A/N: To those of you that still remember me, and if none of you do, I can hardly take offence, I have returned! I finally had time to write, and of course I got writer's block... I couldn't bear to give you guys an utterly sub-par chapter, especially when everything I seemed to put down on paper wasn't remotely structured or even coherent. When I finally found that I was able to write again, as well as I ever could, at any rate, my computer broke. No joke... It corrupted my floppy disk with 5,185 words of text on it, and I had to start all over again cos I severely doubted that you guys were fluent in squares and gibberish. Then, the problem was in uploading the chapter. Tonight, I developed a cunning plan to e-mail each document from two different machines; using a wireless connection that I had to hold up to the heavens to pacify, to find out that I'd sent the wrong darned document after nearly an hour of struggling. Just to spite me, I caught sight of one of those nifty wand things... and the situation was resolved in under five minutes... -sheepish-
And as I've forgotten: UNADULTERATED SAP WARNING! THE CUTENESS WILL EAT YOU!
-Rikku SWiRLS- I was seriously weighing up the pros and cons of the quota... but then I realised that I'm not doing this for compliments. I really, truly appreciate that you guys, and you give me all the motivation I need... More reviewers would probably inflate my ego to a size rivalling Gippal's... lol
-Emmy-miester- Ooooh... guessing games... I'll be totally vague and hazard a guess at between 15-16? I'd be way more comfortable using a demographic of 5-95, but that doesn't say as much for my psychic prowess, -giggles- I had to do right by Paine last chapter, cos I'd made her so mean before... well, she's still mean, but in an amusing sort of way which almost validates her actions... Poor, unfortunate, half-dead Baralai...
-K-Jaye- Feel free to use Paine's harebrained scheme, I like you too much to sue you, andI won't tell Square-Enix if you don't,lol. I hope this chapter's any good... I think I've gotten rusty at writing the characters, it's been so long... but getting back into the habit shouldn't be too hard, says she who forgot to update for months on end...
-oOoDancingQueenoOo- Thanks for the lovely review! Hope you enjoy this next... hideously overdue chapter!
-Mandeth- Thank you so much for saying that -grins- my reviewers are so nice! I know I started on a totally over-used plot point, but I needed some sort of ultimatum to hurl them both together, because otherwise they wouldn't have interacted enough during the main story of the game, and the wedding idea popped into my head shortly after the comment about 'Gippal spawn'. So there you have it! It's completely the fault of a single one-liner, so don't blame me! lol, the rest of it's relatively original though, I hope... -nervous laughter- Enjoy the next chapter!
Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy, but I DO have a shiny new PSP -thrusts console to the monitor- The lyrics used are mine as well, so don't expect me to allocate ownership to most of the future melodic numbers;don't think you're getting an explanation of what the convoluted mess actually MEANS either, we'll just be here way too long...
Chapter Eleven: Secrets, Serenades and Spooning Bards
While Gippal was languishing in an infinitely larger amount of comfort than he deserved, I was vainly attempting to shimmy as far away as was physically possible. The mattress had been created by some freak with a sadistic streak rivalling that of Seymour 'having antennae is oh-so-fashionable' Guado, to make it a tight squeeze for a single person, let alone two, especially when I was hell-bent on the notion that no physical contact whatsoever was to be allowed. It was already humiliating enough that I was wearing my brother's 'Lady Yuna' print boxers; even if he had insisted that they weren't contaminated, I didn't get much of a peaceful easy feeling having my cousin's face dotted about my general crotch area.
That was just another nail in the coffin of my financial survival though; I mean, heck, I'm pretty sure they'd started selling 'Lady Yuna Toilet Seat Covers' by now, and Yuna had turned down 25 percent of royalties in order to donate all of that enticing hard cash to every charity on the face of Spira. Hence, the pennies had been frittered away on even more do-gooding, which gets old, oh-so-very quickly, especially when there come days when I have to go out and murder my victuals. I'm talking: stroll out in the middle of the night armed with only a disturbingly rusted potato masher and a spatula, or maybe a makeshift spear if I feel the need to tie said spatula to a stick. One night, Paine actually discovered me attempting to harpoon an unfortunate Sahagin, camouflaged with all manners of foliage in my hair and with skin painted with truly random stripes of colour… Unsurprisingly, she hasn't let me go out again unsupervised, for fear of someone actually… seeing me.
Plus, as if my embarrassment wasn't already at a critical enough plateau of mortification; Paine had lent me a camisole, which, combined with the boxers, proved to make me appear even more disturbing. Trust me, mixing kitschy merchandise with black satin and lace makes one big fashion faux pas. Not saying that the top wasn't ridiculously gorgeous; the frills gracing the sweetheart neckline gave a touch of femininity to Paine's wardrobe -one that I'd never seen before- while the vermillion gauze alternating in vertical pinstripes with the satin guaranteed the attire as still highly suitable for a gothic siren. Unfortunately… being blonde, bubbly, and not quite as pale as a cadaver, it kinda means that I didn't really do the garment much justice, being neither gothic nor siren. It didn't help that I was rather hopelessly drowning when it came to the chest area, and without the feeble straps I had to yank up every few seconds, give or take, it was gonna have to stay up by willpower alone.
Gippal didn't look to be experiencing sunshine and daisies in their totality, however, as he kept shifting uncomfortably when he wasn't fiddling with the elastic of his eye patch. At first, I was just unnecessarily smug, cos in my line of work, you had to find sadistic enjoyment where you could; but after an agonising span of tossing, turning and quiet muttering, I was more irritated than amused. Rolling over, a move which I miscalculated badly, seeing as I ended up daintily plastered alongside my antsy bedfellow; I at least managed to distract him some, seeing as his attention was now occupied in matching me in obstinacy in order for my camisole to fall to half mast. I snorted and pinched him, something he thoroughly deserved, for his lechery, and then sighed dramatically when he resumed his habitual worrying of the elastic holding the patch to his face.
"Off!" I hissed quietly, holding my palm outstretched whilst adopting my authority figure expression. At first, Gippal was clueless, and I was about to begin the long, painful process of clarification, but then oblivion was snatched away and his jaw went slack.
"Nuh-uh" He whispered petulantly back, jutting out his lower lip in a masterful pout that I knew was going to give me a run for my money.
"Gippal…" I muttered warningly, "If you don't hand it over right now, I swear I'll shove it where the sun doesn't shine; and if you make some stupid quip about it being night time, I won't pull my punches, and you'll be able to fish that bloody patch out of your throat come the morning." I concluded with a feral growl, coupled with a stony glare of epic proportions.
"But it's ugly…" He sulked, rather pathetically. "Not even 'Lai or Dr. P have seen it…" He finished, almost brokenly. I was torn between either bursting into tears at the fact that he had insecurities I couldn't help him with; or slapping him upside the head for being so damned impractical.
"Didn't you think this would become an issue when we'd sleep together on a regular basis?" I asked, blushing furiously when his face snapped up so he could grin roguishly at me. "Mind out of the gutter, thank you very much…" I interrupted snippily, "Did you think I'd actually have the patience to watch you fidget until one of us passed out from exhaustion?" I demanded quietly. "If you're going to be childish about it, I'd get you a paper bag to wear; if I didn't already know you'd make even more of a commotion than you are now by rustling…" I concluded peevishly, gesturing again with my open palm. Smiling slightly when I felt the infernal material brush my fingertips, all thoughts of victory evaporated when I gazed into both of Gippal's eyes for the very first time.
I held his stare, entranced by the mournful streak of dead tissue that bisected his eye from one flaxen brow and retreated to nestle beneath fine, shadowy lashes. The scar had been as straight as a surgical incision when inflicted, but the flesh had been knit back together crookedly, giving the wound jagged edges that added to the fury of the burgundy contrast to tanned skin. The once emerald iris had dimmed to a lifeless, murky grey, barely distinguishable from the filmy pupil languidly floating at the origin of the dead pool. His expression was guarded, but the way his lips continued to twitch, rethinking his excuses, I realised that he thought I was judging him. Resting my hand gently over his left eye, my face fell as the orb's cadaver continued to stare unseeingly into the depths of my being. "You can't see me, can you?" I choked, swallowing down my tears as the digits opposite traced the puckered surface of flesh that couldn't feel. Fingers laced through mine; strongly, deliberately, and my shock felt palpable to me.
"I've always seen you, Rikku." He said, turning his face and casting his right eye into shadow.
Now, seeing as Gippal and I are rather, unorthodox at best, and just plain confusing for the majority, even though the unspoken romantic offer was about as tempting as sticking a Gysahl Green in front of a starving Chocobo with masking tape wrapped around its beak, I wasn't exactly gonna up and jump aboard the bandwagon of a clichéd, not to mention sappy, happy romance ending.
I'm not actually being cynical about that though… Not many things live up to my expectations, but even if I had broken down into pathetic, stereotypical damsel in distress sobs, and let him usher me up in his arms, I'm pretty sure that the finale would be climactic and hyperbolic enough to win awards for most barf-inducing mush. It's apparent from the way we interact, even on a platonic level… I mean, the way Gippal moves, talks; he has something to prove, and you'd damn well better be watching when he works his magic. He is well aware that he's good, and he wants everyone around to know that too, because he'll take as much as he can get and doesn't leave room for leeway. He's so competitive; he refuses to let someone else deliver the final comeback, because only he may convey the crushing blow, and if he doesn't? The extremely limited experiences I've had of putting the man in his place don't do much at all to dispel the notion that Gippal is a sore loser. A long time ago, back at Home in fact… well before I got lumbered with that idiotic crush, he actually had the audacity to disable Pops' state of the art, 'impregnable', his words, not mine, security system; just so he could dangle a freaking HUGE rubber tarantula over my face as I slept. It'll suffice to say, that when I woke up, due to the vexing itchy thing skittering across my forehead, I proceeded to scream the whole neighbourhood down.
Some of you; and by you I have no idea who I'm even talking to anymore… maybe the little people in lab-coats in my brain? Well… inter-cranial staff or whatever? Listen up, cos one of you nose-less wonders that can still somehow support spectacles on your faces, which does rather freak me out by the way, better be paying attention! Right… well
Seeing as now would be an approximately beneficial time to halt the raving psychobabble about the wee figment folk that live inside my skull, I'll attempt misdirection, fail miserably and then maybe get back on topic. The misdirection part is mainly due to the fact that my pathetic, virginal self is unwilling to flush to the tips of my ears; unwanted after-effects of uttering a short, three letter noun that still makes me giggle like a schoolgirl when I am forced to address its vast concepts, so there's your feeble explanation for rambling harmlessly on about sentence structure for a little while.
Ok, fine, my equally schizophrenic, -seeing as: d'uh, it's still me, who else would be listening in on my thoughts? Oh good Yevon above! My brain has been bugged! Someone get me a colander, a coat hanger and some tin foil, stat!- audience seems to have had more patience bestowed upon them than the other half, i.e. me again, so of course I'm gonna blab everything to stop an awkward silence from descending.
Er… for the normal people out there, who can't possibly inhabit my brain; you know who I'm talking about, cos self-actualisation is important or something: Scratch quite a fair bit of my previous one woman conversation, I'll start again. As I was saying, if I ever let my grip on my mental faculties slip more than it already had, and say, for example, I did something really unconstructive, like, I don't know… boink him…
At this point I'm laughing nervously and my lust-object in question has been given good reason to stare confusedly at me, but I've started now, so I can pat him on the head and insult him once I've ploughed on for a sufficient period of time.
Well, if one thing led to another and another led to the smexing? I'm pretty sure it would blow my fragile little mind, not that the prospect is all that taxing to implement and achieve. Now, this isn't because my head is filled with fluff and sugar hearts; I'm really not expecting some big, overblown romantic gesture, dinner, dancing; -definitely not the dancing, because I'm sure I'd mince his feet into confetti- heck, if I got flowers I'd be more suspicious than prone to melting into a puddle of adoring goo at his feet. In all actuality it'll probably be in this stupid, too tiny bunk, whilst wearing a hotchpotch of clothing genres, none of which actually comes close to fitting me by the way, and it'll still be fantastic cos we'll be us. We'll banter back and forth, I will threaten him with bodily harm, Brother or Paine will wake up and attack Gippal, and that'll be my first sexual situation that I will definitely not be writing home about.
Not that I write home… it'd be pretty sodding difficult, what with the fact that Pops is practically a nomad, and the weensy fact that if I told him about my average day, he'd march me back to whichever tent he now inhabits and I wouldn't be let out in public again 'til I was 35. Anyways, it'd be… for lack of a decent adjective, nice. I'm finding that these stupid 'like' related feelings of mine, which aren't all that platonic anymore; not that they ever really were, are pretty much evolving with each second I spend in his oh-so-majestic company. These feelings are becoming all encompassing, and I'm horrified and disappointed that I seem to be falling so hard so damned fast, because I'm a proud, feministic spinster, gosh-darn-it! Well, spinster yes, feminist, not-so-much… Feminists are usually sophisticated, and way more willing to whip out a machete if someone opens a door and ushers them in first. I like the happy middle ground, you know, between my reactionary cousin and well… Paine…
But, as I've now remembered; the almighty leader of the Machine Faction has said something that could make a lesser woman swoon, and probably a greater one too. I have responded in kind by giggling, as if to signify a premature warning that I will be vacating the immediate area within the next thirty seconds and neither hell nor high water is going to impede me. That's what makes me such a diehard romantic… I can kill the mood before I even know it's there.
"Sorry!" I hissed, furtively glancing around to judge everyone's apparent states of wakefulness. "I wasn't giggling at you, I promise!" I concluded feebly, because it was still preferable to informing the man of my ever-present interior monologues, weighing up the pros and cons of instigating something I probably shouldn't be instigating. Judging by the way he's quirked an eyebrow, and the small, long suffering smirk he's giving me, I don't think he's taken offence.
"Don't worry about it; it's hysterical watching you talk to yourself. You kind of tilt your head to and fro like you do when you're summing up the best way to dismantle a machina without getting your clothes dirty, and you were ticking things off on your fingers, like when you're lecturing your family, or me, and of course you were masquerading as some sort of scarlet object for the majority of the internal conversation, and you're ridiculously cute when you're embarrassed." He chuckled, mimicking my supposed actions, with the exception of the blushing, seeing as the man had no shame, which I didn't take kindly to. I almost wanted to tell him that he'd lost his chance to get some tonight, but he'd probably be more than satisfied with holding the fact that I'd even considered it over my head for the next ten years of my pathetic existence. "Awwww… ickle Cid's Girl is pouting!" He cooed sarcastically, tickling my chin for good measure; his hand quickly retreated when I gnashed my teeth together, narrowly missing his outstretched finger.
"Don't you think it's really sad that whenever you say something genuinely sweet, or romantic; you just give into temptation almost immediately and open your mouth again? Hence ruining the moment I've painstakingly fought to create; so my mood will deteriorate, the situation will degenerate, and I'll end up punching you." I commented, concluding my observation by pointedly staring at him, nonplussed. Gippal just grinned in return, as if proving me wrong was one of his true joys. I'm pretty sure that and humiliating me were his prime sources of amusement, but I doubted if he realised that his success warranted my own as well, because when he competes, everything else but winning becomes a secondary concern.
If he was single-minded enough to keep quiet, he'd get bored within ten minutes and probably knock himself out as a counter-measure, enabling me to follow suit and get some shut eye before the birds started to chirp obnoxiously. Sleep would probably fix my brain, or at least abet the need to converse with imaginary tenants that had taken up shop inside my cranium, and a few shots of java would keep me hyper and distracted enough to not linger on my thoughts and feelings for the stupid git across from me, so I could postpone analysing whether I truly wanted to marry him, or bury him instead if the situation called for it.
"Go to sleep." I huffed, turning my back to him as I hunched up in a futile attempt to conserve some space. As always, Gippal decided to foil my well laid plans as he dragged me back to the centre of the mattress, wrapping both arms about my midriff and smugly resting his chin on top of my head. I was quite sure that by this stage I was developing a facial tic, but the circumstances, and my pride, dictated that I wasn't to move a muscle, clobber him with a blunt instrument, or inform Paine, who would do the clobbering for me, free of charge.
I yawned loudly, wondering why I'd only just remembered that I was knackered, but Gippal was deceptively warm and snuggly, and the position was a hell of a lot more accommodating now that he was gentlemanly enough to share the pillow, and I had room to breathe, so I didn't dwell on it.
The rise and fall of his chest, acting in tandem with the metronomic beating of his heart was almost hypnotising. The sensation was pleasant, in a novel way, I guess, but I wasn't about to analyse anything much because my eyes were having problems remaining open.
"Goodnight, Princess." He whispered, exhalation softly stirring a few loose golden hairs.
"What, no bedtime story?" I demanded sardonically, snickering as Gippal adopted a lopsided grin. "I know; that'd be too cliché, and you do so pride yourself on your originality," I simpered, batting my eyes in a manner I hoped was flirtatious, as opposed to looking like I was trying to hastily expel some sort of little creature from where it was drowning in the saline film draped across my eyeball. Or looking like I was suffering a particularly violent, hallucinogen induced wig-out session, which, as a deduction, probably isn't quite as absurd as it sounds; especially if I'm somehow involved in the scenario. "How's about my tarnished knight trades his sodding huge tuba-gun for a lute and becomes a bard?" I drawled, attempting to enlarge my eyes exponentially, snorting slightly at a returning image of plumed hats and hosiery. Gippal seemed quite indignant about the 'tuba' comment, but then he devolved back into an almost perpetual state of mild bewilderment, which I couldn't really blame him for. Hence, in another infrequent bout of pity, I decided it'd be more genial to just spell it out. "Daddy's little Princess wants you to sing her a lullaby!" I gurgled merrily, cutesifying my words until I didn't sound much of a far cry away from the Igor/Elmo rendition of the afternoon. Thankfully, this afternoon seemed like it had happened years ago, so the humiliation was actually starting to fade some.
Gippal, taking my sarcasm with a pinch of salt, continued to appear bemused, which wasn't saying much for his versatility. Then, a slow, wicked grin permeated through his features and I swallowed hard.
"Kinda kinky, isn't it; calling me Daddy?" He purred, fighting back outright laughter as my jaw dropped like someone had pressed the call button at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Vowing to keep noise to a minimum, even if I very much wanted Paine to come and rip the man a new breathing hole; I took matters into my own hands and slapped him upside the head. Gippal, to his credit, and infinite damnability, just smirked wider.
"I'm not YOUR Princess, and I'm definitely NOT kinky!" I hissed, continuing my assault, well… flailing, until I rather resembled a wild-woman beating a blonde, hairy, cackling bongo.
"How you wound me, Cid's Girl!" He cried melodramatically, splaying the back of his hand against his forehead and swooning. I giggled slightly, fully aware that he was attempting to sidetrack me from the prospect of making him caterwaul for my own private amusement. The last time I'd heard him sing was when he'd hacked one of Pops' machina, an activity that occupied most of his first decade of demonic existence; using a portable microphone to feed the connection to the amplifiers in the metallic contraption whilst fiddling with a radio-wave based joystick, which of course was used to dictate and override the primary motor functions of the poor, abused machine.
Pop's had been giving a lecture on his new breed of super-machina, when suddenly said super-machina leapt merrily to its feet and started to tap-dance, screeching in a tinny soprano –the boy was only nine at the time, so it's more adorable than creepy- a myriad of Al Bhed show-tunes.
Seeing as I'm slightly masochistic, I'll take the refresher course: there was a DAMN good reason why my tribe never involved themselves in the theatre arts, and those show-tunes contributed heartily to reinforce my belief that we should never attempt to do so while I was still alive, or with full working use of my ears.
Well, the last time I heard Gippal sing, it probably wasn't under the best of circumstances. I'm well aware that voices break, and tones and ability develop over long periods of time, but ever since birth I've been cursed with a quirky sort of perfect pitch; although I don't really give a damn if you're singing an A or an E, if somebody's just a WEENSY bit sharp or flat? I'll twitch like I've just escaped from the loony bin in order to round up a ramshackle band of wooden spoons; using them to hold the world to ransom. This can be problematic; especially when Yunie went through a childhood phase of wanting to become a Songstress… well… I guess dreams do come true; in a way, and without an iota of the talent Yevon gave her… I know I'm jealous, but how is it fair to just up and out with a pop-masterpiece with a voice you'll never naturally have? I wish I could remember thousand year-old ditties; it'd save a boatload of time writing the scores. Anyways, whenever she'd use her favourite, non-perverted cousin as her audience/critic, she'd usually end up not speaking to me for a couple of days, without me even having to give a feeble: "Wow! That was… different…"
Looking back on all of that, my best plan of action would probably be to let him forget I ever opened my mouth, or, if he calls my bluff, I'll hide my face in the pillow and proceed to lie through my teeth when it's all over, if I'm still conscious. Actually, my best plan of action would have been to not open my mouth at all, which would have also ruled out the kinky comment before it was ever a flash through a synapse in Gippal's lecherous, evil brain.
"From the look on your face, I'm going to hazard a guess that a delightful plethora of national anthems is totally out of the question." He said, quirking an eyebrow sarcastically as he poked me uncharitably in the kidneys, eliciting a humiliatingly girly squeak.
"If you'd like your vocal chords firmly embedded in your throat, as opposed to being used to garrotte you." I chirped, smiling fiercely. Gippal shook his head wryly, poking me again for good measure.
"Clinically, critically, assess the forgery before you, For how much will she sell?" He sang softly, a syrupy octave deeper than I had intended. I gasped quietly, choking on the words that rose unbidden to my tongue. How dare he go through my desk-drawers! Sure, the fact that he thought my own music was good enough to serenade me with was a massive compliment, but still, it was the principle of the thing! The fact that he sang better than I did was pretty much moot, but it was pretty distracting, as I was subconsciously eager to analyse the many facets that comprised the whispering, seductive drawl. "Determine an auction price, For blank canvas and technological masterpiece combined." He continued, gently rotating my frame so my eyes met his. The lyrics struck me poignantly, and I became rather sheepish resultantly, as this was not the happiest thing I had ever written. The title was enough to give most people ample implication that my poetic subject wasn't exactly going to be my most favourite person in the entire world, and the content wasn't going to endear many of the straight-laced members of the three leading powers in Spira to my little black hobby. "A predetermined prostitute, an interactive automaton, Programmed to serve you well, For the price of her addiction, To fabricate a triumvirate of grotesque, macabre and sublime." His voice was lilting, almost hypnotic to an extent; displaying a melodic sort of beauty and perfection that disguised the embittered, passionate core to his cadence that corresponded so well to the thematic description of those that fell from grace. I was glad his interpretation was so intertwined with my own, because Brother had just blinked for a few moments before asking me which one of my friends was a hooker…
Ordinarily, circumstances would have suggested that I showed Shinra my creative genius, but, he hadn't even hit puberty yet, and I wasn't going to give him nightmares if I could help it.
"She's made a deal with devils playing god, To make not an image but the divine, To supersede a golem of clay, With a harvesting edge and the infernal flame, To rework cardinal sin as the superlative virtue, An idol shrouded by censer on sterilised shrine. A graven sculpture lain mute in incandescent sepulchre, Purely for the sake of fame." He rounded off the chorus with a languid smile and I wondered when the heck he had committed all of this to memory.
Yeah, instead of doing something constructive, like conveying my gratitude in the forms of either an entranced audience or by bursting into tears, I'm pondering if the man has a brain like some sort of sponge-like life form. Coming to the conclusion that yes, he probably did know the song in its entirety, I clapped a hand over his mouth; feeling the slight vibration that was the beginning of the second verse. His expression was inquisitive, and slightly nervous, as if he was racking his brains for anything in his rendition that might have failed to please.
I felt vindicated in the decision that there was no need to allay his fears, cos he'd still rifled through my private property, regardless of my desire secrecy bordering on paranoia, and I was still angry about that. Personally, I would have been absolutely delighted if he'd concluded one song and moved onto every other number in my extensive arsenal, but I'd noticed a change in Paine's breathing. It was no longer as deep or as even as it had been moments beforehand, and her eyes were flickering under closed lids; regardless of her attempts to keep them stationary. From experience, I knew that Paine got mega-super-uber-pissed off at those that woke her unnecessarily; so while she was tentatively trying to locate the guilty party, still displaying the pretence of sleep, I wasn't going to open my mouth on pain of death, and neither was Gippal, cos I didn't really hate him as much as I let on.
Unfortunately, Gippal was, as usual, oblivious to his imminent demise, although he was giggling against my palm at my feeble efforts to inform him of the possibly fatal situation that had suddenly arisen. As my frantic head-tilting gestures and alarmingly large, horrified eyes had proved to be utterly futile; he resumed the arduous task of removing my oppressive hand from his face, effectively pinning both of my arms to my sides. Rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath, he was about to launch into some lengthy spiel about my apparent craziness, and I had little time to weigh up my options; said options being: which body-part is the most effective at rendering the man speechless without suffocating him?
I must confess that thinking on my feet had never really been all that strong a feature of mine, mainly because the notion that thinking things through was pretty redundant was quite firmly ingrained into my core beliefs, even if engaging mouth before brain usually did me more harm than good; hence practically throwing myself at him like a beached whale wasn't all that useful. However, it did do the trick; Gippal was silenced and not quite asphyxiated in the process, although it was a pretty close call; seeing as my lungs were still burning five minutes after the latest in our chain of incidents. My arms were still trapped, which meant that I hadn't participated as wholeheartedly as I'd have liked to, but it was probably for the best, even if my master plan wasn't proving to be all that conducive to the earlier: not a good idea to boink him, argument I was having with myself.
Gippal seemed to believe that this meant I was offering up instant gratification for his efforts, and decided to let the subject drop, after I was done practically forcing some more 'persuasion' on my part. Wheezing and slightly dizzy, I turned back to Paine, who was mere metres away from my overcrowded bunk. She didn't appear to be as tensed and calculated, she'd shifted position and one foot was randomly poking out from beneath the sheets. The occasional snuffling noise wasn't racking up any points against her either, because none of us had dared inform her of her odd snoring, for fear of her doing murders on us; or at least grievous bodily harm. Gippal breathed out a sigh of relief; either that or he was still attempting to repay his oxygen debt from hell.
"Close call, Cid's Girl; Dr. P is not a happy camper if you disrupt her beauty sleep." He whispered, throwing the angelic sleeping bundle of personified rage a furtive look.
"Bastard…" I muttered petulantly, realising far too late that he'd been just aware of the looming catastrophe as I had. Gippal already had a pretty good idea as to how volatile I was when provoked, so I guess he thought the fifty/fifty chance of either smoochies or being smothered by a lamely thin pillow was worth the risk. To confirm my displeasure, I punched him as hard as I could. Judging by the way he winced, and the following muffled bellow, my satisfaction could easily outweigh the agony hurtling at breakneck speed throughout my bruised and battered digits.
"It was worth it…" He replied smugly, continuing to smirk as I raised my other hand for a repeat performance.