((Written in response to the latest Tonberry's Lantern article.))
***
She didn't know what compelled her to accept an issue of the Tonberry's Lantern. The young boy hawking the paper took her seventy-five gil with the kind of winning grin that had tugged at her heart decades ago, and for a time after she watched his flaming orange hair bob up and down as he bounced from one person to the next, occasionally disappearing in the thick fog or the crowd.Â
It had been early morning in Limsa, and Antimony continued on her way to the office after this brief stop, tucking the paper into her satchel and promptly forgetting about it for the rest of the day.
Later that day, as the door to her small flat clicked shut behind her and her feet began to carry her automatically to the small kitchenette opposite, Antimony finally recalled that neglected publication. She laid it out on the little, round table that was already so cluttered with other things - pages of notes, empty inkwells, a protractor, and a few forgotten cups - and then set about the business of making tea.
It wasn't until her hands, the joints aching from hours of notations as well as the wet cold of La Noscean air, were wrapped comfortably around a clay mug slowly warming with hot tea that she finally paused long enough to take a look at what she'd purchased on a whim that cool, damp morning.
The first page was fairly tame: a headline regarding the Maelstrom's continued war efforts with the allied forces (something she chose very deliberately to ignore), a light article about an Ul'dahn merchant rising in the ranks of society (she couldn't help but wonder if the CRA knew of this man yet and whether or not she'd be sent out to deal with him soon), and a report of yet another murder in Limsa (unsurprising, if sad). Adjusting her glasses, Antimony turned the page, intending to read more on the Ul'dahn merchant, when a headline on the opposite side caught her eye in a way that dropped her heart down to her feet.
Her flat spun around her, and she clutched the edge of the table in one hand, the mug of tea clattering to the floor. Her eyes continued reading and it wasn't until she got to the names that she realized she'd forgotten to breathe.
She felt as though she'd taken a great blow to the chest that left her light-headed and straining, and it was with a strange masochism that she read through the list of names and the brief descriptions.
A rapid knocking broke through the dizzying trance, and Antimony snatched up the paper, clutching it to her chest as she stumbled to the door. Ulanan stood outside, flashing a quick smile and a little wave, but Antimony did not give the lalafell even a moment to speak.
"I'm sorry, Ulanan," and she thought her voice sounded fairly even, if distant, as though separated entirely from her body. "I'm not feeling up to visitors today."
She didn't wait to see or hear her friend's reaction, shutting the door and locking it tight, turning around to lean her back against the rough wood. Her legs felt suddenly weak, and she let herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor, the paper with its accusing article glaring up at her from her lap. There were pictures next to the names, and as the one once known as K'piru brought a shaking finger to one and then another, her eyes burned and the familiar images blurred.
They were dead. How could they do this when they knew they were dead.
***
She didn't know what compelled her to accept an issue of the Tonberry's Lantern. The young boy hawking the paper took her seventy-five gil with the kind of winning grin that had tugged at her heart decades ago, and for a time after she watched his flaming orange hair bob up and down as he bounced from one person to the next, occasionally disappearing in the thick fog or the crowd.Â
It had been early morning in Limsa, and Antimony continued on her way to the office after this brief stop, tucking the paper into her satchel and promptly forgetting about it for the rest of the day.
Later that day, as the door to her small flat clicked shut behind her and her feet began to carry her automatically to the small kitchenette opposite, Antimony finally recalled that neglected publication. She laid it out on the little, round table that was already so cluttered with other things - pages of notes, empty inkwells, a protractor, and a few forgotten cups - and then set about the business of making tea.
It wasn't until her hands, the joints aching from hours of notations as well as the wet cold of La Noscean air, were wrapped comfortably around a clay mug slowly warming with hot tea that she finally paused long enough to take a look at what she'd purchased on a whim that cool, damp morning.
The first page was fairly tame: a headline regarding the Maelstrom's continued war efforts with the allied forces (something she chose very deliberately to ignore), a light article about an Ul'dahn merchant rising in the ranks of society (she couldn't help but wonder if the CRA knew of this man yet and whether or not she'd be sent out to deal with him soon), and a report of yet another murder in Limsa (unsurprising, if sad). Adjusting her glasses, Antimony turned the page, intending to read more on the Ul'dahn merchant, when a headline on the opposite side caught her eye in a way that dropped her heart down to her feet.
Quote:HIPPARION TRIBE SEEKS LOST MEMBERS
Her flat spun around her, and she clutched the edge of the table in one hand, the mug of tea clattering to the floor. Her eyes continued reading and it wasn't until she got to the names that she realized she'd forgotten to breathe.
She felt as though she'd taken a great blow to the chest that left her light-headed and straining, and it was with a strange masochism that she read through the list of names and the brief descriptions.
A rapid knocking broke through the dizzying trance, and Antimony snatched up the paper, clutching it to her chest as she stumbled to the door. Ulanan stood outside, flashing a quick smile and a little wave, but Antimony did not give the lalafell even a moment to speak.
"I'm sorry, Ulanan," and she thought her voice sounded fairly even, if distant, as though separated entirely from her body. "I'm not feeling up to visitors today."
She didn't wait to see or hear her friend's reaction, shutting the door and locking it tight, turning around to lean her back against the rough wood. Her legs felt suddenly weak, and she let herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor, the paper with its accusing article glaring up at her from her lap. There were pictures next to the names, and as the one once known as K'piru brought a shaking finger to one and then another, her eyes burned and the familiar images blurred.
They were dead. How could they do this when they knew they were dead.
![[Image: AntiThalSig.png]](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/179079766/AntiThalSig.png)
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm; and these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."
Hipparion Tribe (Sagolii)Â - Â Antimony Jhanhi's Wiki
