A BLACKOUT [Lang]

[Vaet Qou]

Even if there had been no competition, Vaet felt he had won. There would be no prize, no vocal praising, but simply that he had won the chance to be able to talk to Lang as a friend again. Nodding his head ever so lightly in response to the sigh, a gesture of gratification. He was surprised when Lang caught the tip of his finger, so he wiggled his free-ones, wanting to pout. Sucking it up, he dealt with his trapped finger. Being released so that Lang could make hand-gestures, Vaet took a step back and leaned himself against one of the chairs.

Rarely had he recalled the past, afraid of the regrets that were in it, but he would never forget their training. He saw the blade just as Lang was describing it, his eyes fogged with memory, remembering the exact curve and weaving. “I remember,” his voice was a mere echo, dwelling in the moment, he had wanted to step into the memory, to examine it more. Yet, he snapped out of it, giving his friend a smug smile. “You think I can mimic our master’s weaving?”

He had questioned Lang, because he was questioning himself, and to hear any support would confirm that he would be able to do it. And yet he could still hear his mother, ‘You’re the best weaver, I know it!’

[Lang Na]

Lang gave him a flat look, hands still gesturing in the air. They stopped, fingers still spread, reaching for an imaginary handle to an imaginary blade, like on freeze-frame, and slowly returned to his sides, one hand resting on his hip. "You're Succeneur's Warrior," he said flatly, "If you are unable to weave something, then there is hardly anyone else that can." It wasn't a compliment, not meant as flattery, and so the tone didn't imply such. It was merely an observation, a 'this is how it is, and that is that.'

"The question, I think, should be, 'How long will you take?'"

[Vaet Qou]

“Just checking,” he responded instantly, giving Lang one of those: ‘you’re no fun’ looks. Vaet only spoke like that to hear a little praise, because he thrived on it, knowing that his ego would burst one day. That had confirmed it: he wasn’t a warrior because he was best friends with the ruler, it had been given for his talent. Vaet took steps further back, moving the chair back with him as well. Barely lifting his arms above his hips, his fingers started to move. There were flames attached to his finger tips.

As though floating flames, but merely an inscription of fire and air, he made out the shape of the weapon. The image stayed there, blazing like a candle’s flame. “This is what it is, figuratively speaking, the length went almost to your nose when you held it downward, but you’re taller now… so it would actually go to your chin. Not to mention it won’t be near your feet, so you won’t have to worry about tripping! Or do you prefer something else?”

Vaet waved his palm, catching the image, causing it to move to the left, as though making space on an open canvas.

[Lang Na]

"A little narrower here," Lang said, eyes alight with the reflection of the blaze. It cast a bright red onto his face, lighting up his features. He waved his hand, stretching out one end of the fiery weapon, tapering it to the end, until it came to a sharp, obviously lethal point. Then, he did the same to the other end, making it symmetrical. It was times like this that their matched powers proved to be convenient - no, not just convenient, but almost as if they were meant to be used together, perfectly complementary. Using the combination to make a weapon - well, that was just perfect, now wasn't it?

"Like that," he said with a nod, when he had finished. He smiled at Vaet from across lighted image. "That looks perfect."

[Vaet Qou]

Vaet watched Lang’s dexterous movements, the friendly smile on his face only increasing as he watched the ruler’s imagination blossom right before him. While he had disliked weaving, being able to create a weapon with a friend made it all the more tolerable. He had enjoyed the results than the actual work, not quite the lethargic type, but the type to expect a certain result. Vaet never copied their Master’s work before, hating to think of the memory, but when he noticed his friend’s smiling face; Vaet knew he should be thankful.

If there was a fey out there able to control time, they were lucky, to be able to put things on pause and just enjoy moments. Glancing to the design and giving it a second look over, he had to agree, it was perfect for Lang. “It’s a lot like your personality,” he chuckled, reaching to the harness around his waist to pull out a scroll. The paper crunched slightly as it unfolded, and the flames started to be drawn to the flimsy material. It became dark in the room, as Vaet double checked the design of the weapon that now looked like ink, hugging the scroll, but yet still moving like a motion picture. It had been the aftermath of flames.

“Since it’s spring, it will most likely be finished in a couple of nights.”

[Lang Na]

The ruler seemed pleased, settling his weight back onto the heels of his feet, a satisfied smile resting easily on his face. "Sooner than I expected," Lang said, clearly impressed. As a second thought, he added a, "As expected of my Warrior," but it was more proud than pressuring. They stood there for a moment, comfortable in their mutual silence, because years of company had made it impossible to find it awkward, anyway. Eventually, though, as all time must pass, and every second ends, Lang clapped his hands together, moving towards the doors he had pushed open earlier. "Well, it's about lunchtime. Join me."

[Vaet Qou]

If there had been an ego meter, Vaet’s would have increased a notch. He had the weapon on his mind, already focused on the goal to finish it. His bones told him to go, right at that instance, to start working on it. Yet, there was a clap and he shrugged the weight of pressure off, nodding at Lang. It would be better to eat before he spent two days laboring over a ‘perfect’ weapon. Glancing at the puddle of dried wax everywhere, he chucked to himself, starting to move out from around the table to follow the ruler in his steps.

“It better be good,” he warned Lang, following the other male out of the chambers, the door closing behind the two to leave behind bad memories. (They had maids, at least.)