Fire Emblem 9 - Disgust
(The thoughts I had that compelled me to write this drabble will be tomorrow's meta post.)
Disgust (Fire Emblem 9)
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~600
PG for unhappiness.
Summary: Ike, Soren, and Soren's fears realized. Pre-A Support.
“Soren. Soren!”
That voice was unmistakably Ike's - and angry. Soren turned about in the hall with some trepidation. There he was, heavy footsteps against the ground, face tightened in suppressed rage. “Ike?” he said, in the only tone of voice he could muster just then: deferential, with that eerie calm coursing through his features from intimidation.
“You don't say things like that,” Ike said, blunt as always: straight to the reason Soren had taken his leave from the room stunned into silence, the reason Ike had chased after him and faced him in a far from private hallway. Soren had only begun to form an appropriately deferential response when Ike continued, “I know you speak your mind. That's fine. No - how can you think that about him?”
His voice was demanding, incredulous, perhaps disgusted. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Soren only found the courage to mutter, “I'm sorry.”
His apology didn't ward off the subject like he'd hoped. “This isn't the first time. That time in the fort in Gallia too.” When he'd seen the beasts for the first time in years, one with an awful temperament, and then the other one attacked Ike - “What is it, Soren? The laguz are our allies. We've been fighting alongside them from the start of this war. Why do you still act like they're our enemies?”
Because they were and always had been. Just like Ike had so far been providing, unconditional - forgiving. What was this before him? Soren looked away and gathered the energy to say, “In the future, I will be more tactful with our allies.” He turned, thinking only to escape this somewhere. In a vacant room somewhere, maybe. The fort was enormous. They had only spent a few hours here, and mostly in combat. No one would be able to find him.
The rage left Ike's voice. In its absence his tone was assured, commanding. “That's not it, Soren.” Ike had him by the shoulder before he could flee and turned him about. “It's more than that. Ranulf's my friend.”
It wasn't that Soren didn't know. But it simply wasn't something to be spoken. So instead he said in deflection, “You already have good friends, Ike.” As if to ask, Why would you need the sub-human's company?
“Why shouldn't I have more friends?” Like friends were a commodity. Soren, with his single close relationship threatened, crossed his arms and looked askance like it would make Ike stop staring at him, puzzling over him, rooting out his dirty appalling secrets. “I don't understand, Soren. Why would you think stuff like that about Ranulf? It's not like you were raised like Jill....” The words were out of Ike's mouth too quickly. Soren's insides clenched and his expression hardened. “Look, I don't mean it like that. Why do you hate laguz? It doesn't make sense.”
Soren wondered, Are you disgusted? but never wanted his question to beget its inevitable answer. A glance at Ike's face already told him more than he wanted to know: eyebrows pressed together, nose wrinkled, upper lip pulled to one side.
Some part of him wanted to explain, to lay himself bare and seek forgiveness and try (in vain?) to bring them back to how they had been before the war. Before the archives of the Mainal Cathedral.
The part in control somehow murmured “It's nothing” as he ducked and slipped through Ike's fingers and ran down the hall, ignoring Ike's demands for him to wait, wanting to be anywhere but there, ten feet from the banquet and faced with Ike's disgust.
Disgust (Fire Emblem 9)
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~600
PG for unhappiness.
Summary: Ike, Soren, and Soren's fears realized. Pre-A Support.
“Soren. Soren!”
That voice was unmistakably Ike's - and angry. Soren turned about in the hall with some trepidation. There he was, heavy footsteps against the ground, face tightened in suppressed rage. “Ike?” he said, in the only tone of voice he could muster just then: deferential, with that eerie calm coursing through his features from intimidation.
“You don't say things like that,” Ike said, blunt as always: straight to the reason Soren had taken his leave from the room stunned into silence, the reason Ike had chased after him and faced him in a far from private hallway. Soren had only begun to form an appropriately deferential response when Ike continued, “I know you speak your mind. That's fine. No - how can you think that about him?”
His voice was demanding, incredulous, perhaps disgusted. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Soren only found the courage to mutter, “I'm sorry.”
His apology didn't ward off the subject like he'd hoped. “This isn't the first time. That time in the fort in Gallia too.” When he'd seen the beasts for the first time in years, one with an awful temperament, and then the other one attacked Ike - “What is it, Soren? The laguz are our allies. We've been fighting alongside them from the start of this war. Why do you still act like they're our enemies?”
Because they were and always had been. Just like Ike had so far been providing, unconditional - forgiving. What was this before him? Soren looked away and gathered the energy to say, “In the future, I will be more tactful with our allies.” He turned, thinking only to escape this somewhere. In a vacant room somewhere, maybe. The fort was enormous. They had only spent a few hours here, and mostly in combat. No one would be able to find him.
The rage left Ike's voice. In its absence his tone was assured, commanding. “That's not it, Soren.” Ike had him by the shoulder before he could flee and turned him about. “It's more than that. Ranulf's my friend.”
It wasn't that Soren didn't know. But it simply wasn't something to be spoken. So instead he said in deflection, “You already have good friends, Ike.” As if to ask, Why would you need the sub-human's company?
“Why shouldn't I have more friends?” Like friends were a commodity. Soren, with his single close relationship threatened, crossed his arms and looked askance like it would make Ike stop staring at him, puzzling over him, rooting out his dirty appalling secrets. “I don't understand, Soren. Why would you think stuff like that about Ranulf? It's not like you were raised like Jill....” The words were out of Ike's mouth too quickly. Soren's insides clenched and his expression hardened. “Look, I don't mean it like that. Why do you hate laguz? It doesn't make sense.”
Soren wondered, Are you disgusted? but never wanted his question to beget its inevitable answer. A glance at Ike's face already told him more than he wanted to know: eyebrows pressed together, nose wrinkled, upper lip pulled to one side.
Some part of him wanted to explain, to lay himself bare and seek forgiveness and try (in vain?) to bring them back to how they had been before the war. Before the archives of the Mainal Cathedral.
The part in control somehow murmured “It's nothing” as he ducked and slipped through Ike's fingers and ran down the hall, ignoring Ike's demands for him to wait, wanting to be anywhere but there, ten feet from the banquet and faced with Ike's disgust.