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FFVIII: Death Sits Lightly
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: Deathfic, violence
Rating: PG13
Summary: You've had years more experience of slipping in and out than they've had watching for you. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fic_on_demand.
You are overflowing with dreams.
That doesn't hinder you at all. The sentries do not see you as you slip past -- why should they? They are young. New sentries. Not even the experience Garden Faculty that always almost caught you before. You've had years more experience of slipping in and out than they've had watching for you. And they aren't watching for you. Squall would be disappointed. They're playing Triple Triad, drinks by their sides, laughing and talking. The noise they make masks the noises you make as you slip into Garden, Hyperion in hand.
You had no idea it would be this easy.
You find a young cadet asleep on a bench, perhaps locked out of his room. It isn't hard to get him to tell you, gibbering a little, the location of Squall's room. And will the sorceress be there? you ask. Will Rinoa be there?
Yes, he says. You hit him across the back of the head with the flat of the blade and he slumps down.
Lost your appetite for killing?
Only a few more deaths are necessary. And you are only preparing the way for a return. She would be pleased with you tonight. You can almost taste the touch of her power on you, the winding of her control around you as you do her bidding, even though you both stand defeated. Even if she is dead, it does not matter.
Death sits lightly on those with power like hers.
This won't help you, Squall tells you. Rinoa clings to his arm, wide-eyed and frightened. She's dressed in a flimsy white nightdress. White. Lamb to the slaughter. You smirk at them both.
She's gone, Seifer, Rinoa says, desperately.
Shut the fuck up, you tell her, and swing Hyperion almost carelessly. The blood rushes out, slick and hot. Squall doesn't even flinch. Just stares at you, without even the old reproach in his eyes that said he wasn't playing fair. Just hate. Loathing. You swing again, and the light in his eyes goes out.
Not so tough now.
You leave Garden again as silently as you came, and disappear into the dawn.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Deathfic, violence
Rating: PG13
Summary: You've had years more experience of slipping in and out than they've had watching for you. For
fic_on_demand.You are overflowing with dreams.
That doesn't hinder you at all. The sentries do not see you as you slip past -- why should they? They are young. New sentries. Not even the experience Garden Faculty that always almost caught you before. You've had years more experience of slipping in and out than they've had watching for you. And they aren't watching for you. Squall would be disappointed. They're playing Triple Triad, drinks by their sides, laughing and talking. The noise they make masks the noises you make as you slip into Garden, Hyperion in hand.
You had no idea it would be this easy.
You find a young cadet asleep on a bench, perhaps locked out of his room. It isn't hard to get him to tell you, gibbering a little, the location of Squall's room. And will the sorceress be there? you ask. Will Rinoa be there?
Yes, he says. You hit him across the back of the head with the flat of the blade and he slumps down.
Lost your appetite for killing?
Only a few more deaths are necessary. And you are only preparing the way for a return. She would be pleased with you tonight. You can almost taste the touch of her power on you, the winding of her control around you as you do her bidding, even though you both stand defeated. Even if she is dead, it does not matter.
Death sits lightly on those with power like hers.
This won't help you, Squall tells you. Rinoa clings to his arm, wide-eyed and frightened. She's dressed in a flimsy white nightdress. White. Lamb to the slaughter. You smirk at them both.
She's gone, Seifer, Rinoa says, desperately.
Shut the fuck up, you tell her, and swing Hyperion almost carelessly. The blood rushes out, slick and hot. Squall doesn't even flinch. Just stares at you, without even the old reproach in his eyes that said he wasn't playing fair. Just hate. Loathing. You swing again, and the light in his eyes goes out.
Not so tough now.
You leave Garden again as silently as you came, and disappear into the dawn.
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On another, random note, would you be interested in entering a darkfic contest I'm planning?
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I might be -- writing's difficult for me lately, so I can't promise to participate, but I am interested. :)
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