He let go of the rag and watched as the woman next to him took to doing what he had done. It was his turn to stare into the darkness, his turn to listen. His aquamarine eyes had a powerful color, but it was all for naught if there was no light to illuminate them. He had the stock of his weapon resting against the floor of the place and leaned back fully against the wall.
The pain in his back was beginning to fade away, but the remnants were still there. He closed his eyes and rested the side of his cheek away from Sounsyy upon his rifle, using it a kind of a tool to try to obtain some kind of calm, relaxing rest that his body absolutely needed right now while his mind ruminated upon her words. His eyes very subtly opened just a tad after she had explained her first bit about fooling one’s own self and… who you were when no one was looking. Those words hit him more than she knew. Not in a bad way, but in a penetrating way. He knew. She knew too.
Your braid is very pretty.
The expression on his face carried an element of drowsiness, but Ryanti’s ears kept upright. He wanted to hear what she had to say, and he listened intently. In his mind he was painting a picture using her words. It was a portrait of her life that was beginning to build in his memories to try to add some depth to the woman he had met back at the Grindstone that faithful day; the same woman he had admired as a boy. Ryanti knew about Ala Mhigo and the events that happened prior to his homecoming. His father had even participated in some events relating to just that. He picked up on her wistful sigh, and he wished he could have been there.
“That girl from the Bloodsands yeh admire, the Maimier?â€
Ryanti turned his head to her when she said that in a slight glance. She didn’t look too different from his memories, honestly. Especially when she had emerged in the war paint she had donned upon her. The closest glance he could afford of her was when he had knocked her down and saved her life from an old rival decades before. She was beautiful then – as she had been in the Coliseum, all primed with makeup and other aspects of showmanship for those fake fights – yet how ugly she was when she got her hands on Cynthia. Ryanti had seen most of it.
He continued to listen. So she had been fighting for years before? But she was so young then. The time she was talking about before all that… she was even younger. So young. Ryanti’s heart felt heavy under irrational guilt, as if it was his fault.
That's about the time yeh stop feeling guilty fer doing horrible things to horrible people.â€
Another phrase that penetrated him. This one deeper than the first.
He could understand her perspective from her time in the Bloodsands. He did not like Ul’Dah much either. Every day he found himself back there, he would always see someone do something that would make him feel a little sick to his stomach. Ul’Dah was a never city of morals, it was more like a crippling drain of idealism distorted into an evil, selfish desire to shape the world in one’s own image. In other words, it was the city he grew up in, and his job was really no different from that, and neither was he. But yet…
You weren’t fake to me, Sounsyy. I cared.
Yeah. Right. Like having some damn boy caring would change anything.
He noticed that she spoke of moving to Limsa with another, and yet did not mention her again after moving on to talking about her time in the Barracuda. He thought it best not to ask – if she was speaking from the heart right now, there were always crevasses in people’s souls that one just shouldn’t shine a light in. Ryanti decided not to probe.
He was feeling rather despondent when she mentioned her best kept secret. He cleared his throat a bit. A few fingertips tapped the barrel of his rifle. Neither was he, Ryanti thought. Neither was he.
He glanced up at her as she stood, catching the rag. Even though there was minimal light, he could see well enough to make out her feminine form in the darkness, captured rather ideally by the Sharlayan suit that clung to her in all manners of physical protection. It was a pleasant sight.
But a Sharlayan suit could do nothing to protect someone from their own mind. No, he didn’t mean what it did to his mind when he saw Sounsyy in it. That made him laugh a little bit on the inside. Ryanti was in the middle of placing his rag away when he heard her laugh, pausing a bit, honestly surprised at that. Ryanti had laughed in his mind… she had laughed out loud.
Your braid is very pretty. So is your laugh.
She looked a little bit more like herself again. Confident. She could hear Ryanti slowly getting to his feet as indeed he was. With one long exhale, his taller form stepped alongside hers, glancing to the side to observe her. “I am.â€
He shifted his glance back to the hallway ahead, and raised his rifle up. “Your best kept secret is safe with me.†He also said that so matter-of-factly. The delivery may had been neutral, but there was much more to it than that.
Perhaps Ryanti would have better imagined conversation like this to occur at a nice dinner, or overlooking a field of flowers while enjoying a lovely picnic on days the sky was bluest. Instead, they were an unpresented distance under the ocean in an ancient, derelict relic of a bygone age in which they both could barely comprehend. The little intricate marks of the cerment’s masterful work was apparent everywhere on the ship from the floor to the walls to even the ceiling. Everywhere his light touched revealed another brilliantly made part of the vessel in which could even be seen past all of the eons old dust that had accumulated along with the still air.
But it was a good decision to have conversation here. It made it so much easier to do. Ryanti’s movement wasted no energy, and covered every open space in front of him with light and left no louder sound than a whisper. His rifle light did not cross over his torchlight on his torso. He was so very professional, yet his words were so very personal.
“Your right, y’know?†He said to her, checking another long-abandoned and long-forgotten doorway. The cerment door which perhaps had openly brilliantly for Allagan peoples of ages past had collapsed within itself, making entry impossible. It would have been a sombering sight to see for anyone that lived during that time.
“Your right about me fooling myself. About my wishful thinking.†A little smile brushed off of his face as he glanced at her once more. A smile that was sad in nature. He slung his rifle upon his back and tried to manually remove the large pillars of cerment that covered the entryway. His body lurched and twitched as he exerted himself to try as he continued to speak.
“I don’t really know what Seventy-Seven is. I like to see it as separate because… when you’ve not had solid food for three days and water for two, and you’re glancing at the man in the chair, or what’s left of him because you blew his head off with a powerful rifle such as this one or the pistol in my pocket, and you’re having your way with his food and his water, and you.. look at him and go ‘I didn’t do that, Seventy-Seven did that.’ He didn’t know Ryanti, he never met him. He met Agent Seventy-Seven and Agent Seventy-Seven killed him. Because Ryanti could never… could never do something like that. Not the nice man that loves to have a cup of warm tea before lunch time and loves people and art, culture and history.â€
He could remember how he was on the battlefield with the Garleans. How neutral his face was, how efficient of a killing machine he was. He knew Sounsyy had seen him too.
“But maybe I can. Maybe I always could. Maybe that’s a part of me too. Maybe I know it is. Seventy-Seven will always be a part of me. That man that has little problem using the end to justify the means. The man that became the same way, that stopped learning how to feel guilty for doing horrible things to horrible people.â€
He perhaps tried one too many times to move the debris. It was an outlet for him. The last thing he wanted to do was to have his eyes water, turn beat red, and tears to fall in front of her. He managed to only allow them to water. The rest was dealt with his little outlet – his little attempt at trying to move the debris. His voice was somber, melancholy, and heavy. “Maybe it’s easier to separate that part of me into a number. Into a nickname, or… something separate from my real name to try to distance what I hate about myself. But that’s not the right way to think, isn’t it? To do that would mean that the name ‘Ryanti’ would be nothing but a label to the persona I show to others. It says little about what kind of person I am when no one is looking – the real me. I can’t help but feel that I am a bad man, and a terrible influence. But I don’t know who Ryanti is when no one is looking. I’m too confused with it all to try to answer the question myself, and no one has ever told me who Ryanti is when no one is looking.â€
Your braid is very pretty. So is your laugh. I’m sorry for bringing you down here, please forgive me. I’m a terrible person.
He tugged on his strap and his rifle slung back right around, stepping away from a room that was obviously impossible to get into. Its secrets would be buried forever now. They had to move on. Ryanti tried the adjacent door. It was sealed tight, with no hint of receiving power for decades, centuries, more. He banged on it once or twice, glancing around at the form of it but shaking his head. Another no-go. He spoke again, but this time his voice had a measure of conviction it did not have earlier. “But there’s a difference between bad people and evil people.â€
Ryanti did not believe her to be evil. It was a very poor word to describe her to him. He could have turned around, and perhaps said something more about that, but he could not manage to gather the courage to glance at her now. He had felt like he had revealed an ugly side to himself to her, too ugly… he was afraid of that ugliness, insecure of that part of his soul just as Sounsyy was insecure about the burns on her shoulder.
“Not only do bad people have good sides to them, but they also have the ability to do good things – great things. Part of who I am is being able to experience the wonders of this world on a first-hand basis and to be able to make a positive difference for the future. That’s the part of Seventy-Seven I love to accept. Sometimes I think all people – all civilizations from all eras – have those parts they love to accept, and other parts to themselves that they find a lot harder to accept. I think.â€
Ryanti wasn’t really sure about that philosophical comparison but… it was he believed, anyway. It was obvious that despite the ugly parts of this job, Ryanti had no shortage of passion for it. He had shown it time and time again. It was then that his light shined upon what appeared to be a much larger door than any of the others, with broken glass above it the only remnants of what used to be a lit up elevator sign.
There was a window adjacent to it that had been laminated with glass, but the glass had long since shattered. There were plenty of sharp edges on the broken glass, and so Ryanti immediately figured to try the straightforward approach first. “That’s interesting. Looks like we’ve reached the end of the hallway. Shine a light in the window. Make sure there’s nothing there.â€
The ship was remarkably quiet now. There were no sounds, no feeling of a presence, nothing. It was almost as if the ship was letting them talk, as if the ship was trying to say that there was nothing left for them to discover in this first hallway here. But was the ship lying?
“So… you said you had a bitch of a Captain, huh?†Ryanti stated. His voice had gone back to normal. It was an attempt to change the subject, yes. It was perhaps a part of him that wanted something more lighthearted, something that would illicit a smile or maybe even laughter in this hell of a place.
He placed the palm of his hand upon the door, glancing up at the broken light, closing his eyes and trying to feel with his fingertips if there was any kind of manual action required to let the door loose somehow so that they could proceed, trying not to think about the alternative of traveling in the less desirable route of the open window next to them.
“Do you have any funny stories from that time?â€
The pain in his back was beginning to fade away, but the remnants were still there. He closed his eyes and rested the side of his cheek away from Sounsyy upon his rifle, using it a kind of a tool to try to obtain some kind of calm, relaxing rest that his body absolutely needed right now while his mind ruminated upon her words. His eyes very subtly opened just a tad after she had explained her first bit about fooling one’s own self and… who you were when no one was looking. Those words hit him more than she knew. Not in a bad way, but in a penetrating way. He knew. She knew too.
Your braid is very pretty.
The expression on his face carried an element of drowsiness, but Ryanti’s ears kept upright. He wanted to hear what she had to say, and he listened intently. In his mind he was painting a picture using her words. It was a portrait of her life that was beginning to build in his memories to try to add some depth to the woman he had met back at the Grindstone that faithful day; the same woman he had admired as a boy. Ryanti knew about Ala Mhigo and the events that happened prior to his homecoming. His father had even participated in some events relating to just that. He picked up on her wistful sigh, and he wished he could have been there.
“That girl from the Bloodsands yeh admire, the Maimier?â€
Ryanti turned his head to her when she said that in a slight glance. She didn’t look too different from his memories, honestly. Especially when she had emerged in the war paint she had donned upon her. The closest glance he could afford of her was when he had knocked her down and saved her life from an old rival decades before. She was beautiful then – as she had been in the Coliseum, all primed with makeup and other aspects of showmanship for those fake fights – yet how ugly she was when she got her hands on Cynthia. Ryanti had seen most of it.
He continued to listen. So she had been fighting for years before? But she was so young then. The time she was talking about before all that… she was even younger. So young. Ryanti’s heart felt heavy under irrational guilt, as if it was his fault.
That's about the time yeh stop feeling guilty fer doing horrible things to horrible people.â€
Another phrase that penetrated him. This one deeper than the first.
He could understand her perspective from her time in the Bloodsands. He did not like Ul’Dah much either. Every day he found himself back there, he would always see someone do something that would make him feel a little sick to his stomach. Ul’Dah was a never city of morals, it was more like a crippling drain of idealism distorted into an evil, selfish desire to shape the world in one’s own image. In other words, it was the city he grew up in, and his job was really no different from that, and neither was he. But yet…
You weren’t fake to me, Sounsyy. I cared.
Yeah. Right. Like having some damn boy caring would change anything.
He noticed that she spoke of moving to Limsa with another, and yet did not mention her again after moving on to talking about her time in the Barracuda. He thought it best not to ask – if she was speaking from the heart right now, there were always crevasses in people’s souls that one just shouldn’t shine a light in. Ryanti decided not to probe.
He was feeling rather despondent when she mentioned her best kept secret. He cleared his throat a bit. A few fingertips tapped the barrel of his rifle. Neither was he, Ryanti thought. Neither was he.
He glanced up at her as she stood, catching the rag. Even though there was minimal light, he could see well enough to make out her feminine form in the darkness, captured rather ideally by the Sharlayan suit that clung to her in all manners of physical protection. It was a pleasant sight.
But a Sharlayan suit could do nothing to protect someone from their own mind. No, he didn’t mean what it did to his mind when he saw Sounsyy in it. That made him laugh a little bit on the inside. Ryanti was in the middle of placing his rag away when he heard her laugh, pausing a bit, honestly surprised at that. Ryanti had laughed in his mind… she had laughed out loud.
Your braid is very pretty. So is your laugh.
She looked a little bit more like herself again. Confident. She could hear Ryanti slowly getting to his feet as indeed he was. With one long exhale, his taller form stepped alongside hers, glancing to the side to observe her. “I am.â€
He shifted his glance back to the hallway ahead, and raised his rifle up. “Your best kept secret is safe with me.†He also said that so matter-of-factly. The delivery may had been neutral, but there was much more to it than that.
Perhaps Ryanti would have better imagined conversation like this to occur at a nice dinner, or overlooking a field of flowers while enjoying a lovely picnic on days the sky was bluest. Instead, they were an unpresented distance under the ocean in an ancient, derelict relic of a bygone age in which they both could barely comprehend. The little intricate marks of the cerment’s masterful work was apparent everywhere on the ship from the floor to the walls to even the ceiling. Everywhere his light touched revealed another brilliantly made part of the vessel in which could even be seen past all of the eons old dust that had accumulated along with the still air.
But it was a good decision to have conversation here. It made it so much easier to do. Ryanti’s movement wasted no energy, and covered every open space in front of him with light and left no louder sound than a whisper. His rifle light did not cross over his torchlight on his torso. He was so very professional, yet his words were so very personal.
“Your right, y’know?†He said to her, checking another long-abandoned and long-forgotten doorway. The cerment door which perhaps had openly brilliantly for Allagan peoples of ages past had collapsed within itself, making entry impossible. It would have been a sombering sight to see for anyone that lived during that time.
“Your right about me fooling myself. About my wishful thinking.†A little smile brushed off of his face as he glanced at her once more. A smile that was sad in nature. He slung his rifle upon his back and tried to manually remove the large pillars of cerment that covered the entryway. His body lurched and twitched as he exerted himself to try as he continued to speak.
“I don’t really know what Seventy-Seven is. I like to see it as separate because… when you’ve not had solid food for three days and water for two, and you’re glancing at the man in the chair, or what’s left of him because you blew his head off with a powerful rifle such as this one or the pistol in my pocket, and you’re having your way with his food and his water, and you.. look at him and go ‘I didn’t do that, Seventy-Seven did that.’ He didn’t know Ryanti, he never met him. He met Agent Seventy-Seven and Agent Seventy-Seven killed him. Because Ryanti could never… could never do something like that. Not the nice man that loves to have a cup of warm tea before lunch time and loves people and art, culture and history.â€
He could remember how he was on the battlefield with the Garleans. How neutral his face was, how efficient of a killing machine he was. He knew Sounsyy had seen him too.
“But maybe I can. Maybe I always could. Maybe that’s a part of me too. Maybe I know it is. Seventy-Seven will always be a part of me. That man that has little problem using the end to justify the means. The man that became the same way, that stopped learning how to feel guilty for doing horrible things to horrible people.â€
He perhaps tried one too many times to move the debris. It was an outlet for him. The last thing he wanted to do was to have his eyes water, turn beat red, and tears to fall in front of her. He managed to only allow them to water. The rest was dealt with his little outlet – his little attempt at trying to move the debris. His voice was somber, melancholy, and heavy. “Maybe it’s easier to separate that part of me into a number. Into a nickname, or… something separate from my real name to try to distance what I hate about myself. But that’s not the right way to think, isn’t it? To do that would mean that the name ‘Ryanti’ would be nothing but a label to the persona I show to others. It says little about what kind of person I am when no one is looking – the real me. I can’t help but feel that I am a bad man, and a terrible influence. But I don’t know who Ryanti is when no one is looking. I’m too confused with it all to try to answer the question myself, and no one has ever told me who Ryanti is when no one is looking.â€
Your braid is very pretty. So is your laugh. I’m sorry for bringing you down here, please forgive me. I’m a terrible person.
He tugged on his strap and his rifle slung back right around, stepping away from a room that was obviously impossible to get into. Its secrets would be buried forever now. They had to move on. Ryanti tried the adjacent door. It was sealed tight, with no hint of receiving power for decades, centuries, more. He banged on it once or twice, glancing around at the form of it but shaking his head. Another no-go. He spoke again, but this time his voice had a measure of conviction it did not have earlier. “But there’s a difference between bad people and evil people.â€
Ryanti did not believe her to be evil. It was a very poor word to describe her to him. He could have turned around, and perhaps said something more about that, but he could not manage to gather the courage to glance at her now. He had felt like he had revealed an ugly side to himself to her, too ugly… he was afraid of that ugliness, insecure of that part of his soul just as Sounsyy was insecure about the burns on her shoulder.
“Not only do bad people have good sides to them, but they also have the ability to do good things – great things. Part of who I am is being able to experience the wonders of this world on a first-hand basis and to be able to make a positive difference for the future. That’s the part of Seventy-Seven I love to accept. Sometimes I think all people – all civilizations from all eras – have those parts they love to accept, and other parts to themselves that they find a lot harder to accept. I think.â€
Ryanti wasn’t really sure about that philosophical comparison but… it was he believed, anyway. It was obvious that despite the ugly parts of this job, Ryanti had no shortage of passion for it. He had shown it time and time again. It was then that his light shined upon what appeared to be a much larger door than any of the others, with broken glass above it the only remnants of what used to be a lit up elevator sign.
There was a window adjacent to it that had been laminated with glass, but the glass had long since shattered. There were plenty of sharp edges on the broken glass, and so Ryanti immediately figured to try the straightforward approach first. “That’s interesting. Looks like we’ve reached the end of the hallway. Shine a light in the window. Make sure there’s nothing there.â€
The ship was remarkably quiet now. There were no sounds, no feeling of a presence, nothing. It was almost as if the ship was letting them talk, as if the ship was trying to say that there was nothing left for them to discover in this first hallway here. But was the ship lying?
“So… you said you had a bitch of a Captain, huh?†Ryanti stated. His voice had gone back to normal. It was an attempt to change the subject, yes. It was perhaps a part of him that wanted something more lighthearted, something that would illicit a smile or maybe even laughter in this hell of a place.
He placed the palm of his hand upon the door, glancing up at the broken light, closing his eyes and trying to feel with his fingertips if there was any kind of manual action required to let the door loose somehow so that they could proceed, trying not to think about the alternative of traveling in the less desirable route of the open window next to them.
“Do you have any funny stories from that time?â€