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Nov. 7th, 2006 02:23 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge: [o82] crossroads
Title: (before) the final forward march
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reversedhymnal
Word Count: 500
Characters/Pairings: Sora
Summary: At the end.
Notes: Spoilers for the secret movie thing at the end of KHII. Also, this angst is courtesy oftabitha_dornoc’s brilliance. u.u POSTPOSTPOST-KHII. I mean like. Way long past, dude.
In a crossroad, there are four paths.
Sora pulls out the carton he hides in one of his many pockets, and taps a cigarette out. The long, white cylinder is strange against the dust and grime of the world he stands rooted in, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move, just stares down at it between fingers covered only in the tatters of gloves. They tremble, just a little, and with a twist to his mouth that is both bitter and aching and fond, he murmurs, “I blame this addiction on you, Cid. May you rest in peace, you old bastard.”
He lights it with a quick flick of his finger, a little magic that, by this point, won’t make even the slightest bit of difference. The first slow inhale is sweet, like oxygen in a world that’s closed in too tight and harsh. He exhales, and the smoke curls as if it would be a barrier before him; Sora waves it away before it finishes unfurling, and winces.
It may have been a protection. The world around him, which he’s been trying not to focus on, rips an already broken heart to shreds.
The first path is that of light. Then there is darkness, and then twilight.
“Or dawn.” Sora inhales again against the memory of the words; exhales. “They’re sort of the same thing, really.”
It’s hard to think of such things, though, standing in the midst of a graveyard. The broken and bare keyblades stand like sentinels to tragedy, and the dry desert wind makes a mockery of their lack of keychains. On his belt, his own collection – down to just a few, now - jingle and clank in solitary defiance.
It’s so much harder to contemplate without Riku there to get technical.
“Damn it,” Sora hisses, eyes squinting against the low, angry sun. There are ruins across the way, and a sense of inevitable fate about the place. He stands amidst the center of everything, and all he can think about is how much he misses what he has lost. Reaching down, he grips the Oathkeeper keychain, as though it can bring warmth back to him.
It’s all he has left though, a luckless charm; it’s a cold comfort.
And the final path?
The final path… That is the path to the heart of all things. What do you will it to be?
The cigarette doesn’t last long. Sora didn’t really think it would, used to things that end, disappear; die on him. He exhales one last, slow breath, watches the smoke curl up, reaching for the angry sky and then-
Goodbye.
-getting swept away by the wind; obliterated.
Slowly, as though each move pains him, he flicks the butt away. Brings the hand up, over the wound that was once his heart. “Don’t worry,” he speaks softly, to ghosts and memories. “I’ll finish it. Like I promised.”
Then Sora straightens, broken and alone and determined, and takes a step forward, along his chosen path.
Title: (before) the final forward march
Author:
reversedhymnalWord Count: 500
Characters/Pairings: Sora
Summary: At the end.
Notes: Spoilers for the secret movie thing at the end of KHII. Also, this angst is courtesy of
tabitha_dornoc’s brilliance. u.u POSTPOSTPOST-KHII. I mean like. Way long past, dude.In a crossroad, there are four paths.
Sora pulls out the carton he hides in one of his many pockets, and taps a cigarette out. The long, white cylinder is strange against the dust and grime of the world he stands rooted in, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move, just stares down at it between fingers covered only in the tatters of gloves. They tremble, just a little, and with a twist to his mouth that is both bitter and aching and fond, he murmurs, “I blame this addiction on you, Cid. May you rest in peace, you old bastard.”
He lights it with a quick flick of his finger, a little magic that, by this point, won’t make even the slightest bit of difference. The first slow inhale is sweet, like oxygen in a world that’s closed in too tight and harsh. He exhales, and the smoke curls as if it would be a barrier before him; Sora waves it away before it finishes unfurling, and winces.
It may have been a protection. The world around him, which he’s been trying not to focus on, rips an already broken heart to shreds.
The first path is that of light. Then there is darkness, and then twilight.
“Or dawn.” Sora inhales again against the memory of the words; exhales. “They’re sort of the same thing, really.”
It’s hard to think of such things, though, standing in the midst of a graveyard. The broken and bare keyblades stand like sentinels to tragedy, and the dry desert wind makes a mockery of their lack of keychains. On his belt, his own collection – down to just a few, now - jingle and clank in solitary defiance.
It’s so much harder to contemplate without Riku there to get technical.
“Damn it,” Sora hisses, eyes squinting against the low, angry sun. There are ruins across the way, and a sense of inevitable fate about the place. He stands amidst the center of everything, and all he can think about is how much he misses what he has lost. Reaching down, he grips the Oathkeeper keychain, as though it can bring warmth back to him.
It’s all he has left though, a luckless charm; it’s a cold comfort.
And the final path?
The final path… That is the path to the heart of all things. What do you will it to be?
The cigarette doesn’t last long. Sora didn’t really think it would, used to things that end, disappear; die on him. He exhales one last, slow breath, watches the smoke curl up, reaching for the angry sky and then-
Goodbye.
-getting swept away by the wind; obliterated.
Slowly, as though each move pains him, he flicks the butt away. Brings the hand up, over the wound that was once his heart. “Don’t worry,” he speaks softly, to ghosts and memories. “I’ll finish it. Like I promised.”
Then Sora straightens, broken and alone and determined, and takes a step forward, along his chosen path.
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Date: 2006-11-08 01:47 am (UTC)And I so got the Old West vibes from Sora... Dear sweet, sweet... Um...
*dribbles* YeahI'llgomemethisnow
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Date: 2006-11-08 02:00 am (UTC)Eee~ I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but yes Sora is so an Old West cowboy, ♥ Oh, oh. Now. Oh. BAD THOUGHTS.
chaps and gentleman charm and chapsThank you for reading, :D I'm glad that you liked it, though I'm sorry it hurt, *is sad* I. Feel so bad for Sora, u.u
♥
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Date: 2006-11-08 04:18 am (UTC)SQUEE sora in chaps~ "how d'you do, ma'am" ♥no subject
Date: 2006-11-08 04:26 am (UTC)hat tilt hat tilt *CHARMING GRIN* and you know he'd twirl those pistols and be absolutely unable to resist winking, too, and guh, *_*no subject
Date: 2006-11-08 04:31 am (UTC)pistol twirl+wink=mah poor darlin' american belle heart all a-flutter. and he's at your elbow whenever you really need him, with that lovely little look on his face and that twinkle in his eye and... ohooohhhh nosebleed. *_*no subject
Date: 2006-11-12 06:49 pm (UTC)“...There’s a lovely Rose that will suit you fine, I think,” Sora said, “at least for now. She’s good for beginners.” Then he reached a hand up, pushed his hat back, and scratched at his head. Laughingly, and just a touch rueful, he said, “You’re gonna get me shot, Miss Kairi. I hope you know that.”
“Oh, will I now?” Kairi asked, primly, giving Sora a look from under the wide brim of her hat.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sora grinned, unrepentant, and far too happy for such dire predictions. “Here I am, one of those awful wanderin’ cowboys them gentlefolk smile at all polite like but hurry on past, and I’m stealing the mayor’s pretty daughter.”
(argh. because i don't have enough crowding my brain already, ;_;)
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Date: 2006-11-12 11:03 pm (UTC)“Here I am, one of those awful wanderin’ cowboys them gentlefolk smile at all polite like but hurry on past, and I’m stealing the mayor’s pretty daughter.”
... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... aaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
*shot*
Sorry, that was my brain melting from the adorable of this all. I... I'm... *keels over*
NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE. I'M GONNA REWRITE KINGDOM HEARTS AS A DIME-NOVEL WESTERN. PLUNNIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEED. D=
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Date: 2006-11-14 10:34 am (UTC)The first bottle crashed over head at exactly three sixteen in the afternoon; saturday, because the bartender was a god fearing man, and those who crowded through the swinging doors and into his domain liked to get an early start, in the hopes that it would linger.
Riku leaned back in his rickety chair, sighing as he put down his hand, face down mostly from habit. He eyed the pile of coins in the center table, and considered if he could get away with quietly tucking a few into his pocket. Probably not; he sighed again, and settled his hat firmly on his head.
"What did you say to me?" the man who had thrown the bottle hissed threateningly, his left eye twitching in an unsettling way. Sora glared back at him, face stubborn and eyes like blue fire, with that particular look they got when he was defending the innocent and helpless.
"I said," he growled, "that you just want to take that back right now, if you know what's good for you."
The chair screeched into an anticipatory silence as Riku stood up, at Sora's back. At his side, he fiddled with his pistol's holster nonchalantly. "He's right. You ought to learn some manners, you sorry excuse for a human being."
"How dare-" the man spluttered, face going puce-colored, and Riku smiled a little as he watched Sora tilt his chin up, handsome face half in shadow from the dim lighting, but righteous dignity clear.
"That wasn't any way to speak of a lady," Sora explained, and then punched the man, square in his furious face.
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Date: 2006-11-14 11:26 pm (UTC)Axel glared, pulling the dusted brim of his hat over his brow. "Now lookit what you gone done, Roxas."
Smirking back at his firey-tempered friend, Roxas reigned in his mustang and retorted, "Aw, you don't mean any a' that, and you know it." One, two, clop, and the straw-haired cowboy threw himself from the saddle and stood, back-to-back. With a whispered "gee-yup", the horse was away like a shot.
Drawing Oblivion and Oathkeeper from their holsters, he cocked the black gun and murmured, "'Sides, I never knew the time when the legendary Flurry ever stood down from a shootout."
"Did say I ever did?" Axel whispered back from the corner of his mouth, "This here, though; this here's called unnecessary bloodshed."
The wind whipped their clothing into a frenzy of canvas and cotton, swaying the signs in the tavern facades, tossing dust into already gritty eyes.
Roxas grinned. "Didn't never stop you. You gotten soft, partner?"
Suddenly, a man from the top of the tavern to the redhead's front clutched his throat, screamed, and fell through the balcony shade.
The other man fell to his knees and slumped over the crates in front of Roxas. The younger man narrowed his eyes and slid them left, where Axel's pistol was still smoking.
Axel bared his teeth in a ferocious grimace. "I reckon not."