FicWad

"You think I could get Braska to teach me how to do that?" Jecht asked, dropping to sprawl between Auron and the fire. It was probably an indication of how little sense Jecht made under ordinary circumstances that Auron only had to look at him before Jecht tried to explain, although his definition of "explain" appeared to involve twiddling his fingers in the direction of the fire. The one Braska had lit only a few minutes ago before he'd sat down against a rock and, as far as Auron could tell, fallen asleep.

Lit using magic.

Oh, no.

"Looks useful." Jecht's grin broadened, and Auron was reminded of the look on Jecht's face when they'd gone to the armourers to find him a sword - it was the sort of smile that had, when Auron was in charge of training other monks, been a sure sign that they shouldn't be trusted with weapons just yet. "Could probably do some real damage with it."

Auron opened his mouth, intending to remind Jecht that he was a danger to all three of them with only a sword, let alone with black magic - and made the mistake of looking at Braska. Braska was smiling faintly from beneath his hat, a smile that broadened a little as he met Auron's eyes.

"Ask him in the morning," Auron said eventually. "You might be sober enough that you won't catch fire yourself."