Yoko Shimonura - Missing Perspective

July 17, 1794

...

— ...For how long had you been doing headstands, Dan?

— Headstand, you mean. Not for a long ago, but I'll get in there.

— Is that what you do on your free time?

— There is no free time. When the body gets tired, your thoughts do not. I just cut a man's arm's off. I should had been feeling bad by now, but I do not. It's part of my training, like a surgeon who ignores the screech of its patients. How do you feel, Freya?

— I don't know what I feel. So many things...

— Like what?

— Longing.

— Someday my kids will long for me too. It'll take long to get in there, for sure. You see, I used to do headstand without wearing pants...

— With someone watching?

— Not only the rain puts out the fire, so you know.

— I didn't wanted.

— Well, live and learn

— I'll just life to know. There are other things to learn.

— A lot of them. Did you've mentioned something about surface tension?

— Yes. Hrist does it a lot when near me.

— I heard that they force Knights to walk over spikes.

— Spikes!?

— Well, kind of. Don't worry, Freya. I had been throught worse, and believe or not, I once found myself inside an Antlion. A pretty huge one, at the desert while on training. A friend of mine lost its arm, and that bug lost its life in return. I got myself covered in green blood, and it ain't less brutal than the red we both shed. Have you been at the desert once?

— No. I had a nursemaid by the name of Otterley. She was born at Cleyra. Now my brother is with her, and they had a son.

— And what?

— Well, didn't I said she was my nursemaid?

— So Jack fell for the woman who took care and grew with him throught its life? And she's a cleyran too? Well, each one of us always dreamt of sleeping together with a cleyran as a boy. Like, they wear those flowery dresses, share of huge strands, golden earrings, exposed bellies... uh, sorry if this may have sounded nasty to you.

— It doesn't. Unfortunately.

— Guess you always knew how our heads worked alike.

— And there's nothing that can fix them.

— Only time to tell...

— Goodbye, Dan.

— See ya.

Freya Crescent...

Now, at the year 1794 of our Lord Bahamut, you're officialy a member of the Dragoon unit.

Congratulations.

...And so I thought they would say something alike.

Nothing at all can be said by papers. A lot of them, with the same signature of Ezekiel. I don't even have my own, despite the name of many families in me, with the Crescents who stood out of the rest of being Dragoon Knights. I changed my clothes to something more comfortable a while ago. Mother used to say that I never learned to walk, but run instead. Run like a boy, wearing same clothes.

It takes a while to sew a dress, or for your birthday to come and for you to receive clothes from relatives. If you want a toy, make your own, or ask for your father to bring some wood. A twig can become a fishing rod, it naturally is for some fishes who dare to jump outside the surface of a lake to eat some berries, but for it to happen while you own a twig, you must have patience. A lot of it, which I couldn't afford.

As much as father wasn't there to follow me to the lake. Jack was, but instead of fishing, he and his few friends swimmed there, wearing nothing. Can you feed a fish you a strawberry? I didn't understood, but now that I do... sigh. I just got it, like all dirty words mom never told us, even when suffering of such pain. Dan didn't liked how she felt, outside her offspring of two.

When I wore clothes like his, he and Jack used to hunt basilisks, which can still be found around if you have a keen eye, or misfortune to stand near one, unable to run. They bring shivers to the spine, and after you look at their eyes, you feel nothing. Stones do not feel, despite being watered by rain and bird poo. Well, a basilisk can't look to another, so they hunt blindly for preys when in groups, which's something rare to see.

You can't kill a stone, but you can use a stone to kill. Jack had a slingshot on its pocket, and Dan had the stones. As for me, I was a witness most the time, like Learie. My brother joked that her bad breath could kill a basilisk in an instant, which Dan replied with a slap on his face, and only one to be kissed by the end of the day. It's so silly how boys behave in front of a girl, or in front of each other without anything on their way but themselves.

Jack used to call Dan by piece of shit most the time, yet they were friends despite cousins. Try to understand... to this day, I'm trying to. The heart ain't easy to be understood, but same can't be said when it's broken. When Jack began to kill birds at trees, mom forbide him of using the slingshot, or ever attracting basilisks on that way. It was the first time mom called my brotehr by fool. She said something like a wise finds strenght on himself, while the fool uses another's strenght.

Well, Jack had Dan to use, and Dan on the other had my brother to follow, instead of its own. How he hated them, not because they were older, but because they began to live by themselves. Dan lost its father before I did, and knew how I felt when I lost my own. Then I lost my tooth when I ate bread at morning, the least of my worries. With the tip of my tongue, I felt, besides lips covered in cocoa butter due cold, the cavity where my tooth once stood. Soft, fleshy, pinky, and empty like the chair he used to sat upon, and the baby's chair with no more use other than bring a feeling of what if.

What if my father had been alive? If mom had been there to save his life? Or to say a goodbye? If something so horrible and meaningless can happen to anyone, what does prevents it from happening again?

Only men can shave their hair and become soldiers, while women let them grow and become something that doesn't have anything to do with death, but life. To be a Dragoon is to bring life, whether or not you do not live enough for it.

July 18, 1794

...

The grandfather clock at the hallway marks IX.

My breakfast was algae biscuits and frog eggs, one of the few signs of a cultural legacy resisting like the stones of a mountain. But even those are dragged down by the water. At the way to the Jugend inside, I saw springs, fountains, waterfalls of concrete... On a land whose rain is eternal, liquid people change of states at any time. I look cold, but warm inside. A red dot in the middle of a rainbow. A rainbow where only a few colours belong into, outside portraits of the dead, and old enough as dead warriors.

Aqueducts are spread across the entire kingdom, upon our heads and the streets we walk into, connected one to another like the sewers below. It takes a while to clean these aqueducts, with the risk of those who do it so falling from such heights. At least, they have something real to deal with, other than stories of burmecians being devoured by zombie dragons living at the sewers, or so they are said to live there.

If they really did, why my brother is still alive? Maybe he's lucky, or didn't saw anything at all, other than dirt outside its face, or Freyr's. A kind of homage for Jack to have given his son that name, I suppose. He doesn't look alike me, but rather Jack himself. Someday, that kid will grown up and wonder what he will be, instead of sucking its finger with the mouth. A bit of Jack, and a Dan that exists on everyone. Now, when I stand in here, there's only me, and lives outside who need of my care, that I shall be instructed how.

I know the basics of first aids, and by that, I mean covering wounds with something that do not let air to be exposed, and that manuever done when someone's choking. No, I don't know how to ressurect someone, outside thoughts. Speaking of dragons, they live far away from here, and I wonder how they are hard to be noticed. I mean, they are like giants, and we are so small, but an ant holds on its back a leaf ten times heavier than its own body, and some are know to devour flesh as well.

What a wonderful world...

And you know you are bored of same when you begin to think about water. The one splashing at the window, leaving drops sliding down together with the dirt.

— Nervous? – asked Hrist. Well, I should be. It's my first day, I have been here in this corridor, sitting on this chair...

— No – I said with the mouth, unlike what my thoughs said in mind – why do you ask? – I wonder if you felt the same as well, Hrist. If you began to taste the tip of your fingers like now.

— Been chewing your nails for a while – I said, while I noticed my legs shaking. I'm just a bit anxious, to be fair.

— What would you say if I kept them sharp? – the Hrist of usual said. As for me, though...

— Nothing.

— Those who faint do not speak, after all.

— You keep saying that I'll faint as if I had been awaiting this long to do it so.

— Who choose to be a Dragoon, Crescent? Deal with it – it'll be hard to deal with the likes of you, as it had been since childhood. I thought Dan was the worst, given his sense of hygiene, but he never treated me like this. Sure, he wanted me to be a boy, and fortunately saw me as the same.

Though, here are some cousins around that blame the distance and grade so they can kiss you, not in the cheeks or in the forehead. Skin doesn't have taste, this unless you are sweating, but the mouth, well... it has the taste you want to have. Whether it's meat, cabbage, sweat, ear wax, anything. I wonder if Hrist doesn't have any trouble with that hair when it gets insider her eye. I mean, there is a lot of it, enough to hide herself from this world.

Maybe she was inspired, and I can't blame me. I grew like this, just like mom. Someday, I'll die too, but that will happen later on. I hope... It would be very unfortunate if I took a fall and ended up in a wheelchair, in the first day! I wonder what crossed fingers mean, but they sure bring a kind of discomfort. It seems more discomforting for Ezekiel standing in that room, holding same pen all day along.

And Sir Fratley's in there too. Had him be able to see a thing, maybe he could help Hrist's father with the papers. Instead, they just walk, since one's hearing is better than another. Now, I wonder how come he'll train us. Sure, he can still do a lot of things, but... I hate to expect when you are so near of it. It can be a day,lLike a birthday, and then a relative gives you a pair of socks. I mean, burmecians do not wear socks, but gaiters instead.

To this day, I still hold on my first gift, at the tip of my tail. Besides my name written on it, the initials of my family, and an orange that will follow throught my life... guess I was lucky, not because I am the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, but a daughter who cared to be one. While I am lead astray by my thoughts, Hrist playfully rolls her tendril-like strands with her fingers.

— How long does it takes? – I asked to Hrist, whom presumably had been throught it too. Maybe not, given she's the daughter of the one who signed my name in paper. Fathers do anything to their sons, when they really care.

— Be patient, Crescent – Hrist saying it so? Okay... – besides, it won't take that long so I can make you shut up for real.

— Don't you think the way you keep saying it so is kinda annoying? – did she at least heard me, while doing nails? Hrist ain't doing her ears, taking the wax out with a spoon like the old warriors before battle.

— It's the fighting spirit. I have it on name.

— Your name doesn't mean much.

— Not alone, Freya – only a few times that Hrist calls me by the first name, as much as I can see her eyes, purple like her coat – I wonder what father had in mind when he gave me this name.

— Everyone deserves one.

— As much as everyone deserves of a home, which was granted to me by luck. Well, rats fled when there's an earthquake, but when the sky cracks at burmecia, everyone stands still. Not everyone, but a few... geez, understand?

— I understand very well how its like to live in a land without sun.

— A land that burns a few seasons in year. With the rain, it's like it's always summer in here.

— Mornings are cold and the white skies tell me it's always winter.

— We get used to it, Crescent. That's why many strangers feel sad when they arrive to Burmecia. They were so happy with the sun, and now that they miss it... well, why am I talking these things to you? They do not have any sort of relevance.

— When you have silence like this outside your head, anything said is relevant – well, we are just throwing words away, consuming time like an ice cream. You can't eat it all quickly, or else your head hurts, but if you don't, it melts. See, even my thoughts are melting...

— If you say so, Crescent... remember when it was fun to play patty-cake?

— You never missed an opportunity to slap in my face.

— And you to have a mom to spoil all fun.

— Was it any fun to hold hands and make a circle with your friends, then slap the hand of the one in your left so hard until he yelled a very loud 'OUCH'?

— Perhaps. This if you weren't the first one to leave the game.

— If you play with hot potato enough, you'll get burned – funny how much you try to say something, time moves at same speed in here, as if this corridor slowed down time for anyone who crosses it. A bleak corridor that makes you feel better for coloring past moments, even if there was no rainbow in the skies at all. I hear voices on that room, barely I can understand them. Are they talking about me? I did nothing yet but enlisten, sit here, share of silence with Hrist. But in the end, I hate it. A bit of silence is to be admired, but this is too much.

— Know what's burning in me? My butt – so Hrist agrees with me – I'm tired of sitting on his chair.

— Then why don't you stand up?

— Because I know that I'll sit back. Besides, this may be the last moment of rest before I make you drown in my own sweat.

— You are kind of dramatic sometimes, Hrist.

— Was it supposed to be a 'thanks'?

— Maybe – another ounce of silence is followed of my word. It's not the absolute kind, which would drive me mad for real – you were the one who laughed whenever someone said poo.

— Yellow chocobo – when Hrist said that, we stood quiet for a while, once again. This before we couldn't resist, but burst into laughs. Timid giggles of a lady hidden by a fan at first,who now echoed throught the corridor afterwards. The closure of eyes, hands in the chest, followed of an unplainable kind of agony, and yet we were still alive. When Hrist began to pull air into her throat, grunting like a pig, fueling our laughter further...

— Alright, quit the tomfoolery – this until Sir Fratley came out of its room, followed of Ezekiel. We ceased to laugh, as an awful silence disrupted by the rain outside the window filled in the corridor.

— Don't you have nothing better to do? – said Ezekiel. Even the echoes of before became quiet with his old voice.

— I know you are doing your best, father – said Hrist, who unlike me, raised the chin – meanwhile, we are just waiting to do our own best. Don't you want to see me in training?

— I cannot this time.

— Oh, please...

— I really cannot, Hrist.

— You never can.

— Almost, you mean. Remember last week?

— I don't even remember what I ate back then. I do not care, to be fair – but if there's something Hrist cares about...

— I have things to do, my dear. You know that I'm the least person who ever likes to sign papers, but who else would do it so in my place? That's what it means to be responsible.

— And to be old.

— Hrist... – while Ezekiel watched its daughter with a serious look, Hrist avoided it with a barrier of hair around her face.

— That's the true, dad. You had been put here because you have no other use in force.

— Even the smallest pieces of a clock are important to keep moving it on.

— With your strenght drained out of you like an orange whose pomace is the only thing left, no wonder you put someone younger to do the job.

— The true strenght of a Dragoon Knight doesn't come from age, but spirit.

— And the javelin as well. You do not even use it as it should. In your hands, it's just a cane with a blade on its tip – I thought about saying something, but better be quiet. I don't like when the world seems to be vibrating in waves other than the ones splashing at the window, making a shadow upon us.

— Oh my... why are you behaving like this? – for Ezekiel to have said it is the same as to ask why fruits rotten.

— So what? Are you going to ground me?

— No. You are too old for any punishment.

— Except this – said Hrist, whispering before she had something else to say. I know she had – geez, you can't even let your job aside for the Crescent here? It's her first day – is it? I did nothing, but hear father and daughter talk to each other, while I stood on my own. Guess Sir Fratley agrees with me.

— I'm currently doing whatever I can to not only make this the only day for Crescent to be here. I can't be everywhere, not even for you, Hrist.

— I understand – said Hrist, soon as her father went into that same room, closing its doors – but his name is written on all papers. White, yellow, green... even when I became his daughter, the first thing he did was to sign its name.

— At least, he gave you one – Sir Fratley said. He didn't followed Ezekiel to its room, but instead he sat in the middle chair, between me and Hrist.

— Except for a purpose. But inspirating be plenty of. All my life, surrounded by Dragoon Knights... barely a sight of father while he wore that helmet. Too bad you can't see me, Fratley.

— But I can hear very well.

— And smell too. Sniff sniff... Why haven't you said that I was smelling awful?

— I do not care that much about sweat. It means you are clean.

— Same for tears, but I haven't shed none – and by this, Hrist means that she'll make me shed my own. I know it because she looked at me with those eyes – mind if I show the Jugend here to Crescent, Fratley?

— I don't – neither I. Hope Hrist doesn't show me the training field yet. I'm still unprepared – you learned to crawl on this same carpet, did you?

— How would I know?

— Your father knows. He also cares for you.

— If he only said it personally...

— A Dragoon doesn't have preferences, Hrist. They speak for all.

— Yeah, right... see you soon, Fratley. Oh, my bad.

— It's alright. I'm used to this sort of thing.

— Whatever. Come on, Crescent – and so I got out the chair I was sitting, and hearing it all. Like Sir Fratley, except that he has more important things to do. To be a Dragoon is something important for me, and I have awaited enough. This must be the trial of patience, which follows me everywhere, not only when I am here.

...