OMFG, Ahahahahaha!
Dec. 1st, 2003 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runicloreThis one is too long to include in the last post. I would keep this to myself, but while I do plan to finish this someday, it won't be soon. So, might as well present (most) of what I have, and laugh, because before I finish it, I absolutely have to rewrite it.
This is one of the few stories I've written in the last two years where I love the plan, my most critical critic thinks it's excellent, and it's just the writing that needs to be tweaked.
Final Fantasy X
Notes: This is far from finished, but it's more than what is currently displayed on Sylvana.
Firefly
By: Amber Michelle
myaru@etherealvoid.net
The hum of machina was the first thing to penetrate the watery abyss of Sin. A quiet whirr pulsed in the air with the regularity of a heartbeat, felt thorugh the cold surface beneath his cheek and the soft breeze in his hair. It smelled of salt - an ocean was near, though of course there weren't many places in Spira that were not within reasonable distance of the coasts. And, Yevon take him, it was still /freezing cold/.
//Braska left me on the slopes of Mount Gagazet.//
That was the first coherant thought to pierce his brain, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth that was not at all due to his watery imprisonment.
//But there /is/ no water.//
A mahogony eye cracked open. Clear air greeted him, and a crisp indigo sky, awash with light from below. A guard rail rose to block his view, cut with geometric shapes that reminded him of the Highbridge in Bevelle. It glimmered around the edges like a dream, but as his eye focused he realized the source of the light was beyond the barrier. He had awakened on a machina bridge in the sky, where not even the constellations were present to tell him where he was.
Auron's limbs twitched into action, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. It was all metallic, everything, glowing with that ethereal light. Sin had dropped him into a machina paradise. Perhaps... the Al Bhed home? Another glance at his surroundings put that idea to rest; advertisements were embedded into the metal above the doorway at the end, but they resembled no language he knew.
It was with great effort that the guardian sat up, shaking his head once to clear it of sleep. His hair had come loose in the tumult of Sin's arrival, and his bracer was lost, probably forever. His sword glinted a few feet away, he noted with relief, but none of his other belongings had survived the journey. Perhaps he was lucky to retain that much, but his instincts were not that easily cowed. He was an easy target.
That spurred him into action, and he levered himself off the floor with a grunt and a few uneasy cracks in his knees. He felt as if he'd aged a thousand years since he closed his eyes, and wondered if he was a victim of Sin's toxin after all, and this strange metallic island he'd awakened on was just a fever dream inspired by Jecht's ramblings about the sleepless city of Zanarkand. It held its own strange beauty, certainly, even if it wasn't real.
//Zanarkand.// Sin. He stumbled to the rail and leaned onto the edge, eye wide in wonder, the pain of the other fading away.
What had been a blur of white and yellow before resolved itself into a wonderland of multi-colored lights, rising to touch the sky. There was no need of stars. The velvet sky gave way to a city he'd never dreamed could exist, with structures so impossibly high he felt positive they would topple to the ground at any moment. It stretched to the end of the earth, and to his side an ocean glimmered, as alive as the city. People small as ants moved between the buildings and at the edge of the water, barely visible. The hum of the city was not just the machina - it was their voices and footsteps that gave everything life.
A pang of recognition clutched at Auron's throat. Looking over the wonderful picture below him, he saw traces of the ruins there. Jecht had kept his promise, and found a way. Zanarkand, the city of legend, had opened up and taken him.
He squeezed his eye shut. It was just a dream.
But he could see this city a thousand years in the future, see himself walking along the causeway below him. An Auron that trailed at the back of the summoner he failed to save, beside the man who lived, yet was not really alive. Another dream. He wondered if that was just a warped illusion rooted in the toxin, and prayed that it be so.
The breeze stopped, and time seemed to stand still. He reached down and fumbled for his sword.
It was time to descend into his dream.
*
The way down was not far. Auron had been half afraid even the stairs would be mechanized, but to his relief they were only molded, unmoving metal. He wasn't /afraid/ of machina, quite, but he avoided them like any self-respecting Yevonite would, and Braska's gentle tutelage in the use of the simpler devices had only intensified his dislike of them. It was a lack of understanding - he could admit it. But now it might become a hinderance, and he regretted his stubborn attitude.
Braska tried so hard - Auron's throat clenched just remembering. There were so many things he should have done while the summoner was still alive, so many times when he should have been a little milder in his protests, or more understanding of his lord's will. He had stubbornly refused to enjoy their time together.
//Did that hurt you, my lord?// Auron stopped on the bottom step, watching the street he'd come upon as if he thought he would see the ghost he was speaking to. //I'm sorry.//
The cut over his right eye was swelling. It hadn't healed as quickly as his other wounds, if those had healed at all and not just hidden themselves for the duration of his stay in this place. He supposed it might be symbolic, but the citizens passing by didn't seem to think so; they shied away, disgusted. A child across the street stared unabashedly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
//So I'm a monster now, am I?// There was a certain appeal to the idea.
There weren't many people out. Auron glanced back and forth, up and down, eyes lingering on nothing too long. He was grateful for the lack of crowds, and cared nothing for /why/ there were so few citizens about. With his vision impaired it was hard to catch everything as he walked, and he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of staying still, and making an easy target of himself.
He couldn't dwell on those thoughts long. Everything was so... beautiful. Everywhere he looked, there was something new to see: advertisements made of light and hanging in thin air, sphere screens clearer and bigger than the best in Luca. They were running a blitz game, and Auron allowed himself to pause and watch for a short stretch. Their technique was odd... not that he'd ever been a fan of the game. But blitzball was familiar, something he /knew/. It was something in this wonderland of mechanics that he could take some slight comfort in.
Would there be any other bridges between the two worlds? He gathered there would be no fayth or summoners - no reason for Sin to dream of what caused its own downfall. But the thought of other similarities was intriguing.
//"/Another/ attempt at the Jecht Shot! I can't believe it!"//
//"Well Jack, some of us have to learn the hard way. He's got a head start!"//
Auron snorted and moved on. The nature of blitz commentary certainly hadn't changed at all.
The street ended with a view of the ocean, framed by an arching bridge of water. It took his breath away - the mercury surface didn't look /real/ to him. He tried to remind himself that it was just a dream, but Zanarkand had existed, once upon a time. To think that all of these wonders had been lost for so long...
//"Imagine what this place must have looked like, Auron!" Braska's voice was soft with awe, his face turned up to the sky. "Even in ruins, it is a sight to behold..." He turned to Jecht. "I wish I could see this as you do."//
Had Jecht walked into Zanarkand with them and felt the same stab of fear Auron felt now? What could it have been like, to see the ruins of this place and still remember them as a living city? If he walked into Bevelle and found it devastated and empty, and Kinoc, Mika, the healers and monks, all gone... He truly had been too hard on Jecht. Braska was right - he was always right, in matters of the heart. Why was it that he only understood this /now/, when it was too /late/?
Auron propped his sword against the rail and touched his eye gingerly, tracing over the split in his skin with bare fingers. It was sticky with blood and stung like a thousand needles, and it throbbed more sharply whenever he touched it. He deserved what he'd gotten, perhaps, for charging so foolishly into that battle. The wound and the scar he knew it would leave would serve as a reminder of what happened when he let his emotions overtake him. To hell with psychology - the feelings within should /stay/ there.
He leaned hard against the rail, following the play of lights on the surface of the water. It was a black abyss, so gentle and quiet he could hardly believe this was the same water that existed in Spira. Everything seemed to be tinted with blood there, as if the dead were leaving their mark even after they were sent to the Farplane - not like this place. If only Braska could see it with him - a world without Sin, where everything was quiet and peaceful. It was his dream. /Their/ dream.
His ears caught the clip of footsteps and he turned away from his thoughts, happy for a distraction even if it meant dealing with another person.
Silvery hair - that was the first impression that met him. It was pulled back, but some strands roamed free on the breeze like threads of an azure sky. A long black coat drifted with every step. One glance, and Auron's mind calculated that this was no threat; the figure was almost slender enough to be feminine - there was no strength there. The form was obscured by shadows, but when it emerged into the moonlight-
He felt his stomach plummet to the floor, and stared at the newcomer without a thought for being rude.
//A cruel joke, Jecht.//
"I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?" It was a voice that made Auron's heart ache. The newcomer stopped a few feet away, eyebrows drawn together in concern.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to rush over and throw his arms around that frail body and never let go. "Braska." His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Excuse me?" The man took a hesitant step closer, and added apologetically, "I've just come from the stadium. It's always hard to hear after that."
This was a face Auron hadn't dared hope he would ever see again, more alive than he was. The irony of it would make for a good laugh, someday. "You are not disturbing me," he managed hoarsely. The stadium - Jecht's boy... perhaps he would be near there.
"You look unwell..." Concern seemed to override any caution the man may have had. He closed the distance between them and pierced Auron with his sea-blue eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Fine... fine." He leaned against the railing and forced himself to look at the long drop to the water. Years of habit overrode his shock - it was rude to stare, and he must look away.
The other hesitated, and seemed on the verge of reaching out to touch him. "Are you sure?"
Braska had always seen right through him. Auron was afraid to speak, sure that this strange reflection would know everything before the first word was uttered. It was important there be no misunderstandings - no matter how much he looked like Braska, this /wasn't/ the same person.
His visitor had had enough. "Come along." Auron tensed as the man grasped his arm to pull him away from the railing, but he complied. "Do you think you can make it as far as the Oceanic?"
He had no idea what the 'Oceanic' was, but he nodded to reassure the other and reached to pick up his sword. For the first time in years, he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry it. Leaving it behind was out of the question, however - he would have to manage.
"What is your name, stranger?"
The word stung. "Auron."
"Pleased to meet you, Auron. I'm sorry our introduction comes under such dire circumstance." The man's smile was slight but kind. "I am Braska."
Auron's heart skipped another beat. But... he already knew that.
***
The Oceanic was a mid-sized cafe on the corner of a quiet street, not far from the bridge Auron had awakened upon. The windows were open to the salty breeze and the hum of the city, but inside it was lit with small ceramic lamps and thick pillar candles that reminded Auron forcefully of the prayer rooms in the Temple. Their entrance invited a few strange looks from the patrons, but Braska ignored them and led Auron to a table in the far corner, switching the lamp off to leave them in shadow.
"Sit." He helped Auron steady his sword against the wall. "I'll be back with tea. Will you be okay?"
The guardian nodded, still reluctant to speak. His eye throbbed. He could only close the other and finger the wound gingerly, with fond thoughts for that elixer he had wasted on his journey back to the Dome. He should have known it would be no use in a battle with the likes of Yunalesca. He looked back now, trying to find some kind of explanation for his situation, but all he could recall was her scornful recitation of the "truth". It all made a horrible sort of sense now.
Part of him wondered if this was some trick on her part, but the reasonable part of his mind dismissed it as impossible. She was not Sin... but she could have done a fair imitation of it, with her damnable, pitying words. He would return someday, and silence her.
"Here." Braska placed a rounded ceramic mug on the table before him and took a seat in the chair beside him. Mint swirled to his nose with the steam. "I've left it unsweetened - I don't know how Bevellians like their tea."
Auron nodded and picked it up gingerly, letting his fingers burn with the heat. It was something to let him know he was real and waking. "Bevellian?" he queried after a sip, careful to keep his voice steady. It burned his throat.
"You certainly aren't from Zanarkand." He reached forth, eyes intent, and rested his fingertips on the split over Auron's eye. The guardian jerked back, and Braska removed his hand. His fingers came away sticky and dark with blood. "I can't imagine you took that wound here, either."
Auron turned his face away. He'd hit it on the mark, of course, but what did it mean, to be Bevellian in Zanarkand? Yunalesca's words came back to him again: //Bevelle and Zanarkand were at war - that is what Sin came from.//
"Have I offended you?" Braska's voice was apologetic.
"No." It was difficult to turn back to that face, and meet that haunting gaze. But not as difficult as it was to look away. "Thank you for the tea."
The other's sea-blue eyes softened in a smile, then drifted away to something past Auron's shoulder. "Ah, Kiri." He rose, and Auron twisted to look behind him. A young girl with generous curves and flouncy curls threaded her way across the room to them, balancing a tray with a white bowl and a stack of towels. She offered these to Braska, and though she spared a quick glance for the guardian, she had eyes only for the man who reached out and took her burden. "Thank you - tell your father I'm grateful, will you? I'll repay him, when I get the chance."
"No need, Braska." She gave him a tentative smile, clasping her hands behind her back. "Can I help you with anything else...?"
Auron twisted back to look at his companion. He was amused despite his situation, and struggling not to show it. Braska appeared to be suffering the same problem, but he hid it well.
"Thank you, but no." He pulled his chair closer to Auron's and sat down again. They tray was deposited on the table. "I'll be sure to call you if I need anything else."
"Friend of yours?" Auron inquired quietly, when the girl's footsteps had retreated out of earshot. He smiled into his tea.
Braska made an embarassed sound and busied himself with unrolling a towel. "Daughter of a friend," he replied with a slight flush, and fixed Auron with a sharp gaze. "Though I don't see why it's any concern of /yours/..."
The guardian felt himself grinning, and he suppressed it behind a cough, and another sip of his tea. Was he falling into old habits already? He didn't even know this man - not really. "I apologize." He kept his eyes on his hands, knowing that if he looked up, he would see not a stranger, but someone he thought he knew. He couldn't trust himself to do it, just yet. "You are right, of course."
"It's nothing to worry about." Braska paused thoughtfully, then dipped the towel into the bowl and squeezed the excess water out. "Kiri is... young. She thinks she sees something she wants, but that will change soon enough." He shook his head and sighed. "Will you allow me to dress your wound?"
Auron looked up in surprise. He shouldn't have been - what had he supposed it was all for? "I... I suppose so."
Braska nodded and took hold of his chin with a slender hand. He winced when the guardian tilted his face to allow him a better angle, but when he started to dab at the wound, his touch was ever gentle and sure. It came away darker than Auron's kimono, and dyed the water red when Braska rinsed it and started again.
"If you don't mind me asking... what happened?"
Auron tried to look at him, but the angle of his face wouldn't allow it. He contented himself with studying a painting on the wall, while his companion continued his ministrations. //Yunalesca.// One more reason to resent that... fiend. "It's a long story," he muttered. "I... wouldn't know where to begin."
"Hm." Braska released his chin and set the towel aside, reaching to unroll another one and soak it in water. "Would that story have anything to do with your arm being in a sling?" He started on the wound again, applying a little more pressure. "Does this hurt?" When he received the negating shake of Auron's head, he continued. "Is it another injury? It should be taken care of now, if so."
Auron flexed his captive hand, aware of it for the first time since meeting this odd savior of his. He'd used that arm to carry his sword, but returned it immediately to his side when that was taken care of. It was already second nature. How to explain it, though... It would be just another oddity about him, to the people of Zanarkand. Yevon knew he'd received enough strange looks on the street.
"This is my way of paying respect to the dead." How odd it was to say it, when the object of that respect was sitting right in front of him. "It is no injury."
The other nodded, probably chalking it up to some kind of 'strange Bevellian custom'. He possessed his namesake's perception, for he seemed to sense that it was not a topic Auron wanted to speak of; he kept silent and focused on his work, pausing only for another new towel. The wound felt raw and clammy after his attentions, but it no longer pained him. Braska's touch and the warm moisture of the towel seemed to have coaxed the last of its sting away.
"That should be enough." Braska set the towel aside, and turned the guardian's face back to him so he could examine it with a critical eye. "I think it may be beyond my ability to heal completely..."
"You're a healer?" He didn't know why he should be surprised. This was Braska, though... it wasn't, really.
Braska raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't you have healers in Bevelle...?"
"Yes, of course." Auron sighed, avoiding Braska's gaze. He felt like a fool, for expecting this place to be much different. It was remarkably like Spira in some ways. "I didn't expect to find any here. I... didn't know what to expect, in truth."
"Ah. Well. I should be able to coax it into something more endurable, so you will not have to deal with unwieldly bandaging." He grasped Auron's chin again, and rested his fingertips on the cut. "With your permission...?"
//Need you even ask, my lord?// The guardian nodded, and closed his eye.
The sensation was warm and cool at the same time, as familiar to him as his own hand. The spell took on the essence of the healer, thus demanding a certain set of the mind to cast, and in this he recognized the sense that only belonged to one man. It sapped his discomfort away, draining pain not only from the wound over his eye, but also the tense set of his muscles and the remnants of the other wounds he had suffered during his journey. It left him feeling as if he'd been taken into a tender embrace, and only fatigue remained when Braska withdrew.
He nearly reached out to capture the healer's hands again, but he kept his free hand clenched tightly below the table, reminding himself sternly that this stranger - no matter /how/ much he resembled Braska, or felt like him - was not someone he should treat so lightly. This man was treating him out of the kindness of his heart, and he deserved to be respected.
Auron told himself this, but it was difficult to open his eye, and refrain from treating the man as he would his friend. Braska would have laughed at him - perhaps this one would too, if he knew what was going through the warrior's mind. But it would be that gentle laughter, reassuring simply because it was /him/. He missed that easy smile.
"Thank you," he said at last, meeting Braska's intent gaze.
And there it was - that smile. "It was nothing."
He watched Braska fold the towels and stack them into a neat pile, at a loss for what to say. There was nothing else between them - nothing but Auron's memories of a different place and time. No reasons to delay the other's departure presented themselves, nor any ideas on how to ensure that they would meet again. And in the end, he had come to Zanarkand to take care of Jecht's son, not chase after his own dreams, no matter how precious they were.
But he wanted to. Yevon, he wanted to...
Braska spoke, startling Auron out of his thoughts. "You might want to buy yourself something a little less distinctive." He gestured to the kimono. "Your attire will attract more attention than your injury did, and I can guarantee it will not be favorable. Your sword, too, but... I am not sure you can do much about that."
The warrior hesitated, trying to gather his wits. That was something that hadn't occurred to him. "What would you suggest?"
"There are plenty of shops around here that specialize in our current styles." Braska finished his task and motioned toward the front counter. "I am sure you'll find something."
"I can't thank you enough for helping me." Auron bowed his head, feeling lost already, though the healer had not left yet. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?" He certainly hoped there was.
"Really, it's nothing." Braska stood, and the guardian lifted his gaze. "Kiri will show you to a room - her father has agreed to let you stay at the inn tonight so you can get your bearings. Other than that..." His lips turned up at the corners, as if he'd had a curious idea. "It isn't every day I meet a Bevellian... Perhaps we'll meet again, and you can tell me about your homeland."
Kiri's arrival signaled the end of the conversation. Braska left with a parting smile, and the girl crowded the towels and bowl onto her tray. Auron watched without interest. The fatigue of being healed was beginning to catch up to him, and he eyed his sword warily, wondering if he would be able to carry it to his room, or if he'd have to drag it. The proprietor might not appreciate the damage that would cause. But it was all a dream - would it repair itself by morning, or prove to be a little less durable?
"I'll show you to your room in a minute, sir." The girl kept her eyes down. He couldn't tell if she was afraid of him, or just shy. "I'll have to take these to the back first."
He nodded, and paid her no mind once she was out of his field of vision. Braska was all he could spare a thought for. What was he like in this world? And... why was he in Zanarkand? This dream was the realm of the fayth. Braska was no fayth, but if his soul had made it to the Farplane instead of being absorbed into Sin... no one could say how closely the two were connected. Theories abounded in the Temple; he wished he'd paid more attention to the discussions, now.
"Sir?" He looked up. Kiri was back, minus her apron.
"Yes, of course." Auron gathered his energy to stand, and reached for his sword. He towered over the girl - she couldn't have been more than thirteen. And in love with /Braska/... He smiled to himself, but his amusement didn't last long. "Lead the way, Miss Kiri."
*
It was with great reluctance that Auron left his room above the Oceanic the next morning. He'd never been shy about exploring new places, although he hadn't really had the chance until his journey with Braska, but Zanarkand... it could only be described as /eerie/. He tried to ignore the creeping reminder that he /knew/ that skyline up ahead of him, lit up with the dawn so it resembled exactly the view he and Braska had been greeted with not long ago. Signs and ads sped by, and he didn't bother letting them catch his interest, because he knew he wouldn't be able to read them any better than he could read Al Bhed. He had a purpose here, and that was to blend in and find Jecht's son - that did not leave room for gawking like a schoolboy along the way. Acclamation was a warrior's first and most important skill.
But if he tried to fit into the backdrop of the dream city, it denied him. Maybe it was his attire as Braska had implied, or the wound over his eye that, though healed, was still a throbbing red scar that would take years to fade. People stepped away from him, around him, and refused to meet his eyes when he challenged them with a raised eyebrow or a stare. Had these people never seen a scar before? They were common enough in Spira. How in the world had /Jecht/ gotten by?
//"You get scarred up playing blitz. Don't go in and expect to come out pretty."//
Judging by the flood of promotion for blitzball he'd been bombarded with since leaving the Oceanic, Auron thought dryly, the game would be a good excuse for /anything/ in this place.
His foray into Zanarkand's shops was uneventful. The shopkeepers gave him strange looks and asked odd questions, but they took his money and gave him what he wanted - dark, unassuming coats with high collars and wide sleeves, loose pants that fit well into his boots, and a pair of what the locals called 'sunglasses' to conceal part of the scar over his eye. It helped somewhat; he did not encounter as many flinching expressions, in any case. But he must have cut an imposing figure, because many of the citizens he passed still went out of their way to avoid him.
Returning to the Oceanic was a relief after such a lukewarm reception, and Auron hurried through the common room to the back stairs with his parcels, hoping to draw as little attention as possible. He was tired of the looks, and the sidelong glances. They made it clear he had a long way to go before he would fit into the puzzle of this place, and he did not have the time. His promise to Jecht was a lifeline now, all that held him together in some ways. Certainly, it was the only thing stopping him from searching for the strange reflection of Braska. Tidus must come first in his thoughts; dreams could be indulged later, once he was on his way to fulfilling his oath.
The bundle of new clothes was tossed into a chair, and the tanto waiting on the bed secured on his belt under the coat. He refused to walk about unarmed if he could help it. Leaving his weapons behind had been necessary earlier, but he'd felt naked without the reassuring weight of his sword - he did not intend to repeat the experience. If he could not carry the katana, he would at least keep the smaller, less conspicuous blade.
Unfortunately, that left him with nothing else on his agenda but to find Jecht's home. The thought was both exciting and forboding. Auron had often wondered about this phantom family his friend spoke of during their journey and he looked forward to seeing them with his own eyes, but he was also very nervous. There was no guarantee this wife - Aelia, by name - would believe his story about Jecht, and even if he did... Tidus was another puzzle he would have to unravel. Children were difficult little creatures; he'd never had much success with them before.
What would he do once the meeting was done with? he wondered, making his way back to the common room more slowly. What then? His promise was to 'watch over Jecht's son'. Assuming Aelia allowed it... well, he had no idea what that entailed. Auron had no children of his own - he didn't know the first thing about raising them or gaining their trust. Braska would have been a better candidate for this.
Auron strode into the common room and as if thinking the name had summoned the man, he found Braska sitting at a table near the stairs. The sight of him was like lightning jolting through his veins. He stopped, and found himself hesitating, on the brink of approaching the table. Part of him insisted there was no time for this, that he must leave /now/ and keep his oath; the other part whispered that he had all the time in the world - this place was a dream, after all.
(And there's the LJ character limit. To be continued in a omment, if it'll let me.)
This is one of the few stories I've written in the last two years where I love the plan, my most critical critic thinks it's excellent, and it's just the writing that needs to be tweaked.
Final Fantasy X
Notes: This is far from finished, but it's more than what is currently displayed on Sylvana.
Firefly
By: Amber Michelle
myaru@etherealvoid.net
The hum of machina was the first thing to penetrate the watery abyss of Sin. A quiet whirr pulsed in the air with the regularity of a heartbeat, felt thorugh the cold surface beneath his cheek and the soft breeze in his hair. It smelled of salt - an ocean was near, though of course there weren't many places in Spira that were not within reasonable distance of the coasts. And, Yevon take him, it was still /freezing cold/.
//Braska left me on the slopes of Mount Gagazet.//
That was the first coherant thought to pierce his brain, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth that was not at all due to his watery imprisonment.
//But there /is/ no water.//
A mahogony eye cracked open. Clear air greeted him, and a crisp indigo sky, awash with light from below. A guard rail rose to block his view, cut with geometric shapes that reminded him of the Highbridge in Bevelle. It glimmered around the edges like a dream, but as his eye focused he realized the source of the light was beyond the barrier. He had awakened on a machina bridge in the sky, where not even the constellations were present to tell him where he was.
Auron's limbs twitched into action, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. It was all metallic, everything, glowing with that ethereal light. Sin had dropped him into a machina paradise. Perhaps... the Al Bhed home? Another glance at his surroundings put that idea to rest; advertisements were embedded into the metal above the doorway at the end, but they resembled no language he knew.
It was with great effort that the guardian sat up, shaking his head once to clear it of sleep. His hair had come loose in the tumult of Sin's arrival, and his bracer was lost, probably forever. His sword glinted a few feet away, he noted with relief, but none of his other belongings had survived the journey. Perhaps he was lucky to retain that much, but his instincts were not that easily cowed. He was an easy target.
That spurred him into action, and he levered himself off the floor with a grunt and a few uneasy cracks in his knees. He felt as if he'd aged a thousand years since he closed his eyes, and wondered if he was a victim of Sin's toxin after all, and this strange metallic island he'd awakened on was just a fever dream inspired by Jecht's ramblings about the sleepless city of Zanarkand. It held its own strange beauty, certainly, even if it wasn't real.
//Zanarkand.// Sin. He stumbled to the rail and leaned onto the edge, eye wide in wonder, the pain of the other fading away.
What had been a blur of white and yellow before resolved itself into a wonderland of multi-colored lights, rising to touch the sky. There was no need of stars. The velvet sky gave way to a city he'd never dreamed could exist, with structures so impossibly high he felt positive they would topple to the ground at any moment. It stretched to the end of the earth, and to his side an ocean glimmered, as alive as the city. People small as ants moved between the buildings and at the edge of the water, barely visible. The hum of the city was not just the machina - it was their voices and footsteps that gave everything life.
A pang of recognition clutched at Auron's throat. Looking over the wonderful picture below him, he saw traces of the ruins there. Jecht had kept his promise, and found a way. Zanarkand, the city of legend, had opened up and taken him.
He squeezed his eye shut. It was just a dream.
But he could see this city a thousand years in the future, see himself walking along the causeway below him. An Auron that trailed at the back of the summoner he failed to save, beside the man who lived, yet was not really alive. Another dream. He wondered if that was just a warped illusion rooted in the toxin, and prayed that it be so.
The breeze stopped, and time seemed to stand still. He reached down and fumbled for his sword.
It was time to descend into his dream.
*
The way down was not far. Auron had been half afraid even the stairs would be mechanized, but to his relief they were only molded, unmoving metal. He wasn't /afraid/ of machina, quite, but he avoided them like any self-respecting Yevonite would, and Braska's gentle tutelage in the use of the simpler devices had only intensified his dislike of them. It was a lack of understanding - he could admit it. But now it might become a hinderance, and he regretted his stubborn attitude.
Braska tried so hard - Auron's throat clenched just remembering. There were so many things he should have done while the summoner was still alive, so many times when he should have been a little milder in his protests, or more understanding of his lord's will. He had stubbornly refused to enjoy their time together.
//Did that hurt you, my lord?// Auron stopped on the bottom step, watching the street he'd come upon as if he thought he would see the ghost he was speaking to. //I'm sorry.//
The cut over his right eye was swelling. It hadn't healed as quickly as his other wounds, if those had healed at all and not just hidden themselves for the duration of his stay in this place. He supposed it might be symbolic, but the citizens passing by didn't seem to think so; they shied away, disgusted. A child across the street stared unabashedly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
//So I'm a monster now, am I?// There was a certain appeal to the idea.
There weren't many people out. Auron glanced back and forth, up and down, eyes lingering on nothing too long. He was grateful for the lack of crowds, and cared nothing for /why/ there were so few citizens about. With his vision impaired it was hard to catch everything as he walked, and he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of staying still, and making an easy target of himself.
He couldn't dwell on those thoughts long. Everything was so... beautiful. Everywhere he looked, there was something new to see: advertisements made of light and hanging in thin air, sphere screens clearer and bigger than the best in Luca. They were running a blitz game, and Auron allowed himself to pause and watch for a short stretch. Their technique was odd... not that he'd ever been a fan of the game. But blitzball was familiar, something he /knew/. It was something in this wonderland of mechanics that he could take some slight comfort in.
Would there be any other bridges between the two worlds? He gathered there would be no fayth or summoners - no reason for Sin to dream of what caused its own downfall. But the thought of other similarities was intriguing.
//"/Another/ attempt at the Jecht Shot! I can't believe it!"//
//"Well Jack, some of us have to learn the hard way. He's got a head start!"//
Auron snorted and moved on. The nature of blitz commentary certainly hadn't changed at all.
The street ended with a view of the ocean, framed by an arching bridge of water. It took his breath away - the mercury surface didn't look /real/ to him. He tried to remind himself that it was just a dream, but Zanarkand had existed, once upon a time. To think that all of these wonders had been lost for so long...
//"Imagine what this place must have looked like, Auron!" Braska's voice was soft with awe, his face turned up to the sky. "Even in ruins, it is a sight to behold..." He turned to Jecht. "I wish I could see this as you do."//
Had Jecht walked into Zanarkand with them and felt the same stab of fear Auron felt now? What could it have been like, to see the ruins of this place and still remember them as a living city? If he walked into Bevelle and found it devastated and empty, and Kinoc, Mika, the healers and monks, all gone... He truly had been too hard on Jecht. Braska was right - he was always right, in matters of the heart. Why was it that he only understood this /now/, when it was too /late/?
Auron propped his sword against the rail and touched his eye gingerly, tracing over the split in his skin with bare fingers. It was sticky with blood and stung like a thousand needles, and it throbbed more sharply whenever he touched it. He deserved what he'd gotten, perhaps, for charging so foolishly into that battle. The wound and the scar he knew it would leave would serve as a reminder of what happened when he let his emotions overtake him. To hell with psychology - the feelings within should /stay/ there.
He leaned hard against the rail, following the play of lights on the surface of the water. It was a black abyss, so gentle and quiet he could hardly believe this was the same water that existed in Spira. Everything seemed to be tinted with blood there, as if the dead were leaving their mark even after they were sent to the Farplane - not like this place. If only Braska could see it with him - a world without Sin, where everything was quiet and peaceful. It was his dream. /Their/ dream.
His ears caught the clip of footsteps and he turned away from his thoughts, happy for a distraction even if it meant dealing with another person.
Silvery hair - that was the first impression that met him. It was pulled back, but some strands roamed free on the breeze like threads of an azure sky. A long black coat drifted with every step. One glance, and Auron's mind calculated that this was no threat; the figure was almost slender enough to be feminine - there was no strength there. The form was obscured by shadows, but when it emerged into the moonlight-
He felt his stomach plummet to the floor, and stared at the newcomer without a thought for being rude.
//A cruel joke, Jecht.//
"I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?" It was a voice that made Auron's heart ache. The newcomer stopped a few feet away, eyebrows drawn together in concern.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to rush over and throw his arms around that frail body and never let go. "Braska." His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Excuse me?" The man took a hesitant step closer, and added apologetically, "I've just come from the stadium. It's always hard to hear after that."
This was a face Auron hadn't dared hope he would ever see again, more alive than he was. The irony of it would make for a good laugh, someday. "You are not disturbing me," he managed hoarsely. The stadium - Jecht's boy... perhaps he would be near there.
"You look unwell..." Concern seemed to override any caution the man may have had. He closed the distance between them and pierced Auron with his sea-blue eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Fine... fine." He leaned against the railing and forced himself to look at the long drop to the water. Years of habit overrode his shock - it was rude to stare, and he must look away.
The other hesitated, and seemed on the verge of reaching out to touch him. "Are you sure?"
Braska had always seen right through him. Auron was afraid to speak, sure that this strange reflection would know everything before the first word was uttered. It was important there be no misunderstandings - no matter how much he looked like Braska, this /wasn't/ the same person.
His visitor had had enough. "Come along." Auron tensed as the man grasped his arm to pull him away from the railing, but he complied. "Do you think you can make it as far as the Oceanic?"
He had no idea what the 'Oceanic' was, but he nodded to reassure the other and reached to pick up his sword. For the first time in years, he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry it. Leaving it behind was out of the question, however - he would have to manage.
"What is your name, stranger?"
The word stung. "Auron."
"Pleased to meet you, Auron. I'm sorry our introduction comes under such dire circumstance." The man's smile was slight but kind. "I am Braska."
Auron's heart skipped another beat. But... he already knew that.
***
The Oceanic was a mid-sized cafe on the corner of a quiet street, not far from the bridge Auron had awakened upon. The windows were open to the salty breeze and the hum of the city, but inside it was lit with small ceramic lamps and thick pillar candles that reminded Auron forcefully of the prayer rooms in the Temple. Their entrance invited a few strange looks from the patrons, but Braska ignored them and led Auron to a table in the far corner, switching the lamp off to leave them in shadow.
"Sit." He helped Auron steady his sword against the wall. "I'll be back with tea. Will you be okay?"
The guardian nodded, still reluctant to speak. His eye throbbed. He could only close the other and finger the wound gingerly, with fond thoughts for that elixer he had wasted on his journey back to the Dome. He should have known it would be no use in a battle with the likes of Yunalesca. He looked back now, trying to find some kind of explanation for his situation, but all he could recall was her scornful recitation of the "truth". It all made a horrible sort of sense now.
Part of him wondered if this was some trick on her part, but the reasonable part of his mind dismissed it as impossible. She was not Sin... but she could have done a fair imitation of it, with her damnable, pitying words. He would return someday, and silence her.
"Here." Braska placed a rounded ceramic mug on the table before him and took a seat in the chair beside him. Mint swirled to his nose with the steam. "I've left it unsweetened - I don't know how Bevellians like their tea."
Auron nodded and picked it up gingerly, letting his fingers burn with the heat. It was something to let him know he was real and waking. "Bevellian?" he queried after a sip, careful to keep his voice steady. It burned his throat.
"You certainly aren't from Zanarkand." He reached forth, eyes intent, and rested his fingertips on the split over Auron's eye. The guardian jerked back, and Braska removed his hand. His fingers came away sticky and dark with blood. "I can't imagine you took that wound here, either."
Auron turned his face away. He'd hit it on the mark, of course, but what did it mean, to be Bevellian in Zanarkand? Yunalesca's words came back to him again: //Bevelle and Zanarkand were at war - that is what Sin came from.//
"Have I offended you?" Braska's voice was apologetic.
"No." It was difficult to turn back to that face, and meet that haunting gaze. But not as difficult as it was to look away. "Thank you for the tea."
The other's sea-blue eyes softened in a smile, then drifted away to something past Auron's shoulder. "Ah, Kiri." He rose, and Auron twisted to look behind him. A young girl with generous curves and flouncy curls threaded her way across the room to them, balancing a tray with a white bowl and a stack of towels. She offered these to Braska, and though she spared a quick glance for the guardian, she had eyes only for the man who reached out and took her burden. "Thank you - tell your father I'm grateful, will you? I'll repay him, when I get the chance."
"No need, Braska." She gave him a tentative smile, clasping her hands behind her back. "Can I help you with anything else...?"
Auron twisted back to look at his companion. He was amused despite his situation, and struggling not to show it. Braska appeared to be suffering the same problem, but he hid it well.
"Thank you, but no." He pulled his chair closer to Auron's and sat down again. They tray was deposited on the table. "I'll be sure to call you if I need anything else."
"Friend of yours?" Auron inquired quietly, when the girl's footsteps had retreated out of earshot. He smiled into his tea.
Braska made an embarassed sound and busied himself with unrolling a towel. "Daughter of a friend," he replied with a slight flush, and fixed Auron with a sharp gaze. "Though I don't see why it's any concern of /yours/..."
The guardian felt himself grinning, and he suppressed it behind a cough, and another sip of his tea. Was he falling into old habits already? He didn't even know this man - not really. "I apologize." He kept his eyes on his hands, knowing that if he looked up, he would see not a stranger, but someone he thought he knew. He couldn't trust himself to do it, just yet. "You are right, of course."
"It's nothing to worry about." Braska paused thoughtfully, then dipped the towel into the bowl and squeezed the excess water out. "Kiri is... young. She thinks she sees something she wants, but that will change soon enough." He shook his head and sighed. "Will you allow me to dress your wound?"
Auron looked up in surprise. He shouldn't have been - what had he supposed it was all for? "I... I suppose so."
Braska nodded and took hold of his chin with a slender hand. He winced when the guardian tilted his face to allow him a better angle, but when he started to dab at the wound, his touch was ever gentle and sure. It came away darker than Auron's kimono, and dyed the water red when Braska rinsed it and started again.
"If you don't mind me asking... what happened?"
Auron tried to look at him, but the angle of his face wouldn't allow it. He contented himself with studying a painting on the wall, while his companion continued his ministrations. //Yunalesca.// One more reason to resent that... fiend. "It's a long story," he muttered. "I... wouldn't know where to begin."
"Hm." Braska released his chin and set the towel aside, reaching to unroll another one and soak it in water. "Would that story have anything to do with your arm being in a sling?" He started on the wound again, applying a little more pressure. "Does this hurt?" When he received the negating shake of Auron's head, he continued. "Is it another injury? It should be taken care of now, if so."
Auron flexed his captive hand, aware of it for the first time since meeting this odd savior of his. He'd used that arm to carry his sword, but returned it immediately to his side when that was taken care of. It was already second nature. How to explain it, though... It would be just another oddity about him, to the people of Zanarkand. Yevon knew he'd received enough strange looks on the street.
"This is my way of paying respect to the dead." How odd it was to say it, when the object of that respect was sitting right in front of him. "It is no injury."
The other nodded, probably chalking it up to some kind of 'strange Bevellian custom'. He possessed his namesake's perception, for he seemed to sense that it was not a topic Auron wanted to speak of; he kept silent and focused on his work, pausing only for another new towel. The wound felt raw and clammy after his attentions, but it no longer pained him. Braska's touch and the warm moisture of the towel seemed to have coaxed the last of its sting away.
"That should be enough." Braska set the towel aside, and turned the guardian's face back to him so he could examine it with a critical eye. "I think it may be beyond my ability to heal completely..."
"You're a healer?" He didn't know why he should be surprised. This was Braska, though... it wasn't, really.
Braska raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't you have healers in Bevelle...?"
"Yes, of course." Auron sighed, avoiding Braska's gaze. He felt like a fool, for expecting this place to be much different. It was remarkably like Spira in some ways. "I didn't expect to find any here. I... didn't know what to expect, in truth."
"Ah. Well. I should be able to coax it into something more endurable, so you will not have to deal with unwieldly bandaging." He grasped Auron's chin again, and rested his fingertips on the cut. "With your permission...?"
//Need you even ask, my lord?// The guardian nodded, and closed his eye.
The sensation was warm and cool at the same time, as familiar to him as his own hand. The spell took on the essence of the healer, thus demanding a certain set of the mind to cast, and in this he recognized the sense that only belonged to one man. It sapped his discomfort away, draining pain not only from the wound over his eye, but also the tense set of his muscles and the remnants of the other wounds he had suffered during his journey. It left him feeling as if he'd been taken into a tender embrace, and only fatigue remained when Braska withdrew.
He nearly reached out to capture the healer's hands again, but he kept his free hand clenched tightly below the table, reminding himself sternly that this stranger - no matter /how/ much he resembled Braska, or felt like him - was not someone he should treat so lightly. This man was treating him out of the kindness of his heart, and he deserved to be respected.
Auron told himself this, but it was difficult to open his eye, and refrain from treating the man as he would his friend. Braska would have laughed at him - perhaps this one would too, if he knew what was going through the warrior's mind. But it would be that gentle laughter, reassuring simply because it was /him/. He missed that easy smile.
"Thank you," he said at last, meeting Braska's intent gaze.
And there it was - that smile. "It was nothing."
He watched Braska fold the towels and stack them into a neat pile, at a loss for what to say. There was nothing else between them - nothing but Auron's memories of a different place and time. No reasons to delay the other's departure presented themselves, nor any ideas on how to ensure that they would meet again. And in the end, he had come to Zanarkand to take care of Jecht's son, not chase after his own dreams, no matter how precious they were.
But he wanted to. Yevon, he wanted to...
Braska spoke, startling Auron out of his thoughts. "You might want to buy yourself something a little less distinctive." He gestured to the kimono. "Your attire will attract more attention than your injury did, and I can guarantee it will not be favorable. Your sword, too, but... I am not sure you can do much about that."
The warrior hesitated, trying to gather his wits. That was something that hadn't occurred to him. "What would you suggest?"
"There are plenty of shops around here that specialize in our current styles." Braska finished his task and motioned toward the front counter. "I am sure you'll find something."
"I can't thank you enough for helping me." Auron bowed his head, feeling lost already, though the healer had not left yet. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?" He certainly hoped there was.
"Really, it's nothing." Braska stood, and the guardian lifted his gaze. "Kiri will show you to a room - her father has agreed to let you stay at the inn tonight so you can get your bearings. Other than that..." His lips turned up at the corners, as if he'd had a curious idea. "It isn't every day I meet a Bevellian... Perhaps we'll meet again, and you can tell me about your homeland."
Kiri's arrival signaled the end of the conversation. Braska left with a parting smile, and the girl crowded the towels and bowl onto her tray. Auron watched without interest. The fatigue of being healed was beginning to catch up to him, and he eyed his sword warily, wondering if he would be able to carry it to his room, or if he'd have to drag it. The proprietor might not appreciate the damage that would cause. But it was all a dream - would it repair itself by morning, or prove to be a little less durable?
"I'll show you to your room in a minute, sir." The girl kept her eyes down. He couldn't tell if she was afraid of him, or just shy. "I'll have to take these to the back first."
He nodded, and paid her no mind once she was out of his field of vision. Braska was all he could spare a thought for. What was he like in this world? And... why was he in Zanarkand? This dream was the realm of the fayth. Braska was no fayth, but if his soul had made it to the Farplane instead of being absorbed into Sin... no one could say how closely the two were connected. Theories abounded in the Temple; he wished he'd paid more attention to the discussions, now.
"Sir?" He looked up. Kiri was back, minus her apron.
"Yes, of course." Auron gathered his energy to stand, and reached for his sword. He towered over the girl - she couldn't have been more than thirteen. And in love with /Braska/... He smiled to himself, but his amusement didn't last long. "Lead the way, Miss Kiri."
*
It was with great reluctance that Auron left his room above the Oceanic the next morning. He'd never been shy about exploring new places, although he hadn't really had the chance until his journey with Braska, but Zanarkand... it could only be described as /eerie/. He tried to ignore the creeping reminder that he /knew/ that skyline up ahead of him, lit up with the dawn so it resembled exactly the view he and Braska had been greeted with not long ago. Signs and ads sped by, and he didn't bother letting them catch his interest, because he knew he wouldn't be able to read them any better than he could read Al Bhed. He had a purpose here, and that was to blend in and find Jecht's son - that did not leave room for gawking like a schoolboy along the way. Acclamation was a warrior's first and most important skill.
But if he tried to fit into the backdrop of the dream city, it denied him. Maybe it was his attire as Braska had implied, or the wound over his eye that, though healed, was still a throbbing red scar that would take years to fade. People stepped away from him, around him, and refused to meet his eyes when he challenged them with a raised eyebrow or a stare. Had these people never seen a scar before? They were common enough in Spira. How in the world had /Jecht/ gotten by?
//"You get scarred up playing blitz. Don't go in and expect to come out pretty."//
Judging by the flood of promotion for blitzball he'd been bombarded with since leaving the Oceanic, Auron thought dryly, the game would be a good excuse for /anything/ in this place.
His foray into Zanarkand's shops was uneventful. The shopkeepers gave him strange looks and asked odd questions, but they took his money and gave him what he wanted - dark, unassuming coats with high collars and wide sleeves, loose pants that fit well into his boots, and a pair of what the locals called 'sunglasses' to conceal part of the scar over his eye. It helped somewhat; he did not encounter as many flinching expressions, in any case. But he must have cut an imposing figure, because many of the citizens he passed still went out of their way to avoid him.
Returning to the Oceanic was a relief after such a lukewarm reception, and Auron hurried through the common room to the back stairs with his parcels, hoping to draw as little attention as possible. He was tired of the looks, and the sidelong glances. They made it clear he had a long way to go before he would fit into the puzzle of this place, and he did not have the time. His promise to Jecht was a lifeline now, all that held him together in some ways. Certainly, it was the only thing stopping him from searching for the strange reflection of Braska. Tidus must come first in his thoughts; dreams could be indulged later, once he was on his way to fulfilling his oath.
The bundle of new clothes was tossed into a chair, and the tanto waiting on the bed secured on his belt under the coat. He refused to walk about unarmed if he could help it. Leaving his weapons behind had been necessary earlier, but he'd felt naked without the reassuring weight of his sword - he did not intend to repeat the experience. If he could not carry the katana, he would at least keep the smaller, less conspicuous blade.
Unfortunately, that left him with nothing else on his agenda but to find Jecht's home. The thought was both exciting and forboding. Auron had often wondered about this phantom family his friend spoke of during their journey and he looked forward to seeing them with his own eyes, but he was also very nervous. There was no guarantee this wife - Aelia, by name - would believe his story about Jecht, and even if he did... Tidus was another puzzle he would have to unravel. Children were difficult little creatures; he'd never had much success with them before.
What would he do once the meeting was done with? he wondered, making his way back to the common room more slowly. What then? His promise was to 'watch over Jecht's son'. Assuming Aelia allowed it... well, he had no idea what that entailed. Auron had no children of his own - he didn't know the first thing about raising them or gaining their trust. Braska would have been a better candidate for this.
Auron strode into the common room and as if thinking the name had summoned the man, he found Braska sitting at a table near the stairs. The sight of him was like lightning jolting through his veins. He stopped, and found himself hesitating, on the brink of approaching the table. Part of him insisted there was no time for this, that he must leave /now/ and keep his oath; the other part whispered that he had all the time in the world - this place was a dream, after all.
(And there's the LJ character limit. To be continued in a omment, if it'll let me.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
The rest of it, I hope.
Date: 2003-12-01 07:26 pm (UTC)The object of his interest looked up, and his curious smile made Auron's decision for him. "Ah... Auron. I wondered if we would meet again." It was said hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure it was the right name, but the soft voice turned the lightning to water, soothing and cool. "Will you join me?"
Auron hesitated only a split second before taking the offered chair. Papers were scattered over Braska's side of the table. None of it was intelligible to the guardian when he looked. "Working on something?"
Braska finished whatever he was writing and set his pen down. "An article about the Oceanic's entertainment - my payment for your room, you might say." He examined Auron with sharp blue eyes, gaze raking over the scar and the efforts made to hide it. "You look much better - are you well? Has the wound pained you at all?"
"No, not at all." He bowed his head, in part to avoid that penetrating gaze. "I thank you."
The other man nodded, and glanced thoughtfully at his paperwork. "I understand you Bevellians use a different written language." He pushed the paper he'd been working on toward Auron, spinning it right-side up. "Can you read this?"
As expected, the cramped, curved script meant nothing to him. He wondered why his understanding extended to the spoken word, and not the written. "I'm afraid not."
"As I suspected." Braska regarded him over steepled fingers, the paper forgotten. The pause stretched, but at last he said, "I can teach you, if you'd like."
Auron started to respond, then clamped his mouth shut. There had to be a catch to this offer; even his Braska, kind-hearted and trusting as he had been, would not give so much and expect nothing in return. What this man could want from him, however, was a mystery.
"May I ask why you are making this offer?" He kept his tone carefully neutral, glad collar and glasses offered concealment for more than just the scar.
Braska seemed to sense his sudden mistrust, and chuckled. "Ah, the catch is that easy to see, mm?" The response sent a shiver down Auron's spine, an echo of another conversation not so long ago. "My editor has given me a long-term assignment related to the war - more specifically, Bevelle."
Chilled, Auron found himself wondering again if this was how /Jecht/ had felt when first meeting Braska. Perhaps this was repayment for the hell he'd inflicted on the blitzer at the beginning of their journey. "I see."
"We have precious little information about your homeland, you see. Our books are dated, and the fighting makes it impossible to gather any information outside of our territory." Braska propped his chin on his hands, and silvery hair slithered over his shoulder, to frame his face. "Opportunities to gather new data are rare... and that is where you come in."
It sounded almost too easy. "I'm not sure I can offer much that would be useful," he said finally, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the papers. Too easy to let himself be convinced by this ghost, if he looked.
"You might be surprised." The other paused. "I write in favor of Bevelle. There will be nothing destructive in my essays - I wish to end this conflict, not prolong it."
//"I wish to end this, any way I can. If it means my life, it is a small price to pay."//
Auron squeezed his eye shut and took a deep breath, straining to keep the facade of a calm, collected man. He would not give up his memories for the world, but at times like this they were such a liability. "I understand." When he was sure he had mastered himself for the moment, he met Braska's gaze again. "I suppose it will not hurt." As long as he had time to keep his promise to Jecht, he didn't think an interview or two would interfere /that/ much.
"Wonderful." Braska's composure broke into a pleased grin, and he began to gather his papers. "Thank you so much, Auron. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
"It is nothing." It pained him to watch this man, with echoes of the past playing in his mind, but... he couldn't help smiling back.