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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 3:50:20 GMT -5
"Hey, it's no problem friend. Also I think your friend was more harassed by Nahla by the end of it." Vincent chuckles as he waves bye to Dante. "Alright, those coming aboard, do it now. We leave in three minutes."
Miguel shoots Dante a quick wave before taking Iole by the hand, asking her if she needs assistance walking up the gangway to the ship due to her injuries.
As the gunfire kicks up again in the nearby distance, Violette lets go of Oliver, her hand holding his for longer then an average moment. "Take care, rattie..."
"Ye too, stay safe. I wan'to hear ye sing again someday soon."
Violette nods with tears in her eyes, which she wipes away with one hand as Oliver hobbles away, towards Sid. Their eyes meet but they remain silent, just nod to each other in acknowledgment. As Oliver passes, Sid lightly pats him on the back.
Connolly turns to Oliver and breaks into a salute. "For the proletariat, comrade."
"For t'e prletariat..." Oliver replies back, half-heartedly and with a deep sadness in his voice. His salute back says the same.
"This is a blessing in disguise, Ollie. Just take care of yourself out there." He looks to Iole then. "And you watch out for this guy, he's a handful." He then turns to Vincent and half waves. "Never thought I'd be calling on the aristocracy for help, sir-captain."
Vincent smirks. "Interesting times, and don't call me some blue-blood. Left that life behind with my father's death. Should clock you across the face for it. Anyway, good-bye friend."
As the four board the vessel, it isn't but a moment before the purr of the Hijrah's engines roar and the three left on the ground are forced back, with their arms across their faces to block out the wash. With the dying of the wash, the Hijrah pulls away from the dock and streaks over the city and disappears over her walls and out to the planes.
It's near dawn now, the sky in the distance is glowing with a soft red and orange which the Hijrah soars toward with good winds at their back and no trailer behind, except the city, disappearing in the distance, like a graveyard in the heart of a city, cold and gray but never quiet or still. The distraction by Dante worked, they escaped the city without even a second glace, as if Lindblum blinked and missed her ever departing.
As they fly away, it is about this time that Iole notices that Oliver is nowhere to be found. He's not in the medical bay where Nahla had did a quick check of both him and Iole. It was an awkward few minutes, with Oliver refusing to look to Iole. It was clear he was still eating himself up for what he had done.
The rest of the crew hasn't seen him either, all of them being at their stations since they left. Leaving only a few possible spaces on the ship for him to be hiding.
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 11:54:33 GMT -5
Thanks guys. Never mind, I think I know where he is.
::Iole tells to Vincent and Miguel after inquiring them from where they sat at an intense game of checkers in the control room. Iole finds the ladder that leads to the hatch. She hasn't bothered to get fully dressed today, just mocing across the ship with bare feet, wearing her black jeans and a white tank top. Her long black hair hangs loose with her hairclip secured very loosely in the back. She keeps a small three ring binder tuckedunder her arm. The frigid wind of the morning wraps around her, pushing her back as she reaches the top deck of the Hijrah. Sure enough she can see the melancholy silouhette of Oliver against the sunrise as he looks out over the water as it goes rushing past them under their low flight::
Hey, I thought I'd find you up here.
::He looks back at her, but quickly looks forward again when he sees the pink lines on her face; evidence of what transpired just last night. They've healed even further now that she's rested and eaten a proper meal, but they're still there, screaming at him, reminding him of what he was. Iole chuckles nervously::
Come on, I don't look that bad do I?
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 13:26:58 GMT -5
"Is ug'y to me." He chokes out, loud enough to be audible over the wind. "Jus'ike t'e one on ye belly. A'ways to remind me t'at I sti'l don't k'ow w'o or w'at I am, not a'ymore."
The fluttering of his coat, like a flag in the wind, reveals that he is holding something in his hand as he stares off into the horizon, looking back to the dark spot in the distance where Lindblum lays. It's the medal, given to him by Reynard, a mark of the highest honor now turned perverted and sinister. It appears he has been contemplating throwing it over the side, but can't bring himself to do it.
"T'is who'e damn wor'd is ug'y. I tried break'in from it an' it keeps dragg'in me back into i's ugliness, remind'in me t'at I'm just'a cursed victim of fate an' blood."
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 14:02:45 GMT -5
::Iole sighs, pulling the binder out and opening it. She opens it and points to what she wants him to see::
I know who you are. That's you right there.
::It's a picture of him and her at his birthday party at Leah Garden those six years ago, sitting together on the steps. There's one of Oliver sitting near Lillith as she tells a story with her images, one of him riding on Kenny's back while a line of eager children follow behind them, and there's another one of him and Iole, this time smearing their cake on each other's faces while Emily perches on Oliver's knee, shielding herself with her wings from the rainfall of frosting::
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 14:12:23 GMT -5
"Yea, an' t'at was t'e same boy who gave ye t'e first scar." Glancing at the photo doesn't make him feel any better, if anything, it just reminds him of the few good times he's ever had, and how few they are. "Beside t'at was anot'er lifetime ago, bare'y even recognize t'at kid in t'e picture. Certain'y he wou'd'int recognize me." He gives the medal in his hand a painful squeeze, letting the sharp corners poke his skin.
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 14:34:29 GMT -5
::She keeps her makeshift album open stubbornly, turning it to another page. This one is of the time at Club Chocobo A Gogo after they had barely escaped the Internal Affairs office. There's a group shot with the two of them, Sid, Connolly, Violette, Nyx, a few others of the Dragoons, and Iole regrets seeing Doug and Marrissa Fenway in the back. There are some others scattered around, one with Iole singing while Oliver looks up at he with starry eyes, one with him and Sid in a competition of drinking shot-glasses, and other various times at the party::
But that boy was also the one that put himself in front of bullets for me, gave Sid a reason to live, the first person to really care for Violette, and made Josh remember a life before the fighting.
::She turned the page again, and Oliver's heart jumped in recognition. The group shot this time is at the orphanage back before Lillith owned it. Captain Vincent and his crew are there, along with Eva, and Dante, and Kenny, and a girl he had only seen pictures of named Cherai. Iole is there in the middle, looking smaller than he's ever seen her, probably only ten years old. Behind her is a woman with sand colored skin and black hair with alluring amethyst eyes. But it's the slim muscular form of the Burmecian behind the woman that gives him pause. Two other pictures that catch his attention are of Iole with that same Burmecian, one of him throwing her in the air and catching her while they laugh together, and another of the two of them in the room with the fireplace. She's standing on his toes while he dances with her. The violet eyed woman is sitting on a rocking chair in the background with a record player beside her::
That's where you come from. He wasn't perfect, but he was good and he tried his best. And both his goodness and your mother's are in you. I was never afraid of him and I will never ever be afraid of you.
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 15:25:43 GMT -5
Oliver looks curiously at the stranger with the familiar face in the picture, it was unnerving how similar the creature is to Oliver. Those eyes and face, nearly mirrored, just sharper and more defined. It's also strange that she, Iole, knew his own father better then himself yet everyday, he hears and sees through the very eyes of the one in the photograph but, unlike the happy, playful scenes the photographs show, the whispers in his mind are far more frightening.
"W'y ye never te'l me about t'ese?" He asks. "Never even k'ew t'ere were pictures of me dad... an even worse..., ye knew him better t'en I'll ever wi'l. W'eres t'e justice in t'at?" He exclaims, part humorously, part serious. "Wish it was me in t'ose photos..."
Oliver turns away, just slightly, to rest against the rail and sulk. His arms dangling over the side, swaying softly in the wind. "Jus' came to anot'er realization... I'm exi'ed... I rea'ly just can't catch a break wit' my life. I'm a b'ind b'ood-thirsty bastard orphan political exile - an I'm no' even twenty."
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 16:14:48 GMT -5
::Iole closes the book::
I wanted to show them to you. I was worried they'd upset you. But I thought you needed to see them.
::She leans against the rail with him, looking out over the sea::
Who calls you that? You can't call yourelf an orphan, because you've had family since the day you found us. You can't be a bastard because your father loved you. However short his time was with you, he loved you. And he would have given anything to have more. You're only half blind, and you can't be an exile so long as you can make a life and a home with people who care about you.
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 16:33:15 GMT -5
"Maybe..." He sulks out. "S'ill doesn't make it fee'much bet'er, but even wit' all t'e friends I have an' t'e foster fami'ies, t'ey sti'l aren't my blood an' on'y my own blood can te'l me w'at I am." He looks over to her. "Get w'at I mean?"
He turns back to the rail and outstretches his arm, which hand holds the medal. He looks at it, watching it glisten in the morning sun. "No mat'er w'at I do or w'ere I go, I'll a'ways feel like I two different peop'e trapped in one body. Out'a p'ace in t'e world. 'ike now! W'ere do we go from here? Never even been out'a t'e city for t'en a few days... dunno anyt'ing else."
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 16:53:26 GMT -5
::Iole glowers at him in a way that wrinkles her nose and brings her eyebrows together::
That's bull. Your blood can't tell you what you are, because only you can decide that. What they were does not determine who you are. You are Oliver Fray Tipp. Not the Son of the Betrayer, not Dragoon 24601, you are Oliver Fray Tipp. And so far what I've seen you decide, you're someone with passion and flare for everything that's good and just, you have a knack for mechanics, you have a dangerous taste in women, and you always put yourself last.
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 17:06:06 GMT -5
Oliver chuckles to himself. "Yea... t'at sounds 'ike me. Crazy ain't it? Jus' need to learn not'o be b'indsided by it. Sti'l, I don't t'ink we can c'ange w'at made us, on'y how peop'e perceive us. T'e soldier, t'e awkward kid. Just a mask to cover our genes... I'll a'ways be my dad's son an' a'l it seems to bring wit' it just, gue's I'll just make it w'at I want out of it. W'at's the worst t'at cou'd happen? Certainly not'in worse t'en a'l we've been through."
He looks up to her, a sad smile on his face, weighted by a thousand confusing thoughts.
"So... w'ere do we go from here? W'at e'se has t'is wor'd got to throw at us?"
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 17:10:00 GMT -5
::Her glare faded as his mood seemed to lighten a little bit. At least he wasn't feeling sorry for himself anymore::
I wish I knew what to tell you. But the world's a lot bigger than just Lindblum. It's got its wonders and its dangers like everywhere else.
::She moved closer to him until her head was in his chest and her arms around his waist::
But come hell or high water, I'll be right there with you.
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Post by Oliver on Jun 23, 2009 18:24:15 GMT -5
Oliver nods as Iole speaks. "Least I k'ow somet'in wi'l a'ways be t'e same." He rests an arm around her waist, his hand massaging lightly through her shirt. He still continues to stare out at the open expanse, his other hand still clenching tightly the medal. "I mig't of lost everyt'ing, but least I'll sti'l a'ways have ye. An' t'ats somet'in t'e wor'd won't be able to take away. Beside - wit' one eye a'l I can see in my life anymore is ye." The breaking, soundless dawn washes over them providing an ounce of warmth in the wind. It glistens off the water below like a glass wind-chime in the early afternoon sun. Behind them now, Lindblum still stands cold and gray. Oliver's hand runs up Iole's back and neck, till it rests on the back of her hair. Fingers mingling through her hair. "T'ere's not'in left but for us to run-away from t'at dark p'ace, disappear somew'ere. If t'e wor'd is as big as ye say, t'en we got p'enty of p'aces to run-away too. So, let's go see t'e wor'd... together." With one last look back at the cold gray spot where Lindblum lays and all its sad and horrible memories, like a ghost lingering in the corner of your mind. A monument to a tragic past and for the first time, Oliver can clearly see it's sickly appearance that traps those who become lost in its winding streets, making you stray far from what's important in ones life. Turning away from it, he raises the medal to eye-level. Looking it over one last time, the silvers, golds and reds of its gilded surface are enticing but filled with lies. More a mark of shame then pride, Oliver casts the medal away. Flinging it over the side, the last sight of it before it fell below is one last sparkle of sunlight against it's silver surface, glistening like a falling star extinguished into the sea. www.last.fm/music/Other+Lives/_/Paper+Cities
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Post by Iole on Jun 23, 2009 18:32:00 GMT -5
::The wind blows through Iole's hair as she reaches up to him, pressing her soft lips against his. They had won all that they needed from that fight in that city. Now they could take it with them. Their sillouhettes intertwine against the gray of the sky as the Hijrah carries them away to the next chapter of their life together. Will it be happier than the one they are leaving behind? Who can say? But all that matters to them right now is that they have found what's important::
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