Not Your Hero [280]
Title: Not Your Hero
Challenge: #280, father
Rating: PG
Word Count: 596
Spoilers: None
Notes: I've been busy, but I just had to come back for this prompt. This drabble is in continuity with these two, so this Roxas is Sora's son, named after his Nobody.
w-O
Roxas vanished his keyblade and dropped to his knees, panting. “Wow…” That had been serious sparring. Like, Uncle-Riku-is-grumpy sparring. Holy cow.
Leon sheathed his gunblade. Roxas grinned up at him. He’d seen like eight new tricks in that fight. This was going to be great training. “Thanks,” he began, just as Leon said, “Didn’t you ever spar with your father?”
hundreds of summer afternoons… dad and mom and uncle riku, one at a time or all together… wooden sword fights that turned into tickle fights that turned into lying on their backs, everyone telling him keyblade stories while they stared at the clouds…
Roxas couldn’t even answer. He knew he couldn’t fight like his dad. He hadn’t known the difference was so big that a stranger couldn’t even tell he practiced. Dad had always said the difference between them was because Roxas was still young, still learning. Roxas had never quite believed him. He’d always secretly suspected that he was just a klutz, in over his head, tricking everyone into thinking he deserved his keyblade…
w-O
“Come now, lad,” Merlin said kindly. “I’m sure you can cast a simple Fire spell.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can, too,” Roxas said, a little more sarcastically than he’d meant. But come on, he’d just shown off his Turnaround Special combo, Reflect-Cura-Haste-Aerora-Regen without stopping to breathe. Of course he could learn Fire. “I just don’t want to. I’m a white mage.”
Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “My dear boy, the supposed distinction between white and black magic has been obsolete for many years. There’s really no difference…”
“It makes a difference to me,” Roxas insisted. “I don’t want attack magic in my head.”
“Humph. There’s no need to be afraid. Why, your father could…”
Afraid? “How do you know what I need? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m like.” Some nights, Roxas’ imagination just would not turn off. He’d lay awake for hours, imagining if horrible thing X happened, or if disaster Y occurred. It was useful sometimes: when something went wrong he usually had a plan for it. But he was not going to take a traitorous brain that wouldn’t stop imagining terrible things, and give it the ability to set things on fire by thinking. It didn’t seem… smart. “So can we please just work on the support spells?”
w-O
“Hey, Roxas!” Tifa waved. “Wanna go play Pooh Sticks?”
Roxas’ head felt like a deck of cards that had been dropped on the floor, scattered. The last thing he felt like doing was to get compared to his dad again in some game he’d never heard of. “No thanks. I don’t know how to play anyway, so…”
Yuffie grinned. “Oh, that’s okay, it’s easy!”
“Would everyone just shut up about easy?” The words were out before Roxas knew what he was shouting. “Not everything is easy for some people, okay?” Yuffie and Tifa and Aerith all stared at him, wondering why he’d freaked out like a five-year-old at a perfectly friendly question. Sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, I didn’t mean that.”
“That’s okay, Roxas,” Aerith said kindly. “Go take a nap, we’ll see you later.” And the others nodded, because they were his friends. But the little wrinkles around their eyes said, Sora never lost his temper like that…
w-O
Roxas flopped face down on his borrowed bed and clamped the pillow over his head. “Is there a world where they don’t know who my dad is?”
Max, fiddling with his skateboard on the next bed over: “Man. Story of my life.”
Challenge: #280, father
Rating: PG
Word Count: 596
Spoilers: None
Notes: I've been busy, but I just had to come back for this prompt. This drabble is in continuity with these two, so this Roxas is Sora's son, named after his Nobody.
w-O
Roxas vanished his keyblade and dropped to his knees, panting. “Wow…” That had been serious sparring. Like, Uncle-Riku-is-grumpy sparring. Holy cow.
Leon sheathed his gunblade. Roxas grinned up at him. He’d seen like eight new tricks in that fight. This was going to be great training. “Thanks,” he began, just as Leon said, “Didn’t you ever spar with your father?”
hundreds of summer afternoons… dad and mom and uncle riku, one at a time or all together… wooden sword fights that turned into tickle fights that turned into lying on their backs, everyone telling him keyblade stories while they stared at the clouds…
Roxas couldn’t even answer. He knew he couldn’t fight like his dad. He hadn’t known the difference was so big that a stranger couldn’t even tell he practiced. Dad had always said the difference between them was because Roxas was still young, still learning. Roxas had never quite believed him. He’d always secretly suspected that he was just a klutz, in over his head, tricking everyone into thinking he deserved his keyblade…
w-O
“Come now, lad,” Merlin said kindly. “I’m sure you can cast a simple Fire spell.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can, too,” Roxas said, a little more sarcastically than he’d meant. But come on, he’d just shown off his Turnaround Special combo, Reflect-Cura-Haste-Aerora-Regen without stopping to breathe. Of course he could learn Fire. “I just don’t want to. I’m a white mage.”
Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “My dear boy, the supposed distinction between white and black magic has been obsolete for many years. There’s really no difference…”
“It makes a difference to me,” Roxas insisted. “I don’t want attack magic in my head.”
“Humph. There’s no need to be afraid. Why, your father could…”
Afraid? “How do you know what I need? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m like.” Some nights, Roxas’ imagination just would not turn off. He’d lay awake for hours, imagining if horrible thing X happened, or if disaster Y occurred. It was useful sometimes: when something went wrong he usually had a plan for it. But he was not going to take a traitorous brain that wouldn’t stop imagining terrible things, and give it the ability to set things on fire by thinking. It didn’t seem… smart. “So can we please just work on the support spells?”
w-O
“Hey, Roxas!” Tifa waved. “Wanna go play Pooh Sticks?”
Roxas’ head felt like a deck of cards that had been dropped on the floor, scattered. The last thing he felt like doing was to get compared to his dad again in some game he’d never heard of. “No thanks. I don’t know how to play anyway, so…”
Yuffie grinned. “Oh, that’s okay, it’s easy!”
“Would everyone just shut up about easy?” The words were out before Roxas knew what he was shouting. “Not everything is easy for some people, okay?” Yuffie and Tifa and Aerith all stared at him, wondering why he’d freaked out like a five-year-old at a perfectly friendly question. Sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, I didn’t mean that.”
“That’s okay, Roxas,” Aerith said kindly. “Go take a nap, we’ll see you later.” And the others nodded, because they were his friends. But the little wrinkles around their eyes said, Sora never lost his temper like that…
w-O
Roxas flopped face down on his borrowed bed and clamped the pillow over his head. “Is there a world where they don’t know who my dad is?”
Max, fiddling with his skateboard on the next bed over: “Man. Story of my life.”