[ffxii] The Play’s the Thing
Final Fantasy XII fic! Bet you didn't see that one coming... again!
Title: The Play’s the Thing
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: Balthier Bunansa/Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca
Rating: G
Summary: The party attends a play on a previously unremarkable evening. [written for astrangerenters for trick or treat 2008]
The Play’s the Thing
_______________________________________________
The playhouse was small and crowded. It surrounded them in a circle, with tiers rising to accommodate seats. They shimmied into a shadowed corner, their view partly obscured by a pillar. Vaan complained loudly that he couldn’t see, and Penelo quickly hushed him. These were the only available seats, and the most advantageous for them, considering the infamy of their party.
Ashe recognized the play as one she’d seen twice when she was a girl, in the company of her father and her brothers. They had sat opposite the stage in spacious, cushioned chairs. From there, the light struck the players perfectly and their lines drifted up over the bubbling whispers of the people below. She had remembered being fascinated by the men onstage, clinging childishly to every word.
This particular troupe had only moderate talent and stretched funds. The costumes were plain and certain monologues fell flat. Despite this, the excited tang in the air was the same, was unnervingly reminiscent. Ashe shifted in the uncomfortably stiff confines of her seat and remained silent as the hours passed.
They exited with the crowd, lost in a sea of faces, and returned to the inn for a round of drinks before bed. Ashe’s cup was filled with a thin red wine that tasted bitter and cheap. She drank it slowly, drowning herself in the familiar surroundings.
“What did you think of the play?” Basch asked Vaan. Ashe had noticed him casting her concerned glances. To his credit, he was adept at reading her: he was hoping to spark conversation that she could join without having to initiate. Nonetheless, Ashe didn’t like that he knew she was feeling perturbed.
Vaan glowered mournfully at his drink, chin propped up in his palm, but perked at the sudden attention. Penelo simultaneously shrank back into her seat.
“I didn’t get it. I mean, not just the words - I’m kind of used to that by now,” he glanced at Balthier, who raised an eyebrow in amusement, “but what was the point? Sure, Rysmad got revenge, but everyone died!” He gesticulated enthusiastically, tone heated. “What a waste of time!”
“It should be said,” Balthier intoned, “that you only saw half the play.”
Penelo groaned.
“Unlucky for me,” Vaan said, “I heard all of it. All three hours.”
Ashe sighed and set her cup down. “The message is in the loss. At the beginning of the play, Rysmad is sane. The more he acts at being the opposite and descends into vendetta, the more his revenge pushes him to madness. The more he obsesses over the death, the less appreciation he has for life.” Vaan was staring at her, eyes glistening in the lamplight. “It’s highly intellectual, despite the sword-fighting.”
Balthier nodded. “I’ve always found Rysmad to be rather stifling. So many symbols and conflicts, families torn and reforged.” He took a long sip of his wine, grimaced slightly, and slid the empty cup back onto the table. “Reminds some of us of pasts we’d rather forget.”
Ashe eyed him skeptically. Balthier turned his gaze to her, surprising her, and grinned. “What? Curious how a pirate could be burdened by academia?”
Ashe shook her head and drained her cup. “I’m sure no matter how you acquired it, some sort of fine resulted.”
His grin widened. “I steal treasure, occasionally hearts, rarely wisdom. It is possible for a tricky thief to be an honest scholar, you know.”
She rolled her eyes and stood from the table - though rising felt easier, as though tension in her muscles had uncoiled. She attributed this to the wine, knowing full well it was almost nothing more than burgundy-colored water, and shot a glare at Balthier. To her chagrin, it wasn’t as venomous as she’d intended. “Then I suppose we all learned something today, didn’t we?”
Title: The Play’s the Thing
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: Balthier Bunansa/Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca
Rating: G
Summary: The party attends a play on a previously unremarkable evening. [written for astrangerenters for trick or treat 2008]
The Play’s the Thing
_______________________________________________
The playhouse was small and crowded. It surrounded them in a circle, with tiers rising to accommodate seats. They shimmied into a shadowed corner, their view partly obscured by a pillar. Vaan complained loudly that he couldn’t see, and Penelo quickly hushed him. These were the only available seats, and the most advantageous for them, considering the infamy of their party.
Ashe recognized the play as one she’d seen twice when she was a girl, in the company of her father and her brothers. They had sat opposite the stage in spacious, cushioned chairs. From there, the light struck the players perfectly and their lines drifted up over the bubbling whispers of the people below. She had remembered being fascinated by the men onstage, clinging childishly to every word.
This particular troupe had only moderate talent and stretched funds. The costumes were plain and certain monologues fell flat. Despite this, the excited tang in the air was the same, was unnervingly reminiscent. Ashe shifted in the uncomfortably stiff confines of her seat and remained silent as the hours passed.
They exited with the crowd, lost in a sea of faces, and returned to the inn for a round of drinks before bed. Ashe’s cup was filled with a thin red wine that tasted bitter and cheap. She drank it slowly, drowning herself in the familiar surroundings.
“What did you think of the play?” Basch asked Vaan. Ashe had noticed him casting her concerned glances. To his credit, he was adept at reading her: he was hoping to spark conversation that she could join without having to initiate. Nonetheless, Ashe didn’t like that he knew she was feeling perturbed.
Vaan glowered mournfully at his drink, chin propped up in his palm, but perked at the sudden attention. Penelo simultaneously shrank back into her seat.
“I didn’t get it. I mean, not just the words - I’m kind of used to that by now,” he glanced at Balthier, who raised an eyebrow in amusement, “but what was the point? Sure, Rysmad got revenge, but everyone died!” He gesticulated enthusiastically, tone heated. “What a waste of time!”
“It should be said,” Balthier intoned, “that you only saw half the play.”
Penelo groaned.
“Unlucky for me,” Vaan said, “I heard all of it. All three hours.”
Ashe sighed and set her cup down. “The message is in the loss. At the beginning of the play, Rysmad is sane. The more he acts at being the opposite and descends into vendetta, the more his revenge pushes him to madness. The more he obsesses over the death, the less appreciation he has for life.” Vaan was staring at her, eyes glistening in the lamplight. “It’s highly intellectual, despite the sword-fighting.”
Balthier nodded. “I’ve always found Rysmad to be rather stifling. So many symbols and conflicts, families torn and reforged.” He took a long sip of his wine, grimaced slightly, and slid the empty cup back onto the table. “Reminds some of us of pasts we’d rather forget.”
Ashe eyed him skeptically. Balthier turned his gaze to her, surprising her, and grinned. “What? Curious how a pirate could be burdened by academia?”
Ashe shook her head and drained her cup. “I’m sure no matter how you acquired it, some sort of fine resulted.”
His grin widened. “I steal treasure, occasionally hearts, rarely wisdom. It is possible for a tricky thief to be an honest scholar, you know.”
She rolled her eyes and stood from the table - though rising felt easier, as though tension in her muscles had uncoiled. She attributed this to the wine, knowing full well it was almost nothing more than burgundy-colored water, and shot a glare at Balthier. To her chagrin, it wasn’t as venomous as she’d intended. “Then I suppose we all learned something today, didn’t we?”