Fic: The Last Wall (Crossover FF/FF) (Kujerra Flashfiction)
Title: The Last Wall
(This is crossposted...IN SO MANY PLACES.)
Author: Railenthe
Rating: E
Genre: Romance (of a sort so sweet you might want to brush your teeth to avoid cavities.)
Wordcount: 991 (so yeah, only just barely flashfic, lol)
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off of this. All characters are (C) Square-Enix…
WARNINGS FOR: So sweet you will either get cavities or diabetic shock, if that bugs you.
Inspiration: Thanks to a certain kink meme fill, I’ve become a hardcore fan of the Ultima Siblings (as they are known on Pixiv). So much so that it on occasion invades my sleep cycles. On a happy accident, I wrote this down listening to opera…
The final touches had been placed on the short presentation, and the playwright put his pen down, careful to place it at such an angle that the ink would not damage the delicate paper that he had used.
“Are you certain about this?” the Jidoor Opera House’s Impresario had asked. “This seems just a bit…avant-garde,” he finished delicately.
“Calling something to be shown in an opera house ‘avant-garde’ is like calling dry-aged behemoth steak ‘gourmet cuisine’-merely stating the obvious,” the playwright answered.
“My point being that this is avant-garde even for this venue,” the Impresario clarified. “…and, furthermore, you’ve not provided any lines for your lady co-star! Is this some sort of a joke?”
The playwright shook his head. “I cannot predict how she will react-you see, this a bit different than what you are used to. This story is still being written, and even when it ends here, it simply will mark the beginning of a new one.”
Ai ya, thought the Impresario. Of all the diva-like playwrights he had worked with over the years, this one was especially perplexing. “Whatever you say. Just…don’t expect a standing ovation or anything like that. You are an unknown playing with the very meaning of the word ‘play.’ And patrons of this opera house are well known for being…a little uptight, to put it nicely.”
“Trust me,” the playwright insisted.
“Mr. King, you have been here long enough to know that I HATE it when people tell me that.”
“Yes, I know. But it is amusing.”
“…ai ya…”
_*_*_
The stage is dark, the audience silent save for the faint whispers of the curious and confused. The only lights come from the stage’s setup-glowing points of light coming from the lanterns set into the mock castle walls.
The girl had heard about the so-called ‘backstage experience,’ but it really did not seem to be as interesting as the ladies who frequented the Opera House.
And such a strange place to come, on his last day here…
Slowly, elegantly, the lights go up on the stage, but they don’t go up very far-the ‘castle’ facade continues to look as though it is bathed in moonlight.
A single voice rises over the gentle murmur of the audience, silencing them as it echoes overhead.
“My Lady Branford, where are you?”
It is clear that he needs her attention, but the formality is unexpected. However, Terra decides to play along and rises, walking onto stage to greet ‘Lord King.’
Dressed in rich gold and purple, he turns when he hears her footsteps. The smile that Terra sees has a warmth that she, perhaps a bit selfishly, cannot help but see as being meant for her and her alone. “My Lord King,” she says, running with Kuja’s pattern, “what is it?”
The audience begins to murmur, most of the conversation centering on the elegant but minimalist striped dress that the girl wears.
The lights brighten ever so slightly, illuminating a circle in the middle of the ‘balcony.’
“I know that I came to you for a reason, and I know also that it was limited-far, far too limited,” Kuja says, just a bit too fast for the elegance of the words to feel anything but awkward.
Concerned, Terra steps forward, into the small circle of light. “What’s wrong?”
As if he hasn’t heard the question, Kuja takes a step back, out of the light and closer to the edge. “I know now that my plan was shortsighted, and now that our time ends, I am loathe to see its end.”
Something, Terra realizes, has come over Kuja-the man tended between the twin extremes of ostentatious formality and overdone vulgarity when anything strongly affected him. She follows him; the light illuminating the stage follows her.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Only what I must.”
The edge of the stage approaches. Neither of them appears to notice. The crowd begins to murmur again, a rumble of anxiety.
“I must go,” he says quietly.
“Stop!” Terra shouts.
He does not. However, the ‘balcony’ does. At Kuja’s last step backward, he leaves the security of the solid ground and begins to drift away in the air.
Terra-to the audience, the Lady Branford-follows.
There is a gasp from the audience as she steps off the edge.
But, like Kuja-to the audience, the Lord King-she does not fall. She clears the widening gap.
He catches her with ease.
Another audience outcry rises-the most daring stunt they have ever seen, the lovers now dangling in the air together.
“Will you go?” she asks quietly. Her hands rise to touch his face. There is an audible hitch of breath in the audience.
“I am supposed to be where I belong, and nowhere else…but only say the word and I shall remain.”
“Then stay,” she says.
“You will have me?”
The pair begins to rise together.
“I will.”
They kiss.
A thunderous applause rises from the audience as a shining light envelops the pair, swirling, obscuring them-and then they are gone.
A white cloud of doves erupts from somewhere in the orchestra pit.
_*_*_
The following day, Jidoor’s Opera House Impresario is hit with a deluge of patrons demanding to see the play again-but he is forced to admit that he does not have the script-but here is information on next month’s show, after all…
The moment becomes the benchmark upon which critics measure romance in operettas and plays. To be called worthy of the Lord King and Lady Branford’s embrace is the new goal to which playwrights and composers strive. Only a select few, in the audience that fateful night, know that the proposal that ‘destroyed every romanticist in Jidoor’ was real.
But everyone recognizes the pair as they enter the building for the winter premiere.
(This is crossposted...IN SO MANY PLACES.)
Author: Railenthe
Rating: E
Genre: Romance (of a sort so sweet you might want to brush your teeth to avoid cavities.)
Wordcount: 991 (so yeah, only just barely flashfic, lol)
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off of this. All characters are (C) Square-Enix…
WARNINGS FOR: So sweet you will either get cavities or diabetic shock, if that bugs you.
Inspiration: Thanks to a certain kink meme fill, I’ve become a hardcore fan of the Ultima Siblings (as they are known on Pixiv). So much so that it on occasion invades my sleep cycles. On a happy accident, I wrote this down listening to opera…
The final touches had been placed on the short presentation, and the playwright put his pen down, careful to place it at such an angle that the ink would not damage the delicate paper that he had used.
“Are you certain about this?” the Jidoor Opera House’s Impresario had asked. “This seems just a bit…avant-garde,” he finished delicately.
“Calling something to be shown in an opera house ‘avant-garde’ is like calling dry-aged behemoth steak ‘gourmet cuisine’-merely stating the obvious,” the playwright answered.
“My point being that this is avant-garde even for this venue,” the Impresario clarified. “…and, furthermore, you’ve not provided any lines for your lady co-star! Is this some sort of a joke?”
The playwright shook his head. “I cannot predict how she will react-you see, this a bit different than what you are used to. This story is still being written, and even when it ends here, it simply will mark the beginning of a new one.”
Ai ya, thought the Impresario. Of all the diva-like playwrights he had worked with over the years, this one was especially perplexing. “Whatever you say. Just…don’t expect a standing ovation or anything like that. You are an unknown playing with the very meaning of the word ‘play.’ And patrons of this opera house are well known for being…a little uptight, to put it nicely.”
“Trust me,” the playwright insisted.
“Mr. King, you have been here long enough to know that I HATE it when people tell me that.”
“Yes, I know. But it is amusing.”
“…ai ya…”
_*_*_
The stage is dark, the audience silent save for the faint whispers of the curious and confused. The only lights come from the stage’s setup-glowing points of light coming from the lanterns set into the mock castle walls.
The girl had heard about the so-called ‘backstage experience,’ but it really did not seem to be as interesting as the ladies who frequented the Opera House.
And such a strange place to come, on his last day here…
Slowly, elegantly, the lights go up on the stage, but they don’t go up very far-the ‘castle’ facade continues to look as though it is bathed in moonlight.
A single voice rises over the gentle murmur of the audience, silencing them as it echoes overhead.
“My Lady Branford, where are you?”
It is clear that he needs her attention, but the formality is unexpected. However, Terra decides to play along and rises, walking onto stage to greet ‘Lord King.’
Dressed in rich gold and purple, he turns when he hears her footsteps. The smile that Terra sees has a warmth that she, perhaps a bit selfishly, cannot help but see as being meant for her and her alone. “My Lord King,” she says, running with Kuja’s pattern, “what is it?”
The audience begins to murmur, most of the conversation centering on the elegant but minimalist striped dress that the girl wears.
The lights brighten ever so slightly, illuminating a circle in the middle of the ‘balcony.’
“I know that I came to you for a reason, and I know also that it was limited-far, far too limited,” Kuja says, just a bit too fast for the elegance of the words to feel anything but awkward.
Concerned, Terra steps forward, into the small circle of light. “What’s wrong?”
As if he hasn’t heard the question, Kuja takes a step back, out of the light and closer to the edge. “I know now that my plan was shortsighted, and now that our time ends, I am loathe to see its end.”
Something, Terra realizes, has come over Kuja-the man tended between the twin extremes of ostentatious formality and overdone vulgarity when anything strongly affected him. She follows him; the light illuminating the stage follows her.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Only what I must.”
The edge of the stage approaches. Neither of them appears to notice. The crowd begins to murmur again, a rumble of anxiety.
“I must go,” he says quietly.
“Stop!” Terra shouts.
He does not. However, the ‘balcony’ does. At Kuja’s last step backward, he leaves the security of the solid ground and begins to drift away in the air.
Terra-to the audience, the Lady Branford-follows.
There is a gasp from the audience as she steps off the edge.
But, like Kuja-to the audience, the Lord King-she does not fall. She clears the widening gap.
He catches her with ease.
Another audience outcry rises-the most daring stunt they have ever seen, the lovers now dangling in the air together.
“Will you go?” she asks quietly. Her hands rise to touch his face. There is an audible hitch of breath in the audience.
“I am supposed to be where I belong, and nowhere else…but only say the word and I shall remain.”
“Then stay,” she says.
“You will have me?”
The pair begins to rise together.
“I will.”
They kiss.
A thunderous applause rises from the audience as a shining light envelops the pair, swirling, obscuring them-and then they are gone.
A white cloud of doves erupts from somewhere in the orchestra pit.
_*_*_
The following day, Jidoor’s Opera House Impresario is hit with a deluge of patrons demanding to see the play again-but he is forced to admit that he does not have the script-but here is information on next month’s show, after all…
The moment becomes the benchmark upon which critics measure romance in operettas and plays. To be called worthy of the Lord King and Lady Branford’s embrace is the new goal to which playwrights and composers strive. Only a select few, in the audience that fateful night, know that the proposal that ‘destroyed every romanticist in Jidoor’ was real.
But everyone recognizes the pair as they enter the building for the winter premiere.