Author's Notes: A collection of drabbles centered on Braska and company, most likely containing Jecht/Auron slash in the future. These will most likely not be in chronological order unless specifically stated, though they do take place in the same "canon."
Anyway, that aside… Oddly enough, I never thought that I'd ever write for this game (my ultimate love is FF7 and my favorite pairing is in FF8, go figure) but then the plot bunny came and ate my brain, so here I am. Be nice, hm? I haven't posted fic in ages. XP
Disclaimer: Not mine, thank goodness.
---
#1: Poor Auron
---
The problem with Macalania, Auron decided, was that everything shimmered. It was pretty, he had to admit (if one was into that sort of thing), but after staring at the same damned sparking flower turn after turn…Well. It made one want to take a sharp pointy object and stab the offending flower like that funny bald man on the sphere at Luca—Right. Stopping that train of thought right there.
Jecht was whistling. There were a number of things wrong with Jecht whistling. First off, the man couldn't carry a tune to save his life. Second, the only tunes he did know were the Hymn of the Fayth and bawdy Zanarkand bar songs.
At the moment, Auron couldn't even begin to tell what he was hearing. It was mildly disturbing, considering that lewd bar songs and the most sacred hymn in all of Yevon shouldn't sound alike, but as Auron and Braska discovered time and time again, Jecht somehow always managed to do the impossible.
The difference was that Auron found this particular gift infuriating while (Yevon knew why) Braska found it amusing.
"It doesn't seem…safe," Auron said slowly, resolutely ignoring the da-da-da-duuum-dum-de-dum behind him. He prodded the (sparkling) tree with his sword, wincing as a bit of wood chipped off. "Definitely not safe."
"Not all paths are easy," Braska said serenely, and Auron had to wonder if the sparkles really did do things to people's brains. It was certainly doing something to Jecht's already doubtful grey matter—or it could just be the alcohol withdrawal, if there was such a thing as that.
"I don't think it'll hold our weight," Auron returned flatly, prodding the tree once more and watching as another woodchip splintered off.
"Countless generations of Summoners have—"
"Trees grow old."
"Every Summoner must follow a set path—"
"We will be of no use to Yevon if we fall to our deaths."
"Auron, as your Summoner I must insist—"
"As your Guardian, I must insist—"
"Whooooeee…Look at the view."
Auron gave up.
---
Review?