♕ ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ (machinism) wrote in drawpoints, @ 2015-07-20 00:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, edgar figaro |
WHO: Edgar Figaro
WHAT: After the quake.
WHERE: Rinauld Coast.
WHEN: Saturday night of July 18, after the fight.
WARNINGS: Self-harm.
The car had always been Edgar’s means of escape. In his youth, even the estate got too small that he sought and fought for the wide abandon of the desert that surrounded him. When he was missing friends, when the world isolated him, the roads became his home, the sandy dunes his haven. In the wild nature, he found a family he could never find in the safety of his estate.
Or, at least, not anymore…
In his manhood, he sought for the same sanctuary. He left a wake of alarm and confusion that followed him from the SeeD dorms to the parking lot when he chased after that wishful dream of his younger years. In the blink of an eye, he was crushing the pedal under his feet and ripping his tires against the concrete. Cold air burst in his face as he tore through the evening beyond.
Even as the night darkened, unmarked by the glow of a moon, Edgar Figaro never returned to Balamb Garden.
Hours of weaving aimlessly around the Alcaud Plains ultimately brought him where the sand could welcome him home. The hush of waves in the quiet coast sought to ease the tension that had since frozen the sinews of his arms. To Edgar’s surprise, he could let go of the steering wheel, knuckles white with how tightly he’d gripped it in search of a friend.
The door swung open and he spilled out onto the wet sand. It wasn’t quite like Galbadia -- with its rough, sunset sands that burned those who were not born of the land but Edgar needed more of that grit under his fingernails. The coarseness rubbing against his skin, never to truly leave him until he washed it all off.
And yet the closer he came to the sea, the more traitorous his journey revealed itself to be. This was not the sand of his youth. He could not find the summer that birthed him to the world in the moisture under his feet.
Even the sands could betray him. For all the secrets that he’d shouted to it, it refused to be his.
He screamed out as a child would if they were driven through a stake. On his knees, he curled closer to the earth, a lover betrayed by those he thought had loved him when he loved them first. His tears would be wasted on the shore on which he knelt, tiny insignificant granules that bared the weight of his pangs clinging desperately to his palms as he brought them to his face as a man would if he’d touched the earth of his homeland for the very first time. When next he wailed to no one’s ears, he asked the planet, “Why?!” Heaved and repeated, “Why, Dad, why?!” In one fell stroke, his faith in the world had shattered. Twelve years later, he’d found his brother and was reunited with him again.
Almost a year later, he’d lost him again.
It was anger that brought his fist down to the sand next to his knees, his cry out of his mouth. The sting was gone. He missed it and searched for it again only to miss it again. Like a stubborn mule, Edgar smacked his knuckles again and again but found no relief in that old tic of his. How much more cruel could the world be to a man losing his faith? Here he was with nothing more than the skin on his back and yet it persisted to take everything he had from him.
Everything. Everything. He thought he could trust his brother. He thought he knew his twin. His secrets, his joys, his sorrows. The tether which bound him to what was important, what was good to fight for. He gave him all that he could and what did he get in return? Hyne could take everyone and everything away from him but why Sabin? Why his second half of all?
The question evaded him as he stared at the stars, back to the side of his car, unable to do anything more than pound the sand that was supposed to make him happy. Little by little, he remembered the sting, the way it bit into his skin to disguise his heartache. Three weeks ago, they’d made a pact under the same sky to stay together no matter what the world threw their way. The thought that his brother could have made it despite the secret that he kept from his own twin drove a spike through his own shredded heart. It hurt to think of that night. It hurt to wonder if Sabin had meant what he said, knowing what he kept from his own twin.
He choked in his revived anguish as he knocked his head lightly against his polished car. Again and again and again. He was tired of crying but Hyne knew, he was tired of this whole damn night! Let it be a nightmare. Bring him back to the dark with the spiders but Hyne have mercy, let this one end!
The sound of tires crunching against gravel did not bring him out of himself. Any time now, he expected Sabin to enclose his massive hands around his shoulders and pull him up and Edgar doubted he could but he would summon every ounce of his strength left to fight his twin and be left alone. His right fist was already clenched when the doors creaked open and banged in the hollow way that old metal would. Not a Garden vehicle. Not the footsteps and the voices of anyone he knew.
One of them whistled. “Hyne, I thought I was goin’ t’burst all over th’truck!”
“You’re sick, Jimmy,” the other one groaned. “Come on, do it quick before the greens spoil! Billy’s already cut back my pay ‘cause o’the last shipment…”
In the deep silence, practically everyone could hear the trickle of water even without Jimmy’s great sigh of relief. His friend himself gave out a hoot before they zipped up their trousers and shuffled back to their truck. “Mm, man, now I need to take a dump.”
“You’re disgustin’, Jimmy.” The door was pulled open. “Oi! Did you see that?”
“What?” Feet shifted about. “What in Hyne’s name is that car doin’ here all alone?”
“An’ a nice car at that. Is there anyone inside?”
“I dunno but it looks like trouble! Mind if we check it?”
“I’ll call the farm.”
Edgar listened to them approaching from the other side of his top-down. A frantic search brought him no closer to an escape and then it was too late. A beam of light speared him on his raw eyes and he yelped, twisting away from it, raising his hands as his shields.
“Hyne’s name, there’s someone here!”
“What?” Running. “Is he hurt?”
“I...I dunno-- Hey son, y’okay?”
“I’m fine!” Edgar insisted, cringing from the sudden brightness that threatened to make him go blind. “Please, Sir, just...put the light away, it hurts my eyes.” Now he knew what that damned spider clone of his felt.
He didn’t know whether he should shake his head at Jimmy or thank him for his sympathy when he did as he was asked. The man was heavy with the stench of old seats, gas and chocobo but Edgar couldn’t find it in him to complain when he opened his eyes carefully and found an old face looking at him full of concern. His beard was uneven and peppered white, blue eyes looking on with worry.
“Son, y’okay? Take it easy, we’re just farmers out here.”
“I’m...I’m fine.” Edgar shook his head. “Nothing wrong, I’m just…” He surprised himself with a laughter. “Taking in the sights…”
“Uh yeah, that sure is one hell of a way ta take in the sight, lookin’ like a corpse!” His friend snorted and scolded him for being crass even as Jimmy threw his head back to laugh. Edgar found himself joining them readily.
This one appeared to be a skinnier, middle-aged version of him, tilting his head to better peer at the lost man. “Hey, you kinda look familiar.”
“Everyone looks familiar in the dark,” Edgar suggested.
“Yeah, true.” He shrugged. “Anyway, you look like you could use some help. What’sit, then? Car broke down? Missus divorced you? Bad business? That’s no suit to be sittin’ around in.”
“Life doesn’t always give us a choice, though, does it?” Looking up to the narrower man, Edgar attempted a smile. “The only thing it gives us is the illusion of it.”
“Now there’s no reason to be down on your luck so, Sir.” Folding his knees, he crouched next to the Figaro and offered his hand to shake. “Name’s Erin. This here’s James Jimmy. We’re farmers in the Chocobo Farm not far from’ere.” He nodded over his shoulder. “What’s your name, Sir?”
Edgar didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think of his name just now… “Gerad.”
“Gerad. Nice to meet you.” Tenderly, his hand was taken and carried up then down. “Got a place to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Can we help you find it?”
“No, that’s fine.” Smiling again, Edgar shook his head. “I’m just...I just need some time for myself. I’m good, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“Well, wokay.” Erin rose and tucked his hands inside the pockets of his jumper. Jimmy followed after him. “You sure? I mean, we don’t wanna leave you all alone out here. The greens can spoil but we’re not going to leave a man in need alone.”
“Billy’d have our heads if we did, he would.” Jimmy nodded in agreement.
It was refreshing to meet these strangers who knew nothing about the intricacies of his life, and only cared about their daily wages and the greens they delivered. To know that the world didn’t end with his brought a smile to Edgar’s face as he nodded. “You, Sirs, are both very kind. I thank you for your sympathy. But I must insist that you head back to your work. I would hate for your diligence to be spoiled because of my intrusion.”
Erin brought his hand up his head to scratch it, cast an uncertain look at Jimmy but Jimmy shrugged. Well, if the stranger insisted he was going to be fine, then...well, what more could they say? They didn’t want to impose… “Well, if you need a place t’stay, I’m sure Billy’d be helpful. He keeps a couple’a public bedrooms on purpose ‘cause he knows how much travelers need’em. Anyway, Hynespeed to you, Sir.” They waved at him and didn’t go until he waved back.
He sat alone again behind his car, listening to the old metal whine under their weights and two doors slam with a cheap echo. The engine started. Failed and started again. After four tries, a victorious roar finally rolled out of the hood. Jimmy let out a whistle. “Thought we’d be stuck here forever!”
Suddenly, he was on his feet, whirling to meet the farmers crunching out of the beach. “Excuse me, Sirs!” He called out to them. “But would you happen to have a need for a machinist?”
Round eyes blinked at him, then at each other. Through the open window, Erin shrugged and said, “That’s nice but I’m not sure that Billy’d have something to pay for extras.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Edgar shook his head. “Lodging is all that I ask.”
The last time Edgar Figaro ran away from home, a score of his men was sent out to scour the entire desert and the nearby cities for a clue of his whereabouts. Eventually, he was found stranded in the middle of the desert, out of gas, shaking from fever and dehydrated by the onsetting heat. Chance had taken great care to keep his master comfortable in the long drive back to the estate. When Edgar woke up in his bedroom the evening after he ran away, he cursed his luck, and wish he’d never been found by friends.
This time, Edgar knew better.