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tamingthemuseTitle: Sound of Fear
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Overwhelmed
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: "Congratulations, you’re officially a tourist.”
Cassandra finds a laugh startled out of her. “You aren’t going to wear that, are you?”
Steel looks affronted. “What’s wrong with it? I thought it was nice.”
He sounds so serious that she doubles over, snickering, and finally has to cover her face with one hand and run the other through her braids to collect herself.
“Is it that bad?”
She coughs to cover one more laugh, then waves her hand. “No, it’s just -- they’ll think you’re such a prude, I swear. You look enough of a rustic with that hair of yours, you can’t cover that much skin.”
“What, you’d wear less than this to the temple? And here I thought ‘the city is debauched and immodest’ was just something that everyone’s parents said.”
For that, she has to drag him by the hand to the nearest shop marked with the sign of the weavers’ guild, and tell them to fit him to something respectable. It’s a shameful waste of crucial time, but she tells herself that it’s worthwhile for them not to stand out. What really makes it worth while, of course, is the faces Steel pulls as the tailor drapes purple-edged fabric across his chest.
“How do I look?” Steel asks, the tailor having excused himself to fetch a box of pins.
Cassandra grins unashamedly. “Like you’re eight years old and dressed in your father’s clothes. Stop that,” she bats Steel’s hand away from where he’s tugging at the fabric.
“This doesn’t cover anything! I can’t go out in public like this,” he objects, reddening from ears to neck.
“It covers all the important parts. And you can’t go on fussing with it like that, the drape is important. Keep on pulling it up your shoulder and they’ll think you’re a man of ill repute.”
“A man of -- oh.” Steel stands very still and lets Cassandra arrange the folds stretching across his body. “The, the fabric’s nice, at least. Good workmanship, very fine.”
“You’re floundering, sweetheart,” she tells him, and pays the tailor.
In the streets, Cassandra fusses with Steel’s hair, but finally gives up in exasperation and brushes his curls over his shoulder. “It won’t do anything,” she complains. “It’s all slippery and thin. What kind of hair do you call that?”
“I can put it up,” Steel offers, amused. At her nod, he takes a string from his satchel, twists up his hair and knots it in place.
Cassandra gives the ponytail an experimental poke, and delivers her verdict. “Still weird.”
A noncommittal noise from Steel. “Do we have time to stop to eat? I want to try that thing with the dates.”
“No, we really need to get on with it,” Cassandra answers, trying to sound more reluctant than she is. Not that she doesn’t like pickled dates, but she’s suddenly nervous and wants to get the drop over with.
Steel shrugs, and swings down onto a rope ladder. “Shall we, then?”
From Cassandra’s point of view, it’s a quick trip to the Temple, downhill all the way. Steel, who’s more used to travelling horizontally, is breathing heavily and gives a sigh of relief when his feet are on solid ground again.
“Is this it?”
“Sure, why?” Cassandra tugs at the heavy wooden door, holds it open for him.
“It’s not as impressive as all that.”
She laughs at him. “That’s because you can’t see it! Come in!”
Still looking unimpressed, Steel goes through the door, past the tall brick walls which demarcate the ritual of the Temple from the bustle of the city.
Cassandra follows, then nearly runs into Steel when he freezes in place two steps into the courtyard. The endless glass obelisk stretches up and up, through the layers of the city, to where the airships dock and mist turns to cloud. Through the bluish crystal of it, she can glimpse the familiar spiral staircase, the worshippers in various postures of prayer and the red-robed acolytes passing amongst them. “This is it,” she says, warmth in her tone as reflected sunlight warms her face and dazzles her eyes. “The great sun-temple of Heliopolis, beyond the wildest dreams, so on and so forth. Congratulations, you’re officially a tourist.”
Steel’s hand like a vice on her arm, and she turns to see him pale as sky, almost shaking. “What,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “What. It’s--”
“I don’t -- it’s impressive?” Cassandra can’t understand his reaction. “It’s not like we got a million glassblowers to make it? But you knew that the priests could do things that aren’t, well, in the natural order. And the seal of the Brother-Queen is on it, you can see--” She cuts off as Steel glares at her and makes an impatient gesture downward. She follows his hand with her eyes and makes a small noise of comprehension.
Beneath their feet lies a great glass dome, hundreds or thousands of feet from anything which could be considered solid. The whole Temple is founded on it, glass on glass, and far below a stream of cold mountain water rushes over black rocks smoothed by countless ages.
“This bothers you?” Cassandra looks at Steel, honestly curious. He makes a small choking noise that could be terror or exasperation -- she can’t tell. “All right, yes, I can see it does. But why? You were fine in the higher tiers!”
“It’s not--” Steel closes his eyes and shakes his head rapidly, as if to clear his thoughts or take an image from his mind. “There was something solid there, I could see how it was built. This isn’t, it doesn’t look like it’s there at all, and I don’t understand how it could be here, it’s like a great bubble frozen in time, and before you say ‘magic,’ that really doesn’t help at all.”
“Is this going to be a problem? I could do the drop on my own.”
Steel peeks from under his eyelashes and gives a tiny eye-roll at that. “You really think you can get the tune right? Because I’ve heard you sing, and believe me, it’s not impressive.”
Cassandra sighs. “No, I really can’t. But it’s glass all the way up, and I don’t think this’ll get better with height.”
“I can do it. Do you mind if--” Before Steel can finish the thought, Cassandra has taken the hand he’s begun to offer, and gives it a squeeze hard enough to take his mind off.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Overwhelmed
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: "Congratulations, you’re officially a tourist.”
Cassandra finds a laugh startled out of her. “You aren’t going to wear that, are you?”
Steel looks affronted. “What’s wrong with it? I thought it was nice.”
He sounds so serious that she doubles over, snickering, and finally has to cover her face with one hand and run the other through her braids to collect herself.
“Is it that bad?”
She coughs to cover one more laugh, then waves her hand. “No, it’s just -- they’ll think you’re such a prude, I swear. You look enough of a rustic with that hair of yours, you can’t cover that much skin.”
“What, you’d wear less than this to the temple? And here I thought ‘the city is debauched and immodest’ was just something that everyone’s parents said.”
For that, she has to drag him by the hand to the nearest shop marked with the sign of the weavers’ guild, and tell them to fit him to something respectable. It’s a shameful waste of crucial time, but she tells herself that it’s worthwhile for them not to stand out. What really makes it worth while, of course, is the faces Steel pulls as the tailor drapes purple-edged fabric across his chest.
“How do I look?” Steel asks, the tailor having excused himself to fetch a box of pins.
Cassandra grins unashamedly. “Like you’re eight years old and dressed in your father’s clothes. Stop that,” she bats Steel’s hand away from where he’s tugging at the fabric.
“This doesn’t cover anything! I can’t go out in public like this,” he objects, reddening from ears to neck.
“It covers all the important parts. And you can’t go on fussing with it like that, the drape is important. Keep on pulling it up your shoulder and they’ll think you’re a man of ill repute.”
“A man of -- oh.” Steel stands very still and lets Cassandra arrange the folds stretching across his body. “The, the fabric’s nice, at least. Good workmanship, very fine.”
“You’re floundering, sweetheart,” she tells him, and pays the tailor.
In the streets, Cassandra fusses with Steel’s hair, but finally gives up in exasperation and brushes his curls over his shoulder. “It won’t do anything,” she complains. “It’s all slippery and thin. What kind of hair do you call that?”
“I can put it up,” Steel offers, amused. At her nod, he takes a string from his satchel, twists up his hair and knots it in place.
Cassandra gives the ponytail an experimental poke, and delivers her verdict. “Still weird.”
A noncommittal noise from Steel. “Do we have time to stop to eat? I want to try that thing with the dates.”
“No, we really need to get on with it,” Cassandra answers, trying to sound more reluctant than she is. Not that she doesn’t like pickled dates, but she’s suddenly nervous and wants to get the drop over with.
Steel shrugs, and swings down onto a rope ladder. “Shall we, then?”
From Cassandra’s point of view, it’s a quick trip to the Temple, downhill all the way. Steel, who’s more used to travelling horizontally, is breathing heavily and gives a sigh of relief when his feet are on solid ground again.
“Is this it?”
“Sure, why?” Cassandra tugs at the heavy wooden door, holds it open for him.
“It’s not as impressive as all that.”
She laughs at him. “That’s because you can’t see it! Come in!”
Still looking unimpressed, Steel goes through the door, past the tall brick walls which demarcate the ritual of the Temple from the bustle of the city.
Cassandra follows, then nearly runs into Steel when he freezes in place two steps into the courtyard. The endless glass obelisk stretches up and up, through the layers of the city, to where the airships dock and mist turns to cloud. Through the bluish crystal of it, she can glimpse the familiar spiral staircase, the worshippers in various postures of prayer and the red-robed acolytes passing amongst them. “This is it,” she says, warmth in her tone as reflected sunlight warms her face and dazzles her eyes. “The great sun-temple of Heliopolis, beyond the wildest dreams, so on and so forth. Congratulations, you’re officially a tourist.”
Steel’s hand like a vice on her arm, and she turns to see him pale as sky, almost shaking. “What,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “What. It’s--”
“I don’t -- it’s impressive?” Cassandra can’t understand his reaction. “It’s not like we got a million glassblowers to make it? But you knew that the priests could do things that aren’t, well, in the natural order. And the seal of the Brother-Queen is on it, you can see--” She cuts off as Steel glares at her and makes an impatient gesture downward. She follows his hand with her eyes and makes a small noise of comprehension.
Beneath their feet lies a great glass dome, hundreds or thousands of feet from anything which could be considered solid. The whole Temple is founded on it, glass on glass, and far below a stream of cold mountain water rushes over black rocks smoothed by countless ages.
“This bothers you?” Cassandra looks at Steel, honestly curious. He makes a small choking noise that could be terror or exasperation -- she can’t tell. “All right, yes, I can see it does. But why? You were fine in the higher tiers!”
“It’s not--” Steel closes his eyes and shakes his head rapidly, as if to clear his thoughts or take an image from his mind. “There was something solid there, I could see how it was built. This isn’t, it doesn’t look like it’s there at all, and I don’t understand how it could be here, it’s like a great bubble frozen in time, and before you say ‘magic,’ that really doesn’t help at all.”
“Is this going to be a problem? I could do the drop on my own.”
Steel peeks from under his eyelashes and gives a tiny eye-roll at that. “You really think you can get the tune right? Because I’ve heard you sing, and believe me, it’s not impressive.”
Cassandra sighs. “No, I really can’t. But it’s glass all the way up, and I don’t think this’ll get better with height.”
“I can do it. Do you mind if--” Before Steel can finish the thought, Cassandra has taken the hand he’s begun to offer, and gives it a squeeze hard enough to take his mind off.
