[FE] Champagne and Guns
Nov. 7th, 2008 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runespoorTitle: Champagne and Guns
Character/Pairing: Sothe, Micaiah (Sothe/Micaiah)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 1920s AU.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days. Amazingly for my AUs, it displays no spoiler of note. But not also not overwhelming interest unless you know the canon, I expect, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amaiko. Because there's one thing FE fandom is lacking, and it's BATSHIT CRAZY AUs.
Through the smoke and the dark, Sothe is almost surprised that he finds her so easily. But he isn't, not really.
He elbows his way amongst the crowd, always impossibly thicker around her and every time it's a miracle he could even see her in the first place. But then again it isn't. Not really.
The thrum and thumping is loud and musky and he wants to fucking flip out and kill somebody, but that wouldn't even have much of a consequence, so he restrains himself to shoving the next moron more harshly out of the way. The next moron is likely to be drunk off his ass and liable to fall asleep before even hitting the ground.
“Micaiah!” he calls when he snatches another glimpse of silver hair.
Useless of course, and Sothe grits his teeth and clutches his felt hat when it threatens to tip over and applies judicious amounts of pointy shoes and pointier bones into the various sea of bodies pressing from all around.
The saxophone is reverberating in his skull like glass shards behind his eyes, and the sad thing is that Sothe knows better than to blame the music for his headache.
When he reaches her she's dancing with a kid that's so obviously insignificant he doesn't even have to try to stop himself from accidentally kicking him. He still scowls, because up to ten minutes ago he was the one dealing with rotten cars and rainy streets and not dancing with her, though not in the kid's direction, because that'd be pathetic.
“...Micaiah.”
To her credit as soon as he speaks she parts from the kid Sothe is very careful not to think of as “boytoy” even in the recesses of his mind, because that would make him unnecessarily angry.
That silk thing she's wearing is making shimmering wonders of what's under her cleavage and Sothe has to admit that maybe the unsanitary half-lights they favor here is good for something else than making it not completely impossible to sneak out of the back when the cops come crashing down. It's a perfunctory admission he performs so he can move on to other more urgent matters. Some would comment that it's infuriating that there can ever be more urgent matters than what Micaiah's wearing but Sothe would really rather not think about Naesala any more than he absolutely has to.
“Sothe.”
“We need t'run,” he says impatiently.
Micaiah nods. She looks up into the kid's eyes and presses his hand before melting into the crowd. Sothe doesn't begrudge either her or the kid, Micaiah is charming and that's a fact of life, but he slinks his arm around her waist when she goes past him.
When they're in the street Sothe has to stop again and wait for her to finish pulling her coat on. The velvet's slate shade reflects oddly the wet sidewalk, divided from it by her legs encased in white. There are two guys leaning against the wall, both smoking filthy cigarette stubs and either waiting for their girlfriends or for trouble, casually ogling Micaiah. Sothe gives them a brief glare.
“So, what's the trouble?” She says when they start walking.
She doesn't ask where the car is, maybe because Sothe has been complaining about it enough recently that he's finally broken through to her and she's got that the engine is dying a slow, excruciating screeching-metal death. Her steps echo soundly in the dark, tap-tap-tap-tap, she walks fast. Here's to hoping they won't need to actually run, with her high heels that'd be awkward.
He falls into step next to her. The pounding rain he ran through on the way to the club has subsided to a thin drizzle; it seeps well enough in his neck and between his shoulder blades.
“Cops got Laura,” he replies shortly.
He doesn't stop to judge Micaiah's reaction, but from the corner of his eye he sees her face whip toward him, long white hair flying, beads a-clinking and glittering – the one thing at odds with her perfect flapper appearance, both the color and the length calling attention to her in any crowd.
“...Do we know why? Who told you?”
“I don't have the details. Nolan called.”
He doesn't mention the noises he could hear in the background, the tension in Nolan's whisper, the cops breathing down their collective neck. She knows that as well as he does.
“Hm.”
He doesn't interrupt her while she plans. Instead he keeps an ear strained for all strange noises, and his hand, in his pocket, tight on his fire. He never forgets to keep it on him always, not anymore. Micaiah can't be listening both to the plans she's making and to the outside disturbance. The latter's his job.
Tap-tap-tap-tap, she walks, seemingly unconscious of the rain and the cold. The beaded pendants of her hat are dripping with water and Sothe only sees her face as a blur.
He doesn't know where she's taking them and if the duration of her silence is any indication, he's not going to like the idea she's bound to come up with – no idea that takes so long to be formulated is ever going to be remotely workable. Or safe.
But, well, he follows.
Character/Pairing: Sothe, Micaiah (Sothe/Micaiah)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 1920s AU.
Notes: Written for
31_days. Amazingly for my AUs, it displays no spoiler of note. But not also not overwhelming interest unless you know the canon, I expect, amaiko. Because there's one thing FE fandom is lacking, and it's BATSHIT CRAZY AUs. Through the smoke and the dark, Sothe is almost surprised that he finds her so easily. But he isn't, not really.
He elbows his way amongst the crowd, always impossibly thicker around her and every time it's a miracle he could even see her in the first place. But then again it isn't. Not really.
The thrum and thumping is loud and musky and he wants to fucking flip out and kill somebody, but that wouldn't even have much of a consequence, so he restrains himself to shoving the next moron more harshly out of the way. The next moron is likely to be drunk off his ass and liable to fall asleep before even hitting the ground.
“Micaiah!” he calls when he snatches another glimpse of silver hair.
Useless of course, and Sothe grits his teeth and clutches his felt hat when it threatens to tip over and applies judicious amounts of pointy shoes and pointier bones into the various sea of bodies pressing from all around.
The saxophone is reverberating in his skull like glass shards behind his eyes, and the sad thing is that Sothe knows better than to blame the music for his headache.
When he reaches her she's dancing with a kid that's so obviously insignificant he doesn't even have to try to stop himself from accidentally kicking him. He still scowls, because up to ten minutes ago he was the one dealing with rotten cars and rainy streets and not dancing with her, though not in the kid's direction, because that'd be pathetic.
“...Micaiah.”
To her credit as soon as he speaks she parts from the kid Sothe is very careful not to think of as “boytoy” even in the recesses of his mind, because that would make him unnecessarily angry.
That silk thing she's wearing is making shimmering wonders of what's under her cleavage and Sothe has to admit that maybe the unsanitary half-lights they favor here is good for something else than making it not completely impossible to sneak out of the back when the cops come crashing down. It's a perfunctory admission he performs so he can move on to other more urgent matters. Some would comment that it's infuriating that there can ever be more urgent matters than what Micaiah's wearing but Sothe would really rather not think about Naesala any more than he absolutely has to.
“Sothe.”
“We need t'run,” he says impatiently.
Micaiah nods. She looks up into the kid's eyes and presses his hand before melting into the crowd. Sothe doesn't begrudge either her or the kid, Micaiah is charming and that's a fact of life, but he slinks his arm around her waist when she goes past him.
When they're in the street Sothe has to stop again and wait for her to finish pulling her coat on. The velvet's slate shade reflects oddly the wet sidewalk, divided from it by her legs encased in white. There are two guys leaning against the wall, both smoking filthy cigarette stubs and either waiting for their girlfriends or for trouble, casually ogling Micaiah. Sothe gives them a brief glare.
“So, what's the trouble?” She says when they start walking.
She doesn't ask where the car is, maybe because Sothe has been complaining about it enough recently that he's finally broken through to her and she's got that the engine is dying a slow, excruciating screeching-metal death. Her steps echo soundly in the dark, tap-tap-tap-tap, she walks fast. Here's to hoping they won't need to actually run, with her high heels that'd be awkward.
He falls into step next to her. The pounding rain he ran through on the way to the club has subsided to a thin drizzle; it seeps well enough in his neck and between his shoulder blades.
“Cops got Laura,” he replies shortly.
He doesn't stop to judge Micaiah's reaction, but from the corner of his eye he sees her face whip toward him, long white hair flying, beads a-clinking and glittering – the one thing at odds with her perfect flapper appearance, both the color and the length calling attention to her in any crowd.
“...Do we know why? Who told you?”
“I don't have the details. Nolan called.”
He doesn't mention the noises he could hear in the background, the tension in Nolan's whisper, the cops breathing down their collective neck. She knows that as well as he does.
“Hm.”
He doesn't interrupt her while she plans. Instead he keeps an ear strained for all strange noises, and his hand, in his pocket, tight on his fire. He never forgets to keep it on him always, not anymore. Micaiah can't be listening both to the plans she's making and to the outside disturbance. The latter's his job.
Tap-tap-tap-tap, she walks, seemingly unconscious of the rain and the cold. The beaded pendants of her hat are dripping with water and Sothe only sees her face as a blur.
He doesn't know where she's taking them and if the duration of her silence is any indication, he's not going to like the idea she's bound to come up with – no idea that takes so long to be formulated is ever going to be remotely workable. Or safe.
But, well, he follows.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 11:19 pm (UTC)Tap-tap-tap-tap, she walks, seemingly unconscious of the rain and the cold. The beaded pendants of her hat are dripping with water and Sothe only sees her face as a blur I love that. Micaiah in flapper finery, it's... that's insane. But I can see it.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 11:59 pm (UTC)And it goes crazier. :DDDDD
no subject
Date: 2008-12-18 05:23 am (UTC)When he reaches her she's dancing with a kid that's so obviously insignificant he doesn't even have to try to stop himself from accidentally kicking him. He still scowls, because up to ten minutes ago he was the one dealing with rotten cars and rainy streets and not dancing with her, though not in the kid's direction, because that'd be pathetic.
Pelleas? :D
Otherwise yes, this is awesome and lovely and well written and yes FE needs more batshit aus! WE SHOULD RECTIFY THIS~~~
I've already got on ongoing modern batshit modern au wherein Micaiah really loves her football and a Neko!Soren au -- does that count? XD Hmm, in progress... I started a Model AU and I've already jotted down quite a bit of Dragon Prince!Soren Courts Ike In The Traditional Way, But Ike Is Largely Oblivious To This. Even Soren Runs Into A Reincarnated Ike 100 Years Later-- A Reincarnated!Ike Who Is Rather Smitten With Him and of course, Ike and Girl!Soren's incestous branded great great grandchildren wreck Tellius.
Also, that dating sim au should be reasonably cracky XD
no subject
Date: 2008-12-18 10:55 am (UTC):D
Oh okay I'll try to find another part for the DaeinPrincess!Soren thingie. I'm in awe in front of your crazy accomplishments. Model AU: the crack sounds strong with this one. XDDD