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FFX: Behind
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Everything is built to be destroyed. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
over_look.
They're so close to Zanarkand Braska can almost taste it, death on his tongue, at the back of his throat. City of dreams, city of death. He wonders if it's beautiful even as it must be now -- it must be fallen, tumbled, brought low. That's sort of fitting, considering all the people who have journeyed there only to give up their lives in one brief flash of glory.
He doesn't doubt his decision. Especially not now, in the quiet out of the way spot with the fire between the three of them, a triangle around the fire. It's a small spot of perfect peace that the rest of the world can't touch, and once Braska reaches Zanarkand, it can grow, expand --
He doesn't doubt his decision because Jecht smiles, his voice rough like it's on gravel, and hands him a bottle of something that stings in his throat pleasantly and warms him inside.
"Best not to waste it, I thought, but -- "
Auron's gaze darts up to Jecht's face and, for whatever reason of his own, for once Jecht chooses to heed the warning. He subsides, and accepts the bottle back, but only takes a tiny sip before tucking it away.
"For a rainy day," he says, to Braska's raised eyebrow, and Braska nods and smiles.
"Are you looking forward to seeing Zanarkand?" he asks, unable to let that subject alone, a sore spot like the grazes he had on his knees as a child that he simply had to pick at, even though it made his fingers and knees sticky with blood. It was satisfying to peel the scab away, in a painful way, and so Braska reopens the wound between the three of them with his words. Zanarkand.
"I'm not," Auron lets the words fall into the silence, not accusing, but simply vaguely regretful.
Jecht leans back a little and finds the bottle again for another sip. "I am. Kinda. Be nice to see how it is now, even if -- "
"Even if?"
"Nah, it's stupid."
Braska is ready to let it go at that, knowing Jecht and his tendency to lose his temper when pushed, but Auron smiles, stretching his leg to nudge Jecht's thigh gently with the toe of his boot. "That's never stopped you. Tell us."
"Well..." Jecht slumps a little more, his feet nearly in the fire, his back against a boulder. He tips his head back, his eyes restless, right up there with the stars. "I was kinda hoping that Zanarkand isn't really deserted and dead. That it's my Zanarkand. That my wife and son -- "
Braska looks away.
"I don't think it is," Auron says, surprising Braska and making him wonder what he's up to, "but I can hope it is, for my stupid friend's sake, if you like."
Auron and Jecht's eyes meet for a brief flash of something that surprises Braska. Doesn't matter what it is -- true comradeship or just a truce to stop the constant bickering -- somehow, not only have they formed a friendship with him, but they've made some alliance, some deeper connection, between each other. It makes Braska smile, the shape bittersweet on his lips after so much walking, talking, planning, hoping.
Things are made only to break down. That's the whole philosophy of Spira and yet, now, so close to Zanarkand and to the epitome of what he can do for the world he loves, it strikes Braska as a horribly pessimistic one, and painfully true. Marriage. Friendship. Children.
Nothing lasts.
"We should probably get some sleep," Jecht says, breaking into his thoughts, being the sensible one for once which is perhaps more surprising than the fact someone broke the silence. Braska nods slightly, silently, and Auron looks up.
"I don't think I can sleep."
Another surprise; Braska didn't expect Auron to voice that. He looks between the two of them, clears his throat. "Well, we could... keep walking. Keep heading toward Zanarkand."
Jecht stands up, smoothly, and suddenly Braska has absolutely no doubts that the man was once a blitzball player, and a damned good one, even if his tales of his blitzball days seem exaggerated and impossible -- teams are popular now, but individual players? to that extent? -- and he smiles at him and Jecht grins back. "Sounds like a better idea to me than sitting 'round worrying about what we're going to do."
As Auron puts the fire out and Jecht grabs his little bottle and Braska stretches out his oddly cramped legs, they get ready to move and he reflects that he's been lucky, in these two. Protective, but not overprotective. Willing to get into adventures. Making him live every day relentlessly to the full, and even if he's had more bumps, bruises and cuts than he expected, he's also had more fun than he expected. He's had the kind of friendship only possible on journeys like this, and --
"Quit thinking," Jecht growls, and then grins to soften it. "We need to get going."
"You're the one always dawdling," Auron points out, hefting his heavy sword and settling it in a comfortable position to carry.
"So?"
"So you're a fine one to be telling Braska -- "
Braska blinks slightly at Auron finally dropping the lord, and is surprised by the flash of white teeth in Jecht's grin as they continue walking, and as Auron and Jecht continue bickering in a manner that can now only be described as friendly.
Jecht's hand presses warm on his shoulder when he stops to look back. "Best not to do that," he warns. "You didn't look back at Bevelle, where your daughter was, so leave it all behind like you did her."
He wants to protest that he didn't leave Yuna behind in so many words, but in a way, he did. It causes a pang for him that he left his daughter easier than he can leave behind this friendship, but then, he thinks, he left her behind to protect her. Auron and Jecht are coming with him, to risk the risks and dare the dare.
That's, he thinks, why he's both reluctant and eager to go on.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: G
Summary: Everything is built to be destroyed. For
over_look.They're so close to Zanarkand Braska can almost taste it, death on his tongue, at the back of his throat. City of dreams, city of death. He wonders if it's beautiful even as it must be now -- it must be fallen, tumbled, brought low. That's sort of fitting, considering all the people who have journeyed there only to give up their lives in one brief flash of glory.
He doesn't doubt his decision. Especially not now, in the quiet out of the way spot with the fire between the three of them, a triangle around the fire. It's a small spot of perfect peace that the rest of the world can't touch, and once Braska reaches Zanarkand, it can grow, expand --
He doesn't doubt his decision because Jecht smiles, his voice rough like it's on gravel, and hands him a bottle of something that stings in his throat pleasantly and warms him inside.
"Best not to waste it, I thought, but -- "
Auron's gaze darts up to Jecht's face and, for whatever reason of his own, for once Jecht chooses to heed the warning. He subsides, and accepts the bottle back, but only takes a tiny sip before tucking it away.
"For a rainy day," he says, to Braska's raised eyebrow, and Braska nods and smiles.
"Are you looking forward to seeing Zanarkand?" he asks, unable to let that subject alone, a sore spot like the grazes he had on his knees as a child that he simply had to pick at, even though it made his fingers and knees sticky with blood. It was satisfying to peel the scab away, in a painful way, and so Braska reopens the wound between the three of them with his words. Zanarkand.
"I'm not," Auron lets the words fall into the silence, not accusing, but simply vaguely regretful.
Jecht leans back a little and finds the bottle again for another sip. "I am. Kinda. Be nice to see how it is now, even if -- "
"Even if?"
"Nah, it's stupid."
Braska is ready to let it go at that, knowing Jecht and his tendency to lose his temper when pushed, but Auron smiles, stretching his leg to nudge Jecht's thigh gently with the toe of his boot. "That's never stopped you. Tell us."
"Well..." Jecht slumps a little more, his feet nearly in the fire, his back against a boulder. He tips his head back, his eyes restless, right up there with the stars. "I was kinda hoping that Zanarkand isn't really deserted and dead. That it's my Zanarkand. That my wife and son -- "
Braska looks away.
"I don't think it is," Auron says, surprising Braska and making him wonder what he's up to, "but I can hope it is, for my stupid friend's sake, if you like."
Auron and Jecht's eyes meet for a brief flash of something that surprises Braska. Doesn't matter what it is -- true comradeship or just a truce to stop the constant bickering -- somehow, not only have they formed a friendship with him, but they've made some alliance, some deeper connection, between each other. It makes Braska smile, the shape bittersweet on his lips after so much walking, talking, planning, hoping.
Things are made only to break down. That's the whole philosophy of Spira and yet, now, so close to Zanarkand and to the epitome of what he can do for the world he loves, it strikes Braska as a horribly pessimistic one, and painfully true. Marriage. Friendship. Children.
Nothing lasts.
"We should probably get some sleep," Jecht says, breaking into his thoughts, being the sensible one for once which is perhaps more surprising than the fact someone broke the silence. Braska nods slightly, silently, and Auron looks up.
"I don't think I can sleep."
Another surprise; Braska didn't expect Auron to voice that. He looks between the two of them, clears his throat. "Well, we could... keep walking. Keep heading toward Zanarkand."
Jecht stands up, smoothly, and suddenly Braska has absolutely no doubts that the man was once a blitzball player, and a damned good one, even if his tales of his blitzball days seem exaggerated and impossible -- teams are popular now, but individual players? to that extent? -- and he smiles at him and Jecht grins back. "Sounds like a better idea to me than sitting 'round worrying about what we're going to do."
As Auron puts the fire out and Jecht grabs his little bottle and Braska stretches out his oddly cramped legs, they get ready to move and he reflects that he's been lucky, in these two. Protective, but not overprotective. Willing to get into adventures. Making him live every day relentlessly to the full, and even if he's had more bumps, bruises and cuts than he expected, he's also had more fun than he expected. He's had the kind of friendship only possible on journeys like this, and --
"Quit thinking," Jecht growls, and then grins to soften it. "We need to get going."
"You're the one always dawdling," Auron points out, hefting his heavy sword and settling it in a comfortable position to carry.
"So?"
"So you're a fine one to be telling Braska -- "
Braska blinks slightly at Auron finally dropping the lord, and is surprised by the flash of white teeth in Jecht's grin as they continue walking, and as Auron and Jecht continue bickering in a manner that can now only be described as friendly.
Jecht's hand presses warm on his shoulder when he stops to look back. "Best not to do that," he warns. "You didn't look back at Bevelle, where your daughter was, so leave it all behind like you did her."
He wants to protest that he didn't leave Yuna behind in so many words, but in a way, he did. It causes a pang for him that he left his daughter easier than he can leave behind this friendship, but then, he thinks, he left her behind to protect her. Auron and Jecht are coming with him, to risk the risks and dare the dare.
That's, he thinks, why he's both reluctant and eager to go on.