[Closed]

[i_love_squats]

Who: Zack Fair i_love_squats and Tseng fingersloophole
When: 3/13
Where: Prayer tree then… wherever it leads from there
Format: Paragraph.
What: Zack is mopey and Tseng...well, is Tseng.
Warnings: Copious amounts of booze and angst.

Comments

[fingersloophole]

Tseng had determined the only way to mend a broken heart was to break it even further. Booze helped make the process bearable. And he intended to get Zack drunk enough to cause worry. He had a bottle of what would have to do for sake, and had lured Zack with it like a stray cat with a can of tuna

[i_love_squats]

Zack had expected to do another ten miles of walking; part of him had it in his head that Tseng would probably want to tire him out so that he couldn’t be any more depressed than he already was (or worse yet, talk about it). And hey, then the alcohol would work better, so everyone wins

[fingersloophole]

It was a little amusing to see how Zack did things. Methodically. The knot was the same he'd use to bind a captive or secure a tent post. Tseng hasn't lived in Wutai most of his life (far from it, actually) but he'd at least inherited the idea that there was a specific way to do each task. He rarely improvised

[i_love_squats]

Lost in thought and prayer, Zack didn’t even notice Tseng had poured the liquor until he opened his eyes and stared at it like it might bite and/or drown him. Wasn’t it sacrilegious to drink at a place of worship, tainting the hallowed moments and personal effects? And even though there wasn’t a higher being lurking about, even though it wasn’t a church, it was still…it was still something he was hesitant about

[fingersloophole]

Tseng accepted the cup and refilled it. They were small, and really he had intended to get Zack drunk in the first place hadn't he? He could see Zack's conflict but wasn't certain what it was over, except perhaps that he had no idea what was appropriate here

[i_love_squats]

“Your father. He got to see you grow up, huh? He must’ve been proud of you, having a powerful Director for a son.”

The alcohol was swirled in the cup, a slow revolving motion as he listened to Tseng pour another bit into the hungry ground. He wondered why, but didn’t ask. Must be another ritual thing, like the ribbons, like the bell. It all had to go in order, had to have a reason, something to do with the soul and heart and life…something philosophical that sparked his curiosity and hope and little else.

“Did you put a ribbon out for me?”

It was a careful, guarded question; he didn’t say it because he blamed Tseng for his death, but because they had known one another, had been comrades. He drank the alcohol, immediately regretted his inquiry, and looked across at him with wide eyes.

“Not that it’s your fault, you know! I’m just… I’m just wondering…since we knew each other.”

What can you do? He ground his teeth together and passed the cup back as he narrowed his eyes at the tree. What can you do, other than try to save them,