[closed]
WHO: Zidane and Sebastian.
WHAT: Zidane receives a 'gift' at his brother's request.
WHERE: His apartment in the housing district.
WHEN: After midnight. Following Kuja's death and this entry.
For his age, Zidane wasn't naive. As much as he wanted to, he wasn't going to ignore what was staring him so sharply and clearly in the face. Even before it happened, even before that journal entry from the man Clark Kent had ominously referred to as the 'demonic butler', he knew exactly what Kuja had decided to do, and exactly why he'd chosen to do it.
He didn't want to think much beyond that.
He'd agreed to meet the butler and left Dagger; the last thing he wanted was the princess getting pulled into this. He didn't want her alone while it was still so dangerous, but he trusted she'd keep herself safe. And so Zidane was sprawled on the couch of his one-room apartment, as if he'd thrown himself there and hadn't bothered to move. Waiting. The hum of his own suppressed power, reacting to the call of the blood, was distracting. Emotionally and physically, he had to admit he was tired. But he'd wait.
He laced his hands behind his head, gaze straying out of the large window and up at the night sky. It was littered with stars, little pinpricks of light, as well as--
Can you see the moon, brother? Isn't it beautiful tonight?
He doubted he could ever agree.
WHAT: Zidane receives a 'gift' at his brother's request.
WHERE: His apartment in the housing district.
WHEN: After midnight. Following Kuja's death and this entry.
For his age, Zidane wasn't naive. As much as he wanted to, he wasn't going to ignore what was staring him so sharply and clearly in the face. Even before it happened, even before that journal entry from the man Clark Kent had ominously referred to as the 'demonic butler', he knew exactly what Kuja had decided to do, and exactly why he'd chosen to do it.
He didn't want to think much beyond that.
He'd agreed to meet the butler and left Dagger; the last thing he wanted was the princess getting pulled into this. He didn't want her alone while it was still so dangerous, but he trusted she'd keep herself safe. And so Zidane was sprawled on the couch of his one-room apartment, as if he'd thrown himself there and hadn't bothered to move. Waiting. The hum of his own suppressed power, reacting to the call of the blood, was distracting. Emotionally and physically, he had to admit he was tired. But he'd wait.
He laced his hands behind his head, gaze straying out of the large window and up at the night sky. It was littered with stars, little pinpricks of light, as well as--
Can you see the moon, brother? Isn't it beautiful tonight?
He doubted he could ever agree.