Disclaimer: Plain and simple. I don't own Jyscal, Anima, or Seymour. Or, you know, any of Final Fantasy X. I do, however, own the old Guado I made up off the top of my head. Not that he's something to brag about.
A/N: This little diddy is a birthday fic for my dear friend, Silvie. (FFnet authoress silvie-chan) She requested Jyscal, so I gave her Jyscal. He was a pain in the ass to write, but it's worth it. -hearts-
The noble Guado sat stock still, his eyes following the graceful movement before him. The talented old Guado in front of him sat before a crème-colored canvas, painting a one Jyscal Guado's portrait for the family wall.
Said old-timer had done Jyscal's father's portrait as a young man, and would probably manage one more heir before he passed away of old age. Still entranced by the graceful strokes, Jyscal fell into random thought.
He wondered how his wife and son were doing. He had sent them off to Baaj little more than a week ago, though that's not to say that he really cared. The marriage had been nothing more than a symbol of the Guado and Yevonites' recently-developed friendship, if you wanted to call it that.
Jyscal still hadn't figured out what possessed him to have intercourse with the strange Yevonite woman. She was rather dull, and not really attractive in his eye, but she had a sort of... inner beauty. He knew very little of what interested her, because he was normally too busy with other things to ask.
What he did know, however, was that she enjoyed flowers, occasional cooking, and she loved to embroider. Most specifically Seymour's robes, which the young boy normally picked at. He was also loathe to admit that he found her cookies and fruit pies quite good.
Jyscal's train of thought returned to the artist before him, watching as he mixed different colors to give him a sort of bluish-gray, which Jyscal assumed would be for his hair. The old Guado set down the brush and picked up a writing utensil to vaguely sketch in more detail before he continued painting.
The middle-aged Guado leader thought about writing a letter to Analéa. What would he write about?
"Analéa,
I thought you would be interested to hear that Maester Kinoc visited the other day. We had a few political problems to discuss, but he was more tolerable than usual.
How is Baaj? I've been told it's a quaint temple, and rather modern for being so far out from the Mainland. I assume that Seymour is faring well.
Signed,
Jyscal"
Oh yes, how exhilarating. Jyscal smoothed his robes and coughed softly, before returning his attention to the artist, just in time for the easel to be turned around. "Is my work to your fancy, Lord Jyscal?"
Jyscal studied the painting for a moment, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. "Yes. It will be fine. Thank you for your time."
The old man cleaned his area up and put all his supplies back in his case. "It was my pleasure, Lord Jyscal." He bowed as far as his back would allow him, and then let himself out of the room, leaving the canvas and easel in their place.
Jyscal stared at his portrait for a few moments longer, before deciding the letter idea was ridiculous. He had paperwork to attend to, anyways. 'What was I thinking? Writing a letter. How absurd.'
He gave a sad, slightly bitter smile as he stood and headed upstairs to his office. Loathe to admit, it just wasn't the same without Analéa around.
