Categories > Games > Zelda > Four by Four

Glimpses on the Edge of Sight part 2

by Kasan_Soulblade 0 reviews

Between banter and witcism, Shad and Telma set about tending tasks.

Category: Zelda - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Ganondorf - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2012-11-01 - Updated: 2012-11-02 - 1514 words

Four by four: Prologue:
Glimpses on the Edge of Sight
Shad: A flash of Gold
Chapter 2

A/N: Mainly banter and witticisms shared between two characters I am really rather fond of.

They threaded from torch light to shadow, rimming the edge of his glasses in reds and oranges. He blinked, annoyed by the stinging and the faint headache it inspired, but such was the curse of glasses. He could take them off, it was dark enough that it would hardly make a difference. He smiled at that, the blind leading the blind, there was a saying never said with anything but scorn. Her arm was wound about his, in chivalry driven motions ages old and made a mockery in the modern world, still she had insisted, and he had indulged.

Such were the rules of society, a century ago.

"You look better when you smile, you should do it more often."

She suggested, and as they walked he struggled to recall her name. Holding the smile she so liked, he chuckled; it was a quiet sound suitable for a quiet, slip of a man that he was.

"I'll remember that."

"Do try."

Along the way, wending through the poorer -though not poorest, for he'd never set foot in those abysmal sections. She knew it, so there they never went- sections. Along the way she pointed out odd sights, looked at things from strange angles. And gamely he went along, trying to look and see as she did. Not always succeeding, but he always tried, and she seemed to appreciate his efforts.

She also told stories, and to those he chuckled from time to time, and in one case rubbed his scalp. Some headaches, he learned, could be inspired by a bad memory.

"It was quite a sight, you fixing those gutters and being perched on those old boxes and the like while you worked."

To that quip he couldn't resist telling the whole of it, for she had only told half of the whole.

"Well, as romantic, (and I mean that term in the literary sense, not the literal) as it seemed to fix something while perched on the roof I left two factors out of the equation."

"And those "factors" of yours would be?"

To that he laughed, for she knew the answer as well as he did. His headache worsened, just a mite, but he braved the pain grinning all the while. Lifting one slender hand, he flicked one digit, than two. He spoke his next words with the confidence a mathematician would use to declare some abstract assurance that numbers ruled the stars and all between them. Rattling off his folly, he ticked his fingers as if he were counting ruppees on his hand.

"Newton and Murphy."

To that she laughed, and they walked on, passing the gloom choked overhanging with wide smiles, his arms wound about hers with a familiarity of old friendship taking the edge of awkwardness and cliché from the gestures a century out of date and more.

Even as he walked, he still couldn't remember her name, but that no longer bothered him.

"So, you'll do it, then?"

"I'll manage something." He sighed, his smile slipping a bit around the edges. "I've always dreamed of spending a night in a basement of some old coots house fixing their plumbing."

"It does double as a hospital, from time to time." She pointed out. She smiled while she scolded, her freckles sparkling like tan stars against her pale face.

"It's another artificer’s job, my dear. Good intentions of its local aside. But it's work all the same, and it pays the rent."

He sighed, hadn't meant to, but he sighed all the same. They stopped, and he was released with an idle spin she slipped out of his grip and bound up the stairs of one of the houses. Her own. Shaking his head, Shad chuckled despite his flash of gloom. Grinned in spite of the grim, as it were.

Safely out of reach and framed by the now open door she smiled down at him, the edges of her frame etched in gold and red. Some lamp perhaps, kept always burning to guild her home. He'd have scolded, spoke of fire hazards and the like, but like always, with her, he never could find the heart to rebuke.

"You worry too much about the rent, my dear Shad."

"And you, my dear, have too many worries to be worried about my own." He scolded in turn, setting his glasses so they were more centered. Key accessory in place he tugged his red coat in place, absently buttoning it up as he talked. While warm looking, the light was framing her, not him. Anyways, logically speaking, it was after all light. Illumination wasn't a source of heat, just a byproduct of combustion. But, logic aside, that golden glow made him more aware of the night's chill.

"There's a contradiction in that." She noted.

"Elaborate." He dared, living for their word games. He looked at her, all unknowing that his smile was fierce and his eyes their most alive.

To his demand she said nothing, did nothing, only looked down on him from her lofty perch
of three stairs high. There was sadness in her gaze, the edges of her frame were etched in gold, and her hair he noted was a red-gold then. A lighter hue than his own auburn. He'd have to recall that, store it as one of the pieces he knew as "her" and try to remember though he would undoubtly forget.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a low-born commoner's place like this?" She bantered.

"That's an evasion." Shad accused, looking away from her, to the gloom choked streets that would lead him to home, rent, and other simpler things.

"No, yours was. Mine was a change of topic."

"Sophistry." He sniffed.


Silence then, a charged kind of quiet hung between them that neither dared cross.
Then, grudgingly, she broke the moment. "You'll take the job?" She coaxed.

"I always do." He shrugged, "when do I not?"

"Do you need to write down the address?"

"I've got it here." Shad smirked, tapping his skull.

"I'll get a quill and parchment." She said with a chuckle, for having known him for what felt to be a small eternity she knew, as he knew, his shot term retentions was abysmal at best.

With a determined stride more suited to heroes and bygone ages she passed the threshold, diving deeper into her house as if she were wading a monster's den. Considering the destructive menace that was Louise (furred, feared, a known feet mauler, and feline to boot) "monster's den" was hardly an exaggeration. As always, she forgot to close the door behind her.

So he was left alone, and once alone he dithered. The first options was to boldly take the steps in turn, face the feared cat, and enter her home... that or to stand out in the cold.
Tucking his arms over his chest, he decided, as he had so many times before to brave the cold.

It was better than braving the cat.


Once home, and alone, with only a lit candle for company he unrolled the parchment. Skimming the laconic directions and sketchy map he sought the latter part of the letter. As always, that's where the heart of the matter lay. The end, rather than the beginning.

"Remember, fix the plumbing. Homes' owner has no tools, you'll have to bring your own.
Post script: If you forget my name again I will nail my bar's sign to your thick head."

Unable to resist, lips quirking into a grin, Shad picked up a quill and scrawled a quick note under her note. A counter, as it were, to Telma's poke on his pride.

"It would do great for your business, having me as walking advertisement, wouldn't it?"

He never sent the note, dubbed it too "snarky" and let it lay where it would. Though, with some feelings of foolishness, he played her response in his head. As he went to bed he amused himself by filled the silence of his small home with imaginary banter. He tried to imagine her response, her counter riposte and his own defense. Quietly humming half words, half ditties, he built a whole fictionous conversation with his thoughts and the shadows...
He never sent the letter. A shame that, for in the quiet he'd built up quite the dialogue and it positively itched to be played out. Not liking the bitter taste in his mouth he went to fetch a glass of water, then retire for what little remained of the night.

He'd have to -delicately of course, such a harsh thing as truth must be doled out quietly in small sips so it could better be swallowed- tell Telma that her coffee was bad. The shipment must have been flawed. With fragments of 'that' budding conversation building in his head he went to sleep, its conclusion stolen by slumber.
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