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Entry tags:
FFVIII: A Manner Of Speaking
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Coming out in one piece. Part of Scenes From A Warzone.
His ears were ringing. Fujin was helping him up, saying something -- or her lips were moving, anyway -- but he couldn't hear a damned thing, even given her loud voice. He remembered an explosion -- whether from the sorceress or Squall, he hadn't known -- and then, maybe, something hitting him, and only a sickening blackness after that. Fujin frowned, shook her head impatiently, and cast a spell.
For a cure spell, it was fuckin' rough. Seifer fought the urge to puke, and then decided that he was all in one piece and more or less functional. "Shit," he said, and almost smiled just to hear his own voice.
"SEIFER," Fujin said, with relief naked in her voice.
"What's the fuss, baby doll?" he asked, as casually as he could manage. He was surprised she didn't hit him.
"THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD," she said, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she might even hug him. He stepped back quickly.
"How did everything go? The explosion -- was that ours? Where's Raijin? What about Kinneas?"
Fujin just pointed in answer. Seifer turned to look, squinting a little. After a moment he picked out the ungainly outline of Raijin with Irvine's arm slung over his shoulder, half-carrying, half-dragging him.
"Alive?"
"MORE OR LESS."
"The explosion?"
"SQUALL'S."
"And what about the others? Squall, Rinoa, Zell, Quistis, Selphie...?"
Fujin shrugged.
Seifer ran his hand through his hair. It was sticky, he found, with blood, and gritty. He took his hand away again quickly, looking round. "It looks like... like Centra," he whispered, almost awed at the destruction. "Did we actually win?"
Fujin didn't answer for a moment, staring out at what had been the battlefield. "IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING," she said, at last.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Coming out in one piece. Part of Scenes From A Warzone.
His ears were ringing. Fujin was helping him up, saying something -- or her lips were moving, anyway -- but he couldn't hear a damned thing, even given her loud voice. He remembered an explosion -- whether from the sorceress or Squall, he hadn't known -- and then, maybe, something hitting him, and only a sickening blackness after that. Fujin frowned, shook her head impatiently, and cast a spell.
For a cure spell, it was fuckin' rough. Seifer fought the urge to puke, and then decided that he was all in one piece and more or less functional. "Shit," he said, and almost smiled just to hear his own voice.
"SEIFER," Fujin said, with relief naked in her voice.
"What's the fuss, baby doll?" he asked, as casually as he could manage. He was surprised she didn't hit him.
"THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD," she said, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she might even hug him. He stepped back quickly.
"How did everything go? The explosion -- was that ours? Where's Raijin? What about Kinneas?"
Fujin just pointed in answer. Seifer turned to look, squinting a little. After a moment he picked out the ungainly outline of Raijin with Irvine's arm slung over his shoulder, half-carrying, half-dragging him.
"Alive?"
"MORE OR LESS."
"The explosion?"
"SQUALL'S."
"And what about the others? Squall, Rinoa, Zell, Quistis, Selphie...?"
Fujin shrugged.
Seifer ran his hand through his hair. It was sticky, he found, with blood, and gritty. He took his hand away again quickly, looking round. "It looks like... like Centra," he whispered, almost awed at the destruction. "Did we actually win?"
Fujin didn't answer for a moment, staring out at what had been the battlefield. "IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING," she said, at last.