[August 10 out of 20] FFXII
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sweetandshortTitle: In the Confusion
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Penelo, Vaan, Basch
Rating: Gen/PG
Prompt: Beginning
Word Count: 215
Summary: The first time Penelo meets the "traitor"--up close and personal. Spoilers through the Dreadnought Leviathan (first run-in).
“Penelo!” Vaan shouted, flailing his arm. “This way, hurry!”
Penelo gasped; alarms blared all around, the lights flashing red to alert the Imperial soldier of the princess’s escape. There had barely been time to bid farewell to the host who had graciously kept her safe before she was swept up—once again—in the chaos of her best friend’s wake. Larsa Solidor’s guards had stripped her of anything that could have been construed as a weapon—not that Ba’Gamnan and his filthy band had left her much to begin with—but now she was truly unarmed and defenseless, save what little curative magick she knew, this ball of nethicite in her hand, and her wits.
A shot rang out down the corridor. Penelo ducked on instinct; how was everyone else able to move so fast? She was going to get left behind. She was going to get left behind.
She cried out as a red blur barreled towards her—past her—and steel clanged heavily against steel. A shield, raised above her head, protected her from the blow of a broadsword while a frightfully haggard beast of a man stood between her and sudden death.
“Run, Penelo,” he ground through his teeth.
She did, but from the Imperials—or from him—she could not say.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Penelo, Vaan, Basch
Rating: Gen/PG
Prompt: Beginning
Word Count: 215
Summary: The first time Penelo meets the "traitor"--up close and personal. Spoilers through the Dreadnought Leviathan (first run-in).
“Penelo!” Vaan shouted, flailing his arm. “This way, hurry!”
Penelo gasped; alarms blared all around, the lights flashing red to alert the Imperial soldier of the princess’s escape. There had barely been time to bid farewell to the host who had graciously kept her safe before she was swept up—once again—in the chaos of her best friend’s wake. Larsa Solidor’s guards had stripped her of anything that could have been construed as a weapon—not that Ba’Gamnan and his filthy band had left her much to begin with—but now she was truly unarmed and defenseless, save what little curative magick she knew, this ball of nethicite in her hand, and her wits.
A shot rang out down the corridor. Penelo ducked on instinct; how was everyone else able to move so fast? She was going to get left behind. She was going to get left behind.
She cried out as a red blur barreled towards her—past her—and steel clanged heavily against steel. A shield, raised above her head, protected her from the blow of a broadsword while a frightfully haggard beast of a man stood between her and sudden death.
“Run, Penelo,” he ground through his teeth.
She did, but from the Imperials—or from him—she could not say.
