Jul. 22nd, 2016

Dirt Hands

Jul. 22nd, 2016 08:19 pm
bilsunderooks: (Critical Role)

Or What We Wish We Could Hold.

For the first time in years I have written something. After promising myself and others to write for various fandoms but never having the time or headspace to do it I have instead found myself stretching long rusted muscles and writing Critical Role- or specifically Perc’ahlia.

Anyway, here is a small introspective piece to work out kinks in my style, with a little character study. Set sometime after ep 44, in a forest, somewhere in their travels.

Word length: 1,800+ words.
Rating: Teen.

If there was one good thing to come out of her brother making a deal to become a sort of Paladin to a Goddess of Death, it’s that her ravens make decent messengers. Even if they do creep Vex out a lot. On this day, when the leaves are plump with water and shimmer with refracted light, she has taken to sitting cross-legged on top of Trinket, the pair of them situated a little ways away from the others. Her bear is munching on some fish she had caught that morning, large teeth crunching on delicate bones around happy grunts. Her hands are steady in a way they haven’t been for quite some weeks now as she sharpens her arrowheads, movements sure and precise.

When she’s done they’ll be sharp enough to slice through scales. Slice through painful memories of her mother’s fondest smiles, the curve of her thumb as she rubbed at the dirt on Vex’s chubby face. Slice through until it cuts the dead flesh that still hangs from the ruins of Emon, the ghosts that still cling to its rubble as prisoners to a Cinder Pretender.

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bilsunderooks: Inception, ariadne, not mine (Default)

August 2016

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