♥ final fantasy ii - strange paradise
title: strange paradise
word count: 733
rating: r
pairing: minwu/maria
notes: beware of hyphens. also semicolons. ♥
She didn’t know what she was doing.
...No, that wasn’t it. This pattern of action, she knew, the nightly routine- Guy’s snores, his giant frame half on, half off the bed, heedless of covers or bedclothes, asleep before his head hit the pillow. Firion dropping his armor, boots, denting his shield as he tossed it across the room of the inn- which inn, tonight, after an endless stream of battles? Paloom, she thought, filled with sailors- one had grabbed a strand of her hair as she passed, smelled it, proclaimed his undying love- and she had laughed at him- with you?- and now here she was, listening in the darkness for Firion’s gentle breathing, no, she was padding across the floor, quiet as a thief, no, she was already lifting Minwu’s blanket, slipping into his bed-
-She knew what she was doing. It was the why that puzzled her.
(Why? Leon’s bitter voice, smoke-thick and aching. The Emperor has power. He doesn’t need a “why,” Mari. He killed them because he could. And if I had power, I could have stopped him.)
Strange to think of her lost brother, now, as Minwu pulls her body closer to his, herbs and fresh linen almost covering the scent of blood and metal and battle; stranger still to remember her parents...
The soldiers.
The fire.
The screaming.
...and she’s clutching at the white wizard, almost tearing his robes in her haste to feel the warmth of the skin beneath them. His mouth is over hers before she can voice his name; his tongue tastes her unspoken fears. She wants to bite him, suddenly- to break away and ask and scream and ask- Is this your duty, former wizard of Fynn? Am I a wounded citizen for your care, to be healed with your mouth, your hands, your body?
She wants to not care- no, she wants to hate him. She doesn’t want to remember the heat in his dark eyes, the crease of his veil over a hidden smile, the gentle touch of his hand over hers on the handle of her bow.
She doesn’t want to remember anything.
The soft cloth of his loosening robe surrounds her, cool on her bare skin, raw and burned from memory- he is smoke under her mouth, ashes; she breathes him in, trying to taste temple incense instead of the fall of Fynn. His hands tighten in the tangle of her hair and she cries out, silently, stifling the sound against his chest as she twines her legs around his, pulling him onto her, into her, nails desperate in his back-
Is this... ‘because I can?’
-and she tries to banish Leon’s voice with every movement, every arch of her body against Minwu’s - you left me you left me and I am here alone with this stranger, all alone - the night sounds of Firion and Guy are fading in her ears and she can only hear Minwu’s breath, hard and painful, covering her small choked sobs as his body covers hers. She pretends he whispers her name- Mari, Maria- and maybe he does, lips forming the shapes of the sounds, a ghost in the darkness- no, god, not ghosts, too many ghosts- his hips drive into hers, merciless- maybe I am a ghost, too- and she’s reaching, she’s reaching, she can almost touch her brother’s hand- he’s smiling-
Minwu... is this heaven?
-and Leon’s form fades behind her eyes as she falls, clinging to Minwu for her life, trying not to remember remembering the dying screams of Fynn, her brother’s battered body, the soldiers slowly closing in. Tears trace her cheeks as she stares into the darkness, seeing the ghosts- then a murmur that might have been her name, soothing, no, painful, but softer still than any spell, and she smiles, brokenly, into the skin of Minwu’s shoulder - I am not the only one here - he lifts her, rocks her, carries her to her bed; lips brush past her hair, forehead, mouth- again she can hear the night, the inn, Guy’s great bear-snore and Firion’s quiet breathing; she wishes, she prays for their dreams to be untroubled, some strange paradise of sky and sunlight- not smoke nor fire just birds just voices- Minwu gently pulls the blanket up to her chin; she catches his hand, holds it, wonders at herself, at him, at them- never to be alone again.
word count: 733
rating: r
pairing: minwu/maria
notes: beware of hyphens. also semicolons. ♥
She didn’t know what she was doing.
...No, that wasn’t it. This pattern of action, she knew, the nightly routine- Guy’s snores, his giant frame half on, half off the bed, heedless of covers or bedclothes, asleep before his head hit the pillow. Firion dropping his armor, boots, denting his shield as he tossed it across the room of the inn- which inn, tonight, after an endless stream of battles? Paloom, she thought, filled with sailors- one had grabbed a strand of her hair as she passed, smelled it, proclaimed his undying love- and she had laughed at him- with you?- and now here she was, listening in the darkness for Firion’s gentle breathing, no, she was padding across the floor, quiet as a thief, no, she was already lifting Minwu’s blanket, slipping into his bed-
-She knew what she was doing. It was the why that puzzled her.
(Why? Leon’s bitter voice, smoke-thick and aching. The Emperor has power. He doesn’t need a “why,” Mari. He killed them because he could. And if I had power, I could have stopped him.)
Strange to think of her lost brother, now, as Minwu pulls her body closer to his, herbs and fresh linen almost covering the scent of blood and metal and battle; stranger still to remember her parents...
The soldiers.
The fire.
The screaming.
...and she’s clutching at the white wizard, almost tearing his robes in her haste to feel the warmth of the skin beneath them. His mouth is over hers before she can voice his name; his tongue tastes her unspoken fears. She wants to bite him, suddenly- to break away and ask and scream and ask- Is this your duty, former wizard of Fynn? Am I a wounded citizen for your care, to be healed with your mouth, your hands, your body?
She wants to not care- no, she wants to hate him. She doesn’t want to remember the heat in his dark eyes, the crease of his veil over a hidden smile, the gentle touch of his hand over hers on the handle of her bow.
She doesn’t want to remember anything.
The soft cloth of his loosening robe surrounds her, cool on her bare skin, raw and burned from memory- he is smoke under her mouth, ashes; she breathes him in, trying to taste temple incense instead of the fall of Fynn. His hands tighten in the tangle of her hair and she cries out, silently, stifling the sound against his chest as she twines her legs around his, pulling him onto her, into her, nails desperate in his back-
Is this... ‘because I can?’
-and she tries to banish Leon’s voice with every movement, every arch of her body against Minwu’s - you left me you left me and I am here alone with this stranger, all alone - the night sounds of Firion and Guy are fading in her ears and she can only hear Minwu’s breath, hard and painful, covering her small choked sobs as his body covers hers. She pretends he whispers her name- Mari, Maria- and maybe he does, lips forming the shapes of the sounds, a ghost in the darkness- no, god, not ghosts, too many ghosts- his hips drive into hers, merciless- maybe I am a ghost, too- and she’s reaching, she’s reaching, she can almost touch her brother’s hand- he’s smiling-
Minwu... is this heaven?
-and Leon’s form fades behind her eyes as she falls, clinging to Minwu for her life, trying not to remember remembering the dying screams of Fynn, her brother’s battered body, the soldiers slowly closing in. Tears trace her cheeks as she stares into the darkness, seeing the ghosts- then a murmur that might have been her name, soothing, no, painful, but softer still than any spell, and she smiles, brokenly, into the skin of Minwu’s shoulder - I am not the only one here - he lifts her, rocks her, carries her to her bed; lips brush past her hair, forehead, mouth- again she can hear the night, the inn, Guy’s great bear-snore and Firion’s quiet breathing; she wishes, she prays for their dreams to be untroubled, some strange paradise of sky and sunlight- not smoke nor fire just birds just voices- Minwu gently pulls the blanket up to her chin; she catches his hand, holds it, wonders at herself, at him, at them- never to be alone again.