(no subject)
Title: The Only Time to Dance
Fandom: 30_Fantasies
Characters: Auron / Jecht / Braska
Theme: #21 Guardian/Summon
Disclaimer: If Squaresoft would like to give me FFX, I would be willing to take it, until then... nothing's mine.
Word Count: 484
Hmm, not as angsty as normal! ^_^
“You gotta be kidding me? He’s dancing?!”
“That’s what Summoners do, they dance.”
“I never saw Braska as the pansy Leotard wearing sort…”
Auron, unsure of what Jecht was talking about, leant back against the remains of a wall.
A few feet away, sandals disturbing the dry dirt, Braska arched and twisted as if lifted by the wind, bringing his sparkling staff down in a smooth curve, his eyes closed, his face wet with sweat. The swirling beauty and grace tainted only by the obvious exhaustion he struggled to conceal.
Around him light lifted amongst the sobbing crowds that knelt in respect.
Jecht settled beside Auron, watching with a mixture of confusion and dejectedness as Auron’s eyes grazed over Braska.
“Can it really be appropriate to dance now? After all this death?” he grunted.
“It is the only time to dance. Look.” Jecht followed Auron’s unblinking gaze as millions of misty swirls rose from the dust and spiralled into the sky, joining Braska momentarily in his dance. “They are the dead. Braska is their link between this life and the next. His dancing opens that link. He allows them to rest.”
“Ohh…” Jecht groaned, realising for the umpteenth time how he was no longer safely in Zanderkand. “I see… Like a dance of death. ” He drawled, still unsure of exactly how this all was supposed to work. “Should we…”
“No.” Auron whispered harshly his eyes remaining pinned to the trance like movements. Then said with an outwards breath. “Just Braska.”
The pair stood silently side-by-side for a few minutes, Auron’s eyes never leaving Braska, watching each delicate step, each turn. Trying not to look obvious, Jecht inched closer to Auron and whispered from the side of his mouth. “He looks exhausted. When will he stop?”
“Where there is no one left to send.”
“Right, when Sin is defeated.” Jecht sighed. “Until then…”
“We guard,” Auron interrupted “it is our place, he dances, and that is his place.”
Jecht watched Auron watch Braska, a feeling of unease unravelling somewhere inside his chest. Auron was watching everything, his eyes nothing short of devouring the sight rather than observing with Jecht’s indifferent interest. There was something hotly possessive held in their depths. For the first time, Jecht was unnerved by the thought that maybe he was intruding on something much deeper than just a business relationship.
But Auron’s attentiveness was made apparent as Braska faltered in his steps, swaying on his toes. Jecht faintly heard metal scrape the wall as Auron dropped his sword. Braska fell. Before Jecht had registered the blur of red pass his eyes, Auron was at his Summoners side, guiding Braska’s arm across his shoulder in an attempt to steady the older man, catching him before he hit the floor.
Jecht hurried to Braska’s side, pulling the Summoners’ other limp arm across his shoulder.
Auron sighed irately to himself.
“He always falls.”
Fandom: 30_Fantasies
Characters: Auron / Jecht / Braska
Theme: #21 Guardian/Summon
Disclaimer: If Squaresoft would like to give me FFX, I would be willing to take it, until then... nothing's mine.
Word Count: 484
Hmm, not as angsty as normal! ^_^
“You gotta be kidding me? He’s dancing?!”
“That’s what Summoners do, they dance.”
“I never saw Braska as the pansy Leotard wearing sort…”
Auron, unsure of what Jecht was talking about, leant back against the remains of a wall.
A few feet away, sandals disturbing the dry dirt, Braska arched and twisted as if lifted by the wind, bringing his sparkling staff down in a smooth curve, his eyes closed, his face wet with sweat. The swirling beauty and grace tainted only by the obvious exhaustion he struggled to conceal.
Around him light lifted amongst the sobbing crowds that knelt in respect.
Jecht settled beside Auron, watching with a mixture of confusion and dejectedness as Auron’s eyes grazed over Braska.
“Can it really be appropriate to dance now? After all this death?” he grunted.
“It is the only time to dance. Look.” Jecht followed Auron’s unblinking gaze as millions of misty swirls rose from the dust and spiralled into the sky, joining Braska momentarily in his dance. “They are the dead. Braska is their link between this life and the next. His dancing opens that link. He allows them to rest.”
“Ohh…” Jecht groaned, realising for the umpteenth time how he was no longer safely in Zanderkand. “I see… Like a dance of death. ” He drawled, still unsure of exactly how this all was supposed to work. “Should we…”
“No.” Auron whispered harshly his eyes remaining pinned to the trance like movements. Then said with an outwards breath. “Just Braska.”
The pair stood silently side-by-side for a few minutes, Auron’s eyes never leaving Braska, watching each delicate step, each turn. Trying not to look obvious, Jecht inched closer to Auron and whispered from the side of his mouth. “He looks exhausted. When will he stop?”
“Where there is no one left to send.”
“Right, when Sin is defeated.” Jecht sighed. “Until then…”
“We guard,” Auron interrupted “it is our place, he dances, and that is his place.”
Jecht watched Auron watch Braska, a feeling of unease unravelling somewhere inside his chest. Auron was watching everything, his eyes nothing short of devouring the sight rather than observing with Jecht’s indifferent interest. There was something hotly possessive held in their depths. For the first time, Jecht was unnerved by the thought that maybe he was intruding on something much deeper than just a business relationship.
But Auron’s attentiveness was made apparent as Braska faltered in his steps, swaying on his toes. Jecht faintly heard metal scrape the wall as Auron dropped his sword. Braska fell. Before Jecht had registered the blur of red pass his eyes, Auron was at his Summoners side, guiding Braska’s arm across his shoulder in an attempt to steady the older man, catching him before he hit the floor.
Jecht hurried to Braska’s side, pulling the Summoners’ other limp arm across his shoulder.
Auron sighed irately to himself.
“He always falls.”