* Dear Daddy *
A Legend of Dragoon fanfic
Written by Rap's (RaptorJNB@aol.com)
Notes:
I really don't know why I'm writing this. I'm drained on my series fics at the moment and needed a change of pace, I guess! ^_^ This is from Claire's POV in a letter she has written to her father Haschel. I was sort of inspired by Quistis Kinnaes to write this, as she took on her fiction about Miranda; "Paper Cut" (incredible work) when she doesn't even like Miranda all that much. I like Haschel, but I HATE Claire. The woman left Dart alone to go back to Neet... and yes- I understand she wanted to help her husband; but as a mother she had a duty to her son, and she flung that away like so much trash. You don't leave your damned kid at a time like that, okay? Dart needed her then more then ever before.
I actually felt bad for the spiky haired punk. *Gives Dart a very quick hug, and then jumps away to attach herself to Albert*
Dart: .... *freaked out*
Albert: Hey, I'm the one who has to live with her, okay?
Dart: ....
ANNYYYWAYYYY.... I hope everyone enjoys this. Please tell me what to improve, as always. Thanks so much! ^_^ Very short, just to warn you; but I purposely made it that way to put emphasis on the importance of the very last few lines.
Reviews are appreciated. ^_^
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Dear Daddy,
I know your fists are clenched now, as you hold this thin parchment in your hands. Please don't grip so very tight, or you'll surely rip my words. Before I say (Or rather, write) Anything more, raise your eyes for me? Out over the ocean beyond your desk and window; into the sun that now fades upon it's distant horizon? I've always loved the ocean, daddy. And now I leave to drift upon it, this 2nd night of the Autumn quarter moon. I know the earliest you will receive this is two days from now, so trying to come after me will prove futile. I've timed everything. You've only just come home from the mainland.
But I'm not coming back.
I can imagine the deep lines of your face drawing down into that primitive scowl I know so well. Perhaps, just a little, you have ripped my letter, and now work to mend the vagrant fold as you read this. Something keeps you still, even as your mind screams to follow me. To give chase. But our fishing boat is gone, and you know that; don't you? You know I've taken it with me.
Daddy, if your wondering why I'm writing this, it's because I must; not because I want to. If I was in your presence at this exact moment, your hand would raise to my face; but not strike. You would never hit me. Just yell. Yell about there being no honor in running away, and no respect in calling you 'Daddy.'
You always told me to call you 'Master.'
And that is why I am obligated to give you an explanation for my departure. Because you are my master, and not my father. My father was a man kind and sweet, who would pick me from the ground when I should fall and say; "Try again, small one. Try again." Your instruction helped me then, when I could be imperfect. When I felt I had a choice between the rouge arts and a happy life. But when mother died your voice became damnation.
I was your pupil, Daddy, and that was all. You wouldn't let me be your daughter anymore.
And perhaps I do wish to be with you now. So I can ask why, and hope for some sort of relevant answer. Why wouldn't you let me be a child? Climb trees to fetch the ripest bundles of fruit from their limbs, or play with my friends? Why couldn't I hug you without your turning away, and why couldn't you say that you loved me? Just once?
Are you even concerned for me now?
It doesn't matter, really. I trained for you, and as inadequate a student as you may have thought me, I can defend myself. Did you ever stop to notice, throughout all my flaws, that yes; I was your best student? Why did you feel the need to humiliate me by saying that I was impossible? That I would never master the rouge arts; and that I had no place in your school?
I simply had no place in your heart.
And, for the longest time, I had hoped that was not true. I did, once. But fooling one's self helps nothing. After all this, I wonder if (drifting on the sea, reaching for another life) I still care for you.
They say that good-bye's amongst family are always the longest, and hardest to deal with. The sad truth is, Daddy, I only spent the lesser half of five minutes writing this. The number should be even when I dot my last period, and lay it here. On your desk.
What I've yet to understand is why it has taken me four years to find the words above, and put them to paper.
With what I can only call love,
- Claire
~*fin*~
