Claymore fic, because my brain seems to be enjoying it.
HEY GANG IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE STUFF. Also first time I've written for Claymore. Also I'm too lazy to check canon...so bite me. Enjoy if you so wish ♥ Written partly for blackestocean because I promised her Raki!fic like forever ago omg.
Sometimes Raki reflected on how much one day had changed his entire life. Oh, sure, everybody could probably say the same thing, but somehow it seemed that his day had had a much more tangible effect. For example, right now he’d be dead. Or a Yoma. Which, y’know, was worse than being dead.
As usual, he rose before dawn, making sure that Priscilla’s sleeping form was snug inside her blanket (and, as usual, resisting the instinct to just kill her while he had the chance; he knew perfectly well what she was, but for the moment she was still of use to him and apparently had no desire to gnaw on his guts - always a bonus) before going to bathe. He stoked up the fire, humming to himself as he prepared breakfast and cooked something up to have as lunch later. Then he went through his swordsmanship, drilling himself through endless repetitions as taught by his late master. For the epitome of Yoma evil, Isley had been a pretty stand-up dude. Raki was more than willing to give him that much.
Then again, there were many who would state with complete assurance that Raki was freakin’ mental. Witness the kind of company he was keeping - had been keeping since he was barely ten years old. Since that pivotal ‘day’, actually.
He smiled to himself at the thought, squinting brown eyes into the small cracked mirror he used to shave by (shaving itched like hell, but so had the one time he’d attempted to grow his recent beard out) as birds rose from their slumber to warble dawn melodies around him. Really, everything came back to The Day He Met Clare, didn’t it? Raki had long since become accustomed to this. And maybe it was a bit weird of him - even borderline obsessive - to spend so much time thinking about the enigmatic woman he’d known for barely any time at all, even after they’d spent more than seven years apart now. He just couldn’t help himself. Somehow, Clare had become his entire foundation for the world, and even if he wasn’t seeing her, he had to believe that she was out there somewhere or he’d…go mad. Or something. Make Priscilla eat his guts just to end the torment. Hey, the kid could use a feed, she was wasting away. Even if she was one of the most deadly Yoma around. Speaking of whom…
“Hey…Pris? Priscilla, hon, it’s time to wake up. We gotta get moving. I wanna be in Shire by the end of the week, remember?” Raki gently nursed the girl (who was older than he was, how freaking weird was that? No wonder he never got asked on dates.) through their morning routine, the very picture of enduring patience. He helped her bathe, he dressed her, he combed her hair. When they broke camp, her little hand was planted firmly in his larger, much-calloused one as they set out. By noon Raki was carrying her, striding away the miles as Priscilla slept with her head trustingly on his shoulder. He wondered if she ever realised that he debated killing her, and reasoned that she probably had. All appearances to the contrary, Priscilla wasn’t stupid.
He still wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t tried to eat him yet. Oh, well, not the time to be looking in gift horses’ mouths, right? Especially gift horses that just might decide to bite your head off.
They wandered on this way for another couple of months, retracing the path that he and Clare had walked so briefly all those years ago. Funny, he could still remember it with perfect clarity. This time, though, he was useful. Isley had taught him well; with the aid of his massive broadsword, Raki was quite competent at dispatching lower-level Yoma. They couldn’t hide around Priscilla, either, and she seemed to have no inclination to help her brethren escape their fate at Raki’s blade. It was useful, since townsfolk were more than happy to put them up for no cost after they’d slain a monster. Isley’s estates had been pretty extensive, it was true, but somehow using the old guy’s cash just didn’t sit right with Raki. He preferred to earn his own way, work for his own keep. He always had.
This particular afternoon found him splattered with Yoma blood in his old hometown; even the gore couldn’t keep his wistful smile at bay. Ahh, memories. Sure, he’d had some pretty traumatic experiences here, but it was home. It was also Where He Met Clare, and that sort of outweighed any sins it had dealt upon him, he felt. Raki turned to wipe himself off on his cloak and retrieve Priscilla-
--and found himself facing a Claymore. He blinked, honestly surprised; he’d seen less and less of the strange warrior women about recently, although nobody had any idea why. It was part of the reason why his sword-swingin’ expertise had been so greatly welcomed. “Hey,” he greeted the newcomer affably as she stared in apparent horror at the girl by his side. “Don’t suppose you’d happen to know anything ‘bout one of you ladies, goes by the name of Clare?”
It was worth a shot, right?
They spent a week in that town. Raki debated staying longer, but he’d been wandering for so long now that his feet were beginning to itch. Still, something in him rebelled at the idea of endlessly repeating the same circuitous route until he got word of Clare. On the one hand, it was probably the best way to randomly encounter her; on the other, all the reports he had managed to pry from Claymore lips had told him that she was either dead or missing or flying to the moon or some crap. The second lot of options seemed more likely, but they also reduced the chances that she’d be patrolling towns where she’d potentially run into other Claymores, right? Maybe it was time he stopped thinking like a bloodhound, and started thinking like the pursued fox.
Right. Trawling the countryside it was, then.
Priscilla was perched happily on his shoulder; Raki turned his head to smile a little sadly up at her. “Right, Pris, which way do we want to go today?”
“Town?”
He shook his head. “Nah, we’re leaving towns for a while. We’ll go have an adventure! Maybe we’ll find Clare better like that.”
“Oh.” Priscilla appeared to consider this (though it was hard to tell behind that weird, ethereal glaze her eyes always held). “This way.” Raki obediently followed her directions, shading his eyes to scout the lay of the land ahead of them. Looked like forest, some foothills that eventually gave way into taller mountains, although nothing so big as they’d had up North.
“Why this way, mmm?”
Priscilla stared ahead of them, as if she could see through the miles of distance to some unknown spot of intense interest. “They’re playing there. I want to play, too.”
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Sometimes Raki reflected on how much one day had changed his entire life. Oh, sure, everybody could probably say the same thing, but somehow it seemed that his day had had a much more tangible effect. For example, right now he’d be dead. Or a Yoma. Which, y’know, was worse than being dead.
As usual, he rose before dawn, making sure that Priscilla’s sleeping form was snug inside her blanket (and, as usual, resisting the instinct to just kill her while he had the chance; he knew perfectly well what she was, but for the moment she was still of use to him and apparently had no desire to gnaw on his guts - always a bonus) before going to bathe. He stoked up the fire, humming to himself as he prepared breakfast and cooked something up to have as lunch later. Then he went through his swordsmanship, drilling himself through endless repetitions as taught by his late master. For the epitome of Yoma evil, Isley had been a pretty stand-up dude. Raki was more than willing to give him that much.
Then again, there were many who would state with complete assurance that Raki was freakin’ mental. Witness the kind of company he was keeping - had been keeping since he was barely ten years old. Since that pivotal ‘day’, actually.
He smiled to himself at the thought, squinting brown eyes into the small cracked mirror he used to shave by (shaving itched like hell, but so had the one time he’d attempted to grow his recent beard out) as birds rose from their slumber to warble dawn melodies around him. Really, everything came back to The Day He Met Clare, didn’t it? Raki had long since become accustomed to this. And maybe it was a bit weird of him - even borderline obsessive - to spend so much time thinking about the enigmatic woman he’d known for barely any time at all, even after they’d spent more than seven years apart now. He just couldn’t help himself. Somehow, Clare had become his entire foundation for the world, and even if he wasn’t seeing her, he had to believe that she was out there somewhere or he’d…go mad. Or something. Make Priscilla eat his guts just to end the torment. Hey, the kid could use a feed, she was wasting away. Even if she was one of the most deadly Yoma around. Speaking of whom…
“Hey…Pris? Priscilla, hon, it’s time to wake up. We gotta get moving. I wanna be in Shire by the end of the week, remember?” Raki gently nursed the girl (who was older than he was, how freaking weird was that? No wonder he never got asked on dates.) through their morning routine, the very picture of enduring patience. He helped her bathe, he dressed her, he combed her hair. When they broke camp, her little hand was planted firmly in his larger, much-calloused one as they set out. By noon Raki was carrying her, striding away the miles as Priscilla slept with her head trustingly on his shoulder. He wondered if she ever realised that he debated killing her, and reasoned that she probably had. All appearances to the contrary, Priscilla wasn’t stupid.
He still wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t tried to eat him yet. Oh, well, not the time to be looking in gift horses’ mouths, right? Especially gift horses that just might decide to bite your head off.
They wandered on this way for another couple of months, retracing the path that he and Clare had walked so briefly all those years ago. Funny, he could still remember it with perfect clarity. This time, though, he was useful. Isley had taught him well; with the aid of his massive broadsword, Raki was quite competent at dispatching lower-level Yoma. They couldn’t hide around Priscilla, either, and she seemed to have no inclination to help her brethren escape their fate at Raki’s blade. It was useful, since townsfolk were more than happy to put them up for no cost after they’d slain a monster. Isley’s estates had been pretty extensive, it was true, but somehow using the old guy’s cash just didn’t sit right with Raki. He preferred to earn his own way, work for his own keep. He always had.
This particular afternoon found him splattered with Yoma blood in his old hometown; even the gore couldn’t keep his wistful smile at bay. Ahh, memories. Sure, he’d had some pretty traumatic experiences here, but it was home. It was also Where He Met Clare, and that sort of outweighed any sins it had dealt upon him, he felt. Raki turned to wipe himself off on his cloak and retrieve Priscilla-
--and found himself facing a Claymore. He blinked, honestly surprised; he’d seen less and less of the strange warrior women about recently, although nobody had any idea why. It was part of the reason why his sword-swingin’ expertise had been so greatly welcomed. “Hey,” he greeted the newcomer affably as she stared in apparent horror at the girl by his side. “Don’t suppose you’d happen to know anything ‘bout one of you ladies, goes by the name of Clare?”
It was worth a shot, right?
They spent a week in that town. Raki debated staying longer, but he’d been wandering for so long now that his feet were beginning to itch. Still, something in him rebelled at the idea of endlessly repeating the same circuitous route until he got word of Clare. On the one hand, it was probably the best way to randomly encounter her; on the other, all the reports he had managed to pry from Claymore lips had told him that she was either dead or missing or flying to the moon or some crap. The second lot of options seemed more likely, but they also reduced the chances that she’d be patrolling towns where she’d potentially run into other Claymores, right? Maybe it was time he stopped thinking like a bloodhound, and started thinking like the pursued fox.
Right. Trawling the countryside it was, then.
Priscilla was perched happily on his shoulder; Raki turned his head to smile a little sadly up at her. “Right, Pris, which way do we want to go today?”
“Town?”
He shook his head. “Nah, we’re leaving towns for a while. We’ll go have an adventure! Maybe we’ll find Clare better like that.”
“Oh.” Priscilla appeared to consider this (though it was hard to tell behind that weird, ethereal glaze her eyes always held). “This way.” Raki obediently followed her directions, shading his eyes to scout the lay of the land ahead of them. Looked like forest, some foothills that eventually gave way into taller mountains, although nothing so big as they’d had up North.
“Why this way, mmm?”
Priscilla stared ahead of them, as if she could see through the miles of distance to some unknown spot of intense interest. “They’re playing there. I want to play, too.”
Chapter 2
Chapter 3