Zevran encounters Masque on the summoner’s pilgrimage
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"The others can hold their summons for longer than a few moments."

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Masque shrugs. "Stamina. Like any muscle. If you don't use it it wastes."

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"Probably where I'm going wrong, then." 

Masque is entirely correct. Zevran was never much of a summoner, even from the beginning, and his refusal to learn has led to this: someone who will definitely die, unable to kill Sin. The thought stings harder when he remembers how close Bambi is right now, with the Farplane such a short walk.

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"So practice."

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“It’s not as easy as that.”

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"-Isn't it?"

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“No, it’s- I started too late.”

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Enquiring chirp?

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“It was never supposed to be me. Bambi, she was supposed to be the one. She was supposed to succeed.”

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"-Fair. But- how do you know practice won't help?"

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“Because I- (can’t. I can’t. It was never supposed to be me) Because I’m only so strong. This is it.”

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"-Is that you or Yevon's priests talking?"

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“The priests?” Zveran looks up, confused frown on his face. “I...I had never even considered that.”

Had he really internalised what they told him?

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"Perhaps you should."

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“Truly, I didn’t think they even cared enough to make me think that.”

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"People don't have to care to fuck up people's heads."

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“True enough. Though they cared about Bambi enough to make sure I wouldn’t ruin her chances.”

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"I imagine that would suffice to make you think you couldn't improve."

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“Perhaps not.”

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Masque hums and falls silent.

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Zveran leans back onto the bed. He feels off. His world seems shifted off centre. 

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Masque settles on the floor, cross-legged, now trying to ignore the fact they're in an enclosed space.

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Zveran manages to fall asleep, mind still raging. 

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Masque does not sleep. They know they should, and they do try, but it's too tight, too enclosed...

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Zveran wakes for much the same reason. The air feels tight and still here. He sits up quickly and gathers his belongings. 

He sees Masque, and a note of guilt strikes him. "I'm sorry. Let's get out of here."

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