Jecca Mehlota (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jecca_mehlota) wrote2008-02-01 05:16 am
jecca_mehlota) wrote2008-02-01 05:16 am
Entry tags:
FIC: FFXI Double Feature: Daggers, Things
Jecca was too lame to get anything new done during January. She barely wrote at all! Oh, Jecca. You were doing so well... What happened?
But she's been meaning to post these here for a while - because, hey, LJ's as good a backup as any - so here they are.
Title: Daggers
Author: Jecca Meitahn /![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twilit_wanderer
Fandom: Final Fantasy XI
Rating: G
Characters: generic Mithran thief (Hisime)
Wordcount: 336
Summary: A Mithran thief and her quiet recollections of where she's been and why she's what she is, and a Moogle. It could be almost anyone's character.
Disclaimer: don't own FFXI, but I pay for my account.
Notes: Wrote this several years ago. It's... decent, I guess.
She flipped her dagger into the air and caught it from behind, blade pointed back at her, hilt still angled skyward; the way she'd been told (time and time again) not to catch it.
It was sharp and, as daggers went, fairly long, and if she brought her elbow out and the blade in, she could easily impale herself with it. She'd bought it in Jeuno before heading to the Elshimo jungles and Kazham - home, she'd thought as she stepped off the airship, though she'd never been there before.
"You will," they all warned her more than once, "at the very least cut yourself one day, you know." A new friend, and fellow adventurer, had said it, too, once when they were sitting outside her Mog House, wasting time, talking, mending armor. She'd only smiled and shaken her head and cut off the extra thread from the far-from-perfect stitching. Better than when they'd started, though.
She brought her arm down and twisted her wrist and watched the light - natural, of course, though the window needed washing - gleam across the just-cleaned blade. Blood, pain, fear, happy memories, too, built over by new adventures, but some of the deeper ones were still there. She rubbed at the mark with her thumb, more a habit than anything.
A passing shadow stopped and hovered, and she glanced from the weapon - ears up, ready for anything because letting one's guard down was a death sentence - to meet her moogle's curious face. "Master?"
"I was told once that I'd neverrr be an Adventurrrer. Too weak to make the frrront lines, not enough focus forrr a mage." Her moogle flapped around in a circle and she caught the sunlight on the blade again and grinned, laughed, but not bitter.
She flipped her dagger into the air and caught it from behind, blade pointed back at her, hilt still angled skyward; the way she'd been told (time and time again) not to catch it.
Because she knew she could.
- END -
Title: Things
Author: Jecca Meitahn /twilit_wanderer
Fandom: Final Fantasy XI
Rating: G
Characters: generic Mithra (Kihara)
Wordcount: 552
Summary: Everyone's got their quirks. Some may only fight worms, some may click their heels before leaving town, and some may stockpile the most random junk imaginable. This Mithra does the last.
Disclaimer: don't own FFXI, but I pay for my account.
Notes: Not as old as "Daggers," but still old. I like it. I'd forgotten that.
She likes small things; they remind her of her sister. They remind her of hiding in caves and of the birds she'd liked to watch every morning when she should have been doing chores. She also likes large ones; they remind her of trees and of cliffs and, more recently, of some of her Elvaan friends.
She likes things.
She likes things, and her living arrangement is a good indication of it. She occasionally asks her moogle what element dominates, but the only answer she's ever gotten has been that there are energies from many different elements drifting around; not the ice of her protective warrior friend or the light of her mage friend, or even the earth of the Mithra who isn't her sister but who she grew up with all the same. It's a strange jumble of everything.
Sometimes she feels bad, because her moogle somehow manages to keep the whole mess clean, and she knows she'd never be able to do that, and it doesn't seem right somehow, because she never asked for help keeping it tidy, though she does appreciate it.
Scattered around the room lie any number of odd trinkets (then again, maybe her moogle doesn't really keep it clean). Daggers, which she doesn't even use; a pile of small stones collected during some free time and held onto because a streak of color or a glint of mica in them had caught her eye; snacks; old armor, new armor, and scrolls she'll never have any use for... She has a considerable stash of earth crystals under her bed, and even she doesn't really know why they're there.
She likes things, and she carries more of them around with her when she goes out to explore the town or the wilds beyond. A dried flower and an old ring, and a feather.
Sometimes someone will ask her why she bothers with all the things; wouldn't it be easier, wouldn't it make more sense to sell them, or give them away, or maybe use them to make new things? She just smiles and bounces on her heels and tells them that she can't really help it; she's a pack cat (because no self-respecting Mithra would ever call herself a rat), or she just likes things.
She doesn't tell them that the feather is from one of the birds back home, or that her sister gave her that flower almost ten years ago. She doesn't tell them the ring belonged to her mother (who had given it to her the day she left to become an adventurer), or that the daggers belonged to her best friend, or that the scrolls are gifts for others (or will be, as soon as they can use them).
She doesn't mention that she still has the stained old armor from years ago because the smell of it and the feel of it remind her of everything she did when she'd worn it, and that she doesn't want to let go of it, that she likes to keep her memories close and real. She doesn't mention that she's afraid of forgetting.
She just likes things, and usually the questioner will laugh and walk off, but sometimes they'll accept the pebble or the flower or the leaf she offers them before they turn and go.
- END -
But she's been meaning to post these here for a while - because, hey, LJ's as good a backup as any - so here they are.
Title: Daggers
Author: Jecca Meitahn /
twilit_wandererFandom: Final Fantasy XI
Rating: G
Characters: generic Mithran thief (Hisime)
Wordcount: 336
Summary: A Mithran thief and her quiet recollections of where she's been and why she's what she is, and a Moogle. It could be almost anyone's character.
Disclaimer: don't own FFXI, but I pay for my account.
Notes: Wrote this several years ago. It's... decent, I guess.
She flipped her dagger into the air and caught it from behind, blade pointed back at her, hilt still angled skyward; the way she'd been told (time and time again) not to catch it.
It was sharp and, as daggers went, fairly long, and if she brought her elbow out and the blade in, she could easily impale herself with it. She'd bought it in Jeuno before heading to the Elshimo jungles and Kazham - home, she'd thought as she stepped off the airship, though she'd never been there before.
"You will," they all warned her more than once, "at the very least cut yourself one day, you know." A new friend, and fellow adventurer, had said it, too, once when they were sitting outside her Mog House, wasting time, talking, mending armor. She'd only smiled and shaken her head and cut off the extra thread from the far-from-perfect stitching. Better than when they'd started, though.
She brought her arm down and twisted her wrist and watched the light - natural, of course, though the window needed washing - gleam across the just-cleaned blade. Blood, pain, fear, happy memories, too, built over by new adventures, but some of the deeper ones were still there. She rubbed at the mark with her thumb, more a habit than anything.
A passing shadow stopped and hovered, and she glanced from the weapon - ears up, ready for anything because letting one's guard down was a death sentence - to meet her moogle's curious face. "Master?"
"I was told once that I'd neverrr be an Adventurrrer. Too weak to make the frrront lines, not enough focus forrr a mage." Her moogle flapped around in a circle and she caught the sunlight on the blade again and grinned, laughed, but not bitter.
She flipped her dagger into the air and caught it from behind, blade pointed back at her, hilt still angled skyward; the way she'd been told (time and time again) not to catch it.
Because she knew she could.
- END -
Title: Things
Author: Jecca Meitahn /
twilit_wandererFandom: Final Fantasy XI
Rating: G
Characters: generic Mithra (Kihara)
Wordcount: 552
Summary: Everyone's got their quirks. Some may only fight worms, some may click their heels before leaving town, and some may stockpile the most random junk imaginable. This Mithra does the last.
Disclaimer: don't own FFXI, but I pay for my account.
Notes: Not as old as "Daggers," but still old. I like it. I'd forgotten that.
She likes small things; they remind her of her sister. They remind her of hiding in caves and of the birds she'd liked to watch every morning when she should have been doing chores. She also likes large ones; they remind her of trees and of cliffs and, more recently, of some of her Elvaan friends.
She likes things.
She likes things, and her living arrangement is a good indication of it. She occasionally asks her moogle what element dominates, but the only answer she's ever gotten has been that there are energies from many different elements drifting around; not the ice of her protective warrior friend or the light of her mage friend, or even the earth of the Mithra who isn't her sister but who she grew up with all the same. It's a strange jumble of everything.
Sometimes she feels bad, because her moogle somehow manages to keep the whole mess clean, and she knows she'd never be able to do that, and it doesn't seem right somehow, because she never asked for help keeping it tidy, though she does appreciate it.
Scattered around the room lie any number of odd trinkets (then again, maybe her moogle doesn't really keep it clean). Daggers, which she doesn't even use; a pile of small stones collected during some free time and held onto because a streak of color or a glint of mica in them had caught her eye; snacks; old armor, new armor, and scrolls she'll never have any use for... She has a considerable stash of earth crystals under her bed, and even she doesn't really know why they're there.
She likes things, and she carries more of them around with her when she goes out to explore the town or the wilds beyond. A dried flower and an old ring, and a feather.
Sometimes someone will ask her why she bothers with all the things; wouldn't it be easier, wouldn't it make more sense to sell them, or give them away, or maybe use them to make new things? She just smiles and bounces on her heels and tells them that she can't really help it; she's a pack cat (because no self-respecting Mithra would ever call herself a rat), or she just likes things.
She doesn't tell them that the feather is from one of the birds back home, or that her sister gave her that flower almost ten years ago. She doesn't tell them the ring belonged to her mother (who had given it to her the day she left to become an adventurer), or that the daggers belonged to her best friend, or that the scrolls are gifts for others (or will be, as soon as they can use them).
She doesn't mention that she still has the stained old armor from years ago because the smell of it and the feel of it remind her of everything she did when she'd worn it, and that she doesn't want to let go of it, that she likes to keep her memories close and real. She doesn't mention that she's afraid of forgetting.
She just likes things, and usually the questioner will laugh and walk off, but sometimes they'll accept the pebble or the flower or the leaf she offers them before they turn and go.
- END -
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Thank you! I am glad you liked them. :D