Chanter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chanter1944) wrote2019-03-09 06:24 pm
chanter1944) wrote2019-03-09 06:24 pm
Entry tags:
a snippet of a very much still in progress WIP
Hey alexseanchai... :)
I'm sure my headcanon for about a zillion different things is going to end up thoroughly jossed, but that's what AUs are for. Identities and a few paragraphs of the Miraculous Ladybug AU I'm slowly constructing beneath the cut.
Ume Tsurugi and Sass=Bladescale. She is married as of this scene, but there is no Kagami in the picture as yet.
Émilie et Duusu=Paon Bleu, and I have yet to come up with an unmarried name for her, but she's only seeing Gabriel casually as of this scene.
Paon Bleu's wrist jerks sideways, barely visible, paralleling her body in a single, deft rightward flick, and her fan scythes edge-on through the nearest streetlight's glow and toward the still-posturing man now looming at the alley's center, blades-grip-blades-grip-blades like a catharine wheel. He's almost, almost too late to dodge, and as is, the magically metal feathers of its wider end graze his bicep in a glancing strike as he dives backwards with a yell that's half downright filthy curse and half true, dismayed surprise. Bleu's after him by deliberate degrees two steps later, the meters of pavement still between them closing only fractionally with every breath; the would-be mugger suddenly looks, distance and dubiously artful choice of outfit or no, like he's about to either wet his pants or die of mortification anyway. Perhaps both. That look only increases in intensity when he realizes just how close he's gotten to Bladescale's own position nearer the alley's entrance and, by extension, just how thoroughly they've managed to get the drop on him. Half literally, considering how Paon Bleu made the alley.
"Drop what you're holding," Paon Bleu orders, not shouting, but ringing. "Now. Drop it! Drop what you're holding!" Something flumps to the concrete with a jangle like metal on itself, muffled by - given the sound of it - cloth or leather. Ume looks down in time to see a purse strap flop into visibility beneath the hulk of the erstwhile snatcher's left shoulder, a cheap silvertone charm bracelet and what looks like a school ring landing glitteringly beside it; the thief's empty hand and arm vanish further into the sagging folds of the tatty trench coat he's wearing, to the accompaniment of both another baritone swear word and Bladescale's own soft, half-voluntary hiss. This time, it's Ume's sword backing the criminal toward the brickwork as Paon Bleu advances, leans forward and down, and reaches for the dropped pocketbook and jewelry on the ground.
Ume's still menacing the would-be robber with effortless swordpoint figure eights, sketched a full lunge's length from his right ear, when Bleu comes up with the survivor's valuables in hand and turns, and a finger's-width suggestion of a jab puts paid to any stray thoughts the pasty-faced fool might be having of either a last attempt at a snag or an unlikely sneak attack on her partner. He positively squawks a third rude word. Bleu's attention's almost all for the shaking civilian still huddling in the shadows behind the tableau after that; the woman - girl, really - accepts her only slightly scuffed purse with both hands, fumbles with her bracelet's clasp and dons her ring with fingers deep brown to Paon Bleu's half-gloved paler, and stutters out a genuine, heartfelt thanks as Bladescale steps back and turns a last look on the sandy-headed clod who's eyeing her sabre with continued and, she's not too humble to say, warranted wariness. "Do I need to tell you to leave, immediately?" Ume asks, and takes a split, invisibly-smirking second to wonder if she'll actually get a verbal answer. Bleu flings a last sharp glance over her closer shoulder and that's it; the idiot swings around in one wobbly motion and bolts, blotchily red in the face, for the alley mouth.
I'd write out my developing headcanon for a couple people here, and I will if folks are interested, but I worry I'm going to sound like an obsessive weirdo again... :(
alexseanchai... :) I'm sure my headcanon for about a zillion different things is going to end up thoroughly jossed, but that's what AUs are for. Identities and a few paragraphs of the Miraculous Ladybug AU I'm slowly constructing beneath the cut.
Ume Tsurugi and Sass=Bladescale. She is married as of this scene, but there is no Kagami in the picture as yet.
Émilie et Duusu=Paon Bleu, and I have yet to come up with an unmarried name for her, but she's only seeing Gabriel casually as of this scene.
Paon Bleu's wrist jerks sideways, barely visible, paralleling her body in a single, deft rightward flick, and her fan scythes edge-on through the nearest streetlight's glow and toward the still-posturing man now looming at the alley's center, blades-grip-blades-grip-blades like a catharine wheel. He's almost, almost too late to dodge, and as is, the magically metal feathers of its wider end graze his bicep in a glancing strike as he dives backwards with a yell that's half downright filthy curse and half true, dismayed surprise. Bleu's after him by deliberate degrees two steps later, the meters of pavement still between them closing only fractionally with every breath; the would-be mugger suddenly looks, distance and dubiously artful choice of outfit or no, like he's about to either wet his pants or die of mortification anyway. Perhaps both. That look only increases in intensity when he realizes just how close he's gotten to Bladescale's own position nearer the alley's entrance and, by extension, just how thoroughly they've managed to get the drop on him. Half literally, considering how Paon Bleu made the alley.
"Drop what you're holding," Paon Bleu orders, not shouting, but ringing. "Now. Drop it! Drop what you're holding!" Something flumps to the concrete with a jangle like metal on itself, muffled by - given the sound of it - cloth or leather. Ume looks down in time to see a purse strap flop into visibility beneath the hulk of the erstwhile snatcher's left shoulder, a cheap silvertone charm bracelet and what looks like a school ring landing glitteringly beside it; the thief's empty hand and arm vanish further into the sagging folds of the tatty trench coat he's wearing, to the accompaniment of both another baritone swear word and Bladescale's own soft, half-voluntary hiss. This time, it's Ume's sword backing the criminal toward the brickwork as Paon Bleu advances, leans forward and down, and reaches for the dropped pocketbook and jewelry on the ground.
Ume's still menacing the would-be robber with effortless swordpoint figure eights, sketched a full lunge's length from his right ear, when Bleu comes up with the survivor's valuables in hand and turns, and a finger's-width suggestion of a jab puts paid to any stray thoughts the pasty-faced fool might be having of either a last attempt at a snag or an unlikely sneak attack on her partner. He positively squawks a third rude word. Bleu's attention's almost all for the shaking civilian still huddling in the shadows behind the tableau after that; the woman - girl, really - accepts her only slightly scuffed purse with both hands, fumbles with her bracelet's clasp and dons her ring with fingers deep brown to Paon Bleu's half-gloved paler, and stutters out a genuine, heartfelt thanks as Bladescale steps back and turns a last look on the sandy-headed clod who's eyeing her sabre with continued and, she's not too humble to say, warranted wariness. "Do I need to tell you to leave, immediately?" Ume asks, and takes a split, invisibly-smirking second to wonder if she'll actually get a verbal answer. Bleu flings a last sharp glance over her closer shoulder and that's it; the idiot swings around in one wobbly motion and bolts, blotchily red in the face, for the alley mouth.
I'd write out my developing headcanon for a couple people here, and I will if folks are interested, but I worry I'm going to sound like an obsessive weirdo again... :(