wei_jiangling (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wei_jiangling) wrote,@ 2008-08-16 15:37:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In Memory of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa
This came to me in a dream last night. I kid you not.
Title: In Memory of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa
Note: For the_sandsea on LJ with these themes: #5 The Past, #8 What can I say?, #33 Tears, #58 Story, #59 Truth
Word of the day challenge: Supernumerary- Exceeding what is necessary or desired; superfluous.
Characters/Pairings included: Balthier, Fran, Dr. Cid
Rating: K+
Wordcount: 1270
Warnings: Spoilers through the Pharos.
Summary: Balthier finds a newspaper article about the esteemed Dr. Cid. [I don't know if Ivalice has newspapers. It does now.]
It was only on rare occasion that Balthier found himself in the city he once called home. Even on this particular occasion, he was planning to be there only as long as necessary before moving on to a place that haunted him less. The sentiment only became stronger as he passed a newspaper stand and wouldn't have looked back had the headline not read, "In Memory of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa."
He was tempted to simply walk away, but curiosity got the better of him.
As he picked up a paper, he wondered at the lateness of it. Then again, perhaps the esteemed Dr. Bunansa had only been thought of as missing until recently. There wouldn't have been anyone really to correctly inform them. The judge, Gabranth, had most likely been unconscious for much of what had occurred, and after the way Cid had treated him, Balthier doubted the man would much care to say anything once he returned. Driven by a morbid curiosity, he began to read.
Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa was an influential scientist, pioneer in the study and creation of manufacted nethicite.
He read on with mild disgust as his father's accomplishments were described in supernumerary detail. Of course they glossed over things he would have easily noted, like 'responsible for the death of hundreds' or 'neglected to notice his one remaining child once his work on nethicite began' or 'had more than a few screws loose.' No, the newspaper wouldn't bother to note things like that. He skimmed down the page until he found a line that warranted closer inspection.
A family man, Dr. Bunansa had a loving wife and was father to three children, unfortunately now all deceased.
Balthier scoffed at the first words and had to take a moment to reread the last. All deceased. He raised an eyebrow and read it again, then sighed. Apparently the newspaper had decided that 'dead' was preferable to 'run off to become a sky pirate.' Not a damn bit of truth in Archadian media, he thought. It's all about making everything sound good.
Then again, he supposed they weren't so wrong, after all. Ffamran was dead. He died at age sixteen, killed himself because he couldn't watch his father walk down a path of insanity. That was their truth, if they wanted it.
He shelled out a small amount of money and bought a copy of the paper.
----------------------------------------
It was only once he had returned to the Strahl and the article was laid out on his bed that he took notice of the choice of pictures included. Of course there were some recent ones, his father standing proudly with his stones and things of that nature, but they had also thrown in a few that were surprising: old ones, and ones he hadn't seen before.
At the first of these, he had to chuckle. It was of himself when he was younger, standing alongside his father. The funny thing about it was that when one looked closely, young Ffamran had two fingers sticking up over the top of his head, giving him 'rabbit ears.' He would be willing to bet that he was the only person other than the man himself who would be able to as easily and correctly identify that that had been Jules. Whoever decided to put it in the newspaper probably hadn't noticed in the first place.
The second, he didn't ponder too closely. It was a picture from his parents' wedding, just after the ceremony from the look of it. His mother, he noted, looked nothing short of ecstatic, and he wondered if she realized just what she was marrying into. He noted also, with some bitterness, that he wasn't certain he had ever seen his father look quite so happy, either.
The third was the one that truly made him pause. It was one of his family, just after he was born. For a moment, he just stared at it, then gently ran a finger over the figures of a woman and two boys he only barely recognized: his mother and brothers. But that, contrary to what most might assume, was not the part that caught his attention. In the picture, he was only a baby, held in his father's arms. And his father looked happier than in the picture prior.
"All deceased," he muttered to himself.
----------------------------------------
When Fran found him, he was still examining the paper, this time with tears in his eyes. He barely noticed when she walked into the room and put a hand on his shoulder.
"You are upset," she observed, in that way she had of occasionally making the blatantly obvious sound profound. He nodded, suddenly overwhelmingly frustrated with the newspaper in front of him.
"I wish I hadn't found this thing," he commented spitefully. "If it would all just go away, that would be so much the better." He hadn't expected much of a reaction to that statement, juvenile a sentiment as it was, and was understandably shocked when Fran moved and the paper burst into flames. It had already begun to blacken and curl before he managed to connect that those two things were related.
"Fran!" he snapped, whipping around to glare at her. The spell ceased immediately, and Fran returned his glare with a look of mild confusion.
"You said," she began, and he cut her off.
"I know what I said," he muttered, looking back at the half burnt pile of paper with a distinct frown. He knew it wasn't something for which he should be angry at her; he knew she had been trying to help, but was too frustrated with the situation and his own thoughts to care for the moment.
"Bring it back!" he commanded. He knew it was a childish request and that he could just go buy another copy, but Fran obliged understandingly. She seemed unsure if it would be successful, but she cast another spell and restored the paper to a readable condition, if not remedying several scorch marks around the edges. A small smile that appeared on her lips indicated how pleased she was that whatever spell she had tried had managed to work on a newspaper.
"Better?" she asked, her voice holding hints of both vexation and concern. Finally thinking, he realized the whole scene must have struck her as incredibly odd. He wasn't sure if she had even had a chance to notice the subject of the article he had been reading.
"I'm sorry," he told her softly, "I just..." He wasn't sure how to finish that statement, so he simply held up the article for her to see, and she seemed to understand. "Would you mind leaving me alone for a while?" A nod was her reply, and she moved silently until she reached the door.
"I'll be in the cockpit," she commented, her tone silently adding, "come find me if you need anything."
"Thank you," he mumbled in response, and he would have doubted she could hear him if he wasn't so accustomed to the sensitivity of her ears.
Once she was gone, he picked up the tattered newspaper and looked it over once more before hugging it to himself and crying. He cried because he never knew his mother or brothers long enough to have real memories of them, and he cried because maybe he had forgotten how much he had once loved his father.
But mostly he cried for the death of Ffamran.
This came to me in a dream last night. I kid you not.
Title: In Memory of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa
Note: For the_sandsea on LJ with these themes: #5 The Past, #8 What can I say?, #33 Tears, #58 Story, #59 Truth
Word of the day challenge: Supernumerary- Exceeding what is necessary or desired; superfluous.
Characters/Pairings included: Balthier, Fran, Dr. Cid
Rating: K+
Wordcount: 1270
Warnings: Spoilers through the Pharos.
Summary: Balthier finds a newspaper article about the esteemed Dr. Cid. [I don't know if Ivalice has newspapers. It does now.]
It was only on rare occasion that Balthier found himself in the city he once called home. Even on this particular occasion, he was planning to be there only as long as necessary before moving on to a place that haunted him less. The sentiment only became stronger as he passed a newspaper stand and wouldn't have looked back had the headline not read, "In Memory of Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa."
He was tempted to simply walk away, but curiosity got the better of him.
As he picked up a paper, he wondered at the lateness of it. Then again, perhaps the esteemed Dr. Bunansa had only been thought of as missing until recently. There wouldn't have been anyone really to correctly inform them. The judge, Gabranth, had most likely been unconscious for much of what had occurred, and after the way Cid had treated him, Balthier doubted the man would much care to say anything once he returned. Driven by a morbid curiosity, he began to read.
Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa was an influential scientist, pioneer in the study and creation of manufacted nethicite.
He read on with mild disgust as his father's accomplishments were described in supernumerary detail. Of course they glossed over things he would have easily noted, like 'responsible for the death of hundreds' or 'neglected to notice his one remaining child once his work on nethicite began' or 'had more than a few screws loose.' No, the newspaper wouldn't bother to note things like that. He skimmed down the page until he found a line that warranted closer inspection.
A family man, Dr. Bunansa had a loving wife and was father to three children, unfortunately now all deceased.
Balthier scoffed at the first words and had to take a moment to reread the last. All deceased. He raised an eyebrow and read it again, then sighed. Apparently the newspaper had decided that 'dead' was preferable to 'run off to become a sky pirate.' Not a damn bit of truth in Archadian media, he thought. It's all about making everything sound good.
Then again, he supposed they weren't so wrong, after all. Ffamran was dead. He died at age sixteen, killed himself because he couldn't watch his father walk down a path of insanity. That was their truth, if they wanted it.
He shelled out a small amount of money and bought a copy of the paper.
----------------------------------------
It was only once he had returned to the Strahl and the article was laid out on his bed that he took notice of the choice of pictures included. Of course there were some recent ones, his father standing proudly with his stones and things of that nature, but they had also thrown in a few that were surprising: old ones, and ones he hadn't seen before.
At the first of these, he had to chuckle. It was of himself when he was younger, standing alongside his father. The funny thing about it was that when one looked closely, young Ffamran had two fingers sticking up over the top of his head, giving him 'rabbit ears.' He would be willing to bet that he was the only person other than the man himself who would be able to as easily and correctly identify that that had been Jules. Whoever decided to put it in the newspaper probably hadn't noticed in the first place.
The second, he didn't ponder too closely. It was a picture from his parents' wedding, just after the ceremony from the look of it. His mother, he noted, looked nothing short of ecstatic, and he wondered if she realized just what she was marrying into. He noted also, with some bitterness, that he wasn't certain he had ever seen his father look quite so happy, either.
The third was the one that truly made him pause. It was one of his family, just after he was born. For a moment, he just stared at it, then gently ran a finger over the figures of a woman and two boys he only barely recognized: his mother and brothers. But that, contrary to what most might assume, was not the part that caught his attention. In the picture, he was only a baby, held in his father's arms. And his father looked happier than in the picture prior.
"All deceased," he muttered to himself.
----------------------------------------
When Fran found him, he was still examining the paper, this time with tears in his eyes. He barely noticed when she walked into the room and put a hand on his shoulder.
"You are upset," she observed, in that way she had of occasionally making the blatantly obvious sound profound. He nodded, suddenly overwhelmingly frustrated with the newspaper in front of him.
"I wish I hadn't found this thing," he commented spitefully. "If it would all just go away, that would be so much the better." He hadn't expected much of a reaction to that statement, juvenile a sentiment as it was, and was understandably shocked when Fran moved and the paper burst into flames. It had already begun to blacken and curl before he managed to connect that those two things were related.
"Fran!" he snapped, whipping around to glare at her. The spell ceased immediately, and Fran returned his glare with a look of mild confusion.
"You said," she began, and he cut her off.
"I know what I said," he muttered, looking back at the half burnt pile of paper with a distinct frown. He knew it wasn't something for which he should be angry at her; he knew she had been trying to help, but was too frustrated with the situation and his own thoughts to care for the moment.
"Bring it back!" he commanded. He knew it was a childish request and that he could just go buy another copy, but Fran obliged understandingly. She seemed unsure if it would be successful, but she cast another spell and restored the paper to a readable condition, if not remedying several scorch marks around the edges. A small smile that appeared on her lips indicated how pleased she was that whatever spell she had tried had managed to work on a newspaper.
"Better?" she asked, her voice holding hints of both vexation and concern. Finally thinking, he realized the whole scene must have struck her as incredibly odd. He wasn't sure if she had even had a chance to notice the subject of the article he had been reading.
"I'm sorry," he told her softly, "I just..." He wasn't sure how to finish that statement, so he simply held up the article for her to see, and she seemed to understand. "Would you mind leaving me alone for a while?" A nod was her reply, and she moved silently until she reached the door.
"I'll be in the cockpit," she commented, her tone silently adding, "come find me if you need anything."
"Thank you," he mumbled in response, and he would have doubted she could hear him if he wasn't so accustomed to the sensitivity of her ears.
Once she was gone, he picked up the tattered newspaper and looked it over once more before hugging it to himself and crying. He cried because he never knew his mother or brothers long enough to have real memories of them, and he cried because maybe he had forgotten how much he had once loved his father.
But mostly he cried for the death of Ffamran.