?

Log in

No account? Create an account
T H I R T Y K I S S E S
// a themed fanworks community //
True Colors (Slayers, Lina/Zelgadis, #15, #19) 
1st-Nov-2005 07:59 pm
the siren call..., caffeine addict
Title: True Colors
Author/Artist: tokki_chan
Pairing: Lina Inverse/Zelgadis Graywords
Fandom: Slayers
Theme: #15 - perfect blue, # 19 - red
Disclaimer: Slayers and its characters are properties of Hajime Kanzaka, Rui Araizumi & Kadokawa Shoten

I am out of practice with writing these two like whoa. But I missed them, so we'll see how this goes.


He is the perfect blue. His silver hair glows with the reflected light of the heavens in a faint sky-colored sheen. Pebbly skin suffused with the unnatural combination of troll and demon flows within him giving him his ghostly hue, while flecks of teal dully catch sunlight on its surface. Peering through long bangs are two glittering sapphires he insists are eyes, though she knows better. They’re too clear, too pure. And they glitter much too fiercely—like the stones they remind her of.

He is the perfect blue. On the worst of days, when his melancholia and self-pity are all that he knows (which is often), he becomes the embodiment of the color he is. The air around him becomes thicker, heavier—bluer—almost to the point where one could take it and wrap it around their shoulders if they got too close. On normal days, he glints with the cold unfeeling edge of a knife. His eyes then are sharp, calculating, and clinical, and a chill shoots through her when she catches their gaze. On the good days, he’s like a cloudless sky or an ocean without waves—just as calm and collected, and just as constant.

She is the brilliant red. She wears the color like a second skin: in her flashy clothes, in the shiny accoutrements and talisman dotted throughout her costume. On anyone else the effect would be garish, but she carries it with such effortlessness that makes it nearly impossible to imagine her in anything else. The sun glints off her wild mane like living fire—going first from a dazzling crimson to a burnished gold and all shades in between and back again. Like its owner it never sits still, first dancing cheerfully in the breeze and then falling into a softer flow, humming faintly with a hint of menace that is more clearly communicated in her large, ruby eyes. Glowing red energy leaps from her palms with the greatest of ease, making those attacks, and the destruction they leave in their wake, a kind of trademark of her infamy.

She is the brilliant red. Which suits her, he’s long since realized. It’s the color of passion—mercurial and unpredictable. He never ceases to be amused by how when she’s unspeakably pleased her face flushes with a bright rosy hue…and then does the exact same thing when she’s unspeakably angry. It makes it her easy to read as a general rule: she likes to wear her heart on her sleeve (or, rather, on her face). But sometimes, when he doesn’t know quite what she’s thinking, he’ll look to her eyes. Like a mystic reading patterns in the flames, he searches for that crafty glint that lets him know mischief is afoot so he should put up his guard, or for the fuming spark that tells him he should be running far, far away.

He is the perfect blue. And yet in the heat of battle his blood pumps loudly in his ears, and out of the depths of his soul a dark, guttural roar rips from his throat making his foes halt in their tracks. She is the brilliant red. And yet with a few words, she becomes deathly still—silent, pale—visited by the kiss of death that she noiselessly and without warning delivers to another.

He is the perfect blue. And yet the blood he bleeds is impossibly red, and the tears he cries are inexplicably hot. She is the brilliant red. But she grows cold with the knowledge that within in her lays the power of infinity. And on some nights, she snaps awake completely chilled to the bone, the vestiges of an endless void birthed from a memory or a dream reaching out for her. In the morning, she will light a blaze to chase away the night’s chill, and he will wipe away the tears to get rid of its oppressive, offensive heat. Because, in the morning, they will look at each other and take in what they need, and in turn, give what they think the other needs. And that will make them feel like them selves again.

He is the perfect blue. She is the brilliant red. But it is when they are together that their colors shine the brightest.
This page was loaded Aug 22nd 2019, 2:38 pm GMT.