Ficlet: Results
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finalfantasyxivfanworksTitle: Results
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warning: Medical shit
“It’s not looking good,” Crisp said bluntly.
Aza’s heart sunk somewhere past his feet, his gaze drawn to the papers in his friend’s hands as she frowned down at whatever was written there. He had expected a negative prognosis. It was kind of difficult to hope otherwise when his joints and bones ached so terribly for no reason, but when Crisp said ‘it’s not looking good’, it meant ‘I can’t fix this’.
“On a scale of one to ten,” Aza asked with forced lightness, “How bad?”
The corner of Crisp’s mouth tilted up in a wry smile, looking up from her papers, “Oh, maybe about a four? It depends on how long you think you’re going to be saving the world for.”
“What?”
Crisp folded her papers up into neat quarters, letting out a short huff, “Look, Aza, you’re no spring chicken-”
“Hey.”
“-and with all those injuries, your childhood, the malnutrition, plus a bunch of other reasons…” Crisp pressed her hands to her hips and heaved a sigh, “You probably won’t be fighting past your forties.”
That was only three years away. Aza didn’t immediately say anything, slowly absorbing the words as Crisp waited him out. He didn’t doubt her – despite Felyx joking that she dropped out of Conjury school and was a back-alley doctor at best, a quack at worst, no one knew healing magic and its limits better than her. She had stitched Aza back together from injuries that should have crippled him – probably why his body was in such dire straits now. If she said he wasn’t going to be fighting past his forties, he wasn’t, not unless Nophica herself descended from the heavens to heal him.
“Can’t you,” he began haltingly, “Can’t conjury help or-”
“Contrary to popular belief,” Crisp cut in almost gently, “Healing magic isn’t magic. It has limits – and a lot of drawbacks if you use it way too much, which you’re currently living proof of.”
Aza sighed explosively, running a hand through his hair. It was almost funny, really. Out of all the battles he fought, the enemies he bested, and it was his own shitty, self-sabotaging body that defeated him. How about that.
“So…”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Crisp said, “I mean, you’ll still have a good quality of life, unless you spend your retirement backflipping off walls or doing very strenuous activities in the bedroom-”
“Crisp.”
“Just making sure you’re forewarned,” Crisp chortled, but she sobered quickly, “If it’s necessary for you to fight though, I will keep you going as usual. Just… it won’t end well.”
If it was necessary. Aza considered that for a moment because, well, if this whole business with the Garlean Empire and the looming Ascian threat wasn’t dealt with before he hit his forties, then he’d have to, wouldn’t he? Unless Hydaelyn was kind enough to select some other poor bastard as her Champion of Light… and it wasn’t as if he was eager to keep fighting. He’d been fighting since he was a child, on different battlefields and not all physical, and he was… he really was…
“You won’t need to,” he said quietly, “I’ll retire.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Aza clasped his hands together briefly, then let go just as quick, “I’m tired anyways.”
“It has been a long time,” Crisp drawled, “The younger generation should be picking up the slack, hm? Like Alisaie and Alphinaud… they should be stepping into your shoes well enough once they get some height to them.”
Aza felt himself smile at that, “They don’t have the Echo, though.”
“Well, they should,” Crisp harrumphed, “But anyways, that’s for the future. For the now, I’ll have to prescribe you some medicine, so you don’t keep walking about like a chimp.”
“I do not walk about like a chimp,” Aza grumbled, knowing full well that he did – but it wasn’t like he could help it! Once his joints and hip locked up, that was it, he could only limp or waddle, not strut, “It’s a distinguished limp that shows what a hardcore veteran I am.”
“It’s a chimp waddle.”
“Distinguished.”
“Bluebird agrees with me that it’s a waddle,” Crisp teased, turning away from him to rummage about in her medicine box – an ominous, dark red crate that was filled to the brim with neon bright vials and bottles.
Aza huffed – then cringed when he realised Bluebird was going to know about this diagnosis, and then most likely tell Mom. Fuck, the moment he turned forty he knew his Mom would materialise out of the shadows and drag him home by the ear to live out his retirement… or threaten Aymeric to ensure Aza never lifted anything heavier than a butter knife for the rest of his fucking life.
“Hey, Crisp…” he started nervously, “You believe in doctor-patient confidentiality, right?”
“As Felyx loves to remind me, I’m not a doctor anymore,” Crisp turned around with a bright red bottle in hand, “Also I’m morally bankrupt.”
Right, “How much do I have to pay you.”
Crisp’s smile turned shark-like.
“More than Bluebird.”
“Fuck.”
Characters: Warrior of Light, Original Characters
Rating: T
Warning: Medical shit
“It’s not looking good,” Crisp said bluntly.
Aza’s heart sunk somewhere past his feet, his gaze drawn to the papers in his friend’s hands as she frowned down at whatever was written there. He had expected a negative prognosis. It was kind of difficult to hope otherwise when his joints and bones ached so terribly for no reason, but when Crisp said ‘it’s not looking good’, it meant ‘I can’t fix this’.
“On a scale of one to ten,” Aza asked with forced lightness, “How bad?”
The corner of Crisp’s mouth tilted up in a wry smile, looking up from her papers, “Oh, maybe about a four? It depends on how long you think you’re going to be saving the world for.”
“What?”
Crisp folded her papers up into neat quarters, letting out a short huff, “Look, Aza, you’re no spring chicken-”
“Hey.”
“-and with all those injuries, your childhood, the malnutrition, plus a bunch of other reasons…” Crisp pressed her hands to her hips and heaved a sigh, “You probably won’t be fighting past your forties.”
That was only three years away. Aza didn’t immediately say anything, slowly absorbing the words as Crisp waited him out. He didn’t doubt her – despite Felyx joking that she dropped out of Conjury school and was a back-alley doctor at best, a quack at worst, no one knew healing magic and its limits better than her. She had stitched Aza back together from injuries that should have crippled him – probably why his body was in such dire straits now. If she said he wasn’t going to be fighting past his forties, he wasn’t, not unless Nophica herself descended from the heavens to heal him.
“Can’t you,” he began haltingly, “Can’t conjury help or-”
“Contrary to popular belief,” Crisp cut in almost gently, “Healing magic isn’t magic. It has limits – and a lot of drawbacks if you use it way too much, which you’re currently living proof of.”
Aza sighed explosively, running a hand through his hair. It was almost funny, really. Out of all the battles he fought, the enemies he bested, and it was his own shitty, self-sabotaging body that defeated him. How about that.
“So…”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Crisp said, “I mean, you’ll still have a good quality of life, unless you spend your retirement backflipping off walls or doing very strenuous activities in the bedroom-”
“Crisp.”
“Just making sure you’re forewarned,” Crisp chortled, but she sobered quickly, “If it’s necessary for you to fight though, I will keep you going as usual. Just… it won’t end well.”
If it was necessary. Aza considered that for a moment because, well, if this whole business with the Garlean Empire and the looming Ascian threat wasn’t dealt with before he hit his forties, then he’d have to, wouldn’t he? Unless Hydaelyn was kind enough to select some other poor bastard as her Champion of Light… and it wasn’t as if he was eager to keep fighting. He’d been fighting since he was a child, on different battlefields and not all physical, and he was… he really was…
“You won’t need to,” he said quietly, “I’ll retire.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Aza clasped his hands together briefly, then let go just as quick, “I’m tired anyways.”
“It has been a long time,” Crisp drawled, “The younger generation should be picking up the slack, hm? Like Alisaie and Alphinaud… they should be stepping into your shoes well enough once they get some height to them.”
Aza felt himself smile at that, “They don’t have the Echo, though.”
“Well, they should,” Crisp harrumphed, “But anyways, that’s for the future. For the now, I’ll have to prescribe you some medicine, so you don’t keep walking about like a chimp.”
“I do not walk about like a chimp,” Aza grumbled, knowing full well that he did – but it wasn’t like he could help it! Once his joints and hip locked up, that was it, he could only limp or waddle, not strut, “It’s a distinguished limp that shows what a hardcore veteran I am.”
“It’s a chimp waddle.”
“Distinguished.”
“Bluebird agrees with me that it’s a waddle,” Crisp teased, turning away from him to rummage about in her medicine box – an ominous, dark red crate that was filled to the brim with neon bright vials and bottles.
Aza huffed – then cringed when he realised Bluebird was going to know about this diagnosis, and then most likely tell Mom. Fuck, the moment he turned forty he knew his Mom would materialise out of the shadows and drag him home by the ear to live out his retirement… or threaten Aymeric to ensure Aza never lifted anything heavier than a butter knife for the rest of his fucking life.
“Hey, Crisp…” he started nervously, “You believe in doctor-patient confidentiality, right?”
“As Felyx loves to remind me, I’m not a doctor anymore,” Crisp turned around with a bright red bottle in hand, “Also I’m morally bankrupt.”
Right, “How much do I have to pay you.”
Crisp’s smile turned shark-like.
“More than Bluebird.”
“Fuck.”
