empty bottle chronicles
Summary:This was most definitely not part of the job description. Post Radiant Dawn. -Ike, Volke-
note1: oh no. It's happening again. I'm writing things for random fandoms. I'm doomed.
note2: Please tell me everybody else has noticed how much of a badass Volke is. Because he's cool and deadly and has a scarf.
note3:this is crack.
He was going to killher. Or charge another 10,000 gold for this damn babysitting gig he had been conned into. More than likely the later, as killing royalty usually had serious repercussions. (He also rather liked the young queen, manipulative as she may be.)
But seriously? No. Just, no. This is not what he had agreed to. Not even relatively close. 'Tail and retrieve a specific individual from a local establishment and return him to the Queen at the appropriate time' did NOT translate into 'Bring home a drunken Ike from a random bar before he starts fucking shit up and Elincia has to pay for it' in any language.
He had underestimated her ability to bend the truth to suit her needs, he mused She was a politician after all. He really should have expected something much more than the job description entailed. Although, he probably would have never assumed this is what the job would included. Namely, walking home with a drunk Ike hanging off his shoulder rambling about how nice it was to be home and see everybody, to take a break from wandering around the continent, to have new boots. (Volke had roll his eyes at this one, although he agreed that new boot were rather nice.)
Eventually silence overcame them. The scuffle of Ike's of boots on the cobbled street was the only noise they made, although they sounded obnoxiously loud to Volke (His steps made no sound. Being a 'fireman' required stealth, obviously). The occasional drunk stumbling out of a tavern was the only other noise breaking the quiet of the night. That is, until Ike started talking. Again.
"Ya know, sometimes I miss the wars," Ike murmured, sounding the most sober he had all night, "sometimes I miss the feeling of fitting in."
This, this had Volke's attention. Well, most of it. A good 'fireman' was always aware of his surroundings and potential... problems.
"During the wars, I knew what to do. How to act. It was so much simpler. Hack, slash, kill. Being a mercenary, that I can do. But a public figure? A hero? I have no fucking ideahow to do that. " He tilted his head, looking far too innocent for someone who had killed far too many. "You probably don't know. You're a 'fireman'. You tend to stay away from the spotlight."
At this Volke had to fight a chuckle from escaping. (He did notlaugh at wry comments made by Ike. Ike! Of all people.) A nod of assent was given. His line of work tended to be more successful if he stayed away from the public eye. But he may have understood, just a little. The calm between jobs was suffocating. He would listlessly wander the city, never really having a place to fit. But he had accepted that part of his job long ago, and it didn't bother him so much now (or so he told himself).
"That's why all the booze and the bars. It drowns out the memories, the loneliness, makes me feel numb. Numb is better than feeling so lost and empty."
Ike sighed, looking up at the stars. Volke didn't think he'd ever seen him look so broken, not even after his father died. Usually Ike was all fire and steel, leading his team into battle, rallying soldiers, saving the day. Now he just looked like the children who roamed the streets after the war, lost and without a home. It didn't suit him, looking like this. Something needed to be done. (Or said, but then again, Volke was never very good with words.)
"Sometimes," he cleared his throat, suddenly nervous (what did one sayto a war hero, no, say to a man who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders?) "Sometimes I think we all have a place we belong, we just have to find it. It may change, and sometimes we might lose our way, but ultimately there is always somewhere we belong. Somewhere we can be ourselves and not worry about the judgement of others. You're lost right now, but you won't be forever. You just have to find your way home."
Ike was staring at him, eyes wide, a faint smile on his face. Volke cleared his throat, then picked up his pace.
"Come on, let's go home."
Ike gripped his shoulder tighter, giving a faint nod.
"Yeah, okay. Let's go home."
note4: Oh man that took forever to write! But it wasn't too bad, I don't think?
note5: Is there a smidgen of Ike/Volke there? Maybe, if you squint. *shrug*