First, I am very sorry about the length of time it took me between these
chapters. Ten left off at such a bland spot that I wasn't sure how to take
the story from here, so it took me a while. That and my art gigs are
booked! But that's a good thing. I promise I will try very hard to keep
this moving a little faster.
Second, I don't own anything from Final Fantasy VIII, nor do I own the characters.
No more delay. Here's the next installment, and I hope you enjoy this!
Chapter 11: Archangel
There were days when the sun couldn't have seemed any brighter, when the soft landscapes around town seemed to lazily stretch on forever and the clouds rolled by in easy, slow waves. These were the kinds of days that made children set up crudely constructed lemonade stands and attempt to pawn the sweet stuff off for the occasional gil, or a reasonable trade of equal value. It was the kind of day when at dusk, people would pause for a moment in their evening chores to glance out the window and watch as the sun sank lower behind the hills, rays of soft orange and pink filtering through glass as the rays slipped low between the houses. Those were the times Winhill seemed so much more, despite the now long gone monsters that roamed the premises. But today was not one of those days.
The autumn months tended to be chilly on this side of the continent, and this particular day was no exception. The sky was a dull gray, though it had mercifully ceased its onslaught of rain for the time being. Laguna frowned as his boots fell softly on the soft ground. Everything seemed wrong somehow. Even the silly pleasure he normally took in crunching leaves under his steps was dampened, the leaves too soft to make any noise. It was definitely a bad day. So why he'd chosen to come back now was a mystery, even to himself.
He passed the cemetery with no more than a sideways glance at her grave, fighting the powerful urge to go kneel at her side again. He wanted to go wipe the muck from her headstone, wanted with every fiber of his being to find flowers somewhere and leave them to honor her. But every time he got too close…well, the same thing always happened when he tried to get close. He knew well enough that Ellone was taking care of that part of it, and a wave of relief spread through his body as he noted how well kept her grave was. And there were flowers too, fresh ones. He allowed himself a sad smile as he passed the last of the cemetery grounds and continued on the muddy road, somewhat contented to know that Rayne was all right. She deserved to be watched over by her own angel, and Laguna couldn't think of a better one than Ellone.
He sloshed his way over a somewhat steep hill, the last one before Winhill came into sight. He knew this hill well enough. How many times had he climbed up over its surface to catch a glimpse of the small town before sprinting downward toward dinner? Slipping his hands in the pockets of his long jacket, Laguna slowed his pace as the rooftops came into view. The sight of this town always brought an onslaught of emotions the man wasn't sure how to handle. To be able to look, to watch as his past rushed over him again, to have to experience it all over again every time he saw the small tavern with it's sad patch job on top, the shingles jutting out; His signature, his way of saying "I was here". To feel that rush of pain mingled with such intense love, such intense passion that wanted to rip him apart. He missed her in that moment, just like he had missed her time and time over. He stopped atop the hill, the bottom of his jacket flapping against his muddy boots in the wind. This was as close to Winhill as Laguna Loire ever dared to come.
He gazed down at the people scurrying to get the last of their belongings inside before the next wave of rain hit, and he couldn't help but feel contempt. A generation later, nothing had changed. They still hated him here, even if their reasons were different. Hatred was hatred, and it was no better than what he was feeling now. Laguna hated feeling this way, wanting to go down there and have a fit, scream and cry and fall into the mud asking Hyne why she was gone, why they hated him so damn much. But it wasn't becoming for a politician to have tantrums. So he swallowed his anger along with the metallic taste of anger on the tip of his tongue, and shut his eyes. He couldn't look down there anymore, and he knew this would probably be his last visit. Year after year he tormented himself like this, like dangling water in front of his thirsty imagination. The torment had to end somewhere. Laguna almost wished he'd never been the type of man to listen to his heart, trust his gut. But as his fingers tumbled around the platinum band in his pocket, he knew that wasn't possible. Emotional and outspoken as he may be, Laguna liked that quality in himself. It's what made him who he was, and Rayne would have said the same.
His body wanted to move, but it took a severe boost of willpower to make his feet shift in the muddy road, and even then he didn't tear his eyes away from that tavern roof with the horrible patch job. So he shut his eyes against the wind and the rain that was beginning to fall again, and just this once he pretended his tears were nothing more than just that. Rain….Rayne…
His heart felt like exploding inside his chest, and for the first time he knew what it was like to be like his son. Alone, held in, confined. It was so opposite his own reactions that it made the man slow his pace and think on that. Like his son. The son who hated him more than life itself, the boy he'd run out on. His own living-breathing nightmare. Laguna believed he'd never known fear until looking into those cold bluish-gray eyes. In a way, he hated the boy right back, but not for being who he was. It was for being a reminder of everything Laguna had ever messed up.
And he knew it was coming. He'd have to live through all of that pain all over again, watch again as all of the things that ruined his life happened right in front of him. He knew it was coming, even without Ellone warning him constantly. He could feel it in his blood. He would be given the choice, given the chance to show someone what he'd done was right.
And even though it would kill him inside, Laguna knew that he would do just that.
Second, I don't own anything from Final Fantasy VIII, nor do I own the characters.
No more delay. Here's the next installment, and I hope you enjoy this!
Chapter 11: Archangel
There were days when the sun couldn't have seemed any brighter, when the soft landscapes around town seemed to lazily stretch on forever and the clouds rolled by in easy, slow waves. These were the kinds of days that made children set up crudely constructed lemonade stands and attempt to pawn the sweet stuff off for the occasional gil, or a reasonable trade of equal value. It was the kind of day when at dusk, people would pause for a moment in their evening chores to glance out the window and watch as the sun sank lower behind the hills, rays of soft orange and pink filtering through glass as the rays slipped low between the houses. Those were the times Winhill seemed so much more, despite the now long gone monsters that roamed the premises. But today was not one of those days.
The autumn months tended to be chilly on this side of the continent, and this particular day was no exception. The sky was a dull gray, though it had mercifully ceased its onslaught of rain for the time being. Laguna frowned as his boots fell softly on the soft ground. Everything seemed wrong somehow. Even the silly pleasure he normally took in crunching leaves under his steps was dampened, the leaves too soft to make any noise. It was definitely a bad day. So why he'd chosen to come back now was a mystery, even to himself.
He passed the cemetery with no more than a sideways glance at her grave, fighting the powerful urge to go kneel at her side again. He wanted to go wipe the muck from her headstone, wanted with every fiber of his being to find flowers somewhere and leave them to honor her. But every time he got too close…well, the same thing always happened when he tried to get close. He knew well enough that Ellone was taking care of that part of it, and a wave of relief spread through his body as he noted how well kept her grave was. And there were flowers too, fresh ones. He allowed himself a sad smile as he passed the last of the cemetery grounds and continued on the muddy road, somewhat contented to know that Rayne was all right. She deserved to be watched over by her own angel, and Laguna couldn't think of a better one than Ellone.
He sloshed his way over a somewhat steep hill, the last one before Winhill came into sight. He knew this hill well enough. How many times had he climbed up over its surface to catch a glimpse of the small town before sprinting downward toward dinner? Slipping his hands in the pockets of his long jacket, Laguna slowed his pace as the rooftops came into view. The sight of this town always brought an onslaught of emotions the man wasn't sure how to handle. To be able to look, to watch as his past rushed over him again, to have to experience it all over again every time he saw the small tavern with it's sad patch job on top, the shingles jutting out; His signature, his way of saying "I was here". To feel that rush of pain mingled with such intense love, such intense passion that wanted to rip him apart. He missed her in that moment, just like he had missed her time and time over. He stopped atop the hill, the bottom of his jacket flapping against his muddy boots in the wind. This was as close to Winhill as Laguna Loire ever dared to come.
He gazed down at the people scurrying to get the last of their belongings inside before the next wave of rain hit, and he couldn't help but feel contempt. A generation later, nothing had changed. They still hated him here, even if their reasons were different. Hatred was hatred, and it was no better than what he was feeling now. Laguna hated feeling this way, wanting to go down there and have a fit, scream and cry and fall into the mud asking Hyne why she was gone, why they hated him so damn much. But it wasn't becoming for a politician to have tantrums. So he swallowed his anger along with the metallic taste of anger on the tip of his tongue, and shut his eyes. He couldn't look down there anymore, and he knew this would probably be his last visit. Year after year he tormented himself like this, like dangling water in front of his thirsty imagination. The torment had to end somewhere. Laguna almost wished he'd never been the type of man to listen to his heart, trust his gut. But as his fingers tumbled around the platinum band in his pocket, he knew that wasn't possible. Emotional and outspoken as he may be, Laguna liked that quality in himself. It's what made him who he was, and Rayne would have said the same.
His body wanted to move, but it took a severe boost of willpower to make his feet shift in the muddy road, and even then he didn't tear his eyes away from that tavern roof with the horrible patch job. So he shut his eyes against the wind and the rain that was beginning to fall again, and just this once he pretended his tears were nothing more than just that. Rain….Rayne…
His heart felt like exploding inside his chest, and for the first time he knew what it was like to be like his son. Alone, held in, confined. It was so opposite his own reactions that it made the man slow his pace and think on that. Like his son. The son who hated him more than life itself, the boy he'd run out on. His own living-breathing nightmare. Laguna believed he'd never known fear until looking into those cold bluish-gray eyes. In a way, he hated the boy right back, but not for being who he was. It was for being a reminder of everything Laguna had ever messed up.
And he knew it was coming. He'd have to live through all of that pain all over again, watch again as all of the things that ruined his life happened right in front of him. He knew it was coming, even without Ellone warning him constantly. He could feel it in his blood. He would be given the choice, given the chance to show someone what he'd done was right.
And even though it would kill him inside, Laguna knew that he would do just that.