What's for Christmas?
Compared to the youngling Wilherser Galaxy, the old Milky Way is absolute dullsville, yet in its own right a humble and cozy cluster of stars. On an edge of the universe that almost all foreign life avoided like the plague, little Earth in its little Sol System thrives quite splendidly. A perfect tourist spot as well as ideal hideaway for fugitives, tax evaders, vagrants; paradise for the filthiest of rogues and most colorful of star travelers, or a simple man or woman looking for a place to settle down or die.
As it just so happens, a special time of the Earthian year waits around the immediate corner, that special time being Christmas. A half-religious, half-commercial holiday that a bulk of the planet's population celebrates both on and off world. A time of giving, as well as togetherness with loved ones. Almost any off-worlder could see the intrigue in such a holiday as far as getting gifts is concerned. Gifts were something everyone could love. Same with significant others. But the religious nuances could've gone to hell. Not that that could be said out loud. Those Earthians are a feisty bunch, more so than their counterparts could ever be in other galaxies.
But there's no problem in dishing out a little tolerance in return for riches big and small.
It especially isn't a problem for Space Pirates Dorgengoa, one of the most notoriously unbeaten and nefariously kind gang of bandits born and bred in Wilherser. Well, they were notorious; they were nefarious. But after their last great heist, it was time to hang up the old flag of skull and crossbones and don the cloaks of exodus with the newly crowned queen of legendary Eden.
But like all pirates past and present, who could ever resist treasure in all its shapes and sizes? Christmas is perfect: a time of free loot, wine, dinner and song.
Zegram Ghart sure plans to relish in the holiday while hiding out on merry, little old Earth. Not exactly wild about spending time with friends and loved ones, being the lone 'Black Wolf,' hunter of Guin System fame that he is, but it's not like he has anything better to do. Of course, if hunting was on his current agenda, he'd have been doing that instead. But no, still stuck with the Dorgengoa Pirates, he was bound for wherever they went.
And to Earth they go.
---
"Well, if this ain't the absolute sticks, I dunno what is," Zegram says as he lightly strokes his goatee. Being the first to get off the landing platform from the grand ship Dorgenark's deck, the hunter strolls to one of the nearby terraces overlooking miles of city far below the spaceport. Sheets of faint brown smog shift between skyscrapers and perpetual highways and skyways. It's not unlike the capital city of planet Zerard but much less busy and not as easy on the eyes.
"I thought Earth would be underdeveloped by the way I heard people talk about it," says Jaster, approaching him from behind. "But it looks like Vedan, only sunny and not as grimy."
"Think this is low-brow enough for us to ride out the heat?" Zegram turns around and leans against the railing, with arms folded and a suspicious smirk on his face. He knows their little fun in the sun won't last long, what with Mariglenn and their vast technology. Tracking them would be a cinch, yet he has to admit he saw no harm in trying. "We need that stupid robot to tell us about Earth," he grumbles.
"Hey, what do you guys think I'm good for? Just window dressing?" snarls a shrill voice.
First mate Monsha of the Dorgenark struts on all fours from the landing platform with a small book in his feline mouth. He hisses at the two men before rising up on his hind legs and flipping through the book thusly. "It pays to act like a tourist, you dogs. Now let's see…"
"Where's the Captain?" Jaster asks, arms folded and surveying the bustling station beyond the gates of their docking bay.
"Kisala doesn't want to get off the ship," the chubby white cat explains. "I wouldn't blame her. I'd be in a mood too if somebody snatched me off my royal throne."
"Your litter box does not equal throne, cat," Zegram snaps, with a grin and a shrug.
"Watch your tongue, for below the Captain I'm still your boss!"
"Who says I was ever part of the gang? And Dorgengoa disbanded you guys anyway. Now you're just a bunch of fugitives." The hunter frowns, casually adjusting his eye patch and smoothing back his long dark hair. The blond behind him laughs pretty heartily for a desert-born boy his age, then leans in and pats him jokingly on the back.
"Everybody else went back to their homes while you stayed on the ship," he remarks matter-of-factly. "I think you're part of the gang, what little is left of us, anyways. I'm sure Toady would agree, too."
Zegram heaves his shoulders and sighs, failing to offer a witty comeback. "Damn mutant zit for a frog… Agh, whatever. I don't need to explain myself to you losers. I'm gonna go check out the sights."
"Have fun." Jaster waves off the rough, tough and lonesome hunter, and then adds at the last moment, "Maybe we'll see you around, but with the way Kisala's acting, I wouldn't hold my breath."
"Take this, scalawag!" Monsha screeches.
"Huh?" Zegram turns around to take a book in the face.
"Don't let cultural ignorance throw you in the pen!"
"Bastard, you could've put my eye out!"
Both Jaster and the cat pitch themselves into laughing fits. Zegram flips them off accordingly and proceeds from the gates into the throng of the spaceport plaza.
---
Overhead a great big sign announces "Welcome to Earth", "Enjoy your stay in Greater New Los Angeles" and "Have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year". The hunter narrows his one eye at the festive colored letters blinking and flashing above, then glances down at the book 'given' to him by Monsha. He snaps it open, searching aimlessly for the meanings of such displays. He grunts once in subtle bafflement at all the mundane nitty-gritty listed about Earth.
"Ah, screw this," he mumbles to himself, shoving the book in a pouch strapped to his thigh. "I'll wing it."
---
Greater New Los Angeles. It's a true vision to behold for any and all newcomers, a grand meshing of cultures near, far and even out of galaxy. Temples and towers, gigantic billboards and holographic advertisements, cars and ships and flying things the likes of which Zegram had never seen in his life, even where all manner of beasts abound in the Guin System. Earth resides on a whole new frontier. He ponders for a moment that perhaps he could grow to like this place. It's new, probably exciting. Maybe never a dull moment.
But the air couldn't have been worse, an acquired taste at best.
Then again, big cities are always this way.
Upon hitting the streets well below the spaceport, decorations pile upon decorations, apparently for this supposed holiday season. Green, red, and white everywhere. Music blares from out of nowhere, nothing the hunter could ever casually sit and listen to on his own time.
Everything is too coated with sugary bells and whistles, even the grime, the dirt, the smog. Too superficial. People dressed to the nines in poofy red and white outfits, though the gussied up women are acceptable, more than acceptable. Sexy, even.
Zegram decidedly finds the female lot around here quite likable, though positive that not one to this day will ever rival Jane and her lovely, little allure. Now that had been a woman he really put his heart into. He could have cursed her eternally for being a selfless idiot in exchange for her life, but his harsh words were always further from the truth.
The hunter scoffs at the memories.
Through his Drigellum— which he still isn't sure what the damned thing was— she'd told him to move on. Though he knows he never can.
"Merry Christmas!"
A blur of a woman plants a delicate yet quick and zesty kiss at the corner of his mouth then moves on to the next person, vivaciously waving some strange plants in her hand. Stunned, Zegram looks on after the white-haired female dancing down the street and thereafter vanishing into a crowd gathered at its intersection.
"I'll be damned…" he mumbles. "Dunno what that was about but hell, I'll take more, please."
---
Eventually, nighttime falls and lights come on as bright as day. Parades march onto the skyways and streets, as do snowy costumed creatures, old fat men with rosy cheeks and prancing pointy-toed boys and girls, with hooves stomping, antlers rattling, angels flitting, swirly sticks shaking, bells and stars ringing and beaming. The biggest, fanciest bow-tied boxes Zegram will ever see trot and bow on funny legs for their audiences. People hug and dance and sing and cheer and drink and kiss, and the hunter starts hoping to get in on all the action. But he's the Black Wolf, fashionably lonely and forever looking good in blue. He needs no friends to party with, no family, and nobody's ever going to take Jane's place, or even try.
That woman from earlier glides by on a float in the ground parade, waving sparkling sticks of red and green light. White hair, slim, grinning and laughing like a space banshee. Evidently, she's full of this disturbing Earthian holiday spirit. Festive black-haired twins, one a pretty girl with horns and tiny batwings, the other a pretty boy with a somber face but cheery smile, flank her closely, throw gifts to the throng of people gathered on the sidewalks.
Out of all the alien folk in this city, maybe even on the planet, these three seem the most out of place but have a good time at it, regardless.
A humongous hologram of the trio explodes between buildings and beneath the skyways, each of them scintillating with blue and yellow, holding microphones shaped like the swirly canes that people are shaking about.
"And now," the woman's voice echoes over the streets, "we sing 'Silent Night.' Hope you enjoy!"
"Oh, another goddamn MIO," Zegram sighs. But he doesn't turn away. He stays, watches and listens. The hunter almost finds himself enjoying things. "Not half bad, though…"
"Nice to see you're having fun."
"Eh? K-Kisala?"
"I mean, why shouldn't my kidnappers be having fun? But just you all and Papa wait, 'cuz when I get back to Mariglenn, there's gonna be hell to pay."
Still dressed in her queenly blue and white ensemble, Kisala stands veritably seething next to Zegram. The surprise in his one eye is obvious enough to make her giggle nigh maliciously, but then she sighs and slouches as if in utter defeat. She slips her mother's winged crown off her feathery brown-haired head and longingly stares at it. Not sure of what to do, the hunter continues to gaze in awe.
"Uh…"
"You guys are jerks," she snorts.
"Hey, don't lump me in with those guys, I was just along for the ride," the hunter protests, cocking his head to one side.
"You're just as bad, Zegram! You could've been the voice of reason. Instead, you were just a bump on a log…"
"Ha, that's what you get for expecting too much of me. Try whining to Jaster."
"You're such a grouch," she pouts angrily, shortly disappearing into the merrymaking crowd.
"Heads up, sir!"
A black and blue gift box covered in stars sails over heads and struggling hands, thumps against Zegram's half-bared chest and falls into his own hands. At first he blinks in surprise, then instantly dons a smirk.
"Can you toss about five more my way?" he exclaims, garnering a few discreet chuckles from the mass of people around him.
"If you're lucky!"
"Free-for-all? I can do that." The hunter tucks the gift under his arm and starts to muscle his way through the shuffling bodies to the very edge of the sidewalk.
"Look, it's a pirate," a kid screams, grabbing hold of Zegram's sash as he passes by. "Mr. Pirate, can I have a gun for Christmas?"
"Hey!" The parent angrily twists away, nearly losing the child on his shoulders to the swaying wave of hands.
At the front of the crowds, Zegram has a better view of the halted float and its singing performers. The woman and horned twin belt out lines in a tender but upbeat timbre while the boy continues throwing gifts in any and all directions, down to the streets and up to hovering platforms marked 'VIP' crammed with presumed fat-cats, celebrities and poor sods lucky enough to be chosen for such an honor.
The hunter motions for the boy to throw some gifts and prepares himself for the welcoming barrage.
The boy laughs and, out of seeming good nature, gathers up boxes from a great red bag in the bowl of his arms, rears his body back, and then tosses them all in a wild spinning arc. A sudden cheer rises at the rain of presents and people bump together like the wildest party of over-thrilled atoms. Zegram himself jumps straight up and manages to snap about three gifts in the crook of his arm, racking up some groans from others to his fore and rear.
He snickers, "Suckers."
--
After a while, the singing winds down, the entire procession moves on, and some of the crowds start to scatter. A number of the rest fall into the street behind the floats and vehicles, following them to the depths of this giant city where either more folks awaited the singing, dancing, and gifts, or a quiet and peaceful end to this flashy display of Earthian Christmas spirit.
Particularly satisfied with the swag he managed to bag, not to mention a few tinsel necklaces, something called a Santa hat slapped on his head by some random kids, and yet more kisses 'under the mistletoe' by men and women young, old, and ugly, Zegram strolls down the nighttime New Los Angeles streets. The buildings thin out along one aptly named Sunset Blvd., a wide and sparsely tree-lined street littered with crumbling, ancient structures marked off with signs and lights as historical landmarks from centuries past. Restaurants hang open at a far corner overlooking hills and water, music wafting out from their doors. Needing a place to rest his dogs, the hunter finds intrigue in the sweetly labeled Terrarium.
Its windows fluctuate with soothing blue light beyond the telltale Christmas decoration. The interior is even bluer. Hanging strobe lights, lamps with glowing blobs floating inside, spotlights singling out a couple of tone-deaf singers on a stage.
"Welcome to the Terrarium, um…sir," says the hostess at the door. "Can I take your um…gifts?"
"Nah, that's alright," he replies. "Table?"
"Oh yes, right this way."
"Thanks."
The woman sits Zegram at a dimly lit side of the restaurant and hands him a menu tablet. Smiling, she explains, "Use the touch-keys on the bottom to scroll through our appetizers and entrees, and press the desired item to key in your selection. Oh and turn the menu over for all desserts and beverages. Thank you and a waitress will be right with you."
"Gotcha."
The hunter sits back in his chair, hikes one leg over the other, and lazily skims through the menu. Not a single dish proves familiar to him, so like in a game of roulette, he blindly chooses a couple of items and flips over to the drinks. He grins and chuckles at the names, finding one as girly sounding as the next.
"Some good old Vedan Toxic draft would do about now…"
"Hey, funny guy," comes a voice from before him.
Zegram looks up to see a pretty black-haired runt of a girl, with horns no less, dressed down in a waiter's outfit. He quirks an eyebrow at her smirking face and narrow, slanted eyes. He abruptly chokes back subtle astonishment at this being the very same girl with the white-haired woman back at the parade, singing their hearts out.
"Small world, huh?" she giggles.
"Huh?"
"The parade. You kinda stuck out like a sore thumb there. Big Sis and I almost couldn't see anyone but you. Out-of-towner?"
"Out-of-spacer. Wilherser Galaxy," Zegram notes with a sly look on his face.
"Oh… Are you a pirate?" the girl asks, pointing with her pen. "'Cuz of the eye patch."
"I get that a lot. More like hunter, just so you know."
"It's kinda hot. But I shouldn't be standing here chatting like this. So, your order?"
"Here." Zegram hands her the menu, which she looks over closely.
"Right, be right back with your…drinks."
The hunter watches the girl sway off into the sea of tables towards the bar on the opposite end of the restaurant. For a second he's suspicious of her; coincidence or not, he finds it interesting to run into these related oddballs around town without even trying. A performer, then a waitress. But, as long as they aren't feds of any sort, he couldn't complain.
"I'm back. Here's your Black Russian and house special rum on the rocks."
"Thanks."
"So, how's your Christmas coming along? I see you managed to nab a lot from me and my bro."
Zegram grins broadly. "Well, I don't get the holiday but I sure as hell get the gifts."
"Ho ho, don't know what Christmas is?" the girl queries merrily. "Well, nowadays most people'll admit they don't know anymore, either. Um, basically, it's supposed to be a celebration of the birth of a savior way back in the old days, very old days. I think. I was never good with history."
"Heh."
"Oh, well, I'm gonna check on things in the kitchen and nab some orders. Excuse me again, won't you?"
With a bow of her head, the waitress girl goes about her job, bussing other tables along the way to the kitchen. Zegram shakes his head at her albeit successful attempt at making good conversation with him. He snaps up one of his drinks, the so-called Black Russian in its large bottle-necked mug, studies and sniffs it warily before taking a swig. He literally inhales the sweet-infused alcohol slowly but steadily and slams the mug back on the table.
"Not bad, not bad at all," he mutters to himself.
"Before you say anything, yes we're following you."
"Shit!" The hunter nearly spills his second drink, startled by the sudden appearance of the white haired woman, clothed in stunning green and red, something he didn't notice until now. "You, what the hell? You're following me? Are you galactic feds?"
"Haha, actually, I was just kidding. Rather, it's amazing coincidence that brings us together. That and you're a really snazzy dresser, so how could I stay away?"
"Honestly, what's your deal?" Zegram hisses, scooting his chair far back from the table.
"Your grouchy ambiance on such a special holiday," the woman replies, all the while beaming too much to be real.
"Grouchy ambiance, my ass-"
"We can sense these things, because we're Origin. My name's Drana, Drana Donovan. How about you?" She shoots a slender little hand across the tabletop towards the hunter. He spies her dubiously but is then inexplicably overcome with the need to be friendly towards her. Cautiously, he shakes her hand then sits back once she retracts.
"What's Origin?"
"First a name, dear sir."
"Zegram Ghart, the Black Wolf."
"Trés chic. As for us, we're just harmless empaths. That's about it. And we have awesome eyes, see?" Drana pulls on each her lower eyelids to show what's so special. As a matter of fact, they were terribly normal, if a bit striking, apart from the fact that one eye was green and the other blue.
"Okay, we got that all down. Now, what do you want?"
"I want to instill you with some true Christmas spirit. Or at least tell you to not be so grumpy."
"Whoa lady, you're not instilling me with anything tonight," Zegram laughs defensively.
"Well, then no more grumping," the woman declares.
"Hey…" Suddenly reserved and thoughtful, the hunter leans onto the table. With a curling gloved finger, he entreats Drana to draw closer herself and without hesitation, she does so. "Listen, having a lady isn't on my current agenda but…you wanna get a room?"
"Wow, you're fast. But…I'm not available. And I have a kid. Do you like kids?"
"Oh, hell no-"
"Then…why don't you try Lil Sis? And remember to lay it on thick, okay?"
"Are you guys related?"
Drana giggles with a hand over her mouth. "Only as far as race and friendship goes. But I gotta go, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year here on Earth, Mr. Ghart. Oh and smile, you're so much more handsome that way. I know Jane would've agreed."
"Hey, wait! How'd you-"
"Empaths, remember? Bye!"
Drana leaves as suddenly as she arrived, waving here and there and warmly touching people's shoulders as she departed. Zegram slouches in his chair and grumbles silently to himself. He doesn't appreciate being read by human mood rings but at least the woman was somewhat gracious about the matter. He only now wishes that she hadn't mentioned Jane while he tried to pick her up, much less suggest her friend in her stead. Not having a bed-warmer for the night wouldn't kill him, but it sure would've been a plus. But his mood for one is ruined now.
"Jane…"
The hunter sullenly grabs one of the gift boxes he nabbed during the parade and proceeds to tear off its wrapping. He then snatches the lid off the little box and reaches inside for its goodie.
An angel.
"Just a goddamned ornament?"
The tiny carrot top angel clutches and blows a long golden trumpet, its white robed body wrapped in billowing blue ribbons. Zegram sets it down on the table and stares at it as though it were a mini-television. Swiftly, he rips through the other presents, lining up their respective contents with the angel after he's done. Only one proves to be of any real monetary value. A Christmas-themed watch of some moderately low technology. Disappointed with everything else, he knocks the trinkets over and reaches for his second drink, downing it in two and a half gulps, afterwards munching on a cube of ice.
"Better than nothing," the hunter mumbles to himself. "Ah well, yeah, ain't much but at least I got a kiss, too. Hmm…maybe if I hang around long enough, and I got Jane's blessing, then… What a Merry Christmas that would be."
--
From Sixth: I find this essentially to be a jaunt into the world of oneshots…again. Also holiday themed. Obviously, I'm no good at it since I've no sense of holidays anymore and it's like…aaaaagh. ALSO, wanted to do something that wasn't Final Fantasy. I thought Rogue Galaxy was a good place to start, also because I'd be able to exercise the non-fan fiction side of Drana (yes, in a world where she's not connected with Sephiroth in any way, shape, or form). Although, I realize it's a really brief look into her… She still acts the same, it's just her background is different.
Um, anyways… Happy Holidays, folks! …belated holidays.
EDIT 20xx: Spruced up slightly due to such nice, although few, reviews. Thanks a million.