(no subject)
Sometimes it seems like the Thunder Plains are never going to end.
Yuna is sitting at a table by herself; if you saw her the last time she was here, there's not much else to say. It's the same, maybe a little worse. She's damp and muddy and fairly battered; her expression is composed and serene, but there's not much to be done about the mounting exhaustion.
(It's impossible to sleep; even if you get used to the thunder, you can't get used to the way Rikku screams every time she hears the thunder.)
She has a cup in front of her; it's not tea. It's rum. The cup is fairly small, but on the other hand the bottle is not.
Yuna is sitting at a table by herself; if you saw her the last time she was here, there's not much else to say. It's the same, maybe a little worse. She's damp and muddy and fairly battered; her expression is composed and serene, but there's not much to be done about the mounting exhaustion.
(It's impossible to sleep; even if you get used to the thunder, you can't get used to the way Rikku screams every time she hears the thunder.)
She has a cup in front of her; it's not tea. It's rum. The cup is fairly small, but on the other hand the bottle is not.