My epic. (Well, semi-epic. I'm not much for long chapters...) In other
words, what I'm doing while I should be paying attention in Object-Oriented
Programming. Comments will be lurrved, constructive criticism will make me
cry, but I'll still take it, and flames will be dealt with by stealth ninja
assassins. I'm currently replaying FFX in between stretches of KH, so
anything that occurs to me will probably end up here too. I need to share.
The title is the butchering of one of the fayth's insane rambles near the
end of the game.
!!- contains slash, plot contrivances, a whole buncha slash, and a complete disregard of the sequel, whenever it deigns to come out. Forgive me.
Disclaimed: To heck with it, since people seem to view these things as all powerful. You know what? I own Final Fantasy. I own it, and I make Seymour dance for me on Wednesday nights. Square needs to put a disclaimer on their games.
* * * *
Floating.
The world is blue, an endless blur that stretches as far as I can see. I shake my head, trying to make it shatter into recognizable patterns. No luck. How much did I have to drink last night? I've had hangovers the night after a win before, but this is-
A whistle?
There was no win. Nothing to drink, even. I stare upwards, at the watery light that has become my new sky. My hand comes up instinctively to shield my eyes from the glare. Wait, my hand?
Should I have hands on the Farplane? I tread water, circling to take in my surroundings. Seaweed dances lazy in a warm current, and my booted feet stir up plumes of sand. There's nothing else here.
Might as well try up there.
I stroke upwards towards the surface, only half-aware of my actions as my brain struggles to wrap itself around the concept of swimming, of water ruffling the hair that should not exist. I'm so distracted that the shock of hands, a strong grip tugging me upwards, erases years of blitzball training and leaves me only with the most basic infant instinct. I inhale.
I emerge, coughing and sputtering, as each breath tries to fight its way past a lungful of seawater. A blurry shape blocks the light, muttering words that I don't quite catch as my body tries to convince my mind to die again. I close my eyes, willing the dizzying activity around me to go away. The voice focuses, resolves into-
" -Tidus. Damn, he won't cough it up!" I open my eyes a crack, and the first blur is joined by a second, who begins to thump on my chest as the recognizable tingle of a cure spell begins to argue with my fatalistic nerve endings. I can sense a third figure behind me, a leg radiating warmth next to my cheek. A person, then? The third person bends to pry my eyes fully open.
"How the hell did you play blitzball, kid? Can't even hold your breath for a minute." My father laughs.
I seize the opportunity to faint in a manly fashion.
* * * * *
I wake to the sight of the High Summoner Braska with a tea tray full of food, quietly pushing aside the curtain in the doorway. He sets the tray down, and straightens with a clap of his hands.
"Ah, you're awake! No, don't get up, you've had a long couple of days, we understand. Don't blame you in the least bit for that little- err- mishap on the dock." He actually bustles, readying the meal on the tray.
He resembles Yuna so much that it is almost painful. The same smile, the same easygoing manner. He doesn't have her hesitance, that transparent glow that made her seem so fragile in those last days. But his eyes are the same, staring at me expectantly.
With a start, I realize that he has asked me a question. I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Would you like some lunch? I'm afraid you missed breakfast." I take this as an open invitation, and proceed to destroy the contents of the plate. I'm just finishing the last of the fruit when Auron walks in, followed by Jecht. The three men gather at the foot of my bed, as an uncomfortable silence stretches the full length. Not surprisingly, it is Jecht who breaks it first.
"So kid, you over it yet? You fainted like a little girl out there, you know."
"Jecht," warns Braska, "don't do this, he's not had the easiest time of it recently."
"And I have?" Jecht folds his arms in a pose I had grown intimately familiar with.
"I'm not saying-"
"Jecht, leave us." Auron straightens up. "I will talk to him."
"Now, what are you trying to-" Jecht steps towards Auron, but is stopped by Braska's hand on his arm. "Auron, we'll just be outside." He beckons Jecht to follow, and to my surprise, my father does so without complaint. Auron blocks my view of the departing pair as he pulls a chair to my bedside. He sits and waits quietly, and I take advantage of the opportunity.
"Auron! How did I get here? How did you get here? Where is here? Is Yuna here? Wh-" He holds up a hand to silence me.
"Most of that, I have no answers for. We are not on the Farplane. Braska thinks that the last act of the Fayth was the creation of this world for you, and for Jecht. It seems that this was their way of rewarding you."
"This world? So we're not on Spira?"
"No." Auron shakes his head.
"But- if the world was for me and Jecht, why are you here?" It must be my imagination, but I could swear that Auron almost looks uncomfortable with my last question.
"We don't know. It may be that Jecht pulled all those that were close to him from the Farplane when he was sent here."
"Close to him? Then why isn't my mother here?" Auron looks for a moment as if he will answer, but then his face slides into a stony blank, and the moment passes. He rises, firmly pushing my shoulder back into the pillow.
"Rest." He turns and leaves without another word.
* * * * * Braska turned as Auron entered the outer room.
"Did you tell him?" Auron shied away from the summoner's gaze.
"My Lord, I could not..." Jecht laughed from his position on the couch.
"He'll figure it out. He's a big boy, not like he doesn't have any experience himself, eh, Braska?"
"Move over." Auron marched over to the couch and slithered into the warm hollow between Jecht and the pillowed backing.
"Bet Auron could tell us all about that, hmm?" Jecht curled an arm around the legendary guardian.
"Mm." The scarred guardian closed his eye and drifted into sleep. * * * * *
I spent the first three days in bed. The next three, I spent roaming the shores of what I discovered to be a small island, combing the sea sand with my toes, happy to be alive. And after that, I sunk into boredom.
It's not that I wasn't thankful that I had a second chance to live. But one can only spend so many days in awe of the world around him. Braska could conjure cookies, coffee, and fruit out of thin air, but books were beyond him. I considered challenging Auron to a staring match, but gave it up as an impossible win. Solo blitzball practice can only be taken so far, and I wasn't about to ask Jecht to play a few rounds.
Jecht was still a question. We both knew that something had changed, something important, but neither of us was ready to confront it for what it really was. Braska, it seemed, was quite ready to help us confront it, and I took to avoiding him, hiding in what had become my room, and pondering the mysteries that my very existence seemed to raise.
It didn't take me long to solve the first mystery. Just spending time alone in a room with Jecht, Auron, and Braska was enough to hint that something was truly different. I was constantly walking into conversations that died with my arrival, hidden smiles, and Braska's stifled giggles.
It didn't surprise me in the least the day I walked into the kitchen to find my father standing with Auron at the window, arm around his waist, insulting him with relish even as Auron shifted to hold him tightly against his chest. A few days later I passed Braska as he returned from the beach holding tightly to Auron's hand. They dropped hands as soon as they spotted me, but it was already too late.
Had it not been so soon, I would have never caught them. But it had been ten years for them, ten years apart, knowing each other's fates, but unable to do anything about it. When Braska let go of Auron, I had seen the shadow of pain that flitted across his face. After that, I left them all alone. They had earned the right to privacy.
But I was still bored.
* * * * *
Light. Dark.
If he could have died, he would have done so long ago. Every night the tides come in, drowning his cracked skin in stinging salt water. Every morning, they roll out, leaving him to bake under the sun, unhindered in its cloudless sky. His hair mingles with the sea, becoming almost invisible as the colors blend.
And on the rock that his body clings to unconsciously, he sleeps fitfully. He dreams only of the girl in the white dress, coming from the sky to mock him as the seaweed twines around his feet.
!!- contains slash, plot contrivances, a whole buncha slash, and a complete disregard of the sequel, whenever it deigns to come out. Forgive me.
Disclaimed: To heck with it, since people seem to view these things as all powerful. You know what? I own Final Fantasy. I own it, and I make Seymour dance for me on Wednesday nights. Square needs to put a disclaimer on their games.
* * * *
Floating.
The world is blue, an endless blur that stretches as far as I can see. I shake my head, trying to make it shatter into recognizable patterns. No luck. How much did I have to drink last night? I've had hangovers the night after a win before, but this is-
A whistle?
There was no win. Nothing to drink, even. I stare upwards, at the watery light that has become my new sky. My hand comes up instinctively to shield my eyes from the glare. Wait, my hand?
Should I have hands on the Farplane? I tread water, circling to take in my surroundings. Seaweed dances lazy in a warm current, and my booted feet stir up plumes of sand. There's nothing else here.
Might as well try up there.
I stroke upwards towards the surface, only half-aware of my actions as my brain struggles to wrap itself around the concept of swimming, of water ruffling the hair that should not exist. I'm so distracted that the shock of hands, a strong grip tugging me upwards, erases years of blitzball training and leaves me only with the most basic infant instinct. I inhale.
I emerge, coughing and sputtering, as each breath tries to fight its way past a lungful of seawater. A blurry shape blocks the light, muttering words that I don't quite catch as my body tries to convince my mind to die again. I close my eyes, willing the dizzying activity around me to go away. The voice focuses, resolves into-
" -Tidus. Damn, he won't cough it up!" I open my eyes a crack, and the first blur is joined by a second, who begins to thump on my chest as the recognizable tingle of a cure spell begins to argue with my fatalistic nerve endings. I can sense a third figure behind me, a leg radiating warmth next to my cheek. A person, then? The third person bends to pry my eyes fully open.
"How the hell did you play blitzball, kid? Can't even hold your breath for a minute." My father laughs.
I seize the opportunity to faint in a manly fashion.
* * * * *
I wake to the sight of the High Summoner Braska with a tea tray full of food, quietly pushing aside the curtain in the doorway. He sets the tray down, and straightens with a clap of his hands.
"Ah, you're awake! No, don't get up, you've had a long couple of days, we understand. Don't blame you in the least bit for that little- err- mishap on the dock." He actually bustles, readying the meal on the tray.
He resembles Yuna so much that it is almost painful. The same smile, the same easygoing manner. He doesn't have her hesitance, that transparent glow that made her seem so fragile in those last days. But his eyes are the same, staring at me expectantly.
With a start, I realize that he has asked me a question. I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Would you like some lunch? I'm afraid you missed breakfast." I take this as an open invitation, and proceed to destroy the contents of the plate. I'm just finishing the last of the fruit when Auron walks in, followed by Jecht. The three men gather at the foot of my bed, as an uncomfortable silence stretches the full length. Not surprisingly, it is Jecht who breaks it first.
"So kid, you over it yet? You fainted like a little girl out there, you know."
"Jecht," warns Braska, "don't do this, he's not had the easiest time of it recently."
"And I have?" Jecht folds his arms in a pose I had grown intimately familiar with.
"I'm not saying-"
"Jecht, leave us." Auron straightens up. "I will talk to him."
"Now, what are you trying to-" Jecht steps towards Auron, but is stopped by Braska's hand on his arm. "Auron, we'll just be outside." He beckons Jecht to follow, and to my surprise, my father does so without complaint. Auron blocks my view of the departing pair as he pulls a chair to my bedside. He sits and waits quietly, and I take advantage of the opportunity.
"Auron! How did I get here? How did you get here? Where is here? Is Yuna here? Wh-" He holds up a hand to silence me.
"Most of that, I have no answers for. We are not on the Farplane. Braska thinks that the last act of the Fayth was the creation of this world for you, and for Jecht. It seems that this was their way of rewarding you."
"This world? So we're not on Spira?"
"No." Auron shakes his head.
"But- if the world was for me and Jecht, why are you here?" It must be my imagination, but I could swear that Auron almost looks uncomfortable with my last question.
"We don't know. It may be that Jecht pulled all those that were close to him from the Farplane when he was sent here."
"Close to him? Then why isn't my mother here?" Auron looks for a moment as if he will answer, but then his face slides into a stony blank, and the moment passes. He rises, firmly pushing my shoulder back into the pillow.
"Rest." He turns and leaves without another word.
* * * * * Braska turned as Auron entered the outer room.
"Did you tell him?" Auron shied away from the summoner's gaze.
"My Lord, I could not..." Jecht laughed from his position on the couch.
"He'll figure it out. He's a big boy, not like he doesn't have any experience himself, eh, Braska?"
"Move over." Auron marched over to the couch and slithered into the warm hollow between Jecht and the pillowed backing.
"Bet Auron could tell us all about that, hmm?" Jecht curled an arm around the legendary guardian.
"Mm." The scarred guardian closed his eye and drifted into sleep. * * * * *
I spent the first three days in bed. The next three, I spent roaming the shores of what I discovered to be a small island, combing the sea sand with my toes, happy to be alive. And after that, I sunk into boredom.
It's not that I wasn't thankful that I had a second chance to live. But one can only spend so many days in awe of the world around him. Braska could conjure cookies, coffee, and fruit out of thin air, but books were beyond him. I considered challenging Auron to a staring match, but gave it up as an impossible win. Solo blitzball practice can only be taken so far, and I wasn't about to ask Jecht to play a few rounds.
Jecht was still a question. We both knew that something had changed, something important, but neither of us was ready to confront it for what it really was. Braska, it seemed, was quite ready to help us confront it, and I took to avoiding him, hiding in what had become my room, and pondering the mysteries that my very existence seemed to raise.
It didn't take me long to solve the first mystery. Just spending time alone in a room with Jecht, Auron, and Braska was enough to hint that something was truly different. I was constantly walking into conversations that died with my arrival, hidden smiles, and Braska's stifled giggles.
It didn't surprise me in the least the day I walked into the kitchen to find my father standing with Auron at the window, arm around his waist, insulting him with relish even as Auron shifted to hold him tightly against his chest. A few days later I passed Braska as he returned from the beach holding tightly to Auron's hand. They dropped hands as soon as they spotted me, but it was already too late.
Had it not been so soon, I would have never caught them. But it had been ten years for them, ten years apart, knowing each other's fates, but unable to do anything about it. When Braska let go of Auron, I had seen the shadow of pain that flitted across his face. After that, I left them all alone. They had earned the right to privacy.
But I was still bored.
* * * * *
Light. Dark.
If he could have died, he would have done so long ago. Every night the tides come in, drowning his cracked skin in stinging salt water. Every morning, they roll out, leaving him to bake under the sun, unhindered in its cloudless sky. His hair mingles with the sea, becoming almost invisible as the colors blend.
And on the rock that his body clings to unconsciously, he sleeps fitfully. He dreams only of the girl in the white dress, coming from the sky to mock him as the seaweed twines around his feet.