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ajremixTitle: Underneath it All: Disarmed
Series: Guilty Gear
Rating: PG
Word Count: 895
Character: Ky and Sol
Summary: Ky isn’t good at excepting help from someone like Sol.
He awoke feeling somewhat disoriented. All he remembered was the battle, the searing heat and pain of chain links and sharp metal. And then it was over. He heard, vaguely, some voice calling out ‘Winner: Ky Kiske!” and then nothing.
It was raining still and he groaned. It was a thorn in his side during the battle, too, and his opponent- Axl, he recalled –grinned, understanding this. Without the rain, he wouldn’t have just barely scraped by. Without the rain he could’ve used the power of his Fuuraiken (without fear of electrocuting everyone in the area). Without the rain he wouldn’t be- be-
He was dry.
That realization brought Ky up with a start and he looked down at himself. The clothes weren’t his. They were off-white, a little dirty and visibly threadbare. But the coarse linen was worn and he was thankful for the assistance (the thought of being embarrassed that someone had to dress him was defeated by the logic that he, otherwise, might have gotten sick in the middle of the tournament). He looked about to find his savior.
And found Sol.
Ky heard a low growl beginning at the back of his throat and squelched it before it got louder. But Sol must have heard anyway because he tilted his head slightly- still looking out the broken door and into the rain –and said, “ ‘Bout time you woke up.”
‘As graceless as ever.’ Ky thought sourly. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He said.
“You didn’t ask for anyone’s.” The tall man shifted in the doorframe, the crystal light from a nearby street lamp refracted off the rain seemed to soften his profile a bit. Seemed to take the bite from his sharp face. “Maybe I should’ve done like everyone else and left you in the streets.”
That irritated Ky. Everything about Sol irritated Ky. And that fact irritated him even more. He knew he should be grateful. Even with all the problems Sol had caused, he had helped, even when he knew his personal assistance was unwanted (it always was, no matter how many times he helped, it never seemed good enough for Ky).
“Where are-“
“Your clothes are over there.” They had said at the same time, but Sol’s smooth baritone overrode the boy. With a careless wave of his hand in some direction, Ky followed it to see his uniform hanging over a half-rotted stool, drying from the heat of the Fuenken. It was then Ky had noticed his long sword was close by Sol’s hand.
“They’re still drying.” He didn’t seem to notice the possessive threat in Ky’s gaze. “Take ‘em if you want.”
“Whose clothing is this?”
Sol shrugged. Ky felt agitated.
“The where did you get them?”
“Some charity thing.”
Blue eyes narrowed and flashed. “You /stole/ them from a /charity/ bin?”
Sol turned and sneered at Ky, their eyes locking for the first time that night. “/No/.” He hissed. “But I can go back and shove money down the guy’s throat if you really want me to.”
He returned the glare with equal ferocity. “What is this place?”
“Abandoned building. Anything else you demand knowledge of?”
“Yes.” He had that face Sol couldn’t stand. The one that meant he was being haughty and superior. The one he always wanted to beat in. “What are you doing here?”
“Competing.”
“What for?”
“I have my reasons.”
He turned his back on the blonde then, knowing he wouldn’t do anything stupid weaponless. And attempting to get to Sol’s sword on the opposite wall would prove just as suicidal. But Ky didn’t seemed to be finished being high and mighty.
“I have reasons, too.”
Sol snorted. “Good for you.”
With nothing else offered between them they sat in silence. Sol watched the rain outside, Ky resolutely watched anything else. It seemed as if measures of time passed with each sheet of rain, silence stretching and morphing till it was no longer silence. It was almost a comfortable hum of background noise. The televisions from neighboring houses, the occasional person running through the rain, laughing as they went. And entwined with it was a thrumming heat that caused small tendrils of steam to waft in through the door, around Sol as the droplets hit the ground that seemed to be scalding.
Ky tried not to dwell on it too much. The last thing he needed was to think being in that infuriating man’s presence was ‘comfortable’.
After a length of time, though, he was brought back to a sharper awareness when Sol moved, a standing silhouette in the gray-blue dusk. He went over to Ky’s clothes, patting the material and grunted. He grabbed them, roughly throwing them at the boy. “Here.”
When Ky had untangled his cloak from his head, Sol had already placed the Fuuraiken against the wall, reclaiming his deceptively bulky blade. He headed to the door, not looking back, not pausing, and walked right out with the same lack of hesitation. Ky sat there for a moment, as if contemplating the soft material in hand before he quickly slipped out of his borrowed clothes and into his own. He didn’t wait for the rain to stop but, with sword in one hand, clothes in the other, he stopped at a charity bin, relieving himself of the bundle, and walked out into the rain and steam.
Series: Guilty Gear
Rating: PG
Word Count: 895
Character: Ky and Sol
Summary: Ky isn’t good at excepting help from someone like Sol.
He awoke feeling somewhat disoriented. All he remembered was the battle, the searing heat and pain of chain links and sharp metal. And then it was over. He heard, vaguely, some voice calling out ‘Winner: Ky Kiske!” and then nothing.
It was raining still and he groaned. It was a thorn in his side during the battle, too, and his opponent- Axl, he recalled –grinned, understanding this. Without the rain, he wouldn’t have just barely scraped by. Without the rain he could’ve used the power of his Fuuraiken (without fear of electrocuting everyone in the area). Without the rain he wouldn’t be- be-
He was dry.
That realization brought Ky up with a start and he looked down at himself. The clothes weren’t his. They were off-white, a little dirty and visibly threadbare. But the coarse linen was worn and he was thankful for the assistance (the thought of being embarrassed that someone had to dress him was defeated by the logic that he, otherwise, might have gotten sick in the middle of the tournament). He looked about to find his savior.
And found Sol.
Ky heard a low growl beginning at the back of his throat and squelched it before it got louder. But Sol must have heard anyway because he tilted his head slightly- still looking out the broken door and into the rain –and said, “ ‘Bout time you woke up.”
‘As graceless as ever.’ Ky thought sourly. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He said.
“You didn’t ask for anyone’s.” The tall man shifted in the doorframe, the crystal light from a nearby street lamp refracted off the rain seemed to soften his profile a bit. Seemed to take the bite from his sharp face. “Maybe I should’ve done like everyone else and left you in the streets.”
That irritated Ky. Everything about Sol irritated Ky. And that fact irritated him even more. He knew he should be grateful. Even with all the problems Sol had caused, he had helped, even when he knew his personal assistance was unwanted (it always was, no matter how many times he helped, it never seemed good enough for Ky).
“Where are-“
“Your clothes are over there.” They had said at the same time, but Sol’s smooth baritone overrode the boy. With a careless wave of his hand in some direction, Ky followed it to see his uniform hanging over a half-rotted stool, drying from the heat of the Fuenken. It was then Ky had noticed his long sword was close by Sol’s hand.
“They’re still drying.” He didn’t seem to notice the possessive threat in Ky’s gaze. “Take ‘em if you want.”
“Whose clothing is this?”
Sol shrugged. Ky felt agitated.
“The where did you get them?”
“Some charity thing.”
Blue eyes narrowed and flashed. “You /stole/ them from a /charity/ bin?”
Sol turned and sneered at Ky, their eyes locking for the first time that night. “/No/.” He hissed. “But I can go back and shove money down the guy’s throat if you really want me to.”
He returned the glare with equal ferocity. “What is this place?”
“Abandoned building. Anything else you demand knowledge of?”
“Yes.” He had that face Sol couldn’t stand. The one that meant he was being haughty and superior. The one he always wanted to beat in. “What are you doing here?”
“Competing.”
“What for?”
“I have my reasons.”
He turned his back on the blonde then, knowing he wouldn’t do anything stupid weaponless. And attempting to get to Sol’s sword on the opposite wall would prove just as suicidal. But Ky didn’t seemed to be finished being high and mighty.
“I have reasons, too.”
Sol snorted. “Good for you.”
With nothing else offered between them they sat in silence. Sol watched the rain outside, Ky resolutely watched anything else. It seemed as if measures of time passed with each sheet of rain, silence stretching and morphing till it was no longer silence. It was almost a comfortable hum of background noise. The televisions from neighboring houses, the occasional person running through the rain, laughing as they went. And entwined with it was a thrumming heat that caused small tendrils of steam to waft in through the door, around Sol as the droplets hit the ground that seemed to be scalding.
Ky tried not to dwell on it too much. The last thing he needed was to think being in that infuriating man’s presence was ‘comfortable’.
After a length of time, though, he was brought back to a sharper awareness when Sol moved, a standing silhouette in the gray-blue dusk. He went over to Ky’s clothes, patting the material and grunted. He grabbed them, roughly throwing them at the boy. “Here.”
When Ky had untangled his cloak from his head, Sol had already placed the Fuuraiken against the wall, reclaiming his deceptively bulky blade. He headed to the door, not looking back, not pausing, and walked right out with the same lack of hesitation. Ky sat there for a moment, as if contemplating the soft material in hand before he quickly slipped out of his borrowed clothes and into his own. He didn’t wait for the rain to stop but, with sword in one hand, clothes in the other, he stopped at a charity bin, relieving himself of the bundle, and walked out into the rain and steam.
