Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Character/s: Rikku, Auron and the rest of the crew in spirit.
Words: 418
Notes: For fifteen minute ficlets.
- - -
She'd never seen snow before Macalania.
She lived in a desert. It never snowed. It was hotter than seven kinds of furnace during the day, and cold enough to freeze a firemage's... well, you know, at night, but it never snowed there, even in the depths of its rather pathetic attempt at winter. So when she got to Macalania, it was meant to be happy. It was meant to be a good thing.
Instead, Yunie went to marry Maester Creepazoid and Brother turned up to ruin everything and Rikku was sad, sad, sad. They hadn't even had a second to make a snowman or have a snowball fight because Auron who was the biggest meanie in the history of ever decided they needed to move on as quickly as possible. Didn't he understand that Yunie needed to have fun? That she needed more time and more laughter and more, more, more of Blonder Than Usual before she was packed off to be married in front of all Spira?
And then they were running, running, running, and fighting, and hurting, and there wasn't a moment to spare, between running from Guado and running from fiends and running from Sin, and listening to songs so pretty they didn't deserve to belong to Yevon and running again.
She was almost looking forward to Gagazet for the snow, even though it was mountains and she hated mountains because there were always storms and (horror of horrors) thunder. And then they got there and there still wasn't time, and once they'd argued themselves raw with the Ronso and passed by the graves of a hundred Summoners or more, Rikku had almost decided she hated snow, for all the things that seemed to go wrong in it.
It was later. It was much later, when all was done and said and she couldn't change a thing that she took a trip to Macalania by herself and lay in the snow remembering cold fingers, cold lips, and feeling her happysadtears freezing on her face.
It was later, so much later, when she touched the hands of children with wide spiral eyes and realised her fingers were cold as snow these days, and she decided she would take a trip to Gagazet, and trace the paths that had tasted cooling blood and see where she stopped, where she dropped, and died clutching at the snow, thinking of cold, calloused fingers with a smile still bright and brilliant as the desert.
- - -