(no subject)
Moving some drabbles based on rpgthatneverwas over here, because I want them off Rosso's journal. XD
Note: SO UM. ...Yeah I don't even know. Rosso and Kefka, crack, violence, psychos who screw (except there's no actual sex here), whatever.
They’ve done it.
After all this time - all the blood, and the screams, and the destruction wrought by blades and bullets and pure magic -- they have finally succeeded in their one and only true goal. As the last victim falls, struggling until a boot presses down against his throat and he cannot anymore, they look at each other.
They have succeeded. They’re all dead. Every last man, woman, and child in all the worlds is gone.
Everyone… except them.
She is covered in blood, her tongue darting out to clear it away (to taste it) from her lips. His makeup is smudged and smeared, and in his hand is a skull. She is truly crimson now, and he is finally the ruler of everything he’s ever wanted.
This victory is theirs, and theirs alone, and as they kiss (though that is too gentle a word, with claws digging and sparks dancing, the skull rolling away only to be crushed under her foot), they know it will be the last. There is no one left, no one but them, and soon, no one at all.
But for now, they have won.
Note: POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN.
...Ahem.
Implied Jecht/Rosso, sort of implied Kefka/Xion (likely one-way, but who knows), Kefka/Rosso.
I DON'T KNOW MOST OF THESE CHARACTERS AS WELL AS I WOULD LIKE DX
Oh. Violence too. Yeah.
The first time it happens, Rosso comes back smelling like sea-salt and covered in sand. Her hair is messy, the lump of towels and swimsuit in her arms quickly deposited with the laundry before she wanders off to take a shower. Her eyes are bright, shining, and it’s not the mako this time. Kefka wonders where the man (Jecht, wasn’t it? The one who swore, who didn’t know about flowers, who didn’t wear a shirt…) is. Maybe Rosso’s killed him. Maybe they’ll find him, face-down in the water…
Just then, Kefka glances out the window, only to see the man walking by, grinning to himself.
He nearly stabs his desk with a pair of scissors, and Xion jumps from her spot at the sewing machine before suggesting they take a break for lunch.
--
The second time it happens, Rosso’s gone out hunting. There have been rumors of something big in the woods, and she had jumped at the chance, gone from the house almost as quickly as a flash of lightning. She has promised to tell him of her exploits, of the way the thing would scream, of the blood gurgling out of a slit throat. “I will bring you treasures, darling.”
Xion doesn’t understand the longing for the hunt (the kill), but Kefka does, and so he watches as she heads toward the woods and goes back inside to work, missing the dark-haired figure at the hotel watching her go.
It is hours later when she comes back, but she isn’t covered in blood. She is clean, clothing included, and smells faintly of the soap Xigbar used at the hotel… but there is something else there. Something that smells like sun and sweat, like swimming and a blindingly white grin; something that has wrapped a bandage around a claw mark on her shoulder with calloused hands while it murmured in her ear.
The shiny wings she lays before him, the pleased purr in her voice as she steps around Xion to place them there… they aren’t quite distracting enough. Kefka just nods and asks Xion a question about the cloak she is working on, and Rosso goes upstairs to look over the rest of her spoils.
--
The third time it happens, it’s out of the blue. Jecht shows up, lingers outside the shop for a while; he talks to the idiot blond boy before he is dragged off by Rikku and her girls, and Kefka hears giggles and a confused noise out of the boy’s mouth. Rosso comes down a bit later, and he’s surprised; her hair is up for once, pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and it’s like blood-covered silk and he’s surprised at how much he wants to touch it.
The bandage around her shoulder is gone now, and Kefka only knows this because he made Xion check up on her. The girl had given him a look that he didn’t care to read, but it was good for them - can’t have the allies fighting, no, and besides, Xion is relaxing around Rosso now (has been for a while, and Kefka wonders if she knows something he doesn’t, or if he’s just being paranoid).
Rosso blows him a kiss and tells him to enjoy his own bed; that if she comes back, she will be fine on the cot. She steps outside and Kefka can hear a laugh that isn’t full of sharp knives and malicious intent anymore.
Kefka is beginning to hate having his own bed for the night.
--
It happens again, and again, and Kefka’s temper starts to flair up. Rosso is sometimes there for it, and sometimes not. Xion does her best to clean up after him, to calm him down, but sometimes a god needs his Demon, his Poltergeist, and Xion is no where even remotely close. Sometimes she has luck, though, and he goes to bed and lights things on fire (he nearly torches one of his books, and the next day he nearly throws a pair of scissors at Rosso’s head; she ducks and rolls her eyes at him, tells him to work on his aim, and it’s almost like normal).
The minimum time needed to grant Rosso her new spells has come and gone, and Kefka finds himself getting hungry. This, at least, he understands.
--
The next time Rosso comes home late, Kefka is waiting for her. Xion has gone to the hotel, to have a little get-together with her other friends, and Kefka tells her that she might as well stay awhile. She doesn’t argue; Rosso’s been rare around the shop lately, and maybe that’s why.
He ambushes her in the hall, reminds her that it’s past time for her to get her new spells, and invites her into the bedroom (the one she doesn’t sleep in anymore), explaining that she may be out of it for a while. Rosso agrees, sets her weapon down on the desk and sits down on the bed, calls him “darling” and “my love” and all the things she says to everyone else, tells him about the way she pulled a wolf’s throat out with her bare hands, and all but purrs when he puts his hands on her shoulders and tells her to stay still.
His magic slides into hers as easily as it did the first time, and she inhales at the sensation. Kefka hums in agreement, murmurs “Nice, isn’t it?” into her ear, and starts to work. That presence is still there, murmuring to him, but the G-cells don’t try anything; he’s vibrating with energy, some of it magical, some of it not, and they are content to watch him work as he weaves in spells that will make her a goddess of torture and pain.
It takes longer, this time, and it’s harder to pull himself away as he finishes. He’s ended up half-straddling her on the bed, her elbows supporting her as their noses brush. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, watching him, and he can’t stop his own from doing the same to her. Their breath is mingling, and it tastes like blood and magic, and it’s almost perfect…
His magic slips away from hers, his work done, and he frowns as he leans over her. He’s tired, practically drained, and she is, too; it’s the only reason she’s letting him stay above her like this, in a dominant position, and he knows it. But…
…something missing, one piece away from a perfect puzzle…
…a gasp, a human noise, and he hates it, but…
…the way her magic feels, warm and alive, welcoming him in with open arms…
…a scar on her shoulder that doesn’t belong, that wasn’t inflicted by him…
Rage bubbles through him, as hot as her magic had been a moment ago. How dare she? She is his, his, his; his ally, his Demon, his blood-thirsty killer, and he’s not going to share!
(He’s not thinking, and where usually he would remember wings and power, he remembers times before that - feeling, warmth and cold that have nothing to do with magic and everything with the touch of another.)
Rosso isn’t a trained killer for nothing, and as Kefka’s grip slides to her wrists and suddenly grows icy as he pins her back, trying to freeze her to the bed, she snarls, lashing out with teeth and claws and it’s glorious, the fight in her, this is what’s been missing…
He laughs as their mouths meet in a biting, bloody mockery of something that the operas call romantic, and when he’s inside her again (still warm, still welcoming), sparks dancing over her skin as her claws dig into his back and flames leap up from the scratches to burn her and ice lingers in every kiss, and his mouth is against her throat, biting, marking, claiming, and then he moves to her ear and hisses “Mine, mine, mine, mine” while she writhes, like one of his victims only more beautiful because he knows that tomorrow, she’ll stay here, in his house, in his bed, and the Poltergeist, his Demon, will be back to haunt and kill and laugh that beautiful, mad laugh, and there won’t be a thing the sea or the stars or a man from Spira can do about it.
He comes in a symphony of laughter and magic, and she licks the blood from her nails. “It’s good to have you back,” he cackles, and when the lights are out and the sheets are new (he’ll have to do laundry before Xion gets back), he doesn’t have the bed for the night.
Note: SO UM. ...Yeah I don't even know. Rosso and Kefka, crack, violence, psychos who screw (except there's no actual sex here), whatever.
They’ve done it.
After all this time - all the blood, and the screams, and the destruction wrought by blades and bullets and pure magic -- they have finally succeeded in their one and only true goal. As the last victim falls, struggling until a boot presses down against his throat and he cannot anymore, they look at each other.
They have succeeded. They’re all dead. Every last man, woman, and child in all the worlds is gone.
Everyone… except them.
She is covered in blood, her tongue darting out to clear it away (to taste it) from her lips. His makeup is smudged and smeared, and in his hand is a skull. She is truly crimson now, and he is finally the ruler of everything he’s ever wanted.
This victory is theirs, and theirs alone, and as they kiss (though that is too gentle a word, with claws digging and sparks dancing, the skull rolling away only to be crushed under her foot), they know it will be the last. There is no one left, no one but them, and soon, no one at all.
But for now, they have won.
Note: POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN.
...Ahem.
Implied Jecht/Rosso, sort of implied Kefka/Xion (likely one-way, but who knows), Kefka/Rosso.
I DON'T KNOW MOST OF THESE CHARACTERS AS WELL AS I WOULD LIKE DX
Oh. Violence too. Yeah.
The first time it happens, Rosso comes back smelling like sea-salt and covered in sand. Her hair is messy, the lump of towels and swimsuit in her arms quickly deposited with the laundry before she wanders off to take a shower. Her eyes are bright, shining, and it’s not the mako this time. Kefka wonders where the man (Jecht, wasn’t it? The one who swore, who didn’t know about flowers, who didn’t wear a shirt…) is. Maybe Rosso’s killed him. Maybe they’ll find him, face-down in the water…
Just then, Kefka glances out the window, only to see the man walking by, grinning to himself.
He nearly stabs his desk with a pair of scissors, and Xion jumps from her spot at the sewing machine before suggesting they take a break for lunch.
--
The second time it happens, Rosso’s gone out hunting. There have been rumors of something big in the woods, and she had jumped at the chance, gone from the house almost as quickly as a flash of lightning. She has promised to tell him of her exploits, of the way the thing would scream, of the blood gurgling out of a slit throat. “I will bring you treasures, darling.”
Xion doesn’t understand the longing for the hunt (the kill), but Kefka does, and so he watches as she heads toward the woods and goes back inside to work, missing the dark-haired figure at the hotel watching her go.
It is hours later when she comes back, but she isn’t covered in blood. She is clean, clothing included, and smells faintly of the soap Xigbar used at the hotel… but there is something else there. Something that smells like sun and sweat, like swimming and a blindingly white grin; something that has wrapped a bandage around a claw mark on her shoulder with calloused hands while it murmured in her ear.
The shiny wings she lays before him, the pleased purr in her voice as she steps around Xion to place them there… they aren’t quite distracting enough. Kefka just nods and asks Xion a question about the cloak she is working on, and Rosso goes upstairs to look over the rest of her spoils.
--
The third time it happens, it’s out of the blue. Jecht shows up, lingers outside the shop for a while; he talks to the idiot blond boy before he is dragged off by Rikku and her girls, and Kefka hears giggles and a confused noise out of the boy’s mouth. Rosso comes down a bit later, and he’s surprised; her hair is up for once, pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and it’s like blood-covered silk and he’s surprised at how much he wants to touch it.
The bandage around her shoulder is gone now, and Kefka only knows this because he made Xion check up on her. The girl had given him a look that he didn’t care to read, but it was good for them - can’t have the allies fighting, no, and besides, Xion is relaxing around Rosso now (has been for a while, and Kefka wonders if she knows something he doesn’t, or if he’s just being paranoid).
Rosso blows him a kiss and tells him to enjoy his own bed; that if she comes back, she will be fine on the cot. She steps outside and Kefka can hear a laugh that isn’t full of sharp knives and malicious intent anymore.
Kefka is beginning to hate having his own bed for the night.
--
It happens again, and again, and Kefka’s temper starts to flair up. Rosso is sometimes there for it, and sometimes not. Xion does her best to clean up after him, to calm him down, but sometimes a god needs his Demon, his Poltergeist, and Xion is no where even remotely close. Sometimes she has luck, though, and he goes to bed and lights things on fire (he nearly torches one of his books, and the next day he nearly throws a pair of scissors at Rosso’s head; she ducks and rolls her eyes at him, tells him to work on his aim, and it’s almost like normal).
The minimum time needed to grant Rosso her new spells has come and gone, and Kefka finds himself getting hungry. This, at least, he understands.
--
The next time Rosso comes home late, Kefka is waiting for her. Xion has gone to the hotel, to have a little get-together with her other friends, and Kefka tells her that she might as well stay awhile. She doesn’t argue; Rosso’s been rare around the shop lately, and maybe that’s why.
He ambushes her in the hall, reminds her that it’s past time for her to get her new spells, and invites her into the bedroom (the one she doesn’t sleep in anymore), explaining that she may be out of it for a while. Rosso agrees, sets her weapon down on the desk and sits down on the bed, calls him “darling” and “my love” and all the things she says to everyone else, tells him about the way she pulled a wolf’s throat out with her bare hands, and all but purrs when he puts his hands on her shoulders and tells her to stay still.
His magic slides into hers as easily as it did the first time, and she inhales at the sensation. Kefka hums in agreement, murmurs “Nice, isn’t it?” into her ear, and starts to work. That presence is still there, murmuring to him, but the G-cells don’t try anything; he’s vibrating with energy, some of it magical, some of it not, and they are content to watch him work as he weaves in spells that will make her a goddess of torture and pain.
It takes longer, this time, and it’s harder to pull himself away as he finishes. He’s ended up half-straddling her on the bed, her elbows supporting her as their noses brush. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, watching him, and he can’t stop his own from doing the same to her. Their breath is mingling, and it tastes like blood and magic, and it’s almost perfect…
His magic slips away from hers, his work done, and he frowns as he leans over her. He’s tired, practically drained, and she is, too; it’s the only reason she’s letting him stay above her like this, in a dominant position, and he knows it. But…
…something missing, one piece away from a perfect puzzle…
…a gasp, a human noise, and he hates it, but…
…the way her magic feels, warm and alive, welcoming him in with open arms…
…a scar on her shoulder that doesn’t belong, that wasn’t inflicted by him…
Rage bubbles through him, as hot as her magic had been a moment ago. How dare she? She is his, his, his; his ally, his Demon, his blood-thirsty killer, and he’s not going to share!
(He’s not thinking, and where usually he would remember wings and power, he remembers times before that - feeling, warmth and cold that have nothing to do with magic and everything with the touch of another.)
Rosso isn’t a trained killer for nothing, and as Kefka’s grip slides to her wrists and suddenly grows icy as he pins her back, trying to freeze her to the bed, she snarls, lashing out with teeth and claws and it’s glorious, the fight in her, this is what’s been missing…
He laughs as their mouths meet in a biting, bloody mockery of something that the operas call romantic, and when he’s inside her again (still warm, still welcoming), sparks dancing over her skin as her claws dig into his back and flames leap up from the scratches to burn her and ice lingers in every kiss, and his mouth is against her throat, biting, marking, claiming, and then he moves to her ear and hisses “Mine, mine, mine, mine” while she writhes, like one of his victims only more beautiful because he knows that tomorrow, she’ll stay here, in his house, in his bed, and the Poltergeist, his Demon, will be back to haunt and kill and laugh that beautiful, mad laugh, and there won’t be a thing the sea or the stars or a man from Spira can do about it.
He comes in a symphony of laughter and magic, and she licks the blood from her nails. “It’s good to have you back,” he cackles, and when the lights are out and the sheets are new (he’ll have to do laundry before Xion gets back), he doesn’t have the bed for the night.