Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Choices ❯ One-Shot

The late afternoon sunlight glinted on delicately blued steel, refracting into pinpoints of light as sharp as the blades' edges. Bone handles gleamed in mellow creamy accents against the black velvet tablecloth. Honed edges of shiruken competed for attention with the blunt curve of a boomerang; both rested below the dangerous line of a heavy mace.

 

Her mismatched eyes widened despite the dust stirring in the sunbeams; her bewildered gaze swept the arsenal, darting like a frightened sparrow from knife to club to spear. She alighted briefly on the wickedly keen edge of a sword and closed her eyes. Behind her lids danced memories of his low crouch, the exhilaration in his voice as he swept the heavy steel in a vicious arc, the way his knuckles whitened as he adjusted his grip after leaping away from a fiend's blow. She remembered all these things, and opened her eyes to stare at the glittering blade.

 

And reluctantly, her gaze slid past it; she was unable to imagine herself filling his role. Biting her lip, she took a small step forward, rocking back and forth on her toes as if only barely grounded to earth, as if she could again fly upon Valefor's feathered breast. She reached out, fingertips fluttering an inch above the deadly array, dipping to stroke the smooth shaft of an arrow or feel the woven strands of a whip. Her uncertain touch finally stilled against the pebbled black handle of a gun.

 

She took up the pistols carefully, surprised by their weight. Her fingers closed firmly around the grips, knuckles whitening. Extending one slender arm, she sighted her blue eye along the warm golden streak of the barrel. Her feet flattened on the floor, spread apart, grounded her firmly in a low crouch. She aimed carefully at the ground and pulled the triggers; the dry clicks sounded one after another, the guns pushing faintly back against her palms in little satisfying bursts.

 

Cid and Rin exchanged an amused glance and exchanged a few words in Al Bhed. For once, the half-familiar words didn't exasperate; her attention was wholly focused on coordinating both hands to work independently. The trader packaged up several boxes of ammunition while her uncle demonstrated loading and disarming, cleaning and care. They suffered through her exuberant gratitude, watched with fond expressions as she practiced the motions until she could accomplish them without fumbling, and bid her good luck.

 

Yuna stepped into the late afternoon sunshine, her new weapons a solid weight at her hips. A few seagulls wheeled overhead, calling shrilly to each other. Her lips lifted in a mischievous smile as she gazed upwards at them. Pretending the seriousness of a guardian, she narrowed her eyes, dropped into a low crouch and drew the guns, and fired into the clear blue sky. The roar shocked her eyes wide open and startled the birds into wide, swooping turns; her shout of exhilaration sounded brightly above the loud cries of the gulls.