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moonsheenFor the endlessly Cool ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fabulous_papaya. There will be antics in Old Archades at some point in the near future! But for now, have post antics with a little bit more of that ominous foreshadowing this kid seems to inspire. My computer ate this three times before it finally let me finish it, which probably means I've awakened some kind of ancient curse in the process. Just a general heads up.
The boy smelled strongly of smoke and bad liquor. The judge who’d told him had found him carousing in one of the seedier districts. “You had to make a show of your return, didn’t you?” he said, when he was finally allowed to come in.
He slumped awkwardly into the chair next to the bed. The old man’s eyes were shut, and too grey around the lids. Anxious, hating the steady ‘ping’ that came with the general setting, he kept talking:
“It took them five hours to remember I had clearance. You should sack someone for that.”
Sad picture it all was, sadder for the fact that one of his lenses had been cracked up the middle. It gave the far wall a funny crystalline scar, one that vanished if he happened to peer over the frame.
His voice grew higher: “They told me about the expedition.”
Fingers curled around his crushed collar, trying to straighten it into something presentable. It was no use, there was dried blood browning the edge. He felt the dark of the bruise spreading on his cheek. “What happened? You couldn’t have hired some extra hands? I know you pride yourself for your aim but I doubt some giant bat thing is going to slow down if your hip begins to act up. I said as much, you know.”
He dropped his hand over the chair’s arm. He scowled and removed his eyeglasses. They were bent past the point of salvaging, and had been digging uncomfortably into the side of his skull. He dropped his head low and held the bridge of nose; trying not to be ill. “But I don’t suppose you got that letter, did you,” he swallowed, dryly, “Well, I’m doing well, in case you’re wondering. Had a bit of a disagreement with a man about the location of his fist. Not too impressive for my lineage, I must admit. Nothing that had anyone finding me in the snow half dead and the only one left to tell the--”
“Ffamran.” The boy stopped talking.
The old man was peering at him from the sunken depths of a very tired, very wan face. “I leave for a mere six weeks and come back to find you right out of a bar fight,” his brow twitched up, curiously, “Tell me you at least won the damn thing.”
“It was a moral victory,” said Ffamran, voice faint.
“Bah. And what have I told you? Keep your head where it belongs.”
“In the workshop, you mean? I could say the same of you.”
That earned him only a surprisingly loud laugh. It turned into a cough, and it made a few too many things creak for Ffamran’s liking. “Could you, now? The difference between you and I, you foolish boy, is that most of my bruises are on the inside and were at least gotten for a cause more worthy than… dare I ask?”
“Would rather you not,” mumbled Ffamran.
“Than whatever seemed like a good idea to you at the time,” concluded the good doctor. “Though, sorry state or no, it is good to see you again.” He chuckled. It set Ffamran on edge, though this time the old bastard was more mindful of his state, and he kept it quiet this time, eyes suddenly growing very bright. “There is much we have to discuss.”
“Father--”started the boy, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own.
“But first go dunk your head in a fountain. You stink worse than a bloody Malboro. I know someone taught you better than that, the house staff, perhaps, or at least one of those idiot tutors I waste time hiring for you…”
“Father,” said his son, quietly. “You’ll want something to eat as well, then? You’re looking less round than I recall.” He dropped his mangled eyewear into his seat as he levered himself up, and made for the door before the old man figured out how to kick him for that one.
He didn’t manage it. But what he did do was snort in a manner that was probably not medically advised, settling back to wait. “Yes. He’s interesting, isn’t he?” he said. Ffamran, catching the end of it, thought that statement little odd-- but that was what the old man was by general rule, and Gods knew the amount of painkillers they’d shot into him. If he was going to babble at himself for a few hours, well, at least he was back in one piece.
fabulous_papaya. There will be antics in Old Archades at some point in the near future! But for now, have post antics with a little bit more of that ominous foreshadowing this kid seems to inspire. My computer ate this three times before it finally let me finish it, which probably means I've awakened some kind of ancient curse in the process. Just a general heads up.The boy smelled strongly of smoke and bad liquor. The judge who’d told him had found him carousing in one of the seedier districts. “You had to make a show of your return, didn’t you?” he said, when he was finally allowed to come in.
He slumped awkwardly into the chair next to the bed. The old man’s eyes were shut, and too grey around the lids. Anxious, hating the steady ‘ping’ that came with the general setting, he kept talking:
“It took them five hours to remember I had clearance. You should sack someone for that.”
Sad picture it all was, sadder for the fact that one of his lenses had been cracked up the middle. It gave the far wall a funny crystalline scar, one that vanished if he happened to peer over the frame.
His voice grew higher: “They told me about the expedition.”
Fingers curled around his crushed collar, trying to straighten it into something presentable. It was no use, there was dried blood browning the edge. He felt the dark of the bruise spreading on his cheek. “What happened? You couldn’t have hired some extra hands? I know you pride yourself for your aim but I doubt some giant bat thing is going to slow down if your hip begins to act up. I said as much, you know.”
He dropped his hand over the chair’s arm. He scowled and removed his eyeglasses. They were bent past the point of salvaging, and had been digging uncomfortably into the side of his skull. He dropped his head low and held the bridge of nose; trying not to be ill. “But I don’t suppose you got that letter, did you,” he swallowed, dryly, “Well, I’m doing well, in case you’re wondering. Had a bit of a disagreement with a man about the location of his fist. Not too impressive for my lineage, I must admit. Nothing that had anyone finding me in the snow half dead and the only one left to tell the--”
“Ffamran.” The boy stopped talking.
The old man was peering at him from the sunken depths of a very tired, very wan face. “I leave for a mere six weeks and come back to find you right out of a bar fight,” his brow twitched up, curiously, “Tell me you at least won the damn thing.”
“It was a moral victory,” said Ffamran, voice faint.
“Bah. And what have I told you? Keep your head where it belongs.”
“In the workshop, you mean? I could say the same of you.”
That earned him only a surprisingly loud laugh. It turned into a cough, and it made a few too many things creak for Ffamran’s liking. “Could you, now? The difference between you and I, you foolish boy, is that most of my bruises are on the inside and were at least gotten for a cause more worthy than… dare I ask?”
“Would rather you not,” mumbled Ffamran.
“Than whatever seemed like a good idea to you at the time,” concluded the good doctor. “Though, sorry state or no, it is good to see you again.” He chuckled. It set Ffamran on edge, though this time the old bastard was more mindful of his state, and he kept it quiet this time, eyes suddenly growing very bright. “There is much we have to discuss.”
“Father--”started the boy, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own.
“But first go dunk your head in a fountain. You stink worse than a bloody Malboro. I know someone taught you better than that, the house staff, perhaps, or at least one of those idiot tutors I waste time hiring for you…”
“Father,” said his son, quietly. “You’ll want something to eat as well, then? You’re looking less round than I recall.” He dropped his mangled eyewear into his seat as he levered himself up, and made for the door before the old man figured out how to kick him for that one.
He didn’t manage it. But what he did do was snort in a manner that was probably not medically advised, settling back to wait. “Yes. He’s interesting, isn’t he?” he said. Ffamran, catching the end of it, thought that statement little odd-- but that was what the old man was by general rule, and Gods knew the amount of painkillers they’d shot into him. If he was going to babble at himself for a few hours, well, at least he was back in one piece.
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WUTEVER, THIS IS SO BETTER THAN HIJINX
Date: 2007-01-28 03:07 am (UTC)Kinda "Things'll get worse before they get better... and that last part's kinda arguable."
A MORAL VICTORY. A+++.
... Ffamran and Cid Banter. I forgot they'd have had banter! IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND SO SAD.
I believe the glasses, and thanks to U-O's tipoff we even know what they look like. Course Balthier leaves eyewear behind with his old name, squinting couldn't be all that noticeable, etc. etc.