"Hey, Cid's Girl! Drink?"
The question is yelled from the bar as she flops down into her chair, panting and pleasantly exhausted from dancing.
"Don't call me that!" she yells back. She tips her empty champagne flute towards Gippal in answer. He nods.
Glad for the excuse to not immediately return to the dancefloor, Rikku studies the room. Yuna and Tidus, tipsy and apologetic, bowed out of the room an hour ago. The faces she recognises in the room have dwindled since then. Leblanc slouches brazenly over Ormi's shoulder, while Logos faithfully retrieves glasses of water. Nooj and Paine departed shortly after the hosts. As for Baralai; it was well past a Praetor's bedtime. Vidina's bedtime has also been and gone and therefore so were his parents. The only people still on the dancefloor were Buddy and Brother. They dance as though the venue is playing deep Al Bhed electronica, much to the chagrin of the poor chap that New Yevon had offered up as a DJ. They bounce relentlessly up and down to a rhythm that is in no way related to the song currently playing.
Rikku kicks her shoes off into Gippal's path as he returns from the bar.
"Watch it!" he exclaims.
"You watch it!"
He places the bucket and two clean champagne flutes flamboyantly on the table. The opened bottle nestles on a bed of ice.
"Since when do you drink champagne?" she snorts.
"Since you became a big celebrity," he winks at her. She playfully punches his arm.
Boredom. The side effect of the eternal calm and political stability. Boredom grips Spira. The people are preoccupied with them; Yuna, Paine, Rikku, the boys. Hell, even Leblanc isn't safe. With the majority of the group somewhat embroiled in the boring politics of Spira- or ensconced on their little love island- Rikku and Leblanc were accidental celebrities. The latest obsession is their clothing, where they eat, where they party. Rikku is unashamedly having more fun than she's ever had before.
"Don't sit too close; someone might catch us on sphere. There'll be rumours for weeks."
"You love it," Gippal teases. He stands up then, folding a discarded napkin over his arm, and expertly fills her glass. Rikku giggles, giddily drunk.
"Happy engagement Yunie!" Rikku raises her glass. They toast the happy couple.
"Do you not think," Gippal hesitates until drunken valour wins. He shrugs, "They're a little young for this whole," he gestures, "marriage shit?"
Rikku narrows her eyes and sips. Gippal throws up his hands sheepishly.
"Yunie and Tidus…" she starts, mock outrage melting slightly, "They're soulmates, you know?"
"Oh, really?" Gippal rolls his eye at her. Rikku scowls.
"Don't be a dick."
"Seriously, the whole things screams epic tragic love story." He probes. Rikku eyes him quizzically.
She tells him the whole story. They fell in love during Yuna's pilgrimage. A stranger from a dream world; the put-upon green, baby summoner, heir to Braska's legacy. The tragedy of the end; his and her sacrifice for Sin's demise. He had just been gone then. Then, somehow, the Fayth. They gave him back. Yuna has been through enough. Through all of that, for the sake of Spira.
Gippal surveys the bottom of his champagne flute. Points a look at her.
"Okay, fine, a little melodramatic!" she quips. She refills their glasses.
They pass the rest of the evening reminiscing about Brother and Buddy. Hilarious memories easier to access in a tipsy fugue, spurred by the idiots' dance floor antics. One bottle of champagne has become two. Rikku and Gippal join Brother and Buddy on the dancefloor. The jump around as though they are fourteen again. Heels off, spinning around. The hall is empty and the DJ weary.
At midnight, it is clear the night is at an end, at least officially. Buddy supports a hiccupping Brother back to the Celsius. Rikku and Gippal loosely chaperone them; they are maybe marginally less drunk. Gippal moves to leave her there too.
"I live here now, remember?" she reminds him.
"True."
"After party," she whispers," but you'll have to carry me because it's too far in these shoes."
He jokes that she's heavy as she drapes herself over his back. She presses her knee hard into his side in reply; she breathes the word "meanie" in his ear.
The air conditioning as they step through the threshold is an unpleasant chill coming in from the warm summer Lucan air. Her apartment is nothing short of modern. The living space is large, with velvet emerald green sofas. A tall standalone gold lamp shade brackets the space. It backs on to empty space; an introduction to ceiling-to-floor windows opening the view up over the harbour. She has a breakfast bar and lights that hang from the ceiling.
On the counter, discarded tissue paper bears the stark imprint of red lipstick. A bottle of white wine is half-finished.
Lipstick stains on an empty wine glass.
He spies a distant hallway, unformed shapes of discarded clothes littering the floor.
"I found," she hiccups, "the funniest sphere. Oh, help yourself to the wine."
She pads into the darkness of the hall then. He hears her rustling through something, somewhere back there.
He is impressed with the calibre of wine he finds upon opening the refrigerator. The earlier discarded bottle is no longer cold enough to enjoy. He chooses the cheapest looking bottle; they are in no state to appreciate the finer notes of a good taste profile. He snorts at the image of Rikku; swishing wine around her glass; taking a hearty, nasal breath; proclaiming to recognise the finer notes of Gysahl over Pahsana.
She pads back into the room, baggy slouchy green trousers and a white tank top. She thrusts an oversized bathrobe at him. She tuts.
"How long does it take to pour a glass of wine, anyway," she grouses at him, wrestling the bottle from his hand; shoos him away, "Go get comfy,"
This is how he finds himself in Rikku's hellishly messy bathroom. Tuxedo discarded, and looking ridiculous in a fluffy pale grey bathrobe - with white fur trim- and only his boxers underneath. He throws the hood up, and pouts at himself in the mirror.
"Do I look sexy or what?" He declares as he strolls back into the room, swinging the tie of the gown around in a mock attempt at seduction.
She rolls her eyes and beckons him over, arm darting briefly out from under the dark purple throw she is now drowning in. She leans forward, gathering the blanket onto her chest, and scoops the two fresh glasses of white wine up as he sinks into the sofa. She thrusts one earnestly at him.
"Look, look!"
The sphere projector, top of its range. Clearly. A celebrity lifestyle is not one to be sniffed at. A clear image is blazoned on to the wall, a paused image. Immediately he laughs. He can see Cid from, at least, twenty years ago. A thick head of blonde hair covering his dome. He catches her eye then and they are creasing into themselves with laughter. Wine sloshes over the edge of his glass. The sphere. It is nothing important. A youthful Cid, fully thatched, but as puce-faced and belligerent as he is to this day. He's yelling at somebody, somewhere, to do something.
Giggles abating, Rikku suddenly pouts.
"Yunie and the others were so lame! Going to bed that early!"
"They could still be up, for all we know,"
"Ew, pervert," she retorts, "but honestly, we need to teach them how to party."
"We say, in our pyjamas, on your sofa, in the middle of the night,"
"Hey!" she says petulantly. She childishly gulps from her glass. He's laughing again then. She's blushing.
"Do you remember," and he can't quite yet continue for laughing, "When Brother…"
She scowls as he wipes a tear from his eye.
"When Brother. When he accidentally electrocuted you, that time at the beach,"
"That scarred me for life, you know!
"Yeah, yeah, I know but," she lightly smacks him on his arm, "Your hair was all over the place. You were fuming, but it was just hilarious because you were so mad at him."
"Why is that funny?" she demands, corner of her mouth quirking upwards despite herself as he struggles to compose himself.
"Because you looked insane. A four foot nothing, mad, blonde, screeching cloud!" and he clearly can't continue.
"I hate you," she huffs.
She counters then. It's a game now. You laugh, you drink. She regales him with the time he fixed an ancient scrapyard hovercraft to impress one of the girls. The first sand dune it hit, he spiralled out of control.
"You swallowed so much sand on the way down and then vomited it all back up right in front of her!"
And this continues for an hour or so until the topics are probing closer and closer to him leaving for the Crimson Squad. Losing Gippal to the military was the end of all of their childhoods.
At two in the morning, sleepiness is intervening. Rikku switches the console to music. Shows him some of the new sounds she's discovered in her recent months of partying. Gippal is settling deeper into the chasm of the sofa. She darts up, turns off the harsh lights, and flicks her stylish lamp on. She is drifting in and out of sleep then, hand loosely caressing the remote control.
At maybe four in the morning, she awakens mildly startled. Gippal's head rests heavily on her lap. The music is disorientating. She flicks it off. She's tired enough that the soft lamplight isn't bothersome.
They drift, then, into that intoxicatingly unrefreshing drunken slumber.
The sickening artificial light of the lamp is stifled brilliantly by the morning sunlight that streams unfettered through her giant windows. She's awake. Her mouth is dry. She's drooled onto the plush cushion she's slumped onto during the night. Her eyes protest heavily as they open. Her head spins. In the night, she has fallen to her left, head propped on a hefty cushion. She is half-foetal here, and Gippal has remained on his back. He is still out, blissfully asleep, deep purple throw tangled between them inextricably. His head is bracketed between her stomach and thighs. She fumbles for the hand on his stomach. Squeezes.
"Hey, wake up." He groans then, rubbing his face. He stretches. It's feline and vulnerable. The gown is rising up. He seems more naked now, sober, in sunlight. Rikku pushes herself up from the cushions, wary.
"Water?" She offers, pathetically.
He isn't even awake, really. She still, loosely, has his hand. She sees peace and hungover discomfort battle over his features for a minute. He is waking up- gazing up- at her, bleary-eyed. In that split second, before his mind catches up, the moment of eye contact blinds her. Affection swells deep within her abdomen. A small, fragile smile dawns on Gippal's face. He squeezes her hand back.
"Water."
Disentanglement. Rikku struggles initially to extricate herself from the blanket. He hears the rush of the tap then the heavy clunk of a large glass of water on the coffee table. He forces himself upright and gulps water down. He turns to see Rikku downing her own glass.
"It's 11am." She offers
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He darts awake then. Trousers and shirt back on in haste. Jacket and tie slung over his shoulder. He is stumbling back into his shoes, badly.
"Press conference," he mumbles.
Rikku has settled onto a barstool, cradling a second glass of water in her hands.
He hesitates at the door then, unsure.
"Oh, sorry," she realises. She shuffles over and unlocks it swiftly, swiping the keys from the kitchen counter.
"That's not…" he mutters.
She is ambling back to the bar stool, stretching in the sunlight. He steps towards her, catches her arm, pulls her back round to him.
"See you around,"
He kisses her lightly, briefly, hesitantly on her right temple. Then leaves.
