Wake up. Felix opened his hazel eyes; his hands still clasped behind his head. The scene that leapt into focus was not what he wanted. Not by a long fucking shot. The dark, well-sanded wooden beams of his cabin lay parallel to each other, crossing a white ceiling from one bulkhead to another. A salted breeze and the persistent calling of gulls drifted through the open porthole next to the bunk upon which he lay. He sat up and folded his legs Indian style. Felix groaned, rubbing his eyes with hands that were weak from sleep. No amount of rubbing, or blinking, or swearing could alter what he saw. Spira was real, he was there, and the icy knot in his stomach whispered a silent 'I told you so'.
He swung his legs off the bed, his feet making contact with the cool wooden floor. Felix looked down at his plaid boxers and wondered what in the hell happened to his pants. He spotted a dirty green pile in the corner. Forgot I took 'em off last night. A pair of dull yellow cargo pants hung on the back of the chair near the door. Felix decided that he might as well wear something that wasn't tattered, sweaty, and stained with blood. A small, rectangular piece of paper was pinned to the crotch. The handwriting, neatly penned in black ink, leaned to the left with wide sweeping capital letters.
Felix,
These are some old pants that one of the crewmen had in his locker. He said it was okay. I thought you might want something clean to wear. Lulu is doing laundry tonight; I'll ask her to use extra soap to get your other pants clean.
-Yuna
PS: Check the pockets. There might be something there you need.
PPS: Hope you're feeling better than yesterday.
Felix let the paper fall to the floor and pulled the pants on. They fit well enough, and the fly was laced shut – more secure than buttons, less painful than zippers. He swung the wicker chair out from the wall and sat down, pulling the battered combat boots from beside the doorframe. The number nine stood out in silver marker on the heels of the boots - it was his Shooter ID, randomly assigned to him by Blacktip. Inside the tongue, 'Catholic' and 'O ' were scrawled in Felix's block print. He pulled the laces tight, the nylon strands heating up as they played out between his fingers. He then wrapped the excess around the rim of each boot and tied them off.
The sharp corner of something dug into his thigh, and Felix shot a hand into one of the hip pockets. His fingers bumped a small, wooden box. Felix withdrew it and slid the mahogany lid open. He was not a religious man. Felix turned from his Catholic upbringing long ago, but it took every ounce of willpower in his muscular body not to shout a prayer of thanks. Six small, tightly rolled paper cylinders inside the box looked, smelled, and felt like cigarettes.
The matte finished metal of the door felt cool against his tattooed shoulder as he pushed it open. Stepping into the hallway, Felix slammed into Wakka.
"Sorry, Brudda!" Wakka laughed, pretending to dust himself off. "You get some good sleep?"
"Yeah," Felix said, running a hand over the stubble on his head, the short black hairs tickling his palm. "Guess I'm really stuck here," he sighed.
Wakka nodded. "Thought you'd wake up back where you came from, ya?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Felix shrugged and scratched at his whiskers. Lost or not, I need a damn shave. "There a mirror anywhere?"
"In the bathroom. Knock first," Wakka added as he climbed out of the cabin area.
Felix walked down the hall, passing metal door after metal door. Designs of flowering vines bordered the edges of the teal, low-pile carpet, curling around themselves in intricate patterns. He rapped his knuckles against the frame of the hollow door at the end of the hall, the muffled impacts echoing through it. After a few seconds of silence, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The small, cramped room was like any head he would have found on an Earthly ship – toilet and shower in the far corner, porcelain sink near the door, water-spotted mirror hanging above the sink. Felix opened the cabinet under the sink, and was surprised to find a bin of what looked like primitive safety razors. Sharp enough, he decided after testing the blade of one with his thumb. Felix dipped it under warm water from the sink, and worked up lather with the scented bar of soap sitting in a tray near the faucet. After some contemplation, Felix decided to leave a little facial hair – a narrow, vertical stripe from his chin to his bottom lip. He then re-shaved his head, getting the hair as short as he could without slicing into skin.
Felix opened the tap on the shower and stepped into the shower basin, letting the high velocity, freezing water assault his body. Damn but that's cold! After rinsing the excess soap off and drying himself off with a towel draped over a rod on the wall, Felix examined himself in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at him from under a set of dark eyebrows. Scars on his knuckles paid tribute to the time a little boy learned to fight back. The dark green ink of the flames crisscrossing up Felix's right arm still stood out against the tan skin darkened by long stints served in the Middle East. The snake on his other arm was not quite precise; many of the banded segments were uneven, and the head of the snake just before the back of his hand was asymmetrical enough to be noticeable. Not that he gave a shit. Ain't much room for perfection in Joliet.
Felix shook his boxers to clear the sand, and then pulled them and the yellow pants back on. He tossed the razor into the bin beside the toilet. Felix was still tying the drawstring fly on his pants as he backed outside. He held the latch open as he closed the door. He didn't want to wake anyone in the adjacent cabins. He slipped back into his room, grabbing his combat belt from the foot of the bed and clipping it around his waist. Felix pulled a cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit it with the smoldering oil lamp on the small nightstand near his bed. The bitter smoke traveling down his throat was the most comforting goddamn thing he had ever felt. Felix stepped outside his cabin once more, and climbed the narrow, steep stairway that lead into the bright Spiran sunlight.
Shit, it's bright! He squinted his eyes into thin slits. Felix stumbled forward and caught his balance on a handrail. Wakka was showing his kid how to kick a large, oddly shaped ball out of the air after it was tossed. Once again, a chunk of rubber whizzed by Felix's head and ricocheted off the wall. "Dammit," he laughed with the cigarette in his mouth, "I need a helmet whenever I go outside here!"
Wakka scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, Brudda. Riko hasn't learned to control his sphere shot yet. Nice pants," he added, with a glance at Felix's legs. Wakka wrinkled his nose. "And you found some cigarettes."
"Yeah," Felix replied, taking the cigarette from his mouth to tap a small amount of ash to the deck. "They were in the pants." He blew smoke out of his mouth. "Package deal," he chuckled.
Wakka shook his head. "Can't say I like the smoke," he admitted, "but anything that gets you back to normal is okay with me, Brudda." He picked the ball up from the deck, running his fingers along the irregular bumps on its light blue surface. "Blitzball," he explained.
"I figured. So since it looks like I'm stuck here awhile," Felix said, a hint of a sheepish grin creeping onto his face, "think I can get something to eat?"
Wakka slapped his forehead. "Brudda, I forgot to tell you. There's breakfast back downstairs, in the galley. You know where that is, ya?"
"No," Felix said, shaking his head, "but it shouldn't be that hard to find." He thanked Wakka for tipping him off – better late than never, I guess – and clambered back down the short, steep stairwell.
The galley was easy to find, especially for a half-starved soldier. The unmistakablesmell of frying eggs and bacon was wafting from underneath a set of French doors. Felix pushed on the brass plate and stepped into a galley that resembled any passenger ship back on Earth. Round tables lined the room in orderly rows with four whitewashed wicker chairs surrounding each. Dark red placemats contrasted sharply with white tablecloths that hung over every table. The fabric fluttered occasionally in the artificial breeze caused by the wide wooden blades of overhead fans.
Yuna waved to him from one of the tables. "Hey," she called out, "c'mon!"
Felix pulled one of the chairs out from under the table and sat down, the wicker creaking underneath his weight. A large platter of eggs and meat that smelled like bacon sat in the middle of the table. "Damn," he confessed as he placed his cigarette on the ashtray in the center of the table, "I can't remember the last time I ate a decent meal." The M.R.E.'s and "Hot Pockets" that he and the other contractors in Brazil survived on hardlycounted as food. 'Course, they do last a helluva long time in storage. And in your stomach. And after you-
"Help yourself," Lulu told him, breaking into his thoughts. "There's plenty left."
Four eggs, six slices of thick, greasy meat, and a tall glass of something orange probably qualified as 'helping yourself''. Felix made an effort to maintain some semblance of manners while he shoveled much needed food into his mouth. "You know," he smirked after hearing Yuna stifle a laugh, "if you hadn't eaten in a week, you wouldn't be much better."
"Do they feed guardians where you're from?" Yuna inquired, throwing a glance at the small mountain of food on Felix's plate.
"Unless dehydrated, processed meat and vegetables count as food," Felix replied, wishing he was joking,"then no, they don't."
Lulu held back her expression of disgust far better than Yuna.
"Exactly," Felix laughed. The meat was greasy and tough, with thin lines of fat marbling the dark brown muscle. It smelled like bacon, but it didn't taste like it… at all. The incredibly salty meat seemed sewn together by strands of fat. Stringy, salty, meat was better than nothing. It was also better than an ancient Hot-Pocket cooked on the crusty glass pan of an equally ancient microwave oven.
"Do you like the pants?" Yuna asked.
"Yeah," he answered, suppressing the taste of the meat with juice. "And the smokes are nice, too."
Yuna wrinkled her nose. "If you say so."
"So," Lulu began, "are you feeling up to telling us more about yourself?"
Felix flashed a smile faded by too many cigarettes from the rim of his glass. "Why not," he said, pausing to take another swig of his chilled, fruity beverage.
"First, where are you from?"
He set the glass onto the table. "Where was I born, or where was I when I wound up here?"
"Both," Lulu suggested.
"Chicago and Brazil, respectively," Felix replied, stretching his arms over his head.
Lulu pressed her lips together.
Yuna spun her ring.
"Yeah," Felix chuckled, "I didn't think you'd've heard of 'em."
"What did you say you did again?"
"Military contracting. Guess you guys call it being a professional guardian 'round here." He drummed his fingertips on one of the ridges of his now-empty, fluted glass. "I think I forgot to thank you for yesterday," Felix said to Yuna. Yeah. Bet it isn't every day you get to heal self-inflicted stab wounds.
Yuna shook her head. "It's okay. I know how it must feel to be completely lost."
"Not from around here?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.
"What Yuna means," Lulu interrupted, "is that you aren't the first person to show up unexpectedly in Spira."
Felix leaned forward and removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Care to enlighten me?" He asked, blowing a narrow cloud of smoke at the overhead fan. If he wasn't the first one to drop in, he just might have a chance to get back.
"A few years ago," Yuna explained, "somebody else washed up on Besaid. Sir Tidus. He was one of the greatest guardians Spira ever knew." Her voice cracked. "And a good friend."
"You two were close, then," Felix said.
Yuna managed a nod before excusing herself and rushing out of the galley.
Lulu sighed. "I'd like to apologize for Yuna. She's been under quite a lot of stress lately."
"Who do I need to kill to get a straight answer around here?"
"This isn't something to joke about," Lulu said, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth downward. "Yuna and Sir Tidus were extremely close."
Like round after round sliding into a chamber, things began to come together in Felix's mind. "I see," he said, drumming his fingers on the glass again. "She didn't see it happen, did she?"
Now it was Lulu's turn to be confused. "See what happen?"
"Sir Tidus. Killed on that pilgrimage, right?"
Lulu's violet lips pressed together again, and her crimson eyes – shit, didn't see those before – flashed to her plate.
Felix knew a hint when he received one. "So how long you and Wakka been hitched?" He asked, changing the subject.
"One year," Lulu said. Her eyes and expression lit up. "Our anniversary is in a month.
Felix returned the cigarette to his lips. "Congrats," he said, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "You two got a helluva kid."
Lulu beamed, something Felix didn't see very often. "He's so much like his dad. Athletic, well-built, always on the move."
"Got his mother's looks," Felix remarked, letting a small length of ash drop into the ashtray.
Lulu laughed. "Thank goodness."
"I heard that, Lu!" Wakka called from the cabins.
"I think I'm in trouble now," Lulu smirked. She stood up and walked towards her husband, standing in the double doors.
Felix pushed his plate toward the center of the table and stood up. "I'm gonna take a look around," he announced to the empty room.
Felix sighed, flicking the cigarette butt into the glassy waters of the Spiran ocean. As much as he hated to admit it, there didn't seem to be any other explanation than the one melting a hole through his forehead. He was stuck. Glue, hot tar, bug-in-fresh-paint stuck. And I'd better fuckin' accept it. Of course, things in his new world weren't exactly how he could possibly have imagined them. At the moment, Felix would have accepted someone telling him that two plus two, in Spira, equaled 'King Henry VIII'.
The hardest thing to accept was that everything was just… gone. Brazil, Smitty, Kirk, Tracy, Alec... the list went on. Smitty, he knew for sure, died. The blonde-haired contractor from New York wasn't the first person Felix watched bleed into the dirt. Maybe Kirk survived. Shit, maybe that bird got him!
Felix shook his head in a motion just subtle enough to be unnoticeable by the passengers passing behind him.
No. He's either dead, in a hospital, or at my funeral. My funeral… Felix began wondering what the rest of his world had decided happened to him. What'll they tell Alec? That daddy died in a horrible accident in the ass-end of Brazil, keeping watch over some wooden huts and a handful of overpaid nerds? He spat into the ocean, channeling all his frustration into a meaningless gesture that only frustrated him more. Felix leaned forward against the ropes, allowing the thick strands to dig into his flesh.
Felix didn't bother looking up as he muttered a greeting to the heeled footsteps clattering toward him from the stern.
"Sorry about earlier," Yuna said.
"S'okay," Felix mumbled, "Lulu said you're stressed out."
"In a way. I've been busy as of late."
"Boy trouble?" Felix asked, turning his head towards her. Easy to look at, he mused. Brunette, green - wait, no, hell, so her eyes are mismatched - green and blue eyes, fair skin… He pulled away from the railing, rubbing the indentations in his forearms left by the ropes. Yuna's heels clattered again as she walked to stand next to Felix and looked up at him. And a nice build, Felix noted. A very nice build.
"Politics," Yuna replied, shaking her head. "And far too much of them."
Felix raised an eyebrow. "The hell's a kid like you stressin' out over politics for?"
She smiled slightly and pressed her lips together. "Two years ago, I was named High Summoner of Spira."
Whatever that office was, it sounded important. And someone who couldn't even drink legally should not hold an important office. "How in the hell did that happen?"
Yuna leaned against the rope, the fibers creaking against the wooden support posts. "There were seven of us: myself, and my six guardians. We defied the teachings of the Church, and defeated a great evil."
The calling of gulls carried in from the ocean.
"For that," Yuna continued, staring out at the blue-green waters stretching to the horizon, "they made me High Summoner."
"Great evil, huh?"
"Yes. Sin killed many people."
"Yeah."
Yuna's mismatched green and brown eyes widened. "You know?" She asked, spinning her ring.
"Uh-huh. There's sins where I come from, too."
The color drained from her face. "Fayth," Yuna whispered, "there's more than one where you come from?"
Huh? "Yeah… gluttony, greed, lust—"
Yuna's eyes widened more. "I thought there was just 'Sin'! They have names?"
"Yuna, if something here doesn't start making sense…" Felix let his voice trail off.
"I don't understand what's so hard for you to grasp," Yuna snapped.
Felix leaned toward her, his brow furrowing. "I think you're forgetting just how in the hell I got here," he said, his voice equally terse.
She folded her hands and looked down at the deck. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't be sorry," Felix said, becoming increasingly annoyed, "be explaining."
Yuna narrowed her eyes at the deck. "Sin… a creature created over one thousand years ago as a living armor for Yu Yevon. As Sin, Yu Yevon punished the people of Spira, and gave them a set of teachings that were falsely believed to be a way to end Sin forever." She paused, pushing her light brown bangs out of her eyes and looking up at Felix. "Forever," Yuna repeated. "But no matter how strictly Spira adhered to them, the teachings would never destroy Sin. Every ten years, a summoner would go on a pilgrimage across Spira, gathering Aeons to assist them in their upcoming battle with Sin.
"The Final Aeon, the last the summoner received, would be used to defeat Sin. The summoner would inevitably be killed in the process, and the Guardian sacrificed to form the Final Aeon would, in another ten years, become the new Sin. And so the spiral of death continued."
If I ever make it out of here, they'll stick my ass in an asylum for sure. "So in another… what… eight years… this thing will come back?"
The beads on Yuna's earring rattled as she shook her head. "Two years ago, my guardians and I went on our pilgrimage. We defied the Church, and defeated Sin without the Final Aeon, ending the spiral." Her voice began to crack again. "But not without losses."
"Sir Tidus," Felix said, nodding his shaved head.
Yuna flinched again. "Yes," she managed, her voice cracking even more. "Tidus. And Sir Auron."
The silence was almost oppressive.
This we'll defend. It was an occurrence all-too-common in his line of work. And it never got any easier to watch, hear about, or talk about. "So where are we going?" He asked, switching the subject.
"Luca," Yuna answered him. Her green and blue eyes sent Felix a silent thank you. "There's a Blitzball tournament."
"Wakka mentioned it. Kind of a big deal?"
Yuna nodded. "Huge."
"Championship game?"
"Unh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "Season opener. The first game – the one we have tickets to – is between the Ronso Fangs and the Guado Glories." Yuna nibbled at a bit of skin on the end of her thumb. "Those two hate each other." She paused again, squinting at Felix. "You never told me what those markings mean."
"And I don't think I will anytime soon. Not to be a jackass," he chuckled, "but I don't know you all that well."
"I saved your life," Yuna said, folding her arms across her breasts. "That counts for something."
Right. "In Kosovo, my unit was required to give first aid to downed enemy soldiers after the firefight moved on."
She squinted at him again. "So?"
"So," Felix continued, "just because someone gave me first aid doesn't mean they're an ally. Until I know you better, you aren't getting to know me better."
"You could just say that it's private, you know."
"Fine. It's private."
Yuna withdrew a small pouch from her sash and handed it to Felix. "I meant to give you this yesterday. It's Gil," she added as Felix opened the drawstring and peeked inside at the gold coins. "You might need it in Luca."
Cash. "Planning to drop me off, huh?"
Yuna shrugged. "If you want to wander around Spira without any guidance, then yes, we will."
"Fair enough," Felix laughed, jamming the pouch into his pocket. "So, in a nutshell, what the hell are we doing?"
"'Nutshell'?"
"The short version."
"We, as in myself, Lulu, and Wakka, are going to watch the Blitz tournament. You are free to do whatever you wish."
Felix cracked his knuckles. "How many tickets you got?"
"No need," Yuna said, shaking her head. "Lifetime passes."
He tapped a finger against his chest. "I meant for me."
"Oh." She rubbed her small chin between her forefinger and thumb. "I think tickets are fifty Gil apiece."
"And I have…"
"Two hundred."
Felix whistled. "Damn. Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
He looked over his shoulder toward the bow, watching the low mass of land begin to creep towards the boat. "Get there tomorrow?"
Yuna shook her head again. "Later this evening, if the chocobos aren't too tired."
Felix raised one eyebrow. "The fuck?"
"They don't have chocobos in… Chicago, was it?"
"That was it; and no, we don't. Some kind of engine?"
Yuna laughed. "In a way. Come on; I'll show you!"
The ship rocked gently beneath him, rolling side to side in a soft rhythm brought on by the slight churning of the water underneath the boat's wooden hull. Had he been back on Earth, the motion would have been almost soothing. Instead, it only served as a silent reminder that he was very, very lost. Felix threw the cotton sheets off him and opened the small porthole next to his bunk, letting the sea-chilled air waft in through the cabin and bring his body temperature down. Unable to sleep, he got out of his bed.
He needed a cigarette. He took one from the wooden carton and touched the tip of the small cylinder to a hanging oil lamp, letting the orange flame play over the end of the cigarette. Felix inhaled, letting the bitter smoke travel down before blowing back out. The hazy cloud drifted upward before exiting through the open porthole.
A low whistle drifted in from outside. As little experience as he had had at sea, Felix knew that whistling noises coming from above deck couldn't bode well. He pulled his cargo pants on over his boxers and fumbled with his fly, his tired hands wrapping the white cord around itself and sending that goddamn rabbit back around the goddamn tree. The cigarette in his mouth illuminated the canisters and boxes around the entrance to the cabins as he staggered onto the deck. The moonlight reflected off the glassy water, and the slight breeze wrapped around his tattooed chest and dried the drops of sweat that had formed on him inside the warm cabin. Felix ran a hand back over his stubble-covered head, wiping away the perspiration.
The Liki left a long trail of rippling distortion across the surface of the water. Small, bioluminescent fish around the wake shot up from below and broke the surface in a discordant display of acrobatics. As he drew closer to the bow, he could make out the outline of someone standing at the peak. The high-pitched, raspy whistling seemed to be coming from him. Closer still, and a skirt of some kind became clearly visible. Felix approached the woman along the cool hardwood deck, ready to jump forward or defend himself against—
"Damn you," she whispered, "damn you."
He recognized the voice. "Yuna?" Felix asked through a dry throat.
Yuna spun around, her trademark earring clattered as it swung through the air. "Why aren't you asleep?" She asked.
Felix responded with a question of his own. "Yuna, why in the hell are you whistling at oh-dark-thirty? If I didn't have a cig," he added, removing the cigarette from his mouth to flick away the excess ash, "I'd probably would've killed you."
"I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing her eyes. She snuffled. "It was a moment of weakness."
Felix replaced the cigarette, taking a long draw and expelling the smoke. He was really getting tired of everything in riddles. "Explain, please."
"I'd rather not." The dim light from the glowing cigarette reflected in the wetness covering her cheeks.
"You've been crying."
"That's none of your concern," Yuna shot back, her voice still cracked. "Go back to your cabin."
Felix tapped ash onto the deck again. "Anything that wakes me up is my concern," he said.
"I already said—"
"Don't try any of this 'High Summoner' shit, either," Felix smirked. "Because not only am I not a citizen of whatever fucked-up place this is, I'm not taking orders from a teenage girl."
"Felix," Yuna said, "You… are going to get in serious trouble if someone… hears you speak to me that way."
He sighed, adding more ash to the growing pile on the deck. "If I ask nicely, will you give me a straight answer?"
"I don't see why I shouldn't."
"Why am I here?"
Yuna tilted her head to one side. "Because you… walked here?"
"I'm not talking about that, fu— Dammit. I mean here," he sighed, waving a tattooed arm in an all-encompassing gesture.
Yuna shook her head again. "Sorry. If I knew, I would tell you."
Felix sighed, taking another drag off his cigarette. "So it's normal for somebody to just show up out of nowhere?"
"No. But it has happened before."
"Sir Tidus, I know. Why was he here?"
"He… he had some battles to fight." Yuna sniffled again, and muttered an apology as she clattered across the deck and into the cabins.
He understood what she felt. Felix felt it again himself as the image of a hardened, gray Chicago ironworker leapt into his mind.
"So, uh, is this thing on?" Tidus asked, staring into the sphere recorder. He scratched his head, gloved fingers ruffling immaculately styled strands of bleached blonde hair. Tired blue eyes smiled out from a tanned face.
"Of course," Auron scowled, peering over his sunglasses. "I'm still not sure why you need to record our hotel room on the Highroad."
"Hey," Tidus protested, "it's, y'know, for posterity! Think of it – when the pilgrimage is over, we can watch these and remember what it was like!"
"All I know," Lulu sighed, somewhere off screen, "is that if you record me without my makeup, I will introduce you to an entirely new world of pain."
The camera swung rudely to the left, the view blurred and then refocused on a seated Yuna, sitting cross-legged on her blue-sheeted bed. "Hey Yuna!" Tidus called. "Wave to the camera!"
She turned around and waggled a hand at the sphere recorder before returning to her book.
The camera swung again, this time focusing on Tidus. "So here we are," he said, gesturing with a free hand, "at the Rin's Travel agency located on the scenic Mi'ihen Highroad. Ah… Um…"
"You paid five-hundred Gil," Auron chuckled, "you should at least have some idea of what to say into it."
"I do! Uh… We killed a really big fiend today."
"By 'we'," Lulu deadpanned, "you mean 'Auron, Lulu, and Ifrit'."
"Hey, I helped!"
"That isn't the word I'd use."
"Oh yeah?"
"Obstructed would be more appropriate."
Kimahri grunted his agreement.
"Whatever," Tidus groaned. "So anyway, I guess that's all for today."
The image faded to black.
A/N: Okaaay, long update times FTL. Before anyone jumps on me for the cigarettes and razors; you all do realize that every man has whiskers grow out? Even in Spira, people would have to shave. And smokers are everywhere. Chapter V soon to come. Things get more... shall we say... interesting from there on out. ;)
Joliet: infamous prison in Illinois