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tinyangryblonds) wrote2017-07-03 06:58 am
tinyangryblonds) wrote2017-07-03 06:58 am
short FFXIV drabbles
1. Cognitive Dissonance
“I didn’t think General Aldynn would say it like that,” W’vani mused, settling by the edges of the firelight with a set of soldier’s rations in one hand and his tattered journal in the other. When he received only quizzical headtilts from his companions—Solele, seated on a large boulder with her legs dangling a few inches off the ground, and Tsensen, looking worn and pensive a few feet away—he continued. “You know—‘take ‘im out,’ essentially. Regarding Zenos. You know him better than I do; have you ever heard the General speak so frankly of what’s to be done with our enemies?”
Solele made a gesture halfway between a shrug and a headshake, and chomped down on a slice of flatbread, unconcerned. Sen’s eyes flickered in the firelight as she glanced at him. “He is General, as you say. Should he not make his orders clear before the battle begins?”
“I guess I was just hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” W’vani admitted.
Sen gave a snort. “You’re naïve, boy.”
W’vani snorted back, then sighed. “I know.
It was damned inconvenient, this conscience business. He’d been around enough to know that Sen had one too, deep down—it was just more attuned to the sort of Honor that prevailed in the harsh environment of the Azim Steppes, where one had to prove one’s right to live on a regular basis, or else find themselves divested of it. The removal of a dangerous threat, by any means necessary, didn’t phase her. It was simply what had to be done.
As a child, Vani would not have lasted a day on the Steppes, even if he’d managed to avoid simply being mercy culled at birth. A twisted half-smile flashed across his face. Naïve was right; his slow, painstaking attempts to gain combat experience despite his obvious limitations, throwing himself in the field alongside seasoned soldiers, meant that he was intensely aware of that personal failing. But that wasn’t the whole story, and he couldn’t decide which way to spin the narrative. Was it good, that he was still soft enough to hate killing? Or was it another mark of weakness, a cousin to his weak limbs and fragile bones?
“I just don’t want to have to be the one to do it,” he muttered, ears swiveling as a group of resistance fighters passed behind him, regaling each other with tales from the front.
“You won’t be.” The breezy certainty in Solele’s voice was simultaneously reassuring and unsettling. She did not even look up from her meal. Sunny optimism coupled with pure homicidal intent was cognitive dissonance at its finest, but Vani decided he liked it. It was very... Solele.
Conscience, he reminded himself, is not something you and Zenos share between you. Still, he was glad to be staying behind with the tactical contingent, this time. There were some lines he was not yet ready to cross.
“I didn’t think General Aldynn would say it like that,” W’vani mused, settling by the edges of the firelight with a set of soldier’s rations in one hand and his tattered journal in the other. When he received only quizzical headtilts from his companions—Solele, seated on a large boulder with her legs dangling a few inches off the ground, and Tsensen, looking worn and pensive a few feet away—he continued. “You know—‘take ‘im out,’ essentially. Regarding Zenos. You know him better than I do; have you ever heard the General speak so frankly of what’s to be done with our enemies?”
Solele made a gesture halfway between a shrug and a headshake, and chomped down on a slice of flatbread, unconcerned. Sen’s eyes flickered in the firelight as she glanced at him. “He is General, as you say. Should he not make his orders clear before the battle begins?”
“I guess I was just hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” W’vani admitted.
Sen gave a snort. “You’re naïve, boy.”
W’vani snorted back, then sighed. “I know.
It was damned inconvenient, this conscience business. He’d been around enough to know that Sen had one too, deep down—it was just more attuned to the sort of Honor that prevailed in the harsh environment of the Azim Steppes, where one had to prove one’s right to live on a regular basis, or else find themselves divested of it. The removal of a dangerous threat, by any means necessary, didn’t phase her. It was simply what had to be done.
As a child, Vani would not have lasted a day on the Steppes, even if he’d managed to avoid simply being mercy culled at birth. A twisted half-smile flashed across his face. Naïve was right; his slow, painstaking attempts to gain combat experience despite his obvious limitations, throwing himself in the field alongside seasoned soldiers, meant that he was intensely aware of that personal failing. But that wasn’t the whole story, and he couldn’t decide which way to spin the narrative. Was it good, that he was still soft enough to hate killing? Or was it another mark of weakness, a cousin to his weak limbs and fragile bones?
“I just don’t want to have to be the one to do it,” he muttered, ears swiveling as a group of resistance fighters passed behind him, regaling each other with tales from the front.
“You won’t be.” The breezy certainty in Solele’s voice was simultaneously reassuring and unsettling. She did not even look up from her meal. Sunny optimism coupled with pure homicidal intent was cognitive dissonance at its finest, but Vani decided he liked it. It was very... Solele.
Conscience, he reminded himself, is not something you and Zenos share between you. Still, he was glad to be staying behind with the tactical contingent, this time. There were some lines he was not yet ready to cross.