FFX. Kimahri Ronso. 051. Water.
Nov. 14th, 2006 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dagas_isaTitle: Carving
Fandom: Final Fantasy X.
Character: Kimahri
Rating: G
Word Count 522
Summary: Kimahri sits upon the beach after Sin.
A/N: Definitely needs editing, as it feels anemic and frothy to me.
The only time Kimahri goes to the beach is in the aftermath of an attack. Far enough afterwards that people have finished with clearing away the old lives, and started their paranoid existance. Far enough afterwards that the crusaders returned to their normal schedule of training and patrol. But still close enough that the smell of Sin lingered on the shore, yet to be washed away by the endless rhythm of waves.
People say they worship water, as one worships Yevon, or the Ronso beneath their guise of loyalty in Bevelle worship Gagazet as they always have. But Kimahri senses no love for water among the people of Besaid. Their reverence is fear, their relationship to it, children who seek to conquer their fears. Biltz compels, not for the simple joy of sport, but because the athletes with their breath and muscles defy the will of water, the space of Sin.
He walks on the shore, counting each perfect wave as it swells and breaks across his toes. The sand still bothers the pads of his feet, but he endures, to spend this time thinking in solitude, to lay to rest his own unease with shores and the water that lies beyond. For of all Spira, the waters alone do not speak to his inner being.
One must always stay in one's element, and Kimahri is the earth and the winds, moist heat and dry colds that make the mountain and the jungles. The waters beyond, they are for blitzers, or the crazy beings who fear Sin no more than they fear confinement to lands. But where earth and water meet, Kimahri must sit and watch and meditate.
Driftwood, perhaps a plank off the fallen dock, washed up on shore again, weeks after the attack and smoothed by its journey among the waves. Kimahri feels the grain, refined from the pressure on it, and it calls for his hands to shape it. From the pouch on his belt he draws a knife, big enough to be awkward in a human's hands, but the handle fits into his right palm perfectly.
He sits on the shoreline, letting the water cover his knees and lap as he shapes the wood into something else, a shaving here and sliver there, more and more while the smoothness of the plank is floating in the water around them, ready for another trip around the island. What remains is almost cylindrical, almost like a miniature of the tree it came from. Before it required two hands to hold, now it balances perfectly in his left palm.
The waves take evidence of his work away, and not for the first time, Kimahri wonders where the scraps end up. Perhaps they wash up on the island a few weeks later, or in Killika a few months later, or perhaps sometime in the past eight years, one or two of his scraps have sailed through the currents back to his real home. the far coast of the Gagazet region and island of Besaid do share an ocean after all, even if Kimahri is the only Ronso to ever look upon the shore.
Fandom: Final Fantasy X.
Character: Kimahri
Rating: G
Word Count 522
Summary: Kimahri sits upon the beach after Sin.
A/N: Definitely needs editing, as it feels anemic and frothy to me.
The only time Kimahri goes to the beach is in the aftermath of an attack. Far enough afterwards that people have finished with clearing away the old lives, and started their paranoid existance. Far enough afterwards that the crusaders returned to their normal schedule of training and patrol. But still close enough that the smell of Sin lingered on the shore, yet to be washed away by the endless rhythm of waves.
People say they worship water, as one worships Yevon, or the Ronso beneath their guise of loyalty in Bevelle worship Gagazet as they always have. But Kimahri senses no love for water among the people of Besaid. Their reverence is fear, their relationship to it, children who seek to conquer their fears. Biltz compels, not for the simple joy of sport, but because the athletes with their breath and muscles defy the will of water, the space of Sin.
He walks on the shore, counting each perfect wave as it swells and breaks across his toes. The sand still bothers the pads of his feet, but he endures, to spend this time thinking in solitude, to lay to rest his own unease with shores and the water that lies beyond. For of all Spira, the waters alone do not speak to his inner being.
One must always stay in one's element, and Kimahri is the earth and the winds, moist heat and dry colds that make the mountain and the jungles. The waters beyond, they are for blitzers, or the crazy beings who fear Sin no more than they fear confinement to lands. But where earth and water meet, Kimahri must sit and watch and meditate.
Driftwood, perhaps a plank off the fallen dock, washed up on shore again, weeks after the attack and smoothed by its journey among the waves. Kimahri feels the grain, refined from the pressure on it, and it calls for his hands to shape it. From the pouch on his belt he draws a knife, big enough to be awkward in a human's hands, but the handle fits into his right palm perfectly.
He sits on the shoreline, letting the water cover his knees and lap as he shapes the wood into something else, a shaving here and sliver there, more and more while the smoothness of the plank is floating in the water around them, ready for another trip around the island. What remains is almost cylindrical, almost like a miniature of the tree it came from. Before it required two hands to hold, now it balances perfectly in his left palm.
The waves take evidence of his work away, and not for the first time, Kimahri wonders where the scraps end up. Perhaps they wash up on the island a few weeks later, or in Killika a few months later, or perhaps sometime in the past eight years, one or two of his scraps have sailed through the currents back to his real home. the far coast of the Gagazet region and island of Besaid do share an ocean after all, even if Kimahri is the only Ronso to ever look upon the shore.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-15 07:52 am (UTC)One of the pieces of magic in your writing is that you manage so much by simple description, since Kimahri doesn't talk much. Simple in that you don't have a florid style, but a very immersive one, drawing readers into this alien environment as Kimahri is half alien, and half very deeply attuned to his surroundings in ways the humans aren't.
I
Date: 2006-11-15 03:20 pm (UTC)I like the way you handle the brooding nature of the Ronso. With so much solitude in their lives, this would be a natural result. This is a jewel of a story.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-24 08:29 am (UTC)Kimahri is a quiet, steadfast character, especially in solitude, I think you nailed the moment perfectly, in the way it would have been seen by anyone watching from Kimahri's head.
To have tried to make this moment seem more exciting would have been a mistake, and out of character for Kimahri. It's an in-depth peice, not a action-flick.
And it happens to be very enjoyable.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-18 10:00 pm (UTC)Mine was, and I strayed away from LJ, but I just crept back to check your Kimahri tags and catch up on wonderful fic.
I see in your recent entries the usual blend of RL frustrations and other items keeping you busy. As a very casual acquaintance, I still send warm thoughts!
And yes, I miss your Kimahri stories.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-19 02:13 am (UTC)I've turned this into my personal LJ, for convenience reasons, and because keeping track of two separate friendslists is impossible for me.
And thank you for your warm thoughts.