Round One: Team Alan/Sin
Title: Eyes on Me
Creator: orexisbella
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Alan/Sin
Warnings: Spoilers for TDL and TDC
Length: Video (4:05), Fic (1509 words, including a few song snippets), Soundtrack (5 songs)
i'm like the ringleader (i call the shots)
i'm like a firecracker (i make it hot)
all eyes on me in the centre of the ring just like a circus
Sin knows he's out there, even if she can't see him. He's come to every Market since the battle; she's still uneasy around Nick, but Alan saved Toby, and she's not a woman who forgets her debts.
The first few encounters had been stiffly civil, years of mutual dislike taking their toll, but they've managed to work their way up to a semi-friendly banter. She can't charm him, and he can't fool her, but they can take shots at each other and smile sweetly afterwards. Somehow it works.
She was starting to think they might become - not friends, really, but comfortable allies at least, but then he started avoiding her. Oh, he's not outright about it: less words when they see each other, detached nods instead of smirks, a subtle-but-not withdrawal into his default polite facade.
She's surprised by just how much it bothers her. Sin Davies doesn't like being ignored, especially not at the Market. She might be fighting for the leadership, but it's still her stage: it's entirely evident in the way the crowd parts as she moves towards the dancing area, in the way they converge around her. They shift and sweep, watching the blossoms in her hands, waiting for her favour.
Sin hates the demons, but she revels in the crowd. And she knows he's on the fringes of it, has been for weeks - Alan was never one to watch the dancing (unless Nick was involved), but she can feel his eyes, more focussed than all the others, following her sure steps.
***
you want three wishes:
one to fly to the heavens, one to swim like fishes
and then one you're saving for a rainy day
Alan can't stop watching her dance.
He's always liked seeing her with Toby and Lydie, but now he finds himself looking at her almost constantly.
He knows this is ridiculous: as much as he likes hope and lost causes, this one is so far beyond lost it's cliche. They might not hate each other anymore, but even a friendship seems beyond their reach right now.
Still, there's a part of him that can't help but wish for a fever blossom to land at his feet as Sin tosses them into the crowd.
***
we'd be so less fragile if we're made from metal
and our hearts from iron, and our minds from steel
Alan turns towards the door as the bell rings, mouth already curving into a shy, crooked smile (the one the customers love). "Welcome to Fish Books, how can I-"
He stops short when he sees the lean, dark figure framed in the doorway. "Cynthia."
She takes a few steps into the shop, shoes tapping lightly on the floor. He would have called those steps tentative if anyone else had taken them, but the way she moves is never quite hesitant.
"Nick told me where to find you." Sin's voice breaks the settling silence. Her eyes slide past him, over the shelves and the counter and the worn benches, before coming back to rest on his face. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me."
"I'm not-" Her quelling look stops his denial in its tracks, and he sighs. "Things are... weird, Sin."
"I know they're weird! Things have been weird for years, Alan, but they were getting better." She stretches a frustrated hand out sharply. "I want to know what's gotten so much weirder in the last few weeks."
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I just don't think pretending to be friends is working for us."
"But we're not pretending! We're not friends, either, but we're not pretending."
"Whatever it is, I don't particularly enjoy it." Alan leans back against the counter, meeting her challenging stare. "What do you want to do about it?"
Sin cocks her head, dark hair cascading over one strong shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
"About as far as Nick can throw you," he says, with the flash of a smile.
She smirks. "I'll come back in a few days."
***
russian roulette is not the same without a gun
Alan has come up with about twenty different theories in the intervening days, but he certainly didn't expect her to take him to a shooting range. He looks at her quizzically, and there's an unexpected flicker in her answering smile.
"I thought you could teach me. Crossbows are nice, but... I think these might come in handy."
Sin's a little frustrated when she doesn't start hitting the targets right away - she's used to being good at things, used to being a natural. His patient manner frustrates her, so he tries something else.
"It's not a crossbow, Cynthia. Don't hold it like one."
She narrows dark eyes at him, but grudgingly complies. She doesn't quite speak to him for almost two hours, and he thinks he's bollocksed it up, but then she starts to get it and the spark of glee that spreads across her face is unsettlingly attractive. She rattles off five shots in quick succession, managing to land each one within the boundaries of the cutouts, and grins fiercely.
"I could get used to this," she muses, stroking the little Beretta with something akin to fondness. "It's very efficient."
"It is," Alan agrees. "Less bloody, too. I find it cuts the laundry expenses significantly."
Her laugh is sharp, and a little surprised. He likes it.
"Do you want to have dinner with me next week?"
(Maybe he likes it a little too much.)
***
why don't you tell me my future?
why don't i sell you my soul?
He pauses at the entrance to the caravan, hands tightening around the package he's brought.
"Cynthia."
The look she gives him is measured and steely. "You should have a longer name so that I can play at that game, too." One corner of her mouth curves up, just a little. "What's in the bag, Ryves?"
He makes his way in, sinks down on to her bed. "I brought some toys for Toby and Lydie."
Sin doesn't hide the surprise - and pleasure - that crosses her face, which is gratifying in and of itself. She raises an eyebrow, but her tone is playful. "No presents for me?"
"What can I say? They're cuter than you are." He smirks.
She viciously throws a pillow at him, but they're both laughing.
***
here come the drums, here come the drums
She dreams of dancing.
At first, Sin thinks it's a demon trying to get into her head, but the visions lack that hungry edge: they're vague and blurry and hypnotic, circles of fire and pounding drums and a partner she cannot see.
After their tenth dinner together, she sees steady blue eyes and hair touched by flame; his musician's hands full of fever blossoms.
They should have danced together beautifully.
***
Alan wakes up short of breath; fights the urge to ask Liannan what it felt like, that offering of breath and heart and body.
***
you're standing next to me
my mind holds the key
Sin can feel his eyes on her as she pours pepper sauce on her chicken. She's used to people watching her, but this feels different: it feels intimate, almost intrusive. Her skin bristles under the scrutiny. She snaps her eyes up to meet his, and volleys the first thing that comes to mind.
"I know you've been watching me dance."
If he's surprised by her opener, he doesn't show it. "Everyone likes watching you dance." Alan shrugs, but his face heats slightly. He pauses, taking a bite of his food, and continues in a lower voice. "Sometimes I think I understand how the demons must feel."
She hesitates, bites her lip, takes the plunge. It's the most terrifying thing she's done in months. "Alan. I've thought about... dancing with you."
His face turns cold. "That's not funny, Cynthia."
"It's not a joke," she snaps. "Do you think that's easy for me to say? I know how I used to look at you! Do you think I'm not ashamed?"
He reaches out, but she's halfway out of her seat and too proud to sit back down.
***
and if we built an armour for our tender bodies
could we love each other? would we start to feel?
For the first time in months, he doesn't watch Sin dance. Instead, he gets Lydie to sneak a box on to her bed.
He'd picked them out carefully, small golden earrings that won't get in her way when she fights magicians or calls up demons. The shape reminds him of her favourite knives.
I want to learn to dance with you.
***
A new gun lies on his bed, accompanied by a fever blossom and a folded piece of paper.
The single word, carefully scrawled (drawn), would appear to be gibberish to almost anyone who looked at it - but not to him.
Yes.
rogue traders - voodoo child // lady gaga - poker face // britney spears - circus
arcade fire - my body is a cage // the pierces - three wishes
Creator: orexisbella
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Alan/Sin
Warnings: Spoilers for TDL and TDC
Length: Video (4:05), Fic (1509 words, including a few song snippets), Soundtrack (5 songs)
Click to viewi'm like the ringleader (i call the shots)
i'm like a firecracker (i make it hot)
all eyes on me in the centre of the ring just like a circus
Sin knows he's out there, even if she can't see him. He's come to every Market since the battle; she's still uneasy around Nick, but Alan saved Toby, and she's not a woman who forgets her debts.
The first few encounters had been stiffly civil, years of mutual dislike taking their toll, but they've managed to work their way up to a semi-friendly banter. She can't charm him, and he can't fool her, but they can take shots at each other and smile sweetly afterwards. Somehow it works.
She was starting to think they might become - not friends, really, but comfortable allies at least, but then he started avoiding her. Oh, he's not outright about it: less words when they see each other, detached nods instead of smirks, a subtle-but-not withdrawal into his default polite facade.
She's surprised by just how much it bothers her. Sin Davies doesn't like being ignored, especially not at the Market. She might be fighting for the leadership, but it's still her stage: it's entirely evident in the way the crowd parts as she moves towards the dancing area, in the way they converge around her. They shift and sweep, watching the blossoms in her hands, waiting for her favour.
Sin hates the demons, but she revels in the crowd. And she knows he's on the fringes of it, has been for weeks - Alan was never one to watch the dancing (unless Nick was involved), but she can feel his eyes, more focussed than all the others, following her sure steps.
***
you want three wishes:
one to fly to the heavens, one to swim like fishes
and then one you're saving for a rainy day
Alan can't stop watching her dance.
He's always liked seeing her with Toby and Lydie, but now he finds himself looking at her almost constantly.
He knows this is ridiculous: as much as he likes hope and lost causes, this one is so far beyond lost it's cliche. They might not hate each other anymore, but even a friendship seems beyond their reach right now.
Still, there's a part of him that can't help but wish for a fever blossom to land at his feet as Sin tosses them into the crowd.
***
we'd be so less fragile if we're made from metal
and our hearts from iron, and our minds from steel
Alan turns towards the door as the bell rings, mouth already curving into a shy, crooked smile (the one the customers love). "Welcome to Fish Books, how can I-"
He stops short when he sees the lean, dark figure framed in the doorway. "Cynthia."
She takes a few steps into the shop, shoes tapping lightly on the floor. He would have called those steps tentative if anyone else had taken them, but the way she moves is never quite hesitant.
"Nick told me where to find you." Sin's voice breaks the settling silence. Her eyes slide past him, over the shelves and the counter and the worn benches, before coming back to rest on his face. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me."
"I'm not-" Her quelling look stops his denial in its tracks, and he sighs. "Things are... weird, Sin."
"I know they're weird! Things have been weird for years, Alan, but they were getting better." She stretches a frustrated hand out sharply. "I want to know what's gotten so much weirder in the last few weeks."
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I just don't think pretending to be friends is working for us."
"But we're not pretending! We're not friends, either, but we're not pretending."
"Whatever it is, I don't particularly enjoy it." Alan leans back against the counter, meeting her challenging stare. "What do you want to do about it?"
Sin cocks her head, dark hair cascading over one strong shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
"About as far as Nick can throw you," he says, with the flash of a smile.
She smirks. "I'll come back in a few days."
***
russian roulette is not the same without a gun
Alan has come up with about twenty different theories in the intervening days, but he certainly didn't expect her to take him to a shooting range. He looks at her quizzically, and there's an unexpected flicker in her answering smile.
"I thought you could teach me. Crossbows are nice, but... I think these might come in handy."
Sin's a little frustrated when she doesn't start hitting the targets right away - she's used to being good at things, used to being a natural. His patient manner frustrates her, so he tries something else.
"It's not a crossbow, Cynthia. Don't hold it like one."
She narrows dark eyes at him, but grudgingly complies. She doesn't quite speak to him for almost two hours, and he thinks he's bollocksed it up, but then she starts to get it and the spark of glee that spreads across her face is unsettlingly attractive. She rattles off five shots in quick succession, managing to land each one within the boundaries of the cutouts, and grins fiercely.
"I could get used to this," she muses, stroking the little Beretta with something akin to fondness. "It's very efficient."
"It is," Alan agrees. "Less bloody, too. I find it cuts the laundry expenses significantly."
Her laugh is sharp, and a little surprised. He likes it.
"Do you want to have dinner with me next week?"
(Maybe he likes it a little too much.)
***
why don't you tell me my future?
why don't i sell you my soul?
He pauses at the entrance to the caravan, hands tightening around the package he's brought.
"Cynthia."
The look she gives him is measured and steely. "You should have a longer name so that I can play at that game, too." One corner of her mouth curves up, just a little. "What's in the bag, Ryves?"
He makes his way in, sinks down on to her bed. "I brought some toys for Toby and Lydie."
Sin doesn't hide the surprise - and pleasure - that crosses her face, which is gratifying in and of itself. She raises an eyebrow, but her tone is playful. "No presents for me?"
"What can I say? They're cuter than you are." He smirks.
She viciously throws a pillow at him, but they're both laughing.
***
here come the drums, here come the drums
She dreams of dancing.
At first, Sin thinks it's a demon trying to get into her head, but the visions lack that hungry edge: they're vague and blurry and hypnotic, circles of fire and pounding drums and a partner she cannot see.
After their tenth dinner together, she sees steady blue eyes and hair touched by flame; his musician's hands full of fever blossoms.
They should have danced together beautifully.
***
Alan wakes up short of breath; fights the urge to ask Liannan what it felt like, that offering of breath and heart and body.
***
you're standing next to me
my mind holds the key
Sin can feel his eyes on her as she pours pepper sauce on her chicken. She's used to people watching her, but this feels different: it feels intimate, almost intrusive. Her skin bristles under the scrutiny. She snaps her eyes up to meet his, and volleys the first thing that comes to mind.
"I know you've been watching me dance."
If he's surprised by her opener, he doesn't show it. "Everyone likes watching you dance." Alan shrugs, but his face heats slightly. He pauses, taking a bite of his food, and continues in a lower voice. "Sometimes I think I understand how the demons must feel."
She hesitates, bites her lip, takes the plunge. It's the most terrifying thing she's done in months. "Alan. I've thought about... dancing with you."
His face turns cold. "That's not funny, Cynthia."
"It's not a joke," she snaps. "Do you think that's easy for me to say? I know how I used to look at you! Do you think I'm not ashamed?"
He reaches out, but she's halfway out of her seat and too proud to sit back down.
***
and if we built an armour for our tender bodies
could we love each other? would we start to feel?
For the first time in months, he doesn't watch Sin dance. Instead, he gets Lydie to sneak a box on to her bed.
He'd picked them out carefully, small golden earrings that won't get in her way when she fights magicians or calls up demons. The shape reminds him of her favourite knives.
I want to learn to dance with you.
***
A new gun lies on his bed, accompanied by a fever blossom and a folded piece of paper.
The single word, carefully scrawled (drawn), would appear to be gibberish to almost anyone who looked at it - but not to him.
Yes.
rogue traders - voodoo child // lady gaga - poker face // britney spears - circus
arcade fire - my body is a cage // the pierces - three wishes