#summonerspath

  Light spilled out from the door, then faded again as it opened and closed. He didn’t look up. Instead, he fished a cigarette out of his pocket. A dry click, a sigh, and the stars were obscured by a blueish haze. He held the packet out to Braska and quietly, somewhat awkwardly, spoke without turning toward him.

  “I think I owe you an apology.” he said.

@summoners-path - Jecht was being so open and honest here, I feel like it had to come after he gave up drinking and started being a little more brutal with himself about how badly he fucked up. Otherwise, this would’ve been a vastly different story he’d tell here.

Her. Braska doesn’teven have to specify who he means, Jecht knows the only her he could be talking about, and hedidn’t realize it until right then, but this is actually difficult to thinkabout. Not just because he lost her, but because their relationship wasn’texactly founded on the most solid of foundations. Would he think less of himbecause of it? Well, the facts are the facts, and Jecht hasn’t exactly beenknown to make the most sound of decisions. He sighs softly, runs his handthrough his hair. Dark eyes briefly glance at Braska before shifting away.

“She was…” Well, shit.Somewhere in his mind, he could rationalize it all away, not think about it,not worry about the facts of what they were and what they weren’t. But sayingit out loud? Kinda snaps it into perspective a bit. He won’t shy away from it,he wants to tell Braska everything,but it takes a moment.

“She was a fan of mine,” he finally admits, sounding almostdefeated at the admission. “Y’know, big Abes fan, always in the stands screamin’my name, went to damn near every game. She could’ve just been another fan, but shecaught my attention. Not the first one to do so, mind you.” Not that Jecht hada lot of partners or people he’d sleep with, but it was a decent handful ofwomen. Fewer than most might think, but more than many might hope. “But she wastenacious and determined, an’ passionate to a fault.

“We’d stay up all night talkin’ about…damn near anything.When something caught her attention, she could go on for hours about it, inthis way where it didn’ get boring. Her eyes would light up and she’d talk alittle faster…”

He trails off and settles into silence for a time. He knewher well, could recall still the sound of her voice and the look she would givehim when she was excited about something new. But no matter how he talked abouther, he didn’t smile fondly at the memories. What he said were facts. She waspassionate, she was excitable, he genuinely enjoyed their conversations. Butthe fact is-

“I didn’ love her. That sounds shitty, doesn’ it? I wasn’t in love with her. Truth is…” Anotherpause, and he presses his palm to the back of his neck, digs fingertips intothe muscles there. “I knocked her up. We got married to save face andreputation.” At the time, that’s what had mattered more to him: his reputation.What would the media and the fans think if he knocked up a fan? What if he didn’ttake responsibility? A good scandal could do wonders for a Blitzball career inZanarkand, but Jecht wasn’t willing to risk it in case this was the scandalthat ruined him.

“And…I wasn’ a good dad, and she wasn’ a good mom. We triedat first. I…I love my kid. Cutest damn kid I’d ever seen, and that ain’t justvanity talkin’. Bluest eyes, blondest hair, and sweetest laugh you can imagine.He’d grab my hair when I held ‘im, sometimes hide his face in it when he gotscared.” His smile finally reaches his eyes, though it’s melancholy, filledwith regret. “But shit got hard, and when I stopped caring, well…so did she.Our kid suffered because of it. And I let it happen. S’long as I had herattention and a bottle of booze, I could drown out the world.” His words catchand it takes a second for him to continue. When he does, his voice is low. “Andhis crying.”

He could use a drink right then, but his flask is gone andhe’s been clean of any booze for longer than he’d been in years. Still, hismouth parches with want, fingers curl into his palm and then flex back out.

  One foot taps against the floor in an irregular, staccato rhythm that irritates even her, and her fingers fidget with themselves, nails picking at her skin. 

魔術 ------ It was starting to become something of a regular thing, these little ‘tea parties’ of theirs, not that she minded, spending time with High Summoner Braska had fast become one of her favourite things to do. He was entertaining without forcing humour, insightful and not to mention a wealth of knowledge and experience; their conversations lasted hours, yet when they were over, Lulu found herself already looking forward to when they would converse again.

Today was one of those days. Word had reached her that Lord Braska had returned to the island, and in anticipation of his inevitable visit to her, the mage had set out her finest tea set and a selection of cakes and other light snacks for them to enjoy. By the time he entered her home, she was halfway through her first cup, sipping it before offering a nod and hushed words of welcome.

  she had come in the softest , most silent slip of night . it felt so strange to her ; nothing feeling real . where was the brutality , the boiling blood of war and dead astrals wrought by the aide of her hand ? through her panic-stricken flight back home , upon velm’s back had she fallen into the deepest of slumbers . unable to be woken until they made landfall , everything coming into terrible , stark relief . the deeds she’d done because of the god she worshiped , of the tyranny she perpetuated but believed to be so right . yuna’s footfalls through the early morning streets of bevelle were shadowed by a sky too colorful , too light . inexorably used to the dark and din of horrible worship , it was strange -- like a babe emerging from its mother’s womb .

  all the prophetess could do was walk upon weakened legs where she knew her father was upon his return in what seemed to be eons ago . to a fresher , more innocent time when she was good and whole . warrior monks and spiran councilmen alike notice her , but none dare talk in the strange pall that smothered her , of the listlessness in her eyes and haunting detachment . and it was this way she continued , a ghost in her own hometown . 

  upon his door did yuna rap her knuckles , almost inaudible in the shakiness that shook her . ‘ vydran ... ? ‘ she whimpered brokenly , hand lowering as it numbly hovered over her womb , head bowed unconsciously as she waited .