Chachanji sat quietly on the roof of his smithy, staring out across at the glittering pattern of lights that was a Goblet at rest. A Goblet winding down and settling in for the evening, ready to be wrapped up in the tranquil night until the morrow rouses it once again. And the cycle would begin anew.
But the little Lalafell couldn't sleep so easily, not after all that had happened. He could still feel the heat of the fireballs around them and against his back, the frigid bite of the blades of ice that had cut open his cheek as he sought to lay the attackers low. His fingers traced over where those icy shards had marred his freckled cheek, before they were erased away by the healing touch of sunlight. The burn on his back had been taken away in the same way, but not the memories of it.
No, the memories of the event were still there. But it wasn't the memories of the injuries that kept him from bedding down for the night, no, but that of what came after. Of those that had fought beside him, kindred in dealing with a shared foe, turning their hatred and malice against him once it was over. Just because of his beliefs, or perhaps some twisted view of him. He wasn't quite sure.
All he knew is that the moment his "usefulness" to them was over, they had forcefully cast him aside. Shunted him away. Degraded and berated him and took what needed to happen next into their own hands. As if he wasn't there, as if he didn't matter.
I don't know if I can handle being around them... Chachanji thought to himself - a strange mental voice separate from the one he used day-to-day. That one, affected by a mishmash of accent and slang he had picked up to first hide his heritage and then maintained due to it making people smile, was for others - to make them happy. In his own head, his voice was still that of the young, displaced Doman Lalafell who had left his homeland to chase after his brother so long ago.
They just feel so... hopeless. They've wallowed in it and steeped themselves in it for so long that it seems like even the briefest glimmer of hope has been snuffed out. Like they've forgotten to think about the good things in life only to focus on the bad. There is no bright side, only what darkness they see as little more than an eventuality.
Rather than embrace the light, to dare to hope for better things for themselves and others, they cringe away from it. Revile and vilify it; seek to drown it in their sorrows and their cynicism. To drag it down wherever they find it and smother it, so that others are as hopeless as them.
The little Lalafell quietly hugged himself - though not from the light chill of winter that even now suffused the night air. He recalled all too clearly how they mentioned, nay flaunted, the horrible experiences in their lives. Reveled in it - as if it put them on a pedestal above him because they had suffered so much. To the point that even Chachaji's own darker steps in life were pulled from the dark recesses of his mind, flung back at them as if it was a defense against them. But to no avail, for their darkness was overbearing.
... It's stifling. He noted, his grip on his shoulders tightening. Overwhelming. A sorrow and darkness that hits you like a tidal wave and seeks to pull you under. To have you join them in the blackest of abysses. A nightmare world where only the worst things can happen and all hope is extinguished.
And I don't know if I'm strong enough to pull them back out. If they even want to be pulled back out. That darkness is all they know now, all they want to know...
And yet...
Chachanji lifted his head.
And yet, they cling to her. Surround her. Like their light in the darkness, the lantern flame that attracts the moth. Even that gristled mountain of a man, whose life seems to be fueled by nothing but hate and blood, has done things I never thought he would for her. Still does such things - even if he tries to hide it in his ashy cloud of cigar smoke.
His hands fell from his shoulders to rest gently atop his knees.
I may not have suffered as much as they did - may never match that which weighs them down - but I know enough of that fear that seeks to sink its icy talons in her. Whether they're willing to believe me or not, I know it. Enough so that I'm not going to let her feel that, or the hopelessness that they exude so strongly even as they huddle protectively around her.
And... even if I can't help them, she can. I won't let them drown out the light of my hope, and I won't let them drown out hers either. And maybe - just maybe - through her they can start to see things in a brighter way once again. Begin to trust, to believe again.
The little Lalafell stood up, resting his hand against the armor-shaped weather-vane that twisted and turned quietly in the twilight winds. Feeling it move against his fingertips, seeking to escape his grasp and yet still ever-present all the same. Out in the Goblet, lights were slowly winking out one by one. Homes and businesses finally descending into slumber.
That one... she had asked me if I had hoped. Hoped for a better life, a place to belong, a place to feel loved. And if I had felt it torn away. I didn't know how to answer her, how to respond against that wall of despair and loss.
But I have had that hope, and I've had it shaken. I've lost a home to a blaze of hatred, I've seen a kindred spirit so lost to anguish that she wanted to forget everything, I've seen the furious gaze of a sibling staring blankly at me as he chants his offensive magicks. I've seen that same brother fall to my hand, rendered comatose and crippled so that thousands of others may live.
... And yet, I've also found a second home here in Eorzea, with good friends and my family at my side. I've heard of my own homeland taken back from the grip of the Garleans. I've seen that selfsame kindred spirit revitalize under the loving touch of her own friends and family, and return to her travels to see the world. I've watched my brother wake from that coma and, while he isn't - or may never be again - that loving and caring brother that I remember... he's still alive and has managed to find some manner of happiness of his own. And that's still something.
The leather of his gloves creaked as he tightened his free hand into a fist.
That's my answer: I've had that hope, but - more importantly - I still have that hope. And I won't let them take that away from me. And I won't let them take hers either, both for her... and for them. I don't want to see anyone else end up that dour and hopeless. I don't want to see them that dour and hopeless, but especially not my friends...
... Never my friends.
~