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rose_in_winterCharacters: Celes Chere, Kain Highwind
Rating: G
Contains: N/A
Wordcount: 262
Notes: Written for the 2017 Kiss Battle, for the prompt "Kain/Celes - one blond isn't actually like another."
Summary: He mistakes her for Rosa.
He mistakes her for Rosa.
She is blond, in a long white cloak, and it is only as he reaches out, daring, to touch her shoulder that he realizes she is inches too tall. She turns in a blur of speed, starting to draw her blade, and the pommel rings against his gauntlet as he instinctively raises his arm to block. Her eyes are blue, yes, but they are hard as winter-bound gems, not warm and open like the summer sky of Rosa's.
She stares at him, implacable, balanced on the blade-edge between attack and defense.
He keeps his eyes on hers as he bows. "My apologies."
The sword slides back into its sheath, the familiar song of metal on metal and the muted click as it reaches home, and she sweeps her eyes over him. He lowers his arm and stands at attention, as he would for any general, for he remembers that that is her rank, from some shouting match she had with a man in a bandana who is too much like Edge for Kain's peace of mind.
"You thought I was her." A statement, brutal in its simplicity, and Kain finds that he has no voice, so instead he nods.
She lets go the pommel and holds out her hand in greeting. "Celes Chere."
He knows she expects the arm clasp of a soldier, and he complies, but then he lifts her hand to his lips for a kiss, and she permits it, though her brow lowers.
He does not think of Rosa.
He releases her hand. She nods stiffly and walks away.
He wonders if one day they will fight side by side.
Rating: G
Contains: N/A
Wordcount: 262
Notes: Written for the 2017 Kiss Battle, for the prompt "Kain/Celes - one blond isn't actually like another."
Summary: He mistakes her for Rosa.
He mistakes her for Rosa.
She is blond, in a long white cloak, and it is only as he reaches out, daring, to touch her shoulder that he realizes she is inches too tall. She turns in a blur of speed, starting to draw her blade, and the pommel rings against his gauntlet as he instinctively raises his arm to block. Her eyes are blue, yes, but they are hard as winter-bound gems, not warm and open like the summer sky of Rosa's.
She stares at him, implacable, balanced on the blade-edge between attack and defense.
He keeps his eyes on hers as he bows. "My apologies."
The sword slides back into its sheath, the familiar song of metal on metal and the muted click as it reaches home, and she sweeps her eyes over him. He lowers his arm and stands at attention, as he would for any general, for he remembers that that is her rank, from some shouting match she had with a man in a bandana who is too much like Edge for Kain's peace of mind.
"You thought I was her." A statement, brutal in its simplicity, and Kain finds that he has no voice, so instead he nods.
She lets go the pommel and holds out her hand in greeting. "Celes Chere."
He knows she expects the arm clasp of a soldier, and he complies, but then he lifts her hand to his lips for a kiss, and she permits it, though her brow lowers.
He does not think of Rosa.
He releases her hand. She nods stiffly and walks away.
He wonders if one day they will fight side by side.