She opened the window.

The breeze rushed into her room through the newly available portal, replacing the stuffy air with something much more pleasant, though it did little to improve her mood as she had hoped it might. Blue eyes scanned the horizon, taking in a view she had not witnessed since her youth. The Crusaders had never required her presence in this place, and she had been more than glad to stay away. She was not a person who lived in the past, she was not one who enjoyed dwelling on the pain her memories held. It had been easy to push away those recollections when she was moving to purpose alongside the Crusaders, duty offered her reprieve from the past.

It was not the same here.

A knock on the door tore her from her thoughts, bringing her back to the new duty that she held. It was not a difficult task, protecting the Maester, he seemed to face few challenges that he could not overcome himself, whether he use spell or tongue in his defense. Indeed, she saw little point in being his guard, and it was true to say that there was no point in itself. Seymour had little need for a shield at the moment, and she little reason to act as one, but it would not be so for long. If Seymour proves to be true to his words, a notion Lightning still held doubts on, the Maester would soon become a guardian, joining with a summoner in her cause to rid the lands of Sin. She would join him in that cause as well, not for him, but for the people of Spira.

For herself.

She opened the door, revealing a tall man with a grim face, offering him no words, only a slight bow of her head.

"A letter from the Maester, requesting your presence."

Lightning took the note, dismissing the man and closing the door. Her fingers peeled open the folded page to read the Maester's note, his typically neat handwriting greeting her cheerfully, asking that she join him at a specified location. Lightning dropped the note on the table, replacing it with her sheathed blade. She almost felt remorseful, knowing that there would be no cause to draw steel. She did not enjoy battle for battle's sake, but that was not to say that she did not enjoy the electric feeling of combat, there simply was not a rush that could match it.

She strapped the blade's sheath to her belt, her palm wrapping snugly around the hilt, its presence offering a small but none the less enjoyable pleasure. She left the place that was supposed to be her home, she did not ever think it would be her home, but it was a place. She looked at the city around her, feeling no love for its wonders, no interest in its people. This place reeked of her past, every corner bringing with it old memories, recollections that she would prefer to have far from mind. She did not care for this place and its memories.

She did not care to remember.

Words: 520
Total: 520

Luca was as lively as it always had been.

Strange, how this salt-lined city thrived in the face of danger. For one so close to the Sin-sea, and one still so deeply blinded by faith - it was strange to see so much machina line the walls. Televisions seemed innumerable, and though Yevon approved, he doubted any other town so belligerently flaunted its techonology for the world to judge.

Still, Luca was hardly a city to be held down by the yoke of religion. Nestled in its heart was Blitzball, a most shallow of sports, that all the people of the world so wasted their hopes and dreams and time upon.

He had no love at all for the sport nor its values. Oh, how he had heard the hopeful tirades of those who claimed it helped to unite the people of Spira - and from those same mouths came such feculent torrents against the likes of the Al Bhed and whatever team did not suit their own.

All the same, it was a distraction. A good one, at that. The whole point was to present the Lady with the most boring thing of all, if only to allow her mind to be so empty that she had no choice but to speak with him. A shared hatred did wonders for building trust, he was certain.

So as he stood, alone, outside of the blitzball stadium - he kept his eyes hooked on the crowd. It was fascinating how many people came here to run up the winding steps, all for the sake of ten minutes of release. Still, he soon picked her out from the swelling masses, and approached her - offering a bow. "Lady Claire, a pleasure to meet again."

Rising from his steep bow, he turned to make way to the inner cloister of the stadium. Pausing only at the ticket booth, he looked towards her with a gentle sort of smile. "I am afraid today is a matter of pleasure more than duty."

"Which team is it that you support?" he asked, expecting no answer of genuine interest.

Word Count: 350
Note: Holy balls this post was a wee bit crap, I'll try and be better later. >:[

The blitzball stadium.

It was not the first time she had been to this place, though it was the first time she had come under the pretense of being a spectator, a viewing she did not look forward to. Seymour's need for her presence here was unclear, he had offered no explanation, only sending her an invitation. She suspected that his intentions were simple, perhaps an attempt to create a sort of friendship between the two of them. She held little interest in being anything to Seymour that was not expected of her position, and those expectations only pushed her to ensure that the Maester came under no harm, it did not demand her friendship.

It did not take long for the Maester to spot her, nor she him, leading the pair into indulging the ceremony of greeting one another with a bow, her's remaining as stiff and professional as always.

"Your grace."

She offered him nothing more than his title, presenting no sentiments of happiness or joy to be in his presence once again. She had spent little time in his company thus far, devoting a great deal more attention instead to learning the nuances of the new position that she held. They would be together much more often in the road ahead, she saw no reason to rush into learning more of one another. Seymour was clearly interested to take a peek inside her mind, an interest that she did not share at all in return.

Her former suspicions regarding the purpose of this meeting were validated as the Maester continued, explaining that this was a much lighter affair than she would prefer. There was no glory in this, no honor or duty, she was simply to sit at his side, an image that made her feel much more akin to an ornament than any warrior monk she had ever known of. Perhaps this was the reality of their esteemed positions, sitting and watching those who were in their charge. She at least had the pilgrimage to look to, if not for that than she would have never accepted Seymour's offer.

"I do not keep track."

That was the truth, at least it was now. In the past she would have had an answer, but she had been that person a life time ago, a life that had ended. Claire was dead, only Lightning remained.

Words: 397
Total: 917

An expected answer.

The curves of his lips turned ever so slightly up.

"My apologies. I have become accustomed to euphoria surrounding the game." Raising his head, he popped a question with complete and utter innocence, "What of your parents, then?"

She was a silent creature. He was determined to have her speak. Family was so often the easiest way to understand a child - and merely knowing whatever team her proud parents gave their hearts to could reveal more than what could be said. Yet, indeed, what of her parents? Did she loath them? Did the love her? Did they even know of her promotion?

She was a secretive creature. A private, beautiful one. If she had just a little more aloofness she would have been the most perfect Guado. He almost laughed. Her origins were surely from Bevelle. Though she hardly had an accent to speak of such (it was as neutral as the words she spoke, though he did not detect any of the laziness of a Besaid tongue or the drawling of a Djose one.) She had the right character for a girl from Bevelle though. A city girl. No doubt an only child - either neglected or overly loved, but turned so very cold.

What laid that ice inside of her, that, that was what he wanted to know.

"Unless they too, sported no allegiance."

Word Count: 230
Total Word Count: 580
Notes: Well, well sort - I'm sorry! I didn't want to fluff it out for ages and I didn't want him to buy the tickets just yet so a b100.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of her parents, a reaction she could not prevent from occurring. What did the Maester know of them? Did he speak of them in some attempt to goad Lightning into response, some form of test? She did not appreciate the casual tone with which he spoke, as if they were good friends, free to ask one another any question. Perhaps he did not mean it in such a way, but Lightning couldn't not help but get that impression, perhaps he knew nothing of her parents, speaking only innocently. She could not help but doubt that the Maester was capable of such innocence.

She quickly resumed her typically stoic posture, not feeling particularly inclined to tell Seymour anything regarding the parents she had lost, nor the sister she had left behind, no matter how interested he might be. The Maester clearly wished to know more of her, his subtle attempts to gleam more of her mind had not gone unnoticed. She could not claim to hold a mutual interest, she knew enough of the man already.

She knew that he couldn't be trusted.

The evidence to that fact was not obvious to her, but she could not deny the feeling in her gut, an instinct that screamed warnings in her ears. She did not care about the dangers, she would overcome any obstacle, even if one of those obstacles were to be the Maester himself, nothing would stop her. Not Seymour, not Yevon himself, she would persevere, she would endure.

"Sin took them."

There was nothing else to say, they were gone and she preferred to think no more of it, if only she could forget.

Words: 282
Total: 1302

What a pity.

"My sincerest apologises. I did not know," he breathed almost as soon as she had said one of the most common phrases known to any Spiran. Sin. Always Sin. And always such hatred for the beast. Was that where her jumbled mess of ice came from - crystallized damage and sorrow? Did her chest rattle and shake for the sake of revenge?

Perhaps her heart was not so mysterious or foreign, after all.

"My mother was taken by the fight against Sin," he let slip. A half-truth. She had been taken, though not quite destroyed. Blood still poured from her eye and her entire body struggled against every breath, but she was not completely gone. Not yet. Not yet.

Turning his head away in mock far-off thought, he let a quiet moment hang between them. "She too, supported no teams." Except for anyone against the Ronso (such tiny details he could remember, stupid, pointless details that she would no longer care for. What mindless drivel.)

"Come," he offered, turning towards the ticket booth. "It would be best to show my support for Guadosalam."

When he exchanged gil for tickets (insisting, as always), he realized then that they were playing against the Al Bhed. A suitable opponent for tailored conversation. He was pleased.

On the way towards their seats (to make a show when he had barely been crowned a Maester and not officially announced by Mika would be rather upsetting for tradition. Sitting in normal (albeit the more expensive) seats was the more proper thing to do) he did not let the conversation go to waste.

"Did you ever speak with Maester Jyscal, Lady Claire?"

Word Count: 280
Total Word Count: 860

She withheld a scoff at his apologies, feeling much more inclined to damn them than to accept anything. She doubted the authenticity of his condolences, and even if she did not she would rather not have his pity. How much could he possibly know of loss, or hardship? He had been raised in the church, showered with gifts and attention, anything he could have possibly wanted. His was a spoiled lot, she wondered not for the first time if he had ever been left wanting for anything. She almost ignored his next words out of spite, though they cut through her when she finally realized what it was he had said.

Lightning turned to glance at Seymour, taken off guard by his admittance. He too had lost his mother to Sin, just as she had lost her parents. It was strange, to know that the two of them held something in common, that perhaps they were not so unalike after all. Was that the reason Seymour had become a Maester, for his mother? Was she his motivation to struggle against Sin? She remained silent at the words, though her previous anger against the Maester cooled. She did not care for him, but perhaps there was more to the man than she had thought.

She followed him as they moved to obtain tickets, noting how he insisted that they take his gil, commenting that he was no better than anyone else, another curious display. She was not ready to admit that she was wrong about the Maester, she still held doubts in regards to his motivations, but now she could not deny that she was beginning to doubt those doubts. They finally took their seats amongst the masses, much better seats for the game than Lightning had ever had before.

Lightning was content to sit and watch the game in silence, she had never intended to view another one, but that did not mean that watching blitzball was a joyless experience. It seemed like the Maester was content to watch the game as well, at least until he broke the silence between them with a question.

"I have not, your Grace. It appears that he is preoccupied with other matters."

Words: 369
Total: 1671

He was laughing.

A genuine, soft laugh that betrayed perhaps just a little more malice than he would have liked. He could never have prevented it, however. She truly was a Lady who dedicated herself to her work, to not know of Jyscal's demise.

"I am certain that he is preoccupied with very pressing matters," swallowing the last of his laughter, he added, "After all, what could be more pressing than death?"

He quickly realized that he was going to have to redeem himself. Lady Claire did not seem the type to just laugh away her ignorance, and sentient beings had an awful habit of placing the blame of their embarrassment on someone else. "My father passed nearly two weeks ago."

He thought of wide eyes that stared accusingly, of a hand that he clutched, of a body that was rapidly failing. He remembered the stench of vomit and pyreflies coming loose, of a man who once revelled in his dignity to then be lying like an infant and caught between the hands of life and death. He remembered how the poison took hold and how his swollen tongue choked out nonsense, babbling about the darkness in his son's heart as his own heart failed. He did not find the compassion to pity - but he remembered the sending and he remembered the freeing feeling of ecstasy that came as the last pyrefly fled the mortal world.

"I was curious, wondering only what you thought of him as a Maester," he glanced away - watching, for a moment at least, the players beginning to slice through the water. Such a pointless game. "Clearly," he offered her a smile, as though that alone could save her humility. "He did not have the impact he would so have desired."

Word Count: 300
Total Word Count: 1160

She did not understand Seymour's reason for laughing, nor did she realize the blunder she had unintentionally made, not until the Maester explained that Jyscal had passed away some weeks back, mentioning also that the late Maester was his father. It made sense that Seymour would follow in the footsteps of his father, but he did not seem entirely sad to be speaking of it. Indeed, he had appeared to be much more morose at the mention of his mother, but perhaps that explained a lot. His father had been absent, leaving only his mother to love him, a mother that had been lost to Sin.

"I did not know."

Her words were the closest Seymour would get to an apology, she did not care to admit mistakes, though she was not one to shy away from responsibility. The Maesters had never truly been important to her, their presence amongst the Crusaders boosted the morale in most, but to her they were nothing but old men sending the young to die. She had never taken interest in any one particular Maester, she had barely known of Seymour before meeting him for the first time.

"He has failed no more in that regard than any other Maester of Yevon."

Words: 208
Total: 1879

Well, it seemed that he was not going to have the opportunity to pick her brains over his late father’s decisions. A shame, he had hoped she would have some interesting commentary. Still, her ignorance was almost as revealing.

This did put him in a rather awkward position, however. If she did not care for the Maesters, did not care for Blitzball, did not care much even for Yevon... Then was defeating Sin really all she had? She did not seem the type to be so boring. Oh...

Lifting his head, he gave a forced smile as Guadosalam scored. The cheering of the crowd caused whatever quick response he wanted to have to be drowned out. Letting the cheers die away, he returned his full focus to the warrior-monk.
”I see. I will have to do better to not fall into obscurity, then.”

He needed her to talk. He needed her to open to him. There had to be something that would let her wall come down...

”Perhaps another question, then.” There was no shame in revealing his motivations, he was sure the Lady knew this was arranged so that they could ‘bond’. ”What would you do, in a world without Sin?”

He knew that the years between the Calms marked only a false sense of stillness for the Crusaders – they were obligated to keep moving and to keep training. It had become almost habit, though if he was ever to ask they would often answer that they were training for purposes other than Sin’s inevitable return. No one wanted to believe the dark shadow was waiting; it was practically taboo to speak about it. Atonement would never come.

”If Sin was vanquished permanently, if an Eternal Calm was brought. What then, Lady Claire?”

Word Count: 290
Total Word Count: 1450

She looked back to the game, believing that Seymour's attempts at conversation would cease for a small time, if only he would remain silent for the entire game, though she doubted such a thing was possible. The Maester was clearly interested in the workings of her mind, out of idle curiosity or for a greater purpose she could not say, either way it made no difference. She was not interested in forming a bond with the Maester, it did not matter what his motives were. The Guadosalam team made a goal, and with it the crowd erupted into an excited cheer. Lightning made no show of excitement, she wouldn't even know how to pretend.

Seymour resumed their conversation, asking Lightning another question, one that she did not rush to answer. She stared into the water that the blitzball players competed in, not really wanting to consider the answer to Seymour's question. What would she do in a world without Sin? She had not asked herself the question, she had never been able to imagine a world without Sin, without all of the pain and suffering that the beast caused, it was almost impossible for her to envision.

Would she go back to Serah? Lightning had not spoken to her in years, not even by letter. Would her sister ever forgive her? Did Lightning want her to? It had always been easier for her to be alone, and perhaps that was how it should always be. Still, that was not an answer she felt inclined to give the Maester, she saw no reason to tell Seymour of her sister. She fixed the half-man with a hard look to express her cynicism.

"Do you believe such a thing is possible, Maester? A world without Sin?"

She tore her eyes away, looking again to the water instead. She fought to bring an end to Sin, to enforce a Calm over the land, but that would only last ten years, and then Sin would return as he had a hundred times before. There was no end, atonement would never come.

"I do not."

Words: 350
Total: 2229

Of course it was impossible. He had heard such a heartless thought dribbled from between the lips of the first High Summoner herself. The chains that bound this world were eternal - but, it was a folly to assume the only option was to eliminate Sin. Truth lay in Sin eliminating everything else.

That was not the point.

"Ah, but that is not what I asked," he glanced towards her, the gaze lingering on the light that flecked her eyes. "In a world without Sin, if such a world was possible, then what would you do?"

Such a question must have perplexed them all. In truth, the notion horrified him. Sin was Spira's only real hope, and the chains that so bound it to this world were not strong enough - too often did they break. Too often was Sin vanquished.

"Do I think it possible...?" He blinked, maintaining his gaze. "As a fantasy, perhaps. Though we cannot allow the people to lose hope." Tilting his head, he added, "Such is our responsibility, do you not think?"

Merchants of hope. Dealers of nooses. How many necks had been broken on the pretence of that awful word? How many speeches had choked the life out of truth, choked the life out of looking outside ones chains, choked the life out of real achievement? Hope was a word that bound and broke. Hope was a terrible word. Hope was all he could bring to this world.

"Do you think it right..." He had already revealed this to her, but why not steal her opinion on the issue, too? "That a Maester of Yevon would become a guardian?" He breathed slowly. "After all, hope is what defines such a role. Would you think my responsibilities misaligned...?"

A roar of the fans drove up around him. He did not move his gaze, and did not care for who scored. The words on her lips were all that mattered.

Word Count: 320
Total Word Count: 1770

The Maester was intent upon his question being answered, a question that Lightning could not answer, not even in her own thoughts. What would have she done, if Sin had never taken her parents, if she had never left her sister to join the Crusaders? Would she have become some blitzball playing dandy? A pretty little girl who acted the part? She could barely remember what she had been like before Sin took almost everything she cared for, before her heart had become an iron box, impervious to everything around it, a shield that protected her from the ache of emotion. She had been a different person then, ignorant to the world and its suffering, happy.

That person died with her parents.

Any dreams for the future, any hopes she had held before Sin shattered the glass that was her life, were gone now, she could not recall even a single aspiration. The only desire she held now was to bring an end to Sin, the only dreams she had anymore were that of a world without the suffering that it brought. A futile dream, perhaps, but it was the only one she had.

"I do not truly know."

An honest answer to Seymour's question, which was more than Lightning had ever expected to give him on the subject. The Maester continued on, admitting that even he doubted the possibility of an Eternal Calm, claiming the necessity of hope regardless. Could he not see the poison that Yevon fed the people of Spira? Claiming that solace could be found in the arms of the church, all of it a lie for the sake of hope, a carrot to lead the people blind to the truth of it all. He felt it was their responsibility to give hope to the masses, but that only appeared to Lightning as an excuse to feed them more lies.

"It is our responsibility to protect them."

She made no move to speak further on the subject, Lightning did not believe herself capable of winning against the Maester in a war of words, her's was a skill set committed to nothing but bloodshed.

The Maester's next words passed through his blood-tinged lips, a question that moved the subject to that of Seymour's approaching guardianship, a topic that Lightning found much more interesting than anything else they had spoken of. Truly, if it were not for Seymour's intentions to become a guardian, Lightning would not have considered his proposition for even a moment.

"It is not our words that give the people hope, Maester."

Lightning drew breath slowly, her aqua-colored gaze never leaving Seymour's. Did he believe in the hope that he instilled in others, would he fight for it? Would he die for it? Lightning was suddenly curious in just how determined Seymour was, how willing was he to sacrifice everything for the people of Spira?

"It is our actions, our sacrifice."

Lightning's breath hitched in her throat as her lips parted to speak again, hesitating for only a moment. She did not expect honesty from Seymour, but his answer would tell something important of the man, would give her an impression of the strength of his conviction.

"Are you willing to make that sacrifice, Seymour?"

Words: 540
Total: 2769

He wondered if there was anything else in this life Lady Claire did not know. He imagined her heart was made up of battle scars and held-back tears, the canyons that scarred her deep into the unknown reaches were not valuable to her - she let those parts of her die and dismissed them as useless. Everything else, she must have ensured she knew everything about - she was a clever girl because she invested time in growing what mattered. But a question that should have mattered - a question that must have touched those battle scars and made them open up again, just a little bit - that question she had no answer for.

She lived for the sword and no more, a mindless solider to be tossed about by the forces and damned in the end. There was no reason not to use her to bring about this beautiful end, then.

Protect them. Protect them from what? From suffering, from death? Such a fruitless task. Who appreciated such protection, who truly benefited from it - who in this world was completely free of suffering? Sorrow would invade them, destroy them, break them - no matter how many barriers they set up, no matter how many battles they fought, no matter how many swords they drew and hearts they chewed.

Yet for as little as Lightning was able to touch him, she suddenly ripped open a wound he had tried so hard to forget about. Numbness melted away from his face, and a genuine flash of either fear or pained desperation flickered there before a smile washed it all away.

He'd heard those words before.

Suddenly, he felt as though he was a child. Suddenly, he could hear the toughness of his mother's voice in hers. Suddenly, something in his stomach grew and bloomed and trembled with holy awe or fear.

He answered as he had answered her then - this time not ignorant to his impending doom. "Yes. I am ready."

He could feel chains snaking around his body, and incoherent whispers rose up and up from a well long thought closed. His eyes melted like water beneath snow, and though they did not sting or leak, they flowed again - emotion was clear and plain despite his dead smile. "I will save Spira." A tremble and a yank of a chain reminded him to not speak of becoming Sin, but he added anyway, "This world is too full of suffering."

He looked away to watch the milling fans bleat out their cries of support.

"Too full for them to ever understand."

He lowered his head.

"I must save them." he looked to her, those sky-blue eyes causing the drumming in his heart to intensify with guilt or pain or conviction, he did not really care to ask. "I am willing, Claire."

Word Count: 480
Total Word Count: 2250

The look on Seymour's face was almost... Genuine. She had not expected an honest reaction, not from someone so well trained in words and conversations as the Maester, but her words seemed to stir something true within him, some reaction that he could not suppress regardless of how much experience he held. The smile that replaced the flash of humanity was not full of the confidence it had always held, perhaps his heart was not so dead after all. He spoke calm words, but his eyes betrayed the emotion he held, a resignation to his fate, no matter how tragic, all for the sake of hope.

She had resigned herself to a similar fate.

The words he spoke held the conviction she had been searching for, a resolution to do whatever it takes, to sacrifice whatever necessary. It would be easy to suspect Seymour of speaking the words she wanted to hear, all for the sake of manipulating her, but the emotion in his eyes... Lightning could not doubt the man's conviction now, it was clear to her that he truly meant to do whatever it took to save the people of Spira, what more could she expect from him? He had proven himself to be more true in character than any other Maester she knew of, was that enough to trust him? She did not know, she did not know if she was even capable of such a thing.

Seymour looked away to the crowd as he spoke of them, of his need to save them, to relieve the world of its suffering. She did not think such a thing to be possible, but it was all she had to hope for.

It was all Spira had to hope for.

The Maester locked eyes with her once more, declaring that he would save them, that he was willing to sacrifice. In his pale blue eyes she saw the metal that had attracted her upon their first encounter, the strength in his conviction, a willingness to do whatever it took. His cause was righteous, Lightning could think of no other more worth her devotion.

"Maester, you may..."

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes looking into Seymour's, scanning it for any sign of deceit and finding only the steel she knew to be there. Perhaps this man was not the demon she believed him to be, perhaps there was something more to him than his title.

"You may call me Lightning, it is the name I prefer."

Words: 417
Total: 3186

The stirring emotion that had awoken within him was finally drawing to its shuddering close – the wound that stung and opened his eyes to her stitching back together. Yet before the ice could completely refreeze – she thrust a final blow of trust.

”Lightning...” he explored the name. An interesting one. It was almost childish in its conception – something that didn’t quite seem to suit her, considering the seriousness in her tone. He would normally have suspected her fellow Crusaders to have mantled her with that nickname as a compliment of her speed or ferocity – but he doubted she hold so much value in it just because of that.

There was a bridge between them, now, he felt. She had struck a blow in him and in return her own shell had begun to melt – perhaps the more he exhibited a emotional display around her, the more the ice around her tongue would break. He enjoyed the new found feeling of confidence, however, and knew that he had to be careful not to let the tentative bridge collapse.

”If I may, why do you prefer to be called as such?” Surely it was not a name passed down from her parents – she did not seem the sentimental type. Ah. ”An incident in Thunder Plains, perhaps?” He thought of the wild, tangling skies and the rips of bright white and blue. As a child, he had been mocked for his unusual hair (even for a Guado, it was wild) – told he was bound to attract the bolts. He was slower, too, than the rest – but he still learned to run between the pillars and move without thought. He could dance between the lightning just as much as they could – but the chagrin came all the same.

He suspected, though, that that wherever her chosen name had come from – it was something far more personal than that.

Word Count: 320
Total Word Count: 2570