Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy IX or anything related to this beautiful game. I wish I did.
Author's Note: This drabble is inspired by a tumblr post I read concerning two minor characters who only appear just that once after the destruction of Lindblum by Atomos, and is centered on actual in-game dialogue. I might write a companion piece to this, one day.
It is with trepidation that Nicole halts the first person she sees – or rather, the first decent-looking person who doesn't look like as though he (or she) is preparing to spit in her face – with narrowed, determined eyes and a scowl on her face. Sure enough, the boy – he looks young, with blond hair lazily tied into a messy ponytail, bangs petulantly falling into his eyes (but his eyes, in that particular shade of blue that reminds her of a guileless, cloudless sky, when they first lift to meet hers, look tired and old) – stops in his tracks and gives her a quizzical, slightly assessing look from head to toe. Reddening slightly – for he seems to be taking in her figure, which the Alexandrian military uniform tended to accentuate – and put off, yet determined to follow through what she meant to do, she demands imperiously, "Do you know a rebel group called Vigilantes?"
She regrets it even as the words tumble out of her mouth. She sounds like she's trying to interrogate him of the whereabouts of the group, or worse, as a precursor to recruit him as an Alexandrian spy (in broad daylight, no less). Expecting him to walk away without responding, or worse, throw her a look of disdain, she crosses her arms and fixes him with her best glare. The General had taught them all, from their first gruelling training session: half the battle is won when you project the attitude of command. She doesn't want to intimidate him, but it might at least stop him from dismissing her carelessly.
He lifts a hand to scratch his head, almost quizzically, but then he responds, "Oh… Yeah, yeah I have." He sounds distracted, as though his mind is fixated on something – or someone else, perhaps. Understandable, after everything that has happened in this city. She closes her eyes momentarily, wordlessly trying to tamp down the mingling wave of distaste and horror, and the lingering memory of the dark, the blinding fluorescent light-streams of magic, screams of unabashed terror and the sight of bodies, chimneys, rubble – anything and everything – being swept into the yawning, chasm-like mouth of a monster silhouetted in the cloudy, starless night sky. Desperately, her voice now thick with emotion, she pleads harshly and rapidly, "If their leader is a man named Justin… Please tell him this." She swallows visibly and takes a breath, debating how best to phrase it. "Please tell him to stop what he is doing."
(There was a woman she saw, last night. Her face was twisted grotesquely, in both terror, at the wake of the carnage the – monster – left, and helplessness as she almost mechanically picked her way through the landscape of nothingness – nothingness indeed, there was only splintered rock and dust in what once used to be the Industrial District, the heart of the thriving, prosperous city of Lindblum. She was calling, in a strange, haunted voice:
Please tell me you aren't here. Oh please, Richard, tell me you aren't here. Why were you here?
Her eyes were wide and unseeing.)
Her gut twists at the memory. "Tell him Nicole said so."
(But she doesn't think she can change his mind.)
Fidgeting slightly, she notices a look of understanding cross his face. A heady wave of relief courses through her, that he doesn't spit at her or ask her any questions
(like: why don't you tell him that yourself? she wants to retort that it's complicated, but the simple truth is that she is terrified at the prospect of seeing intermingled bitterness and reproach in Justin's eyes.
or: why couldn't you be the one who stopped instead? did you see the people who died? or the people who were injured? or the people who are now wandering the streets in shells of their former selves, their homes and livelihoods and memories buried under slabs of brick, dust and rubble? but she loves Alexandria and the General. it's the only home she's ever known and she finds it strange and horrific that people had to die for a reason she doesn't fully understand, except that the General asked them to, and if the General asked them to, then it must be important to her and to Alexandria's cause indeed.)
Instead, in a gesture that momentarily warms her heart, he flashes a brief smile at her, nodding slightly before walking off. She stares at his retreating back – his posture is almost nonchalant, tail swinging jauntily from side to side. (But she has seen his eyes. He doesn't blame her. He doesn't hate her.) And she thinks: maybe he understands, maybe he will really meet Justin, and Justin will really listen to him.
But a moment later, she feels as though a fist has closed tightly over her heart, sucking all the breath out of her. Composing her face back into a rigid, haughty mask and tightening her fingers on the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist, she forces herself to turn and walk away slowly, in the opposite direction.
It's okay, Justin. I'll see you when this is all over. I'll find you, somehow.