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Entry tags:
Ficlet: Better Friends Than Lovers
Title: Better Friends Than Lovers
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: The title was a prompt, awhile back, from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen.
He loved watching her work. There was something almost aggressive in it, when she set her mind to winning a client. He was usually their mouthpiece, but part of his success as a freelancer meant knowing how to play to their collective strengths. Some men weren't impressed by a charming smile and a way with words. They were impressed with a slim blond teenaged girl who could drink them under the table.
Clara tucked some hair behind one ear, anticipation mixed with steady determination on her face. Yuri had always found it curious that of the things she used to attract clients, they always tended to dynamics of power - magic, drinking, wit. Where he made friends, she made conquests. But yet she almost never turned to her looks as a means of gaining the upper hand. Part of it could easily be that she wasn't aware of them; Clara's vanity, such as it was, never tended in that direction. He couldn't help but wonder, though, why seduction didn't appeal to her when she had such a taste for games of domination.
The man she was drinking with leaned over, mumbling something that got a smirk from her. He could barely hear her reply, "I don't make it a rule to drink on the job, Mr. Vunnlet." He shook his head, mumbling something else Yuri couldn't make out. The man wouldn't last long at this rate. Yuri rather hoped she remembered Clara was trying to get them hired, not just to win at some game she'd invented the rules for.
He remembered the day he'd noticed she'd grown into a fine-looking woman. They'd been on the road, and she'd ridden her horse on and up ahead, to check down one fork of a road before he reached the turning. As she rode back to him, his eyes took her in as if he'd never seen her before. She was more slender than his own personal tastes dictated, and he tended to like longer hair. But then, she was a fighter in her own way, and long hair would have been stupid. There was a strength of will in her expression, an intelligence in her look, that he'd always taken for granted. But he could teach her to use them, if he chose. Make use of her talents in that area as he'd done in every other. The results would doubtless be impressive.
Still. There was time for that, if jobs got scarcer. They were doing fine as it was, and he felt no need to push her in that direction, especially lest she misinterpret his interests. He'd known, a few years back, when she developed a small infatuation with him, and he found summarily ignoring it had been more or less successful.
He loved the girl. There was no doubt about that. But not in the way she'd been hoping. And thank the gods for that, after all, because that would have been a complication neither of them needed.
Confident she had the client well in hand, he called over the barmaid. This girl had clearly been well schooled in the arts Clara neglected. Her green eyes widened, then lowered just slightly. She leaned forward, just enough to let a raven curl slip over her neck and trace the upper swell of her breast, as she picked up another ale for him. "Yes, sir?" she asked, not quite coy, but a bit flirtatiously none the less.
He gave his partner the smallest of glances, but she was well occupied, so he leaned in with his most winning smile and said, "Yes, love. Do you lot do room service, in this fine establishment?"
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: The title was a prompt, awhile back, from
rougen. He loved watching her work. There was something almost aggressive in it, when she set her mind to winning a client. He was usually their mouthpiece, but part of his success as a freelancer meant knowing how to play to their collective strengths. Some men weren't impressed by a charming smile and a way with words. They were impressed with a slim blond teenaged girl who could drink them under the table.
Clara tucked some hair behind one ear, anticipation mixed with steady determination on her face. Yuri had always found it curious that of the things she used to attract clients, they always tended to dynamics of power - magic, drinking, wit. Where he made friends, she made conquests. But yet she almost never turned to her looks as a means of gaining the upper hand. Part of it could easily be that she wasn't aware of them; Clara's vanity, such as it was, never tended in that direction. He couldn't help but wonder, though, why seduction didn't appeal to her when she had such a taste for games of domination.
The man she was drinking with leaned over, mumbling something that got a smirk from her. He could barely hear her reply, "I don't make it a rule to drink on the job, Mr. Vunnlet." He shook his head, mumbling something else Yuri couldn't make out. The man wouldn't last long at this rate. Yuri rather hoped she remembered Clara was trying to get them hired, not just to win at some game she'd invented the rules for.
He remembered the day he'd noticed she'd grown into a fine-looking woman. They'd been on the road, and she'd ridden her horse on and up ahead, to check down one fork of a road before he reached the turning. As she rode back to him, his eyes took her in as if he'd never seen her before. She was more slender than his own personal tastes dictated, and he tended to like longer hair. But then, she was a fighter in her own way, and long hair would have been stupid. There was a strength of will in her expression, an intelligence in her look, that he'd always taken for granted. But he could teach her to use them, if he chose. Make use of her talents in that area as he'd done in every other. The results would doubtless be impressive.
Still. There was time for that, if jobs got scarcer. They were doing fine as it was, and he felt no need to push her in that direction, especially lest she misinterpret his interests. He'd known, a few years back, when she developed a small infatuation with him, and he found summarily ignoring it had been more or less successful.
He loved the girl. There was no doubt about that. But not in the way she'd been hoping. And thank the gods for that, after all, because that would have been a complication neither of them needed.
Confident she had the client well in hand, he called over the barmaid. This girl had clearly been well schooled in the arts Clara neglected. Her green eyes widened, then lowered just slightly. She leaned forward, just enough to let a raven curl slip over her neck and trace the upper swell of her breast, as she picked up another ale for him. "Yes, sir?" she asked, not quite coy, but a bit flirtatiously none the less.
He gave his partner the smallest of glances, but she was well occupied, so he leaned in with his most winning smile and said, "Yes, love. Do you lot do room service, in this fine establishment?"