Author's Note: This is the third meta-fic in the quartet of stories beginning with "The Confessional" by Ikonopeiston, following in the footsteps of "Another Confessional" by The RyRy and "Yet Another Confessional" by Never Draven. This story follows the events of the Crimson Squad training from Paine's point of view, in journal form.
Those of you who have read my other work should note that the events in this story do not relate to "Fate", "Chasing My Past", or my other stories about Paine. This is Ikonopeiston's universe; I'm just visiting for a while.
Many thanks to The RyRy for the title.
As in the other stories, the dates at the beginning of each entry are to be read as: year of the current Sin, month, day. So 197S9.8.32 is the thirty-second day of the eighth month of the ninth year of the 197th incarnation of Sin. (Date system developed by Ikonopeiston.)
Characters and settings from Final Fantasy X-2 are copyright Square Enix.
Update 10/25/05: Although this story can be read as a stand-alone, it is intended to be read in tandem with the other three stories, and I recommend so doing. All four can now be found together as The Confessional at the URL listed in my profile.
One More Confessional
Part One
197S9.8.32
My boss called me into his office today and said that he had a special assignment for me. Turns out the Maesters are training some elite force to run the Crusaders, and they want recorders to follow the teams of candidates, tracking their actions for later evaluation. "I know you've been bored here, so I thought of you," he told me.
Was he ever right about that one. If I have to spend another year following around the Luca Goers and their idiot fans, capturing every preen and boast for the sphere screens, I think I might end up killing someone. So I accepted without hesitation and went home to pack.
They're putting us on a boat tomorrow for Bevelle, about half a dozen recorders and technicians. We'll get more details about the job there. Supposedly, we won't be involved in any fighting, but I'll believe that when I see it. No matter what they say, I'm bringing my sword. If I thought I could get away with carrying the machina pistol that Berrick gave me, that'd be coming along, too, but given that I'm headed for the heart of Yevon I think I'd better not.
Berrick. I feel a little guilty, leaving Luca without letting him know, but it's not like I can do anything about it. He's out running salvage missions or training at sea, or whatever it is that Al Bhed blitzers do during the off-season, and won't be back for months. Besides, it's not like we ever promised each other anything -- we had fun last season, but maybe it's for the best that I go now.
I really wonder if I'm going to be able to keep up this journal. I don't mind carrying it around, although having enough ink might be a problem, but what if somebody finds it? Close quarters seem likely, so writing in secret is going to be tricky. Still, I can't imagine being without it -- I've had one ever since that priest taught me how to write. So I'll make it work somehow. If that bitch matron at Kilika Temple never caught me with it, not to mention writing almost every day while living on the streets, I should be able to work around some military lunkheads.
197S9.8.41
Yevonite idiots. They send us on a two-day boat trip from Luca to Bevelle, spend two hours lecturing us about our mission when we arrive -- stay with your assigned team, record the actions of the candidates, stay impartial, don't interfere, etc., etc. -- and then we cool our heels for a week while they try to figure out how best to get us to Mushroom Rock. They couldn't have given us the briefing on the boat and skipped this detour? Fayth, I could have walked to Mushroom Rock by now.
And they made me give up my sword. "Recorders travel light," they said. Bastards. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was mine. Maybe I'll be able to steal a better one when we arrive.
At least this gives me a chance to see Bevelle. Growing up in the southern half of Spira, I've never made it up here before. Lots of military and religious types wandering around. Given how much larger it is than Luca, I figured there'd be lots to see and do, but there really isn't. I never thought I would miss blitzball.
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Finally! We're heading out in half an hour. We should be at Mushroom Rock in two days. The same two days it would have taken us to get there if we'd just gone straight from Luca in the first place. Seeing Yevon in action like this, I no longer regret not joining the Crusaders. All this "hurry up and wait"; it makes me crazy. Well, off to the ship.
197S9.8.44
I can see the dock. Thank-- whoever; I will be so glad to get off this fiend-damned boat. The waters were rough the whole time, the trip took a day longer than expected, and everyone is sick and exhausted. I usually enjoy sailing, and even I got queasy. I haven't been able to eat for over a day and must look like death warmed over. Some way to meet my new team -- the leader will take one look at me and decide that I'm weak, useless. I'll have to find some way to correct that impression.
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I met the team leader. He was something of a surprise.
They herded us off the boat like cattle, marched us up the path to the bluffs, and then stuck us all in a hot, dusty tent. More waiting while they sort out which team gets which recorder. After what felt like hours, the officer in charge took my arm, pushed me into a very large man, said "Here's your recorder," and left.
My immediate impression was of a broad chest. Then its owner stepped back with a displeased grunt. Great, I thought, he wasn't expecting a woman, and he's pissed. I crossed my arms and looked up with every intention of telling him off for taking an attitude, and then I recognized him.
Tall, strong, long brown hair, left arm and leg replaced by machina, forbidding brown eyes behind small round spectacles. This could only be one person: Nooj. Nooj the Undying, Nooj the pride of the Crusaders. I had never met the man, but of course I knew him by reputation -- blitzers usually bore me, Berrick being an exception rather than the rule, so I spent most of my spare time in Luca's Crusader bar, and it seems like half of the stories told there involve Nooj in one way or another. And he's leading my team? I'm shadowing a living legend.
I gave myself five seconds to be shocked, then composed myself. He gave my shoulder a friendly slap and asked me to follow him. I did so, just a pace behind -- I was practically raised by warrior monks, so I know my military etiquette, and I suspect that the small formalities matter to this man. He led me to his encampment and immediately started quizzing me about my background and experience. I only had time to tell him about my sword training; he interrupted me and waved it off, saying that I'd never find one here and should stick to recording.
So arrogant! Still, with his exploits I suppose he's earned a bit of arrogance, so I simply nodded and looked past his shoulder, with the vacant expression that passes for respect in the ranks. Another trick the warrior monks taught me. He seemed pleased by this and dismissed me, pointing the way to a spring where I could wash up. So here I sit, finally clean of salt spray and the stench of seasickness, with a moment to write all this down.
I wonder who else is on the team; it can't just be Nooj. Maybe once he could have taken on entire armies by himself, but the artificial limbs clearly limit his mobility. Guess I'll find out soon enough.
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Well, I met the rest of the team, such as it is. A cocky Al Bhed, no taller than I am and probably about the same age, named Gippal; and Baralai, a sweet Yevonite who seems way out of his depth here. I am probably the least maternal girl in all of Spira, but my first impulse was to hug him and tell him that everything would be all right. I resisted, naturally -- it would've made me look too much of a typical female in front of Nooj, and I don't want him to see me that way. I want to be an asset to him, not some girl to be protected.
Why do I care so much what he thinks of me?
Time to get some sleep. It'll be nice to lie down on solid ground.