Hey all, Zen here! Normally I don't dabble in fanfictions since I prefer concentrating on fanarts, but this is one idea I couldn't shake off which can't be put in a single fanart, and I don't have time to turn it into a comic either. :( So, this is my first attempt at a Star Ocean fanfic and if it sucks, then so be it. P Hard to say how long it'll be but I'm guessing less than 10 chapters, depending on whether I manage to still my rambling tongue. XD
DISCLAIMER: Characters aren't mine. Duh. Otherwise I'd be out there making buckets and buckets of money, not typing stories in a heatwave with no fan. :P
RATING/WARNINGS: T, just in case Albel's mouth gets more potty. Rampant shounen-ai. Bad love advice. Hilt beatings. Oo
FEATURED CHARACTERS: Albel, Cliff, Fayt, talking sword… maybe a couple of cameos from the others if I feel benevolent…
SUMMARY: Albel's smitten with a certain someone in the party, but lacks the necessary wherewithal to make his feelings known. Much insanity, humiliation and bad tempers abound as Albel follows "Dr Feelgood" Cliff's four step lurve program accompanied by his wisecracking sidekick, the Crimson Scourge… happy happy fun time!
PAIRING: If you know me on deviantART, it should be bleeding obvious. If not, look at the darn title. XD
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PROLOGUE/ Love bites:
"This is ridiculous!"
>>Just shut up and knock.>>
"No. Out of the question. I don't even want to be here…"
>>Yet you are here
nonetheless. Don't you find that just a tad ironic?>>
"Dammit!"
Albel Nox, aka Albel the Wicked (or as he was commonly known among native Elicoorian tribes, "Ikky Ookie Peeka Choo" which roughly translates to "Man who fights in girly clothes") was frustrated. And that was bad, since living things tend to die when that happens. Here in one of the many cool, sterilized hallways of the Diplo living quarters however, there was a fortunate shortage of animate beings, with the only exception being a lonely looking pot plant sitting next to some poor sap's doorway. Albel narrowed his eyes as he glared at it, already envisioning the innocent little tree as a useful punching bag.
>>You know… there's no point getting so angry about it. If my memory serves me correctly, I do recall that this was your idea in the first place…>>
Albel pointedly broke away from the door he'd previously been poised to knock upon, aiming a solid slash with his claws at the luckless plant. Stupid idea anyway, putting plants in a space ship… he wondered fleetingly who's marvelous idea that had been. The thrill of destruction was only temporary reprise though, and he grated his teeth as the incessant little voice in his head barreled on as though he had never tried to block it out.
>>How long are you going to spend moping? You really have gotten quite insufferable over the past week… I think an attitude change is called for, don't you think?>>
Albel didn't stoop to agree or disagree, settling instead for leveling a ferocious glare at the sword strapped by his side.
>>And stop pulling
such awful faces. All those frown lines make you look like a
disgruntled baboon.>>
Okay. So the Crimson
Scourge was undoubtedly the most powerful sword in the kingdom of
Airyglyph (excellent for earning gloating points at parties), it was
magic (always a good plus), it could potentially cleave the sky in
two (looks great on a resume) and on top of all that it somehow
managed to be well versed in the English language (excellent for
those awkward ice-breaker moments) but dang nabbit the thing
sure could NAG.
Albel's glare wavered for a few moments. He certainly didn't want to be looking like a baboon – what would the local fangirl population think? He compromised instead with a tight-lipped frown, reaching down to yank the Crimson Scourge out of its scabbard to hold it accusingly before his eyes. In the polished steel of the slender blade, Albel saw his own frustrated face reflected in a soggy mess of refracted light and melted colour.
"I thought you were supposed to be helping me!" he growled, giving the sword a bit of a shake for extra emphasis.
>>I'm only here for moral support and the sheer enjoyment of watching you squirm in your pretty purple skirt.>> The Crimson Scourge's mental voice was coloured with a distinct sadistic edge, and the blade seemed to bend itself back into a wicked grin but maybe it was just a trick of the light. >>If you're getting cold feet though, then why don't you remind yourself why you came? Read that blasted newspaper clipping again and stop whining. You're giving me a hilt-ache.>>
Albel closed his eyes as the Crimson Scourge cut off their shared mental connection, letting out a slow breath as he struggled to loosen the tension that was spreading through his entire upper body. The nervous flutter in his chest which had momentarily been suppressed by rising anger was creeping to the surface again, and he slumped against the closest wall for support.
As much as he hated to admit it… the damn sword was right. He had been insufferable lately, even more so than usual. His maggot comrades hadn't failed to notice the exponential rise in his verbal sniping, or the unpleasant glower which now seemed to be a permanent fixture on his otherwise aesthetic face. He knew that they had put his behaviour down to restlessness and culture shock – they had been flying on the Diplo for some time now, gearing up for the eminent confrontation with the enigmatic Creator, and the cramped quarters would be enough to make most people mentally itchy for more open spaces and blue sky. There was also the significant matter of having to grow accustomed to the strange technology that pervaded the ship. Being a member of the party who hailed from a backwater planet impacted on Albel's pride, since he certainly did not consider himself to be stupid… but could he help it if the mere mechanism of a light switch held an unparalleled mysticism for one such as he? ("Light goes on…. Light goes off! Light goes on…. Light goes off!")
Oh yes, those were certainly good reasons for Albel's bad behaviour, and he made no move to discourage his comrades' drawn conclusions. He couldn't have asked for a better arrangement actually, considering it was a perfect façade for the true reasons which were running rampant under the surface and which were currently driving him stark, raving bonkers. Seven days worth of restless nights, nail biting, fidgeting, palpitations and "interesting" dreams which usually always demanded very cold showers afterwards had finally driven the swordsman to breaking point. Yes peoples, you heard it here first.
Albel Nox was in love!
Albel stared morosely at the immaculately clean, polished floor of the hallway, digesting all the weird feelings churning in his gut. Up until now, there hadn't been much room inside for such pitiful emotions. It seemed inconceivable anyway that there would be room for anything else apart from the usual bones, blood and vital organs that came with the average Joe. The human body was a small thing most of the time, and Albel's frame was smaller than most… but somehow, those niggling feelings had wormed their way inside anyway and morphed into the infernal butterflies which were currently tormenting his stomach lining with nervous little wings.
He didn't know whether to be pleased or resentful of the sensation. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling. The warm flush that coloured his cheeks every time he caught a glimpse of the object of his affection was somewhat gratifying, the stirred emotions setting his heart singing to the point where he felt like he was walking on air. On the downside though, Albel the Wicked certainly did NOT need to gain a reputation for blushing like a love-struck school girl whenever said person uttered a simple "Good morning" in his direction. How bloody embarrassing.
Hence, something had to be done. Now. He couldn't keep living like this!
The newspaper clipping had been something akin to a Godsend… at least, it had seemed to be at the time since it had conveniently appeared during the apex of Albel's frustration. Admittedly it hadn't actually originated from a true newspaper, but the modestly sized newsletterwhich circulated on a weekly basis through the Diplo was usually referred to as a newspaper and most people left it at that. Usually it was filled with boring, nonsensical stuff. Reports on the current affairs of planets, updates on technological maintenance in the ship courtesy of the Diplo crew, estimated time of arrival to whatever destination they were on course for… but this week, there had been something noticeably different which staid Albel's page-flipping hand.
Ads, ads, ads… lots of them. Some weren't particularly appealing – Mirage's offer of kick boxing lessons obviously had little regard for the less pain tolerant non-Klausians on the ship, while Leiber's offer of making hand crafted dollies out of oyster shells and googlie eyes was just plain disturbing. The last one though had caught Albel's eye, even though he had initially scoffed it off. Try as he might though, he couldn't bring himself to throw the newspaper out with the usual daily trash. The bundle of paper had remained where he threw it in the furthest corner of his room, hovering at the edges of his vision whenever he crossed the threshold between the hallway and his quarters and doggedly insisting on being the last thing he looked upon before falling into troubled sleep. Like with so many things in Albel's life so far, enough had once again been enough.
With a small sigh, Albel tugged a crumpled square of paper from his waistband and peeled back the folded edges. He'd opened and folded it so many times during his week of indecision that the clipping was looking rather sad and rumpled, but the print was still reasonably legible…
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LOVE TROUBLES? ALL HUNG UP? SCARED SILLY OF WINDING UP A SINGLE OLD SPINSTER? I'LL LEND A FIN, THE DOCTOR IS ALWAYS IN!
DR FEELGOOD
PHD. LUV DIP ED.MEGA MOJO
FREE CONSULTATIONS! FIRST THREE CALLERS ENTITLED TO A MUFFIN! (Plus $49.95 postage and handling)
DIPLO LIVING QUARTERS, ROOM 69, OH BABY YEAH!
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"You know…" Albel muttered slowly, and not for the first time, "… this might not be such a good idea."
During Albel's moment of moody recollection, the Crimson Scourge had slipped out of his grasp to recline leisurely against the wall beside its young master. As Albel voiced his doubts for the umpteenth time however, the sword noticeably bristled and propelled itself from the wall to hop en pointe before Albel to imperiously thump his foot with the butt end of its hilt.
"OW! You blasted stick! What was that for?" The swordsman roared, clutching his abused foot with both hand and claw while crazily hopping around the place in a bid to keep his upset balance. The Crimson Scourge was merciless though, bouncing right after Albel to administer another whack but this time to the inviting curve of his purple rump, and was rewarded with yet another yell which could've been bottled and marketed to strip plaster.
>>Stupid lovesick dolt!>> The Crimson Scourge's mind voice dripped with scorn as it nipped at Albel's jumping-jellybean heels. >>MUST I do everything for you!>>
With one smooth motion, the sword leapt off the glossy floor, its hilt aimed directly for the flat plain of door which marked the entrance to room 69. The crash it made upon impact was louder than any human knock, resounding through not only the air of the hallway but the walls, floor and ceiling panels to the point where everything seemed to shudder and shake. His throbbing foot forgotten, Albel whirled around fearfully to glance at the door which was now sporting a very deep dent, and which furthered his suspicions that the Crimson Scourge's mother must have been an anvil.
The nightmare took the very turn Albel had been dreading as the door slid open at last, while everything seemed to revert to slow motion as a dreadfully familiar figure was gradually revealed, bit by torturous bit. Even as Albel gaped in horror, the Crimson Scourge (traitorous to the end) craftily swept the battered newspaper clipping in the direction of the newcomer where it was quickly swept up and perused by a meaty, armour plated hand.
A heartbeat passed which was closely followed by another, as Albel tried to make the difficult split-second decision of whether to wring the Crimson Scourge by the hilt or to do it to his own neck. He had to admit… the latter sounded really appealing. However, so did the tempting idea of gutting the person before him since he could eliminate all witnesses that way, as long as he could figure out how to open the air lock door on the Diplo afterwards to jettison the body. He couldn't recall when he'd last felt so humiliated, not even the time when he'd been untactful enough to use the word "intercourse" in a speech for a charity function dedicated to celibate religious priestesses of Airyglyph.
But even though panicky static in Albel's ears was drowning out most sounds, the voice that came cutting through the air was relentlessly deep, booming and – worst of all – far too amused for Albel's liking.
"Since I'm such a nice guy…" Cliff Fittir drawled, grinning broadly at the mortified expression on Albel's face, "… the muffin's ON THE HOUSE!"
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Liked it, hated it, let me know! P
Next chapter – "The Doctor is in". Expect hyperventilation, half-eaten corn muffins and really bad guessing games… Oo