Title: Stories
A one-shot.
Title: Stories
Tidus hated stories. They surrounded him, played with his past and his future, and he felt like he was drowning in an endless sea of them. Auron, with all his talk of your story and my story, frankly, pissed him off. And because of Auron's endless talk of stories, he fell into one.
That pissed him off, too.
--
"Do you think that's gonna help your game at all?"
"Shut up!" A small boy, water dripping down his face, flicked droplets out of his eyes fiercely. Jecht walked closer to the water and crouched, reaching out with a large brown hand and carelessly dunked his son underwater. Tidus surfaced, shaking hair from his face and spitting to rid his mouth of the harsh salt taste.
"You're not turning your wrist right," Jecht said scornfully, picking up the blitzball and serving it in an imitation of Tidus' motions. It landed about ten feet out. In a quick gathering of his muscles, he dove in and took the ball before Tidus could reclaim it. "This is how you do it." He served it again lightly, exaggerating the motion, and it landed close to fifty feet out. He jerked his head at it. "Go get it."
When Tidus had swum back, angry and embarassed, Jecht sat at the pier, feet ddangling in the water. "Good exercise for you," he said lazily, and Tidus flushed. He threw the blitzball furiously at his father - Jecht caught it one-handed.
"Why don't you ever teach me anything?" he shouted. Jecht rose one eyebrow. "You only show me things. You never teach!"
Jecht looked mildly surprised. "I only needed to be shown," he said simply, as a man stating a fact. "I was a natural." He dunked Tidus again.
The words weren't meant to be cruel, but that didn't take away the sting. Tidus' face tightened with the effort of not crying, because after all, he was only seven. Jecht, repentent, tried to make amends.
"Did I tell you about the time Shart used that move to win a game?" he asked awkwardly, almost pleading for forgiveness.
Tidus didn't see the begging look in Jecht's eyes. "Yes," he muttered rebelliously. "Loads of times." And the last time, he added mentally, you were drunk, and you put in the part about the girl who flashed him. Mom wasn't happy about that.
Jecht looked embarassed, as though he too recalled the event. But Jecht never remembered things that happened when he was drunk. "There was another time," he began gingerly, "When-"
Tidus dove underwater and swam away. "That's all you do," he yelled back to Jecht when he broke the surface. "Show things and tell stories." He began to practice again, pointedly ignoring his father.
Jecht stood up and went back inside.
--
"You've gotten quite good at that," said Auron cooly, walking up to the fourteen year old boy. Something glinted in his eyes for a second, and the shadow of a sardonic grin touched his face. "Jecht would be proud."
"What do you want?" An accusing voice, tinged with the sullen mistrust that no amount of years had ever completely erased.
Auron, untouched, neatly side-stepped the question. "Blitzball was Jecht's life," he continued, blissfully (though it was a term Tidus had some difficulty connecting with Auron) impervious to the blonde boy's surly glares. "Playing it should have been his life's story."
Tidus threw the blitzball at a wooden post with unnecessary force. It bounced off with a satisfying thunk. Auron raised an eyebrow.
"It's part of your story, too," he said meaningfully.
"I don't need stories about my dad! I got enough of those from him, and they were broing." Tidus glared at Auron. "I don't have a story. I'm just going to gow up, become a star blitzball player, be better than him, and do that for the rest of my life.
"That's still a story.
"But it's not his. I can write my own story. So shut up."
"Didn't your mother teach you not to say that to your elders?"
"You don't count," Tidus said, and grinned darkly. He evaded Auron's cuff and swam further out. "You're just Auron."
Auron sneered. "Then I suppose I'll have to find someone to tell you bedtime stories, since you're going to act like you need them."
"Shut up, Auron."
"As I recall, Jecht said you enjoyed his blitzball stories."
"That old man is just full of himself!"
"Is that so?"
"I only listened for the blitzball advice. All the rest was just bragging." Tidus laughed scornfully. "He wasn't that great."
Auron snorted behind his high collar. "Neither are you."
Tidus flushed, then grinned savagely. "But I don't brag. And I'm getting better. Without stories!"
--
It had surprised Tidus to find that Lulu was an accomplished storyteller, a skill she had developed as an older sister and employed by their campfire. He was pretty pissed off by the stories, but kept it in until too many stories were rushing around him, crowding him on an uneasy sea of legends. He left the campfire abruptly.
Yuna followed him to find Tidus swimming in a small pool, the water translucent in the moonlight. She climbed over a log and sat on it, her feet dangling a good foot in the air. He acknowledged her with a curt nod.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just don't like stories." He turned to her suddenly, his eyes almost glowing against his sun-darkened skin. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"Of what?"
He shook his head restlessly. "Stories. All of them. Spira is made of stories."
Yuna leaned her head to one side and smiled softly, shutting her eyes for a moment. "The people of Spira love stories -- life is so often cut short. Stories ive them a chance to live as someone else, to live more than the few years they may be granted by Yevon."
Tidus looked at her thoughtfully. "Lulu tells stories, and she and Wakka are practically in one. Auron is obsessed with them, Rikku loves listening, and I don't know about Kimahri. But I don't think you like them much either, do you?"
Yuna shook her head, less a denial than an unconscious outward expression of thought. "People often tell me stories about my father," she said slowly, still smiling as if at something he couldn't see. "It makes them happy. Small things, having spoken to him once, or even just seeing him pass. If they never met or saw him, they often tell me about the lady Yunalesca. She gave a curious little laugh, almost brittle. "People are fascinated that I am named for her." She fell silent with uncharacteristic abruptness, and looked skyward.
Tidus studied her for a moment and said, "Don't."
"Don't?" Yuna repeated, turning her face to him.
"Don't be happy because they want you to be," he said, crossing his arms. "Be happy because you want to be. If you want to be sad, be sad."
Yuna reflexively opened her mouth to speak, but Tidus cut her off. "Don't let them make act happy when you don't want to."
"They need me to be happy, Tidus," and he stopped, struck by the finality in her voice.
His face darkened, then he grinned. "Then we'll make you want to be happy," he said, and splashed her. She flinched, surprised, then laughed softly. "Be a kid for once, Yuna."
"Children need stories," she said, her eyes serious, though her lips curved upward.
He sighed, and turned his face upward briefly.
"I know."
Title: Stories
Tidus hated stories. They surrounded him, played with his past and his future, and he felt like he was drowning in an endless sea of them. Auron, with all his talk of your story and my story, frankly, pissed him off. And because of Auron's endless talk of stories, he fell into one.
That pissed him off, too.
--
"Do you think that's gonna help your game at all?"
"Shut up!" A small boy, water dripping down his face, flicked droplets out of his eyes fiercely. Jecht walked closer to the water and crouched, reaching out with a large brown hand and carelessly dunked his son underwater. Tidus surfaced, shaking hair from his face and spitting to rid his mouth of the harsh salt taste.
"You're not turning your wrist right," Jecht said scornfully, picking up the blitzball and serving it in an imitation of Tidus' motions. It landed about ten feet out. In a quick gathering of his muscles, he dove in and took the ball before Tidus could reclaim it. "This is how you do it." He served it again lightly, exaggerating the motion, and it landed close to fifty feet out. He jerked his head at it. "Go get it."
When Tidus had swum back, angry and embarassed, Jecht sat at the pier, feet ddangling in the water. "Good exercise for you," he said lazily, and Tidus flushed. He threw the blitzball furiously at his father - Jecht caught it one-handed.
"Why don't you ever teach me anything?" he shouted. Jecht rose one eyebrow. "You only show me things. You never teach!"
Jecht looked mildly surprised. "I only needed to be shown," he said simply, as a man stating a fact. "I was a natural." He dunked Tidus again.
The words weren't meant to be cruel, but that didn't take away the sting. Tidus' face tightened with the effort of not crying, because after all, he was only seven. Jecht, repentent, tried to make amends.
"Did I tell you about the time Shart used that move to win a game?" he asked awkwardly, almost pleading for forgiveness.
Tidus didn't see the begging look in Jecht's eyes. "Yes," he muttered rebelliously. "Loads of times." And the last time, he added mentally, you were drunk, and you put in the part about the girl who flashed him. Mom wasn't happy about that.
Jecht looked embarassed, as though he too recalled the event. But Jecht never remembered things that happened when he was drunk. "There was another time," he began gingerly, "When-"
Tidus dove underwater and swam away. "That's all you do," he yelled back to Jecht when he broke the surface. "Show things and tell stories." He began to practice again, pointedly ignoring his father.
Jecht stood up and went back inside.
--
"You've gotten quite good at that," said Auron cooly, walking up to the fourteen year old boy. Something glinted in his eyes for a second, and the shadow of a sardonic grin touched his face. "Jecht would be proud."
"What do you want?" An accusing voice, tinged with the sullen mistrust that no amount of years had ever completely erased.
Auron, untouched, neatly side-stepped the question. "Blitzball was Jecht's life," he continued, blissfully (though it was a term Tidus had some difficulty connecting with Auron) impervious to the blonde boy's surly glares. "Playing it should have been his life's story."
Tidus threw the blitzball at a wooden post with unnecessary force. It bounced off with a satisfying thunk. Auron raised an eyebrow.
"It's part of your story, too," he said meaningfully.
"I don't need stories about my dad! I got enough of those from him, and they were broing." Tidus glared at Auron. "I don't have a story. I'm just going to gow up, become a star blitzball player, be better than him, and do that for the rest of my life.
"That's still a story.
"But it's not his. I can write my own story. So shut up."
"Didn't your mother teach you not to say that to your elders?"
"You don't count," Tidus said, and grinned darkly. He evaded Auron's cuff and swam further out. "You're just Auron."
Auron sneered. "Then I suppose I'll have to find someone to tell you bedtime stories, since you're going to act like you need them."
"Shut up, Auron."
"As I recall, Jecht said you enjoyed his blitzball stories."
"That old man is just full of himself!"
"Is that so?"
"I only listened for the blitzball advice. All the rest was just bragging." Tidus laughed scornfully. "He wasn't that great."
Auron snorted behind his high collar. "Neither are you."
Tidus flushed, then grinned savagely. "But I don't brag. And I'm getting better. Without stories!"
--
It had surprised Tidus to find that Lulu was an accomplished storyteller, a skill she had developed as an older sister and employed by their campfire. He was pretty pissed off by the stories, but kept it in until too many stories were rushing around him, crowding him on an uneasy sea of legends. He left the campfire abruptly.
Yuna followed him to find Tidus swimming in a small pool, the water translucent in the moonlight. She climbed over a log and sat on it, her feet dangling a good foot in the air. He acknowledged her with a curt nod.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just don't like stories." He turned to her suddenly, his eyes almost glowing against his sun-darkened skin. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"Of what?"
He shook his head restlessly. "Stories. All of them. Spira is made of stories."
Yuna leaned her head to one side and smiled softly, shutting her eyes for a moment. "The people of Spira love stories -- life is so often cut short. Stories ive them a chance to live as someone else, to live more than the few years they may be granted by Yevon."
Tidus looked at her thoughtfully. "Lulu tells stories, and she and Wakka are practically in one. Auron is obsessed with them, Rikku loves listening, and I don't know about Kimahri. But I don't think you like them much either, do you?"
Yuna shook her head, less a denial than an unconscious outward expression of thought. "People often tell me stories about my father," she said slowly, still smiling as if at something he couldn't see. "It makes them happy. Small things, having spoken to him once, or even just seeing him pass. If they never met or saw him, they often tell me about the lady Yunalesca. She gave a curious little laugh, almost brittle. "People are fascinated that I am named for her." She fell silent with uncharacteristic abruptness, and looked skyward.
Tidus studied her for a moment and said, "Don't."
"Don't?" Yuna repeated, turning her face to him.
"Don't be happy because they want you to be," he said, crossing his arms. "Be happy because you want to be. If you want to be sad, be sad."
Yuna reflexively opened her mouth to speak, but Tidus cut her off. "Don't let them make act happy when you don't want to."
"They need me to be happy, Tidus," and he stopped, struck by the finality in her voice.
His face darkened, then he grinned. "Then we'll make you want to be happy," he said, and splashed her. She flinched, surprised, then laughed softly. "Be a kid for once, Yuna."
"Children need stories," she said, her eyes serious, though her lips curved upward.
He sighed, and turned his face upward briefly.
"I know."