Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights related to final fantasy.
A Right to Approval
They're at it again, fighting for the role of leadership. One argues she knows the land better than the other, of course that is so, the other agrees, but the group needed someone who was least likely to thrust them into suicide. This is suicide, the other would counter.
Always the same words, always the same actions. The third girl would silently watch, her childlike eyes gazing from a safe distance.
And then the fists would start flying, of course, she knew they were capable of settling their arguments without such abuses but it was inevitable. Fang and Lightning were both hotheaded, no matter how hard the younger one tried to keep her calm poker face. (Of course, Lightning was older than Fang, but with technicalities Fang was the eldest of them all.)
The truth of the matter was, Fang could care less for the role of leadership. Vanille knew that much, though the older would cross her arms and dully deny that fact there was an odd twinkle about her keen eyes that led Vanille to believe there was more behind her motives of angering Lightning.
And there was.
On late nights it was evident that when Fang stood watch- she stood watch upon Lightning. At times, the younger Pulsian would sneak about and catch a glimpse of her darker companion standing above the soldier's slumbering figure. Simply standing, no movement to sweep away the strawberry wisps of hair that would cascade and shadow the woman's face. No movement to grasp the woman when she'd shiver violently in her nightmarish world.
It was perplexing to the younger girl, Fang who didn't seem to hold much interest in other women in their past lives-she always stated they were too indecisive, too needy-and men were too busy with their own hero complexes for her to care much. She wasn't a damsel in distress, she was more a villain, in fact. Yet, here she was silently fawning over the soldier, a women trapped in her world of distress and mistakes that overshadowed her heart and deemed her unapproachable-even to Hope, who seemed the closest to her out of the group.
Fang, who never looked for approval from anyone, now struggled for the approval of Lightning. To bear witness to that rare small smirk the woman would give to Hope-or even to Vanille when the girl did something useful.
She was almost desperate for that small acknowledgment, always going about it the wrong way.
Her attempts for the approval would always end in a spar, each one returning to camp with bruises and cuts-and when questioned it was always a scornful glare in response.
It had gotten to the point of where the group would shrug it off as a small misunderstanding taken further. Sometimes the boys would make up stories to go along with the wounds.
Vanille knew, though, she always witnessed the fights from afar, hidden from the two women. She knew that with each fight the punches would become more and more pulled. It was becoming a dance of unspoken words to both women, at best this was most communication they could muster. Both, never good with feelings, never good with words. And, at some points the small girl would catch a glimpse of a bemused smirk on the soldier's face and a shimmer of shock on the Pulsian's.
That small fraction of a second before the Pulsian could pull her thoughts back into the fight was enough for Lightning to end the fight, and so she'd thrust with one final punch and send the woman sprawling to the floor.
The darker one would smirk and rub the blood from her busted lip precariously, "okay, okay you got me." She was catching her breath, staring submissively up at the soldier. A first, Vanille noted, Fang always held a dominant posture. This was curious.
Lightning would collapse as well, half distracted by a mixture of thoughts and catching her breath.
They would just sit, silently, nothing more-nothing less, before they would nod and agree to return to camp.
Slightly disappointed, Vanille would make her quick and silent return to camp before they got there.
Always the same words, always the same actions.
But something about today left her with an uneasy eagerness for tomorrow.