[Lamento] The Presence of Butterflies
Title: The Presence of Butterflies
Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Rating: G
Pairing: Rai/Konoe
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Belongs to Nitro+Chiral.
The Presence of Butterflies
The rock felt brittle beneath his boots.
Lumpy and uneven, a hundred hollows in its surface like scars. Along its sides hung the weeds, brown-gray and moldy green, a crust of white forming along their edges as they fluttered in the breeze. Further down were the clusters of black mussels, shut tight and gleaming, holding out for the next high tide.
And further down still were the golden waters, relentlessly crashing against the stone and chipping away at it, the dull roar echoing across the bay.
Up here, where he was sitting, lay the dead things.
The things that had been washed up during a particularly wild storm and left to dry, bleached in the light and smashed about by wind and seagulls until they were fine like bone meal. The things too weak to drag themselves back into the water. They crunched whenever he moved his feet, fragments splintering into more fragments. When he dug in his toes and lifted his heels, he caught glimpses of the bigger pieces, big enough to deduce what they might have been-the faintly orange tip of a starfish's arm, the green shards of the sea urchins, pieces of empty seashells, some still clinging to their mutilated other halves.
The one in his palm was whole.
Konoe was the one who found it, who grabbed his arm and dived in front of his feet to save it from being stepped on, a tiny pale pink twin so frail that the black leather of his glove was shining through its surface. Konoe had laughed and called it a butterfly, handing it to him in a bout of unreasonable spontaneity.
There are no butterflies at the beach.
If there were, they would get swept out to sea, the wind whistling down the slopes of sand and whipping the hair into his eyes.
"Well, this one won't," Konoe had said, smiling, and gingerly closed his fingers around the peculiar gift, to keep it safe.
He still didn't know why he hadn't tossed it aside. It was nothing useful, after all, not even anything special, the entire stretch of beach littered with myriads of these shells, joint or not. Nothing special, except for the way Konoe's fingers had glided over his knuckles, as if entreating him to be gentle.
One half had a hole in it, tiny and round, as if someone had taken a needle and punched it through. For some reason, it seemed fitting for Konoe to pick up this one entirely by chance, and hang onto it.
Across the rocks, the water parted, a pale figure emerging from the spray, catching himself on the stone and pulling himself out of the water in one fluid motion.
In his travels, he'd heard stories, the stupid daydreams of romantics and superstitious fishermen. The stories of half-beings, mischievous spirits shaped like fish playing among the cresting waves. He didn't believe them, of course, but watching the spectacle now made him think of them, regardless.
At first, Konoe had seemed every bit like a child, wide-eyed and awed at the sight of the crashing surf, pulling off his boots to run along the shore and splash water every which way. Now, it was a bit hard to believe that he hadn't always lived here. He swam like a fish, deft and sure, arms spreading out like wings, and although he denied it, Rai was certain that Konoe and water had an understanding.
They seemed entirely too much alike not to.
One hollowed the rock until it crumbled, and the other had chipped away at him until he'd felt like an open clam, naked and confused. Now, it no longer seemed quite so dangerous, quite so painful to let him sweep away the dead things, the useless splinters filling up the cracks.
Ahead, the graceful sight of Konoe balancing across the stones was ruined when he slipped, floundering to catch his balance. Sprite became cat again as he stumbled, feet scrambling against momentum, hands catching himself against the vertical wall of rock.
Rai leaned forward. "What a child."
"A child that brings you food!" Konoe retorted as he climbed, though there was no mistaking the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.
A wet lump hit his chest, clattering, and he caught it before it could drop into his lap. Wrapped inside the bundle was his own dagger, among over a dozen of the black mussels, bits of seaweed and gravel still clinging to their bases.
Dragging his shirt over his head, Konoe sat down beside him, drops of water flying everywhere as he shook his hair out and began to make himself presentable again.
"Not sure-how to get them open," he said between licks, tongue deftly sweeping across his forearms. "I only know the small ones from the lakes. They're easy enough. These ones-gave me enough trouble-just plucking them."
Not a complaint, even though a downward glance confirmed what Rai had suspected, his fingers covered in small cuts from trying to pry the mussels off the rocks with the dagger.
"Give me that."
Grabbing Konoe's hand, he began to clean the cuts despite his partner's wince, the treatment stinging more than the saltwater. He didn't see the sense in going through this much trouble just to acquire food, delicacy or no, but Konoe had his own ideas about what was necessary and what wasn't.
"Thank you."
"Hmm," he said, turning his attention to the other hand, clenched into a fist. "Maybe we should bandage this."
"What? Oh. I almost forgot about that." Konoe shook his head, unfurling his fingers to reveal not a wound, but a small, polished stone. He held it up, the light shimmering through its translucent body, making it glow with a pale blue fire.
"I found that one down there, among the weeds. It's pretty, isn't it?"
Shrugging, Rai returned to tending to the cuts. In a way, the stone was like the butterfly shell, just an object without special purpose or value, except that Konoe had deemed it valuable enough to pick it up and show to him.
"It reminds me of a song I heard, about the time before the fiery wheel sank into the sea. I guess that's why I picked it up. The song said that… back then, the water used to be blue."
Another story that had never made any sense, and varied so much depending on the storyteller that one might as well call it a fairytale, but Konoe was fond of these bits of dubious wisdom, collecting them like he collected random debris from the beach.
"It's strange." Reaching out, Konoe brushed some of the windswept hair from Rai's face, his hand damp and cool on his brow.
"I don't know what it was like back then, but for some reason, I think…" He smiled. "I think it might have looked like you."
-Fin-
----
A/N: Spontaneous ficlet is spontaneous. I was flipping through the photos I'd shot at the beaches of Massachusetts with twigcollins and eramundo, and then this got written. C&C is appreciated.
- For anyone not in the know, the ocean surrounding Sisa is said to be golden, as legend has it that the sun sank into the water ages ago. I really doubt that anyone living there has a concept of "the sun", though, so I called it a fiery wheel.
<< Return to Lamento Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: Lamento - Beyond the Void
Rating: G
Pairing: Rai/Konoe
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Belongs to Nitro+Chiral.
The Presence of Butterflies
The rock felt brittle beneath his boots.
Lumpy and uneven, a hundred hollows in its surface like scars. Along its sides hung the weeds, brown-gray and moldy green, a crust of white forming along their edges as they fluttered in the breeze. Further down were the clusters of black mussels, shut tight and gleaming, holding out for the next high tide.
And further down still were the golden waters, relentlessly crashing against the stone and chipping away at it, the dull roar echoing across the bay.
Up here, where he was sitting, lay the dead things.
The things that had been washed up during a particularly wild storm and left to dry, bleached in the light and smashed about by wind and seagulls until they were fine like bone meal. The things too weak to drag themselves back into the water. They crunched whenever he moved his feet, fragments splintering into more fragments. When he dug in his toes and lifted his heels, he caught glimpses of the bigger pieces, big enough to deduce what they might have been-the faintly orange tip of a starfish's arm, the green shards of the sea urchins, pieces of empty seashells, some still clinging to their mutilated other halves.
The one in his palm was whole.
Konoe was the one who found it, who grabbed his arm and dived in front of his feet to save it from being stepped on, a tiny pale pink twin so frail that the black leather of his glove was shining through its surface. Konoe had laughed and called it a butterfly, handing it to him in a bout of unreasonable spontaneity.
There are no butterflies at the beach.
If there were, they would get swept out to sea, the wind whistling down the slopes of sand and whipping the hair into his eyes.
"Well, this one won't," Konoe had said, smiling, and gingerly closed his fingers around the peculiar gift, to keep it safe.
He still didn't know why he hadn't tossed it aside. It was nothing useful, after all, not even anything special, the entire stretch of beach littered with myriads of these shells, joint or not. Nothing special, except for the way Konoe's fingers had glided over his knuckles, as if entreating him to be gentle.
One half had a hole in it, tiny and round, as if someone had taken a needle and punched it through. For some reason, it seemed fitting for Konoe to pick up this one entirely by chance, and hang onto it.
Across the rocks, the water parted, a pale figure emerging from the spray, catching himself on the stone and pulling himself out of the water in one fluid motion.
In his travels, he'd heard stories, the stupid daydreams of romantics and superstitious fishermen. The stories of half-beings, mischievous spirits shaped like fish playing among the cresting waves. He didn't believe them, of course, but watching the spectacle now made him think of them, regardless.
At first, Konoe had seemed every bit like a child, wide-eyed and awed at the sight of the crashing surf, pulling off his boots to run along the shore and splash water every which way. Now, it was a bit hard to believe that he hadn't always lived here. He swam like a fish, deft and sure, arms spreading out like wings, and although he denied it, Rai was certain that Konoe and water had an understanding.
They seemed entirely too much alike not to.
One hollowed the rock until it crumbled, and the other had chipped away at him until he'd felt like an open clam, naked and confused. Now, it no longer seemed quite so dangerous, quite so painful to let him sweep away the dead things, the useless splinters filling up the cracks.
Ahead, the graceful sight of Konoe balancing across the stones was ruined when he slipped, floundering to catch his balance. Sprite became cat again as he stumbled, feet scrambling against momentum, hands catching himself against the vertical wall of rock.
Rai leaned forward. "What a child."
"A child that brings you food!" Konoe retorted as he climbed, though there was no mistaking the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.
A wet lump hit his chest, clattering, and he caught it before it could drop into his lap. Wrapped inside the bundle was his own dagger, among over a dozen of the black mussels, bits of seaweed and gravel still clinging to their bases.
Dragging his shirt over his head, Konoe sat down beside him, drops of water flying everywhere as he shook his hair out and began to make himself presentable again.
"Not sure-how to get them open," he said between licks, tongue deftly sweeping across his forearms. "I only know the small ones from the lakes. They're easy enough. These ones-gave me enough trouble-just plucking them."
Not a complaint, even though a downward glance confirmed what Rai had suspected, his fingers covered in small cuts from trying to pry the mussels off the rocks with the dagger.
"Give me that."
Grabbing Konoe's hand, he began to clean the cuts despite his partner's wince, the treatment stinging more than the saltwater. He didn't see the sense in going through this much trouble just to acquire food, delicacy or no, but Konoe had his own ideas about what was necessary and what wasn't.
"Thank you."
"Hmm," he said, turning his attention to the other hand, clenched into a fist. "Maybe we should bandage this."
"What? Oh. I almost forgot about that." Konoe shook his head, unfurling his fingers to reveal not a wound, but a small, polished stone. He held it up, the light shimmering through its translucent body, making it glow with a pale blue fire.
"I found that one down there, among the weeds. It's pretty, isn't it?"
Shrugging, Rai returned to tending to the cuts. In a way, the stone was like the butterfly shell, just an object without special purpose or value, except that Konoe had deemed it valuable enough to pick it up and show to him.
"It reminds me of a song I heard, about the time before the fiery wheel sank into the sea. I guess that's why I picked it up. The song said that… back then, the water used to be blue."
Another story that had never made any sense, and varied so much depending on the storyteller that one might as well call it a fairytale, but Konoe was fond of these bits of dubious wisdom, collecting them like he collected random debris from the beach.
"It's strange." Reaching out, Konoe brushed some of the windswept hair from Rai's face, his hand damp and cool on his brow.
"I don't know what it was like back then, but for some reason, I think…" He smiled. "I think it might have looked like you."
-Fin-
----
A/N: Spontaneous ficlet is spontaneous. I was flipping through the photos I'd shot at the beaches of Massachusetts with twigcollins and eramundo, and then this got written. C&C is appreciated.
- For anyone not in the know, the ocean surrounding Sisa is said to be golden, as legend has it that the sun sank into the water ages ago. I really doubt that anyone living there has a concept of "the sun", though, so I called it a fiery wheel.
<< Return to Lamento Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>