Askier sat at the edge of the bed. The sounds of the Molbovine Clan's home were different than his home in Ul'dah. And it smelled different. So many smells filled the air, each more interesting than the last. Askier wondered if most gatherings of Keepers had so many smells.
The Garlean Keeper twitched his tail on the bed as he held a half-full bottle of whiskey in his hands. His eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying and lack of sleep.
Alexei was dead. Askier had to face that. The hyur, his dear friend, was gone and seeing the metal hand holding the bottle made the loss even more painful and reminded him of his friend and how he had installed Askier's arm.
Metal arms. Askier took a drink. It had been for a bag of metal limbs Alexei had died for. The two of them had planned to learn to make them so they could make them on their own for wounded veterens. But now. . .
"I should have planned the Castrum raid better." Askier whispered, his voice harsh as his stomach knotted. " I should have done so much different. . ."
Askier thought of the dead body of his friend and his lifeless eyes. He wasn't angry at the Garlean that had sniped Alexei as they had fled, alarms wailing. The sniper was just a soldier doing his job. Askier had once been -that- garlean to these Eorzeans.
Askier felt his lip curl slightly but he was too tired to express his anger as he buried his grief. The fact that his unit was going to torture a soldier of the Empire for doing his job. . Â That Garlean soldier had a mother and friends and. . .
"Fucking hypocritical assholes." Askier groweled softly and his metal hand suddenly twitched and shut into a fist, shattering the bottle. The Keeper fixed the puddle and broken glass and pulled off his coat. Askier used the coat to dry up the whiskey and then he began the long process of picking up the broken glass and putting them in a small box.
Once the mess was cleaned, Askier curled up into a ball and tried to sleep. It took a long time and several soft sobs but Askier finally slipped into sleep, a small part of him excited to fix the cannon Khit had mentioned, while the rest of him wallowed in remorse for his deceased friend.
The Garlean Keeper twitched his tail on the bed as he held a half-full bottle of whiskey in his hands. His eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying and lack of sleep.
Alexei was dead. Askier had to face that. The hyur, his dear friend, was gone and seeing the metal hand holding the bottle made the loss even more painful and reminded him of his friend and how he had installed Askier's arm.
Metal arms. Askier took a drink. It had been for a bag of metal limbs Alexei had died for. The two of them had planned to learn to make them so they could make them on their own for wounded veterens. But now. . .
"I should have planned the Castrum raid better." Askier whispered, his voice harsh as his stomach knotted. " I should have done so much different. . ."
Askier thought of the dead body of his friend and his lifeless eyes. He wasn't angry at the Garlean that had sniped Alexei as they had fled, alarms wailing. The sniper was just a soldier doing his job. Askier had once been -that- garlean to these Eorzeans.
Askier felt his lip curl slightly but he was too tired to express his anger as he buried his grief. The fact that his unit was going to torture a soldier of the Empire for doing his job. . Â That Garlean soldier had a mother and friends and. . .
"Fucking hypocritical assholes." Askier groweled softly and his metal hand suddenly twitched and shut into a fist, shattering the bottle. The Keeper fixed the puddle and broken glass and pulled off his coat. Askier used the coat to dry up the whiskey and then he began the long process of picking up the broken glass and putting them in a small box.
Once the mess was cleaned, Askier curled up into a ball and tried to sleep. It took a long time and several soft sobs but Askier finally slipped into sleep, a small part of him excited to fix the cannon Khit had mentioned, while the rest of him wallowed in remorse for his deceased friend.
