ficpost: memoriae (Xenosaga)
...Xenosaga ficlet. P-probably the first of a bunch in this particular universe, augh. URTV-centric, backstory or possibly middle-story depending on your point of view, entirely gen. So far.
memoriae
"There." Nigredo sits back on his heels, dusting his hands off and looking down at the little stone. "That should do, right?"
"Yeah." Rubedo crouches down beside him, folding his arms on his knees. "It's enough." The slightly-wobbly letters painted on the headstone don't match the other memorials in the garden - none of the brushes they'd found had been any good - but that's not important. It's the memory that matters.
"Poor Gaignun." Nigredo sighs, patting the improvised memorial. Probably they shouldn't really be doing this, and Rubedo's pretty sure that when their latest government minder catches up with them they're going to get a hell of a scolding. This new Miltia is still heaving with the influx of refugees, the skyline changing daily, and they're not supposed to leave the complex alone. It's weird and slightly uncomfortable to be treated like a child, now, but at least no one has suggested that they go to live in the orphanage with the Miltian kids.
"He had a good life." Rubedo bows his head for a moment before nodding and straightening up, looking around at the park. This area has been set aside from the manic construction work, designated as a memorial garden for the victims of the Conflict. Neat stones are set in wandering lines among trees and flowers that are still subtly unfamiliar. There is no marker for any of his nameless brothers, which is a guilty relief; those memories are still too painful, and he hates to think about the events of that night. He's not going to forget in a hurry.
"He was a good cat." Nigredo sighs, standing up, and for a moment Rubedo thinks he imagines that Nigredo is actually taller than him. The idea makes his stomach twist with wrongness, and he decides that it must be a trick of the light. They're the same, after all. Thoughtlessly, he reaches out a hand, meaning to flatten down Nigredo's hair, but then checks himself, flinching a little. Nigredo is Nigredo, and no one else. Clumsily, he turns the gesture into a point.
"Uh - hey, is that the sea?"
"Really?" Nigredo jumps up onto his tiptoes, takes a couple of steps in the direction Rubedo's pointing. "I think the park area has a lake…"
"Oh." Rubedo shrugs, turning away to look out over the weaving ranks of empty graves. "Maybe we can go there some day."
"Yeah. I'd like that." Nigredo hesitates for a moment, an uncomfortable waiting feeling at the edge of Rubedo's mind that makes him look around, curious.
"What is it?"
"Rubedo… Do you think we should make another stone?" His expression is half wary, half pained and guilty, and Rubedo doesn't need to ask who he's thinking about.
"…Nah." He closes his eyes, lifting his hand to his right chest to feel the faint, faint echo of his own strong heartbeat. "It's okay. That guy doesn't need one."
memoriae
"There." Nigredo sits back on his heels, dusting his hands off and looking down at the little stone. "That should do, right?"
"Yeah." Rubedo crouches down beside him, folding his arms on his knees. "It's enough." The slightly-wobbly letters painted on the headstone don't match the other memorials in the garden - none of the brushes they'd found had been any good - but that's not important. It's the memory that matters.
"Poor Gaignun." Nigredo sighs, patting the improvised memorial. Probably they shouldn't really be doing this, and Rubedo's pretty sure that when their latest government minder catches up with them they're going to get a hell of a scolding. This new Miltia is still heaving with the influx of refugees, the skyline changing daily, and they're not supposed to leave the complex alone. It's weird and slightly uncomfortable to be treated like a child, now, but at least no one has suggested that they go to live in the orphanage with the Miltian kids.
"He had a good life." Rubedo bows his head for a moment before nodding and straightening up, looking around at the park. This area has been set aside from the manic construction work, designated as a memorial garden for the victims of the Conflict. Neat stones are set in wandering lines among trees and flowers that are still subtly unfamiliar. There is no marker for any of his nameless brothers, which is a guilty relief; those memories are still too painful, and he hates to think about the events of that night. He's not going to forget in a hurry.
"He was a good cat." Nigredo sighs, standing up, and for a moment Rubedo thinks he imagines that Nigredo is actually taller than him. The idea makes his stomach twist with wrongness, and he decides that it must be a trick of the light. They're the same, after all. Thoughtlessly, he reaches out a hand, meaning to flatten down Nigredo's hair, but then checks himself, flinching a little. Nigredo is Nigredo, and no one else. Clumsily, he turns the gesture into a point.
"Uh - hey, is that the sea?"
"Really?" Nigredo jumps up onto his tiptoes, takes a couple of steps in the direction Rubedo's pointing. "I think the park area has a lake…"
"Oh." Rubedo shrugs, turning away to look out over the weaving ranks of empty graves. "Maybe we can go there some day."
"Yeah. I'd like that." Nigredo hesitates for a moment, an uncomfortable waiting feeling at the edge of Rubedo's mind that makes him look around, curious.
"What is it?"
"Rubedo… Do you think we should make another stone?" His expression is half wary, half pained and guilty, and Rubedo doesn't need to ask who he's thinking about.
"…Nah." He closes his eyes, lifting his hand to his right chest to feel the faint, faint echo of his own strong heartbeat. "It's okay. That guy doesn't need one."