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Note: English is not my native language, and I lack beta/proofreader, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.
Note 2: This might be a series of one-shots or it might turn into a cohesive plot. Might. I'm optimistic.
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hàvārija f (Cyrillic spelling ха̀ва̄рија)
· accident, crash, wreck (especially shipwreck, emergency, average (i.e. situation caused by damage, breakdown or failure))
· damage, breakdown, fault, failure, crash
· (figuratively) misfortune
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1
He saw the flash of ivory on top of the hangar formerly used to store the Weapons. High up, against dark metal pylons of the top of the airship supply depot suspended over the water. How odd. It was well past midnight, and well into the other half of the night, and Gaius had his reasons for being awake.
He used the stairs. Less hackle that way. Less strain on his knees.
When he reached the top, when he was done crawling through service tunnels, hunching over so he could fit through them to reach the otherwise unreachable part of the construction, he discovered something he had not expected to. Something, he strongly suspected, only a few had a chance to witness - her sitting near the edge of the beam, gun within arms-reach, it was but one of many long-distance weapons strewn about, and only the twinkling whiskey bottles for company. Six... eight... quite a bit more and, save for several nestled in her lap, all were empty. If the presence of the various projectile weaponry was anything to go by, it was easy to deduct that they were likely to be disposed of in a form of target practice. By all appearances, she had already been doing just that for the better part of the night.
He watched as she downed the bottle without looking. Barely breathing. She was already opening another when she heard his footsteps against the metal. Or maybe she just decided to pay attention.
"I had not expected that the venerable hero of Eorzea to be a habitual drunk." He lifted an eyebrow and she glanced at him. Yet for the longest moment, her eyes might as well have been going straight through him. There was silence and, for a long moment, they just stared at each other. His frown deepened.
"I should think that people of Terncliff understand the fine tradition of drinking at this point." With her drink, she motioned to where she was sitting before taking a sip of the old whiskey.
The view, even at night, was spectacular. The shouts coming from below, not so much. They were coming from the direction of the remains of the Sapphire Weapon where it was floating in the sea below. The Ironworks crew was still working on it.
"Yet another of your proficiencies?" He cut in immediately when her head rose up a fraction.
"Yes, which is why I look like I could use some extended 'me' time in a mud bath, face down at that," she shut her eyes and drawled. "A fair trade-off, to be sure..." Beneath the sarcasm, a hidden edge, like a blade tucked into the cuff of a boot. Taking a swig of her drink, she scooted back and leaned back against the metal column, stretching out her long legs in front of her and letting her tail swing over the edge. She shivered. The drink in her hand rattled briefly, spilling mellow golden drops onto her pants.
It was well known that the Warrior of Light didn't speak much. A nod. A shake of the head. A shrug. An extended hand to accept a task given. The most he had heard her speak was when she was familiarizing herself with all the details necessary to pilot the G-Warrior. Even looking back to the days of Praetorium, as clinically as he possibly could at this point, he had not had as many words directed at him as he did now. Up until this point, there was an unspoken understanding between them, some sort of odd respect shared betwixt the two that let them commune without speaking.
"You are worried," she spoke to him without looking over her shoulder, and if she meant it as a question, it hadn't come across that way.
"Am I?"
"Because of tomorrow."
"You're drunk. You do not think that can be a cause for concern?" His response was slow, almost amused, acting as though it were the most obvious thing. Even then, there was still something dark to his words. Still… contrary to the bite in his voice, he didn't feel that much of spite at the prospect of the Warrior of Light is less than infallible.
He had seen soldiers who have given themselves over to the perpetual drunken state. An escape from reality – running away from images playing over and over behind one's eyelids. And though he understood it, it wasn't something he encouraged or allowed during his time as Legatus. But who was he now to attempt and give orders to her? Only the results mattered, he'd assure himself, staring down at the town...
It was... strange, perhaps. Sad, in a way, to see one who was considered the best and brightest in such a state. A silly concept, he'd realize, as she was flesh and blood like any other, and shake it away, but appallingly haunting in its implications.
She looked at the now-empty bottle in her hand and with a small 'hum' threw it a fair distance away, at the same time lining the sight with her gun. It was blindingly fast and deceptively silent, the only sound a distant shattering of glass. That explained why none of the workers below reacted.
"Are you listening?" The masculine voice asked. She was sure he had asked it before only to receive no response. He was still there, she knew he would be, she felt his form behind her.
"I'll get the job done," she waved at his words like shooing noisy bees. With a slight frown, she was tiptoeing with her fingers around the sharp edges of her deadly 'tools'. "One does not need to be drunk to crash and burn. I think we can both agree on that." When he didn't respond to her taunting, she turned away and picked up an empty bottle, and flung it to the sky. Yet even as she lined the sight, a gunshot exploded past her head, not even ilm between her horn and the bullet, shattering the distant bottle into pieces.
Sucking in a breath, she turned her attention to him and him alone. There was no need for an explanation, after all, they both already knew. He has been through hell and back, spit death in the face, and gave both life and death back in return.
The door shut behind him.
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When the next day dawned, it was as if nothing had happened, and no words were spoken. The same stoic, one-part blank, and two-parts disinterested expression were firmly back in place, with no trace of whatever the ingested amount of alcohol was supposed to do to a body of her small size.
Silently, she listened to any and all instructions, extended her hand to pick the task given, and nodded.
Castrum Marinum was their next stop.
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