Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Kishikata no Eos ❯ Digression - Palace ( One-Shot )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: dawningfire 
Wherein Breandon leaves a surprise for Dawn, and gets in a fight (read this before Chapter 8 - Love)
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 10.09.2004 | Updated On: 04.06.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 162 | Status: Completed
Wherein Breandon leaves a surprise for Dawn, and gets in a fight (read this before Chapter 8 - Love)
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Sci-fi / Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 10.09.2004 | Updated On: 04.06.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 162 | Status: Completed
Kishikata no Eos
Digression -- Palace
Breandon ran a length of fabric through his hands, noticing the pure, cool feel against his skin. The colouring was amazing, a water-coloured medium blue that looked like sun on waves. He closed his eyes, rubbing a swatch between his fingers, and pictured the dress he could make from this fabric ... that commission from Lady Neptune's daughter, perhaps. It would suit her light colouring perfectly.
His smile acquired a wry cast as the pictured model took on red hair and a more developed body. Opening his eyes, he dismissed the image. Time and enough to seek Dawn out later -- for now, his reputation was on the line. He looked at Inigo. "How much are you going to name this worth?"
The other man, a throwback to the old Latino type, looked at the fabric. "It's good quality, you know. I couldn't possibly ask less than 450 imperiums."
Breandon clapped his hand to his chest. "You'll beggar me! Two hundred."
"Now it is you who will beggar me! Have a heart, my friend! 375, and no lower will I go."
"Surely someone else on the Row has this fabric, and will not ask an arm and a leg for it. I should go see." Breandon grinned slyly at Inigo.
Inigo shook his dark head. "You'll not find its like elsewhere, and in this I tell you true."
The bargaining session went on for some minutes further, attended by much dramaticism on the part of both men. Inigo clutched at his hair, and once Breandon made as to walk out, but at last they settled on a price that suited both and parted with a handclasp.
Breandon meandered his way home through the Row, nodding benevolently at his many acquaintances. The precious fabric was clutched tightly in his arms, and his head whirled with new designs. Unlocking the shop, he rested his package on a table and checked the mail.
A'ishah D'Telourme swept into the shop, trailing bodyguards and servants like a train. Breandon attempted to keep his face straight. A'ishah was a good patron, despite the airs, and easy to please.
Usually.
She looked down her elegantly snubbed nose at him, dismissing the servants. "What's this I hear about a new paramour, Bren?"
"I might have known you would be the first to hear about that," he admitted. He flipped through a few sketchbooks, looking for a particular design. "Here, will this suit your tastes this week?"
"That's LOVELY, Bren. You know I always love your designs. But tell me about this girl! They say she's awfully flirtatious, and cocky." A'ishah turned her dark eyes on Breandon, who smiled peacefully.
"Your sources would be right."
She turned swatches of fabric over in her long fingers. "Are you sure you want to get involved with someone like that? Summer says -- "
"Summer can say anything she likes," Breandon interrupted.
A'ishah was not to be stopped. "She said that you were going to propose to this girl, this Dawn!"
"I might, at that." Breandon looked up at A'ishah through his lashes. "What of it?"
"Bren, she's not your type."
Anger began to snap in peridot-green eyes. "Because you bedded me once, you may pass judgement on what other women I choose to pass my time with? I don't think so, A'ishah. I appreciate your custom, but not your meddling."
She laughed, a sound like bells. "Be easy, Bren." A tapping fingernail, lacquered in shades reminiscent of mother-of-pearl, punctuated her statements. "It wouldn't matter if you were just bedding her, Bren. But Winter backed her sister up on this: you're serious, and I'm worried."
Breandon looked at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Only you, A'ishah, could make that sound so ... "
"Solicitous?"
"Yes."
She covered his hand with her own, looking mournful. "If it's just the bedding you want ... "
He pulled away. "No."
"But, Bren!"
"No. I've made my wishes clear enough, I think, my lady."
She knew what the sudden formality meant. "As you will, Breandon. Just ... don't neglect the rest of us?"
He softened. "My friendships aren't to be affected. I'll have that dress for you before the start of the holiday season."
She nodded. The bell chimed on her way out.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An almighty thudding on the door woke Breandon up. He fought his way free of navy blue sheets and a delicious dream of Dawn and stumbled to the door. Kieran leered back at him.
Intelligently, Breandon said, "Wuh?"
"GOOD MORNING!"
Breandon slumped against the door frame. "Is there a reason you're being so damned cheerful?"
"The sun is shining, the guards are being nice, and you wanted a friend to go with you to drop off that dress!" Kieran's smile was absolutely dazzling.
Heaving a sigh, Breandon turned to let his friend in and get dressed.
Breandon cradled the package in his arms like a child, jealously guarding it from the view of passers-by. Kieran loomed over him in a big flapping white labcoat, striding along with a big smile. Breandon's romance with Dawn amused him tremendously. The oddly-assorted pair traversed the busy streets of Neo Crystal Tokyo slowly, constantly greeting and chatting with various people, but each one, upon noticing Breandon's package, smiled widely and departed.
Thus their passage was, in fact, faster than such travel usually is on a busy Saturday noon in the capital city of a stellar empire.
Breandon hesitated at the foot of the steps leading upward to the Palace. The nerves, which he'd fought for nearly a week, since Dawn had departed on the ship trials, came back in full force. What if she found someone better? What if she died, or worse, came back but no longer loved him ... assuming she really loved him in the first place?
Kieran put a big hand on his back and shoved, and Breandon stumbled up the steps. He paused at the top, gulped a deep breath, and smoothed his hair. Oddly, the familiar gesture and silky feel convinced him that he was being silly, and with a measure of his old aplomb he stepped through the great doors.
The first part of the Palace, through the great doors, was the public area, open to citizens and visitors alike nearly all the time. Breandon knew the spaces there as well as he knew his shop and apartment; parties, receptions, and balls were all held in the public part of the Palace. He quickly passed through that space, and came to the first serious obstacle in his plan -- a guarded door.
Fortunately, the guard was a familiar face from Greynn's, and Breandon hailed him by name. "Heyla, Quinn!"
Quinn returned the greeting, slapping palms with the designer. "What brings you to our merry abode this time, Bren?" He looked Breandon up and down, clearly self-conscious about his job coupled with Breandon's reputation.
Breandon showed him the package. "A delivery, this time, nothing to worry about. I don't suppose you could direct me to the Guardian's rooms?"
"She's not here," he answered automatically. "They're supposed to be back in a few days... and I really can't just let you walk past unescorted."
Breandon chewed on his lip, considering. "I know she's not there," he began, "but this is supposed to be a surprise ... "
Quinn looked uncomfortable.
"Can't you call someone to escort me?" Breandon finished.
Serious grey blue eyes darted from Breandon to the package, to the other guards around him, and then back to Breandon. "I guess I could take you myself, just this once... but if anyone says anything, I'm turning back around."
"Great!" Breandon bestowed a huge grin on Quinn, who looked even more uncomfortable.
"Hey, man, it's nothing big, you know ... just a favour for a friend ... "
Breandon shrugged and gestured. "Lead on, my man."
Quinn stood around awkwardly as Breandon fussed with the placement of the dress and twitched the folds over and over. First the train didn't hang right, then the sleeves were bunched up ... then the trim-belt was twisted. At last he was satisfied and stood back to admire his creation. It was beautiful, and he got stars in his eyes just thinking about how she would look in it.
Quinn yanked on his arm. "Come on, man, I gotta get back to my post like pronto."
Rolling his eyes, Breandon hurried after Quinn -- but the damage was already done. Four doors down the hall, a burly, dark guard lounged indolently against the wall. He cracked his knuckles as Quinn and Breandon walked past, but waited until they were completely past before he called to their backs, "Been demoted to escorting the playboy away from his conquests, Quinn?"
Quinn's back stiffened, but he kept walking. Breandon's green eyes flared, and a muscle in his jaw clenched.
A large hand clamped on Breandon's shoulder. "I'm talking to you, Casanova. Who've you been screwing today? I hear interesting rumours about you and the red-headed Guardian girl."
Breandon froze. So did Quinn. Quinn turned around very slowly, afraid of what he might see in his short friend's eyes.
They were closed.
When he told the story later in Greynn's, Quinn swore he'd never seen anyone's face go so flat so fast. Breandon dropped to the floor to escape the weight on his shoulder, then spun around on his heels and kicked up and out.
If his opponent had been anyone but one of Serenity's Guards, he probably would have connected with the spot he aimed at. As it was, Quinn winced in anticipation, and winced again at the /thud/ of connection.
The burly guard roared, although Quinn couldn't tell if it was pain or laughter or some absurd combination of both, and reached down to snag Breandon's collar. But Breandon wasn't there; in some way that Quinn hadn't seen, he'd turned the kick into a backroll, and come up on his feet some little distance away.
"I'll thank you not to insult my lady," he spat coldly at the burly guard.
The guard sneered. "Are you claiming fidelity, now, after all this time? To that snippy little piece?" He rushed Breandon, who sidestepped at the last moment, barely missing the massive fist. He locked slender hands about the guard's arm, using it as leverage to swing around and slam his entire weight into the guard's back, who stumbled forward and smacked his head into the wall.
It made a satisfying 'thunk'. Quinn eyed the loose-limbed form. "Are you done yet? This was supposed to be quick and quiet."
Breandon wiped his hands off. "He insulted my lady, and I'm supposed to allow that?"
"You could have just kept walking."
"I could have, but what was the point? Better to cut it off at the source." Breandon toed the body. "I didn't push that hard."
"He'll wake up soon, and I, for one, don't want to be here when he does. Bad enough I'll have to see him off-duty. Come ON." Quinn adopted the swift lope of the Guard on the move, and vanished down the hall.
Breandon eyed the sprawled shape of the unconscious guard again. "Wonder what prompted that?" he murmured, before following his Guard friend down the hall.
Digression -- Palace
Breandon ran a length of fabric through his hands, noticing the pure, cool feel against his skin. The colouring was amazing, a water-coloured medium blue that looked like sun on waves. He closed his eyes, rubbing a swatch between his fingers, and pictured the dress he could make from this fabric ... that commission from Lady Neptune's daughter, perhaps. It would suit her light colouring perfectly.
His smile acquired a wry cast as the pictured model took on red hair and a more developed body. Opening his eyes, he dismissed the image. Time and enough to seek Dawn out later -- for now, his reputation was on the line. He looked at Inigo. "How much are you going to name this worth?"
The other man, a throwback to the old Latino type, looked at the fabric. "It's good quality, you know. I couldn't possibly ask less than 450 imperiums."
Breandon clapped his hand to his chest. "You'll beggar me! Two hundred."
"Now it is you who will beggar me! Have a heart, my friend! 375, and no lower will I go."
"Surely someone else on the Row has this fabric, and will not ask an arm and a leg for it. I should go see." Breandon grinned slyly at Inigo.
Inigo shook his dark head. "You'll not find its like elsewhere, and in this I tell you true."
The bargaining session went on for some minutes further, attended by much dramaticism on the part of both men. Inigo clutched at his hair, and once Breandon made as to walk out, but at last they settled on a price that suited both and parted with a handclasp.
Breandon meandered his way home through the Row, nodding benevolently at his many acquaintances. The precious fabric was clutched tightly in his arms, and his head whirled with new designs. Unlocking the shop, he rested his package on a table and checked the mail.
A'ishah D'Telourme swept into the shop, trailing bodyguards and servants like a train. Breandon attempted to keep his face straight. A'ishah was a good patron, despite the airs, and easy to please.
Usually.
She looked down her elegantly snubbed nose at him, dismissing the servants. "What's this I hear about a new paramour, Bren?"
"I might have known you would be the first to hear about that," he admitted. He flipped through a few sketchbooks, looking for a particular design. "Here, will this suit your tastes this week?"
"That's LOVELY, Bren. You know I always love your designs. But tell me about this girl! They say she's awfully flirtatious, and cocky." A'ishah turned her dark eyes on Breandon, who smiled peacefully.
"Your sources would be right."
She turned swatches of fabric over in her long fingers. "Are you sure you want to get involved with someone like that? Summer says -- "
"Summer can say anything she likes," Breandon interrupted.
A'ishah was not to be stopped. "She said that you were going to propose to this girl, this Dawn!"
"I might, at that." Breandon looked up at A'ishah through his lashes. "What of it?"
"Bren, she's not your type."
Anger began to snap in peridot-green eyes. "Because you bedded me once, you may pass judgement on what other women I choose to pass my time with? I don't think so, A'ishah. I appreciate your custom, but not your meddling."
She laughed, a sound like bells. "Be easy, Bren." A tapping fingernail, lacquered in shades reminiscent of mother-of-pearl, punctuated her statements. "It wouldn't matter if you were just bedding her, Bren. But Winter backed her sister up on this: you're serious, and I'm worried."
Breandon looked at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Only you, A'ishah, could make that sound so ... "
"Solicitous?"
"Yes."
She covered his hand with her own, looking mournful. "If it's just the bedding you want ... "
He pulled away. "No."
"But, Bren!"
"No. I've made my wishes clear enough, I think, my lady."
She knew what the sudden formality meant. "As you will, Breandon. Just ... don't neglect the rest of us?"
He softened. "My friendships aren't to be affected. I'll have that dress for you before the start of the holiday season."
She nodded. The bell chimed on her way out.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An almighty thudding on the door woke Breandon up. He fought his way free of navy blue sheets and a delicious dream of Dawn and stumbled to the door. Kieran leered back at him.
Intelligently, Breandon said, "Wuh?"
"GOOD MORNING!"
Breandon slumped against the door frame. "Is there a reason you're being so damned cheerful?"
"The sun is shining, the guards are being nice, and you wanted a friend to go with you to drop off that dress!" Kieran's smile was absolutely dazzling.
Heaving a sigh, Breandon turned to let his friend in and get dressed.
Breandon cradled the package in his arms like a child, jealously guarding it from the view of passers-by. Kieran loomed over him in a big flapping white labcoat, striding along with a big smile. Breandon's romance with Dawn amused him tremendously. The oddly-assorted pair traversed the busy streets of Neo Crystal Tokyo slowly, constantly greeting and chatting with various people, but each one, upon noticing Breandon's package, smiled widely and departed.
Thus their passage was, in fact, faster than such travel usually is on a busy Saturday noon in the capital city of a stellar empire.
Breandon hesitated at the foot of the steps leading upward to the Palace. The nerves, which he'd fought for nearly a week, since Dawn had departed on the ship trials, came back in full force. What if she found someone better? What if she died, or worse, came back but no longer loved him ... assuming she really loved him in the first place?
Kieran put a big hand on his back and shoved, and Breandon stumbled up the steps. He paused at the top, gulped a deep breath, and smoothed his hair. Oddly, the familiar gesture and silky feel convinced him that he was being silly, and with a measure of his old aplomb he stepped through the great doors.
The first part of the Palace, through the great doors, was the public area, open to citizens and visitors alike nearly all the time. Breandon knew the spaces there as well as he knew his shop and apartment; parties, receptions, and balls were all held in the public part of the Palace. He quickly passed through that space, and came to the first serious obstacle in his plan -- a guarded door.
Fortunately, the guard was a familiar face from Greynn's, and Breandon hailed him by name. "Heyla, Quinn!"
Quinn returned the greeting, slapping palms with the designer. "What brings you to our merry abode this time, Bren?" He looked Breandon up and down, clearly self-conscious about his job coupled with Breandon's reputation.
Breandon showed him the package. "A delivery, this time, nothing to worry about. I don't suppose you could direct me to the Guardian's rooms?"
"She's not here," he answered automatically. "They're supposed to be back in a few days... and I really can't just let you walk past unescorted."
Breandon chewed on his lip, considering. "I know she's not there," he began, "but this is supposed to be a surprise ... "
Quinn looked uncomfortable.
"Can't you call someone to escort me?" Breandon finished.
Serious grey blue eyes darted from Breandon to the package, to the other guards around him, and then back to Breandon. "I guess I could take you myself, just this once... but if anyone says anything, I'm turning back around."
"Great!" Breandon bestowed a huge grin on Quinn, who looked even more uncomfortable.
"Hey, man, it's nothing big, you know ... just a favour for a friend ... "
Breandon shrugged and gestured. "Lead on, my man."
Quinn stood around awkwardly as Breandon fussed with the placement of the dress and twitched the folds over and over. First the train didn't hang right, then the sleeves were bunched up ... then the trim-belt was twisted. At last he was satisfied and stood back to admire his creation. It was beautiful, and he got stars in his eyes just thinking about how she would look in it.
Quinn yanked on his arm. "Come on, man, I gotta get back to my post like pronto."
Rolling his eyes, Breandon hurried after Quinn -- but the damage was already done. Four doors down the hall, a burly, dark guard lounged indolently against the wall. He cracked his knuckles as Quinn and Breandon walked past, but waited until they were completely past before he called to their backs, "Been demoted to escorting the playboy away from his conquests, Quinn?"
Quinn's back stiffened, but he kept walking. Breandon's green eyes flared, and a muscle in his jaw clenched.
A large hand clamped on Breandon's shoulder. "I'm talking to you, Casanova. Who've you been screwing today? I hear interesting rumours about you and the red-headed Guardian girl."
Breandon froze. So did Quinn. Quinn turned around very slowly, afraid of what he might see in his short friend's eyes.
They were closed.
When he told the story later in Greynn's, Quinn swore he'd never seen anyone's face go so flat so fast. Breandon dropped to the floor to escape the weight on his shoulder, then spun around on his heels and kicked up and out.
If his opponent had been anyone but one of Serenity's Guards, he probably would have connected with the spot he aimed at. As it was, Quinn winced in anticipation, and winced again at the /thud/ of connection.
The burly guard roared, although Quinn couldn't tell if it was pain or laughter or some absurd combination of both, and reached down to snag Breandon's collar. But Breandon wasn't there; in some way that Quinn hadn't seen, he'd turned the kick into a backroll, and come up on his feet some little distance away.
"I'll thank you not to insult my lady," he spat coldly at the burly guard.
The guard sneered. "Are you claiming fidelity, now, after all this time? To that snippy little piece?" He rushed Breandon, who sidestepped at the last moment, barely missing the massive fist. He locked slender hands about the guard's arm, using it as leverage to swing around and slam his entire weight into the guard's back, who stumbled forward and smacked his head into the wall.
It made a satisfying 'thunk'. Quinn eyed the loose-limbed form. "Are you done yet? This was supposed to be quick and quiet."
Breandon wiped his hands off. "He insulted my lady, and I'm supposed to allow that?"
"You could have just kept walking."
"I could have, but what was the point? Better to cut it off at the source." Breandon toed the body. "I didn't push that hard."
"He'll wake up soon, and I, for one, don't want to be here when he does. Bad enough I'll have to see him off-duty. Come ON." Quinn adopted the swift lope of the Guard on the move, and vanished down the hall.
Breandon eyed the sprawled shape of the unconscious guard again. "Wonder what prompted that?" he murmured, before following his Guard friend down the hall.