"So, uh... what do you hear when you talk to those fayth, anyway?"

What did he hear? Braska sat quietly for a stretch, staring thoughtfully into the glittering nodes of Djose's guardian chamber. Jecht's question was quite a common one, but he wasn't sure how to give an answer his guardian would understand. What passed between summoner and fayth was pure sensation, and unlike anything he had experienced before his initiation in Bevelle. Any words he could come up with were likely to be taken the wrong way, if he knew Jecht... If nothing else, the man was certainly open about his thoughts.

"I suppose..." He paused, searching for the best way to put it. "You 'hear' exactly what I do when you enter this chamber. The difference lies in what you take from it."

The blitzer turned and looked around the chamber, and when he looked back to Braska his expression was blank. "I don't get it. I didn't hear anything different. It's all the same - the lightning, and the song-"

"And who do you think sings the song?" Auron eyed him none too kindly, and his tone spelled his annoyance out clearly. "Do you see a choir?"

Jecht followed his companion's sweeping arm, looked back to Braska. "You mean... that's the fayth singing?" He twisted around to look at the door to the summoner's sanctum, open-mouthed. "That's coming from a dead statue...?"

The summoner laughed softly, turning a kinder gaze upon the object of interest. His guardian's naivete was so charming; it was so difficult to refrain from setting him off on purpose. How wonderful it must be, to be so ignorant about Spira and its spiral of death... And how dangerous it would be to let this man run loose! He would offend with his ignorance - it had already landed him in jail once. Hopefully that wouldn't happen again.

"Glad I'm so funny." Auron snorted and the other shrugged, rolling his head to crack his neck. "Care to explain a little better? I'm new at this."

"Ah, well..." Braska went back to his contemplation of the lightning, again searching for the words that could convey the experience and its result to an outsider. A temple initiate might have been able to understand, or at least visualize what he experienced, as all who learned magic were able to do; but a warrior...? A blitzball player?

The summoner tilted his head to look at Jecht, take in his dark features, the scars, the sword that still looked unnatural at his side despite his growing skill at using it. Perhaps... yes, maybe there was a way. He had never played a game of blitzball in his life, but he'd certainly done his share of swimming during the last Calm.

"Tell me..." He shifted his perch on the step, so he could face his guardians without having to turn his head. He hoped he was on the right track, if only so Jecht would not bring the subject up again where someone might overhear. A question like that was - as so many of the blitzer's questions were - bordering on blasphemy. Besides, Jecht's ignorance was... refreshing. And his interest seemed sincere. "What do you hear when you play blitzball? Can you hear the crowd, or the commentary?"

"Not at all." The brown eyes clouded over, maybe seeing the stadium his Zanarkand Abes were accustomed to playing in, instead of the cold stone steps they sat on. He often adopted this look when asked about his home; it was an odd thought, but it occured to Braska that his guardian was more homesick than he let on. It was easy to forget in the face of his bravado. "Well, not really - when the crowd gets really loud, it's not too hard to hear them if I'm near the edge. But it's kinda... muffled, I guess. Can't really understand what they're shouting."

Braska nodded. "In Luca, during a big game, the fans will sing their favorite team's anthem - the pounding rattled the stadium. I nearly lost Yuna over the bar." The memory was still vivid, like a picture from a sphere, and he could see his wife dart forward and catch their daughter as she fell from her perch... He shook it away impatiently, and wished he could make the pang he felt at seeing their faces disappear as easily.

"You went to a game?" Jecht's laugh was infectuous - the summoner couldn't help but return it with a smile. He hadn't known it was that hard to believe. "I can't picture it - the great summoner Braska, slumming it in the stands with a bunch of rabid fans! Was it a field trip or something?"

"Very funny." He finally laughed, and the tightness in his chest eased, though it did not go away completely. "You make me out to be a snob..."

"...nah. Not you." His pearly-white teeth flashed in a grin. "I just can't picture it, is all."

Auron was quiet; the summoner looked up at him questioningly, surprised he had not sprung to defend his charge from such 'gruff' behavior. Perhaps he was getting used to Jecht's ways. They were shocking at first, some of them... but not all bad, once one grew accustomed to them. Braska never doubted that story about being from Zanarkand was true - the blitzer-turned-guardian was just too odd in Spira's setting, always standing out like sinspawn at a picnic table. And something of what he described of his home rang true, remarkably similar to rumors he'd heard in St. Bevelle's temple.

Then again... perhaps it was better no one believed him after all - the story about Sin's toxin wuld be more acceptable to Spira's citizens than the truth. Yevon was many things, but tolerance was not among them.

"Well, in any case..." Braska cast around for his last train of thought, and touched Jecht's shoulder to gain his attention again. But there was no need - he had the man's undivided attention already, it seemed. He shifted a bit and withdrew his hand self-consciously. "Jenson - a friend of mine - told me he could feel the rhythym of their pounding through the water. I'm not sure how that would work, but he assures me it's true."

"Ehh... yeah, I guess I can see that." The guardian leaned back and propped his elbows on the step behind them. "Sound waves pack enough of a punch." He shrugged at Braska's questioning look, waved it away. "So, what does that have to do with the fayth?"

The summoner sighed, hoping to draw inspiration from the currents running thorugh the temple. He could see now it wasn't the best analogy, but he supposed it would have to do. "When I pray to the fayth, I meditate on the hymn. I equate it with being immersed in water; until the spirit appears before me its words are muffled, but when it speaks to me it is the cadence and rhythm of the voice that I begin to understand. They do not communicate with words - not during a merging. Words cannot convey the qualities they are looking for."

"They don't ever talk...?"

"They do. Just... not when a summoner seeks the aeon." He studied the guardian's gaze, noted the furrow in his dark brow. "I suppose that is not the best explanation I could have offered..."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Jecht gave his easy shrug and slapped Braska on the back. "I guess I'd have to be a summoner to really get it, right? No sweat."

"Indeed..."

Silence stretched over the trio once more, but Braska pushed to his feet with the help of his staff before he could grow too melancholy, and motioned for his guardians to follow suit. Auron moved to stand in front, and Jecht hefted his sword at the back. They were quite a pair - walking between them was the only way to keep them from each other's throats, sometimes. It was amusing more than anything, and he took comfort in that now, as they filed out of the chamber of the fayth and into the cloister of trials. That focus would remove his thoughts from the darker things inspired by their conversation about blitzball.

Funny, that even Spira's most popular form of entertainment was closed to him now, and by his own hand. Perhaps it was a weakness, but he didn't want to face anything that might remind him of those days... It was still too painful, no matter how many years had passed since then. Maechen was right - he clung to his pain and misfortune like a dragon hoarding gold.

"So, uh... if you don't mind my asking..."

Braska slowed his pace to allow Jecht to catch up, and he looked up at the taller man's face expectantly. "Go ahead."

Jecht's tone was softer, and he avoided meeting gazes. "What made you go to that blitzball game?"

He must know this is a painful subject. The summoner looked away quickly, under the pretense of watching his footing when they stepped onto a platform. Auron looked ready to silence Jecht for intruding - and yes, it was an intrusion, though Braska didn't mind as much as he expected - and he waved the protest away. His friend settled for glaring at Jecht, and Braska took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He hadn't wanted to give the thoughts any more power with words, but... today, maybe he should attempt to face the pain for once, instead of running away.

His answer was simple, but it was enough for both of them: "My wife."


(Finished: 06-26-02 - 5:04am)