Author note: I do not own the Last Story, nor do I own the song 'Chandelier' by Sia which inspired this oneshot.
Warning: Alcohol abuse, an AU take of what could have happened in the game once Zael accepts the offer of being a knight and being engaged to Calista, spoilers, a little JirallxCalista
Constructive Criticism would be nice, and I hope that you read, review and enjoy! Thanks!
Chandelier
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drink
Jirall Rambaldt couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe he was thrown out of his engagement to Calista. To think that rat Zael was his replacement. Anyone but him would have been preferable. But no, no. Zael was engaged to Calista-his Calista-and Jirall couldn't take it.
He couldn't take it.
So he holed himself up in his room and drank.
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drink countless bottles, losing count of it all...dull and numb every sense he had...
Wasn't alcohol supposed to help numb the senses, after all? It would help to forget-even if only temporarily...
What he didn't realize was that it would only make it worse.
"Mummy, the stupid rat Zael took my Calista away..." He muttered after the tenth drink. "Mummy, I'm gonna kill him..."
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He was screaming, tearing pillows apart and watching the feathers fly, imagining it was Zael being torn to bits.
"Mummy, Zael will be a bloody stain under my boot when I'm through with him!" He stabbed the wall with a dagger, just above the peephole where he would watch Calista change in the next room, before howling again.
"I hate him, I hate him I HATE HIM! HE HAS TO DIE!"
He let his body sink and lean against the wall in front of him as he coughed a bit, before he halfheartedly opened the peephole with a hand and looked through, expecting no one in sight.
What surprised him was that a blue eye was looking right back at him through the hole, filled with concern.
He screamed, closing the peephole and backing up, tripping over fallen empty bottles and crashing to the ground. He let out a wordless scream as he felt glass crack underneath him, piercing through the thin fabric of his shirt and piercing skin, probably drawing blood as he tried to stumble to his feet. His body refused to obey him, and he only ended up making the glass pierce more of him.
Before he realized it, before he was even trying to get up again, he heard the door open. He half-lazily turned his head to see who was standing there, her eyes filled with horror at the scene in front of her.
"...Mummy?"
It was her, he was sure, her blonde (actually silver-white but he didn't realize it) hair framing her face oh-so perfectly, the dark blue dress perfectly fitting her. She rushed over to him, helping him get up and away from what was left of the broken bottles on the ground. She seated him on a nearby chair, her eyes looking at him worriedly.
"Jirall..." She was behind him now, gently pulling the glass shards out of his back. He could feel the wounds closing up afterwards, one at a time... "Jirall? Why are you drinking yourself into such a stupor...?"
She had the tone of voice that was gentle, but firm. That usually meant that she knew he was up to something-something that usually wasn't good, or that he'd went and done it and she found out about it. It seemed to be a motherly trait for all mothers, he figured. He looked up at her, refusing to let his eyes close from exhaustion of all the screaming, the madness.
"Mummy," He whispered back to her, "Calista hates me."
She looked back at him quietly, sadly, as she continued to heal him. Did his mummy ever have healing magic at her disposal? He couldn't remember if she really did or not. Then again, this could all be a hallucination, but it felt too real to be one.
"Jirall, sweetie?" She finished healing his glass wounds. "Why does she hate you?"
"...I did...bad stuff..." He ended up mumbling in response, his drunken mind refusing to go into specifics. "I did bad stuff...to her..."
She seemed to frown a bit. "Then of course she wouldn't be happy about it. If you do bad stuff to her, her trust in you will only get weaker, not stronger."
"But..."
She gave him a look. "No buts, Jirall. Being mean and unkind to a lady's wishes is not the way to build her trust with you."
He gave her a look. "Then how do I make her love me again? If she ever loved me, that is?" He let out a weak laugh as she let go of him, walking around so that she was standing in front of him. "She always looked at me with such scorn...always always always always..."
She looked sad, once again. She paused, before putting both hands on his shoulders, making eye contact with him.
"Jirall. I know she loves Zael very, very much. And she might never love you. But if you can be good to her, she might...she might at least come to trust you, as a friend." There was a pause, before she embraced him. "I know that you're lonely. And it breaks my heart to see you like this. Please, Jirall...you can't keep going down this road. I don't want you to fall like this. Jirall, I love you. I care for you. So please..."
Jirall was shocked. Shocked to hear this after so long of being called 'worthless,' 'useless,' 'cowardly,' 'stupid'...
And he lifted his arms to embrace her.
They just stayed still like that for a moment.
And for another moment longer.
And another one.
And then, after several moments, they let go of each other, his mother helping him up. She gently stroked his face with a hand.
"Your eyes are bloodshot, dear...you need rest."
Jirall nodded numbly as she helped him get changed out of his glass-ripped, alcohol and blood soaked clothes, and into more comfortable, loose clothing, a nightshirt and pants. He felt so tired...so tired...
It was probably either from exhaustion or alcohol. Maybe both. He wasn't sure.
The next thing he was aware of was that he was tucked into bed.
She looked down at him quietly, gently, holding his hand.
"Goodnight, Jirall..."
He was able to mutter something that sounded like "I love you" before he fell asleep.
Calista waited until he was very much asleep, until Jirall's grip on her hand went slack.
That was when she stood, stepping over bottles of alcohol and heading towards the door.
She never thought he cared that much.
She never thought she cared that much. Wasn't she supposed to hate him?
Looking at a half-empty bottle of alcohol, she picked it up, taking a sip (coughing afterwards), putting the bottle down, and leaving.
Things for him could only get worse, she knew, and there was nothing she could do about it.
But at least being by his side could help him hold on. At least for tonight.