I write fanfiction sometimes. Like now. Universe, characters come from Tamora Pierce, and I put this on Archive of Our Own first.
“Tris?” Sandry said. “Your hair?”
Tris raised her hand to her bandanna,
which had once again fallen off, leaving her frizzy red hair
uncovered. She grabbed a lock of hair and pulled it around to look.
It was sprouting lightning.
She groaned.
“I
don't need this. I don't
need this. I don't even want
it. Why is my hair sprouting lightning when I'm not even
upset?!”
“You
don't sound 'not even upset,' Coppercurls,” their foster-brother
drawled, “though all I see is a real
bad case of Runog's Fire.”
“Thanks
ever so,” Tris snapped.
“She
wasn't, though,” Daja said. “Until Sandry pointed out that she
was sprouting lightning.”
“Is
it getting worse? I mean- more?” Tris said. She did not
need this. No no no no no.
“It
doesn't look like it,” Sandry said.
“Well,
that's something.” Tris said. She started pulling the seed
lightning from her hair. More came to replace it. “AUGH!”
Lark
entered, rubbing her eyes drowsily. “What's wrong?”
“Lightning
is wrong. I knew I could make it when I was angry, like with the
pirates, but...”
“You
didn't expect it to happen every time you were upset?”
Tris
sniffed. “I wasn't!”
“But
you are now, dear. Sit tight, I'll put the kettle on. Do any of you
know where Niko is?”
The
four children shook their heads. “Away,” Tris said. “This
morning there was a note saying I should meditate as usual for the
start of our lesson time, and then I was free. He knows that means
I'll read.”
“He
didn't say where he was going?”
Tris
shook her head.
“Do
you know when he'll be back?”
Tris
nodded. “Late tonight, I think. Could... could you maybe leave a
message with the people in charge of his rooms that he should come
here as soon as he can? I don't want to go myself when I don't know
what my hair is even doing.”
“Or
course I can, dear. It will be all right.”
“And
if it's not, well, you just chuck lightning at people until they
pretend it is, right?” Briar said.
Tris
glared daggers at her brother. “Oh? Remember the time you
were sprouting lightning?”
“But
I can't throw it a'purpose!” he insisted. “Plus, yours doesn't
seem to be going nowhere. It's just sitting there, in your hair.”
“At
least for now.”
Sandry
looked thoughtful. “If you wove some of your lightning together as
a sort of cloth, would the rest of the lightning stay behind it?”
Tris
stared at Sandry, then looked down at the lightning in her hand. It
was still dancing around her fingers. Staying in one place wasn't
something lightning seemed to do: it was the movement of energy that
made it, after all. “How?”
“Well,
Daja's fire-weavings-”
“Not
that kind of how, how do I make lightning
act like thread?”
“Maybe
if I work through you?”
Lark interrupted
them. “If you're going to start playing with magic you've never
tried before- that, no one has ever tried before, you need a
protective circle first.”
“So that if we
blow ourselves up, we only blow ourselves up?” Tris asked.
“Exactly.” That
was Rosethorn. “No taking others with you while you attempt the
impossible.”
Sandry looked at
Rosethorn. “Why would it be impossible?”
Rosethorn looked at
Lark, then at Sandry. “Lightning burns thread. Thread mages
shouldn't be able to weave with it.”
“What about
fire?” Briar insisted. “She wove that.”
“Which should
also be impossible,” Rosethorn informed them. “If you four
didn't have a history of impossible, your answer would be 'Don't even
think about it.'”
Tris rubbed her
forehead. “And the problem I'm having right now?”
“Also impossible.
Or it should be.”
“Great.” Tris
said. “We're going to make a protective circle so we can try
something impossible to fix a problem that's impossible to have,
and the only reason you're letting us do it is because of other
impossible things. Sound about right?”
Stories :)
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