[Closed] April Catchall

[finesseblade]

Who: Felix + Various
When: Throughout April
Where: Throughout Aefenglom, and a little Dorchacht too
What: Quests, Events, and Shenanigans!
Warnings: Maybe a little blood, a little body horror, all kinds of fun stuff

If you'd like to plot something for this month please pm me or contact me at ruddyowls

Comments

Memshare 02.

[finesseblade]

"Don't be a crybaby. Get up and try again."

Felix, nine years old and laid out flat on the courtyard stones, sits up and glares daggers at his opponent. The older boy arching an eyebrow back at him has Felix's same face, his same carefully controlled bearing as he spins the practice blade in his hand, but the tousle of dark curls and blue eyes are different enough to distinguish them.

"What did I say? Get up."

"But Glenn—"

"I won't ask again, Fe. Get up or we're done."

Felix scrubs under his nose with the back of his arm and climbs to his feet, pouting the entire time—and then he charges again, his own blunted blade held over his head.

And just like before, Glenn catches the blow on the edge of his own blade, twists, and tosses Felix straight back down on the cobblestones.

"This isn't fair!" Felix whines, huffing dirt from his mouth as he pushes himself onto his hands and knees. "You're bigger than me!"

"Battle isn't fair. You win or you die. Now—"

"Get back up. I know."

[ This same pattern carries on for a while—Felix climbs to his feet, charges, and Glenn tosses him back down, and with each successive try Felix gets a little more frustrated. Once or twice, he changes up his strategy, maybe manages to get in a blow or two—but Glenn has the advantage of skill and experience, and each time, Felix ends up back on the ground.

Side-by-side, watching from the edges, the similarities between Felix now and Glenn then are apparent in the way he carries himself, and the hard set of his jaw as he frowns. Strange as it may be, this Felix seems more like Glenn than the much younger Felix fighting him—and anyone who knows him may be quick to notice it. ]

[supersoldier]

[It is the first thing he notices, of course. The similarities between the two are striking, despite the difference in age — the dark hair, the similar shape of a brow, the shared bearing of determination. Even the one-sided training session itself, strict as it might be, seems wrought of familiarity between the two. The conclusion is not hard to draw: family of some sort, and that is not even taking into account the present Felix standing nearby.

One glance at at him and all doubt is swept away. Certainly family, maybe brothers? He wonders.

But he does not speak up at first, only watching as the a young Felix is bested by the other again and again and again. It’s a harsh lesson learned, a harsh way to learn, but Sephiroth knows it to be efficient. Repetition is the key to understanding, practice grinds muscle memory into the body. He cannot say that he disapproves, not wholly, but he is also not privy to the true nature of this relationship. Is there warmth between the two beyond these training sessions?

Finally, Sephiroth deigns to speak, stepping closer to Felix.]

You’re stubborn, aren’t you.

[finesseblade]

[ In that strange way reality tends to be muted in dreams, funneled down to focus on a single moment, Felix—even gifted now with a wolf's ears, a wolf's sense of smell—misses the signs he's not alone until Sephiroth speaks.

Pointed ears shoot upright, swiveling toward the sound of his voice. Felix turns his head sharply with them.

But there are no particular hard feelings about their last bout, so after a moment he shrugs, and his eyes go back to the mock-fight in the courtyard. ]

Stupid might be more apt. Look at that— [ Felix nods. Felix the younger, his face twisted in childish fury and determination, swings his blade at his brother again—and Glenn rebuffs him, just as before. ] Trying the same move over and over. Even when I change tactics, my every move is written all over my face. It's pathetic. Took me years to train away that weakness.

[ He scoffs. ]

And it's still not enough. It won't be until I can beat anyone—and that includes you.

[supersoldier]

[The ears are different, he thinks, but he’s not one to make such a remark. Sephiroth is sporting the subtle changes of a harpy, too — pointed ears and dark feathers that have begun to grow in at the scalp, interwoven in his long hair. Between them, and due to the expectation of transformation, he does not view Felix’s changes as jarring. They’re not even remarked upon.

The last bit, however, has him scoffing. Not through patronization, but at a vague kind of amusement at Felix’s sharply cutting determination.]

Is that so.

[No hard feelings about the last bout, indeed, only a steeled want for improvement. Sephiroth watches as a younger Felix telegraphs his moves so obviously for the older man to see.]

At least you were being taught well, even if the lesson is harsh. I learned the same way. Repetition, and endless hours of it. [A pause.] Is that man related to you?

[finesseblade]

[ There's little to give away how jarring that question really is for Felix, but the signs are there—a deepening in the creases beneath his eyes, a lowering of the brows, a subtle tension settling in around shoulders shifting forward. He keeps his eyes forward, focusing on the bout in front of him. ]

My brother, [ he says, flat as can be, and then: ] He's dead.

[ The blunt way he says it belies the frown tugging down at the corners of his mouth. There is no point, Felix thinks, in candy-coating the facts. What happened to Glenn is as much a rote truth of his life as all the little white nicks of scars embedded in his skin from careless accidents with a sword.

If he could change one thing, he'd rather have avoided one of his few competent sparring partners meeting the specter of his brother face-to-face. There'll be no shaking the sense of comparison after this. ]

I never did manage to best him with a blade, for all that repetition. And I suppose I'll never know if I can now, will I?

[supersoldier]

[He sees it in Felix's expression before the clarification is spoken. The tells of a connection lost are so very obvious to a man who has seen them before, worn them before himself. Sephiroth’s expression settles again into stoicism, judging what to say -- or if any of it will be appreciated at all.

Family is a difficult subject for him, having no context to pull from. He can only guess at how affecting a relationship between brothers resonates through one’s lifetime, but perhaps with Felix, he’s caught a glimpse of why he’s so keen on improvement. On besting those he spars with, and making it an adamant goal with those he cannot.]

I see. [He won’t ask after how he died, or when. It isn’t any of his business, and sometimes death is merely the reality of those who might call themselves warriors or soldiers. That, he knows.]

No, you may not ever know now. Is it that important that you do, though?

[To judge one’s own skill against that of a memory. He wonders.]

[finesseblade]

[ If that isn't exactly the question he keeps asking himself, and moreso lately. Felix doesn't like it, if the way he starts tugging at the edges of his gloves in agitation is any indication. ]

Maybe not.

[ Maybe it's not about Glenn. Maybe it's about survival, and if Glenn wasn't good enough to protect the things that mattered to him without dying, then what hope does Felix have?

The bout doesn't end with Felix giving up—it's Glenn who eventually takes pity on him when it's obvious his child's arms can barely hold the sword up anymore, and sends him away. The smaller Felix storms off, huffing and puffing and clearly not happy about it. ]

If someone you cared about died, would you not want to know you could do better than that? To prove you could succeed where he failed? I don't want to die the way he did.

[supersoldier]

[He watches the scene with stolid eyes. Tries to find a parallel with his own training of the past, when he was about the same age. He cannot quite match it with anything, not against the framework of someone telling him to stop, it's been enough. To send him off to rest.

Once again, he cannot relate. Sephiroth wishes he could.]

I don't know. [It's plain, but the truth. However, there is one thing he can relate to.] I have had someone I care about die, too, but his path was his own. Not mine.

Do you intend to walk in the same footsteps as your brother?

[To him, that's the only reason why Felix would be so concerned about such a thing.]

[finesseblade]

[ Felix wonders—with a flicker of a glance in Sephiroth's direction—what it would take to be as skilled a swordsman as that. He wonders, if Glenn had kept pushing him instead of ordering him off to rest, if he might have developed the skill necessary to win their duel at the barracks all those weeks ago.

He wonders how Sephiroth became as strong as he did, and if it would've been worth it to take that path, instead of whatever the hell he's been doing sincd Duscur.

And then he snorts derisively, because there's no use in worrying about hypotheticals. ]

Never. He was a knight, and that was his downfall. I'm not going to live just to die for someone else.

[ Not for Dimitri, not the way Glenn did. He won't be consigned to just another Shield of Faerghus to be cracked in two for the sake of her king.

He waves a hand vaguely, turning his back on the memory as it begins to blur at the edges with his younger self's retreat. ]

I'll find my own path, and I'll survive it. Then I'll surpass him.