squeaklings: (eureka seven - prove myself)
[personal profile] squeaklings
Title: Not All Anniversaries are Good Ones
Wordcount: 1006
Fandom: FFXIV
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Sometimes you just need to drink a bottle of wine.
Notes: Eon introspection touching on RP backstory.

“So here’s the deal.”

Eon set the bottle of wine down with a sharp thud, but the stuffed moogle on the table across from him didn’t seem to mind.

“You and me, buddy. We’re gonna finish this whole thing off. No complaints. ‘Sides, I’m pretty sure wine is good for you; it’s fruit, right?”

The moogle made no comment, and Eon shrugged as he slouched down in the chair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind,” he said, but if the moogle noticed the fake joviality in his voice it said nothing. “Not much of a drinker, actually.” He uncorked the top and took a sniff, scrunching his nose as he did. “Here goes.”

Eon took a huge swig and nearly spat it out. He kept the wine down through sheer force of will, and when his shudders subsided he glared at the bottle. “Not fruit. That is not fruit.”

He licked his lips, shuddered again at the aftertaste, and then took another swig. The taste was slightly better the second time. “Not…so good with the bitter,” he muttered under his breath.

The lights were dimmed in his room, with only the glow of the Orchestrion behind him giving any real illumination. He’d set it to some random song; a peaceful thing he’d heard a bard and flutist duet playing somewhere. He stood and turned it off, throwing himself into darkness, before he hesitatingly turned it back on to the same song.

“You’d like this song, I think,” he said, and leaned against the music box. “Not really my kind of thing, though.”

He stayed like that for a long while before the weight in his hand reminded him he still had half a bottle of wine to drink. Eon took another swig, shuddered, and chose a different song; something fast and loud that reminded him of the few times he’d participated in the Wolve’s Den.

“This,” he said, and took another drink. “Now this is my kind of thing.” He flopped down in his seat across from the moogle and tipped the bottle towards the stuffed toy. Where had he even gotten that from, anyway? “Remember when I got myself caught up in a fight between S’ytr and Ren? I needed a splint for my right arm. You were pissed and chewed me out for days. ‘If you gotta fight you could at least win.’”

Eon tried to lean back only to flop sideways and fall off the chair. Wine spilled all over the floor and he laughed so hard he spilled even more on himself.

“Gods, I thought this stuff took longer to work,” he grumbled, then laughed, then set the wine down beside him and fell back onto the floor. “S’good. Faster’s better.” He craned his neck to look at the moogle still sitting on the table, but all he could see was the barest hint of a pom. His ears drooped back. “Look at how pathetic I am. I thought I’d be ok today.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ve won a lot of fights since then, y'know. I’ve seen so much you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t given up though.” He looked up at the shadows playing across the ceiling. “I’m having fun too, and made some friends, but I haven’t given up on you.”

Eon hauled himself to a sitting position and fumbled for the bottle. Had the wine really been bitter? He took a few more drinks and then stumbled to his feet, almost crashing into the table in the process.

“Too stuffy in here,” he mumbled, and fell out into the main room of the cottage. If anyone else was home they were fast asleep.

The night air in Mist was cool, and Eon stood out on the steps with his arms held out to his sides and his face upturned. The smell of the ocean was almost overpowering, the sound of the surf soothing even this far away from the beach. The breeze tugged at the light shirt he wore.

He made his slow, unsteady way down to the beach, the stars brilliant in the clear sky. “Shoulda brought my fishing rod,” he said cheerily, and walked out into the surf. He’d left his boots on the sand and dug his toes into the muddy ground. He lifted the bottle to his lips only to find it empty, and his tail drooped so far it touched the water. “Hehe, should I send you a message?” He smiled, and then glared as sadness sank like a ball into the pit of his stomach, so strong he felt nauseous. “Could you even get it? You can’t even walk to the beach!”

He threw the bottle as hard and as fast as he could, his words ending in an angry cry that echoed all around him across the empty beach. He sank to his knees in the water, heedless of the waves that gently lapped against his chest. Tears fell down his face, but if they were from anger or sorrow he couldn’t say.

“I’ll make it better,” he whispered. “I’ve gotta make it better.”

Eon let himself mourn until his tears dried up, and even then he remained in the water staring out at the distance. His home was out there, but he couldn’t see it. Not from here.

"Someday soon," he said. "But not yet. I haven't earned it yet."

The moon had long passed her zenith when Eon finally shook himself out of his stupor. “That’s enough sulking for one day,” he finally muttered and hauled himself out of the water. His tail was soaked and he couldn’t stop shaking as he sludged his way uphill to the cottage he shared with his friends, only to run back to the beach when he remembered his boots lying on the sand. He laughed, and the sound wasn’t entirely hollow.

Dawn found him passed out at his table, a quill still in hand. He’d spilled ink across the surface of the table at some point, and the side of his hand was covered in it. He’d send the letter for real when he woke up, but for now it remained entrusted to the faithful stuffed moogle that watched him sleep.

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