Archiving drabbles, again.
May. 24th, 2010 12:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
green_animationTitle: Truth, untruth (the unmaking of Ffamran)
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Ffamran.
Prompt: #64 - Betrayal
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Judges lie, again.
A nastily potent mix; Ffamran is drunk, and in unfamiliar surroundings. At the stage where eloquence of thought begins to stutter, and eloquence of movement is all but dead, he bites the rim of the bottle, and it shatters.
He drinks again, uncaring of the fact that the wine sparks more pain against his cut lip.
(Ffamran killed, today).
Not the first time, no, but he’s alone. He spits blood and alcohol in the direction of his feet; the Judges are bully confident in undisputed power; they lied to the recruits; a training exercise, a move to rid cadets of nausea at blood,
(Smeared like shit across pale faces, so goddamn pale)
They didn’t sign up for this – only for glory. Ffamran has never believed war to earn glory, but he too is appalled at this; Ffamran knows the ‘training exercise’ for what it was; decimation, at half the cost of soldiers. Decimation, with less (monetary) expense – the tax on their morality is incalculable.
Clumsy fingers, motor functions limited by alcohol and an excess of self-disgust, grapple the fastenings of his breastplate. Undone, it falls to the scorched earth, Ffamran kicks it viciously. He will claim the dent a training accident.
Title: Our union in partition
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Noah, Basch, their mother for about .5 of a second
Prompt: 63 - Pillow talk
Rating: PG-13 for really creepy children.
A/N - I sincerely doubt that this is what the prompt meant...
We are four eyes, two mouths. We are Ronsenburg.
This woman we know – her hair is a dappled brightness, her eyes a dappled darkness.
Sometimes she will rend us in half, rip left from the right, hold it, name it Noah, name it Basch. We cannot hear – we are screaming to be whole. Later we will know this scares her; now we only know the sound puts us back together.
Our left gazes at our right – we gurgle to ourself. The woman, leaving our nursery, tightens her fingers – she thinks it sinister, thinks dark our laughter that trickles over the pillow we share.
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Ffamran.
Prompt: #64 - Betrayal
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Judges lie, again.
A nastily potent mix; Ffamran is drunk, and in unfamiliar surroundings. At the stage where eloquence of thought begins to stutter, and eloquence of movement is all but dead, he bites the rim of the bottle, and it shatters.
He drinks again, uncaring of the fact that the wine sparks more pain against his cut lip.
(Ffamran killed, today).
Not the first time, no, but he’s alone. He spits blood and alcohol in the direction of his feet; the Judges are bully confident in undisputed power; they lied to the recruits; a training exercise, a move to rid cadets of nausea at blood,
(Smeared like shit across pale faces, so goddamn pale)
They didn’t sign up for this – only for glory. Ffamran has never believed war to earn glory, but he too is appalled at this; Ffamran knows the ‘training exercise’ for what it was; decimation, at half the cost of soldiers. Decimation, with less (monetary) expense – the tax on their morality is incalculable.
Clumsy fingers, motor functions limited by alcohol and an excess of self-disgust, grapple the fastenings of his breastplate. Undone, it falls to the scorched earth, Ffamran kicks it viciously. He will claim the dent a training accident.
Title: Our union in partition
Fandom: FFXII
Characters: Noah, Basch, their mother for about .5 of a second
Prompt: 63 - Pillow talk
Rating: PG-13 for really creepy children.
A/N - I sincerely doubt that this is what the prompt meant...
We are four eyes, two mouths. We are Ronsenburg.
This woman we know – her hair is a dappled brightness, her eyes a dappled darkness.
Sometimes she will rend us in half, rip left from the right, hold it, name it Noah, name it Basch. We cannot hear – we are screaming to be whole. Later we will know this scares her; now we only know the sound puts us back together.
Our left gazes at our right – we gurgle to ourself. The woman, leaving our nursery, tightens her fingers – she thinks it sinister, thinks dark our laughter that trickles over the pillow we share.