A nice little series of drabbles I came up earlier today. Based off of athought I had a couple weeks ago. I was just chillin' in the grass starin' at the clouds and I thought about Vaas just chillin' in the grass on the edge of a cliff starin' at the clouds. I thought about this today as well and so I decided to write a few drabbles on this cliff edge. Keep in mind the head canons in this fic do not directly relate to any of my other works and I wanted to try something different and since I haven't updated in ages I thought I owed you guys something. Strange Waters is in the works as is the Vaas story. I was tempted to write out my slashy Skyrim fic but with these and my Brandon chapters and going back to college and taking care of kid and having husband...I don't know if I can have time for a completely other fic. I've also been working on computer things, learning about video editing and stuffs (saving money for a capture card so I can do lets plays or just runnings arounds in video games) Well I hope you enjoy this, I enjoyed writing it. Again, it doesn't rightly relate to my other fics and only shares a smidgen of made up canonism...God I hope I'm using those words right...

No real warnings aside from deaths and thoughts of suicide, murder, and a smidgen of something sexual. Oh and drugs, of course. Please, let me know what you thought of this and in the meantime, I'll try to work on my other things. I've been brainstorming a lot of Brandon...anyways yes, read and review por favor (please) :)

XXX

The Cliff and The Ocean

XXX

7 years
The wind is strong. It pushes his body and he feels like he is flying. Arms spread wide and he feels like the hawk over the mountainous hills, free among the clouds and drafts and he smiles. A wide smile that was missing a front tooth and he giggled when the wind pushed him again and he lent into it, gleefully laughing and howling to the air.

His toes push against the stones on the edge and the wind dies. Falling, screaming, grabbing for anything within reach.

"Vaas!"

"Papa!"

Large hands around his wrists and he knows he is safe.

10 years
Laughing, jeering, teasing, pushing his friend closer to the edge. "Don't be such a pussy, Tel."

"Falling ten thousand feet into jagged rocks doesn't sound very fun to me!"

"It's not ten thousand feet, stop being such a baby."

A back pushing against him, a slight panicked voice, then a curse. He lets go.

Wind whipping about their bodies as they stand on the edge. Looking down to the crashing waves they can see it. Mangled and bloody and bloated.

"That's disgusting Vaas."

"What a way to go huh?"

"Why didn't he just shoot himself?"

"Where's the drama in that?"

A roll of the eyes and he laughs and grabs onto his friend's shoulder, scaring him. Heart thrumming when he fears he may have slipped, he may be the ender of his friend's life. Flashes of childhood adventures, trouble, and shenanigans flash before his eyes and he is prepared to scream 'Telapon!' as loud as he can when his friend falls away.

Then a kick to his hip and he rolls onto the grass, closest friend smirking down at him and he knows he's a jerk.

15 years
Cold and lifeless was the sea today. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees, eyes casting a glance down the cliff to the rocks and the rushing waves. Depression has set in and he has come to terms with her death.

He remembers her arms around him when he feared, her soft voice when he cried, her fingers curling his hair about them as she whispered lullabies and promises and then the snake came in the night and reaped her of her life.

A tear on his cheek and there is no one there to brush it away and he is unable to swallow. His heart aches and he wishes for it to just die, to just jump from his chest, rip through his flesh, and leap from the cliff to its eminent death like that bloated figure some years ago. He wished for his heart to just disappear, for it ached in his chest and caused great pain and sorrow. If only he could not feel anything. If only he could go on without caring for her, for her departure from this world, from him. if only he could rip out his heart and toss it into the sea and watch it sink and be eaten up by the murderous waves.

He wipes away the tear and he knows he is motherless.

20 years
Wind wraps around their naked skin. The grass is chill and soft under them. The night is cool, and the stars and the moon shine their light over his home, across the sand and through the trees and over the mountains.

Fingers wind in his hair, lips brush over his neck, pale legs around his waist, and she whispers into his ear. He whispers back and they kiss again, a hundred kisses for a hundred days. He prayed for a hundred years.

Serenity in his mind and the night is calming and the sea is like a sacred song sung by the spirits, embracing them in its awesome lyrics. It sings and he is at peace and her hands are linked behind his neck, pulling him further into her body.

"I love you Vaas."

"I love you too."

Heavy breathing and then a shared moan. She smiles up at him and she is so beautiful in the moonlight. He smiles back. Another kiss and he knows he is happy.

22 years
The air is empty, the sea is empty, the spirit of the island is empty. His people have betrayed him. His sister has betrayed him. His father has betrayed him.

Citra? His mate? No, no that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all and he stares at his fingers, scars upon his bones from Bull, the monster he had saved his sister from...no this wasn't right. He was a hero, a warrior, the future leader...this was not right at all.

The clouds are exceptionally white today and he squints when the sun comes out from hiding.

They expected so much from him, so much. For him to lead, for him to save, for him to kill. Kill for them. Kill their enemies like he had the pirate king. Murder. They wanted him to murder, even the innocent, and he couldn't focus his mind anymore.

Muddled thoughts, too many to focus on and he inhales the white smoke, doing his best to calm his mind and his nerves and relax back into the grass, legs danging off of the edge.

The weight of his shoes pulls on him, and the calm surf beckons him down.

He told her they could go away. Far away. Leave the island. Leave his family and his people behind for a world he had never seen before.

"I'm pregnant," she said, wrapping her arms around him, and he knows there is no other option.

23 years

The machete is heavy in his hands as he raises it. His other hand goes to grasp the length of hair, and the blade slices through it. Braids and waves and curls fall to the sea, gobbled up by the angry waters and there is a sense of disgrace, disappointment in his eyes. He has killed and thrown away his crown.

Everyone but his sister has died and he stares out at the sea, listening to the ever present waves as they call to him. They sing like sirens and he steps closer to the edge.

Death. It calls. It screams to him and urges him forward. Cluttered thoughts of suicide and murder fill his head and he sees nothing but red. Kill her. Kill Citra. Then leave.

A foreign accent and he turns his head. "I have a job for you Vaas. One you might enjoy."

He looks down the cliff face, remembering the body from a decade ago, and he knows he is wrong.

24 years
A limp in his step as he walks through the apartment, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding, blood soaking his foot and his undone boot's interior. Too much. Too much has gone wrong.

Clammy hands grab the stone balcony. Glossy eyes look to the sky. A sob escapes him and he stares up, up to the empty sky. Ears close to deafening from the clamor of Bangkok and he desperately seeks a star. Any star will do. Anything to remind him of home, to sail him across the seas in a ship of memories long forgotten. He seeks to find them, to reach up to the sky and sift through the blackness. Find an old memory, one of happiness, one of peace, one of love. Any memory from before this life. Any memory before his family fell apart. Any memory before he held her lifeless body in his arms, her blood drenching into his clothing like his own does now to his boot. Any memory to escape this, this which he has become.

Pain in his foot as he raises himself to stand on the ledge. A deal gone wrong and in response to his arrogance and ignorance they removed it, and the blood is hot on his skin.

Reach for the stars, reach up to find one, just one.

A fleeting memory of a lost love and the absence of stars urges him to step forward. Take that one tiny step, Vaas. Just one little step and it will all be over.

Tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, breaths quickening, heart thumping, memories eating away at themselves and he remembers the bloodshed.

"Vaas what are you doing!"

"Back off, Carlos. Just back the fuck off!"

His gun is raised at his partner's head but the other man refuses to move.

He sees the worry. A man he thought was a stone climbs up onto the ledge to stand by his side. "You wanna go out this way over a fucking toe, you're fucking crazy, way!"

"That's what everyone says," he tells him with a sneer. "Now go away."

"I'm not leaving."

He refuses to respond and looks back out to the city. "Fuck you."

"Look, I got some leads okay. I know where their drug shipments going. We move now we can block 'em off, deliver it to Hoyt. He'll let you come back to the island, I'm sure of it."

A scoff. "What the fuck makes you think I wanna go back there?"

"Because you obviously don't want to be here."

A glance to the city, a friendly hand on his shoulder, and he knows he is homesick.

24 years

The island sings a sorrowful song today. His closest friend is dead. His blood warms and his shoulders fall when the needle is taken away. A somber thought, a horrific memory, and in time, it all fades. The bullet hole in Telapon's head closes, Hoyt's hand releases the gun into his own, Carlos' horrified expression falls back into blankness, Telapon rises to his feet, guards back away, and the man walks backwards, back into the trees and brush, back to their home, his eyes call to Vaas for help before the memory is forgotten.

Into the clouds he soars, at last, like the hawk. His feet remain planted on the earth but he is so much further away. Shoulders slump, body limp, and in an hour he is back there. Back at that cliff's edge, head bent down to observe the waves. They admire him today. They want him. They reach up, stretching with all their might to grab onto him and pull him back under their warm body.

A giggle, a chuckle, a chortle, and then he raises his middle finger to the ocean below him. "Fuck off," he tells it, and the waves crash something fierce against the rocks. They anger with him and crave his body and wish to engulf him whole like they've done countless other souls before him.

White clouds turn gray, the sky rumbles, and the rain falls.

A sigh, and he rocks side to side, eyelids drooping.

His fingers play with a pair of white straps, used for securing items tightly down to a trailer. A hand he is not certain of takes his knife and cuts one, and then two hands work tediously to tie it tightly back together again. Two straps made into three, like the general in the army, and as he pulls them over his body he knows he is the king.

27 years

The sun is warm, and the sea is quiet. It waits patiently for him to accept his fate. He smirks and sways with the wind. Years have gone by and he is no longer the same man. Dark circles line his eyes like a bandit's mask, scars adorn his body like the carvings in a totem, and chemicals swim through his body like the shark swims through the ocean. Another smirk and he laughs. Like his body, his eyes are no longer the same. They are wild, feral, filled with the aftermath of something crazy and they gaze off at the horizon and the wind whips around his body.

Tourists on the beach have caught his eye and he laughs again, To himself. There is no one else. Alone now, and forever, he accepts his fate. He has wished for death for so many years now, wished for a bullet to drive into his brain, a knife to sink into his heart, a wound to bleed him out like a stuck pig. The ocean always welcomed him. It wanted him, more than Romeo wanted Juliet and it called to him each and every day he stood upon the cliff. Come to me, Vaas. And I will heal your wounds. Like a lost lover.

A button to his walkie and he announces the chase. Seven young kids, white, privileged, and beautiful. Each one would add another five figures and with these figures he would continue to poison himself, play with himself, and in the end, he hoped, kill himself.

Death seemed too easy to come by these days. So easy. But for him, the prince of madness, it only taunted him.

He had pointed the barrel of a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. The gun jammed. He followed the trails of warriors, each of them falling at his feet when they failed to land a killing blow into his chest. He entered a panther's lair with nothing but a hunting knife and left with a skin. He swam with sharks when the heat proved too unbearable. He attempted to fill his body with assorted drugs and plants only to be brought back to life by his fellow pirates. He hated them.

He waits. Waits for death to take him. And when he looks down to the ocean below him, he snickers and shakes his head. "Such a needy little bitch, you are," he tells the waters and they rise up, licking at the face like a starving dog. "It would be so easy. So fucking easy..." he steps closer to the edge, his toes just barely hovering over the wanting seas.

You will be free.

The chemicals tickle his blood, his mind soars through the open skies and he spreads his arms out wide. Swaying with the wind like he had done as a child and he can feel the earth slowly slipping away. Like the hawk in the sky, he can finally be free.

The static on his walkie, Carlos' voice, and he knows the ocean will be furious.

28 years

Clear eyes, clear head, clear mind, coherent memories. Sad, horrific, torturous even, but he has found the peaceful ones. The ones of his mother and her soothing voice, the ones of Telapon and his loyalty, the ones of his love and her everlasting affection.

A recent memory though. One so much more horrific than any other he had had, resurfaced and he squeezed his eyes shut.. Citra. Citra lying to him. Citra convincing him. Citra persuading him. Citra manipulating him. And finally, Citra lying under him, ceremonial knife stuck into her heart by his own hands.

Tears create rivers down his cheeks and he sniffs and wipes them away.

The waves below him call.

Soon after, the memories of a sibling he once loved and cared for and protected drove him mad and he fell to his knees and screamed. For an hour he did nothing but cry into his hands, scream to the cursed ocean, and wail to the stars. Minutes after his voice was hoarse, his throat raw, eyes puffy, and cheeks drenched.

An offering hand and he knows it is over.

29 years

He returns one last time, to the cliff's edge, in his hands the symbol of his leadership, the item which gave him the title of the pirates' general. It wrapped tightly around the red fabric he had worn so many years now, the color that, to his people meant luck and fortune, but when worn by he and his men, meant death and destruction. The color he came to hate. A deep, dark hate that boiled his blood and he saw no other option.

The waves are calmer today, the wind is slow, and the spirits are ready to forgive him.

Clear head. Clear mind. His eyes are softer. The dark circles are fading. The scars are healing. The Mohawk is growing.

"I'm sorry to say I'm not here to contemplate suicide with you today, 'migo." The ocean does not answer, but the waves grow. Shoulders slump, lips purse, and he sighs, grasping the straps tighter.

The sky is clear today, clouds hide away beyond the horizon as the sun slips slowly below the ocean's surface, light catching in the water and dancing among the waves in a tango. He swallows, and sighs again. There is a boat at the beach, not far off, familiar faces gathering around it. Faces of those he had come to call his friends over the years of piracy. Friends who, even being killers and addicts, all have helped not just themselves, but him as well. Helped him to remember the man he once was. They helped him on his way, from the monster he had become back into the human being he once was.

He was thankful.

The ocean calls again, waves bouncing on and off the rocks and he thinks he sees the ghost of the suicidal man some many, many years ago, waving to him, smiling a goodbye smile.

A voice calls his name over the walkie and he knows he is wanted.

No more hesitation, Vaas. Come to me.

"I'm ready."

His arm winds back and with one last hesitant breath, he sends it forward.

The wind grows stronger and takes the items further out, over the hungering waters and they shift in the drafts. The wind picks up and then drafts down, sending the symbols of his old status into the depths. The ocean swallows them quickly, leaving no time for them to float out among its waves. There is no sign of the items as they sink down into the pit of the ocean's ever deepening stomach.

Shoulders fall, not slumping, but relaxing. A breath, not a sigh, and his eyes close, not in sadness, but in relief. A farewell, and Vaas knows who he is.

Memories of ceremonies, dances performed by the warriors and he screams out a war cry to the ocean, spreading his arms out wide as he had done many times before. This time though, it is in triumph, and the ocean swells die down and the waters are calm once again.

The boat horn sounds, and he knows he is wanted.

At the stern of a boat, leaning on the rail, he watches as his home silently slips away behind the ocean. Trees disappear behind the waters and it takes less than an hour before even the mountains are swallowed as well, between the silent ocean and clear sky. He looks up to see the stars flicker and twinkle as they had in his childhood. He remembers the pain, the loss, the sadness, and then a raucous of laughter sounds behind him and he remembers happiness too, harmony, humor, and companionship.

So many years he had spent in the shadows of death, whether they be human or not, and so many years he had fought to keep his sanity in tact. He was sure he had lost it, sure that that man, that tourist, had taken it completely away from him. Sure that his loss of saneness had brought to him his death. He had recovered. His sister had imprisoned him long enough to clean him, starve him, and eventually kill him. The dreams brought him back, back home, back to his companions, and back to his humanity. In his new found sanity, he decided it was time to end this. End his sister's reign over his mind and destroy her. It had broken his heart to do so, for she was still his sister...

The islands are all but a flicker of a star now. The place of his birth, his death, and his reemergence into humanity was slowly sinking away and a piece of his heart sunk with it. Twenty eight years in total he had spent on that island, and he desperately wanted to forget his year away in the city.

Never forget, the ocean told him. For these memories save you.

"Thank you, Jack Dawson," he replied with a smirk.

His companions call his name and he knows he is free.

XXX

Thanks for reading mi amigos. I hope you liked it. Again, it's mostly just randomness I came up with for a time line that, aside from Tel's name, is pretty much unrelated to my other fics, so there are no spoilers for those here ;)

If you have read Strange Waters and have met Brandon, then perhaps you will like my original fiction starring him. His entries can be found on my Tumblr, SickMonkey1027, along with many a funny blog, rant, and some humorously dark things...yeah Strange Waters isn't really necessary to read for the Brandon story...I just put him in there cuz I love him so much :3

Don't forget to drop down a review, like, favorite, or meskage if you feels like it. I enjoy feedback :)