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ryukoishida · 7 years

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PARS 2017 | Day 6: Spring Festival | In which Alfreed and Layla become friends at a figure skating competition.

Title: Our Own Rhythmnals Day/Prompt: Day 6 – Spring Festival Author: ryukoishida Summary: Alfreed and Layla met and became friends at Coupe du Printemps after Layla comforted the heartbroken skater, who was at a very bad place in her life at the time. Three years later, they reunite in the same competition as senior skaters, but Layla is distancing herself, and Alfreed wants to know why. [Figure Skating AU] Rating: T Warning: N/A A/N: Title from Luke Lalonde’s “Grand”. Alfreed’s SP music is Eendo’s “Eshgh e Aasemaani”. Layla’s SP music is Ólafur Arnalds’ “33:26”. Links to music are embedded into the text of the fic for your convenience. Holy… okay, so this is my first time writing F/F and I hope I did them justice. If you have no idea who Layla is, there’s a bit of information about her here and here. Also, I took the theme a bit liberally; the name of the competition is Spring Cup, so… spring skating festival it is!

“Alfreed Zottī, with a score of…”

Alfreed doesn’t need to hear the announcement to know that she has one of the lowest scores among the twenty-four junior female skaters present at the Coupe du Printemps.

She squeezes her eyes close, two hands crushing the fabric of her jacket that she hasn’t even bothered to put on after she gets off the ice; her knees still throbbing from the falls as she tries not to let frustrated tears fall. Colours run together and blur into a mirage of shapeless, meaningless images.

A few audience members applaud after the score has been announced, but with the arena only about one-thirds full — not surprising since junior events are never at the center of attention —the half-hearted applause sounds even worst, echoing pathetically and then fading until there’s not a trace of it left as if it was all in her imagination.

She pulls herself up from the bench, and accompanied by her coach, who hasn’t really said anything yet other than a few attempted words of comfort, the red-haired skater stalks down the aisle where staff, other skaters, and coaches are still idling about, and she doesn’t stop until she reaches the safe privacy of the changing room and locks herself inside a washroom stall.

Alfreed knocks her forehead against the metallic door, the cool sensation at least a nice relief for her heated skin after that disaster of a short program, and at the thought of that, her mind of course decides to focus on nothing but the toppled double axel that started the chain of calamity that followed: the triple Loop she stepped out prematurely, the under-rotated jump combo, and the less-than-perfect step sequence when she had lost all momentum and spun out of control.

A teardrop escapes and rolls down her cheek, and before she knows it, she’s sobbing uncontrollably, chest heaving like she can’t catch her breath and fists striking uselessly against the door as tears and snot run down her face in a mess.

She hates herself for being so weak — not just in terms of her physical elements in figure skating, because she’s always believed that she can improve through incessant practice and training, but her emotional state as well, that she had been so easily swayed by a single mistake that it’d led her down into an unending spiral of self-doubt, resulting in such a devastating and disappointing score in an ISU skating competition, even if it was one of the smaller-scale ones.

If only she can be as strong as her brother, she muses, a sense of self-deprecation settles over her like a heavy blanket that’s impossible to shake away. Despite the recent death of their father, Merlane continues to train ceaselessly back at their home rink — perhaps even more so than before, as if he has something to prove.

Alfreed wipes her tear-streaked face furiously — make-up and costume be damned, she can always wash up her face and have the clothes dry-cleaned later — and that’s when she hears the door to the changing room swings open with a squeak, followed by scattered footsteps and snippets of conversations, most likely other skaters who are looking for a refuge for some gossip.

She claps a hand over her mouth and tries to stay as quiet as possible.

“Who do you think will take gold this time?” someone with a nasally arrogant voice asks and adds, “That Kassem girl was really good, but I’ve never even heard of her until this season. Where did she pop out from?”

“I heard she’s just switched coaches; she’s apparently training under Ilterish Turan now.”

Another girl gasps, “No way! The devil incarnate — that Ilterish Turan?”

“Call him what you want, but most of the skaters trained under him ended up sweeping the medals at all the big competitions.”

“Speaking of, how old is she anyway? She looks like she could be in the senior division.”

“I think she’s just freakishly tall for her age,” the first girl replies with an amused snort, and everyone else laughs.

And that is the major reason why Alfreed always finds herself unable to befriend anyone around her own age range in the figure skating field. She isn’t the friendliest person to hang around with in the first place — with her unrefined, loud-mouthed nature that others never expect from a figure skater and a raw, straight-forward kind of honesty that always rubs people the wrong way — but she despises those who talk shit behind people’s backs even more.

Whoever they’re referring to — Alfreed racks her brain trying to remember a skater named Kassem but fails to come up with anything — she wishes she can stomp out of the washroom stall at that very moment and defend the stranger, even if said stranger isn’t around to witness it. That’s not the point, after all, and nobody deserves to be the target of someone’s joke like this, especially when it’s obviously so ill-intended and tasteless.

Her hand is already resting on the lock, ready to kick open the door and reveal her presence, but then someone else is talking again.

‘God, how long are they planning to stay here?’ Alfreed rolls her eyes, but freezes when she hears her own name.

“And from all the things I’ve heard about Alfreed Zottī, I would’ve thought she’d be a more impressive skater, but wow, was her SP a disaster or what? Those jumps and that posture were absolutely awful! How did she even manage to remain at the top twenty?”

“My coach told me that her father just passed away, so maybe we shouldn’t be too hard on her,” another girl mentions in a softer voice, but the first speaker only sniffs indignantly.

“And her father was her coach, if I remember correctly. That would explain why her performances have been so inconsistent lately.”

“All the more reason she shouldn’t slack off, then,” the first girl only says, her tone final, signifying the end of the discussion.

It’s at this point that Alfreed finds herself shuddering in fury, fingers curling into fists and nails digging into the tender skin of her palms as her eyes flare up in a dangerous crimson: it’s fine that they’re talking about all the flaws in her skating, and it’s true that she’d been letting her emotions get the better of her for the past few weeks since her father — a single-parent who brought her and her brother up and trained them since they were young, a harsh and unreasonable man at times, certainly, but everything he said and did was for the benefit of his children — has died from an unfortunate accident. Yet to discredit all the time and effort she’s poured into training in such an offhanded manner when this girl doesn’t even know her is crossing the line, and Alfreed is about to give these clueless girls a piece of her mind.

“Who did you say is slacking off?” a new voice — light and sweet like the first trace of spring — joins in the conversation, and for a few seconds, everyone in the changing room remains uncomfortably quiet, the air stiff and dense and no one dares to make the first move.

“W-what’s it to you?” one of the girls says, a little too loud, like an entrapped prey trying to make itself bigger and more menacing than it truly is.

“Nothing,” the newcomer pauses, and Alfreed presses her ear against the door as if it’d help her hear better, “But maybe you should consider being nicer human beings and stop talking crap behind people’s backs? The way you girls are behaving — it’s rather childish, don’t you think?”

“Just because you’re in first place after the SP doesn’t make you the boss of us, you freak,” one of them, presumably the leader of the trio, snaps.

The newcomer ignores the insult and responds with the kind of nonchalance that Alfreed can only dream to achieve, “Oh? I think the medal speaks otherwise.”

“There’s still the free skate tomorrow,” the girl reminds her, snide sneering obvious in her taunt, “I wouldn’t be so certain about that gold medal if I were you, Kassem. Come on, girls, let’s get out of here.”

The rushed footsteps fade, and the door swings back to place with the familiar squeak. Alfreed feels herself releasing a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding.

The hesitant rapping against the door of her stall comes unexpected, and causes Alfreed to jump back a little, a hand on her chest, her heart still beating a little too fast from the conversation she’s been accidentally eavesdropping.

“Hey, you okay in there? You’re not stuck in the toilet, are you? Should I get some help?”

It’s the girl who’s kicked the gossipers out of the changing room — ‘Kassem, wasn’t it?’ Alfreed recalls — her heroine, to be honest, though she’ll never admit such an embarrassing thing to a stranger she’s barely met.

“No! I-I’m fine, thanks.”

Without making it too obvious, she tries to wipe off as much of the dried tear marks and straighten up her costume as best as she can, and with a twist of the lock, she pulls the door open and steps out of the cramped stall, murmuring with a hint of blush on her cheeks that she’s hoping the make-up will at least partly cover, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I heard the whole thing… Thanks again for, well…”

She’s aware that she’s rambling a mile a minute, and the more nervous she feels, the worst her running mouth gets. It’s a bad habit Alfreed still hasn’t been able to get rid of.

“You’re Alfreed Zottī, aren’t you?” the sweet voice rings clear and silvery, and it’s filled with pleasant surprise that makes the other skater blink in confusion.

Alfreed finally has the sense to look up, and she internally scolds herself for not remembering the girl standing before her, a bright grin lighting up the soft green of her eyes and short, dark curls braided on one side of her head while stray locks frame her cheeks: Layla Kassem, a young skater with the strength and elegance of a lioness, skills that most skaters her age can only dream of, and a burning passion for the sport that simmers and explodes in her programs and in the way she moves on the ice.

She was in the group before Alfreed’s, but she must have been too busy worrying about her own performance and warm-up to pay attention to the other skaters at the time.

Later that evening, when she’s re-watching that day’s event on the laptop she’s brought along with her, Alfreed will realize that Layla — the thirteen-year-old girl with the bright, fervent eyes and the enthusiasm and skills to match — is one of the few junior female skaters who was crazy enough to attempt the triple Axel, and somehow managed to land it, even if she had to put a hand on the ice to stop herself from completely falling out of the jump.

“How did you know?” Alfreed asks, eyes widening comically.

“Your beautiful red hair is pretty unforgettable,” Layla replies as she glances admiringly at Alfreed with a small but genuine smile, which only makes the other girl blush even harder than before.

“Oh, you mean I didn’t leave enough of an impression when I flunked that double Axel?” Alfreed chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck, abashed at the attention she’s getting from the other skater.

“Come on, we all had our bad days. Your musical interpretation and transitions were nearly flawless, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better, I promise,” Layla says.

“You really think so?” Alfreed looks up to meet Layla’s steady gaze with hesitant, cerise irises, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“Don’t judge too harshly of yourself,” she gives the red-headed skater a sympathetic smile — nothing demeaning, just a sincere gesture to express her concern and an invitation to talk more should Alfreed wishes to do so. The dark-haired skater offers her hand with a tilt of her head, “Layla Kassem. Want to be friends?”

“Absolutely!” she clasps Layla’s hand in hers in an enthusiastic handshake, “I’m Alfreed Zottī, but uh… I guess you already knew that.” Her cheeks are tinted pink again, and Alfreed suspects that this is going to become something of a recurrent theme, but Layla merely laughs, the sound gentle and earnest, and they let go of each other’s hand, fingertips tingling with warmth that seeps deeper than skin and into their bones.

“Want to get out of here and grab a coffee?” Layla asks as she turns around and heads to her locker.

Alfreed follows suit.

“Hot cocoa?” Alfreed wrinkles her nose in disgust at the unpleasant bitter drink and suggests instead.

“Sure! Anything to get away from my coach just for a little while,” Layla whispers conspiringly under her breath.

“The rumors are true then? You’re training under the devil incarnate?”

“Is that the nickname Coach Ilterish goes by around here?” Layla can’t help but laugh, though she definitely wouldn’t have dared if the man were actually present. “Sure, he’s tough and strict with his students, and his ballet classes are brutal; plus, I think he’s secretly a robot or something because I’ve never seen that man cracked a smile, ever.”

Layla pauses for a moment as she puts her sweater on and continues after contemplating her next words, “but he’d taught a lot of top skaters for the past decade and I think I can learn a lot more with him guiding me.”

“That’s amazing — you’re amazing, Layla,” Alfreed has already changed out of her costume and into a set of sweatpants and windbreaker with matching orange and white accents; the clothes are half a size too big on her slight frame, so the sleeves are covering most of her hands, revealing only the tips of her fingers. She pokes her head around the corner of a wall of lockers to check and see if Layla is done yet, and finds that the other girl is mostly dressed except for her shoes.

Similar to herself, Layla’s feet are covered in welts and bruises, and healing wounds protected by bandages. The dark-haired skater quickly pulls on her socks and slips on a pair of sneakers, head ducked to hide the faint blush on her cheeks after Alfreed has complimented her out of the blue.

“H-how do you mean?”

“You must be around the same age as me, right?” She plops down beside the other girl and drops her sports bag by her feet. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Layla zips her windbreaker all the way up in a weak attempt to hide the heat on her face. “I’m thirteen, actually.” She curls in on herself as if she wants to make herself appear smaller, and Alfreed has to wonder why, though she does find the gesture rather endearing.

“What? Seriously? Wow, you’re two years younger than me and you’ve already got your future all planned out,” Alfreed sighs in awe as she stretches her arms upward and leans back against her hands braced against the bench.

“I mean… I just know that I’ll always want figure skating to be a big part of my life,” Layla replies sheepishly. “Don’t you?”

“That’d be ideal, yeah, but when you get to a certain age, you just realize that there are some things that, no matter how much you want it, no matter how much time and effort you spend trying to attain it, it’s simply… impossible,” Alfreed turns and looks over at her new friend, cerise eyes bright but it’s in the way she shrugs her shoulders a bit helplessly and the crooked grin on her lips that doesn’t quite touch the entirety of her face that make Layla want to shuffle closer to offer some sort of consolation, a hug, maybe.

She isn’t sure how to go about this — isn’t sure if the gesture is perhaps too forward of her — so she remains unmoving.

“Look at you, talking like a grandma already,” Layla playfully punches the other girl’s arm instead, before her tone turns somber once more, “it won’t always be like this — what happened on the ice today.”

“I know,” Alfreed smiles faintly at her friend’s words, her head lowered as she stares at her hands. The gratitude is unspoken, but Layla understands as soon as the red-haired skater nudges her shoulder gently against hers, and the serious topic is dropped for the moment.

The day after the Coupe du Printemps, under the lush, green foliage of the woods that surround the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer, Alfreed and Layla stand side-by-side as they look at the venue one last time before they have to board the bus and leave. In the end, Alfreed managed to climb back up to ninth place after completing a near-perfect rendition of her free skate, and Layla proudly took silver, losing only a mere 0.5 points to the gold medalist.

“This April’s Worlds’ will be my last competition as a junior skater,” Alfreed tells her as she leans heavily against the trunk of an alder tree. The thick layers of leaves provide some cover from the rain for them, but Alfreed pulls her hood tighter around her head as the breeze begins to pick up. It’s rare to see the usually boisterous girl conveying such a grim expression, but as soon as the thought of her senior debut enters her thoughts, it’s difficult for her mind to think of anything else.

“Are you excited about your senior debut next season?” Layla asks, her back touching the same tree, their arms almost touching, and even though it’s already March, the climate of southern Luxembourg is still bitingly cold, especially when the chilling wind brings with it occasional precipitation that’s more like viscous mist than actual rainfall.

“Not going to lie, but I’m actually really nervous about this whole thing. The ladies’ singles field is pretty deep and there are so many talented skaters from all over the world. I feel overwhelmed just thinking about it,” her voice softens at the next statement, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“You’ll wait for me, right?” Layla pushes herself off from the trunk with a determined grunt and stands before the other skater. She’s almost a head taller than Alfreed, so when she’s standing this close to her, with one hand braced against the tree a few inches away from Alfreed’s ear, her towering stature seems even more alarming and noticeable.

“W-what?” Alfreed is slightly taken aback by their sudden proximity, but she’s tilting her head to meet Layla’s gaze, albeit a bit bashfully.

“I’ll be keeping in touch, obviously,” and Alfreed really likes how confident and matter-of-fact Layla sounds when she announces this, “but we won’t be competing against each other in the same discipline anymore, so until I debut in the senior division, you have to promise to keep skating your best, and in turn, I’ll promise to train hard over the next two years so that when we’re finally competing in the same field, I’ll be able to stand on the podium with you.”

The pale green of her eyes is blazing, and Layla is focusing on nothing else but the girl standing before her. Her goal has been clear from the moment she’s decided to abandon everything, sacrifice and cut off the frivolous ties that threaten to hold her back, to pursue figure skating as her career: she will go down in history to become one of the most notable female skaters of her era and bring pride to her family and country. Now that she’s befriended Alfreed — an older, more experienced skater who shares some of those insecurities that she has never brought up or admitted to anyone else — Layla wishes nothing more than to have Alfreed be part of this journey, this transformation, her life.

Caught up in her own thoughts, Layla hasn’t even noticed that Alfreed, standing on her tiptoe, is cradling her flushed, wind-chaffed face between her palms, and she says with a teasing grin, “You don’t sound like a thirteen-year-old at all when you talk like that, you know?”

A small, displeased pout begins to form on the younger skater’s chapped lips, but Alfreed interrupts with a pat on Layla’s head as she ruffles her hair, “Hey, I meant that as a compliment. Now stop frowning before you start getting premature wrinkles and sprouting grey hairs.”

Layla’s cheeks are still uncomfortably warm after Alfreed retrieves her hands, and it definitely doesn’t help that a second later, the red-headed skater has taken her hand into hers without a forethought and starts dragging her towards the bus station across from the arena.

“C’mon, we should head back before our coaches decide to ditch us here.”

In the unknowing mist of spring among the green woods in Luxembourg, they make a promise to meet again on the world stage as equals after two years; however, during that period of time, their exchanges over texts and Skype become fewer and farther in between, mostly with Alfreed being the one to initiate conversations, and even then, she’ll only receive the occasional dissatisfying short replies. This awkward, one-sided game of hide-and-seek continues until about a month right before Layla’s supposedly senior debut at the Finlandia Trophy that season, and that’s about the time when Alfreed completely loses track of her friend.

There have been no messages, no calls — no attempt at any kind of contact at all — and Alfreed is worried, her heart becoming heavier as days of silence turn into weeks, except she has no time to worry about a girl who may not be her friend anymore, but she remembers their promise still, intending to keep it in her heart until the end.

Nothing much about the Patinoire de Kockelscheuer has changed over the three years since she last skated in the venue, except the crowd in the stands seem more enthusiastic, and she even spots a few supportive banners bearing her name.

“Alfreed, are you listening to me?” her coach is saying, his head ducked down to scan the content of his clipboard, “remember to watch your posture during the triple axel.”

She hums to show that she’s listening, and then asks out of nowhere with a straight face, “So, have you reconsidered my marriage proposal?”

It all started out as a joke when someone back in her home rink discovered Alfreed’s childhood crush had been none other than the current favourite star choreographer for many prodigious skaters, Narsus Shahidi. Since the older skaters wouldn’t stop teasing her about it even after she’d clarified that that childish infatuation had long been forgotten ever since she grew out of that phase, Alfreed has learned to just swim with the tide with a smile instead of fighting against it.

These days, only Narsus himself is still embarrassed about the entire fanfare, and Alfreed enjoys making the older man fluster every once in a while.

Alfreed tucks a stray lock of her red hair behind the curve of her ear, batting her eyelashes in an overly-exaggerated keenness that, if the man hasn’t already known her for a long time, he’d have assumed she’s making a horrid attempt at flirting with him.

“Excuse me?” he cocks a well-shaped eyebrow at his student’s question, though his concentration is still fully focused on the clipboard in his hand, the other one scrawling down notes that Alfreed is unable to make out because she’s standing on the other side of the rink board. Also, because his handwriting — even if she’s not viewing it upside-down — is terrible.

“Remember what I said about marrying you when I win five golds this season?” she continues with a wide grin, unperturbed by the dark glower her coach sends her.

“No,” he snaps.

“’No’ as in you don’t remember, or ‘no’ as in you don’t think I can win gold here?” Alfreed remains in good humor, her lips, shimmering with pink gloss that matches the sea-blue gauze and silver trimming of her costume, tucked in a self-assured smirk.

“’No’ as in I refuse to answer this obviously loaded question.”

“You’ll give the poor man an aneurism, Alfreed,” a tall woman with an elegant posture even when she’s just standing, ink-black hair that cascades down her back, and exquisite jade-green eyes that can either convey heartbreak or downright murder appears beside the blond-haired coach who’s still fuming over Alfreed’s teasing.

“Farangis!” Alfreed chirps excitedly, “What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you were going to stay behind and train for Worlds’?”

“I thought it’d be fun to come cheer you on,” Farangis replies with a soft smile.

“Aghriras is stalking you again, isn’t he?” Narsus turns to her with a knowing glance. “Have you considered getting a restraining order? I heard those things are rather effective against stubborn and shameless men who just don’t know when to give up.”

“That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Farangis sounds remarkably calm, as if having her old pair skating partner following her on every social media platform she’s on and obsessively trying to get back in touch with her despite Farangis’ outright refusal to have any more connection to the man who gave up on their partnership after a few consecutive disappointing results is nothing to be afraid of. It amazes Alfreed how the skater, who’s only three years older than her, can deal with all this with such a mature and composed demeanor.

In most people’s opinion — fellow professional figure skaters and audiences alike — Farangis Avesta is better off skating in the singles discipline anyway; her techniques have always been at the top in the pair skating field and her performances and public persona are popular with the judges and fans. To be rid of the weight of a troublesome partner is a blessing, and Farangis bursts into the ladies’ singles scene burning brighter and more dazzling than ever before.

“You’re too nice,” Alfreed pipes up as she balances her chin on her palm.

“And you should be out there doing your warm-up before time runs out,” Narsus scolds.

“Alright already,” Alfreed makes a face and skates away to join the other skaters in her flight.

“How’s she doing?” Farangis asks as she watches the red-haired skater speeds past the other young women in the rink, eyes focusing straight ahead and nothing else.

“Everything should be fine if she can concentrate and not let any unnecessary things distract her from her goal,” Narsus answers, a finger tapping against his bottom lip as he finally drops the clipboard down on one of the available chairs nearby.

“I saw her — the girl that Alfreed mentioned before,” Farangis comments, “she’s in the flight after hers, and it looks like Ilterish is keeping quite a tight leash on his prized skater.”

“Yeah? I wish you wouldn’t bring it up to her because Layla Kassem is trouble and is considered to be one of the aforementioned unnecessary things that Alfreed doesn’t need to bother herself with right now,” Narsus replies coolly.

“She probably already knows,” Farangis speaks again after someone announces the end of the warm-up segment, and they move aside to allow the stunningly-dressed skaters go by, a few who recognize Farangis are waving at her and the woman nods her greeting with a pleasant, polite smile. “She must have seen the entries list, at least. And her skating feels different during the last few days, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, too.”

Narsus remains silent but his pursed lips and the unease in those usually confident, violet eyes tell Farangis all she needs to know.

“Wish Alfreed good luck for me,” Farangis turns around, “I’ll be watching from the audience stands.”

Like so many times before, like the moment before that disastrous short program that had led to the most unlikely encounter three years prior, Alfreed is once again standing in the center of the rink where the Coupe du Printemps takes place, her body poised gracefully in her starting position as all eyes dwell on her.

Her mind is blank except for the one name that refuses to be wiped off, and that’s all right because she is the one person Alfreed wants to skate for.

She’s known since the entries list was published on the event’s official website about a month ago; she’s known that Layla will be here, and she will see her at some point over the course of the competition, surely. But somehow, over the past two days during the sanctioned practice times or even at the drawing for the starting order last evening, she couldn’t find a chance to approach her or even wander close enough to garner her attention.

Ilterish is always with her, it appears, as if he’s her personal bodyguard; Alfreed has to admit he’s doing a damn fine job at keeping everyone else at bay from bothering his protégé.

If she can’t talk to her friend, then the only way Alfreed can get through to her is to skate her heart out, lay it bare for all to witness.

Will Layla be watching?

She doesn’t have time to ponder about that for too long because the staccato notes of the folksy accordion to her short program music have started playing; she unfolds from her frozen pose, the semi-transparent gauze of her sleeves flowing in the air like blue wings spreading out in the wind, and she transforms into a lover lamenting for a kind of heavenly love she’ll never find.

The female singer’s smoky vocals melt seamlessly into the jazzy tang of the melody, and Alfreed lets the harmony of the song and the movements of her body fuse together as one. After the triple flip, which she lands solidly to the applause and cheering from the audience, the music — suffused with playful guitar chords and trombone slides — picks up the pace, and she prepares for the spread-eagle entry, leading to an impressive double axel-triple toe loop jump combination with incredible height and speed.

The colours blur into ribbons and the music drowns out everything else; Alfreed can feel her blood singing, her body soaring in a delirious rush of desperate passion as she seeks the answer she longs for, chases after the shadow of her friend who, like a spirit, continues to slip and escape through her fingers every time she gets too near.

Slightly out of breath, she topples precariously doing the triple axel in the second half of the program, so deductions are unavoidable in that account, and Alfreed can already imagine Narsus’ unimpressed ‘what were you thinking?’ scowl. She vaguely wonders if Layla has perfected the jump that she’d dared to try three years ago.

The melody is becoming light and sparse once more, and she concludes with a beautiful layback spin that shows off the elegant arch of her back as her skirt flares out in waves from the momentum, skating to a stop in her final pose when the tinkling notes float and dissipate into the roaring ovation from the crowds.

Everything aches: muscles, feet, bones, the raw, clawed out emptiness in her heart, and she’ll have to do it again tomorrow at the free skate event. She pushes the stray locks of her hair back and away from sticking onto her sweaty cheeks as she joins Narsus at the kiss and cry area and awaits her score.

“I would yell at you for that terrible posture during the triple axel…” Narsus murmurs as he smiles brilliantly for the camera pointing at him.

“I know you would,” Alfreed interrupts without a hitch, her eyes trained on the scoreboard.

“But I’m not going to,” he concludes, a little smug.

“Oh? This is new,” Alfreed looks over at him, and then she immediately narrows her eyes with suspicion, “Wait, am I in a different kind of trouble?”

Narsus’ answer is halted by the announcement of Alfreed’s score: her season’s best SP score yet, which lands her in the first place with six more skaters to go.

“You knew she’s here — your… friend,” Narsus only hesitates a little at the end of his statement.

Alfreed has only told him in the briefest manner about her friendship with Layla when they first met, but what she’d said to him three years ago — right after World Championships had ended, and Alfreed had come running to him asking for the choreographer, who has been a decorated figure skater himself at the height of his achievement but has never expressed any desire to take in students, to become her coach — it was enough to convince Narsus.

The resolve in her eyes and the determined set of her mouth when she announced that she wanted to become better so that she could skate as her best friend’s equal, sharing the joy and victory together on the world stage, revealed to Narsus the potential of a young, fervent skater who so desperately wanted to improve her artistry and techniques for the sake of friendship.

He’ll never admit this, but at the time, Narsus thought Alfreed really reminded him of his younger self: awfully reckless and full of the kind of ideals and tenacity to the sport and art of figure skating. It’s a part of him that gradually fizzles out as he grows older and becomes too docile, too complacent.

Alfreed nods without a word as they walk around the side of the ice rink, out through the passageway, and into the hallway beneath the audience stands. She plops down on one of the benches by the wall and begins to unlace her skates with quick, practiced fingers.

“What will you do?” Narsus sits down beside her and gingerly places a pair of sneakers by her skates, which she promptly slips on along with her team jacket.

She pulls herself to her feet and zips her jacket all the way up, the movement echoing a hint of ferocious flare.

“Alfreed?” Narsus picks up his students’ skates and stands up tentatively.

“I’m going to talk to Layla,” she simply says, her tone low and brittle. “I need to know what happened.”

“How? Ilterish follows her like a guard dog.”

They make for the section of the stands reserved for competitors and staff.

“He can’t possibly follow her everywhere she goes,” she snorts insolently, climbing up the stairs two at a time. Layla is the first to start in her group and she wants to find a good seat.

Glancing over at the red-haired skater and realizing that there’s nothing he can do to dissuade her from doing whatever she’s planning in her head, Narsus can only sigh in defeat.

Her left leg jiggles up and down impatiently as her thumb scrolls on her phone while they’re waiting for the ice to be resurfaced for the last six skaters; she can’t understand a word she’s seeing on the screen, but it doesn’t matter because she isn’t even sure what she’s reading in the first place.

When the six skaters finally step out onto the ice for their warm-up, Alfreed leans her entire torso over the railing and narrows her eyes in search of the familiar figure of her friend. The dark hair and towering frame is easy to spot amongst the slighter-built skaters: donned in an asymmetrical dress with one long sleeve covering her right arm and showing bare, olive-toned skin of her left, the fabric a subdued gradient of black from her neckline to bright red along the edge of her skirt with delicate silver jewels sewn into an intricate pattern, and short hair combed back with a single purple pansy flower hairpin, Layla Kassem stands out with her presence.

It’s difficult to tell from this distance, but Alfreed is sure that Layla has grown quite a lot taller over the years they haven’t seen each other; her limbs develop elegant, powerful lines of lean muscles, and she exudes cool confidence as she perfectly does a triple axel with the ease and grace of a veteran skater.

At last, the announcer is introducing the first skater, and Layla glides one lap on the ice before she locks into her starting position at the left end of the rink.

Alfreed’s attention is solely focused on the lone figure on the ice — the excitement of finally seeing Layla perform live for the first time in three years overwhelms the dawning fear of having to confront her after the event. For now, she just wants to watch her friend skate.

And skate she did: beautifully, perfectly, not a chink in her armour strengthened by the impeccable execution of all the required technical elements.

The program begins with the isolated, winding melody of a violin, the swift contrast from absolute low to rough high notes bringing Layla to stretch out into a graceful layback Ina Bauer, back arched and gliding sideways, that leads into a double axel-double toe-double loop combination.

One element after another, Layla executes each to the praise of the audience, yet it makes no difference for her.

Despite the melancholic nature of the song that seems to paint a character walking alone in the dark — restless and with nowhere to go, no place to belong — nothing on Layla’s facial expressions convey that sentiment. Her eyes, glazed green and too fierce for the piece she’s performing, only depicts hungry, roaring flames; to the skater, there is only one purpose to this program, and that is to flawlessly complete the list of challenging technical elements that will garner her the most amount of points.

With her fingers curled around the railing and her knuckles turning white, Alfreed feels a sense of unease toiling inside her chest. Even though Layla is skating without any mistakes and every movement, every tilt of her head, spread of her arms, is calculated and exact — the Kerrigan spiral that transitions into a triple loop, the various spins — her performance can only be described as cold, distant, and unfeeling.

It’s nothing like the kind of skating Alfreed remembered from when they first met.

As the song progresses, the violin melody becomes more urgent, the notes slashing through the air like caged snarls, the rhythm chaotic and vicious — violent, almost — and her step sequence and final combination spin completely mirror that.

To nobody’s surprise, Layla receives a very high score, a good eight points ahead of the person currently in second place. The other five skaters who perform after Layla don’t even come close to her standards in terms of technical skills, but Alfreed hasn’t remained in her seat long enough to find out until much later because as soon as she observes Layla leaving the kiss and cry area with her coach, she shoots off for the direction of the changing room downstairs.

With her arms crossed in front of her chest and one leg resting before the other while leaning against the stark white wall of the female changing room, Alfreed ignores the confused stares that some of the passerby staff have sent her way and replies to the brief greetings from her fellow competitors when they choose to acknowledge her on their way in or out of the room.

It’s nearly deserted when Alfreed finally spots a tall figure with a head of dark, messy curls. She waits until the last person in the room leaves, and then steadily makes her way to where Layla is sitting on a bench facing the row of lockers. She sits down beside her, with a few inches of space between them; Alfreed can’t find the strength in her to reduce that distance yet, not until she gets the answers she’s wanted for the past year.

“What the hell was that out there?” Alfreed decides to break the silence with the first question that comes to her mind. She could’ve phrased it better, but she thinks they’re beyond polite words and courteous pretense now.

“What do you mean?” Her voice is just as sweet as Alfreed remembers it, yet something is amiss in that tone — that touch of blooming spring that reminds Alfreed of revival, a new beginning, a hopeful future.

“That style of skating — that was not you at all!” She tries to control the contempt and disappointment in her voice, but it’s leaking into her words like sticky tar, a dark, disgusting coat that clings to every word that comes out of her mouth.

“And how would you know what skating style best defines me?” Layla wraps her jacket tighter around herself as she looks away.

“Maybe if you haven’t suddenly disappeared off of the face of the earth and replied to my messages once in a while, I would’ve known the answer to that and we wouldn’t even be having this ridiculous conversation right now,” Alfreed’s voice simmers between exasperation and helplessness, and it’s tearing her apart.

“Maybe there are circumstances that you don’t understand,” Layla mutters.

“Damn it,” she kicks the door of the closest locker and its slam echoes like a clap of thunder in the room, and then she whirls around to face the other girl, “then make me understand, Layla.”

“I can’t!” She sounds resolute, and she sharply turns to the red-haired skater with an agonized expression, lips pursed and eyes despondent. “I need to do everything I can to achieve my goals, and that includes… this.”

“This?” Alfreed repeats, uncomprehending.

“You,” she tries to put her sentiment into words, but with the way Alfreed is staring at her, confused and pained, it’s becoming difficult to think clearly.

“Me?” Alfreed is feeling foolish for repeating again, but there are issues that need to be clarified, and this one is currently on the top of the list.

“I had to leave you behind,” she says quietly, her fingers fiddling agitatedly in her lap.

“By ignoring me without a single, logical explanation? The Layla I thought I knew would have at least tried to talk it out first.”

“Coach Ilterish was right…” she murmurs. Everything becomes so much more complicated when Alfreed Zottī is involved, Layla has thought. Coach Ilterish was able to foresee it and was probably just being logical back then, suggesting that the earlier she cut ties with unnecessary baggage that might ruin her future, the faster and smoother her path to the top of the figure skating world would be.

“Ilterish…?” Alfreed spits out the name in distaste, “Since when did you start caring about what he said?”

“Since I started winning at competitions,” Layla’s reply has no wavering hesitation, just absolute belief, “since I started truly understanding his philosophy.”

“Oh yeah, the philosophy of treating your friends like shit in order to win,” Alfreed sneers, and even as the words slide out of her mouth, viscous and full of venom, some part of her hopes that it will infuriate Layla enough to make her stay just a bit longer.

“You can think whatever you want of me, but I’m done with this conversation,” Layla pulls herself up from the bench and begins to turn away.

“Whatever happened to keeping in touch, huh?” Alfreed has wrapped her fingers tightly around the taller girl’s bicep in a flash to stop her from moving further, and she’s pleading now, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “Whatever happened to waiting for you so we can compete in the same field? Whatever happened to standing on the podium together?”

“We aren’t kids anymore, Alfreed,” she makes no movement to retrieve her arm from the other girl’s grasp, her stance fixed as an ice sculpture, her voice just as stiff and cold, “when all of us compete in the same discipline, there can only be one person standing at the top of the podium, and I will be the one with the gold medal around my neck.”

The trace of warmth in her pale green eyes is lost to the winter frost, and Alfreed feels her friend slipping away from the tip of her fingers again as her arm drops to her side listlessly.

‘Whatever happened to us?’ Alfreed wants to ask Layla, but she’s alone in the room now, and there’s nowhere else for her to go but back to the world constructed of ice.

A/N: Err I did mention this piece will not have a happy ending, didn’t I? [sweats nervously]

Some notes about this AU here.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #pars2017 #alfreed/layla #alfreed #layla #bowie's crappy writing

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ryukoishida · 7 years

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almost done with the first part of the Alfreed/Layla figure skating AU yay. Here’s a snippet of the thing:

The hesitant rapping against the door of her stall comes unexpected, and causes Alfreed to jump back a little, a hand on her chest, his heart still beating a little too fast from the conversation she’s been accidentally eavesdropping.

“Hey, you okay in there? You’re not stuck in the toilet, are you? Should I get some help?”

“No! I-I’m fine, thanks.”

She’s aware that she’s rambling a mile a minute, and the more nervous she feels, the worst her running mouth gets. It’s a bad habit Alfreed still hasn’t been able to get rid of.

“You’re Alfreed Zottī, aren’t you?” the sweet voice rings clear and silvery, and it’s filled with pleasant surprise that makes the other skater blink in confusion.

[...]

“How’d you know?” Alfreed asks, eyes widened comically.

“Come on, we all had our bad days. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.” She gives the red-headed skater a sympathetic smile — nothing demeaning, just a sincere gesture to express her concern and an invitation to talk more should Alfreed wishes to do so. The dark-haired skater offers her hand with a tilt of her head, “Layla Kassem. Want to be friends?”

#bowie's writing adventure #arslan senki #alfreed #layla #alfreed/layla #not sure how I feel about this yet #I was planning to finish this today #but I don't think that's gonna happen lol

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ryukoishida · 7 years

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Woah just noticed you were thinkingabout a possible Alfreed/Layla fanfic. I thought I was the only one shipping them. Bless you

Yooooo omfg you ship Alfreed/Layla tooo?! That’s rad! I’m still planning to write that figure skating AU with those two cuties but because I know only one person (well now there’s two! Lol) will read it, I feel less motivated to start haha! Maybe I’ll work on it soooooon ahh :3

#arslan senki #alfreed #layla #alfreed/layla

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ryukoishida · 6 years

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hi yes I’m writing an Arslan/Estelle ficlet from my idol/musician AU. because I’m running out of ideas :’)

#bowie's writing adventure #estelle layla alfreed and parizad are all in an idol unit so yeah

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ryukoishida · 7 years

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okaaaaay so I’m finally FINALLY writing that Alfreed/Layla figure skating AU that I’ve been talking about for awhile now. the sad thing is there isn’t a lot of descriptions of what Layla looks like (except for the fact that she’s like, taller than the average ladies, has short hair, and is somewhat muscular?) even in the novels.

soooo I’m curious about what you peeps think (@fishinsoda, @965cchikudasai, and the anon who also ships Alfreed/Layla): hair/eye colours? other distinctive physical features?

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #layla #alfreed/layla

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ryukoishida · 6 years

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Arslan Senki Fic: In which Arslan is Estelle’s Secret Santa. [idol/musician AU]

Title: Secret Codes and Paper Stars Author: ryukoishida Fandom: Arslan Senki | The Heroic Legend of Arslan Genre: Fluff, romance Rating: PG Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arslan/Estelle; featuring Isfan/Gieve For: @chatmant A/N: Remember that self-indulgent idol/musician AU? Yeah, it’s back. Sorry. Song that inspired this fic will be in reblog. It also looks like this will be the last fic I’m posting in 2017 (also I was looking at AO3 and apparently the last thing I posted in 2016 is also this AU lol), so I’ll wish everyone a Happy New Year!

Writing Commissions | Translation & Editing Services

“What have you got there, Arslan?”

Gieve, one of the top-selling pop artists in the country and known for his flirtatious ways in the industry circle — casually slips into the hideous plastic orange chair adjacent to the young idol who’s so focused on his task — pen tip tapping against the smooth surface of a card scrawled with neat handwriting and brows knitted in a deep frown — that he doesn’t notice the presence of the other man until Gieve clears his throat again.

“Oh, Gieve!” Arslan exclaims with a weak smile, the bruised shadows under his eyes much more prominent even with a layer of make-up on under the white fluorescent light of the television network station’s dressing room. He places his pen down at last and takes a tentative sip of his coffee, but winces when the lukewarm bitterness spreads across his tongue. He quickly pushes the mug away, narrowly missing the make-up kit set on the side of the counter.

“Working on a new song?” Gieve asks, an eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

Arslan rarely drinks caffeine because he knows it’d wreck his voice, so for the young man to be consuming coffee willingly is a rare sight in and of itself.

“This?” Arslan glances down at the paper set on the table with a helpless little laugh, “No, it’s for the Secret Santa tomorrow.”

Gieve gives an exaggerated gasp. “Do you mean to tell me that you still haven’t gotten your Secret Santa partner a gift yet?”

“I have! But I thought it’d be nice to add a greeting card as well…” Arslan lowers his head, cheeks tinted a light blush before he continues in an uncertain tone, “… don’t you think?”

Before Gieve can give him any advice — for when would be the best time to help out a fellow idol if not now? — the door swings open and a staff calls for the younger singer, “Arslan, please head over to Studio B for stand-by. They’ll be ready for you soon.”

“Thanks,” Arslan nods with a quiet smile that has the power to cause thousands of female fans all over the country to coo and swear to protect him at all costs. Facing Gieve once more, he says with a more relaxed grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gathering, then.”

“Sure,” Gieve waves goodbye with his usual charming smile and watches the silver-haired musician leave the room.

Tucking a piece of bright purple hair behind the curve of his ear, Gieve’s gaze rests again on the greeting card that Arslan has been grueling over for what seems to be a long while. From Arslan’s reaction just a few minutes ago, Gieve has a fairly good guess of who the recipient of the card is, and because he’s always been a curious person who knows no fear or bounds, he delicately picks up the card and reads the content inside.

“Oh, Arslan you precious boy,” Gieve sighs, resting his chin in the cradle of his palm as his eyes roam over the genuine nature of Arslan’s words, “how do you expect her to understand your affections if you don’t make it more obvious? Women need to be praised and worshipped, and this simply will not do.”

With a determined gleam to his eyes, Gieve picks up the pen that Arslan had been using just minutes ago and begins to write.

“There you are, Gieve! Farangis has been looking all over for you!” Isfan pauses when he sees the envelope in his boyfriend’s hand and the guilty shift of his eyes. “What is that?”

“Hello darling, good to see you too,” Gieve greets him, eyes half-lidded to accentuate the kohl eyeliner and the bright turquoise of his irises while his lips, tinted slightly with lip-gloss, curved up into a playful grin.

“Don’t give me that look…” Isfan groans as he walks over, “that’s your ‘I did something bad and I’m trying to get out of trouble by seducing you’-look; it won’t work on me, not this time.”

“Oh, is that right?” Gieve saunters up to his lover, hips swaying purposefully as he places his arm on Isfan’s shoulder and head tilted just so that the slender line of his neck is displayed directly in Isfan’s view.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that envelope, you better put it down before you cause some serious damage,” Isfan warns, taking a step back and peels Gieve’s arm off of his shoulder.

“But don’t you want to help Arslan get the girl of his dreams?” Gieve pouts, but obeys regardless, putting the card back down on the table.

“Is that what this is about? Gieve, you know better than to poke your nose into other people’s business — especially when it involves someone’s romantic affairs.”

“You’re heartless, Isfan, simply heartless.”

“Come on, you little demon, Farangis will have your head if you’re late for your interview.”

“Estelle, congratulations again on your success with the single ‘I Only Have Feelings for You’,” the host grins with bright enthusiasm at the youngest member of the all-girls unit, L.E.A.P., “it sounds like the track will have a big chance to win Parsian Music Award’s Best Duet of the Year.”

“Thank you,” Estelle nods with a stiff but polite smile, blond curls resting over her shoulder in a simple yet elegant side-ponytail. It looks like the host is waiting for her to elaborate, but if the host has done any preparation at all before the interview, he’d have known that out of the four members of L.E.A.P., Estelle is the quietest and most reserved, and it will take more than just the normal amount of prompting to get the girl talking.

The host continues after a slight pause. “You were collaborating with the up-and-coming idol Arslan on this single, and there were rumors while you two were recording in the studio as well as filming the music video. How did you like working with Arslan? Did you two hit it off right away?”

The polite smile Estelle has been trained to work on and almost perfected is turning shaky at this moment, and sitting beside her quietly, Parizad, the eldest of the four women and leader of the unit, quickly squeezes Estelle’s hand, half in warning and half in support.

“We had different stances regarding the direction of the song we wanted to take at first,” Estelle starts after exhaling slowly, her topaz eyes sharp and unforgiving, “but Arslan is a pleasant and respectable artist to work with, and I hope everyone will focus on the song we’ve worked so hard on instead of unfounded rumors about something that doesn’t exist in the first place.”

“Alfreed, can you please turn that off? It’s bad enough that I had to sit through that bullshit of an interview. I really don’t need to watch myself being disgraced on national television.” With an exhausted sigh, Estelle pleads with her teammate as she finishes the final touches of wrapping up her gift for the Secret Santa event.

“I don’t get what you’re so upset about,” Layla chirps from the other side of the living-room as she adjusts her dress in front of the full-length mirror near the front door of their shared apartment unit. “Rumors are just more opportunities for you to advertise your song, isn’t it?”

“Estelle, it’s wonderful that you always speak so honestly — it’s part of your charm and fans love it when you put that part of yourself into your music — but in this industry, you’ll need to learn how to carefully handle questions like the ones you got asked in that interview,” Parizad finishes the last drags of her tea, and on her way to the kitchen to put the mug away, she affectionately pats Estelle on the head like an older sister would to her younger sibling. “We all hate those kinds of nosy questions, and it’ll take time to get used to the fact that as public figures, we have very little privacy, but it’s an issue we have to get accustomed to.”

“I know I still have tons to improve on,” Estelle mumbles, lowering her head.

“Your socializing skills, especially,” Alfreed teases, and narrowly misses the cushion thrown at her direction.

“You’re already doing so well, Estelle,” Parizad shoots Alfreed a look before she sends Estelle a kind smile, “don’t put too much pressure on yourself, all right? We’re all in this together.”

Estelle nods, her heart swelling at Parizad’s sincere words.

“Girls, it’s almost time. We should head out.”

The Secret Santa is a success, Gieve applauds himself inwardly. As the organizer of the event, he’s proud to see his friends and acquaintances gather in the penthouse that he and Isfan share, laughing and chatting while nursing drinks in their hands.

Isfan’s two Kugsha dogs, Bahram and Kayvan, are strutting around the unit, earning friendly pets and occasionally food scraps from the guests who can’t resist the fluffy canines.

Making friends for Gieve is as easy as bewitching his fans with his sultry looks and attractive voice, but there are few he considers close acquaintances. Among those who have been invited to his holiday gathering, many of them have become his intimate friends over the years he spent in the entertainment industry: Arslan, his overly-protective manager Daryun, and the young idol’s talented make-up artist best friend Elam are talking quietly in the corner of the living-room; Nasrin and Kishward, who are managers of Ecbatana’s rising talents L.E.A.P. and the Knights of Survival, respectively, are talking to Narsus, who is infamous for his outrageous yet popular costume designs; the members of L.E.A.P. are chatting with the sister trio, Patna, Kura, and Yulin; and the men of the pop-rock band, the Knights of Survival, are drinking merrily and noisily discussing ideas for their upcoming live concert.

“Okay, okay, who’s next?” Someone’s shouting excitedly over the chatter.

Most of the gifts have been distributed and opened; a lot of them are joke gifts that either make the recipients choke in laughter or roll their eyes, but there are a few thoughtful presents thrown in as well.

Gieve retrieves a random gift from the cardboard box placed beneath the Christmas tree, and reading the tag, he announces with a smirk, “Estelle, this one’s for you!”

A series of cheering and clapping explode as Estelle makes her way to the center of the circle and receive her gift.

Estelle puts the card aside, and then carefully unwraps the paper, revealing an elegant, tall glass bottle filled with paper stars in shades of dark harvest gold to light champagne gold. There must be at least 200 tiny stars in the bottle; the colours are reminiscent of the hues of Estelle’s eyes, and she can’t help but think that the person who folded the stars must have kept this in mind.

Or it could have just been a coincidence, Estelle shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts.

“Wow, whoever gave you this must have spent hours folding those stars,” Layla whistles from the side, pulling Estelle out of her trance. “Does the card say who it’s from?”

There had been no specific rules set about revealing the identity of the Secret Santa, so some of them have chosen to write their names on cards while others have to venture guesses after they’ve received their presents.

With shivering fingers, Estelle tears the envelop open with less grace than she has with the gift-wrap. The front of the card contains typical holiday greetings with a pleasant watercolour painting of a winter scene — nothing special or offensive — yet as her eyes follow the trail of words written inside the card, the colour of her cheeks grows more and more red with each second passing.

The crowd hushes until all they can hear is the fine clinking of glass against wood as someone places their drink on the table.

“Estelle… Estelle, what’s wrong?” Parizad is the first to notice something strange about the young idol’s reaction.

“Arslan,” Estelle’s eyes turn sharply to meet the man’s startled, midnight blue gaze.

“Y-Yes?” Despite the eerily cold tone of her voice, Arslan seems impeccably calm.

“Come with me.” Estelle stomps over to where Arslan is standing, the glass bottle of stars and card still in one hand, and briskly grabs hold of Arslan’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd who has begun to make teasing comments and catcalling sounds.

They ignore the jeering, push through the crowd, and manage to find some privacy on the massive balcony that acts as an outdoor playground for the dogs after slamming the sliding glass door shut behind them, to the disappointment of the on-looking audience.

“Now, now, just let those lovebirds be,” Gieve consoles his friends and cleverly avoids the pointed glare that Isfan is giving him.

Even in the depth of winter, the city’s temperature rarely drops below 18 degrees Celsius, but in the evening with moisture heavy in the air, the breeze is chilling to the bone. It’s hard for Estelle to pretend otherwise, for the black cocktail dress she’s chosen to wear tonight is a sleeveless one that reaches just above her knees, the pale gold bow tied around her neck is almost suffocating when she realizes that Arslan, bewildered as he is, is still staring at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Estelle waves the card in front of Arslan’s face, her voice shaking in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. “Is this a joke to you?”

“W-what do you mean?” He asks, utterly confused. Sure, he’s written the card and has hastily stuffed it in the envelop yesterday without double-checking for mistakes. Had he made some sort of grammatical or spelling errors so unforgiveable that Estelle is getting mad at him?

“Read it yourself!” Estelle, cheeks still tinted with heat despite the cold, thrusts the card into Arslan’s hands.

Five words into the poem that is obviously not written in his own handwriting, Arslan immediately understands why Estelle is acting this way. His only explanation: “Gieve…”

“What does this have to do with Gieve?”

“I think he was trying to help me out,” Arslan chuckles, closing the card and tucking it into his back pocket, “but as usual, the more he tries to extinguish the fire, the more likely he triggers a flood instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“It looks like Gieve rewrote the contents of my card to help me convey my feelings across to you, and he’s done so in a rather… non-subtle way. But he’s got one thing right in that poem,” Arslan laughs, the sound echoing like shimmering sunlight around them, warm and heady.

“If you can even call that poetry,” Estelle smirks, her shoulders much more relaxed now that she knows what’s going on.

“When I was folding those stars,” Arslan nods at the bottle in Estelle’s hand, the paper inside gleaming slightly under the moonlight, “I was thinking about how the colour of your eyes is also quite similar, only yours shifts depending on the light of the day and your mood.”

“What… are you saying?” Estelle can feel herself stiffening up again when Arslan walks closer, her back rod-straight, but Arslan merely shrugs off his suit jacket and gently lays it over her shoulders to shield her from the night’s chilling breeze.

“I’m sorry,” Arslan apologizes, laughter low and smoky and his eyes are dark and endless when Estelle glances up to face him properly. “I should make my intentions clearer to avoid any more misunderstandings, shouldn’t I?”

He lightly pries the bottle of stars out of Estelle’s hand and places it on the floor, and then holding her hands tenderly in his, Arslan smiles softly and asks, “Estelle, will you do me the honor of going out with me?”

---

Extra Notes:

L.E.A.P. (Manager: Nasrin) - Estelle (was a Gospel singer before she was recruited; joined unit because she needed the money for her family) - Alfreed (Merlane is a bassist in a successful band, and she wants to exceed him with her own talent) - Parizad (dancer; charismatic leader) - Layla (all-rounder; can easily befriend anyone she talks to)

The Knights of Survival (Manager: Kishward) [Do you see the irony in the name? Please forgive me.] - Jimsa (guitar, vocals) - Jaswant (keyboard) - Merlane (bass) - Zaravant (guitar) - Tus (drums)

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #arslan/estelle #arslan #estelle #bowie's crappy writing

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ryukoishida · 7 years

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Arslan Senki Summary | Book 11: Assault of Demons

Arslan Senki / The Heroic Legend of Arslan Written by: Yoshiki Tanaka Translated summaries by: ryukoishida

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Translator’s Note: Updates have been slow lately — I apologize, and thanks for sticking around for this long! Obviously, there are spoilers for those who have only read the manga and/or watch the anime/OVAs. Happy reading!

Additional Notes:

Please do not ask me when the next summary will be updated. I have no set schedule for this.

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Book 11: Assault of Demons

Chapter I

June, Pars Era 325.

Guiscard, who’s crowned himself the King of Maryam at the beginning of the year, has finally captured Bodin and kept him imprisoned. Pars requests that Bodin be sent back to be punished for his war crimes, but Guiscard finds more satisfaction in killing Bodin himself. He orders his underlings to cover Bodin’s head with a sack and bash his skull with wooden clubs until the man dies.

Citizens of Maryam had suffered under Bodin’s ruling, so when Guiscard rises up to claim the kingdom, there isn’t too much disagreement amongst the Maryamians, and Guiscard tries to come up with ways to strengthen Maryam.

In Maryam’s capital city, Olaberria, a trusted subordinate of Guiscard’s, runs into his old friend Don Ricardo (now known to most as Parahuda) and Estelle; he invites them back to his home, where they meet Parizad. Parahuda doesn’t remember Olaberria due to his memory loss from his encounter inside Mt. Damavand, but Olaberria tries to persuade him to stay and work under Guiscard, to which Parahuda refuses because he wants to accompany Estelle. Olaberria asks Estelle about the purpose of her journey to Maryam, and she tells him: Since her return to Lusitania in year 321, her home country has been in a state of chaos and anarchy; in the end, citizens decided to send out a small group to Maryam in the hopes that they can persuade Guiscard to rule Lusitania once more. However, amongst the small group, only Parahuda and Estelle make it to Maryam.

The next day, to everyone’s surprise, Parahuda is found to have spent the night with Parizad. Olaberria is disappointed that he won’t be able to give Parizad to Guiscard as a gift anymore. Estelle gets to meet with Guiscard and states her case, but Guiscard refuses to help; going back to Lusitania means he’ll be demoted back to a prince’s rank, whereas in Maryam he’s already established himself as the new king. In addition to his rejection to Estelle’s proposal, Guiscard plans to get rid of Estelle because she reminds him of his defeat in Pars; he plans to blame Bodin’s death on her and her companions.

Disappointed, Estelle returns to Olaberria’s residence and talks to Parahuda and Parizad. A moment later, they are attacked by the group of thieves that had harassed them on the street the day before; Parahuda quickly defeats them, and his memory returns as well. He tells the two women about the monster he met at Mt. Damavand four years ago, and Parizad, being the only Parsian in the company, immediately knows that it’s the Serpent King Zahhak. At this time, Guiscard’s soldiers have arrived to capture Estelle; the three manage to fight back, but they know they can’t stay in Maryam any longer, so they decide to head for Lusitania by going through Pars.

Chapter II

In Oxus, after Gieve, Farangis, and Alfreed successfully lead the priestesses and trainees to take refuge from the fire that Namard has started, the three envoys set out to confront Kermine. Around this time, a small Parsian troop from the capital has also arrived. Kermine refuses to admit that he’s the fake lord despite the evidence presented in the form of the letter they have taken from Namard, so Alfreed is about to take him by force, except blocking her path is Layla. Kermine explains that Layla is under Zahhak’s control because he’s fed her the serpent king’s blood when he mixed it into her drink a month ago after she’d won the local martial arts competition. As her friend, Alfreed is unable to fight Layla with her full strength, so Farangis takes over for her and asks Alfreed to handle Kermine instead. After a lengthy and difficult fight, Alfreed pierces her sword into Kermine’s chest, but the sight that comes after shocks everyone present: Kermine’s limbs twitch uncontrollably and his body disintegrates into ash. With her lord defeated and her wooden staff chopped in half by Farangis, Layla knows she’s outnumbered and escapes.

During this time, Namard, who’s in intense agony from his left arm being chopped off earlier and is delirious, drinks a liquid from a silver flask; he starts to transform into a creature bearing wings.

Alfreed and Farangis search for Namard; in a blood-stained room filled with a strange medicinal stench, they’re attacked by a winged ape. They fight it off and the ape crashes out of the room through the windows to escape, but both women notice with dread that the winged ape is missing its left arm. Farangis appoints the captain of the Parsian troop as the temporary commander of the Oxus region until Arslan decides what to do.

On the other end, sorcerers Gurgin and Ghundi are talking about Kermine’s death and Layla’s potential partner, who’s drunk Zahhak’s blood and survived, and is currently under Gazhdaham’s watch. Their conversation is interrupted by a commotion caused by a few caged winged apes; it looks as if one of them has been attacked and eaten by others, and standing in the corner with a sly expression on its face is a winged ape without its left arm.

During one evening at the summer lent festival, Arslan and Elam sneak out of the palace to walk around; it’s a common occurrence for them since Arslan enjoys life among the civilians rather than staying cooped up in the palace. They chat about Rushan picking out a suitable bride for Arslan; they joke about how instead of fighting over political powers and control, in the Parsian government, they push the responsibility onto each other. In a dark alley, they encounter ghouls — servants of Zahhak and monsters known to devour carcasses, though they are rarely seen in the city and mostly roam along the countryside. Elam is barely fighting them off when Daryun joins in and kills the rest of it. He orders his subordinate to capture one alive so Narsus can examine it closely, and then the three of them head to Narsus’ residence.

Chapter III

Their discussion about the ghouls’ sudden appearance is cut short when a group of winged apes crash into Narsus’ home. Narsus and Elam protect Arslan while Daryun slays them down. He jumps out of the window and rides on one of them; he slits its throat when it tries to bring Daryun down with it, and they fall into a shallow pool below. When another ape tries to attack from above, Daryun is saved by Jimsa, who uses his blow-darts and successfully kills one of them while the last one escapes into the night.

Gathered at Kishward’s residence, Jimsa, who’s accompanied by a little girl, delivers the news to Arslan and his men that Ilterish is still alive. After having Kishward’s wife Nasrin take care of the girl, the men sit down for Jimsa’s report. Supposedly, Jimsa with his small group of 5 knights were heading to the northeast border of Pars to plan out the construction of beacon towers in case there’s invasion from the north, but sensing an oncoming thunderstorm, they hurried to a nearby village they just passed by earlier. However, when they arrived, they discovered that all the villagers, as well as the sheep and cows, had been slaughtered; half of them had their brain and blood sucked dry, and the other half were beheaded. Amongst a pile of sheep carcasses, they found a sole survivor: a small girl of about 10 to 12 years old; she remained silent and terrified when Jimsa tried to ask her what’d happened.

Hidden in the long grass were winged apes and presumably another human being; before long, Jimsa was fighting against enemies by himself when the five soldiers who accompany him were killed. He managed to kill off most of the apes and was hiding with the girl among the grass until the remaining enemy revealed himself to be Ilterish, whom Jimsa presumed to have committed suicide sometime after the Turanian army had been defeated. However, although the man looked and sounded like Ilterish, Jimsa could sense a demonic aura around him that made him feel uneasy. When he was found, Jimsa tried to probe him with questions, and discovered that this Ilterish was not quite the same man he knew. When Jimsa mentioned reviving Turan, not only did Ilterish scoff at the idea, but he also said that serving King Zahhak was more important. He also mentioned that with a chosen woman, they would bear a child who’d act as the representative of Zahhak to rule the land. Jimsa had heard about Zahhak from his Parsian acquaintances and knew it to be a feared icon from the past, so he was confused as to why a Turanian general like Ilterish would care. Before he could go any further, Ilterish engaged him in an intense sword fight; Ilterish had been slashed and was bleeding but continued to move like it was nothing, yet Jimsa was getting more and more exhausted.

Their scuffle was stopped by the sorcerer Gazhdaham, who wanted to take Jimsa with them since he was such a strong warrior. Jimsa immediately realized that Gazhdaham was the one controlling Ilterish, and aimed to kill him so Ilterish could be free from his mind-control. Jimsa managed to take out the sorcerer’s right eye with his dart, but before he could deal more damage, Gazhdaham was gone, and Ilterish, carried in a cage in the air by four winged apes, made his escape as well. Five days later, with the little girl in tow, Jimsa returns to Ecbatana.

Back in Kishward’s home, Jimsa excuses himself from the company, and the rest of them discuss the strange event. They believe that Jimsa is speaking the truth, as he has no reason or tendency to lie. When Jimsa returns, Narsus tells them that they have to prepare to fight monsters that are capable of attacking in an organized manner; they also discuss about the possibility of allying with Rajendra from Sindhura in the war against Zahhak.

Chapter IV

July, Pars Era 325.

Working under Hossain III in Misr as a guest general, Hirmiz continues to request a meeting with the fake Prince Hirmiz but has been denied. He also hears that envoys from East Nabatae, a kingdom south of Misr, has come bearing gifts and information for the king, and that the old captain of the powerful southern army located in Akasha wants to retire. Akasha is a military base that’s important in its role of southern border defense, as well as a business hub for trading. Since Hossain doesn’t want the candidacy for the next captain to be inherited through familial link, the king decides to pick a few candidates instead.

In the market and sitting atop a high wall, a Parsian girl who calls herself Lady Peacock is staring at Hirmiz, and they start a conversation that ends with Hirmiz taking the young woman back to his residence. She explains to him that she was going to be sent into the Misrian palace to become Hossain’s concubine, but before settling down, she wants to lie with a man of her choice. She sees Hirmiz as someone who’s capable of and has the ambition to take the Misirian kingdom, and so has chosen him as her partner. Afterwards, when Hilmes asks, she tells him that her real name is Fitna; he also asks her about the silver bracelet she’s wearing (the same bracelet that Layla and Parizad own), which is a signature of noble status, and Fitna replies that she doesn’t know her actual family at all since she’s brought up by foster parents. Fitna knows that she’s influential and that Hirmiz can make good use of her if he wants to take the Misrian throne, so they make a promise by cutting the bracelet in half, each keeping one half in remembrance: Fitna will help Hirmiz become the captain of the southern army, and when Hirmiz successfully overthrows Hossain, Hirmiz will take Fitna as wife and queen. Hirmiz knows that Fitna will never be able to replace Irina in his heart, and so he allows his aspiration and his new partnership with Fitna to drive him forward.

The next day, after he’s seen Fitna back to her residence, Hirmiz hears news regarding Zandeh’s death from a Parsian merchant: it turns out that Zandeh is killed by Masinissa, one of Hossain’s close generals, through underhanded means. Hirmiz is determined to kill Masinissa to avenge Zandeh’s death.

Masinissa continues to voice out his suspicion of Hirmiz to Hossain, who ignores most of it knowing that Masinissa is a man who’s easily jealous over someone else’s achievements. On one hand, Hossain doesn’t want to place too much trust on the Parsian guest general, but on the other, he wants to make the best use of Hirmiz’s talents. That day, Hossain sleeps with Fitna, and Fitna considers killing him while he’s asleep, but she immediately rids herself of that thought; after all, Hossain is still valuable to her and Hirmiz’s plan.

Four days later and without warning, Hossain allows Hirmiz to meet the fake Prince Hirmiz, who dons a golden mask and seems to hold intense hatred for Narsus. Hirmiz proclaims that he’ll help the “prince” retake Pars no matter what. After the brief meeting, Hirmiz pledges his loyalty to Hossain; that’s because the fake Hirmiz has no use to him.

Without consulting anyone, Hossain announces that Hirmiz will become the new captain of the southern army. Masinissa is against the idea at first, but after Hirmiz’s tactfully-worded speech, Masinissa grudgingly agrees. They will hold a large celebration to commemorate Hirmiz’s promotion, and for the first time, Hirmiz feels the preciousness of the silver bracelet.

Chapter V

June, Pars Era 325.

Trapped within Mt. Damavand, Kubard, Jaswant, Isfan, Merlane, Tus, and Tus’ three wives, plus 2,000 soldiers are trying to decide what to do next. They know that there are probably more monsters in the mountain, so they start burning rue and cover their weapons and armor with the anti-demon substance. While carefully observing the behaviors of the two captured bird-faced beasts, Kura, one of Tus’ wives and the second oldest of the sisters, suggests a plan: they will pretend to let the beasts go free, and when one of them tries to get out of the unlocked cage, the two beasts start to fight amongst themselves until one is trapped under the cart, while the other escapes through the right passageway to call for its allies. Meanwhile, the Parsian troops know they must exit through the left passageway and begins to move. The one trapped beast attempts to attack them, but Isfan, who’s at the back of the troops, cuts it in half.

Merlane and Jaswant are at the front; Merlane occasionally shoots fire arrows dabbed with rue into the dark, hoping that the scent will cause the beasts to stir if there were any. They haven’t encountered anything until they reach a river, which they believe will lead to outside. From behind them, four-eyed canines start to attack in packs; above them, winged apes cast down stalactites, which the soldiers are able to block with their shields, but the apes also take this opportunity to venture closer and deal fatal damage on some men. Merlane shoots down a few apes with his arrows, which cheer the soldiers up as they bravely fight on. The battle is brief but intense; half of the monsters that attack them are left dead while only five soldiers are killed.

As they keep going, they’ve come to an area where the wall on the other side of the river bank breaks off suddenly into a flat field, on which thousands of demonic beasts are lying in wait. They also notice these monsters can use weapons and are organized like army troops. For three days, they combat against the seemingly endless waves of monsters. Kubard is saved by Kayvan; up at the front, Merlane, Tus, and his wives are also slaying the beasts. When the attacks cease, the troops take turns sleeping, eating, and taking watch. Jaswant tells the other generals about what he’s witnessed four years ago when Arslan has been granted the sword Ruknabad; from this, Kubard is even more certain that Arslan is given the power to destroy Zahhak.

Due to their sharp senses, the two wolves and Isfan are leading the troops as the water get shallower. From the left flank, beasts start their attacks again, but the Parsian troops have ran out of rue. As soon as they think they’re at wit’s end, the soldiers can feel the breeze blowing from outside; they run towards the light as fast as they can, and the beasts shrink back into the darkness. Finally free and safe, they see a huge group of winged apes and bird-faced beasts flying like an ominous cloud across the sky in the distance. Merlane, who has better than average eyesight, claims that he sees someone being carried on a cage, but nobody can confirm. They make their way back to Peshawar in three days’ time.

June 28.

The remaining Parsian troops arrive Peshawar, and exhausted from the journey, all of them fall asleep right away. The next day, Kubard prepares defensive measures within the citadel: evacuate all civilians into Peshawar, gather all the rue they can find, guard all wells in case of poison, and ensure there’s enough food for everyone. Among the civilians, male volunteers are given weapons while children, women, and the elderly are kept indoors for protection. Kubard also sends out nine messengers to spread the news about the oncoming attack from Zahhak’s followers. As the sun sets for the day, the three sisters, who have been standing atop the walls, notice the strange shadow lying alongside Peshawar’s walls. They call for Tus, and he immediately sends his wives to call for the others when the general realizes in horror that the large shadow is moving and splitting into thousands of smaller shadows as they spring up from the ground. This is the beginning of the war of humans against demons, the start of the bloodshed in Peshawar.

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