#aracor

Thank you so much, Hope, and my apologies this is so late. Please enjoy some Cor/Aranea for the prompt “slight” below.

A slight miscalculation.

That was Aranea’s excuse for crash landing next to the Marshal off a high jump, earth shaking beneath her spear, the metal in her grip reverberating with the force of the fall. It wasn’t like she needed excuses—they’d never served her well, not when she was a lowly merc and not as Commodore. The truth was often easier, and in this instance, it was right in front of her face: Cor Leonis’ stern gaze, catching her off guard.  Aranea was used to intensity, but the Immortal’s particular brand of ‘zero fucks given’ snatched the air straight from her lungs.

Not for long.

“You’re aware I’m not a hostile target.” Cor didn’t make the sardonic words a question, his piercing blue eyes threatening to pin her like a butterfly to a board.

“Then stay out of my way.” Aranea grinned, planted the butt end of her polearm firmly in the dirt, and executed a fast and graceful spin around it.  It was a showier version of a leaping kick, but her boots landed in the face of the waiting daemon’s face just as effectively, snapping its neck and melting its corpse into smoky ichor.  When gravity righted itself, she took up her lance once more in both hands.

“Tricks like that are an easy way to an early grave,” Cor deadpanned.  Despite the monotone, his mouth gave the barest twitch.

“I’ve got plenty of tricks, Marshal. Ask me nicely and I may just show you them one day,” Aranea replied with a wink.

Before she could register Cor’s response, before she could examine the own flicker of desire deep in her chest, Aranea leapt into the air once more, soaring through it as comfortably as others would walk across solid ground.

Nothing, not even someone as deadly and vexing as the Marshal Cor Leonis, could keep Aranea from the sky—from freedom.