[untitled FF6 thing]
Jul. 27th, 2020 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonFandom: Final Fantasy VI
Characters: Edgar, Setzer. Shipwise this is Edgar/Setzer with significant Setzer/Daryl background radiation
Word count: ~500
Warnings: idk, canon-typical whatsit
Notes: From a prompt meme I shall not name here: Edgar/Setzer - Setzer lets Edgar take the Falcon’s wheel.
Edgar had big, square hands; when out and about in his public persona he tended to soften the effect with jewelry, but the man's identical twin, with presumably identical hands, could punch through concrete. The handles of the Falcon's wheel looked subtly out of proportion in his grip.
No, it wasn't that. Anyone standing there would look wrong. Setzer searched through his pockets for a cigarette and pretended he was not having an out-of-body experience. He told himself not to be so dramatic. The Falcon wasn't his heart, or his soul, and it wasn't Daryl's either. Its wings weren't part of his body; its hull was not his skin.
Damned if it didn't feel like it sometimes.
He lit up, and Edgar flicked a curious glance back in his direction. “I didn't know you could still buy those.”
“You can't.” Setzer took a long drag, exhaled, watched the smoke trail away downwind. “But if you get a rare luxury tonight, so do I.”
A staggering quantity of liquor and cigars had gone down with the Blackjack, even after everything lost in the Esper attack, and then the world had ended and trade was never going to be the same. Was anyone even growing tobacco anymore? Did there exist on the face of this world any such thing as a vineyard? His year in Kohlingen had acquainted him all too well with what they had for distillers.
So: something so commonplace was precious now. But there was no sense hoarding precious things either, because you might not live long enough to enjoy them. Say they killed Kefka: there was no toggle that would reset the world to its old configuration. There was no guarantee anything would ever get better. It might just stop getting worse, for a while. So you scrounged up cheap little things like this, wherever you could, and enjoyed them while you could.
“She handles like a dream,” Edgar said, his voice low and appreciative.
Setzer thought: Exactly. He thought about giving Edgar a word of advice, or a warning, or an if-you-damage-one-fin-of-this-beauty's-wings, but then Edgar would say “Do you think I don't know how to treat a lady?” and they'd both feel obliged to turn matters into the usual snarky pissing match. Who here is the fanciest man-about-town? Who's the better engineer? That was entertaining enough, in its place – it was just such a dispute that had landed them in bed the first time – but not now. He bit the urge down and smoked in silence.
If he'd really thought Edgar needed any admonition, he never would've given him the helm. He'd already decided he trusted this man – trusted those hands. He told himself, Wanting a sure thing doesn't suit you anyway. What have you ever wanted, except to put everything on the line while surrounded by attractive blondes?
The Falcon bore west, outpacing the rising sun; the thrum of her propellers sufficed for conversation.
Characters: Edgar, Setzer. Shipwise this is Edgar/Setzer with significant Setzer/Daryl background radiation
Word count: ~500
Warnings: idk, canon-typical whatsit
Notes: From a prompt meme I shall not name here: Edgar/Setzer - Setzer lets Edgar take the Falcon’s wheel.
Edgar had big, square hands; when out and about in his public persona he tended to soften the effect with jewelry, but the man's identical twin, with presumably identical hands, could punch through concrete. The handles of the Falcon's wheel looked subtly out of proportion in his grip.
No, it wasn't that. Anyone standing there would look wrong. Setzer searched through his pockets for a cigarette and pretended he was not having an out-of-body experience. He told himself not to be so dramatic. The Falcon wasn't his heart, or his soul, and it wasn't Daryl's either. Its wings weren't part of his body; its hull was not his skin.
Damned if it didn't feel like it sometimes.
He lit up, and Edgar flicked a curious glance back in his direction. “I didn't know you could still buy those.”
“You can't.” Setzer took a long drag, exhaled, watched the smoke trail away downwind. “But if you get a rare luxury tonight, so do I.”
A staggering quantity of liquor and cigars had gone down with the Blackjack, even after everything lost in the Esper attack, and then the world had ended and trade was never going to be the same. Was anyone even growing tobacco anymore? Did there exist on the face of this world any such thing as a vineyard? His year in Kohlingen had acquainted him all too well with what they had for distillers.
So: something so commonplace was precious now. But there was no sense hoarding precious things either, because you might not live long enough to enjoy them. Say they killed Kefka: there was no toggle that would reset the world to its old configuration. There was no guarantee anything would ever get better. It might just stop getting worse, for a while. So you scrounged up cheap little things like this, wherever you could, and enjoyed them while you could.
“She handles like a dream,” Edgar said, his voice low and appreciative.
Setzer thought: Exactly. He thought about giving Edgar a word of advice, or a warning, or an if-you-damage-one-fin-of-this-beauty's-wings, but then Edgar would say “Do you think I don't know how to treat a lady?” and they'd both feel obliged to turn matters into the usual snarky pissing match. Who here is the fanciest man-about-town? Who's the better engineer? That was entertaining enough, in its place – it was just such a dispute that had landed them in bed the first time – but not now. He bit the urge down and smoked in silence.
If he'd really thought Edgar needed any admonition, he never would've given him the helm. He'd already decided he trusted this man – trusted those hands. He told himself, Wanting a sure thing doesn't suit you anyway. What have you ever wanted, except to put everything on the line while surrounded by attractive blondes?
The Falcon bore west, outpacing the rising sun; the thrum of her propellers sufficed for conversation.
