Rayne Drops (FFXV)

XLII) Salt in the Wound

~Eight years before~

"Rayne, honestly. Don't you know how tired I am of reminding you to take care of this?" My father, Magnus, emerges from me and my brothers' bedroom and holds up the tight, silver pendant I forgot ten minutes ago.

"Don't you know how tired I am of hearing about it?" I counter, remaining slouched on the rough, tan couch in our small living room, a smooth, plastic controller pressed against my palms. My eyes never once leave the flashing colors on the television screen, my thumbs flying over buttons at record speed.

"Hey!" Arma protests when his newly flashing character enters the screen, running on its last life. "Wha—No, no, no, no... Rayne!" He tosses his controller to the floor, falling back into his seat with a disappointed huff.

"Zero deaths!" I cheer, leaping to my feet. Then I turn to face him proudly, holding out one hand with a grin. "Pay up, buddy roll." My older brother sighs, reaching toward his pocket in defeat. He freezes when our father clears his throat, raising one eyebrow sternly.

"Yeah?" Arma asks, staring back innocently.

"Go take care of Signum for a few minutes," Magnus commands, stepping out of the doorway and snatching the TV remote off the coffee table. I roll my eyes when the screen shuts off, tossing my controller onto the table and watching it slide a few inches before toppling over the edge onto the worn carpet below. Arma hesitantly gets to his feet, glancing back at me with a shrug. "Now, Arma."

"You don't have to get mad at him," I huff, earning a scowl.

"I'm not mad at him," he replies blandly. "He was sending silent messages again. I hate when you two do that, like I'm just as blind as he used to be."

"Quit being a drama queen," I retort. He gives me a clear look of disapproval.

"How long have you had this?" he asks, holding up the pendant.

"I dunno," I shrug, indifferent. "Why's it matter?"

"Have you noticed any differences in training?"

"Tallin can't go with me anymore," I mutter, sinking lower. A single, dark eyebrow arches.

"You haven't been going?"

"No," I deny sharply, fighting the urge to cower. "... I do sometimes."

Magnus sighs, resting the fist clutching my necklace on his hip and raising the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. I watch him uneasily for what seems to be an eternity, wringing my hands in my lap with my right foot thumping against the thin carpet rapidly. And then he looks at me tiredly, haggard green eyes yearning to find a simpler way to make me understand his distress. The tension is thicker than I imagined it would be.

"Come with me," he grumbles, breaking the dead silence. "Get your shoes on."

Springing to my feet, I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder as I kneel by the door and reach for a worn pair of...

"Not those," he snaps, crossing his arms firmly. Sighing, I pull on my combat boots. Choked giggles and squeals erupt from my brothers' room, the younger of the two bursting from the room with a shriek. His wild, sandy blonde hair sticks up every-which-way as he runs from Arma in cactuar pajamas. I watch them vanish into the next room, longing to join the chase of the two lanky boys. "Let's go," my father commands, grabbing my elbow and pulling me to my feet.

The car ride is stiff and silent. Uncomfortable. I slide down onto my tailbone and slouch low in my seat until the rough seatbelt feels as though it's sanding my heavy head off my neck. I wish it would. My father parks inside the dim garage beneath the Citadel and shuts the car off. He takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak. Before he lets out a word, I rip my seatbelt off and escape the tension of the car. I'm greeted with the smell of rubber tires and gasoline, looking over the rest of the shiny vehicles parked around the broad garage. Maybe I could hide inside one.