![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonFandom: Final Fantasy VI
Characters: Celes/Daryl
Word count: 1500
Warnings: I think probably none?
Notes: A sequence of 15 drabbles, for![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
Dee_Moyza for Multifandom Drabble. The prospect of this ship was so fascinating I had to go and build an AU for it. I had fun.
Daryl is the hottest person in FFVI. This is just facts.
A ship wrecked. A woman fell from the sky. The ocean gave her up later, three parts dead, on an island well outside normal shipping lanes. The navigational charts in her head assured her no rescue was coming, not that way.
There was another chance, but she hated the thought of waiting around for discovery. A year it took to regain strength; months to draw plans, test materials. Either he'd find her in the time it took to finish building, or she'd go surprise him.
But one day the earth shook. A ship wrecked. A woman fell from the sky.
She was about twenty, tall, angular, bleeding profusely into the surf. Daryl had waded out to look, and the ocean slapped at her calves with unaccustomed force for the season. It was colder than it should be. Daryl studied the newcomer unsentimentally. She hadn't survived this long just to risk hypothermia or drowning for a lost cause. If the girl could be saved, she'd try. If not, she had work to get back to. The storm had smashed her boat to pieces; she'd build better this time.
The surf began to crystallize. The stranger's wounds lit with a blue phosphorescence.
Other people washed ashore in the coming days. Daryl had thought she missed company, but now she actually had some she changed her mind. She'd missed having a rival - an equal - not just conversation for its own sake. And all they wanted to talk about was their world falling apart, their pain and misfortune and despair. She'd lived here two years already.
But this was interesting: a man stumbled wide-eyed out of the hut where Daryl's guest lay cold and still and glowing. "That woman - what's she doing here? That's General Chere!"
That explained some things, although it complicated others.
There were three things Daryl intended to do: build a new boat. Get back to the mainland - any mainland. Keep Celes Chere alive.
It stormed for weeks sometimes. Hailstones punched through the fruit trees she'd counted on; fishing became impossible. The groundwater went bad. Keeping herself alive was work enough.
But when the wind lashed her hair, she'd remember: This is nothing. I felt this before, from up there, and I will again.
Celes was still unconscious, but recovering. Daryl attributed this less to the broth she forced into her every day, more to the magic crackling in her veins.
Celes opened her eyes in someplace dark and humid. She felt for her sword. It wasn't there. Had she been imprisoned again? For failing to kill Kefka? For trying?
"Aha." The voice was unfamiliar. "Thought you might be up soon. Sit up slow, you've been out of commission a while."
So she sat up, slowly. She was in some kind of wooden structure. She smelled the sea. A woman sat by the light of the stove calmly stitching away at a length of canvas. A sail?
"No rush," she said, "but I've been wondering. You any good with your hands?"
For several days speech seemed entirely beyond Celes's capabilities. There was too much horror to absorb - the fall, the missing year, the dead earth and broken sky. Daryl didn't seem to mind, and kept her busy regardless.
"A project is the best medicine," she said. "You'll see."
Daryl's back was a mess of burn scars; it was a wonder her shoulders still moved. Presumably she spoke from experience. So Celes fetched and carried and helped her build, and didn't ask.
But the craft taking shape began to look familiar. Like the gondola of -
Surely not.
Daryl grinned like a wolf.
"I know a guy," Daryl said. "Runs a foundry in Nikeah. We make it there, and I can build a new engine. Put some wings on this tub." She slapped the side of the boat fondly. "It's a start."
"And if there's no 'guy in Nikeah?'" said Celes. "No foundry?" She did not say: no Nikeah left at all?
"I'll improvise." Not a moment's hesitation. Celes didn't understand her: wasn't she afraid? Why did she want to get airborne again so badly, when it had nearly killed her last time? When there might be nothing left to see from above?
All that time, they only spoke of him once.
"Did he look for me?" Daryl said, and respected herself less for asking.
"He wouldn't have told me if so."
"You weren't close? He didn't even make a move on you?"
Celes said wearily, "Of course he did," and Daryl could only laugh.
"The man always had taste."
Celes looked at her sidelong, pushing aside a lock of hair bleached pale by the sun. "Don't tell me you kidnap opera girls too."
"I might. Don't tell me you sing."
"Like a carpenter's rasp," Celes lied.
"Great. I could use a spare."
The wind was against them, and Daryl wasn't used to accounting for tides. Small though the island was, it took a day and a half to sail around it.
"Now aren't you glad you didn't start with the open ocean?" said Celes, eyeballing a leak in the forward hull. Daryl had been tempted to skip this test cruise; cooler heads had prevailed.
"Sure, whatever," Daryl said, and grabbed Celes and whirled her around. "She floats! We did it! Get excited!"
"...Excited." Celes, with her hair whipping out around her, mostly looked confused. "Well. I'll try."
Daryl could've kissed her. "Attagirl."
Daryl paused in wrestling with the rigging and said, "When we make land, what do you want to do?"
Celes chewed her lip thoughtfully. "We'll need to lay in provisions -"
"I know. I asked what you want. C'mon, don't you have a dream?"
What did Daryl take her for? Celes was a Magitek Knight, not a person - more forged than born. Fond dreams and ambitions weren't the purpose she'd been designed for.
And that purpose was corrupt, so what now?
She tasted salt spray. "I'd like to kill Kefka."
"Also not what I meant, but sure, let's do that too."
The days were long at sea, and Daryl wished she'd persuaded another of the island's castaways to come aboard. Not because Celes wasn't enough company - just for one more hand on the tiller. She and Setzer had used to spell each other on the Falcon, handing the wheel off every six or eight hours for days, but this was harder. An airship was much more responsive than this, more exciting - and she'd been younger then, and uninjured. And they'd had caffeine.
Wasn't all bad, though. Sometimes in the midnight hours, to keep herself awake over her task, Celes would sing.
Finally Celes had to ask: "What about you?"
Daryl was standing in the prow, backlit by the dying world's florid sunrise. "What about me?"
"What's next?"
"I want what I've always wanted," Daryl said. Her voice had gone soft, almost lost in the boom of the waves. "See the world. Make my mark on it." This part was louder: "Set more point-to-point speed records than any person alive -" Her tone turned ironic. "Thinking about it, now all the points have moved around, I have even more opportunities."
It took Celes time to find the question she'd really meant to ask.
"Why are you so kind to me?"
That wasn't the right question, either, but it might be related.
Daryl gave her an odd look. "You think this is kindness?"
"You didn't have to save me."
"You're magic, you would've survived anyway. I didn't save anybody."
Strange. Celes had never known Daryl to get uncomfortable. Well out of her own element with this kind of talk, she found it reassuring.
"You gave me a project," she said. "I might have just lain there."
Daryl came close, smiling wistfully, and - reached out - redirected - patted Celes's shoulder. "I guess... call it fellow feeling."
With land in sight, there was no more time for pretense. Celes broached the question at last: "Will you come with me?"
Daryl burst out laughing. "How long have you been worrying about that? Did you really think I wouldn't? You're not getting far without an airship, anyway."
Celes frowned, unsure if Daryl was mocking her. "We don't have an airship, and this thing's taking on more water than -"
"Details. We'll have one soon, and she'll be at your disposal." Winking, she caught up Celes's hand and kissed it, like some gallant of a faded century. "And so will I."
There was no "guy in Nikeah." But there was someone Celes knew, and rumors that others had survived -
"Daryl, this is it. This is perfect. We rebuild an adventuring party, rebuild your ship, and go hit him where he lives."
"That's barely even a plan. I love it. I'm in. And after that?"
Celes faltered. "After...?"
"The sky's a big place. We won't have seen all of it by then. Maybe we'll find you a dream."
Still uncertainly, Celes took Daryl's face in her hands. A freshening breeze set their little boat rocking, like a sign of what might come.
Characters: Celes/Daryl
Word count: 1500
Warnings: I think probably none?
Notes: A sequence of 15 drabbles, for
Daryl is the hottest person in FFVI. This is just facts.
A ship wrecked. A woman fell from the sky. The ocean gave her up later, three parts dead, on an island well outside normal shipping lanes. The navigational charts in her head assured her no rescue was coming, not that way.
There was another chance, but she hated the thought of waiting around for discovery. A year it took to regain strength; months to draw plans, test materials. Either he'd find her in the time it took to finish building, or she'd go surprise him.
But one day the earth shook. A ship wrecked. A woman fell from the sky.
She was about twenty, tall, angular, bleeding profusely into the surf. Daryl had waded out to look, and the ocean slapped at her calves with unaccustomed force for the season. It was colder than it should be. Daryl studied the newcomer unsentimentally. She hadn't survived this long just to risk hypothermia or drowning for a lost cause. If the girl could be saved, she'd try. If not, she had work to get back to. The storm had smashed her boat to pieces; she'd build better this time.
The surf began to crystallize. The stranger's wounds lit with a blue phosphorescence.
Other people washed ashore in the coming days. Daryl had thought she missed company, but now she actually had some she changed her mind. She'd missed having a rival - an equal - not just conversation for its own sake. And all they wanted to talk about was their world falling apart, their pain and misfortune and despair. She'd lived here two years already.
But this was interesting: a man stumbled wide-eyed out of the hut where Daryl's guest lay cold and still and glowing. "That woman - what's she doing here? That's General Chere!"
That explained some things, although it complicated others.
There were three things Daryl intended to do: build a new boat. Get back to the mainland - any mainland. Keep Celes Chere alive.
It stormed for weeks sometimes. Hailstones punched through the fruit trees she'd counted on; fishing became impossible. The groundwater went bad. Keeping herself alive was work enough.
But when the wind lashed her hair, she'd remember: This is nothing. I felt this before, from up there, and I will again.
Celes was still unconscious, but recovering. Daryl attributed this less to the broth she forced into her every day, more to the magic crackling in her veins.
Celes opened her eyes in someplace dark and humid. She felt for her sword. It wasn't there. Had she been imprisoned again? For failing to kill Kefka? For trying?
"Aha." The voice was unfamiliar. "Thought you might be up soon. Sit up slow, you've been out of commission a while."
So she sat up, slowly. She was in some kind of wooden structure. She smelled the sea. A woman sat by the light of the stove calmly stitching away at a length of canvas. A sail?
"No rush," she said, "but I've been wondering. You any good with your hands?"
For several days speech seemed entirely beyond Celes's capabilities. There was too much horror to absorb - the fall, the missing year, the dead earth and broken sky. Daryl didn't seem to mind, and kept her busy regardless.
"A project is the best medicine," she said. "You'll see."
Daryl's back was a mess of burn scars; it was a wonder her shoulders still moved. Presumably she spoke from experience. So Celes fetched and carried and helped her build, and didn't ask.
But the craft taking shape began to look familiar. Like the gondola of -
Surely not.
Daryl grinned like a wolf.
"I know a guy," Daryl said. "Runs a foundry in Nikeah. We make it there, and I can build a new engine. Put some wings on this tub." She slapped the side of the boat fondly. "It's a start."
"And if there's no 'guy in Nikeah?'" said Celes. "No foundry?" She did not say: no Nikeah left at all?
"I'll improvise." Not a moment's hesitation. Celes didn't understand her: wasn't she afraid? Why did she want to get airborne again so badly, when it had nearly killed her last time? When there might be nothing left to see from above?
All that time, they only spoke of him once.
"Did he look for me?" Daryl said, and respected herself less for asking.
"He wouldn't have told me if so."
"You weren't close? He didn't even make a move on you?"
Celes said wearily, "Of course he did," and Daryl could only laugh.
"The man always had taste."
Celes looked at her sidelong, pushing aside a lock of hair bleached pale by the sun. "Don't tell me you kidnap opera girls too."
"I might. Don't tell me you sing."
"Like a carpenter's rasp," Celes lied.
"Great. I could use a spare."
The wind was against them, and Daryl wasn't used to accounting for tides. Small though the island was, it took a day and a half to sail around it.
"Now aren't you glad you didn't start with the open ocean?" said Celes, eyeballing a leak in the forward hull. Daryl had been tempted to skip this test cruise; cooler heads had prevailed.
"Sure, whatever," Daryl said, and grabbed Celes and whirled her around. "She floats! We did it! Get excited!"
"...Excited." Celes, with her hair whipping out around her, mostly looked confused. "Well. I'll try."
Daryl could've kissed her. "Attagirl."
Daryl paused in wrestling with the rigging and said, "When we make land, what do you want to do?"
Celes chewed her lip thoughtfully. "We'll need to lay in provisions -"
"I know. I asked what you want. C'mon, don't you have a dream?"
What did Daryl take her for? Celes was a Magitek Knight, not a person - more forged than born. Fond dreams and ambitions weren't the purpose she'd been designed for.
And that purpose was corrupt, so what now?
She tasted salt spray. "I'd like to kill Kefka."
"Also not what I meant, but sure, let's do that too."
The days were long at sea, and Daryl wished she'd persuaded another of the island's castaways to come aboard. Not because Celes wasn't enough company - just for one more hand on the tiller. She and Setzer had used to spell each other on the Falcon, handing the wheel off every six or eight hours for days, but this was harder. An airship was much more responsive than this, more exciting - and she'd been younger then, and uninjured. And they'd had caffeine.
Wasn't all bad, though. Sometimes in the midnight hours, to keep herself awake over her task, Celes would sing.
Finally Celes had to ask: "What about you?"
Daryl was standing in the prow, backlit by the dying world's florid sunrise. "What about me?"
"What's next?"
"I want what I've always wanted," Daryl said. Her voice had gone soft, almost lost in the boom of the waves. "See the world. Make my mark on it." This part was louder: "Set more point-to-point speed records than any person alive -" Her tone turned ironic. "Thinking about it, now all the points have moved around, I have even more opportunities."
It took Celes time to find the question she'd really meant to ask.
"Why are you so kind to me?"
That wasn't the right question, either, but it might be related.
Daryl gave her an odd look. "You think this is kindness?"
"You didn't have to save me."
"You're magic, you would've survived anyway. I didn't save anybody."
Strange. Celes had never known Daryl to get uncomfortable. Well out of her own element with this kind of talk, she found it reassuring.
"You gave me a project," she said. "I might have just lain there."
Daryl came close, smiling wistfully, and - reached out - redirected - patted Celes's shoulder. "I guess... call it fellow feeling."
With land in sight, there was no more time for pretense. Celes broached the question at last: "Will you come with me?"
Daryl burst out laughing. "How long have you been worrying about that? Did you really think I wouldn't? You're not getting far without an airship, anyway."
Celes frowned, unsure if Daryl was mocking her. "We don't have an airship, and this thing's taking on more water than -"
"Details. We'll have one soon, and she'll be at your disposal." Winking, she caught up Celes's hand and kissed it, like some gallant of a faded century. "And so will I."
There was no "guy in Nikeah." But there was someone Celes knew, and rumors that others had survived -
"Daryl, this is it. This is perfect. We rebuild an adventuring party, rebuild your ship, and go hit him where he lives."
"That's barely even a plan. I love it. I'm in. And after that?"
Celes faltered. "After...?"
"The sky's a big place. We won't have seen all of it by then. Maybe we'll find you a dream."
Still uncertainly, Celes took Daryl's face in her hands. A freshening breeze set their little boat rocking, like a sign of what might come.
