Gable froze—it was not an unfamiliar voice, and certainly some annoyance in it wasn’t a surprise either. Admittedly, he’d rankle Engel on occasion, but he just made it so easy when it was clear he disliked Gable as much as he did. But this was the first time he had heard it practically frozen with anger. So too was this the first time he had that bow pointed in his direction.
Engel’s face was steep, his eyebrows drawn sharply down over his yellow eyes, his hands grasping his bow and there was surely deadly intent there.
Gable raised his hands. “Engel—”
“Leave.”
They were near the border between their lands, where lush grass and plant life melted into the cold, frozen earth of Engel’s land. Gable, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had done. He had just been talking with him (or talking at him), stepping across the border, entering his lands which was a regular occurrence and no big deal. Then, abruptly, Engel had pulled his bow out, that magic bowstring had manifested and he cocked an arrow right at Gable.
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what you’re mad about,” Gable offered with a coaxing smile. Engel’s expression didn’t budge. Forcing himself to try and think about what could cause this reaction, only one thing came to mind. He glanced down.
There, crushed underneath his boot, were several distinctive white flowers.
Well, they had been flowers. Now they were effectively destroyed. Gable winced, a stab of guilt hitting him, and he looked at Engel in supplication, but Engel was unmoving. His bow was still held and Gable knew that arrow of his wouldn’t miss.
“I didn’t mean to… ahh, I’m sorry, Engel.”
The bow didn’t move. Engel glared at him.
For the winter land, things like flowers were precious. Plants, animals, all of them to Engel were more important than anything as a part of his home. Gable didn’t need to be super close to him to know this. He had heard a thing or two from Adrien, had watched Engel’s behavior and came to realise how importantly he held the land which he protected.
‘Still, this is a little unreasonable,’ he thought, taking a step or two back. He looked down at the flowers. How was he supposed to attempt to make it up to him when Engel was looking at him like that? Well, there was one thing he could try, but it might get him an arrow shot at him for his trouble.
Helplessly, Gable resigned himself to this and crouched. He brought one of his hands to the flower and heard Engel’s voice sound in a low grunt in his throat, the sound of a string drawing taut (yes, even a magical string made such a sound). A sweep of his hand roused the flowers he’d flattened and another coaxed them to turn their faces upward. Stems mended, leaves straightening to fullness, spreading happily to soak up both the warmth from the summer land and the cool sun from the winter one.
At least Engel didn’t shoot.
Glancing up, he saw Engel’s face had soured. Still, he hadn’t put an arrow through Gable’s knee, and that was something.
“There we go,” Gable said brightly, standing up and dusting his hands off. “The little ones are all right, see? I’ll watch my step next time.”
“…” Engel said nothing, letting the notched arrow fall to be gripped in his hand before sliding it back into the quiver on his back. His bow soon followed, his mouth set in a line. Gable was taking this as an indicator that he was safe again, yep. He’d take it. Engel didn’t look impressed by his magic usage, but that wasn’t a big surprise either. He watched the northern elf finish straightening himself, and then he turned away.
“Huh? You aren’t sticking around to chat?”
Engel’s backwards glance told him just what Engel thought of that, and Gable chuckled.
→ engel • gable
Gable froze—it was not an unfamiliar voice, and certainly some annoyance in it wasn’t a surprise either. Admittedly, he’d rankle Engel on occasion, but he just made it so easy when it was clear he disliked Gable as much as he did. But this was the first time he had heard it practically frozen with anger. So too was this the first time he had that bow pointed in his direction.
Engel’s face was steep, his eyebrows drawn sharply down over his yellow eyes, his hands grasping his bow and there was surely deadly intent there.
Gable raised his hands. “Engel—”
“Leave.”
They were near the border between their lands, where lush grass and plant life melted into the cold, frozen earth of Engel’s land. Gable, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he had done. He had just been talking with him (or talking at him), stepping across the border, entering his lands which was a regular occurrence and no big deal. Then, abruptly, Engel had pulled his bow out, that magic bowstring had manifested and he cocked an arrow right at Gable.
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what you’re mad about,” Gable offered with a coaxing smile. Engel’s expression didn’t budge. Forcing himself to try and think about what could cause this reaction, only one thing came to mind. He glanced down.
There, crushed underneath his boot, were several distinctive white flowers.
Well, they had been flowers. Now they were effectively destroyed. Gable winced, a stab of guilt hitting him, and he looked at Engel in supplication, but Engel was unmoving. His bow was still held and Gable knew that arrow of his wouldn’t miss.
“I didn’t mean to… ahh, I’m sorry, Engel.”
The bow didn’t move. Engel glared at him.
For the winter land, things like flowers were precious. Plants, animals, all of them to Engel were more important than anything as a part of his home. Gable didn’t need to be super close to him to know this. He had heard a thing or two from Adrien, had watched Engel’s behavior and came to realise how importantly he held the land which he protected.
‘Still, this is a little unreasonable,’ he thought, taking a step or two back. He looked down at the flowers. How was he supposed to attempt to make it up to him when Engel was looking at him like that? Well, there was one thing he could try, but it might get him an arrow shot at him for his trouble.
Helplessly, Gable resigned himself to this and crouched. He brought one of his hands to the flower and heard Engel’s voice sound in a low grunt in his throat, the sound of a string drawing taut (yes, even a magical string made such a sound). A sweep of his hand roused the flowers he’d flattened and another coaxed them to turn their faces upward. Stems mended, leaves straightening to fullness, spreading happily to soak up both the warmth from the summer land and the cool sun from the winter one.
At least Engel didn’t shoot.
Glancing up, he saw Engel’s face had soured. Still, he hadn’t put an arrow through Gable’s knee, and that was something.
“There we go,” Gable said brightly, standing up and dusting his hands off. “The little ones are all right, see? I’ll watch my step next time.”
“…” Engel said nothing, letting the notched arrow fall to be gripped in his hand before sliding it back into the quiver on his back. His bow soon followed, his mouth set in a line. Gable was taking this as an indicator that he was safe again, yep. He’d take it. Engel didn’t look impressed by his magic usage, but that wasn’t a big surprise either. He watched the northern elf finish straightening himself, and then he turned away.
“Huh? You aren’t sticking around to chat?”
Engel’s backwards glance told him just what Engel thought of that, and Gable chuckled.
“Another time, then. See you, Engel.”