Note: This is my first story for this fandom. I decided to try my hand at Hope! It's meant to be a sort of parody with a dash of teenage angst because let's face it, it's Hope.
First Entry
I've decided to keep a diary. Vanille said that sometimes, when your mind is running around with thoughts that trouble you and you don't really want to talk to anyone, writing said thoughts down can help sometimes. I hesitated at first, thinking 'Who has the time when you're a ticking time bomb?' and considering where this advice was coming from (a ditzy young girl who jumped up and down when given a gun with its safety off) the idea of toting around something full of my most personal thoughts seemed a bit dangerous. What if someone reads it? What if I lost it? It seemed a bit risky, but then I remembered I'm a teenage boy and risk is what us teens are all about if those teen pregnancy shows were anything to go by. I decided to give in or else I wouldn't be writing this on this ridiculously small Hello-Kitty note pad Vanille supplied for me in a pinch.
Anyway, I'm currently with Vanille while the rest of the group explores the now crystallized Lake Bresha. So far she's been nothing but trouble.
She throws herself at enemies without a single thought to caution. I'd like to figure out my Focus without you trying to play with a pack of wild pantherons thank you very much. I'm not a fighter and I don't pretend to be. I'd rather run away from a fight (counting I don't get winded or end up tripping over my own two feet to then get viciously mauled to death.) But I know I can't die. I have a mission and I'm determined to see it through to the end. I don't care what my Focus is at the moment though it would help to know it in order not to end up a Cie'th.
My mission is this: I'm going to kill Snow.
I know I'm only fourteen and look as though a strong wind could carry me on a good day, but I'm going to kill Snow.
He killed my mother or rather got her killed even though she volunteered to fight. What's the difference? Logic tells me that it wasn't his fault, that my mother knew what she was getting into so her death shouldn't be a surprise. But I'm not following logic. I'm being consumed by grief and my grief tells me that it doesn't matter what logic dictates, the result is still the same: I can't bring her back.
But he's still alive and I'm going to fix that.
I'm going to kill him. I know he's bigger and stronger, but I got something he'll never have. I have something that makes even the most stoic soldiers fall to their knees in defeat.
I have the power of cute.
I'm freaking adorable. No one can resist my dork like charms or my voice that manages to crack when I'm scared or going through puberty or the awkward sway I do when I'm waiting for the person in command of my party to do something other than run around looking for treasure spheres and ignoring the plot.
Others have tried to resist me and it resulted in casualties. I don't like to talk about it much. But I will say this: heads exploded like watermelons.
Snow's no different. He won't resist. He can't. Not when I give him my puppy dog eyes of sadness or my cute to the power of ten pout of doom.
He'll fall and I'll be there to watch him. Maybe I'll catch him if the idea of him crushing me weren't so frightening. But if I had enough strength to catch him, I'd let him slip just to watch him fall again. Yeah, that's right. I'm that pissed.
Snow calls himself a hero. All I see is a coward running away from his problems.
At least I'm man enough to run into them. Even if it ends up with me getting a piece of me chewed off (pantherons cubs are not to be played with I've learned).
I gotta go. Vanille is poking at a sleeping pantheron again. I'm afraid I'm all she's got in terms of a responsible adult right now.
