Weary. FFVIII. Shiva/Siren.
Title: Weary
Fandom: FFVIII
Pairing: Shiva/Siren.
Prompt: NPCs
Rating: PG.
Words: 300.
Spoilers?: None.
Author's Note: I’ve only played on some of the first disk so far, so hopefully there’s no inconsistencies >.<
She cannot even hear the soft crash of her waves or even the paddling splash of your feet as you tiredly make your way to her rock.
Under the fangs of the enemies' attacks ice melted and silence was assaulted by sharp movements and lips which opened and closed without noise.
When you reach Siren, she pulls you down to rest your head upon her lap while you rub chilly, shivering fingers over her silent mouth.
Her only means of communication, the harp, lies besides your head; three strings hang lifelessly and broken.
Side by side you had fought against mighty creatures to protect your humans; the failed instructor without means to voice her soul and the chatterbox who announces her thoughts as easily as the wind gently pulls with it dandelion heads.
As they lay against one another and undo grime sweating knots of hair while whispering to soothe, their GFs merely think of silence and the smell of waves rather than remember the bitter tang of the battlefield.
You shift and turn around so that your cheek is pressed against her thigh; it feels as cold as your icicles and as smooth as a sea washed shell. With no hesitation you take the harp and run your nails along the broken edges.
It will not stay shattered, like your hail heart from within; she has begun to pat down her snow of kindness around that small ball.
You mouth the ends, the pinprick saliva glittering and hardening as you connect the harp's veins.
The small scars are sticky and round, like little pearls, but she is still able to play.
In the next battles, the humans have yet to notice the slow, twanging tune which jars slightly that has replaced her earlier notes.
You still love it anyway.