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Entry tags:
fic: Florence, 1502
Title: Florence, 1502
Series: XXXholic
Character/Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Word count: 688
A/N:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fic_promptly: any, reading the pattern backwards. This might as well be entitled L Is Marathoning Italo Calvino. This is the beginning of a series about Clow And Yuuko Snarking At Each Other Through Time. I attempted to research each period well enough to make it fit, but considering that Clow & Yuuko are running about, there’s bound to be artistic license related twisting of facts.
Oh, and finally, it’s Nonlinear. Meaning today it might be renaissance, tomorrow the roaring twenties.
*
She wore black even though the look of perpetual morning was no longer in style. She wore black crepe over her hair, circled around to cover over her pale chest. Some marks were best kept to herself, especially among the zealots.
She traveled through the city streets, past the hawkers and over the path. She could smell the freshly baked bread, the whiff of fruits on the soft breeze. She was unused to the heavy sun, especially on her thick clothes, but she steeled herself for more. She could always peel them off later, when she was in her own quarters with her own runic books and spells to keep her company.
She did not go unnoticed, however. Another came from the side of the church buildings, wearing black as well. He smiled, a smirk, really, and the high sun glinted off of his spectacles. She disliked him already, an insidious creeping cloud of irritation spreading through her.
"A witch out on a Sunday? Aren’t you afraid of the flames, or that a man of the frock like myself will turn you in?"
"The only frock you’ve ever known is a ladies’ frock," she replied, cool, not turning from his gaze. A proper lady would have acquiesced with little protest; she was not a proper lady.
He chuckled. "You’re astute, sorceress. It seems you have bewitched me already."
"I shall assume you are a liar considering you are certainly no Father," she said.
"I may spin a few tales, but I’m not a storyteller by trade. I am a clockmaker. Isn’t the capture of time its own kind of magic?" He said.
He held up a gold watch he had drawn the plans to himself. It was a gold disk, a small sun in the palm of his hand. When he opened it up the face was revealed. It had a pattern of sun and moon held together in an intricate circle of elaborate markings. Magic made in clockwork. She saw beyond the facade of decoration, to the runic inscriptions inside.
"Your sorcery is far more than the leashing of time."
"Of course. I enjoy the occasional play at alchemy," he said.
"And magic," she said, casting her gaze over him.
"And magic," he agreed, with a twinkle in his eye. "But that is a secret between you and I."
"Of course," she said.
She knew the code, the secrecy to which they must be kept. She would not even out a magic user she despised. No matter what crimes they had done, they won't deserve the punishment they'd receive.
Sometimes things simply came to her. Thoughts, premonitions. It had been so since she was a child. Now they came upon her. She did not often speak of them where she was at the time being, for it was not a place where magic was valued.
When she spoke aloud, it was without wit or banter. She spoke the premonition as clearly as someone sealing a deal.
"You should beware of power, too much of it will ruin you," she said.
He smiled. "You are a prophetess?"
"No, just a witch," she said. She shared the smile.
"And I shall make a prediction, so yours won't feel lonely," he said. "This won't be the last time we meet."
"As much as I hate to say it, I believe you're right," she said.
They nodded to each other, a half bow. "Until later, my lady," he said.
He disappeared into the crowd, another magician hidden among the mortals. She shook her head, a faint smile over her lips.
"Until we meet again," she said.
Series: XXXholic
Character/Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Word count: 688
A/N:
fic_promptly: any, reading the pattern backwards. This might as well be entitled L Is Marathoning Italo Calvino. This is the beginning of a series about Clow And Yuuko Snarking At Each Other Through Time. I attempted to research each period well enough to make it fit, but considering that Clow & Yuuko are running about, there’s bound to be artistic license related twisting of facts.Oh, and finally, it’s Nonlinear. Meaning today it might be renaissance, tomorrow the roaring twenties.
*
She wore black even though the look of perpetual morning was no longer in style. She wore black crepe over her hair, circled around to cover over her pale chest. Some marks were best kept to herself, especially among the zealots.
She traveled through the city streets, past the hawkers and over the path. She could smell the freshly baked bread, the whiff of fruits on the soft breeze. She was unused to the heavy sun, especially on her thick clothes, but she steeled herself for more. She could always peel them off later, when she was in her own quarters with her own runic books and spells to keep her company.
She did not go unnoticed, however. Another came from the side of the church buildings, wearing black as well. He smiled, a smirk, really, and the high sun glinted off of his spectacles. She disliked him already, an insidious creeping cloud of irritation spreading through her.
"A witch out on a Sunday? Aren’t you afraid of the flames, or that a man of the frock like myself will turn you in?"
"The only frock you’ve ever known is a ladies’ frock," she replied, cool, not turning from his gaze. A proper lady would have acquiesced with little protest; she was not a proper lady.
He chuckled. "You’re astute, sorceress. It seems you have bewitched me already."
"I shall assume you are a liar considering you are certainly no Father," she said.
"I may spin a few tales, but I’m not a storyteller by trade. I am a clockmaker. Isn’t the capture of time its own kind of magic?" He said.
He held up a gold watch he had drawn the plans to himself. It was a gold disk, a small sun in the palm of his hand. When he opened it up the face was revealed. It had a pattern of sun and moon held together in an intricate circle of elaborate markings. Magic made in clockwork. She saw beyond the facade of decoration, to the runic inscriptions inside.
"Your sorcery is far more than the leashing of time."
"Of course. I enjoy the occasional play at alchemy," he said.
"And magic," she said, casting her gaze over him.
"And magic," he agreed, with a twinkle in his eye. "But that is a secret between you and I."
"Of course," she said.
She knew the code, the secrecy to which they must be kept. She would not even out a magic user she despised. No matter what crimes they had done, they won't deserve the punishment they'd receive.
Sometimes things simply came to her. Thoughts, premonitions. It had been so since she was a child. Now they came upon her. She did not often speak of them where she was at the time being, for it was not a place where magic was valued.
When she spoke aloud, it was without wit or banter. She spoke the premonition as clearly as someone sealing a deal.
"You should beware of power, too much of it will ruin you," she said.
He smiled. "You are a prophetess?"
"No, just a witch," she said. She shared the smile.
"And I shall make a prediction, so yours won't feel lonely," he said. "This won't be the last time we meet."
"As much as I hate to say it, I believe you're right," she said.
They nodded to each other, a half bow. "Until later, my lady," he said.
He disappeared into the crowd, another magician hidden among the mortals. She shook her head, a faint smile over her lips.
"Until we meet again," she said.