KISS MEME: Drabbles / Scenelets
All from bottle_of_shine's KISSING BATTLE. Probably Round I, as I plan to write many, many more. >.>
ALL ARE RATED PG BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THE MEME. IT IS HAPPY SHINIES, GUYS. Seriously, go read them, for they are awesome!
Warnings: lack of italics due to direct copying from comments; overuse of PEE JOKES; inappropriate use of pie
ff_press, please ignore for now ;)
- - -
"I look stupid," Rydia says, and she fidgets again with the top of her dress in that way, the one that would have Edge peeking for another glimpse. Kain looks away - mostly to be polite, but also to avoid the temptation.
"You look fine," he says instead. He's the one that looks stupid, dressed in Baron's colors as if he'd never raised his spear against its new King. And he has a cape - he hates capes. He hates capes a lot.
"Ugh." Now she's kicking at her shoes. "How will I ever walk down the aisle anyway? I can't do this. Stupid Cecil and Rosa. Stupid kid."
Kain can't help but smile; she's so frustrated. "You didn't have to be a godmother, you know."
"Oh, shut up," she says, and slugs him in the arm. She's stronger than she looks, but not by much.
"Rydia!" Kain feigns injury, mostly to distract her and keep her from kicking the shoes into the corner like she did at Baron's last ball. "Now I won't be able to hold the child while they do the candle dedication."
"Oh, shit!" she exclaims, and then claps her hands over her mouth. The guard at the door is eyeing her. "I can't hold the baby," she hisses at him. "I'll drop it! I'll break it or something!"
"You should've thought of that before you hit me," Kain replies. "What will you do now?"
"You're teasing me." Rydia's eyes narrow, and she leans in, pressing her lips to his shoulder. "There," she says wickedly. "All better."
Kain raises an eyebrow.
"A kiss makes it better," Rydia says airily. "Now you can be the baby-holder for real."
The guards are looking at them funny, and Kain shrugs it off: he and Rydia will have to dance together, later. Maybe he can get her to step on his feet.
- - -
She'd never liked the wind in her hair, before. But before she'd worn it down, as if making a statement: yes, I am a woman, and I am still your General. Tangles had simply made her look unkempt, untidy, unworthy of respect.
Now, it did not matter; she could bind it atop her head without fearing for her image, or she could leave it down to blow in the wind, or -
"Celes, my dear," came the voice from behind her. "Your hair has a mind of its own, and it's keeping me from you."
"And you cannot fight your way past?" She tried her hardest to keep her voice haughty; once, it had been easy. "Some brave knight you are. I shall have to cut it off, then."
"Celes, whoever said you belonged in an opera house was obviously brilliant." Warm hands grasped her shoulders, and she leant into the touch. "You're a drama queen."
"I am not," she insisted, and turned to look at him; the wind caught her hair, blowing whip-thin tendrils into her own face. Celes laughed, suddenly and surprisingly, gathering the hair atop her head and out of her face.
"I am not," she repeated, once her mouth was free of thin blonde strands.
"You are," Setzer said, and leant forward to kiss her.
- - -
The bar's spotless-clean, but she's still wiping the counters. Something about the motion soothes Tifa: the ability to make things better, at least visibly, with water and soap and a little elbow grease. The rag used to be one of her tank tops - one of many torn too much in battle to be functional. There is a closet full of them, upstairs.
The tiny bell rings as the door shakes open, and her head jerks up before she can stop herself. Barret slips in, somehow managing to close the door silently. Tifa's still surprised at how quiet Barret is for his size - although she shouldn't be; Yuffie, while the smallest of all of them, is noisier than everyone combined.
"How'd it go?" She keeps her voice soft; he's here for Marlene, who's sleeping upstairs. If Marlene wakes up, she'll be up for a while, and he'll have to stay the night - and that could be either good, or bad. Or both.
"Fine," Barret says, his voice rich and just as soft. She feels a weight lift off her shoulders.
"They got them all out?"
"All but one," he says, his shoulders sagging. "Was already dead when we dug through, though. Said the bastard shot himself when th' roof caved..."
"Oh, Barret," she says, and drops the rag. He comes around the bar and puts his arms around her; she tilts her head up for his lips. The kiss is warm and safe and far too brief.
"I'm exhausted, Tif." He sounds it, too. "Could sleep through a goddam Meteor." There's a pause. "Mind if I stay?"
Tifa smiles into his shoulder.
- - -
It's funny. When they're together, they never talk about the past. He was the only one who remembered it, and she can't stop seeing it - they don't need to talk about it.
It's why they spend so much time together, Irvine thinks - they can talk about things other than the past. Neither one is asking the other for memories once lost.
It's why he pauses when one day, lying on a blanket out in the Balamb fields (Exeter close-by, because if something happened to Elle, there wouldn't even be dust left over when Squall was done with Irvine), Ellone says idly: "Do you remember that night we went swimming at the orphanage?"
He gets up on his elbow and looks at her. She looks bothered, as if she hasn't been sleeping well. It's this that convinces him to lean in, press his lips against hers briefly, giving comfort the best and only way he knows how.
"Now, which one are you talkin' about," he says, falling back onto his back. "The one when we were kids and Seifer punched Zell for peeing in the ocean? Or the one a couple months ago when we caught Quisty and Rinoa skinny-dipping?"
Ellone giggles, and falls back, her hair brushing his cheek. He wriggles his arm a little bit until she comes closer, resting her head on his chest. He snugs his arm around her and everything's right with the world. "The one when we were kids, silly," she says, her voice amused. "I couldn't - remember - how Zell got the black eye."
It's why they're so close. Irvine's the only one who'll be able to answer her - the only one who won't ask her why she didn't just look back into the past and find out.
She hoists herself up on her elbow suddenly. "Skinny-dipping?" she squeaks. "You saw them skinny-dipping?"
She's laughing, and Irvine is fantastically relieved. Her eyes don't look nearly so empty. "Just a peek - c'mon, darling, what man could resist it?"
"You." Ellone's eyes narrow playfully. "You're horrible!"
Irvine pulls her down for another kiss.
- - -
"The new roof looks nice, Seifer," Zell says through a mouthful of pie.
Seifer snorts. "I know it's hard for you to imagine, Dincht, but some men do know how to use a hammer and some nails."
"I do too know how, you shit, and that's not what I meant." Something hits him in the eyebrow; Zell is using pie crust as ammunition. "I meant it was a nice thing to do for Edea."
"I live there too," Seifer points out.
"Yeah, and you're clearly mister home repair expert," Zell says. He's laughing around a mouthful. "You had to call me to come fix your toilet, remember, man, you were without it for a week - I bet you had to pee in the..." He pauses in horror. "Please tell me you didn't pee on this beach."
Seifer leans back into the sand; he's almost uncomfortably full, and warm, as if he's drunk - but not on alcohol. He's drunk on Ma Dincht's homemade cherry pie.
"I guess you wouldn't be lying here if you peed on the beach." Zell reaches this conclusion as if it makes perfect sense, and stuffs another bite of pie into his mouth.
"Dincht, can you shut up for just one minute. I'm currently comatose from your mother's fucking amazing pie. It amazes me how a brilliant woman like that had a son like you."
"It is good, isn't it?" He can tell Zell's grinning with his mouth full. "Dude, there's like a whole half a pie left. You should eat it."
"I honestly think it would kill me." Seifer spreads his hands into the sand; it's still slightly warm. "Death by pie. I don't think I could bear to be done in by a member of the Dincht family."
"Is that all I have to do?" Suddenly Zell's right there, in his face, one hand full of what looks suspiciously like a handful of pie. "The great Seifer Almasy's one weakness? Ha, ha, if only I'd known it was this easy," and his other hand is suddenly flat on Seifer's forehead, holding him down. It's surprisingly sticky, like Zell eats with his fingers.
"Don't touch me with that," Seifer warns, but it's already too late; Zell's pressing the fistful of pie into his mouth, and laughing, and this is all kinds of gross. Seifer wriggles, sits up; grabs a handful of the pie off of his cheek and dives at Zell. They fall backwards into the sand.
He grinds the cherry filling into Zell's hair with relish. "Hey, dude, watch the hair, that is so not cool," Zell yells, wriggling underneath him. Zell's sticky hand presses against his face, again, and Seifer loses his balance and rolls over onto his back.
Zell's hair is sticking out at some almost unbelievable angle. "You suck," Zell says, and leans down, pressing cherry-flavored lips to Seifer's. Zell tastes almost as good as the pie, which is surprising. His tongue flicks out and Seifer wonders whether Zell's kissing, or looking for leftovers. In that short moment, Zell pulls away and hits him with another faceful of pie.
Seifer groans. Zell's laughing: "Ha, you fell for it, you total moron." Seifer tries to wipe his face clean with grubby hands, comes away with two handfuls of crumbled pie remains - and he knows exactly where it's going.
"Look how much pie you wasted, Dincht," he says, rounding on Zell. "I was going to eat that -" and he tackles Zell into the sand.
- - -
Ellone wakes up from the nightmare with her heart pounding and clenched like she's back in Time Compression all over again.
There's a light knocking at the door. By this point, she should expect it, but it always surprises and pleases her when it happens. She gets out of bed, placing her feet into the waiting slippers, As she crosses the room, she breathes deeply, trying to soothe the panic.
She opens the door and Rinoa comes in without words. It's like this between them. Rinoa looks at her - and Ellone's sure she looks a mess, disheveled and panting as if she'd been chased. She has been, in a way.
"I heard you," Rinoa says, finally, after the silence has fallen back over the room like dust.
"I'm sorry," Ellone says miserably. "If I could stop, I would, but you know, when I'm sleeping -"
"It's okay," Rinoa says, her voice surprisingly soothing. "Come on, let's get back in bed. Or do you want a drink or something?"
Ellone shakes her head violently; this dream was about drowning, being inside someone's head as they - "I'm sorry, Rinoa," she croaks. "I don't mean to always - to pick you -"
"I'm the Sorceress," Rinoa says, her smile light and forgiving. "When you're dreaming, the power finds me, first. It's okay." She bites her lip. "Sometimes I ...draw it. Better me than ...someone else, you know?"
Ellone leans forward, kissing Rinoa on the lips softly, like a gift. "Thank you," she says softly.
Rinoa looks at her, eyes deep, and says nothing. Everyone had nightmares for a while - Ellone and Rinoa are the only two who still have them, three years later.
Ellone lets Rinoa lead her back to bed; lets the other girl put warm arms around her. Rinoa is like a guardian: Sorceress magic, somehow, keeps the nightmares away.
"Just don't tell Squall," Ellone says softly as Rinoa curls around her.
Rinoa chuckles, kissing Ellone on the cheek. "Don't worry," she says.
- - -
The boat tips again, and Ellone grabs the table - which turns out to be a bad idea, because the table isn't attached to anything, and it slides along with her across the room and into the other wall. She manages to grab the window, this time - at least that won't move.
Thunder crashes outside, louder than a spell.
The door slams open, and Watts comes running in - well, half-running, because the boat tips again and he falls onto his rear.
"It's just a storm, miss," he says, hasty, standing up almost instantly and brushing himself off. The boat doesn't like this; it tips, higher this time, and Watts comes sliding into the corner closest to her. Lightning flashes, illuminating him as he tumbles across the floor.
He looks up at her. "We're going to be okay." His face is pale and white.
Ellone crouches down and reaches her hand out to him. "The Centran coast can get pretty bad," she says reassuringly. "I've been in storms like this before - it'll be okay."
Watts grabs her hand; his own is clammy. "I - I'm sure it'll be alright, miss," he says: as if he's comforting her.
There is another loud crash of thunder, followed almost instantly by the flash-flash-flash of repeated lightning, and the boat swerves suddenly. Watts skids, ends up clutching half the windowsill and Ellone's right thigh. Her grip fails; they fall half to the floor.
"We're gonna die, miss," Watts says. He's groaning. Ellone wonders about his other half - the one with the real stomach problems. Where is he?
"We'll be okay," she says, although now she's starting to get worried herself. "I've been on this ship for a while - we always make it through."
Lightning flashes. "Can I kiss you?"
The question is followed by momentous thunder and the boat pitching and the ominous slide of the table. "What?" Ellone asks, sure she's misheard.
"I - I mean, if we die," and now Watts is babbling, his grip transferred to the leg of the plastic table, "I'd rather have kissed you first, if it's okay, miss."
Ellone is sure there is a much better time and place for this, but she smiles a little anyway. "I - of course," she says, her voice surprisingly steady.
Thunder crashes like a warning, and they both go tumbling across the floor, stopping mid-way as the boat rights itself. "Right, sir," Watts says absently, and leans down as if he's terrified. His lips are surprisingly warm, and Ellone is shocked as the waters are momentarily still.
Then the boat pitches again, and there's a shout from outside; Watts tries to scramble upright and steps on her hand.
"We'll be okay," Ellone repeats.
- - -
The mists around him are agitated, and Vossler shifts his grip on the broadsword (he had not expected to wake with Nightmare still in hand) as he walks (he had not expected to still be walking, either). He does not know where he is. The mist - or is it Mist? he cannot tell - is all he can see, mist and bare ground. He had not expected to wake, at all.
Something shifts before him, and he picks out the dark line of a figure. It is unmistakeably a human shape - and just as unmistakeably sporting armor. Vossler slows, eyeing the figure; it is both familiar and not.
"What is this place?" The voice from behind the helm is deep, but unmistakeably - female. "Who are you, and what do you know of it?"
Vossler is more surprised to hear speech in this place than he admits. The tongue, although short and formal, does not seem cruel; the lady in armor seems more bemused than anything. "I do not know, my lady," he says, letting Nightmare relax momentarily when he notes she appears unarmed. "I awoke here, and have seen naught but you."
"Lady no more," she says, and takes her helm off. The face beneath is stern, but again not unkind; there is blood on her cheek. "I was Drace, of the Judges of Archadia." She stops the words quickly, as if afraid of what might come after.
Vossler's ears hear the was, but he stalls. "I am Lord Azelas of Dalmasca," he says instead. The words almost ring hollow, as if there is no such place in this world.
"Dalmascan. Azelas..." There is a pause, and then Drace smiles; to Vossler's surprise, it is a pleasant smile. "I had heard tell you were dead."
"I thought I was," Vossler says; there is no point in hiding it. "In fact, I was sure of it. Yet I woke here - hale, and able."
Drace's eyes fall to his sword. "I thought the same," she murmurs, and then her gaze turns back upwards. "What is this place - purgatory for fallen knights?"
"That, I know not," Vossler admits. "But I would guess that we are, at least, not enemies in this place."
"Not enemies," Drace says. She begins to remove her gauntlets, cautiously, carefully, as if the motions are significant to her. One falls onto the soft ground, then another. The mist (or Mist) seems to swallow them.
Drace glances at him as if she can feel the question in his eyes. "Whether this is the afterlife, or no," she says softly and firmly: "I will not meet it as a Judge."
Vossler says nothing; there is a story here, but it is not his place to ask.
"Besides," Drace continues, "I have no blade. If this is a knight's purgatory... well, that is punishment enough for a start."
Vossler cannot help the glance at his greatsword, as he suddenly fears the Mist will strip it from him. "If you come with me," he says, "my sword will be as yours - if there are enemies in this place."
Drace's brow quirks at him. "The knight protects the lady?" she asks, and there is no irony in it.
"We are not enemies here," Vossler says gravely, and on impulse he takes her hand - now bare, somewhat pale and callused - in his own. He brings it to his lips - kisses it, softly. He has kissed Ashe's fingertips in this manner for years.
"I-" She seems at a loss for words, which surprises both of them. "Well," Drace says finally, drawing her hand back. "Let us see if anything else exists."
ALL ARE RATED PG BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THE MEME. IT IS HAPPY SHINIES, GUYS. Seriously, go read them, for they are awesome!
Warnings: lack of italics due to direct copying from comments; overuse of PEE JOKES; inappropriate use of pie
ff_press, please ignore for now ;)
- - -
"I look stupid," Rydia says, and she fidgets again with the top of her dress in that way, the one that would have Edge peeking for another glimpse. Kain looks away - mostly to be polite, but also to avoid the temptation.
"You look fine," he says instead. He's the one that looks stupid, dressed in Baron's colors as if he'd never raised his spear against its new King. And he has a cape - he hates capes. He hates capes a lot.
"Ugh." Now she's kicking at her shoes. "How will I ever walk down the aisle anyway? I can't do this. Stupid Cecil and Rosa. Stupid kid."
Kain can't help but smile; she's so frustrated. "You didn't have to be a godmother, you know."
"Oh, shut up," she says, and slugs him in the arm. She's stronger than she looks, but not by much.
"Rydia!" Kain feigns injury, mostly to distract her and keep her from kicking the shoes into the corner like she did at Baron's last ball. "Now I won't be able to hold the child while they do the candle dedication."
"Oh, shit!" she exclaims, and then claps her hands over her mouth. The guard at the door is eyeing her. "I can't hold the baby," she hisses at him. "I'll drop it! I'll break it or something!"
"You should've thought of that before you hit me," Kain replies. "What will you do now?"
"You're teasing me." Rydia's eyes narrow, and she leans in, pressing her lips to his shoulder. "There," she says wickedly. "All better."
Kain raises an eyebrow.
"A kiss makes it better," Rydia says airily. "Now you can be the baby-holder for real."
The guards are looking at them funny, and Kain shrugs it off: he and Rydia will have to dance together, later. Maybe he can get her to step on his feet.
- - -
She'd never liked the wind in her hair, before. But before she'd worn it down, as if making a statement: yes, I am a woman, and I am still your General. Tangles had simply made her look unkempt, untidy, unworthy of respect.
Now, it did not matter; she could bind it atop her head without fearing for her image, or she could leave it down to blow in the wind, or -
"Celes, my dear," came the voice from behind her. "Your hair has a mind of its own, and it's keeping me from you."
"And you cannot fight your way past?" She tried her hardest to keep her voice haughty; once, it had been easy. "Some brave knight you are. I shall have to cut it off, then."
"Celes, whoever said you belonged in an opera house was obviously brilliant." Warm hands grasped her shoulders, and she leant into the touch. "You're a drama queen."
"I am not," she insisted, and turned to look at him; the wind caught her hair, blowing whip-thin tendrils into her own face. Celes laughed, suddenly and surprisingly, gathering the hair atop her head and out of her face.
"I am not," she repeated, once her mouth was free of thin blonde strands.
"You are," Setzer said, and leant forward to kiss her.
- - -
The bar's spotless-clean, but she's still wiping the counters. Something about the motion soothes Tifa: the ability to make things better, at least visibly, with water and soap and a little elbow grease. The rag used to be one of her tank tops - one of many torn too much in battle to be functional. There is a closet full of them, upstairs.
The tiny bell rings as the door shakes open, and her head jerks up before she can stop herself. Barret slips in, somehow managing to close the door silently. Tifa's still surprised at how quiet Barret is for his size - although she shouldn't be; Yuffie, while the smallest of all of them, is noisier than everyone combined.
"How'd it go?" She keeps her voice soft; he's here for Marlene, who's sleeping upstairs. If Marlene wakes up, she'll be up for a while, and he'll have to stay the night - and that could be either good, or bad. Or both.
"Fine," Barret says, his voice rich and just as soft. She feels a weight lift off her shoulders.
"They got them all out?"
"All but one," he says, his shoulders sagging. "Was already dead when we dug through, though. Said the bastard shot himself when th' roof caved..."
"Oh, Barret," she says, and drops the rag. He comes around the bar and puts his arms around her; she tilts her head up for his lips. The kiss is warm and safe and far too brief.
"I'm exhausted, Tif." He sounds it, too. "Could sleep through a goddam Meteor." There's a pause. "Mind if I stay?"
Tifa smiles into his shoulder.
- - -
It's funny. When they're together, they never talk about the past. He was the only one who remembered it, and she can't stop seeing it - they don't need to talk about it.
It's why they spend so much time together, Irvine thinks - they can talk about things other than the past. Neither one is asking the other for memories once lost.
It's why he pauses when one day, lying on a blanket out in the Balamb fields (Exeter close-by, because if something happened to Elle, there wouldn't even be dust left over when Squall was done with Irvine), Ellone says idly: "Do you remember that night we went swimming at the orphanage?"
He gets up on his elbow and looks at her. She looks bothered, as if she hasn't been sleeping well. It's this that convinces him to lean in, press his lips against hers briefly, giving comfort the best and only way he knows how.
"Now, which one are you talkin' about," he says, falling back onto his back. "The one when we were kids and Seifer punched Zell for peeing in the ocean? Or the one a couple months ago when we caught Quisty and Rinoa skinny-dipping?"
Ellone giggles, and falls back, her hair brushing his cheek. He wriggles his arm a little bit until she comes closer, resting her head on his chest. He snugs his arm around her and everything's right with the world. "The one when we were kids, silly," she says, her voice amused. "I couldn't - remember - how Zell got the black eye."
It's why they're so close. Irvine's the only one who'll be able to answer her - the only one who won't ask her why she didn't just look back into the past and find out.
She hoists herself up on her elbow suddenly. "Skinny-dipping?" she squeaks. "You saw them skinny-dipping?"
She's laughing, and Irvine is fantastically relieved. Her eyes don't look nearly so empty. "Just a peek - c'mon, darling, what man could resist it?"
"You." Ellone's eyes narrow playfully. "You're horrible!"
Irvine pulls her down for another kiss.
- - -
"The new roof looks nice, Seifer," Zell says through a mouthful of pie.
Seifer snorts. "I know it's hard for you to imagine, Dincht, but some men do know how to use a hammer and some nails."
"I do too know how, you shit, and that's not what I meant." Something hits him in the eyebrow; Zell is using pie crust as ammunition. "I meant it was a nice thing to do for Edea."
"I live there too," Seifer points out.
"Yeah, and you're clearly mister home repair expert," Zell says. He's laughing around a mouthful. "You had to call me to come fix your toilet, remember, man, you were without it for a week - I bet you had to pee in the..." He pauses in horror. "Please tell me you didn't pee on this beach."
Seifer leans back into the sand; he's almost uncomfortably full, and warm, as if he's drunk - but not on alcohol. He's drunk on Ma Dincht's homemade cherry pie.
"I guess you wouldn't be lying here if you peed on the beach." Zell reaches this conclusion as if it makes perfect sense, and stuffs another bite of pie into his mouth.
"Dincht, can you shut up for just one minute. I'm currently comatose from your mother's fucking amazing pie. It amazes me how a brilliant woman like that had a son like you."
"It is good, isn't it?" He can tell Zell's grinning with his mouth full. "Dude, there's like a whole half a pie left. You should eat it."
"I honestly think it would kill me." Seifer spreads his hands into the sand; it's still slightly warm. "Death by pie. I don't think I could bear to be done in by a member of the Dincht family."
"Is that all I have to do?" Suddenly Zell's right there, in his face, one hand full of what looks suspiciously like a handful of pie. "The great Seifer Almasy's one weakness? Ha, ha, if only I'd known it was this easy," and his other hand is suddenly flat on Seifer's forehead, holding him down. It's surprisingly sticky, like Zell eats with his fingers.
"Don't touch me with that," Seifer warns, but it's already too late; Zell's pressing the fistful of pie into his mouth, and laughing, and this is all kinds of gross. Seifer wriggles, sits up; grabs a handful of the pie off of his cheek and dives at Zell. They fall backwards into the sand.
He grinds the cherry filling into Zell's hair with relish. "Hey, dude, watch the hair, that is so not cool," Zell yells, wriggling underneath him. Zell's sticky hand presses against his face, again, and Seifer loses his balance and rolls over onto his back.
Zell's hair is sticking out at some almost unbelievable angle. "You suck," Zell says, and leans down, pressing cherry-flavored lips to Seifer's. Zell tastes almost as good as the pie, which is surprising. His tongue flicks out and Seifer wonders whether Zell's kissing, or looking for leftovers. In that short moment, Zell pulls away and hits him with another faceful of pie.
Seifer groans. Zell's laughing: "Ha, you fell for it, you total moron." Seifer tries to wipe his face clean with grubby hands, comes away with two handfuls of crumbled pie remains - and he knows exactly where it's going.
"Look how much pie you wasted, Dincht," he says, rounding on Zell. "I was going to eat that -" and he tackles Zell into the sand.
- - -
Ellone wakes up from the nightmare with her heart pounding and clenched like she's back in Time Compression all over again.
There's a light knocking at the door. By this point, she should expect it, but it always surprises and pleases her when it happens. She gets out of bed, placing her feet into the waiting slippers, As she crosses the room, she breathes deeply, trying to soothe the panic.
She opens the door and Rinoa comes in without words. It's like this between them. Rinoa looks at her - and Ellone's sure she looks a mess, disheveled and panting as if she'd been chased. She has been, in a way.
"I heard you," Rinoa says, finally, after the silence has fallen back over the room like dust.
"I'm sorry," Ellone says miserably. "If I could stop, I would, but you know, when I'm sleeping -"
"It's okay," Rinoa says, her voice surprisingly soothing. "Come on, let's get back in bed. Or do you want a drink or something?"
Ellone shakes her head violently; this dream was about drowning, being inside someone's head as they - "I'm sorry, Rinoa," she croaks. "I don't mean to always - to pick you -"
"I'm the Sorceress," Rinoa says, her smile light and forgiving. "When you're dreaming, the power finds me, first. It's okay." She bites her lip. "Sometimes I ...draw it. Better me than ...someone else, you know?"
Ellone leans forward, kissing Rinoa on the lips softly, like a gift. "Thank you," she says softly.
Rinoa looks at her, eyes deep, and says nothing. Everyone had nightmares for a while - Ellone and Rinoa are the only two who still have them, three years later.
Ellone lets Rinoa lead her back to bed; lets the other girl put warm arms around her. Rinoa is like a guardian: Sorceress magic, somehow, keeps the nightmares away.
"Just don't tell Squall," Ellone says softly as Rinoa curls around her.
Rinoa chuckles, kissing Ellone on the cheek. "Don't worry," she says.
- - -
The boat tips again, and Ellone grabs the table - which turns out to be a bad idea, because the table isn't attached to anything, and it slides along with her across the room and into the other wall. She manages to grab the window, this time - at least that won't move.
Thunder crashes outside, louder than a spell.
The door slams open, and Watts comes running in - well, half-running, because the boat tips again and he falls onto his rear.
"It's just a storm, miss," he says, hasty, standing up almost instantly and brushing himself off. The boat doesn't like this; it tips, higher this time, and Watts comes sliding into the corner closest to her. Lightning flashes, illuminating him as he tumbles across the floor.
He looks up at her. "We're going to be okay." His face is pale and white.
Ellone crouches down and reaches her hand out to him. "The Centran coast can get pretty bad," she says reassuringly. "I've been in storms like this before - it'll be okay."
Watts grabs her hand; his own is clammy. "I - I'm sure it'll be alright, miss," he says: as if he's comforting her.
There is another loud crash of thunder, followed almost instantly by the flash-flash-flash of repeated lightning, and the boat swerves suddenly. Watts skids, ends up clutching half the windowsill and Ellone's right thigh. Her grip fails; they fall half to the floor.
"We're gonna die, miss," Watts says. He's groaning. Ellone wonders about his other half - the one with the real stomach problems. Where is he?
"We'll be okay," she says, although now she's starting to get worried herself. "I've been on this ship for a while - we always make it through."
Lightning flashes. "Can I kiss you?"
The question is followed by momentous thunder and the boat pitching and the ominous slide of the table. "What?" Ellone asks, sure she's misheard.
"I - I mean, if we die," and now Watts is babbling, his grip transferred to the leg of the plastic table, "I'd rather have kissed you first, if it's okay, miss."
Ellone is sure there is a much better time and place for this, but she smiles a little anyway. "I - of course," she says, her voice surprisingly steady.
Thunder crashes like a warning, and they both go tumbling across the floor, stopping mid-way as the boat rights itself. "Right, sir," Watts says absently, and leans down as if he's terrified. His lips are surprisingly warm, and Ellone is shocked as the waters are momentarily still.
Then the boat pitches again, and there's a shout from outside; Watts tries to scramble upright and steps on her hand.
"We'll be okay," Ellone repeats.
- - -
The mists around him are agitated, and Vossler shifts his grip on the broadsword (he had not expected to wake with Nightmare still in hand) as he walks (he had not expected to still be walking, either). He does not know where he is. The mist - or is it Mist? he cannot tell - is all he can see, mist and bare ground. He had not expected to wake, at all.
Something shifts before him, and he picks out the dark line of a figure. It is unmistakeably a human shape - and just as unmistakeably sporting armor. Vossler slows, eyeing the figure; it is both familiar and not.
"What is this place?" The voice from behind the helm is deep, but unmistakeably - female. "Who are you, and what do you know of it?"
Vossler is more surprised to hear speech in this place than he admits. The tongue, although short and formal, does not seem cruel; the lady in armor seems more bemused than anything. "I do not know, my lady," he says, letting Nightmare relax momentarily when he notes she appears unarmed. "I awoke here, and have seen naught but you."
"Lady no more," she says, and takes her helm off. The face beneath is stern, but again not unkind; there is blood on her cheek. "I was Drace, of the Judges of Archadia." She stops the words quickly, as if afraid of what might come after.
Vossler's ears hear the was, but he stalls. "I am Lord Azelas of Dalmasca," he says instead. The words almost ring hollow, as if there is no such place in this world.
"Dalmascan. Azelas..." There is a pause, and then Drace smiles; to Vossler's surprise, it is a pleasant smile. "I had heard tell you were dead."
"I thought I was," Vossler says; there is no point in hiding it. "In fact, I was sure of it. Yet I woke here - hale, and able."
Drace's eyes fall to his sword. "I thought the same," she murmurs, and then her gaze turns back upwards. "What is this place - purgatory for fallen knights?"
"That, I know not," Vossler admits. "But I would guess that we are, at least, not enemies in this place."
"Not enemies," Drace says. She begins to remove her gauntlets, cautiously, carefully, as if the motions are significant to her. One falls onto the soft ground, then another. The mist (or Mist) seems to swallow them.
Drace glances at him as if she can feel the question in his eyes. "Whether this is the afterlife, or no," she says softly and firmly: "I will not meet it as a Judge."
Vossler says nothing; there is a story here, but it is not his place to ask.
"Besides," Drace continues, "I have no blade. If this is a knight's purgatory... well, that is punishment enough for a start."
Vossler cannot help the glance at his greatsword, as he suddenly fears the Mist will strip it from him. "If you come with me," he says, "my sword will be as yours - if there are enemies in this place."
Drace's brow quirks at him. "The knight protects the lady?" she asks, and there is no irony in it.
"We are not enemies here," Vossler says gravely, and on impulse he takes her hand - now bare, somewhat pale and callused - in his own. He brings it to his lips - kisses it, softly. He has kissed Ashe's fingertips in this manner for years.
"I-" She seems at a loss for words, which surprises both of them. "Well," Drace says finally, drawing her hand back. "Let us see if anything else exists."