Author's Notes: Hello there, my faithful reviewers (I hope). Before I start anything, I'm going to give you a short prologue-ish/summary-ish thing, so that you can understand the fic:
"A thousand years ago, Spira was a world ripe with conflict and hatred. Two city-states, the machina-heavy Bevelle and the summoner city of Zanarkand, were at each other's throats.
In a surprise attack, Bevelle took the upper hand and vanquished Zanarkand. The survivors gathered under the guidance of Yevon, their leader, believed to be the most powerful summoner alive, and fled to the nearby Mt. Gagazet. There, having at last gained some respite from the pursuing forces of Bevelle, the people of Zanarkand decided on a drastic and definite course of action: refusing to admit the fall of their beloved city, they let themselves be turned into fayths, all gathered in a massive wall on Gagazet's slopes, to begin dreaming of a new, ideal Zanarkand, eternally holding alive the memory of its former glory.
Yevon, as the most powerful summoner, then began drawing on this dream and summoning it into a huge aeon.
In order to protect himself while summoning, he gathered stray pyreflies around him with powerful gravity spells, forming a formidable armor which would soon become known as 'Sin'.
In order not to get distracted from his summoning, Yevon programed a series of guiding instincts into Sin: among them, to attack any larger human settlement and to respond to aggression with overwhelming force. From that point onward, Sin would become a terror uniting Spira under a common fear. Sin's first actions were to complete the destruction of the real Zanarkand, and to demonstrate its strength by routing the pursuing Bevellian army."
Within the Machina War, there was an appalling incident between Lenne, Zanarkand's most famous singer, and Shuyin, a renowned blitzer.
This is their story.
Mega thanks to Mario Laubacher for allowing me to use certain parts of his FAQ in my summary (the part in quotes)
Author's Notes: Once again, it is me, Shadray, your favorite author! Right?
If you have ever played FFX-2, you may know some info about the main character of this fanfiction. If not, you really don't have to know her to understand the story, because I am starting from the beginning. This fic is NOT the exact same as what really happened in the game, because I found the real story to be quite dull and boring and short. So I've tweaked the story so that it can be interesting to the reader!
Hopefully, you have at least played FFX. If so, you will realize that this story is somewhat similar to Tidus's and Yuna's, but still different, because it occurs 1000 years before the game. There are many similar characters from Yuna's pilgrimage, but none of them are the same (or ARE they?) so just bear with the story.
Oh crap. Shadray, you idiot! Why would you start a story so many original characters? Don't you realize how hard it is to give those people a personality that the readers all enjoy?
People, please give the OC's a chance. I will strive to make my characters likable! If you have any suggestions, please tell me in the review!
Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy X, X-2, X-3, X-4, or X-13098519834. In short, I don't own this game.
Note: Whenever I use italics in the story, it means that someone is thinking something. Oh, and by the way, I rated this fic 'T' because of some language and a few . . . er . . . themes.
Chapter 1: An Unwelcome Surprise
The setting sun cast an elegant beam of scarlet light, brightening the machina-filled area with warmth and scenic radiance. A limitless city with flashing lights . . . A city that never sleeps . . . Zanarkand. Massive structures of metal towered above the city, overlooking everything below them as diminutive jets soared through the sky. It was a complex city where machina did most of the work; still, there were many human residents.
On a congested street, outside of a famous singer's house, were hundreds of excited fans, jumping up and down as they shouted and chanted for the pop star to come out. Police cars were freely parked out on the corner of the street, but the cops were busy trying to stop the impatient fans from starting a riot. Who knew what could happen? Anything could happen on such a special occasion.
And yes, it was a very special occasion. Tonight was the night of the concert—the one that everyone had been looking forward to for the past few months. And to the fans, the "past few months" had seemed like decades and decades of nonstop waiting.
Suddenly, cheerful squeals from the girls silenced everyone after hearing the front entrance to the house creak its way open. Every eye faced the door, and every body turned towards the mansion as a longhaired brunette with a teeny-weeny skirt stepped out onto the front porch and waved to her fans, grinning.
Everyone screamed.
If the groupies were excited before, they were now going insane, thrusting everyone out of they way so they could finally see their idol in person. Some fans stood on fences, trying to get a good look, some stood on their tiptoes, and some merely fainted onto the concrete ground, but everyone bawled with joy as the singer made her way past the front porch.
Three eager teens shoved their way through the deafening horde to touch the songstress as she descended into the crowd, only to be carried away by bodyguards.
"Lenne! LENNE! I LOOVE YOU, YOU ARE SO HOTTT! CAALL MEE!" one of them cried as he was reluctantly pulled away from the scene. Lenne smiled at the sight of her loyal fans jumping up and down for her.
Her elegant cerulean eyes glistened with pleasure as another group of admirers scurried over to her.
"Can you sign my cheek?" a small blonde boy pleaded, poking his head out at his hero. Lenne saw more bodyguards attempting to carry the boy away, but she quickly frowned at them, and they left, shrugging.
"Sure thing. And what's your name?"
"Jamie!"
The nineteen-year-old dug into her pockets, snatched out a black pen, and placed her hand on the boy's cheek, writing Lenne—for Jamie in cursive letters. The boy touched his cheek, amazed that his ultimate idol just wrote on his face. It all seemed too good to be true.
"Lenne!" exlaimed a small girl behind him, maybe at the age of four or five. The girl lightly tugged on Lenne's leg as she squealed childishly.
Lenne was going to respond until she saw a small boy with a hood pulled over his face come from the screaming swarm of fans. He leaned against Lenne and whispered something slightly in her ear. "Do not spend too long here. You must go." He then made his way back into the crowd, leaving Lenne and the girl.
Lenne forced a smile onto her dry lips and tilted her head sideways, thinking deeply. The boy was right—she didn't have much more time to waste—she was already late for her performance. What would Reina say when she arrived backstage with no makeup, dress, or lipstick on? Reina would probably go mad; she was always that way—and so was Darian.
And on top of that, what about the other fans already at the stadium, waiting impatiently for her? They were probably rioting at this very moment, chanting impetuous phrases. In her last concert six months ago, this was exactly what happened. Riots, fights, impatient fans. . .
Lenne shivered at the thought, but then brought her attention to the five-year-old in front of her.
"Hi there, sweetie. What's your name?"
"Mary-Joa!" the girl exclaimed in a raspy voice.
What kind of name is that?
Nevertheless, she kindly responded, "Mary-Joa? Oh, that is the cutest name! I wish my name was Mary-Joa . . ."
"Really?"
"Of course!"
The girl blushed, but otherwise said nothing.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Joa?" Lenne wanted to sound as sweet as possible.
"Sign my blitzball!" She held up a navy-blue ball with white streaks in front of her face and grinned.
Lenne reached into her pocket and brought out a black pen, signing Lenne—for Mary-Joa on the front of the blitzball. Or maybe it wasn't the front. Maybe it was the side. But who really cared?
Mary beamed at her idol and cupped her hands together, bowing politely. She then ran off into the crowd.
Lenne managed to slip away from the swarm of anxious groupies before taking in a deep breath of fresh air. Her heart pounded heavily on her chest as a grin escaped her lips. She was much too wound up to wait any longer for the concert to start; she could already picture herself up on stage, before thousands of people, singing to her heart's content.
Quietly humming a random tune to herself, she remembered rehearsing at her house a zillion times, and now she finally seemed ready for the big moment in front of her loyal fans. Lenne could feel anxiety surge through her body as she dug deeper and deeper into her thoughts.
Up on stage was where she felt most secure, whether she was singing or acting or dancing—anything, really. Ever since Sin first attacked her home in Kilika, she found a new interest in the arts, and to this day, she still held it dear to her.
Lenne repeated the word, "Sin" over and over again in her mind, scowling each time. Her glistening eyes suddenly gave a very solemn look as she continued walking to the stadium, her high heels clicking on the pavement.
Sin . . . . That evil fish that had destroyed her original home, her parents, and her neighboring friends. . .Lenne hated it. Supposedly, if all Spirans "atoned for their sins", Yevon, their god, would forgive them, and Sin would perish into nothing—or at least, this was what the priests told everyone.
But then again, the priests also told everyone that machina were not permitted in the eyes of Yevon—yet the entire city of Zanarkand was full of machina.
Finally reaching the glass doors of the stadium, Lenne snapped out of her thoughts. She could still see the crowded fans gathered just outside of her house, wondering where she had gone to. Quietly slipping backstage, she shut the door behind her and dropped to the ground, crawling to her dressing room. Lenne wanted no one to see her entering; if someone did, the anxious fans would become twice as impatient. Plus, she still had to change clothes, brush her hair, and do all of that other tiresome crap.
Creeping across a dusty, narrow strip of a hallway, she looked up and spotted a wooden door, labeled "DRESSING ROOM—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" in giant, bold letters. Directly in front of the door was a three-way intersection, including the hallway that she was currently crawling though and two others.
Lenne peered around both corners of the intersection and swore quitely under her breath.
To the right were several guards, marching up and down the hallway, as if very cautious to make sure that no one would enter any room without permission. In a sense, it was a good thing that there was such first-class security, considering that a rapist or molester or something could be sneaking around the premises.
But then again, there were way too many security guards for Lenne to slip by unnoticed, especially since there were just as many guards on the other hallway. It would take some serious doing for her to do this.
Lenne was just about to go for it when a tall figure in a loose leather jacket approached from behind.
"Lenne? Is that you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing on the floor?"
Lenne nearly screamed in surprise, before whirling around to see her old friend staring at her. "Darian, you idiot! Don't startle me like that!"
Laughing, Darian responded. "Okay, okay! Calm yourself, I didn't mean to scare you."
"Scare me? You almost killed me! Can't you see I'm trying to sneak . . ."
"Trying to sneak. . . .?"
Lenne stood up, careful not to step into the other hallway. "Darian, can you get me into my room without those guards noticing?"
"Why?" Darian gave his friend a tiresome glare. "You're famous. Do it yourself."
"Darian!"
"Okay, okay. I'll distract them. But you know, everyone's wondering where you've been, right? Everybody's really worried that you won't show up."
"I know that, but I thought I'd be here—you know—fashionably late," Lenne lied, staring hard at the floor. She hadn't really come late on purpose, of course. It was because of those damn stalkers outside of her house.
"Lenne? Are you serious? You're supposed to do that at a high school party, not at a damn concert!" Darian cried in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "And why don't you just walk right in, anyway? You are a star! Those guards don't care whether you're late or not; they're just doing their job."
"They don't, but the fans do."
With a short sigh, Darian shook his head and walked off into the hallway. "Guards!" he called.
Each security guard approached Darian. "There is a . . .a burglar. . .lurking around the premises. . ." He paused to let a fake tear tread down his cheek to make his act seem that much more realistic. "He threatened to kill. . ."
"Say no more. We'll get him," one of the bulky guards interrupted rudely, pulling out his gun. He turned around to nod to all of the others. One by one, they carefully marched out of the hallway, clutching their rifles.
As each guard left, Lenne laid low, careful not to create a ruckus. When all was quiet, she peeked around the corner and saw no one but Darian standing in the hallway, still fake-crying.
"You can stop that now, Darian. They're gone," Lenne said.
-
Shuyin glared blankly at the empty stage in front of him. Dust bunnies crawled across the bare platform, obviously because of the fact that the theatre hadn't been used for years. The burgundy curtains behind the stage remained unopened, and all that could be seen behind them were angry shadows yelling and screaming at each other backstage.
Turning his attention toward the ticket on his lap, he scowled. Had he spent all of that well-earned cash on this ticket just so that he could stare at an empty stage? Of course, hundreds of other fans were unhappily waiting for the concert to start as well, but that wasn't what he'd come for. He had come to see the star—or better yet, he had come to see Lenne. Not an empty stage. He had paid five thousand gil for this? Hell no.
A famous blitzball star shouldn't have to suffer this way. No, of course not. Waiting for two hours for the show to begin was just ridiculous, right?
A livid feeling of hate rushed through his body. Shuyin angrily picked up a handful of unpopped popcorn kernels from his bag and chucked them at a nearby seat. Satisfied, Shuyin smiled to himself weakly.
But the seat was not empty. In fact, a large male had been peacefully sitting there, munching happily on his chocolate bar. But when the popcorn kernels made contact with his man-boob, he was no longer peaceful.
"You FREAK!" he screeched. Pivoting his fat neck toward Shuyin, he rudely hurled a soda can behind him.
Shuyin nearly had to jump out of his seat to dodge it. Just barely flying past his ear, he heard a splat! as the can missed him and hit an in innocent man in the—
"OWW!" he bellowed, forcing the entire theatre to stop and turn around, suddenly interested in the scene. "WHO THREW THAT?"
When no one responded, the man's eyes widened with fury as he flung an enormous sack of popcorn back toward Shuyin.
"FOOD FIGHT!" cried a small boy from behind all of the action.
And so the chaos began.
People from all over the theatre were no longer interested in the upcoming concert performance, but were now enjoying themselves by joining the "food fight" that had begun with a mere nineteen-year-old's anger. Food and soda flew everywhere, but no one seemed to care enough to even stop and pick them up. Although this kind of thing usually happened at school cafeterias, it seemed as though the fight would never cease. Popcorn lay spread out on the floor, spilled soda on the seats. . .no one had the sense enough not to participate. Lenne was right—there was a riot.
-
"Lenne, are you ready yet?"
Slipping into her dress, Lenne sighed and answered the bothersome seventeen-year-old. "No, Darian, I'm not ready. I'm almost done . . . just be patient."
She could hear him mutter something under his breath, but nevertheless, he left her alone.
Lenne stared into the glass mirror in front of her as she began fiddling with her hair. Running a hand through it, she sighed once more and moaned to her reflection, "Must I wear this?"
"Yes," her reflection replied.
Or not.
The reflection glared back at her, replicating her doubtful expression.
"Figures," she mumbled to herself. Sure, she was used to dressing up, but not like this. Do people usually wear wedding dresses to concerts? She hoped so, because it was too late to change back.
"Hurry UP!" cried an impatient Darian from outside of the door.
Shaking her head, Lenne stood up and took one last look at her mirror image.
She saw before her, a gorgeous nineteen-year-old with light, brunette hair tied up in a tight, firm bun. The girl had a slim, hourglass figure that leaned on the metal desk in front of the mirror. The fan at the edge of the room blew a slight breeze her way, shifting her hair a bit, but she still looked the same. As the girl in the mirror fixed her dress strap, she smiled a graceful smile that lit up the room.
"I said, HURRY UP, LENNE!"
Rolling her eyes, Lenne brought her attention to the door and walked up to it, opened it with a slam, and smacked Darian.
Outside the dressing room, she caught a glimpse of Reina, leaning against a wall angrily. When she noticed her, she beamed, letting her eyes sparkle under the stage lights.
She flung her blonde hair behind her shoulders. "Why in Yevon's name are you so late! We all thought you stayed home, Lennie!"
"Reina, for the gillionth time, my name is Lenne," she said slowly, "not Lennie."
"Oh, who cares? Right now we have a PROBLEM. The fans out there have just lost it, okay? They're throwing food, soda, chocolate—"
Lenne gave an assuring look to her friend. "They'll calm down once I go out there."
Reina didn't look so sure.
"It'll be fine!"
"Okay, okay," the fifteen-year-old began. "Did you memorize your lyrics?"
"Memorize them? I wrote them! Plus, if I forget, I'll just. . .uh. . .make them up?"
When she saw Reina frown, she quickly added, "But I won't forget them in the first place, right?"
"Right. Go get 'em, Lennie!" Reina quickly rushed off stage as the red curtains in front of Lenne gradually opened, little by little.
Readying herself for the moment she'd been practicing for months, Lenne forced a smile onto her lips. It was her way of ridding herself of tension. She could feel the anxiety of being stared at by hundreds of people slowly fade away, until it finally dwindled into nothing.
She took in a deep breath as the curtain completely exposed her to the food fight. At once, the impolite yelling was hushed by the squealing of the girls in the front row as they finally set their eyes on the prepossessing young woman striding towards the edge of the stage.
Lenne blushed slightly, but she wasn't embarrassed in the least bit. She had no right to be. She was right where she wanted to be all day long, and it was her fault that she'd chosen to wear a wedding dress. Still, it didn't really matter to her what she was dressed in. Not to her, at least.
Her black high heels clicked as she slowly brought herself to the microphone.
"Zanarkand." She smiled as she spoke. "I would like to thank each and every one of you for what you have showed me."
Lenne paused to look out into the crowd. Everyone had their eyes on her—she had everybody's attention. So many people. . .she could hardly count. Were there hundreds or thousands? Thousands or millions? Millions or billions? However many there were, they were all staring at her with interest—well, more like, the men stared at her with interest.
"You have all showed me. . .what a pleasure it is to have friends. So, I've dedicated a song to you all. It has no title."
She cleared her throat and waited for the crowd's applause to die down before beginning.
"My heart was swimming
in words gathered by the wind
My voice bounded
into a cloud-carried tomorrow.
My heart trembled
in the moon-swayed mirror
Soft tears
spilled with a stream of stars."
As Lenne sang, she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. Strange.
"Isn't it beautiful?
If we could walk, hand in hand."
What was going on?
"I'd want to go
to your town, your home, in your arms.
I dream of leaning
against you
my body in your keeping
disappearing into the evening."
. . .Something wasn't right.
"Words halted by wind are
a gentle illusion
A tomorrow torn by clouds is
the voice of a distant place."
. . .It was becoming too much to bear.
"My heart that had been
in a moon-blurred mirror that flowed
Those stars that trembled and spilled
cannot hide my tears."
What WAS this?
"Isn't it beautiful?
If we could walk, hand in hand,
I'd want to go
to your town, your home, in your arms.
"My dream of
your face
that I softly touch
melts—"
Before getting the chance to sing to last three words of her song, Lenne was rudely interrupted as a large woman dashed into the theatre, screaming, "ATTACK!"