Fanfic 100!
Awww hellll nahhhh, am I really doing this? Let's see how many I can get through! I'll put these up when I get like three or four done (I will never finish this btw just to let you all know). These are spanning Sheena's entire life, including "Old Sheena" (where he is in current SRPG canon, at age 38), so if you see one of him complaining about wrinkles, that's why!
THE FIRST THREE I DID: I should work in order, but whoops!
Breakfast.
"You coddle him too much," Lepant grunted over breakfast one morning as his wife doted over the small child picking through his bowl of rice with chopsticks attatched at the top. The boy, scarcely four years of age, sat on a high seat that still barely yielded him access to the table, chubby fingers grasping for the tablecloth to afford him a closer look. His eyes were nearly obscured by the wild mess of straw-colored curls that cascaded around his face as he, downturned from the attentions of his parents, nearly made nose-to-food contact with the rice that he shoveled into his mouth.
"He's just a little sensitve, and you know that," Eileen retorted gently. She slowly pulled the boy's head up from the table and cooed softly to him. "No, no, sweetie, if you eat too fast you're going to get sick again!"
"He's soft," the giant of a red-haired man emphasized again, "because you are too easy on him. He's old enough now to know better, and he's old enough to start toughening up. I'm going to teach him how to fight." With an emphatic slurp, Lepant finished his soup, placed the bowl on the table with a loud clatter, and pushed himself up from the chair.
"Today's as good a day as any," he announced. With one mighty arm he scooped the boy out of his chair and slung him over his shoulder. Sheena gave a sharp cry of protest at suddenly becoming airborne, but quickly quieted down as he felt his father's arm tighten around his waist. "We'll be back before lunch."
"But--"
"But nothing, Eileen. No son of mine is going to grow up without knowing which end of a sword to hold. You want to be a big man someday, right, boy?"
"I do," the tiny boy cooed. "Big like Daddy."
"Yeah, big like Daddy. We're gonna go get you a sword."
Star.
A few weeks before his twelfth birthday, he had found the earrings behind the dresser in the office and was immediately drawn to them. Although the shape of the earrings themselves-- just small, rounded rubies on a silver backing-- were nothing special, he found that when he held them up to the light, a tiny white star glimmered faintly from the center of each. Fascinated, he let them scintillate the sunlight in his hands for a several minutes, nearly lost in a daze, before deciding that he would take them for himself. When he asked his mother, she seemed somewhat distracted.
"What, those old things?" she said as she folded one of Sheena's shirts. "I thought I lost them years ago and bought a new pair. You can have them if you like. They have a bit of magic in them, so you may find them useful."
The only problem remaining then was the fact that Sheena's ears were not pierced, but that could easily be arranged. That night, when his father was out of the house and his mother was busy elsewhere, he set to work. It seemed a simple enough procedure, Sheena thought, as he held the needle over the open flame of the largest candle he could find. Just one, two, and then put them in and it'll be over.
With the first prick, though, he nearly dropped the needle in shock. Blood, dark red in the candlelight, sprang out in beads and spattered on his hand as he hissed and struggled to force the post in through the newly formed hole. With adrenaline pumping through his system so hard that his hands shook, it was a wonder he managed to avoid stabbing himself in the neck, let alone pierce the other ear.
With tears in his eyes, he stopped for a second and stared in the tiny hand mirror before him at the bloody mess that his earlobes had become. Breathless and gasping for air, he cursed and wondered why he thought this was a good idea in the first place.
Air.
During the years in which the idea of a Republic in Toran lay gestating, Sheena's libido had already been born, kicking and screaming, into the world. At barely a hair away from sixteen, his interest in the war fell entirely on the strong, often exotic women that seemed to gather from the four corners of the empire under the young McDohl's lead. Although most of the women violently opposed his lurid suggestions and lingering glances, a small part of Sheena's mind (located somewhere below the waistband) still assured himself that they would come around to his way of thinking sooner or later.
One in particular had caught his attention. Although she was far more covered than others like Camille or Kasumi, her robes suggested a slender, almost wiry frame. Her voice, on the few occasions she spoke, was a quiet and low alto that whispered through the air. Her brilliant green eyes, half-lidded with a demure sort of boredom, glanced languidly away every time Sheena passed the stone tablet. Most others would recognize the obviously contentious eye rolls for what they were but to the young, horomone-riddled blonde, they were shy aversions, or allusions to what they called "playing hard to get."
It wasn't a particularly standard sort of beauty, he thought, as he stared at her on another pass through the great hall, but Leknaat's young assistant was beautiful. Perhaps that was what made it so unique, though; this, and the fact that she hadn't seemed to realize her own attractiveness, made her seem all the more ideal for Sheena's bumbling advances.
Screwing up his false bravado one night, he approached the girl, apparently at least a year his junior, and turned on the charm. A few light touches to emphasize his point and--- everything went wrong. The mage's tomboyish charm had been because he was actually a boy. Horror hit only seconds before the full-on, gale-force winds that sent the young, amorous blonde careening across the hall and knocked him unconscious for nearly a full minute. When his vision fluttered back into focus, Luc was gone and Sheena was alone with his own mortified embarassment.
Sheena hid for days, long after the wind burns had dissipated, and avoided the stone tablet for the rest of the war.
THE FIRST THREE I DID: I should work in order, but whoops!
Breakfast.
"You coddle him too much," Lepant grunted over breakfast one morning as his wife doted over the small child picking through his bowl of rice with chopsticks attatched at the top. The boy, scarcely four years of age, sat on a high seat that still barely yielded him access to the table, chubby fingers grasping for the tablecloth to afford him a closer look. His eyes were nearly obscured by the wild mess of straw-colored curls that cascaded around his face as he, downturned from the attentions of his parents, nearly made nose-to-food contact with the rice that he shoveled into his mouth.
"He's just a little sensitve, and you know that," Eileen retorted gently. She slowly pulled the boy's head up from the table and cooed softly to him. "No, no, sweetie, if you eat too fast you're going to get sick again!"
"He's soft," the giant of a red-haired man emphasized again, "because you are too easy on him. He's old enough now to know better, and he's old enough to start toughening up. I'm going to teach him how to fight." With an emphatic slurp, Lepant finished his soup, placed the bowl on the table with a loud clatter, and pushed himself up from the chair.
"Today's as good a day as any," he announced. With one mighty arm he scooped the boy out of his chair and slung him over his shoulder. Sheena gave a sharp cry of protest at suddenly becoming airborne, but quickly quieted down as he felt his father's arm tighten around his waist. "We'll be back before lunch."
"But--"
"But nothing, Eileen. No son of mine is going to grow up without knowing which end of a sword to hold. You want to be a big man someday, right, boy?"
"I do," the tiny boy cooed. "Big like Daddy."
"Yeah, big like Daddy. We're gonna go get you a sword."
Star.
A few weeks before his twelfth birthday, he had found the earrings behind the dresser in the office and was immediately drawn to them. Although the shape of the earrings themselves-- just small, rounded rubies on a silver backing-- were nothing special, he found that when he held them up to the light, a tiny white star glimmered faintly from the center of each. Fascinated, he let them scintillate the sunlight in his hands for a several minutes, nearly lost in a daze, before deciding that he would take them for himself. When he asked his mother, she seemed somewhat distracted.
"What, those old things?" she said as she folded one of Sheena's shirts. "I thought I lost them years ago and bought a new pair. You can have them if you like. They have a bit of magic in them, so you may find them useful."
The only problem remaining then was the fact that Sheena's ears were not pierced, but that could easily be arranged. That night, when his father was out of the house and his mother was busy elsewhere, he set to work. It seemed a simple enough procedure, Sheena thought, as he held the needle over the open flame of the largest candle he could find. Just one, two, and then put them in and it'll be over.
With the first prick, though, he nearly dropped the needle in shock. Blood, dark red in the candlelight, sprang out in beads and spattered on his hand as he hissed and struggled to force the post in through the newly formed hole. With adrenaline pumping through his system so hard that his hands shook, it was a wonder he managed to avoid stabbing himself in the neck, let alone pierce the other ear.
With tears in his eyes, he stopped for a second and stared in the tiny hand mirror before him at the bloody mess that his earlobes had become. Breathless and gasping for air, he cursed and wondered why he thought this was a good idea in the first place.
Air.
During the years in which the idea of a Republic in Toran lay gestating, Sheena's libido had already been born, kicking and screaming, into the world. At barely a hair away from sixteen, his interest in the war fell entirely on the strong, often exotic women that seemed to gather from the four corners of the empire under the young McDohl's lead. Although most of the women violently opposed his lurid suggestions and lingering glances, a small part of Sheena's mind (located somewhere below the waistband) still assured himself that they would come around to his way of thinking sooner or later.
One in particular had caught his attention. Although she was far more covered than others like Camille or Kasumi, her robes suggested a slender, almost wiry frame. Her voice, on the few occasions she spoke, was a quiet and low alto that whispered through the air. Her brilliant green eyes, half-lidded with a demure sort of boredom, glanced languidly away every time Sheena passed the stone tablet. Most others would recognize the obviously contentious eye rolls for what they were but to the young, horomone-riddled blonde, they were shy aversions, or allusions to what they called "playing hard to get."
It wasn't a particularly standard sort of beauty, he thought, as he stared at her on another pass through the great hall, but Leknaat's young assistant was beautiful. Perhaps that was what made it so unique, though; this, and the fact that she hadn't seemed to realize her own attractiveness, made her seem all the more ideal for Sheena's bumbling advances.
Screwing up his false bravado one night, he approached the girl, apparently at least a year his junior, and turned on the charm. A few light touches to emphasize his point and--- everything went wrong. The mage's tomboyish charm had been because he was actually a boy. Horror hit only seconds before the full-on, gale-force winds that sent the young, amorous blonde careening across the hall and knocked him unconscious for nearly a full minute. When his vision fluttered back into focus, Luc was gone and Sheena was alone with his own mortified embarassment.
Sheena hid for days, long after the wind burns had dissipated, and avoided the stone tablet for the rest of the war.