outlawforlife | Open RP Post

[ spoilers for the end of FFXVI ]

He isn't sure when the end will come, or even what the end might feel like. Right now, his whole world is this beach. His whole world is the wet sand beneath his back and the sound of waves, the wetness of his boots, the warm sun above him and the strange lifeless numbness that envelopes his hand. There is the vague urge to sit up, to move, to do something, but all of the strength has left him. All of the impetus and drive has been burnt away, used up in the final battle with Ultima and the effort to destroy all that he had built.

Perhaps he won't live to help build a world where all men and women can live free, but he can be content, at least, with having destroyed the chains around them all. The people he loves, the people they love, the generations to come will no longer be beholden to a cowardly god that didn't even understand the wonder of his own creation.

He's getting tired again, though, his eyelids heavy especially with the bright sunlight off the waves. And... and some of those waves sound like-

No.

No, it can't be.

"Torgal?"

Edited 2023-07-04 04:19 (UTC)

One would take her a fool for keeping her steadfast vigil, but she's anything but. For years she kept the faith, held onto the promises both spoken and silent that he would be back. That he would return no matter what.

In the darkest of nights, it was what kept her sane. Mostly, anyway. The tears slipped out before she could stop them, followed by heaving sobs upon Metia's brightness flickering out as if it was mocking someone's life shuddering to an end. For a moment, Jill believed it, thought that her vigil was all for naught, except the sun rose once again, as it is wont to do. Surely she could wait for him to come to her, but things change as much as roles do. It is time for her to take the lead.

The coastlines are long and desolate, but Jill begs Obulus to press on. Just a little more, a little longer. He has to be out there somewhere, perhaps trudging home on the verge of exhaustion, barely keeping on his feet. She wants to be there, has to be there, to give him a shoulder to lean on. All Jill has to do is forge ahead.

Whether it's a dusting of Metia's goodness or Jill's stubborness, a dark figure on the coastline catches her eye. It's literally on the sand, prone, unmoving from this distance. But it's enough for her to call out Clive's name as she leans over the gunwale, hoping to any gods of decency out there that it's him, that Obulus can row faster than his elder arms can move before she gives into the urge to jump overboard and swim her way there. Maybe it is a rock, just a piece of stone that tricks her eyes and mind, but at the very least, Jill needs to see it for herself.

Meanwhile, Torgal howls, a sound Jill can feel deep in her bones, a call for his master, matching the call for her love.

Torgal. And after a moment, his ears strain to catch the words, the name, the voice-

Jill.

He attempts to push himself from the sand, but as sand is wont to do, it shifts under him, unhelpful even when wet. He shoves a little more but the strength is gone from his limbs still and he slumps to the sand once again. Dazed by the effort, his head sways back and forth as he summons what effort he has towards words.

"Jill..." comes out soft. "Torgal..." even softer.

Once more unto the breach; the world is not changed by a single effort or even two. One must keep trying and so he lifts his good arm, a sign of life even from a distance.

"Clive! Clive! Cl-Clive?"

Her voice breaks into a question, doubting the idea that her eyes dare to play tricks. Some cruel part of Jill tells her to not run the risk of hoping that figure is truly responding to her calls. Thankfully, the much larger logical part associates with her good sense and she immediately finds herself pointing Obulus in the direction of the shoreline.

Impatience, however, remains biting at her heels and for a moment, Jill is reconsidering tackling the sea herself when a hand clasps around her forearm, tugging her back from the edge. Gav. Jill was so preoccupied with locating Clive she'd forgotten the scout was not only assisting her, but now preventing her from leaping into the frigid sea.

"Aye, mind yourself. We don't need to add another injured person to Tarja's list," Gav says in a firm voice, but Jill can tell that hope floods him too by the look in his eyes. A solemn nod is her response, reason triumphing over madness. It doesn't stop her from continuing to call out over the waves, though.

"Clive, just hold on a little longer. We're coming for you." A small comfort for him for the next while.

Edited (typos ugh) 2023-07-04 15:38 (UTC)

Even the waves can't stop him from hearing the howl of his frost hound and that is all the indication he needs that they are coming. He decides to hold onto what strength he has, spending only enough to keep his arm up. The rest is dedicated to breathing and living and staying conscious until he actually gets to see her face. That will be the greatest prize of all for his trials, he thinks. Greater even than this new world of theirs.

To live in it with Jill. That, he thinks, is as good as it could ever be.

Finally, the boat hits the shore and the second it does, Jill wrenches her arm away from Gav and scrambles onto the sand. It's quite the rude behavior and she'll absolutely beg his forgiveness for it when all is said and done, but right now, there are more important issues to contend with. It's Clive. Completely worse for the wear, but it's Clive. The only man she has ever loved and will ever live and breathe for.

Torgal is fast beside her as she runs towards Clive, booted feet fighting the shifting sands under them. She could tumble at any moment, and that she does, right onto her knees. No matter as it gets Jill close enough to grab Clive's lifted arm, pressing his gauntlet covered hand to her cheek. "Clive... oh, thank the Founder! You didn't come back... I thought you were... We didn't know if..."

There's so much to say and so much more to keep quiet, but the words just tumble out unbidden.

There is no feeling sweeter than this, to feel the warmth of her cheek through his glove, the only reason he's at all thankful that the leather is soaked through. Her voice is the music and the feeling of being licked, and then nuzzled, by Torgal is only a little bit less wonderful. He feels a rusty laugh echo out of his chest, unbidden, aching, but good all the same.

"Jill. Torgal. I didn't know- I wasn't sure."

He manages a swallow as his fingers curl closer to her cheek.

"Joshua. Dion. Are they-"

He can always hope.

Another point of forgiveness begging falls into the column when Jill hastily removes his hand from her face. Fortunately, it's at least with less force than how her stomach drops.

"Are they not with you?"

It's not a question she expects to be answered by Clive. A quick glance around gives way the obviousness of the situation. With the rest of the search team scouting the coastlines and lands, maybe they've had some luck, but as far as Jill knows, there's no happy resolution to Clive's query.

"We have not seen them," she starts before turning her head towards Gav coming up from the boat, informing him that Joshua and Dion both still need to be located. There's not much they can do about sending a message to the rest of the scouts right now, but at least the tasks on the list can be updated. "There are scouts looking for all of you. Perhaps they've been found, but we just haven't received notice yet."

She wants to give him hope, if not for his mental health when she clearly can't do anything for his physical health. And speaking of that physical health, Jill slips a few fingers under his shoulder to guide him upright.

"Can you sit up?"

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