the little bird is every bit as handy in a fight.

Hello! I am Numbers, and this is my roleplay blog for Yuna from Final Fantasy X At the moment, this is an independent roleplay blog and thus I will play with anyone who asks. I will give absolutely anyone a chance! If you would prefer to chat over IM, I use gtalk. Otherwise, feel free to ask me anything! Critique, comments and just general chat are all wonderful things to receive. C: I prefer to roleplay Yuna from any point in Final Fantasy X, particularly in the bridge between X and X-2. I will, however, play X-2 Yuna upon request. Now here I stay, I lay me down.

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prism-rain replied to your post: HI MOM

omG NO MOM I DIDNT I WAS AT HOME. U GOTTA STOP DRINKIN OR IM HAVE TO TAKE U 2 DA HOSPITAL!!!!!

HEY WELL THAT'S WHERE U WERE CONCIEVED

SO u know whatll happen if u take me there ;))) )) ) ))

so just leave me here to get wasted AWRIGHT?

[fantasyfinal]

Will of Tempered Steel - Yuna

[via]

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HI MOM

HEY GURL WHATS UP?

you get pure mad pished last night? 

hahaaha I know I did man. 

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{x} Hi there! This is a Yuna RP account, from Final Fantasy X. I also RP Seymour Guado over here!  If any groups are recruiting, give me a call ;) Otherwise, rpers, if you are up for it, hit me up! Thanks for looking. C: 

[besaidian]

Observing the woman before her, Yuna’s first thought is that she was standing in front of a mirror.  She moved her hand, and the mirror’s own did not move. But those were her eyes, her hair braid, her necklace— although, she supposed, they weren’t just hers now.

“Yes,” she nodded with a small, nervous smile. “I am also Yuna.”

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...

So, she was Yuna, too.  Had time folded inwards, the universe itself curling round itself, playing games with itself? She didn't think so.

"And... you are a summoner?" She paused, "Were, a summoner." , 

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Besaid hadn't had a quiet day, as of late. It was bustling, absolutely bursting with clothes of all different colours, shapes and sizes. She should have been happy, and really, she was! Business was booming, the village was flourishing... even if she had to give up her privacy, and was forever being hounded by new groups, and just wanted to give it all up and go running, screaming into the woods... well. It was good, for Besaid. It was good.  "I don't think I've ever seen trousers like those, before," she said with a tinkle of laughter. Pulling her fingers to knit in front of her waist, she swayed a little. She hadn't meant it to be mean, but.. they really were quite strange! "Where have you come from?" Luca must have discovered a new kind of fashion. Yeah, he seemed like the type, to come from Luca.  

"Oh, I'm sorry," she remembered, crumpling into a small bow. "I'm Yuna."  Of course, he'd already know. But she'd never liked being addressed without giving her name out, first. It just didn't feel... right.  

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"This is too strange." She found laughter dancing in her throat. "This can't really be happening, can it?" She tilted her head, clasping her fingers behind her back.  "You look just like me." 

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Something wasn't right here.  No, the longer she thought about it, no matter how hard she squinted or what angle she took it from - something really was not right. It set tension in her gut, like a rotten fruit had just burst open there, and the feeling seethed and lingered.  She'd heard of unsents, dead men who came back to life as a shadow of themselves. Seen them, defeated them - but never had she seen a creature take the form of the living.  No... she was being too harsh. It was just a person, someone who... looked and dressed just like her. Huh. A... fan, maybe? Could it really be?  "Hi," she chanced, "I'm Yuna." Tilting her head, a smile wriggled over her lips. "Isn't it amazing? We look so alike." 

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Current Threads: None. 

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Alright. I'm ready. Nearly finished X-2, overanalysing X to death.  Time to fuckin' rp Yuna again.  LET'S DAE THIS.

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Poisoned

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It was nice, having her so close. All to himself. Yet it also made him nervous. What was common convention in a situation like this? Was he supposed to touch her? Keep his distance? All the preparation in his role of Maester, Leader of the Guado, that cool, calm and collected facade could never prepare him for such close, innocent one on one contact. Though the last thing he would want is to let her in on how he felt at that moment.

Though when she mentioned Zanarkand, he felt at ease. Of course, he could sense she was uneasy, still worried about the poison. It made sense, even he was unsure of the full implications of such a strange toxin.

“I do not believe it shall be too much longer. I have been there before, in my youth…” He trailed off, frowning. Zanarkand brought so many mixed feelings to him. Of course it was where his dream would be realized, but then… It was where he had not only lost his mother, but failed her. The thought of being there again was enough to turn his stomach.

What if his failures were relived?

Or even… What if his dream failed? What if she were to choose another of her Guardians for the Final Aeon, wanting to spare him? The boy seemed a likely candidate.

His silence had gone on too long, his gaze somewhere off in the distance, and he realized it was obvious a thought was troubling him. He shook it off and turned to watch her, smiling his cool smile, before speaking.

“Have you… Thought about it, Lady Yuna? About Zanarkand, and all it entails?” It wasn’t the most subtle way, but then, there was no subtle way to ask which of your dearest companions you would sacrifice along with yourself.

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! She lifted her eyes, her lips suddenly coming undone. "You... went there, as a child?" Her teeth latched onto her lip, and her fingers rose her to her chest. Of course... he was a summoner. It hardly seemed her place to ask... though, how he had failed. With an Aeon so powerful... well, it was no wonder he had made it to Zanarkand, if he'd had it by his side all this time, even as a child.  "Tell me," she tilted her head, "was it.. ruined?"  A silly question. A hopeful question. Her fingers squirmed. 

"Hm? Oh.." she'd tried to think about... well, anything other than death, considering what had just happened... but. "Yes. You asked me, during Mi'ihen, if I was afraid."  Nodding her head, she wormed up another smile - looking him straight in the eye. "But I am not scared, not anymore. I am ready." Lowering her head, she found a small laugh rising from her throat. "But... I don't think some of my guardians are." 

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Poisoned

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The way she defended the boy only served to irritate him more. It wasn’t so much the way he looked at her that bothered him, but that she would return his looks. She was obviously as smitten with him as he was with her. And what bothered him the most was that he never received those looks.

She would never look at him in that way. She only looked at him with a sort of respect, admiration, but never attraction. At least, not that he saw. He gave a small sigh. She would never love him as she loved the boy, that much was clear. He found it odd that he was so bothered by it, though. His plan was to become Sin, never to fall in love with Yuna.

And yet… He found himself admiring her. He found himself staring at her in the same way the blonde boy did, as though he were a teenager as well, controlled by emotion. The strangest thing of all was that it didn’t bother him, he even found himself enjoying stealing looks.

And he supposed that was why he was so angry that she stood up for him. He was about to speak, point out that she looked at him the same way, that perhaps this was all some sort of plot for them to run away together, as foolish as that was, but he was in the heat of the moment and his mind was still foggy with poison.

But then she apologized.

He was confused at first, watching her silently, moving to sit more comfortably now he had the strength.

Her words were so kind. She was so… Intent on saving him. Was it just because he was a Maester? Or did she care about him, too? He cleared his throat, caught off guard by her sudden kindness and her question.

It was… Adorable. Which he found odd. He normally wouldn’t use that word for anything. And yet…

He gave a small smile, patting the empty space on the bed beside him. “Come, Lady Yuna, sit with me. You have been standing this entire time and I have not yet offered you a seat. How rude of me.”

“And as for your promise… I… Am sure I will be alright. And I have you to thank for that. Truly you are a wonderful healer. Your talents are much appreciated… And I thank you.”

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"It's... not rude," she laughed a little, her body still shaking. She had to be strong, though. She had to shine while his eyes laid on her because if she didn't she was so afraid the light in them would vanish. "It's fine."  Drawing herself to her knees, she glanced over to him before looking down at the blankets before her. This was, mm. Well, this would be fine. She was sure he wouldn't try to do anything, not after what just happened. Even if sitting in another man's bed, alone, at night was just starting to ring alarm bells in her mind - she sighed and reminded herself to be strong. His compliments came out like a wave, and from him, she allowed the blossoming of a smile to curl across her face. "Thank you," she nodded, "but, we can't be sure. Not until morning."

"So," she twisted happiness out into her voice, her heart fluttering. Anything, anything to not think about how this happened. "How long, do you think it will be, until we reach Zanarkand?"   

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Any of y'all need a Summoner Yuna to play with? I'm gonna get this account active again, aww yiss. 

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Few people follow me here anyway ;D

 Gagazet was so cold.

She closed her eyes, extending her arms and twisting them into a bow she’d done a thousand times before. A grave stood before her, but that was not who she was praying for. Her thoughts, for the first time in months, were not on death… but on life. She wasn’t happy with the change. ---

“A shame that you’ll be stopping your pilgrimage, I was rather looking forwards to what a Seymour-Sin would look like,” Kinoc drawled. He shuffled on the Everea-patterned sofa, picking something off his robe. His feigned disinterest wasn’t fooling him, he hadn’t seen Kinoc this animated in years. He had a superior light in his eyes, one that spilled out onto the way his jowls twitched with supercilious glee. “You shouldn’t be pleased,” he said, folding his legs neatly and staring at the wall. “It means you’ll still be opposing me at every possible opportunity. Do you not grow tired of it, Kinoc? Am I really such a threat to you?” “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be a threat to anyone, anymore,” he grinned.  Flicking the dust he’d gathered from his robe, he leered towards the young Maester. “I’d have thought you’d learned from your father.” Seymour gave a low and unthreatening “mph”, and turned his head to look away.

---

She ate the snow. It tasted pure. “There’s no blood on the snow,” she almost cried. “There’s no blood.”

---

 Tromell pulled a little on her dress, tightening it around the back. A couple of nameless Guado assistances (who, even when she asked for them, just shook their heads and said they wouldn’t be worth remembering, anyway) tugged and stitched and sowed and adjusted all the little feathers into place. “You look wonderful, my Lady,” the butler warbled, standing before her and looking her up and down like a race-chocobo reading itself for its first big day. And she supposed it really was her big day, even if it didn’t feel very big. She barely felt even nervous, like she had so known she would. Yet she wasn’t shaking, she wasn’t full of fear or trepidation or anticipation. She was going to kiss a man and wear his ring and then everything would be back to normal, it wasn’t how a wedding should be, but it was good enough. It was good enough. “Never, in all my years, have I seen a Human maiden so beautifully dressed. Even Lord Seymour’s mother could not compare to your beauty, ah. But of course, even she, who wanted nothing more than to bring our races together – even she did not have as great a task at hand as you, my Lady. Such responsibility to carry, such a noble task indeed. No, I don’t think even the Guado women could hope to steal your beauty, so jealous have they been of you this day.” Noticing the summoner’s face fall just a tiny bit at this, Tromell immediately changed tact. “Ah, but, don’t worry my Lady. They are happy, so very happy, to know that their Lord has found such a perfect bride – one that could only match his brilliance.” “Thank you, Tromell,” she said, batting her lids and turning her face away. She was growing… a little used to his tirades of compliments, and, well. They were funny. She could see why Seymour so often cut him off (so rudely!), and even found herself wishing she had the gall to quieten him. Yet… his murmuring was not so bad, like rain that slowly faded into white noise. While the ladies tied wings onto her back, she smiled and realized that she loved the happiness in Tromell’s eyes.

It was the happiness of the people. “Where did these feathers come from?” she said with a soft smile, trying to do her best to show appreciate for the dress she could not care about. “They’re lovely.” “Ah, fresh from condors. From Besaid, you know. The Lord wanted you to be covered in things from Besaid – the silk, too, was made there. Good business for the tailor, I bet.  Bevelle is never one to shy away quite a pretty penny, you know.” “That’s…” she  dipped her head, staring down at the beautiful stitchwork. Everything was beautiful. Everything was… so… perfect. From her hometown? Really? Toto had made this? She wondered what the village had thought…  they must have been so proud seeing their silks carted away. So proud of the little girl carried weeping on a Ronso’s back for growing up and promising her hand to a Maester. “That’s wonderful.” Why didn’t she feel beautiful, then? Why didn’t she feel… perfect?

The void was quickly brushed from her as a woman brought her a bouquet. She immediately recognized them, “These grow around Besaid, too!” “Yes, Lord Seymour…” began Tromell, puffing out his chest and extending a huge arm. “He is quite fond of the foliage around Besaid. Flowers are his specialty. Ever since he was a child, he possessed an extraordinary talent for floristry. I’m afraid… you will have to ask him what they are. Plants and I were destined to never be good partners.” Over the rumble of his chuckle, Yuna lifted a hand to her neck, and touched silver. “They’re hibiscus flowers. I have one on my necklace, do you see?” Tromell leaned forwards, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, my Lady. I do.”

 ---

Her necklace swung over her breasts. Her breaths gasped in the air and she scrambled for his too-long, too-tender hand and forced it into the silk sheets. Ah! – Silk, did that too, come from Besaid? He should have covered this bed in sand if he wanted her to feel comfortable and at home, but she supposed the vicious blue of his… everything was enough to remind her of the sea. He pressed his head against hers and she felt a claw sink into her back as the two writhed like over enthusiastic teenagers. He hurt her too much and he hurt her not enough and they were careful and not careful enough and soft and gentle and rough and passionate and she realized she didn’t even understand what any of those words meant in the context of the bedroom – so she just knew that she felt _good_ and he kissed her lips with burning fire and cupped her breast in a softness his mouth no longer had.

And then he grabbed her necklace with an anger that scared her and she feared he would rip it apart. Yet just as she was imaging all the silver little beads scattered and rolling about on the red,  red sheets, he softened his face and between pants he asked, “Was this your mother’s?” And when she nodded he made a noise like a dying animal and held her and kissed her in such a messy, passionate and utterly _desperate_ way that she felt as though that one answer meant more than anything to him. She wondered why.

---

When the morning light came, she stood beneath the window. Light flooded in, and he studied her in her full nakedness. Her back was quite lovely, her little shoulders perfectly hunched up and the tension practically leaking off of her. He pondered on the whiteness of her skin, and the way it attracted deep, dark shadows beneath her curves. Yet it was her ankles that captivated him most – those spinning, beautiful ankles he had seen almost break between the dirt and the dead during Operation Mi’ihen.

Was there anything, though, that was not utterly perfect about her? He should have been sick of it. Sick of that not-too-silky, not-too-dry, not-too-soft, not-too-hard hair that he had played and run his claws through over and over after their love making was done and her eyes had turned off to sleep. Ah, even her eyes were unique. Fully living, burning with not just resolve but passion and fear and anxiety and curiosity and, on occasion, happiness too. Her lips, too, subtle and thin and yet so swift to stumble over words and paint the most beautiful of phrases  - nothing was wrong with her. Nothing. Even her little heart and lungs and organs must have been perfectly shaped and healthy and pure. Even her bones must have been the whitest, and purest of things. He worshipped her. “Do you love me?” he asked, half mocking, half serious. He watched her shoulders shift and tense even harder, watched her fingers wrap around her necklace as she stared at the pale blue sky. He was so strange. He was so exotic, so far off and that was what she found attraction in. She found his uniqueness and utter other-worldlyness something to cling to, and when he spoke of Spira’s history or taught her all about pyreflies and the stars and the fiends out in the woods and how the Guado were before Yevon well… she felt taken to another world. She could dream with him… just as much as she’d dreamed with him. Well, maybe not just as much. Maybe just a little less – because this life was real and tangible and she could hold it between her fingers and knew as soon as she spread them it was all going to leak out.

And it would be so easy, to just keep on dreaming. She whispered it at first, “I can’t,” before it turned into a kind of mournful wave, a chattering, sing-song that rose up and spread all over the floor “I can’t” and all over the walls “I can’t” and all over that bed “I can’t” that felt “I can’t” so “I can’t” _dirty_  and “I can’t” _obscene_ now. “I can’t I can’t I can’t I _can’t_ “

“I’m so sorry. I… I just can’t.”

He just smiled.

---

Kinoc was prattling on again.

“Cheer up, Seymour. I’m not sure why you would want to become Sin, anyway,” he swung his arm over the back of the sofa, glowering. “All that suffering, all that death – Isn’t that exactly the kind of stuff you hate? Well,” he laughed, “not the death part. But you understand what I’m getting at – you have a good life here. You have everything anyone could ever want, why would you want to throw all that away?” “If you had wanted to convince me that what I was doing was foolish, should you not have come to me earlier?” Seymour tilted his head, folding his arms behind his back and turning away from the other man. He could no longer stand his face.

“Hey, you know it wasn’t in my interests. Besides, I could hardly stop a _friend_ going out and saving the world, if that’s what he really wants, could I?”

Seymour shuffled his shoulders, staring out the window and down on Bevelle. Kinoc was a poor liar, but he didn’t have to be good at it. His bluntness and his plainness always did play to his advantage. Ah, if only he was not so obsessed with power. What a terrible burden, he reminded himself, it must be. “I see.” “You’ve gone all quiet. What’s wrong, Seymour? Summoner got your tongue? She definitely has something else.”

His laughter roared against his back like the tide.

--- “We can make a good life, you know,” she whispered to the dark. “We can be… happy, I think. All we have to do is smile, you’ll see. Just smile, and everything will start to seem a little better.”

Silence. “I’m sorry, I have to do this. I have to do this, I just… I can’t.” And then came that river again, that river of can’ts and cannots that screamed out of her battered throat so that they sounded like dirty little scars. Her back tensed. “I… never wanted this… either, but…” she whispered, “Seymour…” she stares at him at the back of the tent. His huge figure suddenly seems so much larger, and she can feel his judging breaths all over her skin. She sits up on the bed, the tension thick enough to choke the words in her mouth. “Please…” And then he moved. At a lightning-pace that makes her think of the veins on his face he was over her and forcing her wrists down onto the bed. Her head twisted back at an awkward angle and thumped against the sheets.  The colour drained out of her face. She opened her eyes. She glared, silently calling on all her aeons – but tries to sooth him before that and whispers in a prayer, “Please don’t. Please don’t kill –“ But then his head was against hers and she could feel his blood pulse beneath those veins and that hard grip turn soft. She was reminded of rocks weathered by the sea. She tangled her fingers in his like seaweed, and felt rain leak from his eyes. Turning her head towards them, she caught the tears as they fell and sighed as his free hand stroked her necklace. “Gagazet is cold, isn’t it?” She broke the ice with a statement that often caused it, and both of them were laughing as salt poured from their exhausted eyes. She was nothing on this mountain side. Not a Summoner. Not Yuna. Not the wife of a Maester or a girl born in Bevelle and carted all the way to Besaid. Not food for the bandersnatches, not healer of broken bones and twisted spines and broken smiles. Not a girl. Not a woman. Not seventeen when she felt seventy – no, no. She was dead here. She was dead here all save laughter and tears and she kissed him and knew only salt and skin.

--

He watched her eat snow from the earth. “There’s no blood,” she whispered for the third time.

He canted his head and moved towards her, shuddering as winter ate apart his skin. “Lady Yuna, please, tell me the winter chill hasn’t gotten to your brain. You are too strong to be driven mad by a little cold. You haven’t been confused, have it?” She realizes he talks a lot when he didn’t know what to say. He talks a lot when he felt control slipping out between his fingers or when he had just enough control and authority on the subject that he would rant and rave almost as much as Tromell. She stares at the ring on her finger and began to stand, snow dripping from her hands. It tastes pure. It tastes good. She’s anything but, now. She wants to run screaming to Kimarhi. To bury herself into his big, furry arms and weep and cry and beg nononono it had only been once or twice or maybe three times or maybe a little more but I’m sorry and I didn’t mean it it never felt good it felt hard and bitter and i’m sorry take me home, take me home – and then he’d carry her all the way from Bevelle to Besaid again, and she’d jump off the shoopuf just like before, just like one thousand times before.

Maybe she’d even crawl back to Tidus. Crawl back crying and promising she was still a maiden and that her heart still bled, beat, screamed for him in the darkest nights as she watched her husband breathe. Maybe she could recapture that wonderful, innocent, shuddering feeling instead of this gooey black-void that ate her all up.

Oh, oh Lulu. Wakka. Please, she wants to whisper, please let them come back and ruffle her hair and tell her what to do next. Please let Lulu wash her feet again and scold her for running through fields of poison oak. Let Wakka teach her all about the fiends, all about how once she got Valefor, garuda’s would be a piece of cake, ya? Then they could rest easy when they went adventuring around the island, then they wouldn’t have to run any more.

She’s running now, and, oh, there was no Sir Auron to catch her or Rikku to beam and joke and laugh when she tumbled over and her hair spilled out in a funny, silly way. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“That’s how I know. There’s no blood on the snow. There hasn’t been for at least eight weaks. There was none on the calm lands, none on our honeymoon. There’s… no more blood, and… I’m… I’m pregnant.””

Their worlds broke and fell apart together and all at once.

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Poisoned

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Of course she’d trust them. They had been with her since her journey began. And for the most part, Seymour had figured them out. Kimahri, he was probably the most loyal out of them. He couldn’t have done it. He was protective of Yuna, and he sensed the Ronso didn’t trust him, but it wasn’t him. Wakka and Lulu were the same, trustworthy. He had his suspicions about Rikku, but then, she seemed the type to slit his throat, not poison him.

Which only left Auron and that… Blonde wretch. Both of them had motive, which made his life difficult. He knew Auron was an unsent, but no one else did. Though he had kept silent about it, as though there were a wordless agreement between them to not discuss it. But had Auron snapped? Was he afraid now that his secret may be revealed?

And the boy… Well, it was obvious something was amiss there. He had feelings for Yuna, and refused to accept Yuna’s marriage. But there was something more. Something strange about the blonde Guardian. The longer Seymour was around him, the more he picked up on it. A scent. Almost human, but not quite. Almost unsent, but not quite that, either. He had never caught a scent quite like it in his lifetime. It even vaguely reminded him of the temples and of the Fayth. There was indeed something strange.

So absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t even realize Yuna had moved closer, placing her hand on his head. He winced when he realized, not used to contact from anyone, let alone her.

Of course she had laid her hands upon him before to cure his wounds, but that had always been in the battlefield with her Guardians. It was an entirely different situation. But this… The two of them, alone in his tent, it felt like a more intimate moment. And it brought back that somewhat nervous feeling in his gut. Between that and the poison, he was beginning to feel lightheaded.

Though the warmth of her magic made him feel at ease. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting it flow through him, warm him, ease his pain.

“Lady Yuna, I have felt the touch of fiends many times. I have experienced their poisons, and I can tell you, this is different. It is a man made poison. If it were natural, your spells would have cured me entirely. And yet, I still feel it. It still makes me…” He paused, tilting his head away from her, ashamed to even mutter the word in relation to himself. “Weak.”

“One of your Guardians did this. There is no one else. They are the only ones… You cannot fool yourself, Lady Yuna.”

He opened his eyes once more, meeting her gaze.

“One of them would wish me dead. Most of them I have come to trust, and yet… That boy… Have you not seen the way he looks at you? It is obvious he feels something toward you.”

He would not bring up Auron. Not yet. He would wait to see what Yuna had to say about him before he spoke about Auron and his little ‘secret’.

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Everything he said was true. 

She struggled, her heart twisted up and pulled tight against her chest. Her breath came out in rattles, her teeth dug right into her lips. All the stars in the world could be ripped from the heavens, if only she could rip the ones out from her eyes - she covered her face, the remnants of a cure spell spilling over her. Even it's soothing heat brought nothing to her, and though she wasn't crying - she certainly felt like it.  Her nails undug from her forehead, and she looked the man before her straight in the eye. "How he feels towards me, and towards us, has nothing to do with this." She stumbled over an angry expression, digging up something between desperation and rage. "I... I've noticed it, for a long time. But I can't do anything about it, Seymour. Don't you think he's tried wishing that feeling away? It's... a wonderful feeling, and it... it hurts, too. But it can't just be wished away."  Trembling, she found better words, "He knows... as much as you do, what I must do. Making you... sick, wouldn't do anything to change that!" 

She shook her head, "Why... why would any of my guardians want this?" She licked her dry lips, her throat begging for water - and yet, despite her bare shoulders, her skin didn't feel cold. She felt like she was on fire. Sighing, she let her fingers rest on the blankets she had dropped on the floor. Dipping her head, she adjusted her knees, sliding her thighs by her side. This still felt like a dream. Intangible. Almost.  "I'm sorry." Her heart thudded.  "I'm sorry I can't do more, I wish... I wish I could," her eyes flared, looking back to him. "We'll stay here, for as long as we can. I'll heal you. You won't die, not here." "I won't let you die here." Trying to find anything good in this situation, she found something to lighten the mood. "But you have to promise, alright?" It was childish, but, leaning forwards, she found the best smile she could, a hand (with the slightest hesitation) folding over his own.  "You have to promise you'll be alright." 

[kimyman2-deactivated20141102]

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Poisoned

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Her reaction only served to puzzle him. She seemed genuinely shocked by this. Or she was a better actor than he had ever been. Though honestly, he doubted whether or not Yuna could do something like this. Even helping another. She was as timid as a mouse and her soul was the most pure he had ever encountered.

Which was bizarre, really. Everyone seemed to have some kind of darkness in their heart. Humans, Al Bhed, Ronso, Guado, regardless of race, everyone had that darkness. That selfish desire to further their own goals. And yet here she was, kneeling beside him, frantically whispering spells to cure him of a poison he was sure she inflicted on him.

Even her pilgrimage, Summoners were not always selfless in that, wanting statues erected in their honor or temples named after them. Yet Yuna was traveling and willing to sacrifice so much for the good of the people. For no one else. He was sure if someone mentioned statues, or even the smallest amount of praise, she would get flustered and shy away. It was… Oddly cute to him.

Thinking of this, he realized how wrong it was to accuse her. And yet he still remained cautious. It was better to trust no one. Easier. Though she didn’t say a word to defend the blonde boy, which only roused suspicion in his mind. If he did it, she must have known. Before or after the fact.

As she chanted her magic, he could feel it weaving its way through her body. Though the poison was strong. He was feeling better, but by no means cured. His breathing had begun to even out, but he was still shaking.

He tried to calm himself through deep breaths, glancing at her curiously. If she had not found him… If she had chosen to stay with her friends instead of come to him…

“Thank you, Lady Yuna. I… Appreciate your help.”

He paused, realizing how close she was. Almost enough to make him nervous. But he remained calm. He was well enough to slip into his usual self with ease, and he was glad he did not have to remain vulnerable in front of her for too long. That was the last thing he wanted.

“The food… I assume it was poisoned. By whom, I do not know. But it was someone in your party. I do not understand why, though…”

[defeatsin-blog]

His thanks began to unwind a knot that had formed deep in her stomach. The anger that had splayed over his face had been... unusual, something that... in the past, she would have expected - but not now. He had always been the mirror of calmness, and even on their wedding day, he had seemed... restrained, even nervous, if she had been honest.  It was a Seymour she had grown to like, and even though his burst of emotion was in the heat of desperation - she could not help but feel her view had... well, crumbled a little.  Still, that was not important. What was important was that he was breathing. She had had seen him cut open a thousand times already, the Calm Lands as vicious as their name completely did not imply. She had seen the ground soaked with his blood. Seen his bones twisted and mangled and curved in on themselves. Birds had ripped his blue eyes from his skull and she had been the one to tie them back into place - she had been the one to straighten his bones, to restitch his flesh.  Yet that had become so normal... this, this wasn't normal. This shaking, this groaning, this dying body - strengthened by his accusation... well, this was beyond the mindless malice of a fiend.  This struck hummingbirds in her head.  And they drummed so loudly, so, so loudly. As soon as she was sure that he was going to be alright for now, her fingers tangled in her hair. Her head lowered, her eyes widened, her mouth choked gasplessly.  Poison? This was really poison? He was a Maester, whatever had her Guardians been thinking - who... who would, "Seymour," who would have done this? No, no, she "They wouldn't, they couldn't have..." they knew he was her husband, they knew that she was happy enough with this - surely, surely, he wouldn't have?  She knew he had grown ever more discontent with Seymour's presence. She knew, even though she had been grateful at the time, that whenever he interrupted them with a smile that could split the world in two and a joke that made no sense whatsoever - that he was just making sure that any awkward half-talks that they shared would be broken before they could develop into something more.  Surely... he wouldn't, do... this?

"I trust my guardians... all of them, and none of them would do this," she reaffirmed, certainty striking itself into her voice. "Are you sure... you weren't bitten by a fiend?" It seemed like a weak excuse, but it was a prayer.  Leaning forwards, everything inside of her felt as though it would tremble and rock and break apart - but instead she reached a hand forwards and pressed it decisively to his forehead. The strange bumps and crags of the veins atop his forehead made her back stiffen, but she closed her eyes and pulled on the mana that lurked deep within her. White and pink mingled, and the cura spell ran across his temple, her breath running away with it.