Seravine - Chapter Six

Author's Note: Gah. So very tired. Who would have thought writing a chapter could take so much out of you?

On the bright side, however, so much effort has brought the longest chapter yet, and, to celebrate that utterly useless achievement, here's a brand-spankin' new thing I like to call the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly! Enjoy, folks -- yes, I am that tired.

The Good: Longest chapter yet! Oh, and, well, I don't actually hate this chapter, like I did the last time, so I suppose that's rather nifty too. Some romantic development as well, though it gave me fits to write it -- who would have thought writing Lloyd's thoughts on romance would have been so damn difficult?

The Bad: Yes, I don't hate it, but there are certain parts to it that I don't quite like, either. You should be able to pick them out relatively easy; anytime you come across a section that is written awkwardly, know, without a doubt, that I hate it with a fiery passion. It's easier that way, isn't it?

The Ugly: Clueless!Lloyd makes an appearance. Enough said.

Now, for my reviewers:

Avari, wind seer: Thank you! I am very glad to see that the more narrative-oriented passages weren't a spectacular failure. And I'm relieved you like the twist, too -- hope this chapter suffices!

jellybeanz225: What were you expecting? : ) I'd love to hear, actually, now that I think about it. Thank you for your wonderful comments; they mean a lot to me, I assure you. And as for Lloyd -- well, stay tuned. He's doing well against the jewel...for now.

Im that one guy: Webster and Poe, hmm? : ) I could only wish I was nearly so good as those two, but thank you for the compliment, regardless. My apologies for the grammar mistakes, of course -- just goes to show that multiple rewrites aren't always for the better, heh. And Sheena? Stay tuned. Yes, it is a bit odd that she didn't summon, and you'll find out why relatively soon. Not this chapter, unfortunately, but likely the next. Thanks for reading!

Kanji-Neko: Thank you! I'm relieved that I've somehow managed to keep all of the characters in-character thus far, to be honest, as it's much harder than I imagined to write certain characters, a blonde-headed Chosen in particular. As for the lack of the aforementioned Chosen and Zelos, well, yes, Zelos has been a bit absent, I'll admit, but Colette did have a moment in chapter four, I believe. My apologies for the seeming disregard of those two; while the problem isn't remedied in this chapter, stay tuned, as the much-delayed reunion is going to occur one day soon. : )

FireEdge: Don't worry. Better late than never, right? : ) And I'm very relieved you liked the ending, as, perhaps needless to say, that gave me an ungodly amount of fits when I sat down to write it. And if you love chapters, then you should enjoyed this one, hopefully, as it clocks in at around eleven pages, I believe.

Sining: Good to see you're still around; for awhile there, I was wondering if we'd ever have any more fics from you. : ) And as for how the monster turned out to be Chocolat, well, read on..

And I think that's it. My thanks to everyone who has read thus far; as always, I ask that you please review, particularly now that I'm heading into unknown territory -- i.e. romance triangles. They're made infinitely harder due to Lloyd's cluelessness, you see, and any input on that aspect of the story or really any part of the tale in general is much appreciated.

Oh, and one more thing. A previously unmentioned pairing is mentioned somewhat extensively in this chapter; at the risk of alienating a few readers I will say that I do not support this pairing enough to make it an active part of the story, so please do not expect to see it pop up more than a once or twice in the rest of the story.

Thanks for reading!

oOo

"Chocolat?"

Silence.

It could only be described as deafening; all at once Lloyd could see the tears along her face and the blood collecting at her ankles and the sickly white bone jutting forth from the broken skin, all pale and splintered, and slowly he fell back, stumbling, gazing blankly at his own swords, the blades glinting beneath the dirt, the edges lined with fresh blood. Everything was much too clear, much too real -- much too quiet, so damn quiet, and he wanted someone to say something, anything, to take away this pain, to take away this fear. A biting sort of emptiness had clutched his nerves and forced him to his knees, stealing all thoughts from his mind, all words from his lips, all except for a single line that absolutely refused to be pushed away.

I almost killed her.

Chocolat -- he'd almost thrown her life away with but the swing of his swords, with only the cross of his blades, and, god, it was a terrible feeling. A life was something so fragile, so precious; Lloyd had always know that, had always prided himself in knowing that, and yet -- he'd almost slain that beast without a second thought, with absolutely no regard for the flesh and the tears and the human locked deep inside, and that, maybe, was the worst part to it all, the realization that for the first time he could identify, albeit unwillingly, with Mithos. He wondered where that black line had been drawn, when he had stepped past the hero's naivety, when he had understood at last that there was no black and white, no good and evil, only pale gray and a murky red -- and something so very similar to panic had seized his heart and twisted, cutting his breathing short, and Lloyd realized, dimly, that he was coughing, wincing at the fire in his lungs and the crimson trickle trailing down his chin.

All at once Raine was moving, her footsteps fluttering out and about the corner of his eye, bending near Chocolat and murmuring, softly, running the tip of her staff down the pale skin. And quite suddenly Lloyd could hear -- could only just pick out the professor's gentle spell and the crackle of the fire dancing along the rooftops, and there was the wind, a hint of thunder in the distance, and his own breathing, shallow and pale, wracked still with heavy coughs.

Sobbing.

He didn't want to hear it; Chocolat's tears and her anguish were coming in great gasps that fell heavily against his ears, cold, alone, high and piercing and above the rest, such that all else sunk into a dull throbbing, only a faint murmur, set beneath the screams and the pain. Lloyd murmured her name, once, and brought his hands to his ears, screwing his eyes shut, and still he could hear it -- the lone cry in the background, raining against the red-rimmed fingertips clutched tightly to his head, and he realized he was crying, too, feeling so very tired. Desperate, he slid his eyes open, looking up through the pain, and he caught a single frightful glance between the folds of Raine's robe.

Chocolat was looking towards him, a slow and wild gaze to match his own, and Lloyd thought for one long second he could see himself in the black depths, could see the anguish written across his brow, could snatch a picture of his shadow fallen to its knees beneath only the plainest blue sky.

Maybe it was just his imagination.

But already there was this strange feeling, this terrified and angry chord struck deep into his heart, and then the emotion was coming at last -- and the world spun, fading, and still he could hear only her, her cries and her tears, and his swords still were glimmering, pale and red beneath the dirt, the edges bathed with blood.

oOo

"Richard?"

The word echoed against the shadows and he turned, slowly, sliding the dagger which had sprung almost instinctively to his hands beneath the folds of his cloak. "Oberion," he said, stepping into the sunlight, letting the hood fall back from his face.

The man blanched, falling a step back, pawing almost nervously at the gaping socket of his left eye. "By the gods," he said, with an expression of wonder carved into the lines thrown about his face. "Haven't laid eyes on you in ten years."

Richard merely nodded. "It's been a long time," he said, his fingers still wrapped about the hilt obscured at his waist, a growing sense of irritation and anger scuttling about the back of his skull.

"Aye," the other man agreed, quickly, swiping at the sweat trailing down his chin, the black-stained hands spreading only more dirt across his skin. "What brings you here?" he asked, needlessly, letting his gaze fall to the ground.

"My father," Richard said, quietly, and watched with a hint of alarm as Oberion flinched, turning his good eye to the side, falling back and twisting his hands tightly in his stained apron.

"Oh. Have you -- have you not heard?"

"No," Richard said, lowly, forcing his hand from straying out of habit to finger the white arc across his throat. "Tell me," he continued, striving not to betray the urgency to his tone.

Oberion turned, a bit, his one eye rolling to and fro across both entrances of the alley, and then he sighed, hanging his head. "He's dead. They hung him not two moons ago."

Richard stiffened, the fingers tightening around his dagger, and in a mere second the blade was out and pressed tightly to the base of the other man's neck. "That cannot be true," he said, angrily, digging the white tip deeper and watching with a grim smile as the blood fell lightly to the dirt. "I suggest you not lie to me, Oberion."

The other man squirmed, his eye giving great hint to his fear, his hands caught uselessly in the apron at his waist. "No," he gasped, avoiding the younger man's eyes, giving a slight shake of his head, "I tell the truth." Abruptly he exhaled as the dagger tip slid free of his throat, and he backed warily away, brushing the back of his hand against the skin in hopes of stemming the blood.

"It is as I dreamed," Richard said, softly, turning his gaze away, the fingers latched to the dagger pale and white. "Sylvarant?"

"Aye," Oberion said, pushing his fingers tighter about his throat, embracing the blood. "They delivered his body this morning." He gestured, silently, to the side, where a small crowd could be seen gathered in a dull circle.

"And the war continues?"

"Aye," Oberion returned, looking apprehensive for all of a second before moving to speak. "Richard -- what happened to you? They said you stole -- " he groaned, then, pawing at the dagger torn deep into his chest, grasping weakly at the hilt and crumbling to his knees. Already his apron was strained, carrying the trail of his blood, and his lips moved quietly, the one eye rolling back towards his skull.

"Thank you," Richard said, quietly, laying his boot atop the man's jaw, "for the information. I'm afraid I can stay no longer -- Gaoracchia calls." With a dull snap the man's neck was shattered, the head rolling to the side, and Richard pulled his blade free with ease, tucking the red dagger back into his belt.

He turned, then, towards the gates, striding easily beneath the gathering clouds.

oOo

Rain.

He was warm -- and slowly his eyes slid open, coming to his schoolhouse room, falling upon that window set against the wall. The glass surface was frothy and worn, hammered relentlessly with the downpour, and only every so often did a cut of lightning send its flash through the window, throwing his room to a fleeting glow. He was spread out atop the couch, settled comfortably into the cushions, and despite the screams of pain lancing out beneath the heavy bandages across his torso he stretched a bit, shifting against his pillow, feeling remarkably refreshed.

For that short while he could almost forget it all; for those rainy minutes there was only a pleasant blankness about his mind, a dull edge to his thoughts, and it seemed such a blessing, really, to lay there beneath the blanket and listen to the wind just beyond the window. He felt so alive, then, resting with a smile -- but already it was trickling back, already the memories were rolling in, of a black-tinted dream and the red-stained dirt, and he wondered, with a flittering despair, if such powerful rain could ever hope to wash away the fire and the pain that had come to cloak Iselia's very name.

Gradually, he became aware of a warm weight settled atop his stomach, and slowly his eyes dropped to a familiar mass of blonde hair set out atop his blanket. Colette. She had fallen asleep, somehow, slouched forward in her chair, her arms serving a makeshift pillow just above his waist, her face turned towards his. She had a hint of pallor, there, to her lips, and yet she still slumbered soundly, seemingly mindless of the storm raging its way just outside.

Something like guilt crashed about his gut when she writhed, suddenly, her eyelids fluttering and a look of fear flashing across her face. "No, Lloyd," she murmured, and her tone spoke only of pain and regret, and still she was shaking her head, slowly, her entire frame quivering. "No! You don't have to! This isn't -- "

"Colette," he said, softly, closing his eyes for only a moment. It was still raining -- and another great clap of thunder sounded overhead, rattling the window in its frame, and she was stirring, still, shifting atop his blanket. Reaching a brightly-bandaged hand towards her, he brushed away the hair scattered atop her forehead, wondering if he should wake her. And nearly on cue her eyes slid open, and she smiled, almost drifting away again, until she sat up with a start, blinking and rubbing furiously at her eyes.

"Lloyd!" she said, moving to seize his hand, mindful of the thick bandages, her eyes wide and bright. "I'm so glad you're awake -- oh, I was so worried! We should have been there, all of us, and I was so scared we were going to be too late -- "

"Hey," he said, softly, cutting in. "It's okay." And he hated the words the moment they left his mouth -- simply because it wasn't okay, not by any stretch of the means, though Colette seemed to understand regardless. He wanted to ask, maybe, about Chocolat, or Sheena, or the townspeople -- anything, really, to keep him from wandering too deeply into his own thoughts, to keep him from thinking too deeply into what happened, but no words came to mind, and he could only settle back with a sigh, watching her through lidded eyes. "Nice weather," he managed, at last, and almost smiled as a burst of thunder rolled somewhere overhead.

Colette frowned, at least momentarily. "I hate storms. They always frighten the children."

Lloyd took note of the reflective glint to her eyes. "How's teaching going?" he asked, not feigning any great interest, though immensely relieved at the opportunity for small talk.

"Great!" Colette said, with a warm smile, and for the first time Lloyd noticed the ink smudge brushed across her chin. "Oh, I haven't seen any of my students in so long. Do you think they miss me? I think I can understand why Raine was so dedicated to her job, you know."

"A bit too dedicated, if you ask me."

"Hush, Lloyd," Colette said, taking his indignant look in stride. "It's been hard to tell them the truth about Cruxis and everything -- some don't believe it. And the parents aren't helping." Something similar to disappointment flittered across her face. "Even as Chosen I never realized just how heavily people rely on the old stories; some of my kids still don't believe me, even now, when I try so hard to show them the truth."

"The truth," Lloyd echoed, letting the word fall short beneath the rhythm of the rain along the window. Eventually he looked to her, flexing the stiff fingers still clutched in her hand, wincing in the pain that ran along his skin. She was a strange shade of gray in the sporadic light; on occasion, when the lightning touched just outside the glass, her eyes would be bright and blue, shining in the fleeting brilliance -- and then, when the room fell back to darkness, they were only black, such that he could scarce see his own reflection. "Tell me something, Colette," he said, only just noticing how very strange his voice rang against the distant wind. "Have I changed?"

She said nothing for a long while, only watching him with a blank sort of speculation, and then at last shook her head, closing her eyes for just a moment. "No," she said, though the word was soft and weak. "You'll always be Lloyd to me."

"Not at all?" Lloyd persisted, pulling his hand back, feeling a remote tremble of anger. "Tell me the truth," he said, still staring at her, half-afraid of the answer. He knew this was strange, that no good could came of asking, but he had to know, he had to be sure --

"No!" Colette said, more fiercely this time, and in the ensuing flash of lightning he could see a quirk of something -- confusion? -- written into her brow. "You're still Lloyd!" Seeking out his hand once more, she brought to her own, holding it gently, her murmur almost lost to his ears. "Why are you doing this?"

Lloyd let loose a heavy sigh and leaned back, sinking further into the cushions, shutting his eyes and, at least for the second, not bothering to ponder any great answer. He knew there were no words for his fear; no simple line could ever hope to tell just why he had pressed her, just why he was starting to lose that fragile faith in his own conceptions of right and wrong. "How's Chocolat?" he asked, instead, eyes still shut, listening only to her breathing and the rhythm of the storm.

That familiar warm weight settled atop his stomach, again, and he cracked open an eye to find her staring back at him, her brow furrowed and a deeply thoughtful look set into her frown. "She'll be okay, I think."

"Well, that's good," Lloyd said, not feeling anything at least vaguely similar to relief, not yet, at least. What else?

"Raine's not sure if she'll ever be able to walk again."

There we go. Lloyd said nothing, initially, only letting loose a breath he wasn't even aware he had held, his mind falling to the twin swords sitting innocently atop a table nearby. The edges were clean, at last -- but still he could feel with a frightening alarm that sick satisfaction in tearing the thick muscle in two, and still he could see how darkly the swords had shone in the fading sun. Chocolat -- crippled? He liked to think it was surreal; it seemed so odd, beneath the blanket and the warmth, listening to the thunder and the cold, that there could be that brown-haired girl not a few rooms over, that yellow dress splashed about with red, and still the fault was his -- there was no one that could take this blame, no one to shoulder his regret, and, for that matter, she had nearly died, too, torn between his blades.

"Raine did her best -- but magic can't cure everything, I guess."

No, Lloyd thought, somewhat brokenly, it can't. Or I'd still have Dad. His throat burned -- and he opened his eyes, meeting her own, blinking in unshed tears. "It's my fault, isn't it?" he asked, not really caring for the answer, not even sure why he was asking.

Colette merely looked at him, not answering, at first, her arms still serving as a makeshift pillow atop his blanket. "I used to think," she began, slowly, "back when I still Chosen, that it was my fault that Sylvarant suffered. Not much of a Chosen, huh? I couldn't give myself up for everyone -- for the good of everyone in our world. But you taught me, Lloyd, that feeling sorry for yourself didn't matter. You taught me that the only important thing was what you did to make up for it, because, in the end, that's all that everyone will remember."

His voice was hoarse. "What if you can't forget?" What if you don't deserve to?

"Then don't," Colette said, still looking only at him. "That's easy enough, right?"

Lloyd nodded, slowly, knowing she was right -- it was a simple thing, really, something he had always known, from that moment he had been exiled from Iselia and vowed to do everything possible in his power to make amends. And almost instinctively his gaze slid back to the window, where the rain was still draped in great sheets across the village, and that surge of guilt came running back -- Did I ever do it? Did I ever make amends?

So much had happened, yes, and so much had fallen, and amidst it all Lloyd could not help but wonder what would have occurred if he had never come back, if he had stayed away, had kept on with the Exspheres -- and already that time seemed so very long ago, years, maybe, when he had been alone on the road. It seemed such a distant thing, so small, so unimportant, finding all of those spheres, saving those souls, given all that had come to pass, given all of those dark days that had already slipped away -- and then he was torn abruptly from his thoughts when Colette shifted, lifting herself up and standing straight, stretching, before moving a bit closer.

"Colette, what -- " he began, and fell abruptly silent when she bent to place a light kiss on his cheek; he was fairly certain a roaring blush had escaped across his skin.

Colette stepped back, showing a bright smile. "Don't worry about it, Lloyd," she said, all innocent and happy, and then she moved to the door, stopping just at the doorframe. "Get better, okay?"

Lloyd snapped free of his stupor for just a moment. "W-wait!" he said, louder than he had intended, and when she turned and everything was silent he realized that he had absolutely no idea what to say. "Uh," he began, thinking quickly, seizing at once the first idea to crawl to mind. "How's Sheena?"

And there, again -- the rain danced and the lightning cracked, once, and then left the room altogether, submerging it in darkness, and suddenly Colette's eyes were blank in the newfound shadows. "She's fine," she said, and left the room, then, without a backward glance.

"Oh," Lloyd said, to the empty doorway. He was alone, again, all at once remarkably confused, not having the slightest idea as to what had just happened. She kissed me? Yes -- that much was obvious, given the way his cheeks still burned and an altogether strange tingling had draped itself about the spot. Lloyd realized, somewhat belatedly, that his understanding of girls in general had managed to slip yet another notch; he had certainly never prided himself on knowing how to act around the opposite sex, no matter how long he had been around Zelos, and yet the idea of asking the Idiot Chosen was simultaneously embarrassing and terrifying, given that he didn't quite have the faintest clue of what to ask about anyways.

And I made her mad. Also quite obvious, given the way she had only just shied from storming out of the room. Lloyd wondered, briefly, if perhaps there was some grand overall picture he was completely missing, some blazingly obvious answer as to why his friend had managed to confuse and worry him with only the sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. Maybe she's mad at Sheena, he mused, though it was rather unlikely, given that Colette seemed perfectly incapable of holding a grudge against anyone, utterly evil tyrants being the sole exception. Maybe she thinks Sheena and me are -- no, no, not likely. Because then that would mean she's jealous, and there's nothing to be jealous of, right? Sheena and me? Preposterous!

And, with that matter effectively settled, he turned his attention instead towards the window, hoping against all odds that he might perchance be able to focus on something a bit less terrifying -- the weather, for example, in this case the gentle cadence of the raindrops across the glass.

Preposterous?

"Damn," he muttered, sinking his head into his hands. He realized, feeling quite depressed, that he had only just managed to confuse himself even further, and moved to stand with a sigh, opting for a walk to clear his mind rather than trying in vain to catch even a glimpse of sleep.

A quick glance told him that he was at least halfway-decent, given that the pearly-white bandages wrapped about his torso more than made up for the lack of a shirt, and so, at least partially satisfied with his appearance, he stumbled slowly for the door, finding his muscles rather sore and unwilling to move, though that was due in part to the thoroughly annoying wrappings wound restrictedly against his skin. He hoped Raine was still up and about; she'd often professed to be a bit of a night owl, finding it an excellent time to study, and, with that in mind, he turned towards the library, thinking it the most logical location for her to lurk.

He found the room entirely undisturbed, with only the curling remnants of a black ash in the fireplace, and with a frown he fumbled his way back to the hallway, his footsteps guided only by that occasional clash of lightning in the distance. He was nearly tempted to unwind the bandages on his own accord, finding them rather stuffy, though he could imagine quite well that Raine would not be entirely happy with such a bold maneuver, and so instead he set back on the path to his room, stopping to peer at a nearby clock in the trailing light.

The hour hand told that midnight had long since come and gone -- and Lloyd realized, with a bit of a shock, that he had unwittingly slept the entire day away, likely within the plush confines of his couch. With a sigh he instead turned towards the kitchens, feeling his way forward with a bandaged hand outstretched into the darkness, knowing in full that he was far too awake to sleep and, somewhat unexpectedly, far too hungry to do much of anything else.

Gradually, he made it to the door, pushing it open with a wince -- fully not expecting to see a familiar face still up and about, in this instance sitting at the table with a bowl and spoon. "Genis?" he asked, somewhat needlessly, as even in the darkness the half-elf's hair shone with a broken luster.

The younger boy swiveled, looking guilty for all of a second before visibly relaxing. "Oh, Lloyd. I thought you were Raine." He waved his spoon in a half-hearted greeting. "What are you still doing up?"

Lloyd shrugged and moved to plop himself down at the side of the table across from his friend. "Not sleepy," he admitted, leaning forward a bit to peek at the bowl and instantly regretting it as the skin across his chest burned with a thick fire. "What are you eating?" he managed, blinking away the pain.

Genis glanced down at the food in question. "I'm not sure. It's Colette's, I think -- some cream thing." He scooted the bowl forth a bit. "It's pretty good. Want to try some?"

"I'll pass, thanks," Lloyd said, settling back into his chair, fully intent on swiping a bite when the half-elf relinquished his hold upon the bowl. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked, curiously, knowing the younger boy to be a notoriously deep sleeper.

"Not sleepy," Genis said, lightly, stifling a yawn with an admittedly exhausted grin. "Nope. Not tired at all."

Lloyd merely arched an eyebrow. "Right," he said, in a pseudo-agreement, pointing a wrapped finger towards the bandages around the boy's forehead. "That looks pretty nasty, you know."

Genis batted the finger away with his free hand. "And you sound like Raine, you know?" He set his face into an eerily accurate mockery of his sister's. "Oh, Genis," he continued, jabbing his spoon rather dangerously into the bowl, "How many times have I told you to watch out? You'll injure yourself one of these days, mark my words, and I won't be around to heal you!"

"Go easy on her," Lloyd said, softly. "She's family." She's all you have.

Genis simply glared. "You weren't even conscious when she was checking over you, or else you'd agree with me." The half-elf wore something like a victorious smirk. "Simple as that."

"Oh." Lloyd blinked. "That bad?" He glanced downwards with a newfound understanding of the thick bandages draped tightly across his form.

"Bad?" Genis mimicked, with only the smallest hint of sarcasm and a flourish of the spoon. "It was a nightmare! I'd repeat some of the things she said, but I'm too young to know such words, you see."

Lloyd couldn't help a small grin. "Brat."

Genis apparently chose to ignore him. "And Sheena wasn't helping," he went on, looking oh-so thoughtful, his gaze somewhere beyond the lone window, the reflection of the lightning dancing in his eyes. "No, not at all," he said, softly, and blinked, turning his gaze from the storm.

"Sheena?" Lloyd shut his eyes for but a moment against the whirl of images -- those scenes snipped from that one short moment only seconds after the monster -- no, no, Chocolat -- had fallen. And that tingling had returned, the same funny feeling he'd felt from Colette, and Lloyd promptly ignored it, knowing it would not do well to confuse himself further, opting instead to entertain the brief thought that Sheena was awake, too, likely unable to sleep, though the idea slipped away when he realized that Genis was speaking.

"Yeah, she refused to leave until she knew you would be okay. Ignored Raine and everything. Scary, in a way."

"Yeah," Lloyd said, absently, having entirely ignored a majority of the younger boy's words, finding himself in something akin to deep thought. Maybe that made Colette angry -- did she think Sheena was interfering? It was plausible, in a way, and even so a bit silly, given that he'd only seen the two girls on the best of terms not days before.

"Lloyd? You okay?"

Lloyd glanced up, distracted, shaking his head a moment in hopes of clearing it. "Yeah. Fine," he said, finding a straight seriousness to the younger boy's eyes that was uncannily reminiscent of his sister. "I think." He realized with a muffled sigh that his own words didn't seem entirely convinced.

"You were injured pretty bad," Genis remarked, closing his own eyes for a moment, the spoon in his hands lifeless for all of that long second.

Not nearly as bad as Chocolat, Lloyd added, mentally, knowing without a doubt his friend was thinking the same thing, and appropriately feeling quite glad when the half-elf seemed just as willing to avoid the subject. "So," Lloyd began, feeling at least partially conversational, and at least entirely willing to change the topic, "whatever happened between you and Presea?"

Genis, somewhat unexpectedly, looked entirely unfazed by the question, though his normal cheeky grin faltered for only a short moment. "It wouldn't have worked out," he said, rather dejectedly, letting his spoon droop miserably into the near-empty bowl. "We're too different," he added, more to himself, seemingly burdened in all regards with a terrible wisdom beyond his years.

Lloyd frowned, knowing there was very much more to the matter, and then finding himself uncertain as to whether or not to press the issue. He felt guilty, almost, for inquiring further, and even so he could not deny that he was growing steadily more curious. "That's not the reason," he said, eventually, pausing a moment to tug at the bandages atop his chest. "Do you honestly believe that?"

"No," Genis said, simply, and looked up only then, something similar to fear lurking just in the depths of his eyes. "But I want to."

"Genis?" Lloyd asked, questioningly, not of the mind to turn away -- not when his friend was blinking away a tear with his fire fallen from his eyes. "What is it?"

"I don't want to watch her die," Genis said, quietly, dropping his gaze to the table, the spoon clattering into the empty bowl with something akin to finality. The half-elf said no more, and in the ensuing quiet Lloyd could hear only the thunder, the frolicking rain, his own shallow breathing, and there, in the distance, the young wind's games as it rushed through the trees.

Slowly, he stood, looking this way and that in the darkness, until his eyes caught sight of a carton perched conspicuously on a nearby counter. Without a word he hobbled over to it, tucking it under his arm, and turned back towards the table, setting it neatly in front of his friend as he passed. Genis simply picked up his spoon and dug in, apparently finding great interest in the tabletop, leaving Lloyd to fall back into his chair and watch in the fragile silence.

"It's the same for me," Lloyd said then, choosing his words most carefully, "and Sheena and Colette -- everyone has to leave, eventually. How is Presea any different?" The question seemed to have some effect, at least, for Genis slowed his spoon and lifted his chin, a hint of his former cheekiness written into the corners of his weak smirk.

"I like you, Lloyd, but I don't like you. Do you know what I mean?"

Lloyd simply gave him a small smile, opting to forego any teasing at his friend's expense. "Yeah. I know."

"Besides," Genis said, a bit stronger this time, though still managing to look thoroughly miserable in the process, "I don't think she likes me." And, with that said, he sighed, once more the very idea of dejection.

"Can't help you there," Lloyd said, shaking his head. "I barely understand women myself." He had the distinct feeling that he never really would.

Genis momentarily halted his attack on the carton to loose a shrewd smile. "No kidding," he said, with an air of his former cockiness, though appearing strangely torn between laughter and sympathy in the scant light.

Lloyd sat a bit straighter in his chair, feeling rather offended, and, for that matter, infinitely curious as well. "H-hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it says," Genis replied, entirely too prompt. "You are thick, aren't you!" he said, sighing, with a look of worldly patience. "Blind, too."

"Brat."

"Heard it before." Genis waved his spoon dismissively. "G'night, then. You might want to go to bed. Raine would murder you if she knew you weren't resting." The light of recognition passed across his face. "Hmm," he said, furrowing his brow. "My sister is a paradox."

Lloyd, knowing there was no shame in retreating, and not having the slightest clue of what a paradox even was, opted to simply stand and head rather ungracefully towards the door, stopping only when Genis called his name, the word quiet and piercing through the shadows.

"I never told why I'm still up, did I?"

Lloyd merely smiled. "I think," he said, turning his head just a bit, "that I already know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Lloyd said, moving to face the open door once more. "I'm sure she's thanking you, Genis. After everything we've been through, all of the trouble and pain -- you still think about her, and because of you, she won't be forgotten." He paused for just a moment to brush a hand across his eyes. "If I had to guess," he said, "I'd say Marble's proud." And he left, then, letting the door fall shut behind him, his footsteps carrying him along the dark corridor.

oOo

Morning.

Lloyd stood, hesitantly, with his hand settled lightly atop the doorknob, staring quietly at the blank wooden frame. There was one part of him, likely the brash and oblivious Lloyd of so long ago, that wanted simply to slide the door open and step inside -- not a difficult task by any means, admittedly, though he was entirely uncertain of whether or not he wanted to face her; it was too soon, perhaps, and the wounds were still much to fresh, and yet he knew this would have to happen, sooner or later, and, at least for the moment, the former of the two had brought him this far, guided him -- there! Sobbing, gently, behind the door, the same sound that had pulled him down the hall, and with a determined sigh he knocked, once, rasping his fist against the wooden frame, and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Chocolat. She was laying there, bundled beneath the blankets, her head in her hands, wearing a ghostly pallor. In that second his resolve, his determination, caved -- again he could see her crumbled into the dirt, crying, almost torn in two beneath his blades, and, feeling almost sick, he turned away, drawing a shaky breath. Lloyd realized, much too belatedly, that he didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, not when the pain and the guilt was tearing at his heart and the fear was threatening to carry him away.

"I'm sorry."

He stiffened, turning slowly towards her, amazed and somewhat relieved to see the hands fallen from her face and two red-rimmed eyes staring back at him. He -- he had almost killed her, had almost stolen her life away, and -- she was apologizing? Already, he was moving, sitting in the chair by her bed with a sigh, not even entirely aware of the words falling free from his mouth, wanting only to push his own problems aside and help ease at least some part of her burden. "No -- don't apologize," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's not important," he added, quietly, and for that short while he almost believed it.

Chocolat sat straighter, abruptly, brushing at her tears, her words coming in almost angry gasps. "Yes it is! I took him away from you, I took away your dad, you should have killed me -- "

"Stop." The word was low, almost dangerous, and Lloyd was shaking, then, shutting his eyes against the strange anger coursing along his veins. That throbbing, that dull ache to the back of his skull, had returned, and again the buzzing was nearly splitting him in two, and he realized, dimly, with a growing horror, that he had this strange urge to do it, to take her from her misery -- and it was gone, in an instant, and his eyes fell, almost inadvertently, to the small pouch at his waist, the bag that he carried even despite the bandages still shrouding his form. "How did -- how did it happen?" he asked, tiredly, forcing his eyes back to hers, putting his hands to the side so she would not see them shake.

Chocolat closed her eyes, for a moment, and sighed, seemingly gathering the fragile remnants of her strength. "I -- I was in the Iselia Human Ranch when they put the demon seed in me. I don't remember how it happened; the Desians did experiments, I know now, but afterwards I couldn't remember any of it, not until much after I was freed. I went to Ozette with my mother -- "

Lloyd blinked, an image rushing to mind, and in that instant he remembered. "I saw you in Ozette!" he said, abruptly, thinking back; she had looked so pale, even then, before taking the ferry -- the boat to Iselia. "You took the ferry," he said, somewhat needlessly, turning his gaze back to her.

"Yes," Chocolat said, nodding, looking all the more forlorn. "I was hoping to find Miss Raine. I'd heard she had a cure for it, some spell that could destroy the seed, but when I came to Iselia, I knew I was running out of time. The townspeople said that she was out in the woodlands, gathering herbs, so I went to look for her, and -- "

"You found Dad," Lloyd finished, thickly, letting his head fall into his hands. He wanted to believe that he could have guessed it, that he should have known all along, but it was so strange, then, and so -- so unfair.

"I'm sorry, Lloyd," Chocolat said, softly.

He said nothing, at first, letting his eyes fall shut, and only a few moments later, then, and only gradually, did he look back up to her, watching her in silence. She looked so very worn; the once vibrant hue to her cheeks had faded, and there was a pale luster to her eyes, and he could only imagine, briefly, what was running through her mind. He wanted to forgive her, to move on, to say he didn't blame her, but he didn't want to lie, either, and instead chose his words carefully, only hoping she would understand.

"I'm sorry about your ankles."

She smiled, gently, and at last there was a hint of the former fire to her words. "Don't sweat the small things, right?"

Lloyd sought her hand, squeezing it, and moved to stand, forgetting the tears, at least for the moment. "One thing at a time," he said, somewhat gratefully, and, with a small smile, moved slowly for the door, visibly crumbling when it fell shut behind him. He leaned against the frame with a sigh, screwing his eyes shut, and it was all he could do not to cry, not when he knew Chocolat was doing just the same inside. It was too soon to forget, too soon to heal, but -- that could come in time. She knew it, and he knew it, and, for as long as that lasted, things might just turn out somewhat well when it all came to a close.

One thing at a time.