Writing challange

[narcasse]

Since I’ve reached 100 Trinity Blood fics at Sunsets, it’s Nuit Blanche, I’m meant to be writing pr0n and we’re into the countdown to International Narsus Month: drabble/ficlet/maybe even something longer requests are open. Prompts such as fandom, character, prop or location are welcome or name a genre, a point in the canonical storyline etc. Crossovers are fine too: I’ll see what I can do with them.

Fandoms I can probably write in at the current time being: Meine Liebe, Trinity Blood, The Matrix, Sherlock Holmes, Yugioh AU, Sunshine, Batman, The Hellbound Heart, Stargate, XXXholic, Greek myth, Saiyuki. There may be more that I’m missing from that list too so try me.

Not limited to one request per player since I’m in the mood to be writing.

Comments

xxxHOLiC. Clow/Yuuko: the mystic's dream

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

Loreena McKennitt's song works as rather good inspiration. I’ll try answering all these prompts but it may take some time. So far, here’s the first.

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The weaving of magic is like a dance.

He prepares himself with ritual and observance, washing in the light of the full moon, cleansing himself of all earthly impurities, all mortal concerns. He clothes himself with the robes of a mystic, of the Other. He becomes more than man, something different, detached from all that is human.

In another place she performs her own, similar, ritual. She gathers to herself the cares of the world, the concerns of mortality. She embraces them, absorbs them, understands all that they are and will become. She robes herself as the High Priestess, and yet a priestess who reaches down to mediate, to touch the very Earth.

The room the meet in is already prepared, the way has been readied for them. The braziers burn full of heavy incense and strange perfumes. The candles light their way across the circle: the pattern of magic already glowing bring under their feet.

As they approach each other the seals, the marks of their magic intersect, warping, dissolving, reforming until they will meld into something new.

He holds his staff out as he breaches the circle’s boundary, a guide in the growing mist. She steps lithely over the barrier striking her staff against the ground only when she has crossed. His arms extend, angular, geometric motions invoking the industry of man. She steps softly, on dancer’s feet, the span of her arms forming perfect arcs of movement. Now he lowers his staff to touch the ground, a drum resounding against the earth. She smiles, lowering her staff so that it hangs parallel to the resounding earth. She swings her staff wide, a wind sliding across the lands and the he steps back, turning, whirling as if at last giving himself over to the dance.

The shadows gather at the boundary of their circle, the flames burn bright. But they dance on, gathering, turning, melding the power of flesh and bone with dream and fantasy.

The gathering of their powers takes an entire night, a night of whirling, exhausting dance. And upon the morrow they will simply lie still, exhausted beneath corpse white sheets. It will take at least a day for each to recover and then another to grasp their own reality again. But once that is done, once they at last understand their place in the firmament again they will come together, simply, innocently, as mortals do. And here, beneath common bedsheets they will clumsily remember what it is to be human.