AN: Another writing prompt challenge between FF author Moonlight97 and me that we do annually around new year's. All of the following was written over a span of five days, and is in it's unrefined form. Regardless, please enjoy! I encourage feedback, as this will be taken offline at some point to be used as original fiction elsewhere.


Impa sat beside her father in one of the tough leather seats in the train station. Another delay? She watched the numbers on the arrival/departure panel project another two and a half hours before the train bound for Hyrule returned to the station. Maintenance - Impa heaved a long, internal sigh.

Impa had not been a fan of this trip at all. Despite planning the entire excursion, she had done it more to appease her father than for her own enjoyment. He was, after all, getting older, and would soon have to retire from the prestigious Hylian guard where he had served for nearly thirty years. Benefits such as free travel would no longer be afforded to them. Although she had enjoyed some aspects of the trip, the experience was overshadowed by flashbacks of travelling with him when she was younger.

Gryffin, her father, loved exotic places. Contrarily, Impa preferred consistency over adventure. Perhaps that was why she was initially attracted to the guardsman academy. It was not, as Gryffin proudly assumed, to follow in his footsteps, but because it was extremely predictable. She knew exactly what was demanded of her, her schedule down to the minute, and, most importantly, she rarely had time off to go hitchhiking across Hyrule with her father on some spontaneous idea of father-daughter bonding.

That still did not stop him. In the rare event that she had a week off from the academy, he sequestered her off to some lesser known part of the world where she would bite her tongue and endure endure endure.

It was an accidental encounter in the mountains of snowpeak that introduced her to sign language. At age twenty-two, in the middle of a grueling final evaluation, she left the academy and became an interpreter instead. Her father had been livid. This served as the catalyst for many rifts to form between the two of them over the course of the next eight years.

In an attempt to possibly rekindle their once-close relationship, Impa planned a five day trip along the outskirts of Hyrule and some of the territories beyond. They spent those days going on twelve hour hikes, mountain bike rides, and their last afternoon was spent hang gliding. Her father was very happy, though she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home.

An announcement rang overhead. "Attention passengers: There has been a time change to the train outbound for Hyrule. Expect a delay of up to four hours."

Evidently, fate had other plans for her. Impa smoothed the wrinkles out of her black dress and flexed her fingers out of habit. Gryffin ran a hand through his greying black hair.

"We could take an alternate route," he suggested, pointing at another train line. "There's a connection through the desert."

"That sounds like the start of an adventure," she replied, voice hollow. His compact form rose from the seat and walked over to an automatic ticketer before she could protest. "I heard the desert has been volatile lately," she muttered.

She pressed her eyes closed, thinking of the legal issues that could potentially arise. Her passport had technically expired and she traveled as an international guest alongside her father. They had already spent two hours in a long line to verify their paperwork in order to board a train back to Hyrule. They would have to repeat the process at the next station.

He returned and snatched up his suitcase. "Come on, it's this way. We board in five!"

The duo boarded a crowded train where there was hardly enough space to place their suitcases overhead. They found a secluded corner in the back. Gryffin took the window seat. Impa bought coffee.

"I heard you lost your job," he said once they had picked up speed and they were gliding through a thick forest. His voice dropped to a baritone to reflect his seriousness.

"Yes – well, no. Not exactly," Impa remedied. "I found another gig. One that is better paying than the last one. I actually have a contract now." She admitted, "I've been a bit behind on payments."

"Impa!" he grumbled, exasperated. "I keep telling you, had you stayed in the academy you wouldn't be having these kinds of problems."

"Dad, I'm fine," she insisted, blowing thick black bangs from her face. They both knew it was ancient history by now. It served as nothing more than a means to highlight the distance between them and how it came to be.

She and her father differed on many things these days: They thought differently about politics and wanted different things for their country; he wanted to revive strict Sheikah laws that Impa thought were invasive and unethical for modern times; he thought he was somehow superior to others because of his blood and military status, Impa believed that everyone has their own experiences and were incomparable to one another.

Those were really all embellishments to a greater underlying issue, which was that Impa had become a person who her father could not recognize. Over time she had developed her own distinct ideologies and preferences. That was something her father struggled with, not necessarily because he wanted to control her, but because while he thought he knew her, she was a complete stranger to him.

"Don't you find it dull at all? Day in, day out. You never get to be heard.," he continued. "You're just," he made an ambiguous gesture, "miming the words of other people all day long."

"I actually find it fulfilling," she answered, curtly. She sipped her coffee quietly while he fiddled with a gum wrapper. It wasn't like he would ever understand. "I feel like I'm helping people."

"Couldn't you do something to put your better skills to work? One where, I don't know, you actually get paid. It can't be up to me to support you when you're up to your neck in debt. There are countless opportunities for people with the amount of training and experience you have."

"I honestly can't have this conversation with you right now," she said, dismissively, turning away. He muttered something about her reinventing the wheel, but she wasn't paying attention.

Her thoughts meandered to her new client: A fourteen year old girl who just moved from the Twilight to participate in some fast track academic program. She still had difficulties with speaking and reading lips. Impa was hired by the parents under a private contract. It was a very promising prospect and Impa was eager to begin.

Having been exposed to a number of languages, both at the academy and during her travels, Impa had fostered both an appreciation for, and a fascination with language and the cultures which influenced them. She was fluent in standard Hylian and three dialects of Sheikah, and proficient in seven dialects of Gerudo and knew a form of Goron Pidgeon spoken in old tribal communities in the mountains. Yet, in the midst of diversity, there was an underlying sense of unity in language being a simple means of communication.

Her entire perception of communication shifted after she was introduced to sign language. After spraining her ankle climbing a mountain, she was left at a village lodge where the elders passed on stories to the children. She had sat there for three hours entranced by the deft movements made by those dark, knarled hands.

She later discovered that nonverbal communication an integral aspect of their culture. At first she wondered about whole communities that would only communicate in this way. Then she thought about how there was actually an entire community right at home who used it. Those who couldn't hear, couldn't speak. So she learned sign language and became an interpreter.

The train wailed into the next station several hours later. The landscape outside had morphed from dense forest to thick prairie grass to full red sand desert. Impa had fallen asleep and woke to her father's hand on her shoulder.

It was a modern station with greys and tans that blended nicely with the outdoors, which could be seen through wide windows overlooking a canyon. Inside was a complete mob scene as Impa had feared. With great reluctance she took her suitcase in hand and found the back of the long and winding immigration line to have her paperwork checked. Gryffin joined her, arms folded across his broad chest.

Several excruciating minutes later, Impa wondered if this were some divine payback for some mischief she had done earlier in her life. She felt incredibly sore, and was angrily jealous of her father's cheery demeanor.

A light flashed across her vision, and her body jerked in response. She was apparently not the only one, for she collided with someone else nearby and fell to the tiled floor, blinded. The shrill sounds of panic and pandemonium pierced the air above her, and curled into a ball to avoid having her limbs stepped on during the chaos.

"Impa!" her father had pulled her into his grasp and to her feet. "This way. Careful, careful."

"What?" she gasped. She could still see the bright light despite having closed her eyes. She prayed her retinas were not permanently damaged. "How are you-?"

"Flash bomb," he supplied, pulling her stumbling to the side where she could learn against a wall. "There was only one. I was looking in the other direction. Hold tight, it's nastier effects last a couple minutes."

She scrubbed the tears leaking out of her eyes from her face, trying to take deep breaths. She tried to keep her nerves under control while her mind worked furiously to determine why there was a flash bomb in the middle of a train station. She did not have to think long.

Over the clamor Impa heard gunfire. Her nose filled with smoke and she knelt, coughing. Her father swore next to her, taking a knee beside her and pulling his shirt up over his nose and mouth. By the time the smoke had cleared enough to breathe normally, Impa's vision returned. She saw three men wearing bullet proof vests rounding up everyone in the station into one area. Their guns were enormous, semi-automatic war machines. Someone had completely cut the power.

She and her father moved towards the center of the room and knelt as they were told. They were searched and had their phones taken. Her father's pocket knife was seized. Upon closer inspection, Impa realized that one of them men was not, in fact, wearing a bullet proof vest, but a jacket loaded with enough explosives to take wipe out any trace of the station.

"Everyone be quiet!" one of the men addressed them, and came forward. Impa identified him as their leader. Once the room had silenced, he waved a phone up in the air so that everyone could see. "As you can all see, my comrade here carries thirty six pounds of live explosives on his body. This! I hold the trigger. I hold all of your lives in my hand."

He went on to speak about the oppression of his tribe, and how he had witnessed the murder of thousands of innocent lives for senseless reasons. How every day they cry out for help, and yet the world continues to turn a blind eye to their plight.

"Is this a tribal dispute?" Impa asked, scarecely moving her lips. "I've never heard of them before."

"A radical minority. The government sold the land they were living on to build the station we're sitting in," her father supplied. Impa's eyes widened.

"They've also been at war for thirty-three years with one of the neighboring tribes who would not let them move in when they were displaced. They've had a rough bundle of years."

"You're not planning on trying to take them on, are you?" Impa asked, feeling suspicion and panic rising in her chest. "They'll blow this place immediately."

"No, not yet," he replied, cryptically.

"You will swear loyalty to us. You will vow to take up arms against our oppressors. Or else, you will die today."

They were rounded up again, pressed against the wall, side by side with their hands above their heads. Impa turned away as the leader started at one end and questioned the first man leaning against the wall for his fealty. She heard a crack and the man grown. He was removed and placed back in the center of the station on his knees.

The leader continued making his way along the wall. Those who surrendered to their demands were bound and forced to kneel where they had stood against the wall, those who resisted were struck and dragged out to the middle of the floor. Too soon, they came to Impa's father.

But before the leader could speak his question, Impa's father spoke. "There used to be a town twelve kilometers east that was home to your brothers. I am truly sorry."

"Brother, are you an ally?" the leader asked, squinting at Gryffin's pointed ears and red Sheikah eyes.

Gryffin ignored the question, "My heart goes out to the countless many whose innocent blood has been shed due to your country's tyranny."

The two men continued to exchange, to Impa's surprise, pleasantries. Even more surprising was seeing the leader lower his gun and lean against the wall as they spoke.

"Are you thirsty? You've been shouting your throat raw. I have water in my bag."

Impa's breath caught in her chest, but was relieved by the leader's answer.

"Quite."

The leader glanced between Gryffin and the comrade who was not strapped to explosives and beckoned that he come take his place. Gryffin found his bag among the possessions that had been piled around a pillar and retrieved three unopened bottles of disposable water.

"What is your name?" Gryffin asked once the leader had taken in.

"What's yours?"

"Gryffin."

"Johnny."

"Johnny," Gryffin repeated. "I'll remember that. Johnny, are you and your men hungry?"

Johnny seemed puzzled, his bright green eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No, no we are not."

"If you let me have a phone, I will call for food."

"Like I said, we are not hungry!" Johnny snapped, fingering his gun.

Impa's father put his hand up. "I understand, but many of us have been travelling for several hours. I think the people in here need something to eat and drink."

Impa listened to the exchange, watched Johnny mull her father's words over for a while before summoning the man wearing the explosives over to talk it through with him. After several long minutes, Johnny nodded.

"You must use our phone," Johnny said, placing one into Gryffin's outstretched hand.

"I hope you like pizza," was Gryffin's response.

The toppings were generic, and many pies had come from different joints. The scent of tomato sauce and melted cheese filled the air as the boxes were opened and looted for their contents. After doing a quick head count, Gryffin determined that they would need one-hundred pizzas and went about ordering as many as he could.

Impa knelt, hunched over an empty box with a slice in her hand. Gryffin finished his conversation with Johnny and his men before sitting down next to her. She stared at him incredulously.

"You're not the only one who's good at communicating," Gryffin responded to her eyes. "Do you see that one on the right?" he asked, and Impa looked to the men in vests. "His name is Will. I think he's having some serious doubts about their actions today."

"He'll likely be shot by one of his comrades," Impa said. "The other one came with a bomb strapped to his body- they all came in willing to die for this cause."

"That's right," he acknowledged. "But it's also possible that this can end civilly." Impa was not convinced, so he continued, "Just in case I need you to be ready to lend me a hand if need be."

"Dad –" Impa looked overwhelmed.

"I am dead serious. If we can get one of them to turn to our side, then we're two on two," he reasoned. "We might even inspire the crowd to participate. I'm going to continue negotiating with them."

Gryffin returned to the center of the station where Johnny stood, and continued talking with him. Impa watched but could no longer hear, which was disconcerting. She took a sweeping look over the crowd – most were older, some had children. They were not fighters. Her father was right.

Johnny ordered that everyone stand against the wall again and began the recruitment continued. His move was highly ominous, as ws her father's expression. Gryffin crossed his arms, looking dark. Will had been given a motivational talk by his leader, and his face was reset anew in a mask of zealotry.

More and more people were piled into the center of the station, until there was a sizeable ring of men and women who had been struck down lying in the center, dazed. Johnny stopped the recruitment and walked over to them, clearly dissatisfied with how many resisted, and raised his gun at them. Impa tensed, watching her father gather himself to tackle Johnny. A voice rang out, stopping them.

"That's enough! Stop!" It was the unnamed man with the explosive jacket. He stayed Johnny's gun with a hand.

"Adam, what are you doing?!"

"I can't do this, Johnny!" he shouted, pawing at the vest he wore. Sweat beaded his forehead and his cheeks flushed angrily. "I won't be a part of this any longer!"

An enraged Johnny backhanded Adam across the face, the resulting slap ricocheting across the walls. Adam dropped and Johnny took the trigger out of his pocket.

Impa and Gryffin dove at Johnny, tackling him to the ground. Shots rang out as Will fired, aiming for Gryffin. They tumbled and slammed until Impa had wrestled the trigger from his grasp.

The men and women who had been struck down earlier that day rose up and grappled with the other two until they, too were subdued. Others reached for their bags and belongings, sifting through purses and clasps to reach their phones. Rounds of applause rippled through the station as hostages realized their liberation.

Impa did not realize exactly how much blood she was sitting in until the foreign armed forces had disentangled her from the hold she and her father had placed Johnny in to keep him down. She looked down at herself, and for a heart stopping moment wondered if she had been shot and hadn't realized it. After pressing hands down her front and back, and running fingers along her arms and legs, she determined that she was alright.

She felt a breath of release. It was over.

When the paramedics came swooping in, she tried to push them away so that she could get up on her own. She wanted her own space and to find her things. It soon became very apparent that they were not there for her, and then her heart did stop for a moment.

"Dad?" she ventured, spinning around, searching for his familiar face. She saw the aggregate of paramedics loading someone onto a gurney, strapping them down. "Dad!" she screamed, pushing through the mass.

She knew it was before her way was cleared to see who was lying on the gurney. She saw his face for only a moment before he was wheeled out of the station and she was left standing there with two suitcases, drenched in blood.


Writing prompt number 32: Pixar storytelling formula