[ Here and whole. How true that is－ and how miraculous that truth is― is something that requires more time and healing to come to terms with.
(Which isn't to say that five years with a phoenix feather didn't help. That small, glittering memento did a lot of heavy lifting when things were at their bleakest.)
Clive accepts the shift in weight, and answers with his own half-nudge, the side of his boot along Joshua's. Fond, because it seems only a select few find it in themselves to needle Clive lately. ]
Worse, [ he admits. ] It was ale-fueled hubris.
[ For context: ] The conversation at the tavern turned to things we did as children, and... [ A light shrug. Exasperation turned inwards. ] ...I always did feel more confident in my actions when I dedicated them to you.
[ Not least of all because he had to be, being his brother's Shield. ]
[The half-nudge against Joshua's boot earns a subtle press in return. It's a gesture quiet in its acknowledgment, not unlike the nature of its respective Rosfield brother. The same one who can (finally!) look his brother eye-to-eye without so much of a twitch of his chin.]
It is by that same dedication that I stand here at all. If that is hubris, then I am grateful beyond measure for it.
[The sincerity behind that gratitude is plain, though his lips curve into a gentler smile to keep the weight from sinking too deeply into the air around them.]
All that to say... mayhap there is more childhood to relive? The night is fair, and the ground broad enough. Surely it will not mind one more pair of footprints.
[He nudges Clive’s arm with quiet insistence, half-mischief, half-earnest longing, as though the thought alone has already brightened the air between them.]
[ More nudges, more lighthearted suggestions. Enough for Clive to relinquish his deathgrip on his past regrets and open his palm to the possibility of doing something harmless, which－
－is what he'd always wanted for Joshua, from the start. An unburdening. A lightness of being that duties and obligations so rarely afforded the both of them, even when they were boys barely old enough to hold a blade.
So. He raises a brow, and pivots on his heels. To his right, a few feet away, sits the offending ball that so rudely didn't make it through the crude hoop fixed haphazardly to the wall of a stone wall a few feet in the other direction.
Clive Deadly-Embraces the ball to himself with a flourish of one hand. It's a flex, because he's the main character of this Final Fantasy and doesn't get hit with the death curse every time he misuses his Eikon powers, smh. ]
[Joshua happily waits and allows Clive to aura farm that good good main character energy. First his eyes follow the ball, and then they land his brother, and although he wears composure easily, there's unmistakable brightness present.]
[He laughs at Clive's question. Short and self-deprecating.]
Not very, I must admit.
[His gaze shifts to the hoop--is it crooked???]
I would dare to try, but only after you deign to show me how it is properly done first.
It's also not really circular in shape－ more oblong than anything else－ but wide enough for the ball in Clive's hand to sift through if he throws it just so.
Which is to say: he can, now that he's more sober. And now that Joshua is an active audience instead of a nebulous third party who may or may not choose to bear witness to Clive's possible successes. Clive looks slightly unhappy about his brother's self-deprecation (because no one is allowed to say anything bad about Joshua, not even Joshua himself), but hopes that he might yet make that wryness dissipate if he succeeds in this silly little game.
So. Shoulders square, arms raise. In one graceful motion, Clive tosses the ball to the makeshift hoop, and－
－swish. He gets it in one. Protag privileges again, or maybe big-brother-who-wants-to-show-off privileges. If there is one thing that Clive fears more than anything, it's disappointing Joshua. ]
[It's physically, virtually, literally, almost laughably impossible for Clive to ever disappoint Joshua. Too in awe is the younger Rosfield of his older brother and his protagonistic vibes.]
[Case in point: he claps his hands softly, the sound gentle but brimming with approval as Clive makes a clean shot into the makeshift hoop.]
But one toss, and it is perfect!
[Joshua grins brightly to congratulate his brother before he half-jogs to intercept the ball as it rolls just a bit away. Once it's secure in his hands, he bounces it for a few moments, as if testing its weight. Really, he's trying to refamiliarize himself with the concept of just throwing a ball around. Because that's not sad at all.]
I suppose it's my turn, then?
[He takes a few steps back towards Clive and then attempts a shot of his ow--oh no it's bad. Missing the hoop completely bad. Bad enough that his cheeks flush bright pink and he's having a lot of trouble making eye contact.]
[ It's not so much Joshua's approval that Clive craves, but the sound and shape of his brother's happiness, in whatever form it might take. He still remembers how the world had seemed so dim until Joshua was born, and remembers how Joshua gripped light into his heart at the first curl of small, small fingers around his own.
Joshua might be in awe of Clive, but Joshua will always be the one who inspired Clive to want to live－
－which is why there's not even a suggestion of judgment or scorn when Joshua whiffs his shot. Just the stillsame big-brotherly fondness that beams out of his arms-crossed, one-hip-popped half-lean. ]
You released it too fast, [ he says, as if he's Rodney Murdoch speaking to the shadow of his younger self. ] If you let it stay along your fingertips for a breath longer, it would have travelled farther.
[ His lips curl into a smile. ] I'll have to scold Cyril for never having taken the time to throw balls around with my brother.
[Joshua lets out a laugh, airy and abashed. He still cradles the ball, reluctant to give it up so soon, despite the tragic arc it just took.]
[His gaze lifts to Clive, sheepish but touched with humor.]
Cyril may have thought a prince better suited to study than sport.
[He had a lot of academic catching up to do because SoMEbODy PUt HiM inTo A CoMa, CLIVE.]
[Joshua bounces the ball once, twice, as though gathering courage again before tilting his head, smile small, but bright.]
Perhaps that is all the more reason I should try again. Show me once more, Brother, and I promise I shall not let it fly so quickly from my fingers this time.
[ Clive out here trying to roast Cyril when he's the root cause of all of Joshua's problems.................. smh...........
But also like, shoutout to the Undying for being the only good weird shadowy cabal out there. We love to see it. Clive loves to see it, at least, because Joshua is here and throwing stupid balls in stupid hoops, and isn't that what life is about? Being stupid with impunity???
So he takes the ball from Joshua for another demonstration. Deliberate and slow, as he extends his arms and plants the ball exactly where it needs to go, fingers loose and outstretched. We can all pretend I know anything about fantasy basketball form. ]
―Imagine trying to keep a treat up and out of Torgal's reach. That's how you want to extend your arms.
[If House Rosfield is going to start a not!cult, at the very least they can make it a nice one. Extra points for making it so dumb stupid brothers can do dumb stupid brother things like giving us the highly anticipated Final Fantasy XVI: Space Jam DLC.]
[Joshua watches closely as the ball leaves Clive’s hands again, tracking the line of it as though the secret might be written in the arc itself. When his brother gives him even more advice (usefulness pending), he nods dutifully and chases after the ball once more.]
[When he brings it back, he practices the movement of his arms as Clive instructed. He then lifts his gaze back to his brother, tilting his head with a shimmer of gold and a spark of affection in his eyes.]
Very well. If Torgal must be my measure, then I shall attempt it.
[With that, he makes for his next shot... and it's close! Way closer than before! The ball bounces off that shoddy rim and back towards the boys.]
I wouldn't take it personally, [ is his assessment, carried on the tail end of a fond laugh. ] Torgal is stiff competition.
[ Torgal has endured five years of SIC EM TORGAL; naturally, his aim is impeccable. Clive imagines his trusty hound balancing a ball on the tip of his nose, and the absurdity of it makes his smile spread a sliver more. Boyish, in the way he seldom allows himself to be anymore. ]
You're a quick study, besides. I worry about things that have nothing to do with your aim.
[ Like Joshua near bodies of water. Crouching back down, Clive picks up the ball and tosses it up and down on his palm, head tipped with the sort of grin that says that he isn't speaking about catastrophes. ]
[...Clive, we regret to inform you that your brother is actually a Magikarp.]
[A smile begets a smile, especially when they're as rare and special as Clive's. Joshua eyes the ball, then his brother, and his eyebrows raise as he holds out his hands for the ball once more.]
Oh? And what dire concerns are these?
[He's only able to ask because of how much of a good mood Clive is in. If he'd expected anything serious, he'd rely on good ol' repression, instead. You know. Healthy coping and all that.]
[ The boys are as fine as they'll ever be. stubborn and self-sacrificing and also dying??? they're ok Clive, who finds himself not actually brooding about the thing that still gives him nightmares, hands the ball over with a light question for a question instead of a clear answer: ]
Have you made friends with Obolus yet?
[ Listen, Clive likes that cranky old coot, but if he doesn't get up off his ass if Joshua ever trips and falls into their gross blighted lake, Clive is going to be very cross with him. ]
[All of the above and therefore fine. They're not fine.]
[Joshua quirks an eyebrow at the question, but gives it due consideration. If Clive is asking it, then there's a point to it, and it's one that Joshua will gladly follow whatever path his brother sets up to uncover.]
We've spoken, yes. He was happy to show me the Argo, as well.
[He considers the ball for a moment, tossing it just a few inches above his hands before he follows up with his own question.]
[ The actual question here would be "I know I punched a hole through you and you probably spent the better half of your adult life recovering from that, but also, did you learn how to swim?"
But also, Clive is trying to keep things lighter than that, so his instinct isn't to self-flagellate before he answers a harmless (?) question. Instead: ]
I'd only wondered if you and bodies of water have made friends yet.
[ And maybe this says a little too much about Clive, that he remembers all of their uncomplicated moments as children with the sort of clarity that most people wouldn't. But, you know. The boys are fine. ]
[ The saddest lil Torchic in the world... Still, Joshua grins that boyish grin, and all remains right with the world.
Right enough that Clive can quip back, that is. ] Not an excuse. I can swim just fine.
[ That's cheating, though, because big fire dog lizard is basically one step shy of being Godzilla, and Godzilla is from the ocean. This tag is basically just metacommentary, and I'm sorry about it. ]
Though I have trouble enough following you on land, and Founder only knows where you'd be off to if I let you roam the seas.
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(Which isn't to say that five years with a phoenix feather didn't help. That small, glittering memento did a lot of heavy lifting when things were at their bleakest.)
Clive accepts the shift in weight, and answers with his own half-nudge, the side of his boot along Joshua's. Fond, because it seems only a select few find it in themselves to needle Clive lately. ]
Worse, [ he admits. ] It was ale-fueled hubris.
[ For context: ] The conversation at the tavern turned to things we did as children, and... [ A light shrug. Exasperation turned inwards. ] ...I always did feel more confident in my actions when I dedicated them to you.
[ Not least of all because he had to be, being his brother's Shield. ]
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It is by that same dedication that I stand here at all. If that is hubris, then I am grateful beyond measure for it.
[The sincerity behind that gratitude is plain, though his lips curve into a gentler smile to keep the weight from sinking too deeply into the air around them.]
All that to say... mayhap there is more childhood to relive? The night is fair, and the ground broad enough. Surely it will not mind one more pair of footprints.
[He nudges Clive’s arm with quiet insistence, half-mischief, half-earnest longing, as though the thought alone has already brightened the air between them.]
A game, perchance?
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－is what he'd always wanted for Joshua, from the start. An unburdening. A lightness of being that duties and obligations so rarely afforded the both of them, even when they were boys barely old enough to hold a blade.
So. He raises a brow, and pivots on his heels. To his right, a few feet away, sits the offending ball that so rudely didn't make it through the crude hoop fixed haphazardly to the wall of a stone wall a few feet in the other direction.
Clive Deadly-Embraces the ball to himself with a flourish of one hand. It's a flex, because he's the main character of this Final Fantasy and doesn't get hit with the death curse every time he misuses his Eikon powers, smh. ]
How confident are you in your aim?
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[He laughs at Clive's question. Short and self-deprecating.]
Not very, I must admit.
[His gaze shifts to the hoop--is it crooked???]
I would dare to try, but only after you deign to show me how it is properly done first.
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It's also not really circular in shape－ more oblong than anything else－ but wide enough for the ball in Clive's hand to sift through if he throws it just so.
Which is to say: he can, now that he's more sober. And now that Joshua is an active audience instead of a nebulous third party who may or may not choose to bear witness to Clive's possible successes. Clive looks slightly unhappy about his brother's self-deprecation (because no one is allowed to say anything bad about Joshua, not even Joshua himself), but hopes that he might yet make that wryness dissipate if he succeeds in this silly little game.
So. Shoulders square, arms raise. In one graceful motion, Clive tosses the ball to the makeshift hoop, and－
－swish. He gets it in one. Protag privileges again, or maybe big-brother-who-wants-to-show-off privileges. If there is one thing that Clive fears more than anything, it's disappointing Joshua. ]
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[Case in point: he claps his hands softly, the sound gentle but brimming with approval as Clive makes a clean shot into the makeshift hoop.]
But one toss, and it is perfect!
[Joshua grins brightly to congratulate his brother before he half-jogs to intercept the ball as it rolls just a bit away. Once it's secure in his hands, he bounces it for a few moments, as if testing its weight. Really, he's trying to refamiliarize himself with the concept of just throwing a ball around. Because that's not sad at all.]
I suppose it's my turn, then?
[He takes a few steps back towards Clive and then attempts a shot of his ow--oh no it's bad. Missing the hoop completely bad. Bad enough that his cheeks flush bright pink and he's having a lot of trouble making eye contact.]
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Joshua might be in awe of Clive, but Joshua will always be the one who inspired Clive to want to live－
－which is why there's not even a suggestion of judgment or scorn when Joshua whiffs his shot. Just the stillsame big-brotherly fondness that beams out of his arms-crossed, one-hip-popped half-lean. ]
You released it too fast, [ he says, as if he's Rodney Murdoch speaking to the shadow of his younger self. ] If you let it stay along your fingertips for a breath longer, it would have travelled farther.
[ His lips curl into a smile. ] I'll have to scold Cyril for never having taken the time to throw balls around with my brother.
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[His gaze lifts to Clive, sheepish but touched with humor.]
Cyril may have thought a prince better suited to study than sport.
[He had a lot of academic catching up to do because SoMEbODy PUt HiM inTo A CoMa, CLIVE.]
[Joshua bounces the ball once, twice, as though gathering courage again before tilting his head, smile small, but bright.]
Perhaps that is all the more reason I should try again. Show me once more, Brother, and I promise I shall not let it fly so quickly from my fingers this time.
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But also like, shoutout to the Undying for being the only good weird shadowy cabal out there. We love to see it. Clive loves to see it, at least, because Joshua is here and throwing stupid balls in stupid hoops, and isn't that what life is about? Being stupid with impunity???
So he takes the ball from Joshua for another demonstration. Deliberate and slow, as he extends his arms and plants the ball exactly where it needs to go, fingers loose and outstretched. We can all pretend I know anything about fantasy basketball form. ]
―Imagine trying to keep a treat up and out of Torgal's reach. That's how you want to extend your arms.
[ yeah because that's helpful advice ]
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[Joshua watches closely as the ball leaves Clive’s hands again, tracking the line of it as though the secret might be written in the arc itself. When his brother gives him even more advice (usefulness pending), he nods dutifully and chases after the ball once more.]
[When he brings it back, he practices the movement of his arms as Clive instructed. He then lifts his gaze back to his brother, tilting his head with a shimmer of gold and a spark of affection in his eyes.]
Very well. If Torgal must be my measure, then I shall attempt it.
[With that, he makes for his next shot... and it's close! Way closer than before! The ball bounces off that shoddy rim and back towards the boys.]
...Though I daresay he would outmatch me in aim.
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[ Torgal has endured five years of SIC EM TORGAL; naturally, his aim is impeccable. Clive imagines his trusty hound balancing a ball on the tip of his nose, and the absurdity of it makes his smile spread a sliver more. Boyish, in the way he seldom allows himself to be anymore. ]
You're a quick study, besides. I worry about things that have nothing to do with your aim.
[ Like Joshua near bodies of water. Crouching back down, Clive picks up the ball and tosses it up and down on his palm, head tipped with the sort of grin that says that he isn't speaking about catastrophes. ]
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[A smile begets a smile, especially when they're as rare and special as Clive's. Joshua eyes the ball, then his brother, and his eyebrows raise as he holds out his hands for the ball once more.]
Oh? And what dire concerns are these?
[He's only able to ask because of how much of a good mood Clive is in. If he'd expected anything serious, he'd rely on good ol' repression, instead. You know. Healthy coping and all that.]
[The boys are fine.]
[
They're not fine, but shh.]no subject
stubborn and self-sacrificing and also dying??? they're okClive, who finds himself not actually brooding about the thing that still gives him nightmares, hands the ball over with a light question for a question instead of a clear answer: ]Have you made friends with Obolus yet?
[ Listen, Clive likes that cranky old coot, but if he doesn't get up off his ass if Joshua ever trips and falls into their gross blighted lake, Clive is going to be very cross with him. ]
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All of the above and therefore fine. They're not fine.][Joshua quirks an eyebrow at the question, but gives it due consideration. If Clive is asking it, then there's a point to it, and it's one that Joshua will gladly follow whatever path his brother sets up to uncover.]
We've spoken, yes. He was happy to show me the Argo, as well.
[He considers the ball for a moment, tossing it just a few inches above his hands before he follows up with his own question.]
Why do you ask?
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But also, Clive is trying to keep things lighter than that, so his instinct isn't to self-flagellate before he answers a harmless (?) question. Instead: ]
I'd only wondered if you and bodies of water have made friends yet.
[ And maybe this says a little too much about Clive, that he remembers all of their uncomplicated moments as children with the sort of clarity that most people wouldn't. But, you know. The boys are fine. ]
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[The good news is that the thought doesn't so much as pique Joshua's far too active brain. Instead, he offers Clive a grin that only widens.]
Haven't you learned, Brother? Fire's natural enemy is water. I would fain to make acquaintances, but fear the inevitable betrayal.
[Forget Magikarp, your brother is the world's stupidest Charmander, Clive.]
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Right enough that Clive can quip back, that is. ] Not an excuse. I can swim just fine.
[ That's cheating, though, because big fire dog lizard is basically one step shy of being Godzilla, and Godzilla is from the ocean. This tag is basically just metacommentary, and I'm sorry about it. ]
Though I have trouble enough following you on land, and Founder only knows where you'd be off to if I let you roam the seas.