Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Game ❯ Not Alone ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Deadly Game
by Maya Brisa
 
 
Chapter 3: Not alone
 
Dusk. The point where Baaj Island was at its most beautiful. If the day had been overcast, the sun could finally escape the clouds and shine a honey orange color onto the west sides. The waters shifted with sparkling dots of yellow and shimmering whites as far as the eye could see, all at once being swallowed into the horizon. The sunset was a thing of pure beauty on Baaj.
 
The young guado sat in the kitchen with the lantern on, trying to finish up the book he'd been reading in Besaid. He didn't have a bowl of fruit, but instead a hot cup of tea that sat on the table. The awnings were closed now, the cold air was coming in from the north and quite a bother when Seymour was trying to read.
 
He was on the last page and read it intently as he reached for his cup of tea. He sipped in a mouthful and swallowed, nodding his head as he read the last line.
"Good book." he chirped, smiling and setting his cup down as he flipped the book shut. He set it down beside the cup and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. He looked out the window for a moment, reveling in the pretty scenery outside.
 
His eyes trailed over the spot where he'd seen that seagull disappear. He licked the roof of his mouth a few times with a grimace before getting up from his seat, it was late and the poor thing had been cleaning all day. It was time to rest.
 
Everything was dusted, arranged and shining like justice. The smell of the place was very comforting--the kind of smell that a cabin would put off; musky scents and fine wood. The kitchen, of course, reeked of lemony joy, but that's just because it was Seymour's favorite room, he made sure it was squeaky clean.
 
His bedroom was on the third floor. He liked his room almost as much as he liked the kitchen, but it was too far from the ground for his tastes. He enjoyed the sound of the waves and couldn't hear them as well way up there.
 
With his usual diligent steps he went up the staircases, gliding his hand over the smooth finish of the railings. He whistled a melody that had no name or origin. His mother used to hum it to him when he was little. That might have been why he liked to whistle it so much. It was a nice tune. Seymour entered his bedroom, there was nothing special about the bedroom, just an antique feel to it. Blue bedding on oak, and a fluffy pillow sat right beside a bay window that overlooked the same beach.
 
He stopped whistling when he walked further in turning on the light. He'd forgotten to clean this part of the house. He shook his head and stepped over to the closet. He had some clothes from the last stay still there. He flipped through until he found a pair of night pants. Ambling to his bed, he tossed them down and soon followed with them, letting his body crumple from mild fatigue.
 
As if he were getting ready for school and didn't want to go, he sluggishly removed his clothing. His wardrobe was nothing short of elegant; always a pair of neatly ironed slacks accompanied with a robe-like shirt with belled sleeves. His favorite color was violet, so he never strayed too far, often settling with variations of the shade.
 
Pretty soon, his clothes were in a folded pile inside a hamper and he in his pants. Night time was always the loneliest part of the day. So quiet, not a sound but the waves crashing on rocks over the other distant parts of the Island. Sometimes it was hard for him to sleep, he would start to think about his mother... and eventually of his father. That never settled well and call for a restless sleep.
 
With a long sigh he climbed onto his bed and slid to the window. He unlocked it and pushed the windows open taking in a deep breath of the fresh breeze that swept in. He smiled a little, remembering the times when he was little, when Anima would scold him for even thinking about sitting inside the window. He could have sat inside it comfortably then, he was much too big to fit now. He laughed a little as sat down and leaned against the frame, staring out onto the water.
 
He sighed again, closing his eyes. As if his someone was interrupting a dream, his brows furrowed to an odd sound. Soft at first, like a baby's murmur, then louder and louder it grew--almost like it was inside Seymour's ears. His eyes opened slowly, staring at one of the open windows... He blinked, his lids heavy from being tired. Soon, the cry turned into a melody. A song, and it was intoxicating.
 
Seymour's lips parted as he leaned into the bay window and looked down at the beach. Was it a bird? It couldn't have been, most of the birds that inhabited the Island were sound asleep by that hour. The cry was more like a whale's and echoing in gentle frequencies. All of Seymour's cares seemed to flow right out of the window with that song that sounded like it was coming right off the water.
 
The guado took in a breath through his nostrils as his head tipped back, letting the cool breeze graze over his throat. The song was beautiful. Perfection with every ring. It was so beautiful that Seymour didn't know what he was hearing anymore, and soon, he was fast asleep on his bed. Perhaps a family of whales had passed by and with them, brought a song. A song that aided the weary.
 
Only the dawn would tell.
 
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The sun sparkled and peeked over the horizon blanketing the sleeping Island in warmth. A seagull squealed rather loudly as it flew passed Seymour's window--Unfortunately for the seagull... it slapped the other window and fell down to the sandy surface below. Seymour sat up in his bed, wide eyed and staring out the window. He leaned further into the bay, fitting his torso in just fine to peer below.
 
"Oh, goodness..." he mumbled, looking worried as he saw the seagull sitting below. One of its wings was stretched out like it was babying a sprain. Seymour rubbed his forehead a moment trying to think of what to do next. And then, it was decided... slipping out of the pants and into his clothing, he left his bedroom to go downstairs to try and help the bird.
 
Sometimes Seymour would get a little irritated at distractions. It was time for him to get up, but now would have been the time he went downstairs to make breakfast... not try to be a hero to some mite infested critter. His footsteps were a little heavier this time on his way down. Seymour was hungry, and thus came the grumpiness.
 
Reaching the patio, he flung the door open and stepped outside. In order to get to where the bird was, he would have to go around that large ridge of rocks, which was a pain in the ass--at least now it was, because his conscience was pricking him. About fifteen minutes later the sandy beach met his bare feet. That was enough to place him a better mood. He loved the way it felt.
 
"Stupid seagull..." he muttered to himself, "Making me miss breakfast..." he finished kicking up some sand. What a way to start the day. Seymour kept his eyes down to the sand, making sure he didn't step on anything unpleasant as he made his way around another set of large rocks. These rocks were basically the foundation holding the beach house up.
 
His eyes gradually began to scan for the white bird, looking up to make sure he was near the area by checking for his window. Sure enough, there it was, preening the bum wing.
 
"There you are." he said, slowly walking up to it. The bird was making small, rapid whistle noises as if it were scared.
"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." he spoke, as if words were going to help. He noticed that the bird was panting heavily with every whistle and backing away with tiny, clumsy steps.
 
"That fall must have really freaked you out..." Seymour said, crouching down on his knees to extend his hands. He was right in front of the bird. He stared at it, noticing that the bird wasn't even looking at him, but beyond him. Rather than banking on the possibility of something else being behind him, he continued to reach for the bird.
 
"You're okay." He murmured, making the attempt to catch it. The wing was starting to close in. The whistle became more labored as the birds head began to bobble. If the damned thing could sweat, it would have been--bullets. Before Seymour could even lay a fingertip on the critter, it cried loudly and took flight, using Seymour's head as leverage.
 
"God!?" Seymour yelled out, throwing his hands up to swat the bird. He missed as the seagull was already in the air. Seymour spun on his heels and fell backward. His head met a wall of stone and his body slumped down against it as he fought to keep his eyes open... he saw someone crawling toward him.
 
"Who's...?" he murmured out, trailing off. His eye lids grew heavy as the pain from the injury set in, making his senses go berserk. He leaned his head back, looking through blurred irises.
 
"Don't come any closer..." Seymour feebly whined, seeing watery blotches of reds and browns before going unconscious.