A rewrite of an earlier fic. I don't actually believed the two boys were there, actually, but the inspiration to write this oneshot struck and I followed through with it. So, this was just a lot of fun to write, and hopefully fun to read. Not much else to it.
At the innermost point in the cove, soldiers bustled about preparing for a momentous operation. One that would, no doubt, go down in history, and they apart of it.
Chocobo Knights led their mounts besides the many rounded peaks, remaining in their positions flush against the ruddy cliffs until the time was right. All along the cove, Crusaders saw to numerous arrangements of guns and cannons, to which they were only remotely familiar with at this point, and raised tents for their officers and other important men that had joined for this mission. Al Bhed intermittingly showed up between those mentioned, to instruct those handling the commodities they had brought, before scurrying back to their own people to talk breathlessly in their native tongue. Stern looking men waltzed between them all, seeing to it that all this was done exactly so.
Just joining the already motley arrangement of people, a mixed group of travelers curiously made their way among the knots of people atop the rising red-faced ridge. They had no particular business with the many purposeful men and women walking around. However, they stayed and observed the comings and goings, asking questions. In the lead and center, a young girl with one green and one blue eye.
Almost directly below on the beach, another group, or more properly said duo, also did not belong to the said business hustling around them. They did not have yellow feathered mounts to lead, thank goodness, and weren't there to operate any of the heavy machinery. They weren't assigned to move crates or raise tents, and by appearances, did not have the rank to order others to do so. In fact, their uniforms were not a Crusader design, but the lowest of Bevellian guardsman; undecorated and unassuming.
Instead, they stood by idly, if not almost awkwardly. A great many others rushed past them on the curve of the cove, paying them no mind as each man had a job to do, like cogs in an oiled machine turning. The two men asked no questions, and were in turn asked none, and it suited the two just fine. Their jobs weren't to come until later anyways.
The two men were the complete opposite in shape and appearances. The first man, standing erect with a narrow head lifted high from his wide shoulders, was mostly made of flat planes and quick subtle curves in-between. In contrast, the man hunching over in the sand, was all slow and heavy lines, the only flat part of him perhaps being his forehead, which was glistening with nervous sweat at the moment.
The slender figure of a man sniffed, displeased at something, before shifting his dusky hues to the corner of his pinched and slanted eyes to glare hard at the hulky form bent down in the sand beside him.
"Ormi…" Logos testily drew out the name, the eyes he focused on him contracting into dangerous and narrow slits as he all but growled. The man he addressed was crouched in the dull-colored sand, hands cradling his recorder, before he positioned his fat thumb over the 'play' button once more.
Ormi's dense, black, eyes were glued to the little screen, plump mouth a tight line, as the ghostly wails of pyreflies rose from the reduced volume of the gadget and his own voice commented from the instrument's speakers, 'what a mess…'
"Ormi!" Logos shouted a bit louder before he kicked sand toward his partner who continued to push play, say nothing, and otherwise ignore him all together. However, with the sharp grains hitting his nervously sweating neck, sticking uncomfortably, or falling down into his tucked in-uniform shirt, it was hard to not finally acknowledge the tall man scowling behind him. And, as Ormi's opaque eyes fell onto his recorder for a split second, he saw it had flecks of grit clinging to it.
Ormi scrunched his round, tanned face up and instantly turned to holler at his friend at the sight of his camera, "Hey's!"
Logos set his wide shoulders, his arms crossing superiorly, and dug one booted toe into the beach; more than ready for another sandy assault if Ormi refused to listen to his repeated warning, "If you watch that damned sphere one more time-!" He started.
Ormi's hands was busy fumbling with the delicate piece of equipment at this point, gently wiping at the grains that stuck to the crevices of the machine, "If yous ruin's my recorder Logos- These things are sensitive, ya know? They's can't get dirty or wet, or-!"
The irritation at being interrupted was enough for Logos to send another toeful of beach into the back of his partner's blubbering head and again, over his shoulder and towards his precious contraption he was charged with operating.
"HEY'S!"
Ormi turned angrily, his small dark eyes narrowed, before his recorder started to fritz, small blue sparks erupting from it and shocking his hands. He jumped to his feet, dancing with it, and sputtered, "Uh! Ah! Ow! Hot!"
With quickly burning fingers, he ejected the glowing, mostly orange and red sphere from the device before it was damaged, and promptly dropped the malfunctioning recorder to the sand afterward. As it laid on the ground with its inner gears failing, Ormi's mouth pulled downwards, and ever more so as it finally died with a spitting hiss of wires frying.
"Damnit!" Ormi swore before turning on his heavy heel to find his thin companion strolling along the length of the beach, casting an almost carefree air in his wake with hands folded behind his back. Ormi lowered his brows towards his angrily flashing eyes and called, "Hey! Come back here, yous-!"
He hurtled himself forward and through the sand, his sight fixed on the drably olive-green clad back, before grabbing a fistful of Logos's uniform, then, without warning or hesitation, threw him over his shoulder and to the ground. His gunman partner, taken by surprised, only managed to catch himself halfway and landed on his rear in an explosion of tiny whitish particles.
"You son of a-!" Logos snarled and leaped back to his feet to have a grab at the fat throat that he couldn't even wrap both hands around anyways, trying to throttle his companion for the embarrassment he caused. The other soldiers around them were heartily laughing at them, indulging in the moment's distraction and stopping in their work.
Ormi retaliated by grabbing his partner by his wide shoulders, to push and shake him every time a painful pinch came to his neck. They continued to grapple, throwing out some aimless insults, before a sharp voice cut through the air and stilled the both of them.
"What's this, then?!"
Laughing ceased, a moment of still silence passing, before the other soldiers once again ensued in going about their business; moving cratesinto place, dodging squawking armored Chocobos, readying weapons, and quiet as the grave as they contemplated the upcoming mission. The only two that remained as they were, with nothing to resort back to, were none other than the two that started the interruption of the much needed preparations.
The Captain wore a displeased look over his frigid features, and he held them with a stare that forbade them from moving until the reprimand was over. He drew closer, slowly and menacingly, with his shoulders hunched agitatedly before seething, "Oh, of course it's you two. "
Ormi and Logos quickly released each other and stood at attention, their forearms crossing over their chests, with fists tightly clenched.
The glowering man did not seem impressed or dissuaded as he vacantly asked, "Where are your recorders?"
Ormi gulped, guiltily shifting in the sand, before Logos lowered his squinty gaze to the numerous grains that rose to meet him and his own guilt. Neither of them answered.
With more force behind his voice, the captain repeated, though surely not again, "Where are your recorders?"
"I have the sphere, sir," Logos tried to ease the tension and confirmed his statement by pulling an orange shimmering sphere with a deep crimson center from the leather box-case attached to his belt, before quietly gulping at the lethal gaze shot his way.
"That isn't what I asked, now is it? I asked, where are your bloody recorders?" The Captain's top lip lifted in a sneer, and before either of the men could reply with anything more, he slowly growled, like a fuse slowly reaching for the powder keg, "I know where they are…"
He produced a broken, sand-covered, piece of metal from behind him and threw it into Ormi's quickly fumbling hands, his wide chubby face shame-faced as the Captain yelled and pointed accusingly, "Is this how a proper Yevon recorder treats his equipment!?"
As if on cue, and unfortunately adding to his problem, a delicate piece of something snapped loudly from the mechanism he cradled gently as a child, and fell to his feet. Ormi straightened his back, his bare throat showing his swallowed breath before he stuttered dumbly, "N-no, sir."
"Then do enlighten me as to why you have let it fall into this condition?" The finger that was thrust towards him jabbed into his flabby chest. Ormi opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by his companion.
"Sir," Logos started, "You have to understand that I was the one who-."
"You'll speak when you are addressed, soldier!" The Captain bit harshly and Logos shut his mouth with a lifting of his chest and chin. He did not dare take his eyes from his superior officer, but he knew Ormi would offer him a half-hearted shrug and an 'at-least-you-tried' look if he could. Which at the moment he could not. .
"But, while we're on that subject," The Captain smoothly rolled his words off of his tongue, his attention now turned to Logos. "Where did you say your recorder was?"
"I, erm, left it on a crate, sir…"
"Left it on a crate," The man mocked him by thrusting the words back in a nasally tone that was a pitch too high for a proper imitation of Logos's voice, but clear enough in what he was trying to accomplish.
Logos's heated face contorted in a repressed sneer, forming a deep scowl and pinched eyes as the man continued, in his normal voice, "Left it on some damp crate where it could be destroyed in so many possible ways, is that what I heard?"
Logos focused on the man's face as the Captain produced another camera, his camera, which by all appearances was still in working condition. But, it was plain enough that the captain was still displeased as he waved the device through the air slowly and added, "I know you are not usually a recorder, your shoddy spheres speaks well enough of that. Nonetheless, you are to take care of this, do you understand?"
"Yes sir." He replied, deadpan.
"This is the only working recorder right now, thanks to your partner's blundering." Ormi ducked his head a little, as if wincing, as the Captain momentarily turned to him instead. The moment passed and the commander was glowering at his surly partner once more to continue his lecture. "It is imperative that this operation is recorded properly, do I make myself clear?!"
"Transparently."
The Captain shoved the recorder into Logos's stomach, hard enough to hurt a bit, but careful enough not to be the one to break the contraption. Logos's lean hands grasped the metal box disdainfully, his full lips finally parting into a snarl, before the Captain released the recorder into his grip with one last extra bump into his abdomen.
As the Captain walked away from the two, he finished with a severe snap, "One would think that you'd take better care of something that has more worth than your own useless life."
Ormi's head rose up as the soldiers once again uniformly sniggered at their expense, despite how cruel the jab really was. Meanwhile, Logos shot the men nearest to them a threatening mien, effectively silencing the majority into at least nervous chortles. He kicked at the sand again, avoiding aiming at Ormi this time, and hatefully muttering under his breath, "Despicable cretin."
"We's ain't got no choice though…" Ormi said low in his throat, so no other but his trusty partner could hear, and rolled his shoulders, "Ya know?"
"Of course I know that!" Logos hissed, his hands tightening around the, for the moment, much hated gadget. He lowered to his gaze to his sand-speckled boots and growled, "Does that mean I must tolerate this abuse for the rest of my miserable days?"
"Yeah, it does," Ormi replied, his hand reaching out, "Ya might as well give's it to me. Yous know's yous can't take a recording worth crap…"
"Oh yes, I'm sure our untimely ends must be wonderful things to catch on sphere. Wouldn't want that to be missed on record, now would we?" Logos replied acidly, vicious sarcasm dripping from his words as he handed the recorder over.
Ormi offered a half smile as he fit his meaty hand firmly into the camera's strap, "Now Logos, it ain't gonna be like that. I's mean- look at all this!"
Logos lifted his gaze from the dismal sands to the rounded cliffs above, machina out the ass lining the edges and young (way too young) men with guns standing ready beside. A cage had been erected dead-center atop the rocks, housing a horrid Sin Spawn, the bait for this supposedly ingenious plan, which was undoubtedly pissed as it rammed itself into the barrier keeping it captive. As his eyes then followed the line of the precipice to one side of the cove, he saw the rising Al Bhed invention, a giant towering weapon of sorts, waiting to be used upon the great fear of all Spira…Sin itself.
The last thing his eyes landed on, and with a specific purpose, was the cagey 'important' men overseeing the entire operation. Logos sneered.
"Oh yes," He drawled, his voice disheartening and eyes still looking at the thick frame of the head-honcho, so to speak, "All this for naught, you know…Only the High Summoners have been able to take Sin down, and it's never been for good. Even if we do manage to hurt that damn thing, it won't kill it, and we'll die or lose our minds for the effort."
"Don' try an' sound too hopeful there, pal," Ormi hooded his eyes and mumbled before making an open gesture with his hands, "Really! This stuff has got to work!"
"Who says so?" Logos replied snidely, his shoulders rising and falling heavily in a languid motion, "Nothing done outside of the Summoner's Aeons has barely even tickled it before now."
"Well, they's ain't never done this!" Ormi replied solidly, his hand gesturing to all the preparations around them again.
Logos rolled his eyes. Of course, to a complete simpleton as his partner was, the heavy gun-power and bodies gathered around surely must've been moving if not motivating. But, Logos could see past all that and to the bare-naked and ugly truth. None of this could possibly work, just a pale if not sloppy act of desperation. Ormi was correct in saying that no one had ever tried this scale of operation to attack Sin before, but in Logos's humble opinion, it was because no one in the past had been as stupid as whoever planned it. Of course this hadn't been done before.
"True," Logos said without conviction, consenting to that single fact. His eyes finally adjusted from the cliffs with his swiveling head to land out on the horizon, on the churning sea, and he sighed deeply, "However, that doesn't guarantee success, now does it?"
Ormi frowned and put his hands on his hips, the recorder against his side as he did so, "Well, yous are the one that got us in this mess!"
Logos's stiff frame suddenly loosened and jolted, visibly shrinking a bit, as if a punch had thumped into him. The words solidly hit their mark.
"Need you remind me?" Logos glared over his shoulder, before losing his gaze nervously over the sea again, "Damn it all, why'd I have to let that girl get away? It's all because I didn't actually shoot down that Crimson Squad girl when she took off, you know. This 'punishment' is only because they know we won't come back from all this, don't you see? They want us to die! Trying to keep that little incident all tidied up, that's what they're doing."
The gunner's head jerked up towards the cliffs once more, where above, they, Kinoc and the rest of the pompous-faced commanders, were watching the final touches to everyone's doom.
"Logos, if they's really think it wouldn't work, why would they's be here too and not all the ways back in Bevelle, where's its safe?" Ormi reasoned, and slapped Logos's back, hard enough that it nearly send him face-first into the water, his boots splashing in the ebbing waves. With shaking shoulders from the force of the good-natured smack, the gunner moodily swung back around as Ormi beamed. "An' yous know I's didn't mean it like that. I's think it was the right choice in the end, let'n that girl live an' all."
The long pause and the strange look drew a worried expression out of Ormi.
"Yous...did do that on purpose, right?"
Logos blinked, deep in his own careful thoughts. Ormi knew him well, but sometimes he wondered what kind of person the taller man was. Not often, just moments like this where he held still for a bit too long. They stood, seemingly the end of the world, for some time. The water swelling and pulsing, roaring in their ears as Logos slowly offered a small curl of his lip.
"At least I have that in my favor before I die, hm?"
"Aw, Logos-"
"You two! What are you just standing around for?!" The Captain had made his rounds and was walking back down the length of the beach, coming back into their area. Logos and Ormi spun around before sputtering out-
"Erm, uhm-"
"Dwah…"
"Well, save it!" The captain firmly planted both feet into the sand, gray dismal clouds rolling in over his head as he pointed up to the giant Al Bhed gun-tower at the far end of the cove. "You'll do well to start heading up there now. Or did you forget what you're even here for?"
Logos stiffened and barely caught himself in time to keep his eyes from rolling impudently.
"You'll record the final destruction of Sin from that perch, unless you gentlemen really expect to take any decent footage from here on the beach?"
Logos and Ormi lowered their shoulders, in unison grumbling, "Yes sir…"
"Shoot me in the face…" Logos begged ruefully for perhaps the hundredth time since they had been posted inside the greatest Al Bhed weapon available on the dreary beach. Their only mission from Wen Kinoc was to simply put to sphere the momentous end of Sin. However, their arrival to the gun-tower was mistaken by both Al Bhed and the few Crusaders as two more sets of hands to be put to work. Despite their protests, both Logos and Ormi were instructed to unload a cart that had been pulled close to the back entrance of the tower.
To his earlier depressing and grim request, Ormi turned from looking out on the choppy water for a second to lift a brow in his direction, "Really, Logos?"
This again? Was threaded within the question, earning an annoyed look from Logos and a sort of mean-spirited smirk in his direction.
"Or throw me into the ocean if that's the way you'd prefer to do it...I don't find myself particularly partial to one method or the other."
Ormi groaned, not taking the plea seriously, as intended, and opted for rolling his eyes instead. He scooted large metal boxes with a loud unpleasant screech over the equally metallic floors. Logos winced before carelessly dropping the much lighter box he had his hands to the ground in a shattering clatter.
"Ca-harful wih'th tha-hat!" An Al Bhed, sporting green-tinted goggles and a dirty face, shouted at him for his mishandling of the delicate parts resting inside the box. The man had been watching them carefully, if not fretfully, over the treatment of the cargo. He didn't speak outside of his native tongue very well, adding unnecessary syllables and slipping over certain words, making Logos cringe every time a direction was given. This time no different.
"Sorry!" Ormi genuinely apologized on his friend's behalf, mostly because Logos only responded with an incoherent grumble that almost sounded like a slur instead. The Al Bhed turned back into the tower to see to other business, leaving Logos to wordlessly turn back to the exit and follow Ormi's plodding form out the door.
As his thin frame stepped back out into the gray world, he spared a quick glance above him, before sighing miserably.
The smudged sky appeared near ready to produce rain, though had yielded none yet, adding to his foul mood. To make matters worse, he noticed that Ormi, who had earlier optimistically predicted the wondrous outcome of, as the gunner personally saw it, hopeless operation, was now looking out into the dark blue-black sea almost as frequently and uneasily as he himself was checking.
Ormi hurriedly occupied himself with the last crate and pushed past Logos to deposit it inside. With no more business standing out in the wind, the gunner turned once more and let himself under the protection of the tower.
The Al Bheds, including the one that had been supervising them, journeyed farther into the tower now that everything was prepped. Crusaders mingled about, but left plenty of space between them and the two strangers that lingered by the exit. The gunner crossed his arms as he set himself against the edge of a particularly tall crate, waiting on his only companion to finish up.
Ormi finally dropped the last heavy box of screws on the metal flooring with a hard clang-thump. Logos tilted his chin to look at the sound, and as he did, he couldn't help but notice another tentative distant peering at the ocean from his robust partner. The outward facing entrance at the face of the tower was gaping, and although they were far from where most of the Al Bhed and a handful of Crusaders were gathering, the ocean could be heard and the horizon seen. Logos again sighed deeply.
"You know-" He drawled, drawing forth Ormi's attention again, "I happen to have something in case things go awry."
Ormi turned on his hulking weight, a somewhat confused and adorable hiding of hopefulness on his face as he let his arms cross, as if Logos was testing his patience. After a time, however, Logos remaining both quiet and slightly smug, Ormi truly lost a bit of his patience and hopefulness was replaced with frustration. He leaned forward and asked, clearly annoyed, "Well? Whut is it?"
Logos peered to either side of him, though Ormi knew just as much as he that no one was within hearing distance or would care to be that close to the nameless two. Ormi waited somewhat patiently, a fat foot tapping a couple times as his friend made a show of shaking his wrist loosely and slowly reached into the large front pouch off-set to the side of his belt.
His hand moved around, searching, a bump showing its journey over the many contents inside, of which jostled and repositioned themselves accordingly to his touch. There was a loose jingling that was probably some gil gone astray from his purse somehow, a papery rasp that was probably his pack of smokes being brushed aside, and a chinking sound that was his metal flip-lighter hitting something hard. Logos's hand moved over that item that produced the beautiful glassy clink.
With one more coy glance, the corner of the gunman's mouth upturned and he slipped his hand swiftly from the cover of his pouch. With one graceful flick of his wrist, a shining red item was tossed into the air and caught again in a smooth transition between space and gloved-hand. Logos held the item by its narrow neck, his slight smile unfading, and let it sway gently to and fro.
Ormi lifted a brow and focused his beady eyes on the label of the rather large vial in his friend's grasp. His face opened up as he saw, in curly script, a black-as-night 'X' against the light brown paper wrapped around the clear vial, revealing the red liquid sloshing within.
"Where's in the world didja buy that, Logos?!" Ormi exclaimed before quickly being hushed by his comrade, an almost peeved look on his lean features, but it was far too pleased at having received a proper reaction for that to fully be accomplished.
Logos tucked the vial, as large as his hand, back into the pouch and noncommittally rolled one of his shoulders, "You know it's far too expensive and rare for our measly pay, even if I did know where such items are available for sale…"
Ormi's brows lowered and a suspicious frown found its way through his chubby features, "So's how'd yous get it?"
"Oh, Ormi, all I'm saying is I didn't buy it." Logos shrugged a bit and stood up from the crate, straightening his uniform tunic with one hand to keep himself busy and looking casual. "Besides I'm pretty sure that no shop on all of Spira has a potion of this magnitude and concentration on its shelves."
Ormi wasn't fooled for a minute and put his hands on his wide hips, his mouth pursing downward. "How'd yous get it?"
"I came by it as many do…by chance, erm…luck if you will," Logos tried.
His round partner opened one eye a little bigger than the other, a brow slanting questioningly.
"Of course, being that it was luck, no gil was involved…"
His friend did not drop the suspicious airs for a minute.
"Ormi, stop looking at me like that." Logos finally quit any mindless chatter he was planning on indulging in to veer the subject away from how he had acquired the item exactly, before his resolve visibly crumbled as Ormi continued to stare. His stout friend, much was his in his fashion, obliterated Logos's faux coolness by bluntly stating-
"Yous stole it, didn't ya?"
"Stole is such a nasty word," Logos shook his hand dismissively and angled his body away from his fellow recorder.
"Uh-huh…" Ormi drew out, a dull sound from his tone.
"As if you're perfect." Logos shot back before defending, "I only…liberated the item from someone who would need it less than us, should either you or I be hurt. You could even say I was doing them a favor! It was so painfully obvious inside that cart, and as it was, any highway man on the way back to Bevelle would've had their sticky fingers all over it! "
Realization dawned on Ormi's face, "Yous didn't?!" He blurted incredulously, and partially by accident, lifted an accusing finger, "Yous stole from that supply cart heading back to Bevelle after that Crimson Squad exercise, didn' ya?"
A tension pressed into the silence that followed, but Ormi's wide face did not loosen its grip on the unbelieving and almost scared expression it held in place over his features. Logos squirmed a little in place, his mouth working noiselessly, before he finally relented.
"Oh, fine!" Logos growled, his arms lifting into the air in a motion of defeat, "Yes! I filched it from that damn cart. As if any poor sod stuck in that cave of-of-such Woe would need it. It was only brought along for show anyways. You know as well as I that they had no intention of letting any Crimson-whoever use it."
"So's yous decided to just take it?" Ormi let his voice fall into a hoarse whisper, as their yelling at each other had attracted a few backwards glances from the Crusaders.
Logos replied snappishly, though also taking the hint and reducing his voice to a more private volume, "What of it?"
Ormi made an erratic flap of his hands, gesturing in disbelief. After sputtering, he managed a high pitched, "Why?!"
"Because they cut my pay for the day," Logos said plainly, then with a deep resentment, "For missing. I'm just taking what I'm owed. Ormi I don't see why you're upset-"
"All that stuff was paid for by Kinoc and his guys, ya know?!" Ormi appeared worried, even queasy, "Do yous know what yous just did by jus' takin' that? What if they know it was yous that took it?"
Logos didn't seem at all concerned as he scoffed, "Hard chance of that. I find it hard to believe they'd even notice it missing. Why, they'd have to be-"
Ormi interrupted him, still visibly nervous, "What if they's go to use it an' they's don't have it?"
Logos let out a sharp bark of laughter, "They have even less use for it then those bodies we pulled out of that cave!"
Ormi's sweaty hands balled into tight fists. His teeth ground together as his nerves stretched tight, "That ain't the point!"
"No, it's exactly my point!" Logos hissed and put his hand to his pouch again, as if Ormi might try to take it in a fit of moral rightness that sometimes overcame him, mostly at the worst of times. Logos sighed, lowering his voice to a grumbling mumble, in an effort to reach his friend."Ormi. We need this, not them. So what if I pilfered one teensy vial? They could afford to have many more prepared for them if they need it. People like us could never hope to have access to this normally, and it could mean life or death!"
Ormi was still flabbergasted as he shook his head, "Sounds like yous expect to need it soon talkin' like that!"
Another thoughtful pause spread between them. Ormi's brow slowly lowered over his eyes, darkening them as he stared at his friend's tightly clenched mouth and damp forehead. Logos visibly swallowed hard and Ormi saw his long fingers tighten protectively over the pouch. He held stiffly still, staring so intensely at Ormi's face that it felt like it nearly penetrated his head.
Ormi softened, "Aw, Logos, why yous always gotta expect the worst?"
"Because" Logos replied darkly, "Whenever they're around andwant us to record, it never is anything but the worst. Name one pleasant job they ever had us do. One that didn't require a lot of clean up and new boots afterwards. Name one that let us sleep better when it was over. Name one-"
"Okay! Is get it!" Ormi cut in, but his sagging shoulders and mumbling was more than enough to voice his final opinion of it. "Yous really should stop temptin' Lady Luck like ya do though. They's are gonna notice it's gone and if they find out it's yous that took it- I can't watch your back all the time, y'know?"
"I'm very capable of watching my own back, thank you very much." Logos dared to remove his hand from the pouch and loosened his posture into a kind of easy slouch. He let his words roll confidently, "As for Lady Luck, she and I have a sort of dance going. So far, we haven't stepped on any toes-"
"Yous are a terrible dancer," Ormi blurted.
Logos continued, annoyed, "Metaphorically-"
Ormi hastily drew closer and let his hip hit the sturdy crate, leaning into it alongside his friend. He brought his head close to say seriously, "Yous shouldn't tempt her anyways. One day your luck is gonna run clean out."
"Oh?" Logos lifted his chin and a thin black brow. Despite his feelings of how this day would end, he wouldn't let Ormi's worries on his evading Lady Luck's payback to bother him overmuch. He replied in his nasally, carefully articulated voice, "And I suppose when that day comes you'll enjoy having a good 'I told yous so' and have horrendously large laugh over it?"
The look his comrade gave him with a slow lifting of his head was sobering enough. Logos couldn't really continue his relaxed ruse with Ormi's sorrowful expression directed at him. It was almost as if Ormi was imaging a world with one of them not in it, and was finding it too much to bear. Logos naturally dropped his smirk into his usual face-set, though perhaps more subdued and grimmer. The depressing thought was almost oppressive, and Logos coughed awkwardly to disrupt it.
"Shouldn't be long now." He said, as Ormi settled a bit.
"Yep..." Ormi replied.
They waited.
It was impossible that they knew, from where they were sitting they were practically blind. But, somehow, at the same time, they both lifted their heads to look at each other with wide, dread-filled eyes. The air almost solidified in their lungs, making it hard to breathe, and the atmosphere suddenly strained against their bodies, threatening to take their knees out from under them. Depression gave way to an unbelievable terror.
The prevailing winds of a coming storm had slackened tremendously, leaving an eerily quiet cove. And then, just as the tension was becoming the thickest, a gigantic roar erupted and echoed in the natural amphitheater of the cove.
There was a tremendous shaking of the earth, and both men once again locked eyes in a moment of horrible realization. It, somehow, had begun.
Logos was first to turn to look out the exit, back into the cove, where the sound of monstrous shrieking and the starting cries of battle were drifting over the still air. His sharp eyes easily landed on the Sin Spawn, Gui, on which this whole plan rested. It was to lure Sin to this location, but somehow had freed itself from the confines of its electrified cage and rose to a terrifying height, small head poised to attack.
Both men, in fact anybody occupying the beach too far away to act, watched, with mouths agape, as the terrible ugly creature hurtled itself toward the first people it laid inhuman eyes on. The small forms, too far away to be seen clearly, launched themselves in defense and to aid in bringing the bait back under control. Everyone's eyes were stitched to the short battle that followed.
The monster was swiftly brought down by a finishing blow, and it lowered its head weakly to a defeated and submissive posture in its insect-like body.
It would seem that the fear wreaking havoc upon their nerves was unfounded, and the sudden spur of frightful flight that was held in check was even more ridiculous, but neither fear nor the instinct to run loosened its hold on either of them.
The tension, that should have dissolved by now, grew in strength to where it oozed from the very breath of air that touched the cove again. Logos felt his spine stiffen to a rigid tingling line. The inner voice told him to run away again, and fast, but he found his feet fastened to the metal flooring as if they were bolted down. There is that trained military obedience at work, he thought dully, swallowing a dry gulp of air.
The only thing that broke his near-frozen state was the sudden burst of hulking motion to the side of him, which was, surprisingly, Ormi bounding away towards the great open mouth of the tower entrance that faced the sea.
"Ormi! Where are you going?!" Logos outstretched his hand to stop him, but Ormi didn't pay any mind to him, and Logos soon saw why. Tight in his grip, Ormi turned on the recorder.
It was time for their job to begin.
Logos, a moment's hesitation spent in his spot, soon found his way in front of the Crusaders gathered at the ocean-facing entrance to joinhis friend who had the camera rolling over the frothy wild waters, and gloomy sky. On the horizon, the great beast, the collections of evils, the terrorizing monster-
Sin.
Ormi was still as a statue and faithfully, almost mindlessly, held the recorder towards the giant behemoth of a creature on the vast skyline. He, and Logos beside him, blanched, horror etched into their features as a malevolent shadow stretched towards the cove, armed to the teeth for the fight ahead.
Ghastly black tendrils snaked through the water, radiating from the monster, and Ormi followed their path as they spread throughout the aggravated waters of the narrow inlet. The waves swelled, wrathful, and carried the dark shadows beneath the surface ever closer to the most inner beach.
The feathery mounts grew uneasy, squawking and fighting against the heedless hands of their riders. Then, an encouraging shout and order was given, as the men and women alike braced themselves for the oncoming, surely devastating, attack.
The air that had left Logos and Ormi suddenly found them again and shot painfully down their throats as Sin rose from the water, its humongous head ugly and nearly shimmering in a dim, slimy, aura. It unfurled itself to its formidable size, water falling from its rough battle-scarred sides, and a ghostly mist surrounded its bottom half that was still dipped into the ocean.
The order was given for the guns to be fired, and the repeating and earsplitting booms of warfare shook the cove into trembling. Ormi recorded the flight of the fiery missiles careening and crackling over the turbulent waters and toward the massive target.
Many guns followed suit, from all sides of the cove, and the explosion of the horrid shell of the monster sent many sharp scales into the water and swimming towards shore. The men that Logos and Ormi had only recently left on the beach lifted their arms and prepared themselves for the trouble the overgrown insects were set on bringing.
In an excited warbled cry, the Chocobo Knights flew toward the white-tipped waves that thrust the miniature monsters upon the land and started to attack them with a jubilant zeal that was rendered by the same hope that accompanied all operations to stop Sin.
This might be the very last.
Logos watched breathlessly as all the men slashed and hacked all the Sin Scales that scuttled on the shallows. They never reached dry land as the men determinedly dove into the cold and mean sloshing waters to stop them there.
As the gun-fire stopped with the ammunition needing to be replenished, Sin rose in the water, its nose lifting into the air. Its rough body suddenly smoothed down in a flicker of its remaining scales, and Ormi and Logos both hardened their stance against the rumbling of the earth all around them, their eyes fearfully witnessing the danger with an almost out of body observance, the fear gripping their mind so thoroughly as to not allow any translatable thought to advise their shivering bodies.
Sin bounced in the waves, a purplish-blue orb surrounding it as a shield. This is what the gun-tower was built to destroy.
The boys, though they did not turn to look and kept staring at the horrid beast, heard Al Bhed commands being shouted throughout the entire tower. The camera in Ormi's hand was still whirring as the air suddenly exploded in blinding flashes, and an arm of energy stretched from Sin's force-field.
It gathered power easily, in no time at all, and it shot in a massive ray of raw energy across the choppy surface of the cove and straight into the inlet. Ormi brought up his free hand to block his bleak eyes from the sight-stealing brightness of the attack, but Logos's eyes shot, out of his habit as a gunner, to the final destination of the fast flying projectile.
The men that stabbed and beat down the Scales only had enough time to shout one syllable of their death-cries, before exploding into black particles, disintegrated into mere shadows of what they had been in the second of their demise. The shared howl of brief pain was quickly dashed to nothing by the silencing power of the blinding light, but it fell like a stone through Logos's ears and weighed down his chest.
He blinked his wide-open eyes, and found only scattered remains of forms heaped on the beach when he flashed them open again. All in the water was cleanly gone, a huge bulk of men, simply wiped out.
The protective orb around Sin shimmered, almost gleefully strong, and Logos felt his dry throat suck another desperate gasp of air into his painfully shivering lungs. More Al Bhed words flew all around him, their spiral-green eyes seeing the same end of the men upon the beach as he had. The importance and rush of the moment was amplified by their rapidly shouted orders and demands; the entire tower teeming with loud rushing footsteps, clomps up and down the metallic stairs, and relaying urgent messages in breathless hurry.
Ormi suddenly lowered the camera, his black pupils contracted and shaking in an expanse of white.
"Logos!" His cry made Logos jump near out of his skin and he turned to Ormi and the fear that lined his voice. He searched the waters, and saw the reason for Ormi's sudden jolt back into frantic, thinking motion.
Sin was turning from facing inside the cove to the threat that was targeting it next, like it sensed the animosity that rose from the tower, and was acting to destroy it before it could act. Ormi was shaking in his spot, his great trunk-like knees shivering near together, before he gave his head a great shake and he locked eyes with Logos, shouting, "We's got to get out of here-NOW!"
He spun on his thick heel and plunged through the roves of Al Bheds and Crusaders, whom were lending their hands wherever it was needed, and made for the entrance that led back to the side beach. Logos started to follow, before the solider within him, however idiotic, stopped him in his tracks again. "Ormi! We can't!"
The rumble of the gun charging shot down into the metal floors of the tower in a tremor of awesome capability. Logos's thin gaze widened at the power it promised, before he lifted his eyes at Ormi, who had stopped when Logos did but was still itching to get away. It was evident by the constant and desperately repeated-
"Logos, we's got to go now! Come on!"
"Wait!" Logos held out his palm as the trembling in the gun tower grew more powerful, its charge growing in strength. It vibrated and shook much more than Sin had done earlier to the cove. Logos felt a slight pull at the corner of his mouth, his eyes glittering suddenly with hate. Everyone knew someone that had been taken out by Sin, this was a reality of living in Spira. Logos felt that repressed grief and anger rush back into him, resentment flooding his senses as hope-oh that as of yet elusive hope- jumpstarted the emotions that bubbled to the surface.
"Ormi, you may be right after all!"
His face opened up in an excited smile, his thin frame turning in his heel toward the open mouth of gun-tower's front entrance. His eyes were extended over the few heartily praying and watching eyes of Crusaders that was already regrouping in front of it.
"Logos, no!" Ormi, despite his large mass, was at Logos's hastily traveling back in a second and grabbed a handful of olive-green uniform, "Logos, forget whut I's said! Im's wrong, it ain't gonna work, no way!"
His head was shaking so heavily that his cheeks shook with it. Logos pulled, a tight annoyed expression on his face, before he turned with a sharp crazed look. "Ormi, let go! Can't you see this thing has more power than either one of us realized? This blasted Al Bhed invention might actually work!"
"It'd ain't gonna work! Liz'zin tah me, it ain't gonna work!" Ormi tightened his grip on Logos as his friend attempted to pull away from him.
Swiftly changing tactics, Logos yelled over the drone of machina and the high ring of the gun-tower. "Ormi, we can't abandon our posts! Wen Kinoc himself told us to get this momentous occasion on sphere!"
Ormi's wide serious eyes was enough to stop Logos short again. Ormi firmly shook his head and, although it seemed like he said this quietly, it hit Logos's ears like a boom. "I's ain't gonna record us dying, Logos."
Logos froze again, mouth hanging open and thin brows knitting over desperate eyes. Ormi's fingers gripped tighter into the handful of uniform in his grasp, staring deeply at his friend's face, trying to communicate something important in that one silent moment, a tipping point. Logos tried to speak but he couldn't find words, wasn't entirely sure what words he even wanted. There was so much noise, surely, but they heard none of it for that space of time, seconds if not fractions of a second spent trying to speak to each other without saying anything.
Then, something big clanged into place and a beam from the top of the tower shot through the air and outward, toward the formidable shield of Sin. Ormi's insistent pull was still urging to retreat, but Logos broke his gaze to watch what happened. The beam met the shield with blasting force, and even Sin seemed hindered in its forward movement by the power of the persistent ray of light from the gun tower.
Crusaders and Al Bhed rushed past them and into the very edge of the frontward entrance, amazed gasps escaping their mouths as the ray actually battled with Sin and pushed against its before impenetrable shield. Logos looked to his shoulder, where the recorder bit down from the meaty hand that held it rather painfully. He was breathing heavily as he gasped.
"See?" Logos jerked his head forward, "You might want to get this on sphere Ormi, or it's our hides later."
"Im's worried about our hides now, Logos, let's move." Ormi pulled again and again on his shoulder, before Logos, finally annoyed, turned full on him and yelled-
"Ormi, now is no time to be a coward!"
Those words clearly bit cleanly, as intended, and the bubbly face scrunched up into a hard expression. Logos spared a glance at the recorder, before snatching it and turning back to the spectacle of Sin bowing under the power of the gun and he raised his hand, which was shaking badly, and inexpertly started to capture the giant pulsing ray bending in the shield around Sin, the whole orb throbbing as if it was in pain, weakening.
Ormi watched him go with brows that was bent sharply upwards. His gut was screaming at him to run now, more than it had before. Logos was standing to his full height, recorder in hand, and walking towards a gap in the bodies to catch the bubble-shaped force-field bending under the force of the gun-tower. The surface was giving in under the point of contact, as if it was going to just simply pop.
Ormi lifted his mouth in a pursed frown, his brows set, and rushed forward to grab a handful of Logos's uniform in his balled fist. As he did earlier that day, he threw the gunner over his shoulder and tossed him hard to the ground.
Logos rolled head over heels, his helmet loosening from his head and clunking away from him in his journey over the floor. His short stringy hair was revealed and allowed a sharp bump to come to his skull, which loosened his grip on the strap of the recorder. It flew from his hand, and as he scrambled to catch it, he sent it farther away from him and it shattered into a thousands of delicate pieces. The bright sphere inside was ejected violently and it fell against the floor before the gunman could do anything and cracked in two.
Logos, nursing his sore backside and his eyes locked on the mess, stood quickly back to his feet and screamed angrily. "Ormi!"
"Logos-" Ormi's voice was forced through the frantic breaths his body was producing as the dreadful edge was creeping closer, like a Doom cast over him and his time numbered. "We's got to go's!"
His thick finger pointed frenziedly through the back entrance, away from the scene.
Logos rolled his eyes and scowled deeply, "Do you know what you just did, you big, utterly moronic-!"
"Logos!"
The cry was so sharp and scared, and the horrid sound behind him so loud, that they stopped Logos mid-sentence and had him whirl around to see the horrific ending to the Operation.
Just as it was about to break thorough, the inward crest of the shield fought past the ray and sent another one of its own blinding flashes forward. Logos froze, he had seen what had happened to the men on the beach, and he knew he was dead.
The sword of light flew toward the gun and cut it clean from the tower, allowing it to slowly collapse into the structure it was built on. Screams, and cries of prayers of mercy in both Spirian and Al Bhed flooded his ears along with the death-harbingering crashes of sharp and heavy metal and crackling flames. The gun fell deeper into the building, crushing the levels one at a time, until it was bearing all the weight of the upper floors onto the lower level which the two men stood.
Logos suddenly felt something yank him back, clean off his feet, and toss him towards the back entrance with the hoarse cry of "Run!"
He obeyed, running with Ormi, eyes set on a goal that he wasn't sure he could meet but didn't have time to even wonder. The gun finally met the ground and the air was filled with the smell of blood, burnt flesh, and the sulfurous smell of the destroyed machina filling the empty places where the ringing cries of people being crushed to death did not.
He couldn't help it, Logos turned his top half as he ran to look as it met the ground, the acrid, yellow smoke of the crumbled structure rolling over him. The sound, would never hear anything else, never smell anything else, and the last thing he'd see was the back of his arms as he uselessly shielded himself.
Something hit him, hard, in the gut and he was swept from his feet again to finally land on his barely balanced heels, they skidded a short distance toward the outlying support beams of the old structure, where his body slammed to a halt. A pain so intense burst through his stomach that he could only scream, white blotting his thoughts entirely. The dusty, crackling world that surrounded him answered in echoing noise.
Then, it went black.
He came back with a gasp, and what felt like a blink between the moment of impact and where he was now. However, the dust had settled, and he felt the aches that his body hadn't translated to his brain in his unconsciousness suddenly cry at him as he finally came to. His entire body was wracked with all sorts of pain, all of them calling for attention, all of them too sharp for him at the moment. He gasped again, a wet sound dropping from his lips and eyes blinking back tears as he fought for something to grasp onto. Small desperate sounds leapt from his throat as hands found his ribs, a terrible crunch felt through his digits as he tried to curl in on himself. He shut his eyes, hissing through his teeth as he leaned his head back.
It was wet, his hair plastered against his neck and scalp. Realizing this, he could focus on things, little things, quickly as the jolts of pain coursing through him made the whole process of thinking rather difficult. Soreness and aches ran down his legs, majority of it in his back and shoulders. But above all that was an unbelievable pain in his abdomen.
As he opened his eyes, he saw that his vision was too blurred to see anything at first. Naturally, he stared downward at his feet, for he was still somehow standing, and saw a dark outline of something jutting out in front of him. His hands, numbed with pain, wormed forward to his front to help him feel this strange shape in his incompetent vision, which swam with shadows.
Then, new sharp sparks of pain visited him and revitalized his sight. His eyes widened in horror just as his hands came to rest on the thin narrow beam that protruded from his lower torso, off to the side near his hip, and the cold unfeeling metal was slick with his hot, living blood.
His voice produced a hoarse and almost noiseless cry. Tears streaked clean lines down his dirty cheeks as he pushed air from his lungs in a terrified heave. His mouth merely gaped open as he let out a horrified sob, before the panicky thrash of the first initial shock of his wound left his head hanging weakly and his breath coming in short, biting, gasps. He lungs struggled with the dusty air, and he coughed, blood speckling his lips and chin as he did.
He was stabbed through, nailed to the support beam behind him-speared by this stray brace that flew to meet him from the final downfall of the hope he misplaced.
Logos attempted to push himself off of the grisly metal stake that pinned him into place, like an insect specimen under glass, before the pain became too great for him to bare and he slumped on his feet, unable to fully crumble down as his body commanded because of the sinful thing holding him upright.
Ormi was right…should've run…
He needed help- soon, or he'd be-
Panicked Logos called out "Help!"
The crunch of settling debris answered him.
"Ormi?" Logos let his eyes trail upwards, almost afraid that he'd find something more horrific than what he woke up to. Nothing gruesome met his eyes immediately, however, he knew that beneath all the rubble is a multitude of crushed bodies. Crusaders and Al Bheds laying together in the magnanimous arms of death. He just hoped with a wet swallow in his throat that Ormi was not among them somehow.
It can't be. I don't believe that. Please, it didn't-
As he scanned the mess, it was doubtful. Though it was hard telling. His vision was blurring again, his head reeling, and dark shadows crept over his mind and eyes, threatening to consume him for all eternity. He clawed through consciousness, unwilling to give up just yet, and futilely searched with his failing eyes.
Try as he might, he couldn't resist forever. Before long, his eyes grew heavier, his head continuing to bleed profusely down his back as his front did, staining his shirt and pants a dark red. To add to his woes, he could also swear he heard his precious heart beat slowly, and slower still.
Ormi coughed, his head aching tremendously, before he pulled his shoulder out from where it was halfway folded under his body. Finding it bogged down with something heavy, he opened his eyes and turned his head to the chunks of metal that rested on his back, legs, and pressed against parts of his helmeted head.
In one roaring motion, Ormi knocked all that aside and threw the uncomfortably dented helmet away from his greasy black locks and away from him. Rubbing his head, he felt down his arms and legs for injuries and found none immediately. His head was hurting of something bad though.
Breathing in a raspy breath, he lifted his even bleaker eyes to the destruction and devastation around him, his eyes grower dimmer because of it. He let out a slow sigh, one that rumbled in his great big chest, before he lifted his head and felt another throb of pain.
A trickle of blood made its way surely down the side of his wide head, a thick path marking from his sweating hairline to his chin. A glob of the dark blood gathered at end of his round face, before plopping loud onto the wreaked floor.
He clutched the wound, wincing and grunting at the ache that spread over him. Somethings broken, he thought as there was just too much general pain to know for sure what or where. His eyes leaked, chest heaving a sob for a moment as he gravity of the situation grabbed hold of him for a moment. This mess, man what a mess! Everyone had to be either dead, dying, or really messed up if they survived at all. Except for himself, who only avoided death because-because- Ormi lifted his eyes to investigate.A major support beam bent at an angle over him, bearing the crushing weight of the building above. It was folded with a sharp point, and right below this point he lay hurting, but miraculously not as dead as everything around him. He must've had nothing short of Lady Luck on his side if-
He jerked suddenly, his bleary eyes wildly searching all around him. He shouted into the heat and tasted burning.
"Logos?" He turned his head this way and that, trying to find him. He couldn't have been far from him-he should've been right there! Right beside him, but he wasn't. A sinking feeling found its way into his sizable gut and Ormi felt blind panic grip him. He did nothing but succumb to it as he stood, shaking and turning on his feet to desperately search. Where was he? Could he be really gone?
"Logos! Where are ya? Say something buddy! You're gonna be okay, jus' as soon as I find yous! Fayth, where are yous?! Logos!" A sniveling sob escaped his thick throat again before a croaking voice crackled in reply-
"Ormi?"
Ormi flew around on his heel, in all directions, trying to pin the source of the dry nasally voice that called to him. It didn't sound very much like Logos, yet it defiantly was. What relief he felt in a fraction of a second was dashed at the sound that Logos made when answering. He found him, and his fears were confirmed, as dark red met his eyes before anything else. As he pinned the source of the voice, he also found his friend pinned to a solid metal beam.
"Sweet Yevon! Oh no this is bad, this is bad, this is bad-" Ormi ran as fast as he could towards him, leaping over the uneven ground and nearly losing his footing several times. As he made it to his friend's side he reached out with his massive hands, reaching towards him but not touching, afraid of making everything worse. Logos flinched at his approach, his teeth gritted together against the immense pain, before he offered a half-hearted smirk. His teeth was stained red.
"About time you woke up, fool."
He himself had been sleeping on and off of course, knocked back into sweet oblivion time and time again, but he wouldn't mention that to the oaf who finally was here, and apparently fairly alright, to help.
And in good time. Logos could've swore his heart might've stopped a time or two, but he was always brought back. Nothing short of a miracle, Logos thought sorely, though he'd prefer a miracle where he'd see himself safe in his bed and find this all a dream.
"Ah-no," Ormi moaned, and Logos shifted his eyes to him again, dryly asking, "What is it?"
Ormi found that the pouch at Logos's side was ripped open, stabbed by the beam and skewered through into the part above Logos's hip. The only hope he had he saw shattered and spilling its precious contents to the bottom of the leather pouch. Some of it had found its way to Logos's wound, but not nearly enough to make a difference, and in any case the beam kept the wound fresh and open.
Ormi fished out the last remaining fragments of glass vial, a sad shred of paper hanging to it with a curly script 'X' prettily written into it. He lifted his eyes from his palm to Logos's observing eyes.
"Well damnit," Logos gritted his teeth and let his head lean back against the beam, "There goes my chances of living through this…"
"Don' talk like that!" Ormi shouted loud enough to even give his aching head a turn. Much less Logos's, who upon his flight and crash-landing, made a small halo of crimson on the support beam that his back pressed against.
As they waited out the first throbs of pain in their heads, Logos's blood trickled onto the floor with sickening drops. Logos finally broke the painful silence with a shuddering, "You're probably right…the potion most likely as not saved me from death as it is."
Ormi nodded and screwed up his face. His hands found the brace and pulled back with all the strength in his hulking shoulders, causing a howl of pain to erupt from the mouth of his friend. Ormi stopped, startled, before promptly flinching at the wave of curses and abuse that issued forth from that same mouth.
"Warn me next time you fucking moron!-" Logos began to finish, his anger rising to a final high screaming pitch, "Damn it all, it hurts!"
Logos took in a raspy breath before leaning over the brace still stabbing him, gasping and exhausted. "This isn't going to work." A sharp inhale, before he weakly finished, "I'll die if you try that again…"
And his statement seemed true enough, since the sliding of the brace through his torso eased a great splash of blood to slap into the metal flooring under his boots. Logos wheezed, bent over the beam and the puddle of his own dark blood, trying to find a manner of stability again, before he raised his head. His eyes glistened, "Don't touch it. Pull me off of it instead-" He added swiftly. "Gently."
Ormi, a bit nervous-eyed, gradually approached closer and took a firm hold of his friend's wide shoulders. Hesitantly, he mumbled, "Y-yous sure?"
"As sure as I'm ever going to be…" Logos replied at some length before nodding his head once, "Hurry up and do it."
Ormi tensed, as his friend did, and began to slowly bring Logos forward. The gunner immediately screamed, small globs of curdled blood dropping thickly to the floor, and Ormi winced but continued to slide on his feet backwards, dragging his comrade forward through his own blood and off the beam. Logos grasped onto his arms, further bruising the already beaten flesh as he dug in deep with his fingers as pain blinded him to all else. His screams turned into concerning hyperventilation, Ormi almost unsure if this was right as he pulled Logos free of the beam.
Logos groaned as the beam's sharp end finally disappeared into his stomach. His knees were shaking badly, and all his weight collapsed as the beam was pulled free of his back. Ormi managed to keep Logos standing up, though he was crumpled and not using an ounce of his own strength. Ormi's voice, when he spoke after Logos let out a few ragged breaths against his shoulder, was traced with all the worry and fear that was within him. "Buddy? Yous okay?"
"Help," Logos said almost where Ormi couldn't hear it past his own heavy breathing, and he closed his sharp thin eyes. Dark oblivion was threatening to close in on Logos again.
"I's will," Ormi promised with a quick shake of his head and began dragging Logos away form the unstable structure. Once around the beam that had pinned Logos, they were on the side beach they had first approached the gun-tower from. Ormi carefully lowered Logos to lay out on the ground. The blood was an angry, evil red, staring up at him menacingly, as Ormi rubbed at his head with a sweaty palm. Flinching greatly, he stared down at the dark smear in his hand and was reminded of his own wound. He dismissed it as much as he could and looked back down to his friend, Logos's blood seeping and growing into a puddle beneath him again. Rather hopelessly, Ormi asked the slowly breathing gunner, "What should I's do?"
"I don't know." Logos replied in a raspy whisper. His eyes were still closed and he leaned his head away from Ormi, almost looking as if he was about to drop off into sleep.
"Don' yous die yet," Ormi told him before wracking his aching head for something, anything. They didn't have any medical kits on them, they were only recorders, and potions weren't given to men of their low rank as regular supplies. And the X potion was soaked up at the bottom of Logos's pouch.
Firmly setting his shoulders, Ormi frowned and reached over to loosen the pouch from Logos's belt. Then, without hesitation, he dumped its contents that hadn't fallen out of the torn hole already, and when empty, pressed the entire thing against the red gaping hole.
Logos, who was barely moving and worryingly silent just a moment before, jolted and flashed his eyes open, screaming again.
" 'M Sorry, 'M Sorry-" Ormi mumbled over and over again, holding his struggling friend down with one hand on his chest as he worked with the other. Logos was saying something, or trying to, in vain attempt to escape the source of pain. Ormi continued to apologize in a chant as Logos begged for him to stop hurting him. Ormi squeezed the tough material to yield any of the precious fluid it withheld. A few pinkish drops seeped from the bag into the wound, and Ormi watched in awe as the red torn edges visibly shimmered and grew smaller. Logos grew quieter, harshly breathing and eyes wide in shock.
"That's some good stuff," Ormi said finally, to no one in particular as it seemed that his friend was too busy shuddering to hear. He felt concern renew, however, when he faced the fact the wound was still open. His friend was pale, face drawn and eyes open but almost unseeing, breath shallow. He needed more help, serious help, soon, or he'd-
"Logos?" He didn't answer this time, uneven breaths pushed out as if it was real battle just to get them to follow after each other. Ormi looked down at his hands, holding the scrap of leather that was once a pouch and soaked in a different kind of liquid, a richer red than an X potion.
Refusing to give in to hopelessness, Ormi began chanting to himself, "Got tah close it up-Got tah close it up," as he desperately thought. Not quite sure what he was doing yet, Ormi started to tug his armor off. Wrapping the wound up wouldn't do any good, the cloth would just soon become soaked and Logos would continue to bleed. No, what he needed was some needle and thread, to close up the skin out right. But, that was also unavailable to him. Ormi continued his chant, pulling at the metal cable that was corded through the little holes in his armor to hold the steel plates together and in place, but still allowing flexibility.
With how wide his girth was, he figured he had plenty to work with.
At the tight knot of thick wire at the ends of the plates, he used his teeth as pliers and pried the pieces to uncurl and straighten out. Spitting out pink, from his slightly bleeding gums, Ormi finally had a long piece of cord in his hand and worked to the get another. With two pieces of cord in hand, he finally turned back to his friend, finishing his chant with one last, "Got tah close it up."
He pulled up on the back of Logos's shoulders to lift him and reach his armor, which was useless now, and tugged it off as quickly as he could. He wasted no time in removing his friend's shirt either, and the inner shirt that the gunner went through the pains of bothering with.
"Alright Logos," Ormi wiped at his head with the back of his hand, wincing again, before continuing to talk to the only half-conscious gunner, "This is probably going to hurt."
"Nuh?" Logos shifted at the cold air touching his exposed skin, his eyes slowly opening. He screwed them shut a second later, feeling a sharp prick and something pushing and wriggling through his skin, "-The fuck!?"
He almost sat up using his elbow to push himself from the ground, but a flat, thick palm pushed him back down, "Don' move. I'm fix'n it."
"Fixing what?!" Logos shook his head and blearily looked around him, his eyes foggy with pain. He was unable to see Ormi pushing the cord through his skin, and forcing it into the other edge of the wound, before bending the end back around in a stiff stitch. In fact, his whole vision was not worth anything at the moment and his mind was hazy.
"Buddy, I tol' yous not tah move." Ormi adjusted his hands again as Logos thrashed to the side from another painful yank in his skin, screaming. Ormi was trying to be as careful as possible, to cause the least amount of pain, but a confused Logos wasn't making the task easy. Yelling over the noise of his partner, Ormi ordered, "Hold still!"
Logos, nearly recalling what had happened, flopped to the ground before shaking his head to clear it. That only made the pain sharper, however, and he took in a long hiss through his teeth, "What are you even doing?!"
"Closin' it up." Ormi brought the sharp end back around for another stitch, each shiny diagonal line on his friend's abdomen crossing over a ragged, thin bloody line. He pulled the skin closer, trying to keep the stitch straight as possible, but with little results. Each stitch of the cord went at a different angle than the last or the one after it, and was a grisly sight to see. But, when his work was done on the front side, the blood wasn't oozing out so much and the line was becoming crusty around the makeshift stitches.
"Logos," Ormi said softly, for his friend had been screaming rather vehemently as he worked and only quieted to moans and groans as he stopped. "I's need's tah do the other side, ya know? Need help to turn over?"
"No, I think-" Logos shook his head weakly, trying to push himself on his elbows. As he did his head flopped almost bone-lessly on his neck. His drawn face pulled tight, reacting to the new feeling of the taut and painfully aching spot on his lower torso above his hip. With a lot more effort than was usual, he turned and laid himself onto his side.
Much more awake than before, he dug his fingers around any bit of rocky soil within his reach and braced himself for more pain that he didn't have to wait long for to come. Conscious now, he could brace himself a lot better than before, and although it wasn't a pleasant feeling, among all his other hurts he could stand this. When Ormi finally pulled the last bit of wire into place, Logos let out a long breath through his nose, his eyes much less clouded than before.
"Yous are gonna be okay now," Ormi promised him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Logos's lean hand rose to cup his forehead, which was throbbing excruciatingly, "Perhaps. Just help me stand up and we'll go to a trained doctor…I'm not going to walk around with your fine 'needlework' any longer than I need to."
Despite his words, when Ormi got Logos to his feet, he wasn't going to walk anywhere, not with Ormi's so called 'needlework' or otherwise. His knees crumbled underneath him and he ended up falling back into Ormi's side as the latter let go of him. A rather unnerving groan escaped his sharp lips, and Ormi asked, concerned, "Yous okay?"
"Just fine," Logos growled sarcastically, though as he looked up again, his eyes had that sort of glazed over look to them again. Blast. His voice lowered to a strained whisper as he said, "Just get me to a doctor…please."
He was a lot less prideful as Ormi's expression softened again.
"I's promise I will." Ormi took the gunner's other arm that wasn't gripping his wound and threw it over his hulky shoulders. When he took a firm step forward, however, Logos wasn't walking with him so much as being dragged as he had been when he was unconscious. It wasn't so difficult to hold up all of Logos's weight with one arm, even as Ormi was feeling his own hurts more sharply now, but it was awkward as the gunner's feet caught on the very uneven and fragment-strewn ground.
Ormi heaved up, adjusting his weight to accommodate Logos's deadweight body. He looked at his friend's face, and didn't have to look long to realize Logos wasn't going to be able to provide any help. He was wheezing, his mouth slack, and obviously still struggling to regain control of his body all the while. "It's bad, isn't it?"
Ormi didn't need an answer to his question before he lifted his shoulders up and swooped in closer to Logos, startling his fellow recorder. Ormi put one arm right under Logos's knees, his other arm holding Logos up by his shoulder continuing to do so, and straightened his back up with his partner in his arms. The gunner made a displeased noise but Ormi shut up him quickly with- "There a better way yous can think of?"
Logos flinched, a sneer on his face, before he rather stiffly said, "We speak of this to no one."
"Yeah, yeah," Ormi rolled his eyes and started to walk away from the wreckage of the Al Bhed weapon, slightly annoyed that the appearance of masculinity was still important to his otherwise dying friend. Then, his features loosening up in one great wave, he prayed silently to the lonely, dusk-tinged world that there was still someone out there to help his dying friend.
"Logos- izzat?" Ormi let his voice trail off as the many pyre flies rose above his head and floated away into the night, for it had fallen as the boys made horrible time across the long stretch of beach.
"Seems so," Logos replied dully, his hazy eyes on the glowing circles of light in his vision. His lean hands were occupied with clutching his wound, and he was so tired, but he didn't seem to be in pure misery as before. Without thinking, he said dimly, "You know, that one Crusader that owes us money is probably somewhere up there."
"Think so?" Ormi had stopped in his tracks, his bleak eyes unwavering from the quivering faint tails of the souls ascending into the Farplane. After a moment of silence had lapsed, he mumbled, " 'ey Logos?"
"What?"
"Yous think that one Crusader broad yous was hittin' on is up there too?"
"Probably," Logos answered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Then, in one great burst, the crumbled tower was alight with many pyre flies as well, which could've been them. The boys watched that in grim silence as the Summoner's dance surely came to an end, as the pyre flies dissipated into beyond.
"I's hate this."
"I agree," Logos nodded weakly, his breath still shuddery, making him space out his words. "More than ever, unsurprisingly."
"It's just like with them Crimson guys, they's let all this people die…What for?"
"I've no clue," Logos let his eyes close as the night became a lot darker, the thick clouds obscuring the moon and the pyre flies unearthly light gone. Logos felt Ormi trudge again through the sand, and though he didn't mention it, he also noticed that his thick arms were sagging ever so slightly with his weight and his breath was great puffs. This was hard on Ormi, who was discovering that perhaps a few things had broken under the debris.
But, as before, out of nowhere-
"I's want's out."
"We've always wanted out." Logos responded, exhausted.
"Yeah, well, if yous weren't so injured right now, I'd say that we's should make a break for it right now and leave Yevon and all its dirty work for good."
That was enough to get his full attention. Logos lifted his head as much as his waning power could permit and asked, astounded, "You don't mean that. Surely you don't mean to actually desert-"
"I's means it! I'm sick an' tired of doing all this!" Ormi's eyes, gathering the scant light of the peeking moon, flicked toward the gun tower for a split moment. "They's are jus' going tah do the same thing to us one of these days, an' for what?"
Logos opened his mouth, but there was no answer to give.
"As soon as yous see's a doctor an' get all patched up-" Ormi pushed determinedly through the sand, "-Yous and I should find a new job, how about that?"
"I think being too close to Sin has made you lose your mind," Logos replied firmly, "They'll track us down and kill us for sure. We know far too much to put their minds at ease."
"We'll die then."
"Ormi!"
"No!" Ormi's voice boomed loudly through the dismally quiet air, "We'll fake our deaths somehow, see? Then we'll be free tah go!"
"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Logos replied acidly, trying to reel in his sanity since, for a brief moment, it ran off excitedly down the trail that his friend was foolishly prancing down.
"Aw, yous can think of that," Ormi said easily and it seemed he picked up his pace, "Imagine. We's won't have to kill no one no more. And we's won't have to take another damn recording for the rest of lives! We'll be free men!"
"To do what?" Logos was still so weak, but it seemed to Ormi that looked down at him that his face suddenly less strained. His expression was more relaxed, indulgent almost. Ormi spread his lips in a gap-toothed grin.
"Whatever comes up, does it matter?"
The atmosphere became hopeless as the sound of people walking slowly, the shadows of tents, and the mournful whispers of men and woman came just within hearing distance. Despite that, Logos chuckled low in his throat. His eyes were closed as he spoke again.
"No...I suppose it doesn't."
A/N: A lot different than what I usually write. Like I said, I don't really think the boys were there. Their characters are just like that you know, not really getting to see the most momentous of events involving Yuna and especially Tidus (though as I wrote this they really weren't involved so its believable, meh)
I am pleased with this. Even if doesn't follow all the way through with my specific theory, the way I played this its really close to my theory on how they get to leave Yevon.
Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed. And would be very pleased if you left a review of your thoughts (if you care to share), questions, or things you noticed I need to edit (Curse grammar!)
Or just a lovely little comment would be much appreciated.
