[Final Fantasy VI] Keeping Her Seat
Oct. 31st, 2017 09:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rose_in_winterCharacters: Terra
Rating: G
Contains: N/A
Wordcount: 418
Notes: Written for the prompt "Feathers"
Betas: N/A
Summary: Riding a chocobo is nothing like riding Magitek Armor.
It is some kind of miracle that she lands correctly in the saddle when Locke grabs her hand and they vault over the parapet to the chocobos waiting below.
(It is also some kind of miracle that they don't injure the birds; hers huffs irritably and its feathers ripple, but it doesn't try to throw her.)
Within moments of the bird picking up its pace, she realizes that riding a chocobo is nothing like riding in Magitek Armor. The armor lurches in a totally different pattern, but always predictably; with the uneven desert sand, she cannot get the right rhythm in the saddle. Locke and Edgar seem to have no such trouble.
Magitek armor also doesn't fear her magic, as she finds when a pair of them catch up to the chocobos; where the armor always moved placidly along no matter whether she used a fire beam or a fire spell, the chocobo rears up and she has to clutch frantically at the front of the saddle to maintain her seat, grateful that the chant is already done and the spell released. She might not be comfortable on the bird, but she doesn't want to singe its bright feathers.
Edgar and Locke's reaction to her spell gives her time to calm the bird without their notice, and when they recover and help her defeat the armor, they say nothing of her close call.
After that, she enjoys the ride; if she can keep her seat in a battle, the desert is nothing. She finds that while the rhythm is different, it is actually easier once she knows it; unlike the armor, the chocobo learns her rhythm too, and its steps become easier to follow. She rocks in the saddle as they speed across the desert, far faster and easier than she and Locke fought their way to the castle the first time.
They reach the cave, and Edgar and Locke swing down. "The chocobos won't come here," Edgar says. "The soldier will return them."
She wants to argue, but she knows it will do no good. Maybe someday, she can. For now, she slides out of the saddle, and the chocobo turns and butts its head against her shoulder, leaving bits of golden down behind. She strokes its head and it chirps, a rolling sound that makes her glad even if she's not sure what it means.
She promises herself that she will get another chance to ride, to pet those bright feathers, and turns toward the cave.
Rating: G
Contains: N/A
Wordcount: 418
Notes: Written for the prompt "Feathers"
Betas: N/A
Summary: Riding a chocobo is nothing like riding Magitek Armor.
It is some kind of miracle that she lands correctly in the saddle when Locke grabs her hand and they vault over the parapet to the chocobos waiting below.
(It is also some kind of miracle that they don't injure the birds; hers huffs irritably and its feathers ripple, but it doesn't try to throw her.)
Within moments of the bird picking up its pace, she realizes that riding a chocobo is nothing like riding in Magitek Armor. The armor lurches in a totally different pattern, but always predictably; with the uneven desert sand, she cannot get the right rhythm in the saddle. Locke and Edgar seem to have no such trouble.
Magitek armor also doesn't fear her magic, as she finds when a pair of them catch up to the chocobos; where the armor always moved placidly along no matter whether she used a fire beam or a fire spell, the chocobo rears up and she has to clutch frantically at the front of the saddle to maintain her seat, grateful that the chant is already done and the spell released. She might not be comfortable on the bird, but she doesn't want to singe its bright feathers.
Edgar and Locke's reaction to her spell gives her time to calm the bird without their notice, and when they recover and help her defeat the armor, they say nothing of her close call.
After that, she enjoys the ride; if she can keep her seat in a battle, the desert is nothing. She finds that while the rhythm is different, it is actually easier once she knows it; unlike the armor, the chocobo learns her rhythm too, and its steps become easier to follow. She rocks in the saddle as they speed across the desert, far faster and easier than she and Locke fought their way to the castle the first time.
They reach the cave, and Edgar and Locke swing down. "The chocobos won't come here," Edgar says. "The soldier will return them."
She wants to argue, but she knows it will do no good. Maybe someday, she can. For now, she slides out of the saddle, and the chocobo turns and butts its head against her shoulder, leaving bits of golden down behind. She strokes its head and it chirps, a rolling sound that makes her glad even if she's not sure what it means.
She promises herself that she will get another chance to ride, to pet those bright feathers, and turns toward the cave.