Chapter One: An Incongruous Cheery Yellow
by PrettyGothGirl
All Disclaimer Apply: FFX-2 is Square Enix' Fanon Culture is mine.
Summary: Love is like the rose, it only thrives with tender care and a little adversity. Part One: He wasn't supposed to be there, especially to covertly check out girls.
A/N: Extreme Alternate Universe. Fanon Culture Based. Shortly, the Al Bhed are a nomadic tribal people living on Bikanel without any contact with the rest of Spira. If you want to see the source document, email or comment.
He wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't supposed to be there at all. And if he was found here, he'd, at the very least, be beat up and sent back flying over the border to his territory or, the less pleasant option, be killed. He took a deep breath and shoved the tent flap aside and stepped into the relatively cooler interior of the tent he'd been directed to. The flap fell behind him cutting off the cruel eye of the sun that was the Sanubia Sands at high noon. A hover bike held pride of place in the center of the sand floor, the tent nothing more than a shade, and metal pieces glinted in the dim light some half buried by sand. Underneath the bike was a pair of booted feet and he could hear small grunts and muttering. A gloved hand, small and delicate with nails painted an incongruous cheery yellow (some part of him took heart from this, yellow being the Thunderbird's color) reached out from underneath and scrambled for a wrench just out of reach. He watched for a few seconds and quietly walked over and toed it closer, just a small nudge. The hand grabbed it and disappeared.
He cleared his throat.
There was another grunt and the boots dug into the sand and a female body to match the painted nails pulled out from under the bike. She flashed a smile at him and dropped the wrench back on the sand where he'd found it. "Can I help you?" She said and sat up.
He coughed and nodded. The word petite had been created to describe this girl. "I'm, uh, looking for Rikku."
She smiled again, not at all aware of the way the grease from the bike was smeared all over her face and caked into the braids in her ponytail. He registered dimples quickly as she stood up and brushed her suit off, reaching for a rag to wipe her hands. "That would be me."
He smiled tightly while reigning in his disbelief. He needed an alchemist, not a mechanic. This tiny thing covered in a mixture of grease and fuel was Rikku; the alchemist that every other alchemist had told him might be able to solve his problem. She couldn't be any older than he was and looked like stiff wind would knock her over. She stared at him expectantly. He reached back into his pouch and brought out a piece of vellum. "I found this formula." He started and handed it to her. "No one can tell me what it is."
She frowned and took it from him by the edges. She didn't even look at it. "Follow me." He followed her out of the back of the tent and down another row of tents. He tried to make a mental count of how many people were in this tribe alone to account for all the different tents and couldn't. She pushed open another tent flap and gestured him to precede her. He ducked inside and took the tables and shelves and many bottles in at a glance. This was more like what he'd been expecting.
She shoved some bottles aside on one of the tables and hopped onto it swinging her legs back and forth. She unzipped the top of the coverall type suit she'd been wearing and he quickly averted his eyes and tried to hide the fact he was sweating. Somewhere in the tent was a black light lamp and he had caught a glimpse of the flame-stylized tattoos in curly patterns along her collarbone and up her neck. Cred, he was glad he was wearing long sleeves and a high neckline himself. The last thing he needed was to be given away by his own tribal marques, especially when his tribe and this tribe didn't get along. Well, not getting along was an understatement; more like kill each other on sight, random raids into each other's territory, all at war. And his lightning, sharp and clean didn't blend in with the soft curves of the Phoenix' fire.
"Find a seat, this could take a few minutes." She gestured towards a stool over in the corner. She found another rag and poured something clear onto it and began to work at her face and hands and as she worked more tattoos began to glow under her skin. He grabbed a stool and leaned against a table. She tossed the rag to the side and picked up the paper. Her eyes flicked up and met his. "You don't look familiar."
He smiled. He found if he smiled and looked people in the eyes they didn't think he was lying to them. "Different family group, different part of the territory, name's Gippal."
She nodded and returned to the paper. Her lips moved as she read it, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling at certain points. It wasn't that long of a formula and she stared at it a long time before looking back up at him. "It's encoded."
"So people tell me." He crossed his arms, so much for solving the problem.
"It's not that complicated. I mean, it's not a cryptogram, a simple find and replace but-" she trailed off and looked at the ceiling. She looked back down. "Is this the original copy?"
His eyebrow rose. "Is that important?"
She sighed and looked down at the paper. "I can't tell, but I think there is stuff missing. If I had the original copy I'd be able to tell better."
"The original was deemed too delicate to travel."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. She turned the paper over and picked up a pen and made a few notations. She blew on it to dry the ink, what didn't dry in the few seconds it was exposed to the air. She passed it back to him. "Here's what I can do for you without the original." He took it and stared at it. Her writing was as loopy as her tribe's artwork. "I left blanks where there appears to be information missing. This isn't regular alchemy, add this and that and get that. There appears to be some sort of elemental ritual to go with it and that leaves it in the realm of shamanic alchemy."
"A lost art," he murmured.
She shook her head. "In some tribes, I agree with you, but not here, not in the Phoenix, not ever." She slid off the table. "That isn't a Phoenix formula though." She leaned over him and looked over the edge of the paper, her hand clutching the edge of the table. "It's Thunderbird." He stiffened. She knew, knew that they weren't friends but enemies. Her lips grazed the edge of his ear. So close, he could smell her, cinnamon, motor oil backed by the salty tang of sweat. "You've got till midnight to get out of Phoenix territory, Gippal, Heir of the Thunderbird." Her head turned and she stared into his wide eye. She had the brightest green eyes he had ever seen.
He swallowed and nodded. "Thanks."
She grinned. "Tell your cousin, Rikku said hi, and that I think you're a tad too reckless for your own good."
"You knew I was coming," he whispered.
She winked, shoved away from the table and her head tilted to the side. In the background he could hear a male voice raised in agitation. "Shit, Anikki."
He shoved the paper back into his pouch and stood. She glanced up at him. He smirked and grabbed her hand, bowed over it and laid a kiss on the palm. "Good bye, Lady Rikku."
She flushed and pulled her hand away. He flashed her a grin and left the tent and headed straight to the desert where he had grounded his hover. It was time to get out of Phoenix territory before his hands were staked behind his back and his skin came off in strips. She was cute, he decided as the hover kicked up a sand cloud behind him, even with grease all over her face, no, especially with grease all over her face.
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