[ Suiko4: Haunt | Part 3 ]
Oct. 1st, 2005 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tacticianFandom: Suikoden IV
Genre: N/A
Characters: Helmut, Troy
Warning: Same as before. Part 3. Half-assed. omgdrama. Uneditted.
Quick Navigation: [ Part One ] [ Part Two ] [ Part Three ]
Placing his boots beside him, he stretched his bare feet in front of him before burrowing them underneath the warm sand. Troy watched, amused, but kept his shoes on. Together, they looked out at the far-stretching sea, and the children playing at the shore while their parents watched with a careful eye. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Troy said, “I want apple pie.” Ultimately, the Very Good Apple Pie Place really did have very good apple pie.
Helmut laughed, elbowing his friend in the arm. “I asked you if you wanted some while passing by, but you said no. So this is what you get for not listening to me.”
“Fine, fine,” Troy conceded, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He faced forward again, breathing in the air that smelled of seawater. “I like that apple pie,” he said quietly. Helmut glanced at him discreetly, but did not respond. “I like this town, and its people; they are the kindest people I have ever met.”
“Even the Saunders Street girls?” chuckled Helmut.
Troy smiled, but it was tense. “Even the Saunders Street girls,” he clarified. “There are people here…that make me want to stay for the rest of my life, however long it may be.”
They did not speak for a while, and Helmut was the one to break the silence. “A confession?” he joked, painting an uneasy smile on to his uneasy face.
Troy turned to him. “Yes,” he answered seriously. The expression dropped off of Helmut’s face. He looked, instead, accepting but somewhat scared, like a lone man standing at the edge of a great wave, threatening to encompass him, though he had no way to resist. Tentatively, he reached out, but Troy took his hand and returned it to his side, placing it lightly on the sand. “But,” added the black-haired man, tearing his gaze away, back to the unwavering sea that could not give him raw look like that. “I cannot stay here.”
He stood up and walked back.
Troy heard the footsteps advance, felt the other’s presence in the candlelit room and smelled the mugs of warm milk in Helmut’s hands. “Are you planning to leave soon?” asked Helmut lightly, as if the thought had just cropped up, but he had caught Troy looking wistfully out the window at the cerulean distance many times. Troy was a child of the sea.
Without turning, Troy traced senseless patterns on the cool glass and gratefully accepted the cup Helmut handed to him. “I wanted to visit all the Island Nations,” he confessed. “I figured, they must look different when I’m not trying to destroy their fleets. I went to Iluya. We destroyed it, but they’re slowly rebuilding. I wanted to go to Nay, but there was a storm.” There was a storm that destroyed his ship and a group of fishermen found him.
“No one recognized you?” asked Helmut carefully. Their shoulders brushed and the warmth from their cups seeped into their hands, welcome respites from the evening chill.
“People,” said Troy, “try to forget about the details of war as soon as they can.”
“So you want to go back to traveling now?”
Troy lowered his eyes. “Yes.”
“Oh,” said Helmut, biting his lip and staving off selfishness. He had his father, his peaceful town, his relaxing and uneventful, boring life. He did not need the sea like Troy did. He did not thrive on its open air and the eternity in its waves. He would never forget how to kill a man, but he could learn to adapt to this normal setting. He had been learning for the past few years.
“Helmut,” called Troy, voice like silk. Rough fingers crept up Helmut’s jaw, guiding his head up. He found Troy’s face sullen and searching, and his fingers weakened until he had to set the glass mug down on the dusty windowsill. “I wanted to ask you,” he said, their faces barely an inch apart, and Helmut could feel his breath on his mouth. “Would you come with me?”
Helmut did not answer questions he didn’t know. Instead, he reduced the distance between them because there was no space for words in a kiss. They fell back onto the bed when the wooden post hit the back of his knees and he did not worry until morning.
Colton observed the morning’s events over the rim of his cup, half-filled with cooling tea, and grew tired of letting the two skirt around each other by two ‘o’clock. When Helmut returned from training, forehead glowing with the sheen of perspiration, Troy was upstairs pretending to read. Their floors were thin and their walls were thinner. Colton set down his mug, folding wrinkled hands together. “Sit down,” he commanded.
“Father?” asked Helmut curiously, sliding boneless into a chair.
“Are you going with him?” Colton was an expert in the spoken language, but he knew that if he danced around the words, Helmut would only run away through the spaces that metaphors and lengthy introductions left. In his old age, sound was a sense that had not yet abandoned him, and he heard the rustle of page-turning stop on the second floor.
“With who?” attempted Helmut. He flicked his eyes towards the stairs and fidgeted with the frayed leather bindings around the hilt of his sword. Helmut only knew when he was trapped if it was a matter of war. He remained clueless about the ropes that tied people helplessly together, about the strings that fathers knew how to pull like expert puppeteers. Colton sat amused, feeling as though he were once again looking down into the shy round face of his barely grown child.
“Are you?” Troy asked, appearing in the door with his pretense of a book tucked under his arm.
Colton picked up his cup and sipped lightly. “He is.”
“He is?” repeated Troy, somewhat surprised.
“I am?” echoed Helmut, wide-eyed. “Father, I can’t just get up and leave you alone here…”
“You don’t want to?” said Colton, turning sharp eyes that demanded honesty on the man across the wooden table. “I am fully capable of tending to myself and in the doubtful case that I should need assistance, you know as well as I do that we have wonderful neighbors who would offer in a heartbeat.” Helmut started under the intense scrutiny, and ducked his head for refuge, but he did not say a thing, duty and hope warring in his chest, suffocating his voice.
“Are you?” Troy repeated.
“I…" Helmut stuttered, as he was kissed, “I am.”
Placing one hand on the back of the chair, Helmut peered at the yellowing map from over Troy’s shoulder. In the margin was a list of the Island Nations in small, neat handwriting. The boat lurched as it left the dock, but the line Troy drew across ‘Na-Nal’ was impeccably straight. The dull clinking of chains echoed from outside as the anchor was drawn. Helmut pointed to a small island off the coast of Gaien, north of Middleport. “Just Razril, then?” Helmut asked. “And then we will have gone to all of them.”
Troy nodded, strangely quiet.
Frowning at the back of his head, the other man said, “What’s wrong?”
The former captain set down his pen and placed the freed hand over Helmut’s loose fist, still resting over the Western side of the sea. He looked at the door, face unreadable and betraying nothing. The floor swayed with the characteristic rocking of open water. It took him three minutes to speak. “After Razril,” he began slowly, “Are you going to go home?”
Bending over, Helmut looped his arms around Troy’s neck, his right palm resting lightly above the other man’s heart. He could feel it beating as he pressed his cheek against the captain’s. Surprised, Troy gave him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, further movement obstructed by their position. “After Razril,” said Helmut, taking the map and tossing it on to the table, “I will not have to go back to my Father in order to be home.”
Troy untangled Helmut’s arms and locked their hands together, standing. “A confession?”
Helmut smiled. “An offer.”
Troy laughed, leaning forward to put their foreheads together. “I accept.”
Genre: N/A
Characters: Helmut, Troy
Warning: Same as before. Part 3. Half-assed. omgdrama. Uneditted.
Quick Navigation: [ Part One ] [ Part Two ] [ Part Three ]
Placing his boots beside him, he stretched his bare feet in front of him before burrowing them underneath the warm sand. Troy watched, amused, but kept his shoes on. Together, they looked out at the far-stretching sea, and the children playing at the shore while their parents watched with a careful eye. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Troy said, “I want apple pie.” Ultimately, the Very Good Apple Pie Place really did have very good apple pie.
Helmut laughed, elbowing his friend in the arm. “I asked you if you wanted some while passing by, but you said no. So this is what you get for not listening to me.”
“Fine, fine,” Troy conceded, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He faced forward again, breathing in the air that smelled of seawater. “I like that apple pie,” he said quietly. Helmut glanced at him discreetly, but did not respond. “I like this town, and its people; they are the kindest people I have ever met.”
“Even the Saunders Street girls?” chuckled Helmut.
Troy smiled, but it was tense. “Even the Saunders Street girls,” he clarified. “There are people here…that make me want to stay for the rest of my life, however long it may be.”
They did not speak for a while, and Helmut was the one to break the silence. “A confession?” he joked, painting an uneasy smile on to his uneasy face.
Troy turned to him. “Yes,” he answered seriously. The expression dropped off of Helmut’s face. He looked, instead, accepting but somewhat scared, like a lone man standing at the edge of a great wave, threatening to encompass him, though he had no way to resist. Tentatively, he reached out, but Troy took his hand and returned it to his side, placing it lightly on the sand. “But,” added the black-haired man, tearing his gaze away, back to the unwavering sea that could not give him raw look like that. “I cannot stay here.”
He stood up and walked back.
Troy heard the footsteps advance, felt the other’s presence in the candlelit room and smelled the mugs of warm milk in Helmut’s hands. “Are you planning to leave soon?” asked Helmut lightly, as if the thought had just cropped up, but he had caught Troy looking wistfully out the window at the cerulean distance many times. Troy was a child of the sea.
Without turning, Troy traced senseless patterns on the cool glass and gratefully accepted the cup Helmut handed to him. “I wanted to visit all the Island Nations,” he confessed. “I figured, they must look different when I’m not trying to destroy their fleets. I went to Iluya. We destroyed it, but they’re slowly rebuilding. I wanted to go to Nay, but there was a storm.” There was a storm that destroyed his ship and a group of fishermen found him.
“No one recognized you?” asked Helmut carefully. Their shoulders brushed and the warmth from their cups seeped into their hands, welcome respites from the evening chill.
“People,” said Troy, “try to forget about the details of war as soon as they can.”
“So you want to go back to traveling now?”
Troy lowered his eyes. “Yes.”
“Oh,” said Helmut, biting his lip and staving off selfishness. He had his father, his peaceful town, his relaxing and uneventful, boring life. He did not need the sea like Troy did. He did not thrive on its open air and the eternity in its waves. He would never forget how to kill a man, but he could learn to adapt to this normal setting. He had been learning for the past few years.
“Helmut,” called Troy, voice like silk. Rough fingers crept up Helmut’s jaw, guiding his head up. He found Troy’s face sullen and searching, and his fingers weakened until he had to set the glass mug down on the dusty windowsill. “I wanted to ask you,” he said, their faces barely an inch apart, and Helmut could feel his breath on his mouth. “Would you come with me?”
Helmut did not answer questions he didn’t know. Instead, he reduced the distance between them because there was no space for words in a kiss. They fell back onto the bed when the wooden post hit the back of his knees and he did not worry until morning.
Colton observed the morning’s events over the rim of his cup, half-filled with cooling tea, and grew tired of letting the two skirt around each other by two ‘o’clock. When Helmut returned from training, forehead glowing with the sheen of perspiration, Troy was upstairs pretending to read. Their floors were thin and their walls were thinner. Colton set down his mug, folding wrinkled hands together. “Sit down,” he commanded.
“Father?” asked Helmut curiously, sliding boneless into a chair.
“Are you going with him?” Colton was an expert in the spoken language, but he knew that if he danced around the words, Helmut would only run away through the spaces that metaphors and lengthy introductions left. In his old age, sound was a sense that had not yet abandoned him, and he heard the rustle of page-turning stop on the second floor.
“With who?” attempted Helmut. He flicked his eyes towards the stairs and fidgeted with the frayed leather bindings around the hilt of his sword. Helmut only knew when he was trapped if it was a matter of war. He remained clueless about the ropes that tied people helplessly together, about the strings that fathers knew how to pull like expert puppeteers. Colton sat amused, feeling as though he were once again looking down into the shy round face of his barely grown child.
“Are you?” Troy asked, appearing in the door with his pretense of a book tucked under his arm.
Colton picked up his cup and sipped lightly. “He is.”
“He is?” repeated Troy, somewhat surprised.
“I am?” echoed Helmut, wide-eyed. “Father, I can’t just get up and leave you alone here…”
“You don’t want to?” said Colton, turning sharp eyes that demanded honesty on the man across the wooden table. “I am fully capable of tending to myself and in the doubtful case that I should need assistance, you know as well as I do that we have wonderful neighbors who would offer in a heartbeat.” Helmut started under the intense scrutiny, and ducked his head for refuge, but he did not say a thing, duty and hope warring in his chest, suffocating his voice.
“Are you?” Troy repeated.
“I…" Helmut stuttered, as he was kissed, “I am.”
Placing one hand on the back of the chair, Helmut peered at the yellowing map from over Troy’s shoulder. In the margin was a list of the Island Nations in small, neat handwriting. The boat lurched as it left the dock, but the line Troy drew across ‘Na-Nal’ was impeccably straight. The dull clinking of chains echoed from outside as the anchor was drawn. Helmut pointed to a small island off the coast of Gaien, north of Middleport. “Just Razril, then?” Helmut asked. “And then we will have gone to all of them.”
Troy nodded, strangely quiet.
Frowning at the back of his head, the other man said, “What’s wrong?”
The former captain set down his pen and placed the freed hand over Helmut’s loose fist, still resting over the Western side of the sea. He looked at the door, face unreadable and betraying nothing. The floor swayed with the characteristic rocking of open water. It took him three minutes to speak. “After Razril,” he began slowly, “Are you going to go home?”
Bending over, Helmut looped his arms around Troy’s neck, his right palm resting lightly above the other man’s heart. He could feel it beating as he pressed his cheek against the captain’s. Surprised, Troy gave him a curious look out of the corner of his eye, further movement obstructed by their position. “After Razril,” said Helmut, taking the map and tossing it on to the table, “I will not have to go back to my Father in order to be home.”
Troy untangled Helmut’s arms and locked their hands together, standing. “A confession?”
Helmut smiled. “An offer.”
Troy laughed, leaning forward to put their foreheads together. “I accept.”