Work Text:
COOL
Multi-coloured light filled the room, refracting in a thousand, thousand ways off the already-healing stained windows of the Reflecting Pool’ s throne room. Clementine’s footwork carried with it the crunch of broken glass wherever she stepped and this was no different now as she retreated and pursued and danced across her greatest sanctum, blades ringing and echoing like church bells as she fought her rival to a standstill.
This far indoors they could not see the light of mechs and starships doing battle in the atmosphere of Jirin Dol, but still they felt the rumbling of it, all power diverted to defense and nothing left to correct rogue gravitational anomalies as the Pact, the Curtain and Millennium Break threw everything they had at each other.
It made for an interesting accompaniment to the main event, as Clem and Gucci swung their blades like love letters through the throne room air, thick with tension. They flirted back and forth between the sword drills of their youth, thrust parry step, thrust parry step, their feet moving with the beautiful rhythm of Kesh nobility, the mark of their Stel living on even after they'd both been marked as traitors. They chased each other with the desperation of young, hungry women who would not be satisfied with the world as it was, with any world that didn’t suit them. Steel crashed into steel like the Prophet’s Sea crashing into Cruciat on that same stormy night Fort Icebreaker arrived in the harbour, full of dread portent and betrayal and ambition.
“I see your bladework has improved,” Saint Dawn quipped, for that was who she was in this form. Gone the childhood friend, gone the loyal aide, revealed as the traitor she was with that red mask hiding her face. Rebellion had not dulled her fashion sense, her dress was a whirl of crimson crepe, a tantalising slit running all the way up to the waist and baring her long, toned legs speckled with vitiligo daring to distract her opponent even as they lifted into a rising kick to buy some space between them.
“The gifts of Perennial have been manyfold,” Clem replied, stepping out of the way of the kick and pirouetting perfectly on the spot, not moving from her new position even as Saint Dawn whirled about in place to deliver an arm-shattering blow with her blade. Clem parried the attack effortlessly smiling beneath her mask, coy and mysterious. Who was she now if not the Witch In Glass? Perennial’s foremost priestess on Partizan and one who had returned from death itself stronger than ever before. She was no longer the princess, now a queen .
“I won’t go easy on you then,” Dawn replied, ducking within Clem’s guard for a traitorous punch to the stomach. Behind a mask of russian sage however, the blow was easy to see coming and Clem needed only tense her muscles in anticipation to negate it completely.
Gucci’s face dropped, the one behind the mask that had been behind the mask of her civility all those years, her true face was thrown into an expression of surprise as Clem doubled down on her advantage to pull her old friend’s body flush against hers. Their fight had carried them all over the room, over tables, along window sills, even a memorable moment in which Saint Dawn had boldly thought to claim the Witch’s throne, only to be fought off. Now at last they were in the centre of the room, embracing as they should have done all those months ago when those wolves at Millennium Break had thought they would be easier pickings apart. She saw through them all now, as she saw the naked lust lying just under that red mask. Of course she knew Gucci found her attractive, and of course it had been mutual, ever since that summer they had spent on the rowing team together, Clementine’s words spurring Gucci’s raw strength into action. Now was different, now they were no longer two school girls with grand destinies ahead, now they were those self-same destinies manifest .
Fumbling and flirting no longer befitted them, Clementine thought, leaning down to the spellbound Gucci Guarantine, done were the clumsy steps of youth and new rebellion, it was time at last to-
DOUBT
Clementine snapped to wakefulness, her side jabbed by the mechanical prong of Gur Sevraq’s metal arm. He was subtle, understanding the value of her dignity, and it was unlikely Gucci had seen the interaction between them, or even noticed how Clementine’s eyes might have drifted shut behind her floral mask as her once aide droned on about control of shipping routes, levies of troops and agreements regarding which tax concessions to keep and which to remove.
“Yes, well I’m sure you’ll be able to sort it all out with uh- with Emmalene as soon as we’re done here.” Clem said, interrupting Gucci to take firm control of the conversation.
“This is serious, Clementine, we need to hammer out-”
“Oh it’s about as serious as it always is, Gucci.” Her flippance was enough to get a reaction out of the other woman. “You’ll come to me with this request or that and we both know it’s really about something else but still we both have to pretend.”
There was silence for a moment, even Emmalene’s scribbling came to a halt.
“Excuse me?”
“Well we’ve know each other a long time, Gucci, and though I might not always seem like I’m on the ball, I am wise to your little tricks. We both know that these negotiations are just the prelude to what you really want to ask me.”
The silence continued, growing until it became a stand off. Emmalene scooted backwards in her chair uncomfortably. Gur Sevraq implored Perennial for strength. Gucci fumed at being caught out.
“We need the Reflecting Pool ’s garrison for the assault on-”
“I accept,” Clementine supplies before catching up to the fact that Gucci Guarantine had not just invited her to dinner, but by that point her once-rival had already thanked her and begun relaying orders, and once more Clementine was being left behind, baffled by how little she understood her own life.