Yeah, another new story and look, its even Kara/Caesar again, I think I'm in a rut. But it is a different take on their relationship than normally seen so maybe I'm not completely in the rut I think I am. New writing style seeing as I like to experiment but I should to back to my normal style next story. So yeah, enjoy.
I do not own Level 5 or their WKC games blah, blah, blah. Do I really need to do this every story I write? I mean really come on, if I owned any of it would I really be here right now?
Anyone who ever saw the two of them together was never quite able to place a name to the type of relationship they possessed. Was it friendship? Animosity? Love? Or perhaps friends with benefits? No one was ever quite sure. Even those who knew them best, those that had watched the other's backs as though second nature, would only shrug in response to the inquiry. They had stopped thinking about it long ago.
Admittedly there was some form of attraction between them, but this attraction was almost entirely physical in nature. She hated his pompous attitude and how he never seemed to take anything seriously at all, while he was unnerved by how she could meet the acts of killing another and holding a child in her arms with the same unconcerned approach.
He would tell anyone who would listen that he intended to solve the mystery of the violet eyed dancer, find out who she really was beneath the unassuming façade. State that no other female had intrigued and infuriated him in this way before.
He earned to release the fire beneath the cold exterior.
She would reveal to Yulie only in confidence that while there was something about the young lord that always drew her to him, that he was nothing but an insufferable annoyance. All he would ever want was a quick romp in the hay before leaving and forgetting all about her.
She built her walls ever higher, to hide from something so unfamiliar.
Both so different.
He had been pampered almost since birth, destined to control both a city unlike any other and the lives within it. He preferred to partake in the finer things in life, women in particular, to cement his status as a true lay about lord. On the surface he was lazy, a terrible flirt, and seemed to be ready to live off his inheritance for as long as he could. The only good thing most could say about him was undeniable skill with the spear. But yet those who admitted to it found it such a complete tragedy that the skill rest in a man who would never want for anything and learned the skill not out of interest but for sport. He could never be alone, both a blessing and a curse, always surrounded by body guards, friends, and women. He was a natural charismatic and was always in good health, never sick a day in his life.
He reveled in the cards that life had dealt him.
She portrayed the untouchable, hot to look at but cold to the touch. She grew up in the desert and was as harsh and unforgiving as the sands that inhabited it. Poor for as long as she could remember, she danced to make coin, not for the fun and freedom it offered. Forced to care for both her and her sister, never eating some days to feed the little one she cared for. She wanted everything but could have nothing. She learned the sword out of necessity to fight the dangers that the desert offered: desert beasts, bandits, cut-throats, purse snatchers, and the often over-eager and over-drunk patrons of the inn where she danced. She shunned all company but her sister's and preferred the warm desert winds as her lone companion, growing often sick with malnutrition and disease.
She hated the hand the fate had forced upon her.
Opposites.
Everything changed for her when a mysterious group, the Magi, appeared from the desert storm and Grazel offered her a place amongst his generals and unlimited power. There would be support for her sister; neither of them would ever go hungry. She would never have to dance again.
She embraced her new role.
Suddenly he lost his father to the sickness that had plagued him and inherited both a city and a responsibility he did not want. He gained an ancient relic of great and awesome power that threatened to consume him whole.
He fled from his new responsibility.
Both reacted differently.
Beneath the surface all he craves is solitude, for the ability to think for himself without worrying about the consequences. Always surrounded, he wants to know what it is like to be truly alone, but is afraid of what might happen to him if the wish gets granted. He wonders how people might react if they knew the real him, how he doesn't want his father's love, but needs it, craves it. How he wants someone to love and accept him for him, not the power and wealth he possesses. He fears their laughter and mockery though that comes with his wish, so he surrounds himself people who know the person he pretends to be, the ones who don't care enough to venture past the shallow demeanor and into the deep.
All he wishes is for acceptance of who he is, not who he pretends to be.
Underneath the shield she carries like a sword, all she wants is acceptance. She wants to be able to trust, completely and utterly trust another person without worrying about finding a knife hilt deep in her back. She wishes for friends, companions that would watch her back while she watches theirs without question. To be able to relax for once in her life and not worry about what still has to be done. To be able to laugh free, truly, really laugh, and not have it sound false and forced. But at the thought of this freedom she freezes and takes cover under her shield and plays the part, her role that she has done her whole life.
She craves the freedom of friendship.
They both want what the other already has.
With the way they act and the awkward tension that they always manage to create when they're together, the others are just waiting and wondering who will explode and finally end it all. Whether it will be him who gives into the primal urges and corners her somewhere or if it will be she who snaps under the built up pressure and decides to give into her own desires and kill him.
Yet in a fight they can always depend and count on the other in a jam. She is always the first to use any herbs or magic she has to heal him of any wound or affliction and he is never far from her side, to watch her and stop anyone or anything from coming close and attacking her.
They are always on opposite sides of the same game.
The day she died, the day she was murdered, she accepted her death with open arms. She had regretted so much, joining the Magi in return for food and safety, and then allowing them to sacrifice her sister, her Lena, with the belief that they would bring her back if she completed her mission. For agreeing to assassinate the very people who trusted her like no one else had, who had grown up alongside her in a small village that was now abandoned and filled with nothing but forgotten memories. So when death came to claim her, she spread her arms wide, accepting the retribution of all the horrid acts and mistakes she had committed and welcoming the peace that it would bring.
She ran away and never looked back.
He couldn't believe it, that she had died. It had made him realize how short life really was and not to live in the past or in the fear of what the future may bring. It taught him that in order to make life what he wanted, what everyone else deserved to live, that he needed to step up to the plate and take firm hold of the reins. He had to do what he had been raised to do, what his father and trusted him to do.
He returned home to do what was expected.
Two side of the same coin, always side-by-side yet destined to be apart.
A year later, a miracle would cause her return to the living and the game began anew, the game of magnetism that would cause both to repel and attract one another in the same moment. She would lure him in with sultry promises and yet push him away when he got to close. He would advance closer and closer, slowly tearing her walls down before always backing away and letting them build back up again.
Opposites attract.
Years later they would fight, both side-by-side and against one another. Alongside one another, they each knew the other's strengths and weaknesses. They would simultaneously act as both sword and shield when the time came, protecting the partner's cracks while doubling the offensive. They soon grew into a team, a mighty duo to be feared when faced in battle, him relying on quick wits and brute strength, her on well-practiced patience and instinct. On the warfront they were the best of friends, knowing the other better than anyone else ever would.
Yin and yang.
Off the battlefield they staged their own war. In this fight only they knew the other's weak points, where each and every chink in the armour laid, intent of tearing the other down. They would fight violently, crashes and screams from their tent in each and every battle heard by anyone in a two-mile radius. They would always end their fights with their shared tent in shambles and silent, unseen tears falling. A bruise or mark could never be found on either person though, physically at least. The fresh and re-opened battle scars on their hearts told another story altogether.
They say that love is a battlefield.
She is the one who screams, who tosses their possessions into the walls and onto the floor, watching them as shatter and break like she wishes he would. That he would break and fall apart into so many pieces that no one would ever be able to put him back together. Each word she screams at him a deadly weapon laced with poison and sharp bards, meant to pierce and puncture his every move. She wants to see his heart and soul bruised beyond repair.
She wants to make him hate her.
He is the one who stands the unmoving force, the calm amongst fierce and raging storm. He allows her to scream hated words at him, lets each word, each syllable, draw blood as she continues to rage at him. He speaks to her calmly as she shrieks, a low and dangerous tone that no one has ever heard before and no one ever will. He lets each calm word be a wakeup call that slowly lessens her blinding hot temper.
He wants her to regret ever making him fall in love with her.
They both love to hate, and hate that they love it.
They always part at this time, but never for long. In under a week they are back in each other's arms, sharing their bed once more, promising that this will be the last time. Yet the cycle begins anew and they start all over again.
She stays because of what he offers. Dark gold eyes offer a life of stability and wealth that she has never had. They promise safety and relaxation, the ability to be carefree without the consequences. She sticks to his side because his golden eyes cleanse her mind, body, and soul, erasing every regrettable thing she has ever done.
His eyes promise what she had always wanted.
He hangs around because of the mystery the entrancing red-violet eyes offer. She is a mysterious creature he can't wait to understand; magic unlike any other he has ever known binding him to her side. In those eyes he can sense the need to be active and focused, but the want to cool and calm down.
He eyes assure him of what he has always craved.
They say that eyes are the gateway to the soul.
His is a name that conveys power and says that the person in question in destined to rule, but he does not wish to rule, all he wants is the freedom to be alone. Instead he is forced to wear the shackles of leadership and duty as a regal crown upon his brow.
Caesar.
Hers is a meaning that tells of the purity of heart, of the unblemished soul that exists inside. She does not believe this to be true; her soul is as black and corrupted as the armour she once bore without question. Nothing can or will ever forgive her past mistakes.
Kara.
They are different, opposites. They truly are each other's own antonym.
They are as night and day.
Sun and rain.
Light and darkness.
Yin and yang.
Fundamentally different but cannot exist without the other.
No one was ever quite sure how to explain the connection those two maintained, or how they were even able to manage it.
Problem was, the two individuals involved weren't able to much less explain it themselves.
You know, you remind of a desert flower, full of life and beautiful to look at, but dangerous to get close to.
Well, you are like that of a pedigree dog. Loyal and handsome to be sure but useless for much else.
Yet even a spoiled and pampered pooch can be taught to obey orders and trained not to stray.
While it is true that a desert flower is dangerous to get close too, if you manage to get a hold of it, than it is a rare privilege and treasure to own one. But they must always be treated with care and respect else it shall wilt away and die.
And if you do not love or appreciate the dog than it will eventually leave you for another.
And done. Tried something new this time, other than the writing style that it. I let is sit in a notebook for two months before finally typing it out (an accident admittedly) and then let it sit for yet another week before editing it. I'll let you readers be the judge of whether or not my writing seems to have less spelling and grammar mistakes because of it.
For those of you who are getting bored of my constant K/C stories don't worry, the next one will be one of two depending on which I finish first. One is darker than anything I've ever really written (doesn't say a whole lot) and the other is my usual dig into the minds of the characters but with different people.
And as always, constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated. Actually any review is welcome, even the flames, because they all make me feel all warm and funny inside.
PS: Feel free to look me up on Geonet and talk to me there! You can normally find me in the guild The Athwani most evenings between 10pm and 2am central (although I may be on earlier sometimes) so if you happen to see me we can chat if you like. Don't worry though, it'll be obvious who I am, I'll be the 4'8" brunette with the really weird name wielding the battle axe.