you truly been exposed to so many poisons?”
“Yes. I may as well be a toxin myself, at this point.”
One could imagine that if they were sliced open, Beruka would bleed poison and Camilla would bleed wine…but she’s spilled enough blood, and it all looks the same. Camilla is still bent to face level, watching her. It’s unsettling, knowing Camilla’s not scrutinizing her as a threat, wondering what exactly she’s looking for when she stares. As she tilts her head, her bang bends. It always covers the side of the face that mirrors Beruka’s new wound.
“If you are, then I must be immune,” Camilla says with a smile. Beruka ducks her head again.
“You’ve been exposed enough. Though some poisons are slow-acting.”
“Is that the only way to build immunity?”
“Some animals have developed immunizations to the venom of creatures they hunt.”
“Oh, my—are you suggesting I’m preying on you?”
If she should wonder, she doesn’t. “No. I’m stating a fact about wildlife.” The predators Beruka know of kill like she does—quickly, without pretext of kindness. Parasites attach to a host, sucking the life from them, but if a parasite has latched onto Beruka it did so many years ago, and Camilla has been prying it away.
“Are other animals immune?” Camilla asks.
“Most seem immune to their own species’ venom.”
“It’s that one, then.”
Though Camilla looks satisfied, Beruka can’t imagine why. “What is?”
Camilla strokes a finger across Beruka’s jaw, making her cut sting. “Why I’m immune to you, darling.”
The hair rises on the back of Beruka’s neck, though she holds Camilla’s gaze. She barely considers them to be the same species. Beruka herself has never related to other humans, and Camilla has seemed otherworldly since the first time Beruka saw her call down lightning from a clear sky—or maybe since the day they met, when Camilla cornered her with a set jaw and gentle eyes.
“We are not much alike,” Beruka says. “You laugh, cry, love… I only kill.”
Camilla purses her lips. “Beruka, you still…”
“My loyalties and purpose may have changed, but that much has not.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Beruka waits for an explanation. Even idle chitchat loses her; this vagueness certainly does. Camilla sighs and settles beside her on the bench, her bang covering her expression until she reaches up to lift it over her ear. A set of scars spans the skin from her eye down past her cheek. Were some of the lines not less faded than others, Beruka would think they were claw marks.
“Do you really still think me less bloodstained than you? Less abandoned?” Camilla’s usual lilt has flattened, gone hoarse. Beruka’s own throat feels strangely scratchy.
“I may have been presumptuous. I’m…sorry.”
Camilla replaces the bang, and her voice lightens. “I became immune to many things long ago, my dear.”
Unsure what to say to that, Beruka can only wonder what toxins infected her mistress—and can only imagine touching Camilla’s wounds as Camilla touched hers.
Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates
Pairing: Camilla/Beruka
Rating: PG
Prompt: 068 - poison
Word Count: 710
Summary: One could imagine that if they were sliced open, Beruka would bleed poison and Camilla would bleed wine.
Note: Non-gory mentions of facial injuries. Intended as Conquest fic, but contains no plot spoilers.
The cut runs an inch and a half down Beruka’s jaw. It’s scabbing over, already on its way to becoming a scar, and it’s small enough that she skipped the medical tent in favor of sneaking into the mess hall before it could fill with chatter. She didn’t count on Camilla finding her, or on her lady fussing over a nick from a shuriken, one hand tilting Beruka’s chin and the other clasping her own cheek.
“I’ve had far worse.”
“But your adorable face,” Camilla says with a cluck of her tongue. “I suppose it will make you look even tougher, but…”
There’s nothing adorable about Beruka, nor anything tough about failing to dodge, but she’s given up on arguing such points. Having held still for long enough, she flinches away from Camilla’s thumb and forefinger, as their softness makes her notice the hard bench. A puff of air blows against her nose, and Camilla’s bang bobs. “That color… Was it poisoned?”
“Yes.” Beruka inspects her wrist guard, which took the greater scratch. She washed it before letting Camilla near.
“We need a healer to at least look at it, then! Even if it’s nothing deadly…”
“I’m immune to this one.”
“Another one? Have you truly been exposed to so many poisons?”
“Yes. I may as well be a toxin myself, at this point.”
One could imagine that if they were sliced open, Beruka would bleed poison and Camilla would bleed wine…but she’s spilled enough blood, and it all looks the same. Camilla is still bent to face level, watching her. It’s unsettling, knowing Camilla’s not scrutinizing her as a threat, wondering what exactly she’s looking for when she stares. As she tilts her head, her bang bends. It always covers the side of the face that mirrors Beruka’s new wound.
“If you are, then I must be immune,” Camilla says with a smile. Beruka ducks her head again.
“You’ve been exposed enough. Though some poisons are slow-acting.”
“Is that the only way to build immunity?”
“Some animals have developed immunizations to the venom of creatures they hunt.”
“Oh, my—are you suggesting I’m preying on you?”
If she should wonder, she doesn’t. “No. I’m stating a fact about wildlife.” The predators Beruka know of kill like she does—quickly, without pretext of kindness. Parasites attach to a host, sucking the life from them, but if a parasite has latched onto Beruka it did so many years ago, and Camilla has been prying it away.
“Are other animals immune?” Camilla asks.
“Most seem immune to their own species’ venom.”
“It’s that one, then.”
Though Camilla looks satisfied, Beruka can’t imagine why. “What is?”
Camilla strokes a finger across Beruka’s jaw, making her cut sting. “Why I’m immune to you, darling.”
The hair rises on the back of Beruka’s neck, though she holds Camilla’s gaze. She barely considers them to be the same species. Beruka herself has never related to other humans, and Camilla has seemed otherworldly since the first time Beruka saw her call down lightning from a clear sky—or maybe since the day they met, when Camilla cornered her with a set jaw and gentle eyes.
“We are not much alike,” Beruka says. “You laugh, cry, love… I only kill.”
Camilla purses her lips. “Beruka, you still…”
“My loyalties and purpose may have changed, but that much has not.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Beruka waits for an explanation. Even idle chitchat loses her; this vagueness certainly does. Camilla sighs and settles beside her on the bench, her bang covering her expression until she reaches up to lift it over her ear. A set of scars spans the skin from her eye down past her cheek. Were some of the lines not less faded than others, Beruka would think they were claw marks.
“Do you really still think me less bloodstained than you? Less abandoned?” Camilla’s usual lilt has flattened, gone hoarse. Beruka’s own throat feels strangely scratchy.
“I may have been presumptuous. I’m…sorry.”
Camilla replaces the bang, and her voice lightens. “I became immune to many things long ago, my dear.”
Unsure what to say to that, Beruka can only wonder what toxins infected her mistress—and can only imagine touching Camilla’s wounds as Camilla touched hers.