Rinoa/Caraway: Blue Holiday
Title: Blue Holiday
Characters: Rinoa/General Caraway
Prompt: Office Work, Distance, Holiday (#46, #53, #73)
Rinoa had noted that, when most people talked of holidays, her Father was approaching the whole concept in an entirely different way. When the girls at school sat down to eat sandwiches at lunch they talked of them and their Fathers skiing in Trabia, or dipping their toes in the Balamb Shore. Rinoa grasped onto these images and ate them; delicious and dribbling down her chin. This year her Father had to have a holiday with her, or she'd be starving again. She'd make her Daddy build sandcastles.
But now she usually sat in her room, waiting for them to eat their dinner together in silence. Now it was Summer, and her Father was stuck in his office. Galbadia had humid, wet summers. Her Father used an engraved fountain pen to do his work. He always had a glass of brandy, glowing pale brown by his side. Rinoa had dipped her finger in it once, and it tasted disgusting.
She crept up to him and propped her chin up on her knee.
“Dad, can we go to the beach?”
He turned over his page and carried on working. “Rinoa, you know I can't.”
“Why?”
"Because I need to work."
“But it's a holiday.”
“I still have to work.”
She pouted. “Ariana's Dad doesn't work.”
“Miss Hereford's Father is a lawyer.” He replied matter-of-factly. “Do you know how big the Galbadian army is, Rinoa?”
She sighed and shook her head.
“20,000. Now I need to take care of these people, otherwise there'd be chaos.”
Rinoa's vision tunneled.
She grabbed a replacement ink cartridge and snapped it over her Father's work, staining the carefully typed pages with bright blue puddles. Caraway blinked slowly, placed down his pen and took a deep breath. He knew how to handle disobedience; twenty push ups, no privileges, cold showers.
But she was a six year old girl staring him fearlessly in the eye. Not one of his men would dare look him dead in the eye. Her fingertips were dripping with blue ink right onto her black patent shoes. Everywhere was a dark, Prussian blue; even her cheeks were streaked with the colour. It reminded him of the navy blue of the army uniforms.
There was a moment of cracked tension. They would often stare at each other, stubbornly waiting for one to react. Inside both of them could feel screams in their bellies, waiting to come out.
“Can. We. Go.” Rinoa forced out.
He wiped her hands with a monogram handkerchief, lettering 'FC'. “One day.”
.