Six drabbles (FFVI, multiple characters)
Title: Spectrum
Fandom: FFVI
Characters/Pairings:Locke, Shadow, Relm, Edgar, Setzer, Celes, Terra
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Shadow's backstory, and through the quest to regain Edgar in the World of Ruin
Summary: Various color-inspired drabbles for FFVI
Indigo - Locke
There is a shade that fills the sky after the sun has set, a soft-edged boundary color blurring the line between dark and molten gold.
He remembers it best as dusk in the mountains of Kohlingen with Rachel there beside him, warm despite the encroaching cold. And it was the color of the sky over Albrook before the departure to Crescent Island - the night when he sat outside, wishing but not believing that Gestahl's words of peace were true, hoping and almost believing that Celes had never been false.
It's the color of things ending, and Locke knows it well.
*
Pink - Relm, Interceptor, and Shadow
Interceptor is not a pet.
Interceptor is a sleek, lethal machine, bred from wolves and no less a killer than Shadow himself, and even that Imperial general keeps her distance at the sight of the dog's raised hackles and bared teeth. But the fact that Interceptor eats strangers does not seem to have interfered with the beast's willingness to lie quietly while little Relm scratches behind his ears, ties pink ribbons around his neck.
Still, even Shadow, watching now from the doorway, is not too much of a coward to acknowledge that the child had never been a stranger at all.
*
Gold - Edgar
Edgar bought the coin from a pawnbroker when he was fourteen years old, from a back-alley shop his father hadn't known existed. Real gold, the man had told him, with a genteel smile and a predatory glint in his eyes, and Edgar had shelled out the asking price without question, because he was young and stupid and that such a thing would come in handy one day.
He holds the coin to the light now, turning it over, tracing the crowned sillhouette adorning both sides. His father's likeness, though it never did look much like the old king at all.
It's not real gold, of that Edgar is certain. It's too light, it was sold too cheaply, but it has already proven far more valuable than true gold could ever be, and he smiles at the reminder that sometimes it's appearances that matter most.
He flips the coin one more time, watches it rise and catches it on the downward arc, not bothering to see which side falls face up because he knows it doesn't matter. Edgar Roni Figaro makes his own luck. In this world, he knows he'll be needing it.
It's time for Gerad to take the stage.
*
Terra and Setzer - Silver
Magic doesn't matter, Setzer tells her once.
It's late night, and quiet, and she's feeling the solitude keenly. She sleeps less than other people, unaccustomed to keeping human hours, human ways, and he sleeps less than anyone she's known. He sits, tossing dice in one hand, languid and effortlessly idle.
She isn't expecting conversation. He's never said more than a few words to her before, and those superficial, guarded. Perhaps this time the wine has loosened his tongue, or the night has, that uncanny sense of separation from the real.
“It's what you make of yourself,” he says, “not what runs in your veins. Magic isn't destiny.”
“I'm not a weapon, is what you mean to say.”
“Not if you don't choose to be.” It isn't often she sees him so serious, not on the surface. He sets the dice down, and then he's looking at her intently, eyes bright with wine and something that isn't wine, something wry and shifting in his easy smile.
“You're as human as I am,” he says.
She leans close, catches a lock of his silver hair and twines it around her finger.
“I wouldn't be surprised,” she says.
*
Celes - Red
As a girl, red was always her favorite.
A strange choice, her instructors thought. She was such a pale child, they said - snow in her veins, eyes the delicate blue of a glacial stream. She was made for winter. But red was the color of the blossoms that fell in the training yard every year, incongruously bright against the towering steel fortress of her home. It was the color of the tiny flames that Terra held between cupped palms, painting her skin in ruddy hues.
When Celes was sixteen, they sent her to Maranda. Red isn't her favorite color anymore.
*
Terra - Green
Terra's hair is no longer the color of new grass. It is white and grey, the color of clouds, her face a fine wrinkled parchment. Her hands are calloused from a lifetime's work, as much of it in the garden as with a sword. No one would take her, now, for a creature that had ever been other than human.
She feels heavy in this mortal body, tired, joints aching. Pine needles crunch beneath her feet as she runs, faster now, not stopping. The forest ends; the cliff is there, and the ocean. She takes a flying leap.
She flies.
Fandom: FFVI
Characters/Pairings:Locke, Shadow, Relm, Edgar, Setzer, Celes, Terra
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Shadow's backstory, and through the quest to regain Edgar in the World of Ruin
Summary: Various color-inspired drabbles for FFVI
Indigo - Locke
There is a shade that fills the sky after the sun has set, a soft-edged boundary color blurring the line between dark and molten gold.
He remembers it best as dusk in the mountains of Kohlingen with Rachel there beside him, warm despite the encroaching cold. And it was the color of the sky over Albrook before the departure to Crescent Island - the night when he sat outside, wishing but not believing that Gestahl's words of peace were true, hoping and almost believing that Celes had never been false.
It's the color of things ending, and Locke knows it well.
*
Pink - Relm, Interceptor, and Shadow
Interceptor is not a pet.
Interceptor is a sleek, lethal machine, bred from wolves and no less a killer than Shadow himself, and even that Imperial general keeps her distance at the sight of the dog's raised hackles and bared teeth. But the fact that Interceptor eats strangers does not seem to have interfered with the beast's willingness to lie quietly while little Relm scratches behind his ears, ties pink ribbons around his neck.
Still, even Shadow, watching now from the doorway, is not too much of a coward to acknowledge that the child had never been a stranger at all.
*
Gold - Edgar
Edgar bought the coin from a pawnbroker when he was fourteen years old, from a back-alley shop his father hadn't known existed. Real gold, the man had told him, with a genteel smile and a predatory glint in his eyes, and Edgar had shelled out the asking price without question, because he was young and stupid and that such a thing would come in handy one day.
He holds the coin to the light now, turning it over, tracing the crowned sillhouette adorning both sides. His father's likeness, though it never did look much like the old king at all.
It's not real gold, of that Edgar is certain. It's too light, it was sold too cheaply, but it has already proven far more valuable than true gold could ever be, and he smiles at the reminder that sometimes it's appearances that matter most.
He flips the coin one more time, watches it rise and catches it on the downward arc, not bothering to see which side falls face up because he knows it doesn't matter. Edgar Roni Figaro makes his own luck. In this world, he knows he'll be needing it.
It's time for Gerad to take the stage.
*
Terra and Setzer - Silver
Magic doesn't matter, Setzer tells her once.
It's late night, and quiet, and she's feeling the solitude keenly. She sleeps less than other people, unaccustomed to keeping human hours, human ways, and he sleeps less than anyone she's known. He sits, tossing dice in one hand, languid and effortlessly idle.
She isn't expecting conversation. He's never said more than a few words to her before, and those superficial, guarded. Perhaps this time the wine has loosened his tongue, or the night has, that uncanny sense of separation from the real.
“It's what you make of yourself,” he says, “not what runs in your veins. Magic isn't destiny.”
“I'm not a weapon, is what you mean to say.”
“Not if you don't choose to be.” It isn't often she sees him so serious, not on the surface. He sets the dice down, and then he's looking at her intently, eyes bright with wine and something that isn't wine, something wry and shifting in his easy smile.
“You're as human as I am,” he says.
She leans close, catches a lock of his silver hair and twines it around her finger.
“I wouldn't be surprised,” she says.
*
Celes - Red
As a girl, red was always her favorite.
A strange choice, her instructors thought. She was such a pale child, they said - snow in her veins, eyes the delicate blue of a glacial stream. She was made for winter. But red was the color of the blossoms that fell in the training yard every year, incongruously bright against the towering steel fortress of her home. It was the color of the tiny flames that Terra held between cupped palms, painting her skin in ruddy hues.
When Celes was sixteen, they sent her to Maranda. Red isn't her favorite color anymore.
*
Terra - Green
Terra's hair is no longer the color of new grass. It is white and grey, the color of clouds, her face a fine wrinkled parchment. Her hands are calloused from a lifetime's work, as much of it in the garden as with a sword. No one would take her, now, for a creature that had ever been other than human.
She feels heavy in this mortal body, tired, joints aching. Pine needles crunch beneath her feet as she runs, faster now, not stopping. The forest ends; the cliff is there, and the ocean. She takes a flying leap.
She flies.