War and Wrath sat idly on the couch watching TV, the former leaning on the arm with one hand curled under her cheek, her other hand laying limply in Wrath's lap, where the Scotswoman was quietly exploring her palms.
It's amaising, she thought, War's hands. They were rough and scar ridden. Tanned and calloused from thousands of years of handling all manners of weaponry. So many years of being wrapped around the hilts of swords, handles of crossbows, and the grips of guns and rifles had given the once soft skin a hard, sandpapery texture. Made flesh thick enough to protect the delicate muscles beneath.
Wrath lightly ran one of her fingers across a long scar the spanned the Rider's hand from the middle of her palm to a bit below her wrist; A scar from where Plauge had to do corrective surgery on both hands when War had managed to give herself carple tunnel syndrome. She let her dark eyes run over the others. A small scrape here, a burn there, an ugly dark spot where a bruise from training was forged. Bellum's* hands were a story also told in time.
Scars and burns recived from battles both won and lost splayed over creased skin; the hands of a killer. The hands of a Warrior. A Comrade. A lover. And most suprisingly, a mother at one point. The Scot had seen those hands take the lives of nations and cultures, stuanch the bleeding of her brothers and sisters in arms, and even help bring life into the world. Wrath smiled at the memory.
The duo, in one of War's compassionate moments, had decided to help evacuate a town that was right in the middle of a soon-to-be battlefield when one pregnant woman had gone into labor. They had no time to stop and deliver, so War had the woman lain in the back of one of the wagons and helped deliver the child herself.
"You just hold your arms out and catch, right?" she had shrugged when asked if she knew how to deliver a baby.
Two hours of pain filled screams, and comforting words from Bellum, a newborns cry split through the air. Wrath, startled out of her observation of the land, quickly steered her horse over to the wagon and peered over the side. The woman, panting and crying, still lying in the hay, and at her feet, War sat back onto her haunches, holding a naked and screaming baby.
"It's a boy!' she had cried gleefuly, grabbing a blanket and wrapping the child up, before handing him to his father.
The brunette smiled again, gripping her best friend's hand a bit tighter, prompting the redhead to glance at her.
"Somethin' wrong, Ira?" she questioned. Wrath shook her head.
"No, jus' thinkin'." she murmmered.
"Well that's nothin' new, what about this time?" War tilted her head.
Wrath opened her mouth to anwer, and froze. What was she suppost to say? Tell War about how amaising the brunette thought she was? While that would be stroking Bell's ego, it didn't seem to fit.
"Your hands." she answered reluctently.
"Did I stutter?"
"No, I'm just suprised that's all."
"Their enteresting!" Wrath defened herself.
"What makes my hands so special?" War asked, amused. Wrath thought for a second.
"Y-you... I guess you could say you helped shaped the world with them." The brunette started "You've saved as many lives as you've taken with them. Helped people, beat down entire countries... And you have the scars the prove it. I guess I like it..." The scotswoman finished quietly.
War sat for a moment, staring at the side of her friends head. A wide grin broke out on her face.
"That has be the cheesiest thing I've heard this year!" the redhead laughed. Wrath blushed and smacked her across the shoulder.
"You're a bloody bitch..." she growled, curling into herself a bit with embarissment.
Bellum smiling and wrapping her arms around her friend's shoulders, kissed the scot's cheek.
"But I think it's also the sweetist. I never really thought my hands were all that great. Definately not the prettiest." Lifting one hand to her face, she studied herself for a moment. Reconising all the scars and not recalling how any one of them were aquired.
Wrath looked over, watching as War observed her palms. 'They make you special though...' she thought.
Shrugging and turning back to the brunette and giving her wild grin.
"I know my hands can take as much as they give, but they can also make wicked drinks. How 'bout one?" she chirped, standing up and walking into the kitchen. Wrath smiled and quickly followed her friend.
"Yea, I guess I could fer one right now."
Mhn, not the best thing ever written, but I just wanted to test out a few of my new characters. Since I'm too lazy to type out all the details of these two and who they are exactally, PM me.
Alright, bring on the reviews! And don't be nice about it either!