A Flash of Light
| A Flash of Light | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 20 November 2012 |
| Location: | Golmore Jungle |
| Synopsis: | Days after the assault on Balamb, a dark-haired princess remains on the run, relying swiftness and guile and an undiminishing hope. Within the depths of the jungle, she improbably crosses paths with the inquisitive knight Ivo Galvan, and the two flee the darkness as one. But aligning himself with the forces of light will reveal to him, if only for the briefest breath, the manner of man he might be if his heart were as pure as her own. |
| Cast of Characters: | Ivo Galvan, Jasmine |
Ivo Galvan has posed:
You'd think he'd have learned his lesson.
Ivo's previous jaunt into the Golmore Jungle was less than a week ago, and though he accomplished both his objectives, he did not do so effortlessly or absent of personal peril. The request to pluck the great blossom from the head of an ancient blind Ochu was a convenient (so to speak) excuse to pursue his own ends, and seek out the leaves of the red toyon, the raw material for a fireproof fabric he has promised a friend. With both quests complete, one might assume little replay value would remain. But the verdant glen in which their prizes lay contained numerous other forms of rare and unusual vegetation, and the young knight-errant found himself consumed by curiosity as to their natures.
Of course, last time, he and his compatriots were unable to examine the variety available to them due to enemy attention, thanks to their fearless leader finding their foes first, as it were. A horde of shrieking Picochus later saw the motley crew desperately fleeing once their mission was done. Returning to the scene of the crime might not seem like the wisest choice, but then again, perhaps Ivo /has/ learned his lesson.
He didn't bring Reize this time.
Having doffed his cloak in the heat and humidity, a bead of sweat traces its way down his neck and along the line of its collarbone as he eases his way through a mass of leaves, listening to the chatter of the birds, the buzz of insects, and the whisper of the swaying vines about him. For all the intriguing flora and fauna which populate this place, so far he has proceeded unmolested, and he intends to keep it that way, his blue eyes scanning as far ahead as possible beneath his dampened dark bangs.
Jasmine has posed:
Shadows flit through the trees, cutting between them, around them, and occasionally above them. They are as silent as only pure absence can be; no vine or branch dares snap beneath their weight. Despite that, though, there's an oppressive feeling that you don't have to be a walking Darkness detector to sense. Golmore Jungle is suddenly boiling with Heartless, around every corner and within every glade. They seem to be trying to keep out of sight, with more or less great success -- they are not so much spotted as felt, breathing behind the back of one's head, whispering right on the edge of aural perception while the chatter and buzz of the wildlife goes abruptly still, constantly right at the corner of the eye.
Darkness has come to Golmore, and it's here for Jasmine.
Her one jump ahead of the headsman has narrowed to about half a jump. Hiding in the jungle wasn't quite as brilliant a plan as she was hoping for; the terrain is beautiful, but extremely challenging, even with the Seed Field Guide: Jungle Edition. On the other hand, she was about a quarter-jump ahead back in Louisiana, so it's all relative.
Her beige linen veil seems determined to catch on everything it meets, though the plants seem eager to relinquish it when they feel the princess' gentle touch. And her brown robes are almost unrecognizable between the verdant ebon slime of the boggier parts of the forest floor.
But nonetheless, she's unmistakably the maiden from the coliseum, as she runs through yet another glen -- this one occupied by another. Instinctively polite no matter how ridiculous the situation, she murmurs, breathlessly, "Oh, please excuse me," as she flees past Ivo without so much as breaking stride.
Ivo Galvan has posed:
He figured that oppressive feeling was just the humidity.
His first thought as the shadows thicken is wry, as he glances up toward the canopy with a rather blithe calm: so /that's/ why there weren't so many monsters and beasts about. Once it becomes obvious that a wave of darkness is coming his way, Ivo loses his deadpan in favor of a more serious expression, his brow furrowing as his hand reaches for Hauteclare's hilt, even as his gaze darts about for a likely path of escape, however improbably. So he is a little distracted when an all-too familiar young woman rushes by.
"Ah, pardon me."
Double take.
"Wh--!"
After a few breaths, Ivo is dashing by Jasmine's side, long legs making long strides, turning his head to look straight at her rather than where he is going, if only for effect. "Fancy meeting you here," he remarks, attempting a casual tone even as his voice tightens from the exertion of fleeing. "I regret to see that your lot doesn't seem to have improved. Did you lose track of your bodyguard? I ran into him in Traverse." He holds an index finger aloft, smiling slightly. "Quite an intimidating fellow, that Jean Faraven."
It's somewhat ridiculous to be having an extended conversation in the midst of ducking under vines and vaulting over logs and overgrowth, but as he talks, Ivo's mind is churning. That's right: he'd been so awe-struck by Jean's sudden appearance that he reglected to ask about this mysterious woman. It's none of his business, of course, but he can't help but be curious. That Faraven fellow turned out to be from SeeD, like Quistis. Wasn't SeeD's headquarters recently attacked by a horde of Heartless and--?
This promises to be quite the tale.
"It's tough being popular, huh?"
Ivo grins broadly, jerking his head back once at the shadows racing across the ground and splashing their way from tree to tree.
"I'm no Faraven, but--"
He's too curious to back down now. Besides...
"--shall I fend off a few of your fans for you?"
...whether he sticks with her or not, the Heartless are here.
Jasmine has posed:
Jasmine smiles slightly at Ivo's casual affectations, preternaturally aware of his gaze; her dark, mysterious browns meet his baby blues for an electric instant, but despite being well able to keep up with his banter, she does keep /her/ eyes up front (and occasionally above, below, and to the sides, displaying the paranoid high-speed scan of an increasingly experienced fugitive) in a way that's deadly serious.
"It is lovely to see you again," she says softly, her silvery lilt more pronounced when her words are slightly jarred by her fleet footsteps -- though only slightly. "And I /am/ sorry to have brought trouble upon you again." The young woman sounds genuinely contrite, though her voice remains quietly steady.
As do her strides. She seems awfully familiar with this patch of jungle, once she's hopped over a gigantic, fallen tree. "I know exactly where SeeD Faraven is," she remarks while she does so. "But he and his have suffered greatly for sheltering me, so that time is at an end. Drawing off the Heartless was the least I could do to help."
The ground drops away below, one of the cliffs of Golmore slicing very suddenly beneath them. Four vines hang in parallel, right at its edge. The princess glances at them, then pauses for a few heartbeats to gaze steadily at the young man. "While I am grateful for your offer, truly, if you take the leftmost vine, and those it leads to, you can get well out of this; they won't follow you." She states that with the iron surety of one who knows all too well what spectacular bait she is. "Otherwise, take the second from the left."
With those matter-of-fact instructions, she grabs both of the rightmost vines and leaps, swanlike, into the air. Most of her weight goes on the further one; until Ivo makes his choice, she leaves the middle vine largely slack, simply taking it along with her for the ride... for now.
Ivo Galvan has posed:
"I'm flattered you remember me," is the swordsman's honest reply, still grinning despite their hectic circumstances. He's not surprised, per se, but he is impressed: their last encounter was even more tumultuous than this, and he was one of many involved. "Don't apologize, please. It's not so out of the ordinary," he demurs as the pack of ravenous abominations eager to devour his heart and soul close in, matching their frantic pace. "Men are used to associating trouble with beautiful women."
Ivo's known for teasing girls, but his tone now is merely lighthearted, not suggestive. He's not a spiritually refined individual, but he is intuitive and (as some skilled manipulators can be) often empathetic, and this young woman strongly reminds him of Princess Aurora: her presence has a similar soothing affect. It frankly unsettles him slightly, though he'd prefer not to admit to it. Part of it is just that he tries to remain in control of his emotions. But part of it is that something about being with women who shine like these do reminds him of what it felt like to be cradled in his mother's arms, safe, secure, at peace, at home.
He hasn't felt that way in a long time.
"Understood." His tone is serious for once when she alludes to her reasons for separating from Faraven. He anticipated as much, but couldn't be sure. Still, it's the explanation that makes the most sense: she must have been part of the cause of the battle at Balamb he heard of, and fled to stave off the Heartless threat. "Heh... those slender shoulders bear a weight greater than I've ever known."
No, he doesn't quite like this feeling, this sense of being in the light. It's precisely because it soothes him -- even in the midst of a headlong rush -- that it seems like it exposes him, like he won't be able to half-shroud himself in shadow and play his little games. Like the past might come flooding back all at once, and for all his self-cultivation, he'd crack under the pressure. But still--
The two of them reach the cliff's edge and Ivo pauses, glancing over his shoulder as the darkness looms, before looking back at the woman and smiling slightly. He trusts her implicitly. No doubt if he takes the vine she designates, he'll escape with his life, and more besides.
But still--
"I can't leave you now."
By the time he says this, he's already seized the vine second from the left and hurtled into space alongside her, head tilted to cast a grin in her direction as the wind whips his hair back.
"I still don't know your name!"
Jasmine has posed:
"I never forget the face of someone who leaps to oppose the Darkness without hesitation," Jasmine explains with equal honesty and gratitude, assigning the capital letter to her opposition with a subtle emphasis. His comment about danger (and beautiful women) doesn't faze her; she lifts a single eyebrow, silently yet eloquently expressing her amusement.
But she never entirely stops being solemn, and shrugs the aforementioned shoulders when they're brought up, dismissing his concerns. They are /very/ slender; she herself is very small, and up close both childlike in stature and very unchildlike in presence. The light is soothing, yes, but there's also a feeling of forcibly constrained power, of a dam ready to burst, a ceiling ready to shatter, a prison ready to crack wide open, covering the universe with... what?
With Light, though few have the capacity to sense it directly. It may be Holy and Good, but it's also very much a primal force, and it wants to be used. To spread out across all things, healing the wound in the world, purifying the corruption of the overwhelming shadows, creating a cosmology of balance. As one of its seven direct conduits, it rages within her when she keeps it mostly locked within her heart. For to use it, without protection, would be to lose it, and her life, both extinguished forever; twenty times as many Heartless would be drawn down in an instant. Balamb Garden demonstrated that well enough.
Since she's discovered its existence, and it in turn has awakened to its full potential, holding it in check has become a silent battle that she wages every instant of every day, much more fiercely contested than that with the Heartless.
Put idiomatically, she may be soothing, but she's not a /tame/ lion. Or tigress, as the case may be.
Ivo's quip about her name briefly draws a shadow of grief into her eyes, but she banishes it to focus on other things, like managing her trajectory as they soar through the air on their vines. The velocity wind tears her veil back, revealing her enormous mane of black, silken hair and the blue-green headband, crowned with an impressive stone, that keeps it in place. Heartless are pouring into the clearing below them, hundreds of them, and to see her reaction to that revelation is to see grim, profound satisfaction.
She yanks on the second vine with all her might, and it's quickly revealed that it's attached to something down below. Pulling harder... nothing happens.
One bounce off of a tree, and she's suddenly within arm's reach of Ivo, passing smoothly across him. "Please," even now with the pleases, "Help me pull! I'm not..." her voice breaks as she strains against whatever is at its other end again, "...strong enough!"
Ivo Galvan has posed:
Without hesitation, huh?
Ivo's expression is oddly ambivalent after the young woman's grateful compliment, confused to hear such a statement about himself, even as he cannot deny its truth. He didn't hesitate to protect her or the people of the Coliseum. He's trained as a knight of his home world, and raised to take responsibility for the people around him, and he takes pride in protecting the varieties of life which thrive in peace. But the Darkness, his foe? Sometimes he wonders. And yet, he is reminded of how when the Heartless came, and he took up his father's sword, how he fought in such a frenzy, how sometimes he feels as though he might brush against that transcendent passion again, that purity of purpose which he has never associated with himself.
It's too improbable to see himself as a hero.
Ivo, of course, has little insight into the battle which Jasmine must wage against her own unbridled power to banish the darkness, to burn like a pyre for the sake of the salvation of worlds. But even if there seems something inherently gentle about the light, when it is so restrained, it's this young lady's fighting spirit that draws him to her in a way nothing at all like his reaction to Aurora. He doesn't so much want to protect this person--
"Hey!"
--as he wants to fight by her side.
It's become obvious that something is wrong. The playful hint is entirely banished from his eyes as the knight-errant's gaze snaps over to see her struggling with the vine -- and, even if only for a moment, a stricken look flickers across his features as her veil is torn back, revealing a seemingly endless flow of hair, the breath catching in his throat briefly. Ugh. Please don't do that to him when we're swinging over yawning voids. "Alright..."
Gritting his teeth, Ivo resorts to dangling from his vine with one hand, reaching out as far as he can even as he threatens to begin swinging back toward the horde from which they're fleeing.
"We'll pull... together...!"
And seizing the vine with her, their hands side by side, Ivo joins his strength to hers, pulling with all his might.
Jasmine has posed:
Princess and Knight pull side by side, desperately...
The vine creaks...
...and the boulder at the /base/ of the cliff gives way, sending the rest of it crashing down onto the milling assemblage of Heartless.
Peeking out of Jasmine's belt is a book: 'The SeeD Field Guide to Guerilla Warfare, Volume 5: Traps'. Bringing along choice selections of their library may have been the most important part of the survival pack she put together.
Jasmine's hair is all well and good, but after this small victory, her SMILE, turned in full force upon Ivo, is shining, shimmering, splendid.
"Let's go!" she calls, releasing her vine to drop into the clearing below to fight the remnants of the Heartless, who are still worrisomely enormous in number but not as bad as it was. She lands neatly, surging up quickly into a roll; her stance is far, far better than it was in the coliseum, some months ago. It is low, fluid, and potentially very dangerous.
And yet not as dangerous as what happens next: clasping her hands in front of her and closing her eyes, Jasmine's face fills with fierce concentration.
The Light erupts out of her, pure white radiance, all colors and none. It's blidning when looked at directly, and subtly penetrates any barrier; there are no infinitely dark shadows on the other side of trees, for example, for whatever it touches is subtly illuminated from within, the Light within all beings responding to the call and surging to the surface. It erupts from her fingertips, her mouth, even her eyes.
With an enormous effort of will, palpable in the air, she prevents it from going nova, so to speak -- from getting so big that it will do more harm than good in the attention it attracts, or at least making it take a little longer for that to happen. In a heartbeat, it's most brilliantly concentrated in her palms...
...and then shoots forth in a beam exactly Ivo's height to bathe him in the Light, to fill him to his brim and beyond, stoking his /own/ Light, however he might deny it, to infinity and beyond.
It is a sense of boundless, cosmic potential. In this moment, Ivo Galvan is all he ever dreamed he could be, and far, far more, his every strength empowered, his every weakness bolstered.
And yet he's still exactly who he is; there is no alteration to his personality, or even his concerns. That, he might realize when he's not busy putting this divine grace to work, is a subtle truth of the Light: it loves you for exactly who you are.
Jasmine's feelings are bound up in there as well, for him to experience -- she /believes/ in him, with every fibre of her being. She knows, with her whole heart, that he can overcome the challenge he's willingly chosen to face... /because/ he has chosen to face it.
His choice, in itself, was the battle between Light and Darkness.
Everything else is mere details.
"Now... it's your turn...!"
Ivo Galvan has posed:
Ivo blandly raises an eyebrow as their teamwork results in a crushing catastrophe for the hapless minions of darkness arrayed below them. "Why do I feel as though sticking with you has set something weighty in motion?" he murmurs, even as the boulder rolls beneath. When she drops down he swiftly joins her, casting a sidelong glance at the change in her posture and bearing, noticable despite the mere months that have passed, and smiling a little despite himself. Well, given the spirit and general competence she displays, it's not so surprising. Yes, it takes a lot to surprise a master of reading others like Ivo Galvan--
"Wha...!"
The swordsman flinches back from the light, raising his hand to shield his eyes, squinting one shut as his lips part in trepidation. Yet there is no escaping it, for what radiates from without resonates within. Where the rays caress him, his heart responds, swelling to fill his body entire, as though spirit and not blood ran through his veins. For a moment, his mind revolts, confusing the change for some manner of invasion, some outward judgment of his being. But as he recognizes the outpouring of feeling as his own, and finds himself swept away by the overwhelming sense of 'rightness', Ivo relaxes all defense, and allows himself to be carried on by this gentle tide.
He closes his eyes...
The jungle about him fades. He is back in Cosmopolis, in the burough he had sworn to defend, his father's sword in his hand, and the swarm of Heartless around him is the same as that which had condemned his world to eternal darkness. But unlike that day, Hauteclare feels familiar in his grasp, as though it had always belonged there, and he is not afraid. Thinking of the moments he has spent in this city, the endless adventures he has enjoyed, he finds himself smiling with an inexhaustible hope.
'I'll train you no more, boy. You haven't the fire.'
"Not every man burns," Ivo whispers in reply.
'Never touch my sword.'
"I didn't, until today. But..."
He extends his arm, the deceptively plain blade it wields catching a light that had seemed smothered by the ominous clouds above, a gleam reflected in his eyes.
"It's not your sword anymore, Dad."
It belongs to all the people of this city, he thinks. No, it belongs to all people everywhere, whose myriad ways of life go unappreciated and unnoticed, whose little eccentricities and absurdities are the delight of Ivo's eye. Perhaps he will never understand his father's raw passion and intensity, his enduring love for a single sword and a single woman. But he feels now, without a shadow of a doubt, that his vitality, his conviction, is the equal of that man. This sword belongs to all his friends. This sword...
"Dance for me, Hauteclare!!"
This sword dances for him alone.
A click of the pommel, as the blade frees from its hilt. A crackle of energy, as blue lightning traces up the sword, a pulsing orb of power forming in the empty space beyond which the cutting edge almost lazily floats. And then at once he is a blur, pirouetting in place, with movements of peerless poise and grace, wasting nothing, expressing everything. Hauteclare's blade effortlessly flickers through the air like a darting fairy, its little cuts seeming to barely to brush the Heartless until they abruptly dissolve as though of their own volition, like marionettes with strings cut. There is no fury, no desperation. There is only an aspiration, to see yet more beauty in the world, to create it in the glory of his own style. And until the moment that blade returns to its hilt, leaving nothing but glittering motes of freed hearts dispersing, it is glorious.
Ivo opens his eyes.
The jungle is there. And the Heartless are gone.
He gazes at nothing, blankly, for several moments, before, shuddering, he sinks to his knees, Hauteclare falling from his limp grace. Amidst the silence of this momentarily empty clearing, save for the woman by his side, Ivo's quiet gasps are easily heard.
"S... strange... my eyes... are..."
His voice quavers as his head tilts, carefully obscuring his face from Jasmine.
"...was that..."
Unseen, he stares wide-eyed in utter shock into empty space, tears flowing freely, as he chokes back a sob, some last vestige of his pride struggling to preserve a little masculine dignity without his express intent.
"...was that... me...?"
Jasmine has posed:
Hope
Faith
Truth
Compassion
Light
Light
LIGHT
Jasmine trembles from top to toe, exerting stores of energy she hadn't known she possessed to contain this explosion to the comparably reasonable size of 'Ivo'. She pushes herself beyond all endurance, and then, finally, there is quiet, the brightness gradually fading away.
The Light embraces Ivo even as it withdraws. This is what you are, someone breathes, beating in time with his heart, and hers. Never forget. Whether that was the princess or the power that inhabits her is difficult to say. Also academic; the fact is that they are in many ways one with each other, that she is the conduit /because/ she embodies the Light.
Swaying limply on her feet, the young woman gazes up at her champion, sees his expression, and a great deal beyond it. She doesn't smirk, or sigh, or look away uncomfortably; masculine dignity is irrelevant to her, because she doesn't seem to think he's being the least bit undignified. Serene, even as she loses the battle to stay standing and sinks to her knees in a pool of fabric and hair. Patient. And... gently encouraging.
"Yes..." is all she says, a million blessings and apologies wrapped up in a single soft-spoken syllable. Yes, you are glorious and wonderful and strong and brave and true, brilliant in mind and spirit. And I'm so sorry that I threw it all into your face in the most violent way possible, just to save my own skin.
"...it was."
At the edge of her senses, she feels a tide of Darkness rising, attracted like a lodestone to her position; this battle has been won, but guarantees another down the road. Two steps forward, one step back. As long as she can keep the ratio working in that direction...
Still, they have a few moments to rest. To breathe. To dream. And to grieve.
She does some of all these things, as she waits for Ivo to work through his own feelings.
Ivo Galvan has posed:
It's too painful.
That he could be that man, and wasn't when he needed to be. That he could feel that way, and now, moments later, cannot remember what it was like, even though it had made so much sense. That even when that truth is thrust before him, in as undeniable a form as is conceivably possible--
He still can't believe.
He can't believe that he's worthy of this sword. He can't believe that it's alright to be who he is, not who his father wanted him to be. He can't believe that he's been forgiven, that he ought to forgive himself. Ivo Galvan has a heart that is open to new possibilities, to the outliers of society, to that and those which are otherwise neglected -- but it is otherwise a heart carefully shielded, to protect others, to protect himself, to not let anyone down anymore.
He can't believe that he's not a disappointment.
And to feel, for a moment, as though he is perfect just the way he is...
It's unforgivable.
It's not fair.
It can't be that easy.
When Ivo's breaths settle at last, he reaches up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand before turns his head to look toward the young woman by his side, swallowing once. Though his eyes are moist, they are calm and clear, clear enough to reveal that, perhaps sadly, the boundaries about his self have arisen again in the wake of being dissolved by the light, but also that--
"Are you alright?"
Those eyes are free of pain.
"We should probably get moving."
And softly, ever so slightly, he smiles.
"Lest your groupies mob us again."
Within that smile, not yet ready to be confessed, a hint of gratitude.
Jasmine has posed:
Ah, but boundaries are also what makes Ivo who he is. Insecurity may not be a positive emotion, but it's certainly a powerful driver. Jasmine doesn't seem disappointed that the boy finds his center, an old and comfortable one rather than some sort of ecstatic breakthrough. Looking back up at him, though, it's clear that she, at least, forgives him. Raw compassion inhabits her eyes, acceptance that is the opposite of blind.
The moment passes, and she shakily gets back to her feet, fruitlessly brushing some jungle goo off of her knees.
"Just tired," she responds with a gentle smile, that dawns across her face to match his. It lights up the clearing nearly as effectively as her little fireworks show. "It's become an essentially continuous condition, don't worry about it."
She quickly and efficiently rewraps her veil, shaping it into its concealing cowl, patting the hood into place. "But yes... they're coming." Very seriously, she walks a slow circle, as though intuiting which direction the Heartless might be coming from. In finding that the answer is 'all of them', she picks the least awful option and nods.
"Thank you," she adds, trying to break the solemnity of her meaning by keeping her voice light, but there's gravity behind her tone, and a sort of majestic poise that no veil could hide. Her tone gentles, further. "For everything."
After all she just put him through, she cannot justify dragging him further down the rabbit hole that is her fugitive life; it's time to go, to leave another new friend behind, to lead the Heartless on their endless merry chase.
"Don't forget," she implores him of his recent transcendental experience. "When things get hard." You are the light at the end of the tunnel, wherever the darkness might lead.
One slender, delicate hand wraps around a nearby vine.
"I'm sure we'll meet again, Ivo Galvan."
And then she's gone...
