[Fire Emblem] [Drabble 04] Persistence
Nov. 21st, 2008 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runiclorePersistence
Author: Amber Michelle
Challenge: 04 – Recurrence
Word Count: 500
Game: Radiant Dawn
Warnings: Micaiah spoilers.
Cross-posted at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fe_drabble.
.................................................
It became tradition for Micaiah to spend the night before her departure straightening her living space and scrubbing it to perfection. Sometimes only a closet of a room, sometimes a bunk in a hostel - once she had a townhouse to herself after the widow who took her in passed away. She was small then, cute according to some. They'd have let her keep some of those things. But she couldn't carry a house on her back. She left it behind. Always, there was something left behind.
This time it wasn't just a place - there was a boy, too. A persistent one. If she carried a travel pack her departure would be noticed; the fruit vendor would offer a bag of dried apricots, or the grocer a packet of dried meat, and he'd ask where she was going, where Sothe was. They'd been seen together almost every day.
He was smart. If she left a trail, he would follow.
Micaiah strolled down the market street when the orb of the sun was just hanging over the mountains. A new vendor built a pyramid of cantaloupes on his wooden table. The seamstress was opening her doors. You're so small for your age, she'd said once, when Micaiah went to her for a new tunic. Are you sure you're fifteen?
Maybe she should have said thirteen. She didn't want the pity. What happened to your parents? You poor thing.
She didn't know what happened to her parents. They were shadows against a window in her memory, nothing else.
The room she'd shared with Sothe was dusty, because he would've noticed if she cleaned it. But her jewelry was on the cracked dressing table - glass and pewter mostly, and some genuine stones, used to attract eyes to her table in dim taverns. She'd left all but two pieces of silver from the week's earnings, and all of the food.
He'd be so angry. It took so long to make him trust her enough to accept her food and share her room - there was nothing else she could do for him, when she could barely afford a meal and a room, together. Micaiah hadn't wanted to take him in, but once he opened up, she couldn't send him away.
This was the first time she'd ever left a person behind. The market faded into houses with peeling paint facades, and then the street widened and she was out of Nevassa. Cobblestones ran into the hard-packed dirt of the road south. Micaiah stopped and waited for her legs to steady. She wanted to look back. Maybe he was already following her--
Instead, she started walking. At first it was hard to breathe, but as the city grew smaller behind her the feeling went away. He'd be fine. He had money, food, shelter.
She never wanted to do this again.
........................................
I'm pretty sure this is wrong according to canon, but I couldn't find it in the script. Then it turned out to be a support conversation. Duh. Oh well.
Author: Amber Michelle
Challenge: 04 – Recurrence
Word Count: 500
Game: Radiant Dawn
Warnings: Micaiah spoilers.
Cross-posted at
fe_drabble..................................................
It became tradition for Micaiah to spend the night before her departure straightening her living space and scrubbing it to perfection. Sometimes only a closet of a room, sometimes a bunk in a hostel - once she had a townhouse to herself after the widow who took her in passed away. She was small then, cute according to some. They'd have let her keep some of those things. But she couldn't carry a house on her back. She left it behind. Always, there was something left behind.
This time it wasn't just a place - there was a boy, too. A persistent one. If she carried a travel pack her departure would be noticed; the fruit vendor would offer a bag of dried apricots, or the grocer a packet of dried meat, and he'd ask where she was going, where Sothe was. They'd been seen together almost every day.
He was smart. If she left a trail, he would follow.
Micaiah strolled down the market street when the orb of the sun was just hanging over the mountains. A new vendor built a pyramid of cantaloupes on his wooden table. The seamstress was opening her doors. You're so small for your age, she'd said once, when Micaiah went to her for a new tunic. Are you sure you're fifteen?
Maybe she should have said thirteen. She didn't want the pity. What happened to your parents? You poor thing.
She didn't know what happened to her parents. They were shadows against a window in her memory, nothing else.
The room she'd shared with Sothe was dusty, because he would've noticed if she cleaned it. But her jewelry was on the cracked dressing table - glass and pewter mostly, and some genuine stones, used to attract eyes to her table in dim taverns. She'd left all but two pieces of silver from the week's earnings, and all of the food.
He'd be so angry. It took so long to make him trust her enough to accept her food and share her room - there was nothing else she could do for him, when she could barely afford a meal and a room, together. Micaiah hadn't wanted to take him in, but once he opened up, she couldn't send him away.
This was the first time she'd ever left a person behind. The market faded into houses with peeling paint facades, and then the street widened and she was out of Nevassa. Cobblestones ran into the hard-packed dirt of the road south. Micaiah stopped and waited for her legs to steady. She wanted to look back. Maybe he was already following her--
Instead, she started walking. At first it was hard to breathe, but as the city grew smaller behind her the feeling went away. He'd be fine. He had money, food, shelter.
She never wanted to do this again.
........................................
I'm pretty sure this is wrong according to canon, but I couldn't find it in the script. Then it turned out to be a support conversation. Duh. Oh well.