“How on Earth did she do that,” Cinder says to no one in particular. Winter’s gaze on the computer screen stays fixed decidedly forward, head tilted up to capture the sunlight, hand on the sword at her hip — and it feels all too much like a taunt, a challenge, even though they haven’t seen each other in years and they certainly weren’t hitting each other with swords for a while before they lost contact. “How on — how the fuck?”
Mercury snorts from where he’s fidgeting with some circuitry, lips curling up into a smirk. And he has a distinctly annoying smirk. “Sheer talent, probably.”
“Sheer talent,” Cinder echoes, narrowing her eyes at the screen so hard she’s surprised when it doesn’t burst into flames. “Miss I Don’t Want To Touch A Sword In Your Presence Because What If We Both Trip And Fall And Stab My Baby Sister won a world record in hitting things with swords based on sheer talent?”
She grits her teeth, curls her fingers into fists. It’s a dumb thing to be upset about, probably. She must look like a petulant child missing her friend, fed up that she’s gone on and succeeded and all without her there. But the thing is, they were never really friends in the first place, so that accusation is mostly baseless.
Mercury snorts again, because of course he does. “What, you think you can beat her? I know you don’t pay attention to the news, but she’s like, the most famous swordsman in the world.”
“No she’s fucking not,” Cinder says. It doesn’t come out quite as smooth as she’d hoped. “She gave up when she was twenty because she wanted to be a politician.”
(‘Wanted’ isn’t quite the right word, but she doesn’t make a habit of explaining herself to Mercury.)
“And then she picked it up again,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining the concept to a small child. Smirking again, crouching low over his work table, he adds, “and no, I’m not helping you with practicing to beat her.”
“I’m going to do it anyway,” Cinder says hotly, getting up from her seat. “Stupid fucker. All she wanted to talk about was dreams and hope and the future and now she’s —” her hands clench around themselves, her fingernails dig into her palms. “Now she’s here.”
“Now she’s here,” Mercury echoes, and then yelps when something on his table sparks.
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-17 10:52 pm (UTC)“How on Earth did she do that,” Cinder says to no one in particular. Winter’s gaze on the computer screen stays fixed decidedly forward, head tilted up to capture the sunlight, hand on the sword at her hip — and it feels all too much like a taunt, a challenge, even though they haven’t seen each other in years and they certainly weren’t hitting each other with swords for a while before they lost contact. “How on — how the fuck?”
Mercury snorts from where he’s fidgeting with some circuitry, lips curling up into a smirk. And he has a distinctly annoying smirk. “Sheer talent, probably.”
“Sheer talent,” Cinder echoes, narrowing her eyes at the screen so hard she’s surprised when it doesn’t burst into flames. “Miss I Don’t Want To Touch A Sword In Your Presence Because What If We Both Trip And Fall And Stab My Baby Sister won a world record in hitting things with swords based on sheer talent?”
She grits her teeth, curls her fingers into fists. It’s a dumb thing to be upset about, probably. She must look like a petulant child missing her friend, fed up that she’s gone on and succeeded and all without her there. But the thing is, they were never really friends in the first place, so that accusation is mostly baseless.
Mercury snorts again, because of course he does. “What, you think you can beat her? I know you don’t pay attention to the news, but she’s like, the most famous swordsman in the world.”
“No she’s fucking not,” Cinder says. It doesn’t come out quite as smooth as she’d hoped. “She gave up when she was twenty because she wanted to be a politician.”
(‘Wanted’ isn’t quite the right word, but she doesn’t make a habit of explaining herself to Mercury.)
“And then she picked it up again,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining the concept to a small child. Smirking again, crouching low over his work table, he adds, “and no, I’m not helping you with practicing to beat her.”
“I’m going to do it anyway,” Cinder says hotly, getting up from her seat. “Stupid fucker. All she wanted to talk about was dreams and hope and the future and now she’s —” her hands clench around themselves, her fingernails dig into her palms. “Now she’s here.”
“Now she’s here,” Mercury echoes, and then yelps when something on his table sparks.