Coup D'état
Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now.
Live it, feel it, cling to it.
I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.
(Sylvia Plath)
Black waters engulfed her small frame; Rikku tried to get rid of the disgusting liquid clinging to her naked body. Swimming was nearly impossible, her legs couldn't move, and every movement seemed to be terribly slow.
An infinite expanse of black water surrounded her; she couldn't hold her breath anymore. She could feel her lungs aching for air, burning, but there was nothing she could do. She gasped, but instead of precious oxygen, the heavy fluid flooded into her lungs.
Chapter 3 – a sinless world
Rikku woke up with a gasp.
WaddaFarplane was that about?
Her anxious green eyes roamed around the room, clinging to any familiar object.
I am in my room, this is Home, Bikanel Island, and I am Rikku, ha! Terrible dream 0, perfect Al Bhed heiress 1!
Rikku kicked the sheets away with her lean naked legs; her pj's – green shorts and a cute moguri themed tank top – were not exactly the warmest item of clothing, and desert sunrises were known not only to be beautifully haunting, but also supa-dupa-cold. She shivered while walking barefoot on the elegant wooden floor of her room. Oh, Bother, you stupid monkey, I would love for the floor to be lava now.
What was that dream, anyway? Yes, she didn't exactly feel serene lately, but that was unexpected. Rikku felt a dark tremble run up her spine. Al Bhed were superstitious people; they blindly believed in science and freedom, but they also had their own special kind of spirituality. Yes, yes, Yevon made the world think they were primitive savages, but it was far from the truth. They had their own cultural movements, an oligarchic elected government and once, when she was just a kiddo, her father told her about a majestic stone tower, just beyond the Emerald Sand Sea, hosting the most refined Al Bhed library.
Desert people believed in many things; for centuries they performed good luck rituals –they were said to be the luckiest – and among them there were not only scientists, poets and artists, but also fortune tellers, arcane scholars, astrologists, psychics and even prophets.
Of course she was worried about that dream. Rikku walked to the window. She leaned and looked outside; her room had the best view; New Home was built with the last effort of a great leader, Cid, her father. His whole Zanarkand business idea, while being sacrilegious even to her, proved to be a good move.
Yes, using the place to sell tour tickets and beverages was quite crude, but maybe it was just fair. For so long Yevon took from the Al Bhed everything they had, and when the Guado destroyed Home they were left with literally nothing but sand.
"Make it a Palace!" she told her Pops; New Home was not to be hidden! Not underground, not buried in sand and ashes from the past, oh no! New Home was to be tall, and machinesque, a big chunky joyous metal monster! For every Al Bhed still hanging on, it had to be the symbol of this renewed freedom that was engulfing Spira. She was so proud of that.
Rikku looked outside; the sun was peeking through the sandy ripples and dunes and its shimmering, feeble light made the sand look like rose gold waves. The tension of the dream was quickly fading.
Every day she woke up early; it was a habit which grew on her during the Pilgrimage. The Man – of course, that's how her and Tidus used to call him – was a fan of early get-ups. They traveled in the misty cold of suave mornings, like ghosts. Everything seemed unfinished under the light of the sunrise; half shaped trees, to her sleepy eyes, looked like faraway monsters she couldn't stand against. But The Man was there, and they had to travel, every day, ignoring fears and needs and questions. That was the way of the Summoner and her Guardians.
As she dug into her memories, painful little feelings surfaced. Yuna's shy smiles, Lulu's adorable rants, Kimahri loving his spear maybe more than he cared for all of them – well, except for Yunie. To her, it sounded like a lifetime ago. She was living in the world those guys, including herself, shaped, but they were more like strangers to her now: she couldn't find a trace of the Pilgrimage in none of them. And it was weird right? Because Auron lived through a Pilgrimage and, oh boy, he had traces all over himself. You could smell his trauma. Or anyway that's what she thought back then… So big and almighty, and yet so scarred. She felt like that now.
Yunie… She was happy now, living her life, getting back her youth; she had Tidus as well, and everything was just perfect, you could read that in her soft eyes. Not a worry there. But… underneath all of that, she still carried traces. Yes. All of them, really. Maybe she was just not the best at hiding them. Just like Auron.
That was a nice thought; at least she had something in common with the Legendary Guardian himself.
A quick beep on her door broke her train of thoughts. She moved through the room clumsily and opened her quarters' door. Shiruba stood there, sleepy eyes, messy hair, tons of documents pressed against her chest. Rikku looked her pretty, sleepy face and once again thought of herself during the Pilgrimage.
"Still not getting used to getting' up this early, huh?"
Shiruba yawned, stepping into the room, "Nah, 's fine," her words came out slurry. She yawned again.
Rikku moved through the room, undressing. "Schedule."
Shiruba sat at the little table near the window, "You have a meeting with the general board this morning, Your Maj. The monthly one. Uh-oh, 5 hours straight with the geriatric board" Shiruba sneered, mean.
"Your Maj? What is that, that's not even a nickname, what the y'von is that?" Rikku muttered while choosing her garments for the day. Leather trousers and brown tank top, as Al Bhed as it could get, "Yeah, yeah, meeting with the geezers' task force… what else?"
"Ambassadors from Luka's trade committee are expected to arrive on the island in two days. Now is the time to write down that contract and clauses on the eastern sea's traffic"
Rikku's eyes rolled, "As if they would listen!" she turned to look at her secretary, "What about that thing?"
Shiruba looked confused for a second, Rikku lifted her eyebrows, "The energy source."
"Oh!" the young girl clapped her hands "Yes! The source, about that… I…kinda…"
"You forgot to retrieve the data for me," Rikku sighed, but she was amused at the girl's naïve ways, "I will have to go to the Captain myself then…"
"… 'M sorry" the girl looked down at her feet, embarrassed.
Rikku felt bad for making her feel like that. She already knew that the girl forgot about that task; she could've gone and fixed on her own without having to point her mistake out. But that's what Shiruba needed to grow up and get better. The girl looked so much like herself…
I even call her "the girl". That used to be my nickname.
Shiruba was the best candidate for the job: as a matter of fact, Rikku was reluctant on having a personal assistant, but at least she chose the brightest (and clumsiest) girl of all Bikanel.
Yes, there were better suited girls for the role. Tall, smart, super-organized girls capable of arranging her whole life by alphanumeric order. But she didn't want that, she wasn't like that in the first place. Shiruba was creative, and crafty, which made her smart in many more ways.
"You're doing a good job, you" Rikku smiled warmly. Shiruba lifted her eyes, regaining her enthusiasm instantaneously.
"Really?"
"Huh-huh" Rikku nodded, "Anything else?"
"No, that would be all." Shiruba smiled.
Rikku turned her back to her and moved a few steps towards her in-room bathroom "Then getthahell outta here, you teenage nightmare!"
"Yessir! I mean… Yes ma'am!"
The 'geriatric board', as Shiruba called it, was the Desert Fighters' council or, as Rikku loved to call 'em 'the greatest pain in the bum', also known as 'stick in the mud' and the greatest 'spoilsport of all time'.
If she said that X was to be done you could bet on those old desert monkeys to vote for the Y option.
Rikku hated it, but she guessed that democracy was still their best choice. Maybe.
The bright room was mostly entirely taken up by the huge rounded table. Rounded table meant that everyone could look everyone in the face.
Believe me, it's bad.
She had to control every single micro-expression on her face. She was getting better at playing the diplomatic games, and the Council knew it.
The head of the Desert Fighters was X'anu. For centuries his family was the second most voted by the Al Bhed people for leadership. But the Cidolphus won once again; when Cid decided to handle her his role almost the whole community agreed and voted in her favor. Let's just say that X'anu wasn't the happiest about that…
His long nose reminded her of a beak. His eyes were a darker shade of green, and he was a very tall man. Now, Al Bhed weren't the tallest, as you may know, but he was considered to be quite tall even among other spirans. Of course, not taller than a Ronso.
He exuded leadership, and people were almost always scared of him.
"Our young leader was very clear on the journey she intends for us all to embark on," he said, slow and moderate – not the most usual of the adjectives when talking about her race – "Let's just say that I think the Council will agree with me when I say that we should not allow commercial routes to pass through Bikanel just yet."
Rikku looked around the table. Desert fighters were usually impetuous, hot-blooded people. Now they all looked domesticated, tamed. They looked down, silent, subdued. Maybe it was just consequence of the mistrust they were used to place in the outer world. The Guado attack was a hard blow for them. She had to be careful, she knew.
She cleared her throat and determination flooded her eyes.
"X'anu, I can see your point. And I can see the hesitation that all of you feel," she looked up to all of them.
"Master Florj," she referred to a middle-aged bald man sitting in front of her, "I know that your oases and date palm plantations were completely destroyed and spoiled during the Home Attack. I know you're still recovering from that…"
The man's eyes rose to hers; a sad veil fell upon his gaze. He nodded, silent. Rikku turned to an old woman; her head was a nest of white braids. Her features were soft, but her eyes were lethal.
"Venerable Murthe," she bowed her head respectfully, "I still dream of your son. He would've been my age now. I pray the Fate he found his freedom, somewhere," the woman smiled a graceful smile and nodded.
Rikku turned back to X'anu. "We mourned our deads, we replanted our date palms," her eyes roamed once again around the table, and now everyone was looking at her. "It's time we open up to Spira; we owe that to our people, or else the mourning will never end. We need to sell our goods. The few of us doing that are now making a fortune. Tysh! I had to buy things from Rin during the Pilgrimage," chuckles flooded the room. Even X'anu's lips were imperceptibly twitching.
"We are a valuable! Al Bheds are builders, and inventors, and passionate crazy people! We can make stuff grow in the desert! The whole Spira has to know!"
Her heartfelt words shook the Desert Fighters. Their stances were now regal, proud. She knew she could count on the pride of her people.
"Very well." X'anu's voice erupted, "Let's vote then".
Rikku smiled. She knew she won.
You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.
(William W. Purkey)
He walked for two whole days before spotting a feeble light. He forgot how repugnant dark flans' meat – if that's how that mush could be called – was. His stomach throbbed in hunger, though, and he couldn't risk eating uncooked Malboros. Unfortunately, the little bit of magic he learnt in his late years seemed to be gone from his body.
He walked silently, trying to avoid unnecessary fights. Small pyreflies enlightened his path, creating enchanting shadows on the cave's walls. This wasn't Omega…he knew far too well the feeling of darkness that permeated that antrum. Then again, this could be anywhere, and in any time in the future – or in the past.
He didn't know, he was in the dark – literally. Roaming like a lost soul, his bruised naked feet clashed against the cold stone every step he attempted to take. He was exhausted.
But here it was! The smallest of lights, iridescent goddess of his new world, his guiding star. He hoped that this time it could be a benevolent one.
The determination blossoming in his chest was typical of him. When he felt he had a purpose, even a small one, nothing could stop him from achieving him. Not even death, as he proved. It was a painful way of living, but it was his own way, and – even though he didn't love it – it made him feel reassured. This was home: bleeding, keeping on, towards a small, unknown light.
Someone once told him he was a "dark guy". But that was far from the truth; the immense love he felt for that trembling light was what moved him.
With these thoughts roaming around his brain, Auron found his way out. The sudden, blinding light of the day made him nauseous. His head felt light and his body temperature dropped. Auron fainted.
The smell of Lukan Stew stirred his senses. The soft sound of bubbles exploding with the heat of the fire caressed his ears. Such a domestic, calm feeling. He felt a warm hand touching his forehead. His senses told him to jump, cut that hand, run away, but he couldn't. He felt exhausted. And, after all, if they meant some harm so be it. His new life was already a privilege he didn't fathom to understand.
After all, he never heard of criminals making Lukan Stew before killing and robbing you.
That smell… carrots, mushrooms, poultry, indigenous aromatic herbs... and he also smelled the distinctive aroma of northern spices. This was a traveler's recipe.
It reminded him of Lord Braska's house when Yuna's mother was still alive. The mix of Spiran and Al Bhed cooking created the most interesting aromas. The spiciness of the desert cuisine was perfectly married to the elegant and gentle flavors of Bevelle's ancient traditions.
"Stranger? Are you awake?" a northern accent quietly whispered to him, "I'll eat all the gravy if you're not". Definitely not a murderer.
Auron opened his eyes. A soft cloth covered his body; he was laying down on the ground, rocks and musk created a patched pattern. This was Mushroom Rock Road. He looked up to study the man, his "savior": he was way shorter than him, ginger hair and fair skin, a bit red from the fumes of the boiling cauldron in front of which he was crouched. He wore a green tunic and orange linen trousers with blue weaved flowers on it. Again, a mix and match of different cultures.
"O'aka?" Auron's voice came out groggy. The merchant extraordinaire's features hardened in pride. He looked offended.
"I am pleased that you, like many other travelers, know of my illustrious family, but I am not O'aka," the man said in is fancy accent.
Auron sat up, his head still faintly spinning "You're that kid," he remembered now. He was O'aka's younger brother, Wantz. The merchant squeezed his eyes looking at him.
He may recognize me. Would it be fine? I don't want to cause a commotion all around Spira.
"You know me? When I saw you collapsed outside that nasty cave, I thought the same," Wantz tapped his nose with his index, "Wantz! I thought, it cannot be, Sir Auron?"
Auron didn't know what to say, so he remained silent.
The merchant laughed, "Of course nowadays many young men are fascinated by Legends," he added, "and you're not the first bloke I met in my wanderings dressing up like him".
Not the first one? Auron chuckled.
"I'll give you that, you look exceptionally like the man himself. I met him, you know?" Wantz's hands searched for something in his large baggage; he found a small bowl and poured the hot stew in it. He passed him the dish. Auron nodded, grateful.
The verbose man continued his recounting, "It was my honor to serve him and his Summoner as a merchant with my brother O'aka XXIII".
Silence fell as the man seemed lost in his memories. Auron was amused by the simplicity with which the guy had put aside the possibility of him being the real deal.
"What is your name, stranger? And how do you know me?"
Auron tasted the stew. It was well-cooked, and it lightened his mood. He felt more talkative, "I am Faram, I met you on the S.S. Winno."
The man nodded, "When? I usually remember my customers…"
"How long has it been since Sin's defeat?" Auron thought it was common for others to forget precise dates.
"Mhmm… 7 years."
Not much. I should've known. This is not a faraway future. After all, he was a boy and now is a man.
"8 years ago, then."
He had to hide his identity. He couldn't risk Bevelle's authority to know. He was lucky that a naïve merchant found him, and not a crusader or similar. A name hid behind itself innumerable risks. His name more than any other.
"Can you sell me a cape?"
The ginger man gulped down the last bit of his stew and nodded, "Do you have Gil?"
Auron looked at his hands, "No."
"Can you use a sword? If not like your hero, at least just to defend a lonely travelling merchant…"
Auron nodded.
"I'll-" the man got up and walked towards a wooden chest where Auron supposed his merch was "-give you something nice, lad".
The man rose and showed him a big sword, too heavy for the man to lift, "I found it the other day in the eastern part of this road, it was such a pain to carry. That's why I had to stop here in Mushroom Rock Road: I was trying to sell it before continuing my journey. It's an oldie but a goodie…"
The big katana reflected the midday sun. Its tip gently curved, and near the hilt it was embellished with a golden tribal. He knew that weapon. It was Ashura, and it belonged to him.
Wantz handed it to him. The fiery sword kindled the blood-rage in many. It was a testament to its quality that it always found a new owner afterward. It felt like poetic justice how it was once again in his hands.
"I will serve you good, merchant"
The man couldn't possibly know the extent of it, but Auron felt a sting of deep gratitude. A Sinless world, filled with good-hearted people, that's what he dreamed of during his last journey. If that dream had come to life, Auron was glad he had now a chance to see it.
End of Chapter 3
Hello everyone!
I am very glad that you are enjoying my fanfic and - believe me - I am super happy to be writing it. I started reading and writing fanfiction at the age of 12, almost 11 years ago, and Final Fantasy X was one of my first fandoms, so I am glad to be back! I am also very excited to receive feedbacks on my english writing. I will try and get better with it with each chapter! I want to address the one of you who were so kind to leave a review, you have no idea how exciting it is to read your inputs! I feel even more motivated to keep on writing! We are still in the first phases of the story, but just wait for it!
Guest n.1:
I love that my fic is "some fucking good food" to you, thanks! You made this italian girl very happy I hope you enjoyed this lil chapter as well!
yunabesaid:
Oh my god thank you, thank you and thank you! First thing, I love that you're diving back in the whole crazy fanfiction world! I am doing the same so I know the feeling!
Yes, I have been studying english for a while now, and I am absolutely in love with the language, so I try to read all the english language books without recurring to translations! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I can't wait to hear your opinion as the story goes!
Guest n.2:
Here it is another chapter! I hope you enjoyed this as well! Thank you very much!