Entry tags:
FFVIII: The Tools You're Given
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Quistis/Selphie
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Surrender in a bottle. Part of Scenes From A Warzone, and also for
10lilies.
"Ready?" Selphie turned to the SeeDs under her command, flashing a smile at them with some difficulty. They didn't -- couldn't -- smile back. They were barely SeeDs, barely even seventeen, but there they were, because they were needed. Because there was a war going on. "Ain't it always the way?" she whispered, to herself, pushing back her doubts. She shifted her bulky gun awkwardly, wishing she didn't have to use that, either. She'd have been more comfortable with more traditional weapons, but that was like signing a bit of paper saying yeah, we want to lose the war.
Quistis joined them a moment later. Her face was pale: there were dark circles under her eyes. "Rinoa's ready."
"How's she holding up?"
"As well as any of us." Quistis pushed her hair back, sighing. Selphie shifted the gun to hold the weight with one arm, reaching out to take Quistis' hand in hers, squeezing tightly. Quistis squeezed back and managed a thin smile. "And we thought there'd never be a sorceress war again. Especially not one like this."
Selphie looked down at the gun in her arms: full of shot loaded with poisons so sophicated Odine'd cackled over them for days and there were a hundred different petitions on Squall's desk complaining about the inhumanity of it. Poisons to induce fear, and at the same time a lowering of barriers. Poisons that wouldn't wrack a body with pain, but would defeat it from the inside: feelings of inadequacy, useless, failure, resignation. Surrender in a bottle. Guaranteed to work against even the stubbornest sorceresses.
Guaranteed to wreak havoc on anyone caught in the crossfire.
"We have to use the tools we're given," Selphie said, finally, and her smile was sad now. "Especially against sorceresses. Especially given how long this is dragging on." After a moment she turned slightly, bobbing up on her tiptoes and brushing a kiss over Quistis' cheek. "There's one of mine, against the witch that stole my heart," she said, teasingly. "Or to cheer you up, anyway."
"Isn't that Irvine's line?" Quistis asked, but she was smiling. She pulled away; nodded to Selphie, to the troops waiting behind her. "I'll see you after the battle."
"Yes," Selphie said, willing away the reality that they might not see each other after the battle. Their eyes met, briefly, and they looked aside. Selphie turned to face the battlefield again, watching for the signal.
Pairing: Quistis/Selphie
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Surrender in a bottle. Part of Scenes From A Warzone, and also for
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"Ready?" Selphie turned to the SeeDs under her command, flashing a smile at them with some difficulty. They didn't -- couldn't -- smile back. They were barely SeeDs, barely even seventeen, but there they were, because they were needed. Because there was a war going on. "Ain't it always the way?" she whispered, to herself, pushing back her doubts. She shifted her bulky gun awkwardly, wishing she didn't have to use that, either. She'd have been more comfortable with more traditional weapons, but that was like signing a bit of paper saying yeah, we want to lose the war.
Quistis joined them a moment later. Her face was pale: there were dark circles under her eyes. "Rinoa's ready."
"How's she holding up?"
"As well as any of us." Quistis pushed her hair back, sighing. Selphie shifted the gun to hold the weight with one arm, reaching out to take Quistis' hand in hers, squeezing tightly. Quistis squeezed back and managed a thin smile. "And we thought there'd never be a sorceress war again. Especially not one like this."
Selphie looked down at the gun in her arms: full of shot loaded with poisons so sophicated Odine'd cackled over them for days and there were a hundred different petitions on Squall's desk complaining about the inhumanity of it. Poisons to induce fear, and at the same time a lowering of barriers. Poisons that wouldn't wrack a body with pain, but would defeat it from the inside: feelings of inadequacy, useless, failure, resignation. Surrender in a bottle. Guaranteed to work against even the stubbornest sorceresses.
Guaranteed to wreak havoc on anyone caught in the crossfire.
"We have to use the tools we're given," Selphie said, finally, and her smile was sad now. "Especially against sorceresses. Especially given how long this is dragging on." After a moment she turned slightly, bobbing up on her tiptoes and brushing a kiss over Quistis' cheek. "There's one of mine, against the witch that stole my heart," she said, teasingly. "Or to cheer you up, anyway."
"Isn't that Irvine's line?" Quistis asked, but she was smiling. She pulled away; nodded to Selphie, to the troops waiting behind her. "I'll see you after the battle."
"Yes," Selphie said, willing away the reality that they might not see each other after the battle. Their eyes met, briefly, and they looked aside. Selphie turned to face the battlefield again, watching for the signal.