[Final Fantasy X] Last Chance
Title: Last Chance
Rating: G
Word Count: 239
Characters: Auron, Jecht
Notes: Ostensibly written for pyreflies' challenge "Last," but right now I've found that yes, "I hate this but I AM SICK OF THE SIGHT OF IT AND IT WILL BE POSTED" is not exclusive to Petshop of Horrors. I am not posting it to Pyreflies. I WILL WRITE SOMETHING DECENT AND MAKE THAT COUNT.
The image was faded and static-crackly, but still clear enough to see. Jecht sprawled across the ground, pyreflies dancing across his face, his chest, the crumbling concrete he’d propped himself up against.
“What’re you shooting me for?” he asked without opening his eyes. “I’m not going to do anything stupid here.”
“Well, with you…” Auron’s voice was quiet and rough, almost weary. Jecht smiled slightly, but there was no really humour in it. “I know. I just…”
“Forget it.” The blitzer sat up, cracking his neck. “Listen, Auron -“
“Jecht…”
“Last chance. If we’re gonna stop him -“
“Don’t.” Auron’s voice cracked on that word, and Jecht jerked up, glaring, frustration clear even through the sphere’s trembling.
“Why?! Do you want to let him -“
“Of course not!”
The image spun dizzily. Sky and pyreflies and concrete and sky and concrete concrete concrete until it was all the sphere showed. Something cracked, probably the sphere itself, and the picture disappeared.
Soft, barely audible words, before the sphere gave up the ghost entirely: “He left his daughter for this. Do you really think he’d give it up for us?”
The sphere vanishes into a pocket, and Auron takes up his sword once more. He can feel it - feel Jecht - humming through his blood, calling him.
Jecht is coming.
Sin is coming.
This is their last chance, their last opportunity to end it. And this time, he’s going to take it.
Rating: G
Word Count: 239
Characters: Auron, Jecht
Notes: Ostensibly written for pyreflies' challenge "Last," but right now I've found that yes, "I hate this but I AM SICK OF THE SIGHT OF IT AND IT WILL BE POSTED" is not exclusive to Petshop of Horrors. I am not posting it to Pyreflies. I WILL WRITE SOMETHING DECENT AND MAKE THAT COUNT.
The image was faded and static-crackly, but still clear enough to see. Jecht sprawled across the ground, pyreflies dancing across his face, his chest, the crumbling concrete he’d propped himself up against.
“What’re you shooting me for?” he asked without opening his eyes. “I’m not going to do anything stupid here.”
“Well, with you…” Auron’s voice was quiet and rough, almost weary. Jecht smiled slightly, but there was no really humour in it. “I know. I just…”
“Forget it.” The blitzer sat up, cracking his neck. “Listen, Auron -“
“Jecht…”
“Last chance. If we’re gonna stop him -“
“Don’t.” Auron’s voice cracked on that word, and Jecht jerked up, glaring, frustration clear even through the sphere’s trembling.
“Why?! Do you want to let him -“
“Of course not!”
The image spun dizzily. Sky and pyreflies and concrete and sky and concrete concrete concrete until it was all the sphere showed. Something cracked, probably the sphere itself, and the picture disappeared.
Soft, barely audible words, before the sphere gave up the ghost entirely: “He left his daughter for this. Do you really think he’d give it up for us?”
The sphere vanishes into a pocket, and Auron takes up his sword once more. He can feel it - feel Jecht - humming through his blood, calling him.
Jecht is coming.
Sin is coming.
This is their last chance, their last opportunity to end it. And this time, he’s going to take it.