FFXII Drabbles.

[midnightdiddle]

Four FFXII Drabbles. Let's just spoilers for all four, to be safe.


For booshoo.


Larsa, Gabranth, and Politics. Some things just don't mix. Post-game. Spoilers.

The Art of Diplomacy

"I think," Larsa said, breathless and laughing, "we can stop running now." His hair was stuck to his cheek, wet with sweat, and there were grass stains upon his clothes. Basch couldn't help his frown.

"Lord Larsa," he began, but Larsa was already frowning, looking put upon.

"Do be quiet, Gabranth," Larsa said, rather severely, and Basch winced. "I thought things went rather well, and I'll be scolded enough by Zargabaath. I don't need you to scold me as well."

"My Lord," Basch tried again, but Larsa was already turning away, heading further into the trees.

"We have the peace treaty, don't we?" Larsa voice said, growing more distant by the second. Basch began jogging after Larsa, cursing quietly.

"I'm not sure," Basch said when he was close enough to nearly touch Larsa, "that's what I'd call diplomacy."

"Clearly you've never been to a Senate meeting," Larsa said in the most off-hand manner, turning to look around him as he walked. "Which way to the air-ship, Gabranth?"

"To the left, My Lord. Things like this happen often, then?" Basch could already feel his life leaving him in little heart-attacks. He was too old for this kind of life, Noah's twin or not.

"Often enough," Larsa said, "though there's usually more poison and less guns involved."

Basch took a moment to digest that as Larsa nearly skipped through the trees. Yes, he was most certainly too old for this. He was trying to decide the best way to explain to Larsa that, sadly, he'd have to retire from this life of servitude, and take to the southern shores (most preferably near Phon Coast. There was a woman there with the most becoming smile) to rest his weary heart, when he heard the baying of hounds.

"Oh," Larsa said, and he was next to Basch again, leaning against Basch's arm, mouth too close to Basch's face. "It looks as though we should run again." Then Larsa smiled, a most impish smile, and Basch felt a few more years leave in another small heart attack.

"Do run faster, Judge Magister Gabranth," Larsa said, and he was skittering away towards the air-ship, stolen documents in hand. "It wouldn't do for you to caught. Nasty men, these!"

Yes, Basch decided as he began running after Larsa's laughter, this was far too much of a life for him.





For x_saturnine


Basch, and what's in a name. Post-game, spoilers, zomg. Also, Larsa/Basch, 'cause I can't say no.

To Whom It May Concern

Basch isn't quite sure who he is anymore. When he looks into the mirror, he thinks he's Basch, because there's the scar cutting above his eye, curving down towards his cheek. And there's the little nick on the back of his hand, from when he'd fallen out of a tree when he was a boy. And he remembers prison, hanging in chains as Noah talked to him about Mother and Father, and wondering whatever happened to the people of Landis.

He remembers Lady Ashe, and when she was a girl, full of ideals and wishes. He remembers Lord Rasler, and the way Rasler's body fell against his, empty and dead. He remembers Vossler, and a boy named Reks, and everyone else who called him Basch.

But everyone here remembers Gabranth, with Noah's voice behind a metal helm. They call him Gabranth, and ask him if he remembers this Judge, or that. They butter his toast, like Noah used to, and pass him the steamed foods before Basch can ask for the fruit.

"Gabranth," they call him, again and again, down the halls and in the courtyards, "Gabranth."

"Do you," they ask, "remember when?" And Basch thinks, maybe, maybe, maybe he does, and then he's not sure if he's Basch, or if he's Noah, or if he's neither, and if Gabranth was a third brother, hidden away behind curtains and eyelids.

"Gabranth," Larsa calls, and he's beneath Basch, sweating and curling upwards, long arms catching around Basch's neck. "Gabranth," Larsa cries, and Basch presses his face against the bedsheets next to Larsa, closes his eyes and holds on tight.

"Gabranth," they say, and Basch wonders who he is.





And. Basch/Noah. Or Noah/Basch, as it were. Pre-game, spoilers.


Missing You

Basch clutched at the grass, wrapping his fingers around near the roots, dirt catching beneath his fingernails. He could smell it when the grass crushed between his fingers, and it tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Basch," Noah gasped behind him, fingers scratching against Basch's back, and Basch turned his face against the ground, trying to breathe. "Oh, gods, Basch--"

It took time to clean up, to fix their clothing. Noah was lying on the grass next to him, sleepily picking at the grass, and Basch eyed a stain on his pants, wondered if he could get it off with a little water from the stream.

"Mother will be home soon," Noah said idly, and Basch decided his pants a lost cause. He'd sneak them into the laundry at home, and hope no one noticed.

"I said," Noah repeated loudly, "Mother will be home soon."

"I heard you," Basch said, shifting slightly to begin to put on his pants. He paused, arse still on the ground, then kicked of his pants, rolling over. "I heard you," he said again, pillowing his head on his arm.

"Then we should go home," Noah said. He sounded closer, and when he blew a breath of warm air on Basch's ear, Basch swatted at him half-heartedly. "Come on, Basch."

"Go ahead, I'm tired." Basch closed his eyes stubbornly, tried to ignore the tickle of Noah's fingers.

"Fine," Noah said, and his mouth was pressed just below Basch's ear. "I'll leave you, then. Come home soon, Basch."

"Fine," Basch said, and it was silent a moment, then a pile of clothing hit Basch's head. He jerked, sitting up as he threw off the cloth. "What--"

"Wear my pants," Noah said, pulling on Basch's pants. "I'll put these in with the laundry. You're horrible at it, never can tell a lie."

Basch watched Noah's fingers do up the clasps, fast and nimble, and watched as Noah crouched down before. "Come home soon," Noah said, and kissed Basch's mouth, tasting like grass and the wine at lunch. "We'll be missing you, Brother."





And for mariagoner.


Abusive!Vaan. Nagging!Penelo. Cliches!Abound. Vague!Vaan/Penelo, even Vaguer!Larsa/Penelo. zomg, the angst.

Breaking Glass

The first time they'd fought, it'd been over something particularly small. Vaan had bought too many elixers, or maybe Penelo had spent too much on a trinket. They couldn't remember which, afterwards, but then, it was hard to remember anything from before the fight.

"You're such a child!" Penelo screamed at Vaan, and Vaan grabbed a bauble, some gift or another Larsa had sent to Penelo with regards, and threw it. It shattered magnificently, glass and crystal, scattering light about the room.

"I," Vaan said, feeling breathless. The shards were tinkling on the floor, and Penelo's face was white, her lips shut tight.

"Maybe, Vaan," Penelo said, "you should learn to grow up."

The second fight wasn't half so loud, but the third was far louder than both previous combined. The fourth had Penelo walking out in a fury, a half-filled purse and a letter from Balthier and Fran in hand. The fifth fight was in the streets, Vaan and Penelo screaming at each other over something gone wrong with the ship.

The fights were easy to start, nothing much to it. Penelo would forget to buy flour for bread, or Vaan would leave the door open. They'd both forget to meet at the fountain, or they'd be a minute or two late.

"It's fine," Penelo said sharply when Fran looked at her with tired eyes. "We're just tired."

"Perhaps," Balthier began, leaning against the doorway, and Vaan kicked at a chairleg.

"There's nothing wrong," Vaan said firmly. "We're family. We fight sometimes, that's it."

Larsa's letters slowed to a trickle, and Penelo's temper grew shorter. Vaan's temper grew worse, and Fran's eyes became a little more tired.

"Will you," Vaan screamed one night, maybe the first, or the last, or the one in between, that no one ever quite remember, "just shut up for once?" There were fingerprints on Penelo's arm, red then blue then a sickly green, fading away beneath the paints she traced on each morning.

"Stop nagging me," Vaan snapped, and Penelo wrenched her arm away, rising up on her toes.

"Then grow up, Vaan. You're not a little boy anymore."

He hit her once, and she hit him back, and that time he was the one to go out the door at a dead run, taking off for west. He sent back a letter a few days letter, and trinkets he found in kings' tombs and queens' bowers.

"There's nothing wrong," Penelo said, cold-eyed. "We're fine. We're just tired, there's a lot going on."

"Penelo," Larsa said, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "perhaps--"

"You have Archadia," Penelo said, and she kissed Larsa's cheek. "Vaan and I can take care of ourselves. Worry about Archadia, not us."

"But," Larsa began, and Penelo pressed her fingers against his mouth, stilling him.

"We're fine, Larsa."

Vaan came back one night, and Penelo came back one morning, and they fought one afternoon, arguing over the table as Penelo cut the fruit and Vaan tore his flatbread to pieces.

"You're killing me, Penelo," Vaan said, and there were lines at the corners of his eyes, lines where his mouth turned always downwards. "I can't do this anymore."

"Why," Penelo asked, "is it always my fault?" She stared at the table where her plate sat, chipped on one side. "How is it my fault?"

"No one's good enough for you, Penelo," Vaan said bitterly. "Not me, not Larsa, not no one."

"Vaan," Penelo began, and Vaan stood up, knocking his chair over.

"Will you," he asked quietly, hands in fists on the table, "shut up for once?"

They both walked out the front door once, Penelo a half mark before Vaan. She left for the east, and Vaan took to the west, and they spread baubles and trinkets in the land between, dropping gold and diamonds like so many scraps of paper, floating down.

Fran's arms were open, like they always were, but Penelo didn't cry, because somehow in the past few years, her tears had dried up, and shattered like crystal.

"I'm fine," Penelo said, and Fran kissed Penelo's forehead like Penelo's mother used to, when Penelo and Vaan were little, and Vaan's parents were gone, then Penelo's brothers, then Vaan's brother, and then everyone was gone except Vaan, and now Vaan was gone, too.

"I'm fine."