He’s not very surprised to find her standing alone, truth be told. All the others are back in the house, watching Vanille fiddle with her robot, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who noticed Fang slink out. Shoulders hunched against the wind--or against reality--she stares out at the sea, and the railroad crumbling into dust.
“Fang?” he says and the line of her shoulders tightens.
She doesn’t turn to face him, just keeps staring. “Yeah?”
Her voice is even, perfectly controlled, but it’s lacking her normal personality, a hollowness there that makes him reach a hand up to grasp his necklace. It occurs to him then that he has no idea what to say--sorry won’t cut it, sorry won’t make it okay, and losing Serah can’t be anything compared to this, can it? “Fang,” he says, and reaches out to grasp her shoulder. “We’ll get them back for this.”
“You wanna know something about Cie’th?” she asks him, there’s no emotion to her voice, but he can feel the way her muscles tighten beneath his hand.
After a moment’s pause, he says, “Sure.”
For a long time, she just keeps looking outwards, no real movement except for the stirrings of her controlled breaths, and he tightens his grip on her till it’s almost painful. If he didn’t know she could handle it, he wouldn’t, but she can, so he does. “A Cie’th’s size is controlled by how big and strong a person was before they turned,” she straightens to perfect posture, and she stares up at the sky, and he looks down at her, and winces at the pain there, “Those little Cie’th? They’re the children, Snow.”
Truth be told, he’d guessed as much. But he waits, because she obviously needs--needs something, and maybe if he stands here, with her, he’ll be able to figure it out and give it to her.
“When I came of age at sixteen, I took over the orphanage, lookin’ after all the kids who’d lost their parents to the war,” she tells him, her voice still even, disaffected, but he can feel the almost imperceptible shudder than runs through her like a current.
Snow expels a breath. “Fang--”
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be all right,” she snaps, “Because it’s not. I made a promise, that day. To keep them safe. To keep Vanille safe. And I didn’t, I did the opposite.”
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Date: 2011-08-08 02:25 am (UTC)He’s not very surprised to find her standing alone, truth be told. All the others are back in the house, watching Vanille fiddle with her robot, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who noticed Fang slink out. Shoulders hunched against the wind--or against reality--she stares out at the sea, and the railroad crumbling into dust.
“Fang?” he says and the line of her shoulders tightens.
She doesn’t turn to face him, just keeps staring. “Yeah?”
Her voice is even, perfectly controlled, but it’s lacking her normal personality, a hollowness there that makes him reach a hand up to grasp his necklace. It occurs to him then that he has no idea what to say--sorry won’t cut it, sorry won’t make it okay, and losing Serah can’t be anything compared to this, can it? “Fang,” he says, and reaches out to grasp her shoulder. “We’ll get them back for this.”
“You wanna know something about Cie’th?” she asks him, there’s no emotion to her voice, but he can feel the way her muscles tighten beneath his hand.
After a moment’s pause, he says, “Sure.”
For a long time, she just keeps looking outwards, no real movement except for the stirrings of her controlled breaths, and he tightens his grip on her till it’s almost painful. If he didn’t know she could handle it, he wouldn’t, but she can, so he does. “A Cie’th’s size is controlled by how big and strong a person was before they turned,” she straightens to perfect posture, and she stares up at the sky, and he looks down at her, and winces at the pain there, “Those little Cie’th? They’re the children, Snow.”
Truth be told, he’d guessed as much. But he waits, because she obviously needs--needs something, and maybe if he stands here, with her, he’ll be able to figure it out and give it to her.
“When I came of age at sixteen, I took over the orphanage, lookin’ after all the kids who’d lost their parents to the war,” she tells him, her voice still even, disaffected, but he can feel the almost imperceptible shudder than runs through her like a current.
Snow expels a breath. “Fang--”
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be all right,” she snaps, “Because it’s not. I made a promise, that day. To keep them safe. To keep Vanille safe. And I didn’t, I did the opposite.”