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moonsheenSo. Once upon a time I finished FF7, and Chira, she says to me: play Tactics! Play Tactics! So I says: Ok. And take a guess what ate my Thanksgiving Break.
So the Final Fantasy: Tactics fandom seems to be next to nil. I haven't actively looked for fic, but art has yielded, like, a big nothing. I guess I can see why: it's a pretty damn complicated plot. A lot of names, a lot of places. A lot of running around the world map. Kind of sloppy translation that makes it even more confusing. But there's prissy noble politics (which I am a sucker for) based loosely on the War of the Roses (which I am also a sucker for) and c'mon people, when all else fails, twisted political het for the WIN. Also, you know, murder and incest and bids for the crown and big gay knights and heretics and official bastards and backstabbing.
...more people need to play this game.
Queen Ovelia was surprised by the crowds at the church that morning, when she arrived with her entourage for Morning Prayer. She supposed on some level she shouldn’t have been. It had been highly publicized, much to her general horror. Still, with winter creeping and crops dying, and with it being a fairly modest establishment in a fairly modest city along the road, she hadn’t guessed there would be quite the turnout. The day was a wet one, a grey one, and it felt as though thousand eyes were on her. She tightened her hands on her reins as the people parted for her. Her people. Goltana’s. She didn’t much know which it was anymore.
“But they’re here for you,” Delita had murmured. He’d ridden beside her for much of the way, shockingly easy on his testy mount; a violently yellow chocobo that had a habit of scraping stone with her talons when forced to wait at attention. He steered the creature one handed. Ovelia kept meaning to ask him where he learned to ride quite like that. “‘Our young queen, praying for our safety in the coming turmoil.’ It sounds good, doesn’t it?”
What do you mean by that, Delita, she had wanted to ask, but he’d fallen behind her when the spires had come into view. The crowds came next, and Ovelia dared not a backwards glance to search for him; although with her breath short and her expression so determined that her cheeks hurt, she suddenly found she missed his brand of caustic very, very much.
At least within the walls of the church things were quiet. It was some relief, coming up the steps, the smell of candles and incense and musty stone. These things she had grown up with, more so than any sort of swelling crowd. She tried not to think of how the rain reminded her of her last days in Orbonne and Simon. Simon—oh God in Heaven, dear Simon. Was it still so sore?
Brushing her sleeves aside resolutely, Ovelia knelt down among the ocean of her gown and her cloak, listened to the murmuring of the old men who’d filed in behind her, bent her head, folded her hands and began to—
A hand snapped over the tops of her fingers.
The Queen nearly cried out, until she realized a moment later that he had not grabbed her hard. “What are you--” she began, angrily.
“Ho there,” said Delita, peering down at her. His hand was hot through his gloves. She wondered, amidst her quiet outrage, how he’d managed to keep them so dry. “You were actually going to do it.”
“Release me.”
…he did so, with a blink.
“ ‘A young queen praying for safety,’” she quoted, looking down at her hands sorely. “Is that not what you said? It’s what I am here for, isn’t it?”
“…yes,” said the Knight, lips twitching. He dipped his head with grace, but she knew the lie of it, the way his eyes flickered upwards. Darkly amused, like he was about so many things; it ended up looking rascally, rather than reverent. “I hadn’t thought—well. I guess I’ll let you to it, Highness.”
Ovelia bit the inside of her cheek. “Hadn’t thought…what.” she sighed, feeling suddenly like she’d gone off a script, and realizing how tired of that script she truly was. “What, Delita.”
He stuck out an arm. “Am I standing between you and God?”
He was standing between her and the candles. It cast a shadow. His cape hung in the still, old air around them. “…yes.”
“Apologies.” He bowed immediately, and it brought their heads level. His voice dropped. “Hadn’t thought you still had a taste for it, is all. It’s damnably boring, isn’t it?”
There were many ladylike ways to handle his sudden flippancy and his sudden nearness, none of which she imagined included the glare she leveled at him. “It’s for the people.”
“It’s for those old men over there,” he shot back. “It always has been, hasn’t it?”
She thought of the thick walls of her childhood and tears and the smell of his chest and she looked away.
“Pray for the people,” said Delita, gently. “So the people will let them skin them of a little bit more. Hope from the young queen, hope for peace—peace on their terms, of course. Eventual peace. Old men have a very skewed sense of--”
“Please stop.”
“…is everything all right, your Majesty?” called someone, from behind them. In the echo, it sounded like the walls themselves spoke. Ovelia looked at Delita, crouched near her, and Delita looked back. He raised his eyebrows at her. By your leave…
She said, “Everything is fine.” And then, when the Knight had closed his eyes and shrugged a shoulder she added for his ears only: “…a prayer for you then.”
It was worth it for the genuine confusion that touched him, then. “…to who?”
“To God.”
“Ah,” said Delita, he stood, and again his shadow was dark and stretched in the flickering candles. Having none of it, Ovelia stood with him. Stumbling some on her unwieldly dressings—she took his hand when he offered it. Warm and dry, it was. Steady, it was. She couldn’t name the thing that was suddenly burning in his gaze when he smiled at her and said, with a soft laugh: “Thank you, Highness.”
“You don’t need to call me that.” Near him, where no one else could see them, she shook her head. “You know…”
He did. So he bent his mouth near her ear and whispered: “Ovelia.”
And when she shivered, it had nothing to do with the rain.
So the Final Fantasy: Tactics fandom seems to be next to nil. I haven't actively looked for fic, but art has yielded, like, a big nothing. I guess I can see why: it's a pretty damn complicated plot. A lot of names, a lot of places. A lot of running around the world map. Kind of sloppy translation that makes it even more confusing. But there's prissy noble politics (which I am a sucker for) based loosely on the War of the Roses (which I am also a sucker for) and c'mon people, when all else fails, twisted political het for the WIN. Also, you know, murder and incest and bids for the crown and big gay knights and heretics and official bastards and backstabbing.
...more people need to play this game.
Queen Ovelia was surprised by the crowds at the church that morning, when she arrived with her entourage for Morning Prayer. She supposed on some level she shouldn’t have been. It had been highly publicized, much to her general horror. Still, with winter creeping and crops dying, and with it being a fairly modest establishment in a fairly modest city along the road, she hadn’t guessed there would be quite the turnout. The day was a wet one, a grey one, and it felt as though thousand eyes were on her. She tightened her hands on her reins as the people parted for her. Her people. Goltana’s. She didn’t much know which it was anymore.
“But they’re here for you,” Delita had murmured. He’d ridden beside her for much of the way, shockingly easy on his testy mount; a violently yellow chocobo that had a habit of scraping stone with her talons when forced to wait at attention. He steered the creature one handed. Ovelia kept meaning to ask him where he learned to ride quite like that. “‘Our young queen, praying for our safety in the coming turmoil.’ It sounds good, doesn’t it?”
What do you mean by that, Delita, she had wanted to ask, but he’d fallen behind her when the spires had come into view. The crowds came next, and Ovelia dared not a backwards glance to search for him; although with her breath short and her expression so determined that her cheeks hurt, she suddenly found she missed his brand of caustic very, very much.
At least within the walls of the church things were quiet. It was some relief, coming up the steps, the smell of candles and incense and musty stone. These things she had grown up with, more so than any sort of swelling crowd. She tried not to think of how the rain reminded her of her last days in Orbonne and Simon. Simon—oh God in Heaven, dear Simon. Was it still so sore?
Brushing her sleeves aside resolutely, Ovelia knelt down among the ocean of her gown and her cloak, listened to the murmuring of the old men who’d filed in behind her, bent her head, folded her hands and began to—
A hand snapped over the tops of her fingers.
The Queen nearly cried out, until she realized a moment later that he had not grabbed her hard. “What are you--” she began, angrily.
“Ho there,” said Delita, peering down at her. His hand was hot through his gloves. She wondered, amidst her quiet outrage, how he’d managed to keep them so dry. “You were actually going to do it.”
“Release me.”
…he did so, with a blink.
“ ‘A young queen praying for safety,’” she quoted, looking down at her hands sorely. “Is that not what you said? It’s what I am here for, isn’t it?”
“…yes,” said the Knight, lips twitching. He dipped his head with grace, but she knew the lie of it, the way his eyes flickered upwards. Darkly amused, like he was about so many things; it ended up looking rascally, rather than reverent. “I hadn’t thought—well. I guess I’ll let you to it, Highness.”
Ovelia bit the inside of her cheek. “Hadn’t thought…what.” she sighed, feeling suddenly like she’d gone off a script, and realizing how tired of that script she truly was. “What, Delita.”
He stuck out an arm. “Am I standing between you and God?”
He was standing between her and the candles. It cast a shadow. His cape hung in the still, old air around them. “…yes.”
“Apologies.” He bowed immediately, and it brought their heads level. His voice dropped. “Hadn’t thought you still had a taste for it, is all. It’s damnably boring, isn’t it?”
There were many ladylike ways to handle his sudden flippancy and his sudden nearness, none of which she imagined included the glare she leveled at him. “It’s for the people.”
“It’s for those old men over there,” he shot back. “It always has been, hasn’t it?”
She thought of the thick walls of her childhood and tears and the smell of his chest and she looked away.
“Pray for the people,” said Delita, gently. “So the people will let them skin them of a little bit more. Hope from the young queen, hope for peace—peace on their terms, of course. Eventual peace. Old men have a very skewed sense of--”
“Please stop.”
“…is everything all right, your Majesty?” called someone, from behind them. In the echo, it sounded like the walls themselves spoke. Ovelia looked at Delita, crouched near her, and Delita looked back. He raised his eyebrows at her. By your leave…
She said, “Everything is fine.” And then, when the Knight had closed his eyes and shrugged a shoulder she added for his ears only: “…a prayer for you then.”
It was worth it for the genuine confusion that touched him, then. “…to who?”
“To God.”
“Ah,” said Delita, he stood, and again his shadow was dark and stretched in the flickering candles. Having none of it, Ovelia stood with him. Stumbling some on her unwieldly dressings—she took his hand when he offered it. Warm and dry, it was. Steady, it was. She couldn’t name the thing that was suddenly burning in his gaze when he smiled at her and said, with a soft laugh: “Thank you, Highness.”
“You don’t need to call me that.” Near him, where no one else could see them, she shook her head. “You know…”
He did. So he bent his mouth near her ear and whispered: “Ovelia.”
And when she shivered, it had nothing to do with the rain.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-30 08:23 pm (UTC)...uh, I mean, mmmmm fic.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-30 10:45 pm (UTC)...hee, thank you. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 01:12 am (UTC)Twisted het for the win! But dude it's been a while since there was this amount of UST. No really a knife wouldn't be good enough to cut it there.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-01 01:43 am (UTC)Well. Not for Ovelia's lack trying, then.
OMG!!
Date: 2005-12-01 06:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-06 11:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-07 10:30 am (UTC)Oh god, I really do love you. ♥ You write some pretty kickass Naruto and Bleach fic, yanno.
Ovelia/Delita is the WIN.