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Entry tags:
FFX: Foreign
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Pairing: Braska/Yuna's mother
Warnings: Sap
Rating: PG
Summary: Every revolution has to start somewhere. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
over_look.
She is an Al Bhed. She is completely foreign and Braska loves her in an earnest, sincere, entirely Yevonite kind of way. The hopeless, yearning kind of way that makes her roll her eyes at him, just a little. She doesn't believe in all that -- of course she wouldn't, being Al Bhed and not believing in the teachings, not following the path that Braska so strives to follow. She has this smile -- daring, teasing, beautiful, that makes him think all of the yearning and keeping a distance isn't worth it.
"You believe there should be peace between our peoples, don't you?" she asks, touching his arm. They're alone together, and Braska doesn't entirely trust her -- or perhaps it's himself he doesn't trust. It's a quiet night, private, the air closing around them with the same reverent coolness as the inside of a temple.
"Yes, but," he starts, but can't think what else to say. How can he explain to her why it's wrong when she doesn't believe in the same moral code as him?
"There's a gap between us born because your people won't admit we are people. You think that because we think differently we're automatically wrong, because we all work with machina and in the desert."
"I believe you're a person! I just... machina bring Sin."
"So the temples say. How do you know you can trust the temples?"
"I..."
She turns away from him, laughing. He likes the sound of her laugh, even if she is laughing at him, and smiles as well. "You believe what the temples say because they offer hope. It's a fragile, tiny hope, but they offer it and all of Spira longs to grasp it. The Al Bhed have learned to do without hope."
"Surely you have some hope?"
"You choose to rely on sacrificing summoner's lives. We think that's noble and good, but we don't think it's fair. We believe that machina are the key -- that, somehow, you people have come to ban the only thing that will help."
It troubles Braska, the way she says these things as if his entire faith means nothing. The way she sweeps his entire upbringing aside with a few words and lays hers out -- entirely too convincingly. She believes in what she's saying, and she believes it more strongly than he believes in the teachings of Yevon. It's disturbing.
"I don't know," he says, surrendering.
"There's a gap between our people, and I think the only way we will ever defeat Sin is by healing that -- by working together," she says, softly, turning to him. Her face is inches from his, smiling but sincere, and it catches at his heart. "We have to start somewhere. We could start it. Here."
Braska knows that her brother will be angry. He's seen it in the resentful looks he gets for every moment he spends in her company. And suddenly -- inexplicably -- he doesn't care.
"Will you start it?" she asks, and then, teasing, "Or shall I?"
He's never quite sure later, but he likes to think it's mutual, a closing of the gap between their bodies. He found his arms around her before he'd even thought about it -- her arms around his neck, and her lips against his.
Pairing: Braska/Yuna's mother
Warnings: Sap
Rating: PG
Summary: Every revolution has to start somewhere. For
over_look.She is an Al Bhed. She is completely foreign and Braska loves her in an earnest, sincere, entirely Yevonite kind of way. The hopeless, yearning kind of way that makes her roll her eyes at him, just a little. She doesn't believe in all that -- of course she wouldn't, being Al Bhed and not believing in the teachings, not following the path that Braska so strives to follow. She has this smile -- daring, teasing, beautiful, that makes him think all of the yearning and keeping a distance isn't worth it.
"You believe there should be peace between our peoples, don't you?" she asks, touching his arm. They're alone together, and Braska doesn't entirely trust her -- or perhaps it's himself he doesn't trust. It's a quiet night, private, the air closing around them with the same reverent coolness as the inside of a temple.
"Yes, but," he starts, but can't think what else to say. How can he explain to her why it's wrong when she doesn't believe in the same moral code as him?
"There's a gap between us born because your people won't admit we are people. You think that because we think differently we're automatically wrong, because we all work with machina and in the desert."
"I believe you're a person! I just... machina bring Sin."
"So the temples say. How do you know you can trust the temples?"
"I..."
She turns away from him, laughing. He likes the sound of her laugh, even if she is laughing at him, and smiles as well. "You believe what the temples say because they offer hope. It's a fragile, tiny hope, but they offer it and all of Spira longs to grasp it. The Al Bhed have learned to do without hope."
"Surely you have some hope?"
"You choose to rely on sacrificing summoner's lives. We think that's noble and good, but we don't think it's fair. We believe that machina are the key -- that, somehow, you people have come to ban the only thing that will help."
It troubles Braska, the way she says these things as if his entire faith means nothing. The way she sweeps his entire upbringing aside with a few words and lays hers out -- entirely too convincingly. She believes in what she's saying, and she believes it more strongly than he believes in the teachings of Yevon. It's disturbing.
"I don't know," he says, surrendering.
"There's a gap between our people, and I think the only way we will ever defeat Sin is by healing that -- by working together," she says, softly, turning to him. Her face is inches from his, smiling but sincere, and it catches at his heart. "We have to start somewhere. We could start it. Here."
Braska knows that her brother will be angry. He's seen it in the resentful looks he gets for every moment he spends in her company. And suddenly -- inexplicably -- he doesn't care.
"Will you start it?" she asks, and then, teasing, "Or shall I?"
He's never quite sure later, but he likes to think it's mutual, a closing of the gap between their bodies. He found his arms around her before he'd even thought about it -- her arms around his neck, and her lips against his.