#vilo oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alteredphoenix · 2 years

Text

In Every Song A Heartbeat (WoW/ToLuminaria)(Celia/Michelle)[Tentative Prologue 2 + Chapter Notes][First Draft]

A/N: This is the second prologue meant to be included in the ZM anthology fic as a gap filler and lore/character building piece, set shortly after the first prologue and one week before the main fic kicks off. Sylvanas herself doesn’t show up until at least the fifth or sixth chapter proper (I’m going with sixth because the table of contents is still in its rudimentary stages), so I wanted to give her the spotlight as to her whereabouts and what she’s doing prior to her debut.

I made sure to include plot hooks that will serve to set the greater narrative in place: the subplot of faction soldiers (especially night elves) defecting to join Zovaal and see that he successfully activates the Machine of Origination in the Sepulcher; the divergence of the Broken Crown quest where Anduin isn’t present to offset the effects of Domination (don’t even expect him at all until the very end of the fic); the implication of dreadlord bounty hunters and establishing them as the Greater Scope Villain (whereas Xy’mox and the Xy Cartel are Disc One Bosses); the artifact that comes into play; and, probably most controversially, because this is Sylvanas we’re talking about, setting up the beginning of Sylvanas’s atonement arc. This girl is not liked by damn near everyone in Haven, so it makes sense to pretty much hammer that point home by having not only Jaina and Shandris express distrust but a night elf OC be a colossal dickhead to her and disrespect Nathanos (and perhaps hint at the possibility of his betrayal and defection to Zovaal). The idea of having adventurers, especially night elf ones in particular, might come across as villain-batting...but in all fairness, I’ve seen too many people say - or maybe joke, it’s hard for me to tell - that if given the option they would side with Zovaal and allow the Cosmic Reset to happen so everything from Legion to Shadowlands gets memory-holed. I can see the kaldorei take him up on that offer and simply not care if he’s lying or not; it writes itself.

There are also plot threads for the first six chapters set, with the inclusion of the clairvoyant artifact, Mishka the High Elf Hunter OC’s involvement, and the mention of other broker camps that were made for the purpose of this fic. I think it’s pretty obvious that while Zereth Mortis is big by itself it doesn’t quite match the scale of the canon story, which is...pretty fucking small, and kind of does indicate the possibility of story content being cut. But there isn’t any confirmation of that being the case, and it’s honestly not my place to question the devs nor make conspiracy theories about any such decisions of Shadowlands being rushed out the door. This fic is merely meant to serve as a very loose, Canon Divergent crossover adaptation of Eternity’s End, and that means not only nuking the Waystone to Oribos out of existence but messing around with the geography so that its size does reflect the setting the story takes place in because personally, for me, Zereth Mortis is just too small to scale this fic down to that size and enjoy it...but that’s the nature of theme park MMOs for you. For once, I’m not complaining about the length lol

This chapter’s a beast so click on the link under the cut. Also warning for derogatory language and implied mentions of non-con at the beginning.

“And just where do you think you’re going, Windrunner?”

Sylvanas wrestled back the urge to roll her eyes, or scoff, or suck in the air to imitate a groan and stopped short of walking into the man stepping up to block her way. His voice carried across the better part of Haven, drawing the attention of the covenant forces taking stock of their anima supplies, the adventurers that were eating on the greensward opposite the cavernous inn and those that were repairing their weapons or exchanging small talk with Vilo and the other Enlightened guardians that were off-duty. Nearly every face directed at her was wary and venomous. Some readied their staves. Other knocked back the hammers on their guns.

Magic buzzed at the back of her head, bit at the tips of her ears like a sharp, wintry wind. She did not have to reach round to touch her hood nor glance down at the wisp of hoarfrost ghosting by to recognize the threat, the promise, that would come. Jaina would not let her forget.

The night elf in front of her grinned, smug and gleeful. “Well?”

Sylvanas kept her face cool and neutral. “Hello, Threno. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to please move out of the way. I have somewhere I need to be.”

“No,” he said, and his grin widened.

She pressed her lips together in a firm line but did not frown. “This is important, Threno. Please step aside.”

“Make me.” A few Alliance soldiers gathered underneath the pavilion of Vilo’s wagon snickered. A worgen warrior raised his right arm, flexed it, and gave her his middle finger. Threno’s eyes glowed and curled his upper lip back, showing off a pair of wicked incisors.

She pressed down harder until it became a thin line. “I’d prefer not to.”

“‘Cause you know what’s gonna happen--”

“And I don’t want that--”

“And ‘cause you know I’m right--”

“So I am going to ask you again,” Sylvanas said patiently, and though she was not much taller than him rose up to her full height and leaned forward. “Please get out of my way. The sooner I leave, the sooner I can do what needs to be done and figure out what we have to do next.”

“What’re you in such a hurry for, Windrunner?” Threno said, throwing his arms out wide away from him. “Whatcha gonna do, huh? You gonna go back to Zovaal and tweak his nipples? Suck his dick?” Harsh, raucous laughter sounded off from the group. “Yeah,” he added, nodding. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re going to suck Daddy Zovaal’s dick, aren’t you? ‘Cause Nasty Nate can’t give it to you anymore. Nasty Nate got his head chopped off and went straight to...oh. That’s right,” he cooed. “He didn’t go straight to you, now did he? No, he didn’t. Poor, nasty, little Nate,” he sang, rocking his head from back and forth from side to side. “The universe hates you so much it decided to cuck you and send him elsewhere! Damn shame, isn’t it? Such a damn shame. Oh, don’t look so glum, Windrunner! It’s not so bad! You know why? ‘Cause I just want to let you know: that wherever he is right now, at this moment, he has it better than you. Imagine the pounding he’s getting!”

Another round of laughter burst forth, louder and shameless than before. The guardians closest to them were posted at the top of the ramp leading down into the Great Veldt proper, and they regarded one another with uneasy flickers of the blue flame behind their faceplates. Most of the faction soldiers, the ones that did not jeer or have their weapons trained on her, watched the scene unfold but kept their distance. If anyone wanted to make a move and get between them, they did not so—or could not.

The murmur of chill air at the back of her head narrowed down to a fine, hardened bead. Sylvanas ignored it, the laughter, and continued to stare into Threno’s smiling, daring face. He made a show of wiggling his long, feathery eyebrows at her.

This time, she didn’t stop the frown from slipping out between the corners of her mouth. “Listen to me, Threno--”

“No.”

“Listen,” she repeated, and loathed the way the frustration colored it. “If what I heard is right, then we could all be in serious danger. I need to go out there. I need to see this for myself and confirm it. You don’t know the enemy like I do, you don’t know what they’re capable of, and you stopping me is taking time away from the opportunity I can get us to stay ahead of them and seize the advantage while it’s there.”

All the mirth and cruel triumph fell from Threno. He scowled. “Maybe I don’t want you to have us stay ahead of the enemy,” he rumbled. “Maybe I want them to succeed.”

A hush settled over the encampment, all eyes on them like a weighted blanket. The guardians turned around to face them, polearms at the ready, but still they remained at their posts. The frost magic on her skull wavered, flickered, sputtered.

Sylvanas slowly shook her head. “You don’t want that,” she said calmly. “You don’t want that at all. I’ve heard the stories from Zovaal; if it wasn’t about getting revenge on the Eternal Ones or his plans, then it was the Sepulcher. That’s all he ever talked about. And I know what lays within there, at the heart of all creation. It’s not a toy you can play with, and it’s not a game you can gamble with. All the power on Azeroth, the Twisting Nether, and the Great Dark Beyond pale in comparison to what that thing is able to do. Whatever it is you think you want to happen, whatever it is that you hope for from the bottom of your heart, I just want to let you know: it will be a helluva worse than what we have now.”

“I’d rather live in a world where we can start all over again than stay in a world with you,” Threnos growled, and he bared his fangs at her again. Faint murmurs of agreement rebounded from one corner to the other. Hatred, disgust, and unshed grief shone like a beacon, and if the touch of undeath did not linger on Sylvanas it would have burned her alive.

She shook her head again. “Take my word for it, Threno. That thing should not be touched. It’s not meant for mortal hands. It’s not meant for anyone’s hands, but that’s not going to stop Zovaal. He’s obsessed, and he won’t stop until he’s breached the entire Sepulcher and all of reality is within his grasp. That’s why I need to go. I need to do this. If I can verify the threat and take action then at the very least we can interfere with the Army’s plans and set them as far back as humanly possible. If we’re lucky, we might be able to stop them from putting any more resources into pushing deeper past the Immortal Hearth. We can destroy their teleportation networks connected to Torghast, maybe even beyond.” She paused, could not stop the dull pang that ached in her chest and made her stomach leaden. “If it’s what I think it is, then we should be able to save Anduin before Zovaal--”

“Fuck Anduin!” Threno cried, and lunged forward, snapping his teeth at her. “Fuck Anduin and fuck you!”

“Threno--”

“No! He helped make this mess happen! Let him rot!”

“Regardless of how you feel, we can’t ignore the effects Domination has on us. We need him back if we have any hope of offsetting them when we assault the Sepulcher.”

“Oh, now you talk about hope!” Threno groaned, rolling his eyes skyward. “Now you decide to play hero! Get off your fucking high horse, Windrunner! We don’t need Anduin, we don’t need your mystery prize, and we definitely don’t need you! Get lost!”

The leather of the glove on her left hand creaked into a fist, and the heightened sense of magic manifested, solidified, and held steady. The guns in her periphery clicked loudly like the crack of a dozen whips.

Sylvanas dug her nails in, smothering the curl of shadow magic that wanted to form. “Move, Threno,” she ground out, as politely as she could manage.

Threno grinned, his eyes sparkling and manic. “No.”

“Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me force my way through.”

“I’d like to see you try, cunt.” He beckoned her forth with a flex of his fingers on both hands with a smirk and winked.

Sylvanas felt her mouth twist in a snarl and let the magic, little more than an insignificant mote of fuzz in her palm, grow into a ball that smoked out between her fingers and wrap snake-like up her arm.

She moved.

“That’s enough!”

Before her left foot so much as lifted itself off the ground and her arm so much as lifted up to rear back, the man with the dark hair and blue skin rushed in between them. His pale wings struck out, startling the sharpshooters from their focus. One of his large hands, wrapped in fingerless shrouded cloth gloves, pushed the air in front of him, forcing Threno away a couple steps. Sylvanas jerked at the touch on her shoulder and looked up past the arm to the man standing beside her.

Uther the Lightbringer leveled a stern glare at the night elf. “Threno, if you will not move for Sylvanas then I will ask that you move for me. And if you cannot do that then rest assured, young man, I will make you myself. What’s it going to be?”

Threno balled his fists and growled, high and pitched to an animal whine that teetered on the brink of madness. His whole body trembled so he stomped from one foot to the other, as if to ground himself from collapsing into full paroxysms. He shook those fists up and down and, for a brief moment, lingered down to the pair of curved daggers strapped to his hips. Uther narrowed his eyes. Pinpricks of Light glowed at the fingertips of his outstretched hand.

Then, as if a plug had been pulled, Threno sagged until he was almost doubled over from an invisible weight on his back; even his long, thick ears drooped. He clenched his fists tight, veins popping out between his knuckles, and then he let them loose and fall limply to his sides. He swore in Darnassian, drew himself up straight, and turned his head aside to spit. The two Enlightened guardians regarded that with repulsive flames. “Fine!” he snarled. “Have it your way. I don’t care anymore.” He spun harshly on his heel. “Should’ve never woken up,” he grumbled, and slunk off and away, disappearing deep into Haven.

Discontent and contempt washed over them like a quiet, rolling wave. One by one the barrels lowered and fingers removed from triggers and thumbs from hammers, yet the light of the fractals that poured down from the sky past the shield glinted off their metal shells. The ice spike spell on her head eased up and with a final, warning tap let go. The air around her slowly began to warm.

When he was gone and out of earshot, Uther heaved a sigh and let go of Sylvanas. As did the sense of comfort that came from it, to which she ignored. She inclined his head at him. “Thank you, Uther,” she uttered quietly.

“Are you alright? I just got back from patrol and heard all the commotion.”

“I’m fine. But they’re not,” she said, and gave a quick sweep of the campsite. Everyone had returned to what they were doing: eating, repairing, cleaning, making small talk. The adventurers huddled close to Vilo’s wagon were browsing the wares on his fold-out shelves or bartering for augment runes. Still, they threw the occasional dark glance at her. Still they muttered under their breaths that she thought they assumed would be too low for her to hear. “How could anyone blame them? They’re only doing what they feel is right. To deny them that would be dishonest and cruel.”

His face fell. “Sylvanas….”

“Please don’t worry about it. I would have done the same thing. It’s only fair.” She looked ahead of her, past the camp, to the path that awaited her. This one was perpendicular to the north road and would lead west onto the greater rim of the Veldt, or as the covenants and factions have come to call all the areas surrounding the Forge of Afterlives, the upper level. No one was in the way now. They did not dare to. That was good. “Walk with me, Uther. There’s something I have to tell you.” She leveled a look at him.

He knew right away, and nodded. “Of course.” He gestured for her to take the lead. Sylvanas went ahead of him.

“Uther!”

Her ears twitched, and a tendril of ill dread rustled greasily in the pit of her stomach. Despite that, Sylvanas turned around. Jaina came to an abrupt stop, panting from exertion she was not accustomed to. Shandris trailed behind her a few feet away, bow still drawn, an arrow knocked on its string.

Jaina took in a breath and swallowed before she could find the words to speak. “Let me go with you,” she said, and glared at Sylvanas. “There’s no telling what she’s going to do with you. She tries anything I’ll--”

“Jaina,” Uther said, gently, and held up a hand, “that won’t be necessary. I will be alright.”

“But Uther!”

“This is important, Jaina. You know we can’t hold counsel within Haven right now—not with everything going on. It’s best we take it outside; that way if something does happen, we will not be putting the shield will not be at risk.”

“And you expect to take her word over ours?” Shandris asked, affronted, and all but raised the bow at her. “You expect Sylvanas to be truthful to you?”

“I expect Sylvanas might just have the answers we seek to our current predicament. I will not turn her away.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” the night elf woman sniffed. “You’re just as damned as she is.”

Sylvanas started to turn on her heel. “Hey--”

“Shandris!” Jaina hissed, whirling on her. She put a hand on the top curve of her bow and lowered it down; Shandris did not fight her, but her pale silver eyes glowered her disapproval. When she did not pursue it, Jaina turned back to the Lightbringer. “Please, Uther. Don’t do this alone. Let me--”

“Jaina,” Uther said, and let the word hang in the air like a knell. “I trust Sylvanas.” Her jaw dropped. Shandris stared at him, shocked and appalled. Even Sylvanas looked at him, stunned.

Uther exhaled through his nostrils. “I promise: I won’t be gone long. When we come back, we can discuss our next course of action.” He turned away from them. “Let’s go, Sylvanas,” he said to her. Words failing her, she nodded and walked slowly toward the western entrance.

This pair of Enlightened guardians, female based off their slimmer body frames and articulations, regarded them curiously. A few choice words about where they were going and what was to be discussed from Uther got them to step to the side and thin out a portion of the shield with the magic channeled from their staves. Easier this way, they had told them once, shortly after Haven’s expansion was completed. Anything more than a few people and we will have to use the generators to change the shield’s operational functions.

They went through, and for a short while they walked in companionable silence up the dirt road that cut through the hill. The joints that made up the walls of the town retreated behind them, first their hexagonal columns becoming apparent and then as lines that lost their shape and thickness the more distance was put between them. The path continued to gradually climb until it evened out in broad, sweeping sprawls of verdant green, interspersed by the occasional sphere. Tree roots emerged from their open hollows and curled up in the air toward the ones that floated and shoots of first flowers clustered at their bases of those planted firmly in the ground among a bed of soft moss that hummed a dulcet tone as they passed them by. Off in the distance on their left the mountains, saw-toothed slabs of smooth purple-blue rock that would transition to softer, earthen red further north, west of the Path of Inception and Exile’s Hollow, rose in wave-like sweeps to in a vain attempt to reach the geometric patterns blooming in the sky.

They reminded Sylvanas of Lordaeron—full of life and not the undead did not shamble, where the crops flourished under soft rains and not yet rife with plague and decay. They reminded her of the homestead in a little corner of the Eastwald, built on top of a ridge that overlooked the cobblestone road where horse-drawn carriages traveled west over the bridge into the heart of the kingdom. She recalled the fences that squared off the land, the array of shoddily put-together scarecrows placed here and there across the tilled plots where the vegetables grew their vines along the lattices, and the hounds announcing her arrival up the hill with such loud, sonorous barking as she came up the hill. She thought about him.

She pushed the thoughts, and the pain that followed, away.

“We should be far enough now,” Uther said, looking over his shoulder back at Haven. Then he came up beside her and matched pace with her. “What did you want to tell me?”

Sylvanas glanced to her right, past Uther’s inquiring gaze and past the greensward that rolled away from them to the lip of the upper level, where the vague shapes of raptoras wheeled like a solemn, aching dream. The sky had been blue, once, the camp Elders had said, a pure and vibrant blue that matched their flames: a sign, they claimed, that the First Ones had finally welcomed them upon their sacred land and would cherish them with all the love in their hearts. Now all of Zereth Mortis was covered in a near-complete scrim of overcast pink and grey smokiness shot through with the reflective golden illumination of the patterns above, but even they could not break through the taint of corruption the Mawsworn brought. Only at night, the darkfall, did its old glory return—that was, until the day, the lightrise, returned.

Anger and humiliation lanced through her unbeaten heart, made her grit her teeth at the memories of subservience, the known surety of all the pieces of the long-lain plan falling together into place, Zovaal’s constant assurances and the faint glint of triumph with each success made in his eyes and in his smile.

Zovaal.

She scowled and banished his face from sight. Uther watched her, waiting and expectant. She looked away from the horizon and returned her focus to the Veldt before them. “It’s the Army of the Endless,” she began. “The dreadlords are on the move. They’re planning to make a push past Provis Flora and into Haven.”

“What?” Uther said, and stopped. “But how? We destroyed their camp and severed their teleportation network to the Dread Portal. How could they have reclaimed it so soon?”

“It’s not just the Mawsworn they’re bringing with from the Plain. They’re bringing their absolute best to the field, and they have the entire realm between the Antecedent Isles, the Ageless Shards, and Provis Fauna, Terra, and Strata under their control. Not to mention they have the Xy Cartel out pillaging the western half of Zereth Mortis of fallen Progenitor tech in exchange for the Artificer’s cooperation in circumnavigating the Sepulcher’s defenses. It’s a wonder Pilgrim’s Grace and the other camps are still standing.”

“We have been lucky so far the shields have enough power to withstand attempts at sabotage and bombardments.”

“So far,” Sylvanas echoed, “but they’re not under constant assault like Haven is. They don’t have to worry about,” she paused, searching the right way to phrase it, “about people defecting.”

“No,” Uther agreed, somber. “Even blessings and iterations won’t be enough to hold them out.”

“If things stay the way they are, then yes, they will fall. If it’s not the attacks from outside, it will be from within.” Her eyes hardened. “But we can stop that from happening. We have time, and I have the means to make it so we’ll never want for it.”

Uther nodded. “What have you learned?”

She turned in a half-circle and pointed northeast. “The dreadlords have a camp set up in Provis Strata on the lower level, on the border between Provis Terra and the Fissured Breach. In the past week since our attack I’ve sent out three separate squads to perform reconnaissance, but they’ve been wiped out each time with only one or two survivors coming back to report the losses. However, we’ve managed to collect enough intel from to paint ourselves a picture as to what’s going on.”

Sylvanas frowned. “They’re on high alert, Uther, and it’s not just because we’re getting in their way. They’re guarding something, and we need to take it from them before they use it.”

Uther said nothing. He looked into her face, hanging onto her every word. Then he broke eye contact, chewed on his lower lip, worried at the inside of one cheek. He nodded to himself and swallowed, a quiet click in his throat. “It’s not what’s in the Sepulcher that’s dangerous,” he ventured. “It’s the answer to all their problems.”

“Exactly. But...that’s where the reports end. None of my scouts got close enough to get a good look at it, but Mawsworn presence is heavy and there’s no telling how many of those are actually dreadlords in disguise. That much manpower at such a small site, though...that could only mean one thing, and I’m willing to bet they’re feeling confident enough to take it out of confinement and prepare it for weaponization.”

“Weaponization…?” Uther paused. “It’s an artifact.”

Sylvanas nodded. “It is, and I know the one. Zovaal may have talked about the Sepulcher most of the time, but once in a while he would tell me other things. About other afterlives that hold less sway than the main four we know, the different cultural approaches to death and reincarnation across the planes, the interest the constellar and the remaining five cosmic forces have shown toward Azeroth ever since the Burning Legion was defeated at Argus. This was...after I shattered the Veil in Icecrown, and long before Anduin was Dominated. For such a single-minded god of Death, he had a vast array of knowledge at his disposal...but that’s probably because he was the former Arbiter, and perhaps the main reason why he forsook his role and became what he is today. If I wasn’t out there sowing chaos during the Fourth War, or trying to convince Anduin to willingly serve and fight for the so-called greater good, I was listening to Zovaal talk about anything and everything there was to know in and out of reality. He always went into great detail, and I held onto every word of it in case I would be sent somewhere that would require me to retain any information that might have been important to my mission.

“But there was one story he never went in-depth over; he refused to elaborate whenever I did ask him. He merely said I would know in time. If that time did come, then it had long since passed.”

“You were wrong,” said Uther.

“I was,” Sylvanas agreed. “But I did see it. In fact, he showed it to me himself. It was...right before I forced Kingsmourne onto Anduin,” she began, voice trailing off at the memory, at the ache that resonated beneath her breast. “I had just gotten out of a session with him when I saw the dreadlord come down the stairs from another layer. He had it in his hands and was presenting it to Zovaal. Zovaal never showed much emotion on his face when he was quiet, and not as much as you would think he would giving out commands; when he did, they were very simple and direct. He doesn’t like to waste words if he can help it. But when he was telling stories you could at least hear the interest in his voice, see it in his eyes and the faces he made. It was very muted, though, but there; he’s had to heard thousands upon thousands of iterations of stories for as long as he’s existed. That same interest was there when he called me over. He said it was important and, although it didn’t look like much, it would soon be very powerful and prove to be a boon to our campaign in Zereth Mortis when we prepared to open the portal to Oribos and retrieve the Arbiter’s sigil from her chassis. I asked him how it could be any of that if it was a powerless vessel, but he told me to forego semantics for the time being and asked if I wanted to see it.

“I said yes.” Her brows furrowed. “It’s an artifact, Uther, and it really did not look like much at all. But when I last looked upon it, it had the appearance of a chalice—something you’d see on a table at a fancy noble’s gathering. Except what I thought was the body of a chalice, the rim of the cup, was actually a design held together by a box frame with knops and filigree sketched with all sorts of runes on each four poles of the armature. Arcane, Fel, Void, Light, even elemental from the planes of Life. But there was not a single Domination rune on it, even though the frontal design almost looked like the Primus did when we held him captive in the Oubliette. And I thought that odd, because everything in the Maw is infused with it. It can possess an unprotected mortal mind and force that person to do things they would never think do. It’s so powerful it can control and bend fate to its will. So why wasn’t this artifact inscribed with it?

“I didn’t ask him, and I was proven wrong once again.” Uther gave her a confused, inquiring look. “He asked me if I could feel it. I thought he had meant by touching it, and I mentioned it as such. He said no and asked again if I could feel it...and I did, Uther. I could feel it—as if I was about to take a breath and go underwater.”

“What was it?”

“Magic. Pure magic. You name it, I felt it. But if I had to pick one that stood out the most, it was arcane. Arcane touched with Life. And yet, I still did not feel the bite of Domination—just Death magic and everything else carved onto the artifact. That was the first and last time I saw it in person, because Zovaal told the dreadlord to bring it back where he had it kept under surveillance and wait on standby for when the way to Zereth Mortis was opened.”

“But you’re not certain it’s that particular artifact.”

“No. I’m not convinced it’s actually it, but it was the only other object of importance Zovaal showed to me besides Kingsmourne and the only thing I can think of he’d take with across the Shadowlands. All I know is that it’s not empty or powerless. It’s waiting to be unleashed.”

Uther put a hand to his chin. “So it’s not just an artifact,” he mused. “It’s...a battery. But what would they need a battery for?”

“I’d ask the same thing, and no one would fault us for thinking that,” said Sylvanas, “but according to the reports there haven’t been any artillery delivered into the Index from Torghast or the Dread Portal. Which brings us to the crux of the problem.” She imitated a harsh sigh. “It’s not a battery. It’s as you said. It’s the answer to all their problems...and, in the right hands, the answer to ours.”

“Sylvanas…? What are you suggest--” Uther froze, eyes going wide and jaw falling slack with realization, and she nodded. “It’s an artifact that involves--”

“Time,” she confirmed. “Or rather, the ability to perceive a crossroad of timeways at a current, given standpoint. In other words, it’s clairvoyance in arcane form.” She scoffed. “Of course the dreadlords would be in possession of it. Those bastards are everywhere. It’s what they’re known for. If they open it, they’ll be untouchable and we won’t so much as take a step outside of Haven. Zovaal will waltz right into the center of the Sepulcher unopposed. And Anduin….” She clenched her jaw, closed her left hand into a fist and dug as hard as she could into the leather. The color that drained out of him as she pointed Kingsmourne at his heart, the slate grey armor of spikes and skulls that mantled over the plate of gold-white, the teal blue soulfire that blazed into his eyes as Domination took root—all of it came surging up to the forefront with bitter, shameful clarity.

Uther regarded her with pity, and she bit back the fury that rose up in her throat like bile. “That’s why you want to go,” he said, and it was not a question.

She loosened her grip on her fist finger by finger until her hand rested limply against her side, relaxed her jaw until her fangs were tucked away. There sat on her shoulders a worldly weariness, and it wanted to drag her down through the earth and into the abyssal unknown. She did not let it. She drew up to her full height and bore it. “Threno may have been crude,” she said, “but he had me thinking. If this artifact is the same one I saw in Torghast, it might show us a pathway where we rescue Anduin from the Sepulcher and break the Domination on him. That pathway,” she added, voice cracking, “it could be the one where we won’t have to kill him to save him. However, there’s a good chance it will show us another pathway where we won’t...we might not need him to overcome Domination. There might even be one more where the broken pieces of the Helm of Domination won’t have enough power to do that. There could be many ways to mitigate Domination...or none at all. The only way to know for sure is by opening it. But first we would have to know how the damn thing works. It might not even open for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t just magic I felt when I looked at it, Uther,” Sylvanas said, and gestured weakly at the air in front of her. “Maybe I mistook it for a spike of mana. Or maybe I was Dominated for a brief moment that I didn’t notice it was happening to me and only made to pretend I felt it. I-I don’t know how to explain it, but...something was in there, Uther. Something was looking right back at me...and I...I saw things. I looked within and was judged. For what, I don’t know, but it was just for a split second. Just like that, and it was gone. I can’t tell you what it was; it could’ve been trickery, for all I know. But I do know this: that thing, whatever is giving it clairvoyance, if there even is anything else in there other than magic, cannot be opened. It can’t even be destroyed. No matter what, we cannot let the dreadlords use it.”

“You said we have time,” Uther said. “How much do we have?”

“I don’t know. Best case scenario, they broke it out of wherever they had stored it during the jump and are just starting to power it up with the valves they’re opening and corrupting so they can infuse it with Domination. Worst case scenario, they’ve had it going for some time before we set up in Haven and they’ll use it very soon—could be any day now, could be a few. If they’ve already opened it, then we’ll know for sure in the next day or two.”

“And if they haven’t? What do you think?”

Sylvanas thought it over. “If I had to make a guess...about a week. Maybe less than that, but even that’s hard to pinpoint because we don’t know if the dreadlord assigned to it came over just recently or has been here since day one. But if he came with the rest of the nathrezim from the onset and they haven’t used it by now, then that means they’re still determining their next steps by guesswork just within the artifact’s proximity alone. Just like the bronze dragonflight, after the Dragon Soul was used to destroy Deathwing. They can only see glimpses of the timeways now. You have heard of them, haven’t you, Uther?”

“The bronze dragonflight…? Yes, I have heard of them, but most of what I know about dragons came from the Second War, and they were not being present at the same level the reds were.”

“Then you should know we really should be counting our blessings that the dreadlords are operating by hypotheticals right now and not on certainties like the bronze did years ago. Not until whoever is in charge at Provis Strata decides to give the all-clear and the go-ahead to activate the artifact.”

“Do we know who their commander is?”

“Unfortunately no, but it’s most likely another dreadlord and probably not one of the bounty hunters that have been giving us hell all over the southern half of the realm. The one I saw at Torghast was an arcanist, not much higher-up than your basic foot soldier but definitely with more executive privileges. If it’s not that, then we’re looking at one of the Mawsworn Ebon Commanders that got pulled in from Provis Flora or Provis Esper to supervise their operations. Either way, they’re going to have their base under heavy lockdown. Three attempts with three groups is too many, so they’ll be expecting a fourth incursion out of us. That’s fine by me, because then they’ll be too distracted to focus much on anything else. I can use that opportunity to sneak in there, grab the artifact, and get out before they even realize what’s going on.”

“But if they’re coordinating their offensives based on its proximity, then they should be well aware that something is going to happen at their base and they’ll take action before it does. You’ll be in their direct line of fire!”

“Guesswork is still guesswork, Uther. All that talk I heard in Northrend about ‘preserving the sanctity of the true timeline’ became bunk the moment the bronze started sending people back in time to stop the Infinite dragonflight, their corrupted kin from the future, from intervening and manipulating past events to play out the way they wanted them to for their own ends. It’s a headache to think about, I know, and a lot more to go into, but my point being is that it just goes to show that nothing is truly set in stone. You can consider the possibilities of your actions and what effects they’ll cause later on, but they won’t come into play unless you do them now.” Sylvanas looked in the direction of the Provis Strata base camp; this high up, she wouldn’t be able to see the magic pouring out of the valves nor tell how quickly the corruption process would take to override the automa following their core routines in the surrounding areas. It happened regardless. A cool wind sighed and lightly tossed her hair about, carrying with it the cloying sweetness of still freshwater—the sacred flow—over the mountaintops. “It’s now or never, Uther,” she muttered. “I’m not about to let this pass us by. Besides, if something does happen to me...then, well, that’s a win for everybody.” She smiled a smile bereft of mirth and humor. “It’ll be as if I never woke up.”

“Not if it means all our efforts will be for naught!” Uther said, heat and hurt in his voice, and his armor clinked together as he marched up and stood beside her. “Not if it means you could be the only person that stands between perseverance and eternal suffering!” He tried to lean over and look at her, but Sylvanas harrumphed and turned her back on him. Her ears twitched at the frustration in his sigh. “You are different now, Sylvanas. I may not know you as well as everyone else, but you have changed. The darkness does not hold sway over you anymore. You no longer have to let it dictate your decisions.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvanas said. “None of it does. I stopped being a victim a long time ago. Everything that has happened up til now, the whole reason we’re here, is because of me. No one asked for this. I made it this way.” She shuffled around on her feet until she was face to face with Uther once more, her expression hard. “You can’t overlook that,” she affirmed in a small voice. “You just don’t.”

“No,” said Uther, gently, “but do not forget: I am also to blame. I, too, was once Mawsworn. You and I deserve far more than what we have been given, but by luck or by providence we have been granted this opportunity to right the wrongs that have led us here. It may be a beginning...or it might be an end...but it might be a start. And we must not let that go to waste. That is why you have entrusted me with this information, Sylvanas, and that is why I trust you to be the one to carry out this mission.

“What happens in the next few days...our actions will be the factor that will determine the fate of the Shadowlands, and our own.” He put on a hand on her shoulder.

“I know,” Sylvanas said. “I know that all too well. But that doesn’t mean people will like that.”

“What people think about us in the past and what they think about us now, in this moment, is paltry compared to what’s at stake. This is more important.”

“You’re right, and that’s why I won’t sacrifice any more soldiers for this if I can help it. I’ve already thrown away too many lives. I want them to mean something. I don’t want them to be in vain.” Again she looked toward Provis Strata. “For all we know, they could be taking advantage of its magic and reading the timeways. They might even be looking in on us right now and we’re none the wiser. That’s too many variables to take into account to meticulously plan around that. So with the timetable laid out before us, it’s best that I leave now. At the very least I can take stock of the situation and either find an opening or force one open before I make my move. All their attention will be on me, and while that’s not going to stop the assaults from the base camps an infiltration should distract them for a little while. After that, it’s anybody’s guess. We can figure it out from there once the artifact’s under safekeeping.”

She started down the hill, and Uther followed. “If anyone asks, just tell them I’m on patrol. Not that they’re going to care, but it’s all I’ve been doing since the moment I came here. I’m not about to change that now. The less they know what I’m doing the better off they’ll be later on without me getting in the way.”

“This realm is massive, Sylvanas,” he said. “That’s almost half the day spent on foot! Let me at least go fetch you a mount--”

Sylvanas barked laughter and stopped to look back at him, mouth pulled in a sardonic smirk. “Uther,” she chuckled, not unkindly, “even the vespoids don’t want me riding them, and they hate people. It’s karma. I’m paying the price.”

“Karma nothing! You’re doing a good deed, so you’ll be rewarded in kind in the future.”

“Then it’s going to be one helluva long time before the fates even bother to make it happen.”

“Let me go back and get you a vombata. They’re gentle, they accepted the Enlightened. They’ll accept you so just--”

“No, Uther. When I said I’m not going to burn through peoples’ lives, I meant it. That includes animals. A beast will only slow me down.”

“Then how will I know what to do if something happens? How am I going to keep in touch with you?”

Sylvanas paused. She reached for a satchel on her belt, undid the snap with two fingers, and dug out a small, compact disc that she held between them. It was a burnished yellow, like the pieces of Progenitor tech adventurers and covenant troops had recovered throughout Zereth Mortis, and almost paper-thin. If not for the light of the fractals reflecting off the spheroids, it would have seemed as if she was pointing up at the sky. “This is a communicator the Enlightened used among themselves and the other broker cartels back when they were lipping prices in Tazavesh,” she said, and passed the device to him. “Vilo gave this to me in exchange for doing patrols on the down-low and bringing back any Progenitor paraphernalia I could find that the Army hasn’t desecrated. I have another like that on me, so you can hang onto that one. Both are attuned to my anima; as long as you’re holding onto it, and providing I’m not encountering any interference, you’ll be able to connect with me regardless of the distance. All you have to do is tap on it and I’ll respond. While I’m there I’ll send you updates on the base camp’s strength and numbers in the event we plan an attack. However, once I make my move I’m going dark. I won’t resume contact until I have the artifact and I’m out of their sight.

“I can’t promise you I’ll come back right away,” she told him, plainly and honestly. “If Provis Strata is this fortified, then I can only imagine how much more stacked the Plain of Actualization is. Lucky for us they kept it close by and not over there where we can’t even make it past Pilgrim’s Grace.”

“I like to think luck has always been on our side,” said Uther. “We’ve just merely taken it for granted.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Maybe it is. Maybe it has been, after all. And if it’s not, I’ll make it.” She regarded the greensward before them, rolling away into the horizon at a gentle, downward slope that was pockmarked here and there with the occasional hillocks and branch-lined floating spheroids. “I’m giving it until the end of the week—that’s four days from now. If you don’t hear back from me by then, send me a message and I’ll try to respond. If not,” she said, and leveled a stern gaze at Uther that offered no room for argument, “then send in a strike force to come get me out.”

“Sylvanas--”

“I know, but the Waystone is gone and the Light Step cyphers in the translocators are configured to only work in Zereth Mortis. The closest one is right next to where Firim’s at, and I don’t want to have to drag him into another fight with Elder Kreth and Elder Zoor again. My teams were too big and drew attention. A smaller group will do the same, but our odds will be better if you pick a select few that’ll hard-counter the dreadlords.”

“...Demon hunters, then,” Uther said. “Anyone that can keep their distance with the means to lure them out of the camp and dispose of them.”

“Exactly. Get the Slayer to loan you two or three of them: two archers to pick the enemy off, one to go into the camp. Better yet, throw in a warlock or rogue in there with them. Have Mishka lead them if she’s not out on a mission; she’s no loyalist, but she’s one of the very few people I can trust to not blow my head off first thing. If Jaina and Shandris aren’t convinced then have Taelia or Bolvar go with her. The choice is up to you, just get a small group together and point them at Provis Strata, but only do so as a last resort. Give it three days before you try to contact me. If I don’t answer by the fourth, send them in. Hopefully we won’t have to reach that point, but if we do then we’ll just have to give these bastards enough hell and pray we pull this off without anymore casualties.”

“And if we come across any defectors?”

Sylvanas heard the dismay that colored his voice. He knew. They both did. “...They don’t fight for the Shadowlands or Azeroth anymore,” she stated with cool bluntness. “They don’t care if the promises Zovaal is giving them is bait; they’ll take them for what they are. If they get in our way, then we’ll simply cut them down. I will cut them down. No matter how good or bad things get, whatever fresh hell I might have to face, I will see them through to the bitter end.”

“I...understand.”

“Good. One more thing, Uther,” Sylvanas said, before he could get the chance to speak more. “While I’m away, keep an eye out for any faces you might not recognize at Haven.”

“Saboteurs?” Sylvanas did not respond. Her brows knit together. “Sylvanas?” he asked.

“...No,” she said, slowly. “Not saboteurs. It’s more like...I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense...unless the Army….”

“What is it?”

“Uther, do you know that camp to the west? The one on the border of the mountains that surround the Path of Inception?”

“You mean the First Song’s Repose? Yes, I know of it. We’ve been unable to establish a secure corridor with them ever since the Xy Cartel broke through our resistance at Genesis Pass and besieged the brokers there. Why?”

“Ask the Elders if they still have connections to them. If they do, try to get in touch with the leader at First Song and ask for any updates on the Cartel’s movements. We...might be fighting on two different fronts.”

“Are you saying it was a feint?”

“I’m saying they’re not a big group and wouldn’t be pushing this far south away from the Terrace unless the Army reinforced them. They wouldn’t risk a frontal assault on Haven out in the open; they’ll get slaughtered. So that means….”

Uther’s face turned grim. “They’re using their translocators. They mean to get up close and attack us through a back door. But how could you know all this? We lost contact with First Song after the siege failed. Our scouts have been getting picked off one by one each time we send them out.” He searched her, and for the first time that she could remember Sylvanas tried not to squirm beneath his heavy-lidded stare. Then it dawned on him. “The artifact,” he breathed. “You saw something.”

“I saw many things,” Sylvanas admitted.

“A timeway.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. It was just madness. Not everything has to come true.”

“You think something’s going to happen at First Song. It’s not saboteurs I have to look out for.”

“I don’t know, and I mean it when I say that. I saw so many things when Zovaal showed it to me but I can’t tell you what they were because even I couldn’t make sense of what I was supposed to be looking at—and I still don’t. All I know is that First Song needs to be guarded and a corridor established between our camps so we can keep our supplies replenished and their worries of another assault abated. So just keep an eye out for anyone that stands out.”

“And what should I do when I see them?”

“If you see them,” Sylvanas started, paused, and considered. “If you see them,” she tried again, “then send them to me. I’ll...figure it out from there.”

Uther nodded without complaint, and for that Sylvanas was silently grateful. He gestured past her with a hand. “You should get going, while it’s still light out. I will tell the others our plan.”

“But not this,” Sylvanas interrupted, and Uther noticed the suddenness of it he showed no indication. “Not what I just told you. Just say you want to post a scout at the median leading up to First Song and set traps there, in case somebody from the Cartel or the Army tries to get wise and breaks through. It’s not too far out where they’ll be in danger but close enough to where they can make it back to Haven in one piece. Do it as soon as you get there. Mishka will do; her beasts are some of the sturdiest I’ve had to contend with. If I’m wrong about all this, then I can say it won’t be using up any essential resources.”

He inclined his head at her. “Very well. I’ll be sure she is well situated.”

“You do that.” She tilted her head back to the sky. The shadows of the raptoras were gone. The hum of the flowers at their feet crooned a sweet melody on the edge of hearing, mixed between a lullaby and droning tinnitus. The sacred flow teased her nostrils. All that would soon be replaced by hard scrub, sandy grit, and the stint of corruption. The rocks and the trees and the ponds would be drowned out by cacophonous machinery and sulfurous dark magic.

It made her sick to her stomach.

It made her soul ache.

She wanted to be struck down and never get up.

Sylvanas glanced at her shadow, took note of her bow hanging off her hips, the dagger at her belt, and the quiver strapped to her hips. All accounted for, she turned to the path before her, long and winding away into the unknown. “I’ll be back,” she said.

“Light be with you, Sylvanas,” Uther said.

She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, hard enough for the skin to break. Her chest seized painfully. Her head began to feel light and the world at her feet tilted over from one side to the other.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

She forced it all back, squared her shoulders, clenched her fists tight and set her gaze forward. “You as well, Uther,” she answered back in as steady a voice as she could muster, and went on her way.

She did not look back, nor did she pay heed to the scenes, the faces, and the questions that played out in her mind.

#mywriting #warcraft #tales of luminaria #fanfiction #that fic where celia & michelle go to zereth mortis fic

1 note · View note

moonlightangelprincess · 6 years

Text

Este oneshot lleva medio año cogiendo polvo en una de las miles de carpetas de proyectos inacabados que hay en mi ordenador. La idea surgió cuando leí un prompt: una floristería al lado de un estudio de tatuajes. Los primeros personajes que me vinieron a la cabeza fueron Ino y Sai, aunque no soy una shipper de esa pareja en especial (Sai es un personaje que nunca he llegado a apreciar realmente de Naruto) pero decidí jugar conmigo misma creando la oportunidad. En consecuencia os advierto que Sai ha quedado bastante OoC.

El núcleo de la historia en sí era bastante sencillo y se ha mantenido pero su desarrollo ha ido variando bastante. En cierto punto, de hecho, fue un minific de tres capítulos. Al final se ha quedado en un oneshot de casi seis mil palabras. De haber sido una verdadera shipper SaiIno el argumento habría dado, fácilmente, para un fanfic de veinte capítulos o más. Este one incluye, además, la primera aparición del OC del que más orgullosa me siento, la señora Kuragi. Espero hacerla aparecer en futuros drabbles, oneshots, fanfics, haikus o lo que sea porque es una crack.

Espero que os guste

Fandom: Naruto

Pareja: Sai e Ino [AU: Tatuador y florista]

Trigger warning: Mención a un encuentro sexual

21. Arise from the ashes

Ino llegó de vacaciones de madrugada. Las ruedas de su maleta hacían un ruido de lo más irritante en la acera, pero estaba demasiado cansada como para llevarla en vilo. Tan sólo pensar que al día siguiente tendría que madrugar para abrir la floristería lograba que le diesen los siete males. Se debería haber tomado un día extra para descansar de sus vacaciones. O quizá no debería haber bebido aquellos tres daiquiris la noche anterior a modo de despedida.

“Bueno, a lo hecho, pecho”, resolvió. Su casa estaba a tan sólo unos metros, encima del local donde se encontraba su floristería, y pensaba meterse en la cama en cuanto pusiese un pie en el apartamento.

Estaba tan cansada que le tomó unos instantes registrar que había un negocio nuevo en su calle. Tan en su calle, de hecho, que ocupaba el local anejo a la floristería. Después de haber estado cerrado durante casi un año, en apenas las dos semanas que había estado Ino de vacaciones parecía haber encontrado un nuevo dueño, y ahora era un salón de tatuajes. Ino hizo un ruido gutural al contemplar la fachada negra adornada con un elaborado graffiti de un dragón blanco, rojo y azul. Ino odiaba los tatuajes. Si aquella clase de negocio empezaba a atraer a quinquis y moteros, se arriesgaba a que le espantasen a su propia clientela, que tratándose de una floristería, se conformaba sobre todo de ancianitas.

Cuando se dio cuenta de que por algún motivo había pasado un par de minutos plantada ante el local cerrado, resolvió que no había demasiado que pudiese hacer a aquellas horas y subió a su apartamento. Mañana sería otro día.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aunque consiguió levantarse cuando le sonó el despertador, el madrugón para recibir las flores y ponerlo todo a punto puso a Ino de un humor de perros toda la mañana. Cuando llegó la hora de abrir todavía no se había tomado ni un café y sin duda Suwa, el dueño de la cafetería de enfrente, se dio cuenta, ya que le silbó a través de la calzada y le ofreció un latte gratis. Ino le correspondió con una de sus sonrisas más irresistibles.

-¿Conoces ya a tu nuevo vecino? –Preguntó Suwa.

Ino echó una mirada de refilón al estudio de tatuajes y admitió:

-No tengo el placer, no.

Suwa soltó una risotada.

-Si las miradas matasen… Bueno, mi sobrina me estuvo echando una mano la semana pasada y me informó de que Sai está de muy buen ver, así que igual te llevas una sorpresa. Desde luego, mis parroquianos están de acuerdo en que las posibilidades de que los hombres de la calle nos echemos novia se han reducido drásticamente desde que él llegó.

Ino hizo una caída de ojos.

-Ya veo –fue lo único que dijo antes de despedirse y volver a su floristería.

La joven se encontraba colocando una serie de pequeños tiestos con cosmos cuando vio por el rabillo del ojo que alguien se detenía ante el estudio de tatuajes y se rebuscaba los bolsillos hasta dar con las llaves. Con muy poca discreción, Ino se giró para averiguar de quién se trataba. Aquél debía ser el tal Sai: alto, fibroso y de cabello negro y brazos cubiertos de tatuajes que mostraban carpas nadando entre las olas hasta donde las mangas de su camiseta negra le dejaban ver. Al sentirse observado, Sai se giró hacia Ino y esbozó una sonrisa:

-Ah, Yamanaka-san, ¿no? Por fin nos conocemos. Soy Sai.

Ella enarcó una ceja:

-“¿Por fin?”

La sonrisa de Sai no vaciló:

-He oído hablar mucho de ti desde que abrí el local.

Ino exhaló un suspiro. Rogó para sus adentros que Suwa no hubiese estado hablando acerca de ella con algún otro viejo verde. No faltaban en aquella zona.

-Ya, bueno… espero que no hayas oído sólo burradas.

Sai rio:

-No, no han sido sólo burradas.

-Genial.

-¿Necesitas ayuda?

Ino había terminado con los cosmos y cargaba una pesada jardinera con claveles de vibrantes colores.

-No, estoy bien, gracias. Soy más fuerte de lo que parezco.

-¿Ves? Ésa es una de las cosas que había oído.

El comentario casi logró que Ino volcase la jardinera. Sai se volvió hacia la persiana metálica del estudio para abrir, y al entrar en el local Ino le oyó desconectar la alarma. Hizo un esfuerzo para concentrarse en sus flores, porque la verdad era que el cerebro se le escapaba en dirección a Sai cada doce segundos. Suwa, o mejor dicho su sobrina, tenía razón: Sai estaba muy bien. Una pena que Ino ya hubiese decidido que le odiaba. Bueno, no le odiaba, pero seguía preocupada por el futuro de su clientela, que era mucho más importante que el tatuador macizo de la tienda de al lado.

Ino había heredado la floristería cuando sus padres, los dueños del negocio, resolvieron jubilarse y mudarse a la costa. Su padre había desarrollado una enfermedad pulmonar, y en vez de vivir dependiendo de medicaciones en el corazón de la ciudad, había decidido que le había llegado el momento de llevar una vida tranquila de una vez por todas. El aire marino le estaba sentando de maravilla, como observaba Ino cada vez que iba a visitarles. A veces se encontraba por la ciudad con su hermano mayor, Shun, que a diferencia de ella había querido estudiar y llevaba una vida de lo más cómoda dando clases de Ingeniería Informática en la universidad a la que él mismo había asistido. Ino había soñado con ser modelo en su adolescencia, pero había acabado claudicando ante su propia falta de autodisciplina, tan necesaria para aquella clase de carrera. La fama que no había obtenido por esos medios la había conseguido gracias a la cuenta de Instagram de la floristería, gracias a la que le estaba dando una segunda vida al negocio. Después de todo, las cosas iban bien. Tan sólo esperaba que siguiese siendo así.

Las campanillas de la puerta lograron que Ino levantase la vista de su teléfono móvil.

-¡Ah, Ino-chan! Me alegra ver que has vuelto de vacaciones.

Se trataba de la señora Kuragi, una de sus clientas más fieles. Ino la había visto acudir a la floristería desde que era niña y había observado su transformación en anciana salida con el pelo teñido de un color sospechosamente parecido al azul y una agresiva manicura de puntiagudas uñas rojas que rara vez no sostenía un pitillo. La madre de Ino aseguraba que la señora Kuragi era la asaltacunas primigenia.

-Me alegra estar de vuelta, señora Kuragi –respondió Ino.

La mujer se acodó en el mostrador.

-¿Has visto a esa monada de vecino que tienes? Yo le daba.

Ino no pudo evitar ruborizarse un poco ante el siempre procaz vocabulario de la señora Kuragi. Sus amigas, que siempre le decían que no tenía pelos en la lengua, deberían oír a aquella señora.

-No está mal –concedió.

-¡Que no está mal! Chica, tienes hielo en las venas. Yo estoy pensando hacerme un tatuaje sólo para acercar posiciones.

Ino miró a la señora Kuragi de arriba abajo tan disimuladamente como pudo. Desde luego, se la imaginaba pidiéndole a Sai que le tatuase el texto completo de En busca del tiempo perdido sólo para tener la oportunidad de desnudarse en la misma habitación en la que estuviese él.

-¿De veras? –Ino se puso a recolocar las hojas de una de las plantas que tenía encima del mostrador sólo para tener algo en las manos.

-Bueno, no es más que una idea. A mi edad no debería quedar sitio para arrepentirse de las cosas que no se han hecho. Además, si mi madre, que en paz descanse, me viera con un tatuaje, se volvería a morir. La muy bruja.

-…Ya.

-¿Y qué hay de ti, querida? ¿Tienes tatuajes, o planeas hacerte alguno?

-La verdad es que no. No me entusiasman –se sinceró Ino.

La señora Kuragi chasqueó la lengua y echó un vistazo muy poco disimulado al escote de la camiseta de Ino.

-Una pena. Disculpa si no lamento no tener que competir contigo. Serías una digna rival.

Ino ahogó una risita.

-Me lo tomaré como un cumplido, señora Kuragi.

-Más te vale, Ino-chan. En fin, voy a salir a fumarme un cigarro. He visto esos tiestos tan bonitos que tienes en la puerta. ¿Están de oferta?

-Sí, son cosmos. Son mis flores favoritas.

-Um, puede que me lleve uno mañana. Hoy tengo planes. Volveré, de todas formas. ¡Adiós!

Al salir, la señora Kuragi se cruzó con una joven pareja que entraba en la floristería. Enderezándose, Ino les saludó:

-¡Bienvenidos! ¿En qué puedo ayudarles?

-¡Hola! –La pareja tendría la misma edad que Ino. La joven miró a su alrededor con expresión emocionada, y se disculpó- ¡Ah, perdona que haga caras raras! Sigo tu Instagram. Soy muy fan.

-Vaya, gracias.

-Nos gustaría encargar un ramo de flores –intervino el chico.

-¡Por supuesto! –Ino sacó un desvencijado cuaderno de espiral de debajo del mostrador-. ¿En qué clase de flores habían pensado? ¿Es para una ocasión especial?

-Bueno… -La joven se puso colorada-. La verdad es que pensaba dejarte a ti la elección de las flores y todo eso. Me encanta cuando pones lo del significado en la descripción de las fotos en Insta, y pensé que podrías hacer lo mismo… si no es problema.

-¡En absoluto! –La verdad era que se trataba de una oportunidad excelente. Los ramos para los que recibía instrucciones muy precisas no le parecían, ni de lejos, tan interesantes como aquéllos en los que tenía la oportunidad de poner a prueba su creatividad.

-Verás, el ramo es… para mi padre. Se acaba de recuperar de un cáncer cuando pensábamos que no lo haría. Me gustaría que transmita alegría y esperanza.

Ino anotó los datos con aire ausente. Su mente empezaba a bullir de ideas.

-…Ajá. Voy a necesitar sus datos para decirle cuándo puede venir a recogerlo. Debería estar en un par de días. ¿Le va bien?

-¡Es perfecto! Gracias.

El resto del día fue tranquilo, e Ino pudo centrarse en diseñar el ramo en cuestión. Comió allí mismo, en el mostrador, y mientras daba buena cuenta de su sándwich y su té frío estuvo cotilleando el Instagram del estudio de tatuajes de Sai. Como ella, Sai utilizaba la red social para dar a conocer su trabajo, pero al contrario de Ino, no había fotos de sí mismo en ningún sitio. Se imaginó que debía tener una cuenta personal, y casi sin darse cuenta, se puso a buscarla.

Las campanillas de la puerta volvieron a sonar. Ino se puso en pie de un salto, medio ocultando el móvil detrás de una maceta. Sai se encontraba en mitad de su tienda. Su mirada se paseó por el mostrador, y pareció un tanto decepcionado al advertir el sándwich a medio comer de Ino.

-Ah, vaya –se le escapó.

Ella siguió su mirada y, al ver que el comentario se debía a su comida, preguntó:

-¿Qué pasa?

-Venía a invitarte a comer, pero veo que llego tarde. Lamento la interrupción.

Sai se giró para marcharse, pero Ino reaccionó:

-¡Espera! –Sai se volvió de nuevo hacia ella-. Eh… te agradezco el detalle, pero no puedo irme de la tienda a la hora de la comida. No tengo horario partido.

Sai se rascó la parte posterior de la cabeza.

-Ya veo.

-Podemos ir a cenar… esta noche… ¿si quieres?

El rostro del joven se iluminó con una sonrisa.

-Claro.

-Con una condición –Ino levantó el dedo índice.

-¿Sí? –Preguntó Sai.

-Tenemos que ir al centro. Si nos quedamos en esta zona, mañana seremos la comidilla de todo el barrio.

Sai soltó una carcajada.

-Está bien.

En cuanto Sai salió de la tienda, Ino se metió en la parte de atrás discretamente para golpearse la cabeza contra la pared. Le resultaba muy difícil resistirse cuando le tiraban los trastos, y dada su disposición coquetona, eso le pasaba bastante a menudo. Ni siquiera era capaz de mantener las promesas que se hacía a sí misma. No es que hubiese llegado a prometerse nada en lo relativo a Sai, pero lo que acababa de hacer, que era básicamente pedirle una cita, iba totalmente en contra a su propósito de considerarle algo así como un enemigo. Acabó resolviendo que quizá no fuese tan mala idea: después de todo, quizá descubriese algo que usar si sus temores se veían confirmados. Decidió ponerse manos a la obra con el ramo que le habían encargado para quitarse a Sai de la cabeza, y cuando quiso darse cuenta, era la hora de cerrar y su vecino tatuador estaba bajando la persiana mientras ella retiraba los tiestos de la entrada. Sus miradas se cruzaron y él le sonrió. Ino le sonrió de vuelta. Sai volvió a ofrecerle su ayuda sin más, ella la rechazó de nuevo, y acordó recogerla cuarenta y cinco minutos después, lo que les daría tiempo a ambos para cambiarse para la cena. Sai le explicó, sin que ella le hubiese preguntado, dónde vivía, e Ino no pudo sino figurarse que Sai sólo quería explicar por qué necesitaba tanto tiempo para ir a su casa y volver.

Una vez en su casa, Ino se dio una ducha y se secó el pelo con el secador para darle volumen, pero al escoger la ropa se quedó con unos vaqueros con pedrería y un top interesante, diciéndole que no con la cabeza a aquel vestido tan mono que se había comprado antes de las vacaciones. Se puso un brillo de labios color melocotón y sombra de ojos color bronce y bajó a esperar a Sai frente a la floristería, porque no habían intercambiado números de teléfono. Cuando llegó Ino observó que llevaba la misma camiseta negra o al menos una muy parecida, aunque se había cambiado los pantalones y lucía unos vaqueros oscuros, y se calzaba con unas zapatillas Converse de color negro. Resultaba muy atractivo, y eso, para alguien con aversión a los tatuajes como ella, era decir bastante.

Sai escogió un restaurante italiano en el que se combinaban una decoración clásica de manteles de cuadros y velas en botellas de vino con luces de Navidad, aunque era verano, y ramos de dalias de múltiples colores en casi todas las superficies. Uno de los camareros le saludó chocando los puños y fue así como Ino se enteró de que era un antiguo cliente suyo. Tenía el brazo derecho cubierto de tatuajes entre los que distinguió calaveras y máscaras hanya. Les recomendó una botella de vino de la casa y tomó nota de lo que querían tomar. Al quedarse a solas, Ino le preguntó:

-¿Cómo decidiste hacerte tatuador?

Exactamente al mismo tiempo, él quiso saber:

-¿Desde cuando tienes la floristería?

Se miraron y rieron, azorados. Ino se aclaró la garganta y Sai hizo un gesto:

-Por favor, tú primero.

Ella se colocó un mechón de pelo detrás de la oreja y le empezó a contar cómo fue crecer en la floristería y la manera en que quedó en sus manos cuando sus padres se mudaron fuera de la ciudad. Al terminar animó a Sai a que hiciese lo propio. Éste apoyó los codos en la mesa mientras les servían la comida y explicó:

-Crecí en un sistema experimental creado por el Gobierno para evitar la existencia de los orfanatos en el sentido tradicional. La manera en que estaba organizado permite a huérfanos como yo tener algo parecido a una familia: vives con otros chicos y chicas en una casa y hay un adulto, un cuidador, que ejerce el papel de padre o madre. Uno de los mayores en nuestra casa era Yamato, que para mí era todo un modelo a seguir. Cuando cumplió los dieciocho y pudo salir del sistema se hizo tatuador, y cuando salí yo me convertí en su aprendiz. Viví con él una buena temporada.

-Ajá –respondió Ino dando un sorbo a su copa de vino.

Esbozó una sonrisa nerviosa y siguió comiendo en silencio. La mirada de Sai había adquirido un brillo amable al hablar de Yamato, así que a Ino no le costó sacar sus propias conclusiones. Sin embargo, él ladeó la cabeza unos centímetros y dejó caer:

-Crees que soy gay.

Ella dio un respingo en la silla, pillada en falta. A falta de algo mejor que hacer frotó el mango del tenedor con la yema del dedo índice.

-No tiene nada de malo –repuso.

-Claro que no –apostilló Sai-, pero no es el caso. Me gustan las chicas. Me gustas tú.

Ino le sostuvo la mirada con decisión y dejó de toquetear el tenedor.

-Nos acabamos de conocer –respondió.

-Es verdad –concedió él-, pero nuestros vecinos me dijeron que eres guapísima y no se equivocaban. Tienes todo mi interés.

Se miraron durante un instante más antes de inclinarse sobre la mesa a la vez para besarse.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Entraron en el apartamento de Ino a trompicones con los brazos enredados. Sai repetía cada vez que se separaban a tomar aire:

-Eres una belleza…

Pasaron junto al taller, donde Sai echó un breve vistazo a la mesa de trabajo que utilizaba Ino, y aunque ella intentó dirigirle a su habitación, él la llevó al interior del taller aún con las luces apagadas. No tardó en dar con el espejo en el que Ino se tomaba los selfies que subía a Instagram. Se colocó detrás de ella y le besó el cuello mientras le metía una mano en las bragas delante del espejo. Ino echó la cabeza hacia atrás y Sai le susurró al oído:

-¿Te has visto alguna vez la cara al llegar al orgasmo? Todo el mundo debería hacerlo al menos una vez.

La acarició entre las piernas y con su otra mano le cubrió el pecho por encima del top. Ino sintió, al principio, cierto reparo en mirar su reflejo, pero al hacerlo se vio tal y como lo hacía Sai: ardiendo de deseo y envuelta en sus brazos. Se sintió poderosa de una forma que nunca antes había experimentado. Le sujetó la muñeca derecha y le guio mientras con la otra mano buscaba su rostro para besarle instantes antes alcanzar el clímax arqueándose hacia él. “Tiene razón”, pensó Ino. “Todo el mundo debería verse llegar”.

Dos orgasmos después Sai se abrochaba los pantalones, resollando todavía. Echó un vistazo a la mesa de trabajo de Ino en la penumbra del taller. El ramo que le habían encargado esa misma tarde estaba a medio hacer en una de las mesas. Ino encendió la luz y volvió a dirigirse al espejo para arreglarse el pelo.

-¿Estás trabajando en esto? –Se interesó Sai.

-Sí, es un encargo –respondió ella.

La superficie de madera de la mesa estaba cubierta de arañazos y pequeñas manchas que habían dejado muchas flores a lo largo de mucho tiempo. En torno al ramo descansaban las herramientas que empleaba Ino para cortar tallos y rematar formas. Un sencillo cuaderno de espiral que había visto días mejores atrajo la atención de Sai. Estaba lleno de esbozos y completaba otros papeles en los que pudo ver guías de colores y bocetos con formas.

-Qué interesante –comentó Sai-. Trabajas mucho en la preparación antes de hacer el ramo en sí.

-Claro. La intuición no es fiable –respondió Ino-. Creo que lo tendré listo mañana. Lo pondré en Instagram. Ya tengo hasta el nombre: “Alzarse de las cenizas”.

Sai enarcó las cejas.

-Que dramático -dijo.

Ino soltó una carcajada.

-Si me conocieras sabrías que el drama es mi vida –declaró al girarse de nuevo hacia el espejo.

Observó en el cristal cómo Sai daba unos pasos hacia ella.

-Eso me gustaría.

-¿El qué?

-Conocerte.

Sai estaba justo detrás de ella y le había puesto las manos en la cintura. Ino puso los ojos en blanco.

Se había pasado media vida luchando contra el estereotipo de que las mujeres eran quienes desarrollaban sentimientos primero. No era su caso. En la mayoría de sus aventuras era ella quien quería pasar un buen rato y salir corriendo, y los tíos con los que se acostaba los que le iban con el rollo de “salgamos juntos” y “quiero conocerte”. Al parecer Sai no era diferente. Le miró con gesto escéptico a través del espejo y dijo:

-A buenas horas. Ya hemos follado.

Fue el turno de Sai de reír:

-Me he dado cuenta. Ha estado muy bien –se inclinó unos centímetros para que su barbilla quedase tan sólo un poco por encima del hombro de Ino devolviéndole la mirada.

Ino no logró evitar que se le escapase una mirada hacia los labios de Sai. Se sentía tentada de pararle los pies con un comentario sarcástico, pero tenía suficiente experiencia en los rollos de una noche para saber que a veces al César había que darle lo que era del César.

-Es verdad –admitió.

Se quedaron así, él detrás de ella ante el espejo, e Ino no tardó en deducir que Sai estaba esperando que le invitase a pasar la noche con ella. Sin embargo, ese no era su estilo.

-¿Trabajas mañana? –Preguntó ella.

-Sí –respondió Sai.

-Yo también, así que me voy a ir a la cama.

Hizo un ademán para guiarle hasta la puerta y él se dejó hacer. Seguía sonriendo plácidamente, como si no le estuvieran echando. Ino encontró su actitud un tanto perturbadora, pero si conseguía su propósito, no iba a quejarse.

-Hasta mañana –se despidió Sai una vez en el rellano.

-Adiós –contestó Ino antes de cerrar la puerta.

“Mejor así”, se dijo. “Cada mochuelo a su olivo.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ino se levantó temprano para terminar el ramo. Consiguió completarlo instantes antes de abrir la floristería y, satisfecha ante su creación, lo puso junto a la ventana, a través de la que entraba un haz de luz que resaltaba tanto los colores de las flores que no sería necesario filtro alguno. Tomó un par de fotografías, seleccionó su preferida y la subió a Instagram. A continuación escribió la descripción:

“Alzarse de las cenizas: un ramo muy especial para un héroe muy especial, que ha superado una enfermedad y vuelve a casa con los suyos. He utilizado narcisos, que simbolizan el respeto, irises, que implican buenas noticias, y peonías, símbolo del valor #flowergram #arisefromtheashes #nofilter”

Tras colgar la foto echó un vistazo a su feed mientras desayunaba. Estuvo a punto de ahogarse con el café al ver que Sai había colgado una foto de un diseño para un tatuaje que mostraba un enorme ave fénix; el nombre de la ilustración era, según la descripción de la foto, Alzarse de las cenizas. Comprobó cuándo la había colgado y se le descolgó la mandíbula al ver que lo había hecho media hora. Airada, se puso de pie. Le costaba creer que ese cabrón le hubiese copiado pero la prueba estaba ante sus ojos. Empezó a teclear un comentario furibundo bajo la foto, pero lo borró al recordar que eran vecinos y tenía una manera mucho más directa de comunicarle lo cabreada que estaba. Incapaz de terminar el desayuno, terminó de vestirse a toda prisa para bajar a cantarle las cuarenta.

Sai estaba subiendo la persiana metálica de su estudio cuando Ino se acercó a él dando grandes zancadas. La recibió con una sonrisa afable. Ella la ignoró y le espetó allí mismo, en la acera:

-¡¿Cómo te has atrevido a robarme la idea?!

Suwa se asomó a la puerta del bar al oír a Ino dando voces, pero Sai ni se inmutó.

-¿Qué idea? –Preguntó con aire inocente.

-No te hagas el loco –le recriminó-. Hablo de tu ilustración. De mi ramo. “Alzarse de las cenizas”, ¿te suena?

Sai dejó que la persiana subiera hasta lo alto y a continuación se metió las manos en los bolsillos.

-Es una frase como cualquier otra –respondió sin perder la calma-. No es que te la hayas inventado tú.

Volvió a sacar las llaves y abrió la puerta. Ino le sigo al interior mientras él desconectaba la alarma. Notaba la mirada de Suwa pegada a la espalda al desaparecer en el interior del estudio.

-Sí, pero sabias que yo la iba a usar en mi ramo –insistió.

-Y aun así sigue siendo una frase como cualquier otra, aunque te agradezco la idea. Tenía un tatuaje importante que diseñar y ese comentario tuyo antes de que me largases de tu casa me trajo la inspiración que necesitaba.

Ino se detuvo en seco en mitad del estudio mientras él encendía las luces.

-¿Lo hiciste por eso? –Preguntó, incrédula-. ¿Estabas molesto porque no quise que te quedaras?

-Sí que te gusta el drama –Sai se apoyó en el mostrador, cubierto de pegatinas de locales alternativos y grupos de música que Ino no conocía-. Insisto en que no te copié la idea, como dices tú, sino que me inspiré, y de todas formas no lo hice por eso. Es cierto que me molestó, pero es tu casa al fin y al cabo.

No esperaba que lo admitiera tan abiertamente. Ino despegó los labios para replicar pero se dio cuenta de que no se le ocurría qué decir. Finalmente preguntó:

-¿No podrías al menos haber colgado tu foto después? –Sabía que sonaba lastimera y no es lo que quería, pero estaba dicho.

Sai sonrió sin alegría.

-Soy más madrugador que tú. Eso es todo.

Frustrada, Ino enderezó la espalda.

-Muy bien –respondió entre dientes antes de darse la vuelta e irse.

Parecía que no se había equivocado con Sai después de todo. Como si hubiera sabido lo que Ino había pensado de él al ver su estudio por primera vez, se había arrojado tras el rol de rival. Lo que no sabía era lo formidable que podía llegar a ser Ino como enemiga.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

No volvieron a hablar más allá de los saludos de rigor si coincidían en la calle, pero Ino empezó a poner mucho cuidado en tener el frontal de la floristería completamente montado cuando Sai llegaba para abrir cada mañana, de manera que estaba dentro de la tienda cuando el levantaba la persiana de su estudio. El ramo fue un éxito y le consiguió un buen montón de nuevos seguidores en Instagram, entre ellos Sai a través de la cuenta del estudio. Un día tuvo incluso la desfachatez de tomar una fotografía de algunas de las flores que tenía Ino en el frontal y escribir en la descripción:

“En busca de la inspiración #flowers”

Incluso le dio un Like al selfie que subió Ino unos días después de eso. Se preguntó qué nivel de sarcasmo se gastaba Sai para que demostrase que le gustaba aquella foto tomada ante el espejo delante del que la había masturbado en su noche juntos. Por su parte, ella evitó darle Likes a cualquiera de sus fotos, aunque casi le dio uno por error a la foto que mostraba el tatuaje que se llamaba como su ramo terminado sobre las clavículas de una atractiva joven. Acabó dando con la cuenta personal de Sai, pero estaba bloqueada para no seguidores, así que lo dejó estar.

Pasaron un par de meses y el verano dio paso al otoño. El ultimo tiesto de cosmos se lo quedó Ino y lo coloco a modo de adorno en su taller. Le tomo una poética fotografía bajo la luz dorada de un atardecer y la subió a Instagram añadiendo un tag al de Sakura, su mejor amiga, deseándole buena suerte en los estudios que seguía cursando en la otra punta del país. El primer Like fue de Sai, e Ino se enfurruñó porque debería haber sido su amiga quien pulsase el corazoncito rojo antes que nadie. Salvo por detalles como aquel, llevaba un par de semanas sin verle. Había oído a Suwa comentar que le habían visto salir del estudio con una chica en varias ocasiones, pero Ino prestó oídos sordos, pues conocía la querencia de Suwa y sus parroquianos por los cotilleos.

Fue a finales de septiembre cuando Ino se durmió por la mañana por primera vez. Cuando desbloqueó el teléfono para mirar la hora se dio cuenta de que había apagado la alarma en sueños y la floristería debería llevar más de una hora abierta. Se puso en pie de un salto y se vistió a toda prisa, recogiéndose el pelo en una coleta que tuvo que detenerse a deshacer para no parecer una indigente tras el mostrador. Bajó a la floristería en ayunas y llegó a tiempo para ver a la señora Kuragi charlando con alguien junto a su puerta. Ino abrió a toda velocidad y saludo a la mujer:

-¡Buenos días, señora Kuragi! ¿Me esperaba?

-Más o menos. –Dio una calada a su pitillo y añadió-. Le comentaba a Sai lo raro que me parecía que no hubieras abierto todavía.

Frente a la señora Kuragi, Sai se apoyaba junto a la pared exterior del estudio. Echó una mirada a Ino que ella le devolvió sin detenerse demasiado en él.

-Se me han pegado las sábanas –reconoció sin ambages.

La señora Kuragi soltó una risa jactanciosa antes de llevarse el cigarrillo que sostenía en la mano derecha a los labios. Afiló la mirada al dirigirla a Sai y comentar:

-Tu vecino me decía que estaba preocupado por ti.

Sai ahogó una risa que trataba de sonar casual. Los ojos de Ino se detuvieron en él al fin.

-Gracias por preocuparte –claudicó al fin la joven-, pero como puedes ver, estoy bien.

-Me alegra comprobarlo –fue la respuesta de Sai.

La señora Kuragi les miró alternativamente y expulsó el humo de sus pulmones en una nube pálida. Se dirigió a Sai:

-Bueno, ahora que está resuelto el misterio, ¿podemos pasar al estudio? –Se volvió hacia Ino y explico, muy ufana-. Me voy a hacer un tatuaje.

Ino alzo las cejas. Así que al final aquella vieja verde se había atrevido.

-Nunca es tarde, o eso dicen –replicó.

-Así es.

La señora Kuragi apuró el pitillo antes de dirigirse al estudio. Sai la siguió en silencio pero lanzó una expresiva mirada a Ino tras la espalda de su nueva clienta. Quiero enterrar el hacha de guerra, leyó en sus ojos. Quiero volver a hablar contigo. Ino se puso a montar el frontal de la tienda sin dejar de pensar en esa muda súplica.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aquel acabó siendo un buen día. Un cliente la entretuvo más allá de la hora del cierre dándole detalles de un centro de mesa que necesitaba para una ocasión especial; por el rabillo del ojo vio cómo Sai cerraba el estudio y entraba en la floristería. Fingió interesarse por una hilera de pequeños cactus mientras ella tomaba nota de las especificaciones del cliente, que al terminar pidió expresamente que no publicase ese trabajo en Instagram. A regañadientes, Ino aceptó. Cuando el hombre se hubo marchado, Ino se dirigió a Sai:

-¿Qué tal el tatuaje de la señora Kuragi? –Se interesó.

-Agónico –admitió el.

Ambos rieron. Acto seguido se hizo un tenso silencio.

-Tengo que… cerrar la floristería –dijo al fin Ino dirigiéndose al exterior.

Sai la siguió y la ayudo a desmontar el frontal. Trabajaron en silencio hasta que Sai comentó:

-Sales muy bien en el selfie que pusiste ayer en Instagram.

-Gracias –Ino se aclaró la garganta.

-Todavía me gustas, ¿lo sabes? -Ino echó la llave de la floristería por dentro. Se giró hacia Sai-. ¿Sigues molesta por lo del nombre del tatuaje?

Ino quiso responder que sí, pero ni siquiera ella lo bastante rencorosa como para seguir enfadada por algo así. Fue sincera:

-No era sólo el nombre, ¿sabes? Me encantó hacerlo contigo y de hecho no me importaría repetir, pero cuando abrí Instagram y vi la frase que te había dicho… No le habría dejado ver mis bocetos a cualquier rollo de una noche. Sentí que habías abusado de mi confianza y que eso no estaba a la altura de haber hecho que te fueras aunque estaba bastante claro que no querías. No entiendo cómo puedes seguir estando interesado en mí después haberte echado de mi casa…

Él se apoyó en el mostrador de la floristería.

-Te gusta el drama, tu misma me lo dijiste y me lo acabaste demostrando. -Ino sonrió al fin, en una especie de disculpa muda que no era tal, y Sai le devolvió la sonrisa. Finalmente concluyó-. No he dejado de pensar en ti ni un solo momento.

Ella entornó los párpados.

-Bueno, vi tu foto de mi floristería. ¿Encontraste la inspiración que buscabas?

Sai cruzó una mirada con ella y se quitó la zapatilla derecha. En el empeine del pie tenía un nuevo tatuaje, el de un cosmos de color amarillo. Ella despegó los labios, sorprendida al ver su flor favorita grabada en la piel de Sai, pero él se adelantó al explicar:

-El nombre científico de esta variedad es Cosmos sulphureus. No es de las que has tenido en la tienda pero la vi en Internet poco después de tomar esa foto y me hizo pensar en ti. Casi todos mis tatuajes tienen un significado muy específico. Creo que no me he equivocado al dedicarte uno.

Ino se mordió el labio inferior antes de declarar:

-Es una apuesta muy arriesgada, dado nuestro historial.

-Es verdad –reconoció él-, pero se me da bien adivinar cuándo alguien va a dejar huella en mi vida y estoy convencido de que es tu caso.

Volvió a calzarse ante la mirada de Ino. No podía negar que después de todo lo que había pasado empezaba a despertarse en ella un interés por Sai que no había sentido cuando le conoció. Quizá fuese el momento idóneo para volver a acostarse con él, invitarle a dormir y dejar que las cosas sucediesen como tuviesen que suceder. Se le dibujó una sonrisa en el rostro.

-Estás de suerte. Si me invitas a ir a cenar de nuevo voy a responder que sí –anunció.

Sai alzó la vista hacia Ino. Intercambiaron una mirada cómplice.

-Es la mejor noticia que he recibido en mucho tiempo. ¿Te paso a buscar en cuarenta minutos? –Ella le interrogó con la mirada, por lo que Sai se apresuró a declarar-. Tengo que prepararme.

-Lo único que necesitas llevar encima es tu atracción por mí –Ino acortó el espacio que mediaba entre Sai y ella.

-Eso hace tiempo que no puedo quitármelo –dijo él.

Le rodeó la cintura con los brazos. Ella tanteó su camiseta, haciéndose de rogar, hasta que finalmente se puso de puntillas para besarle en la boca. Se le había olvidado lo bueno que era.

-Olvídate de la cena –susurró al separarse de él-. Pasemos directamente al postre.

A Sai le pareció bien. Sin apenas separarse se dirigieron al apartamento.

#500 drabbles #500 prompts #naruto #saiino #moonlight angel princess fanfic #moonlight angel princess #fanfic #fanfiction

5 notes · View notes