I Wanna Life

A/N: I'm very glad to hear that it's possible to be sympathetic to Ghirahim – yes, he's a little princess, but he's got armloads of rainbows! I have, too. Your reviews really make me giggly!

Virtual candy to everyone who watched the cartoon from Legend of Zelda. To ease the pain.

No damaged goods can be refunded

On broken hearts I can't rely

I found a diamond that shines brightly

I can't let that go – don't pass me by…

(Goldfrapp, 'I Wanna Life')

/

"This is something that I have to do, my lady. They believe in me – they all do!"

"But faith does not make you strong. That is where you are wrong. Living up to expectations is something that will satisfy them and sap your strength. It is not worth it, hero." And her voice was not admiring, just as soft and lifeless as the dust covering her like a gentle burial cloth. "You have made your choice."

"My lady! Don't leave me, don't!"

"Oh, for the love of fucking plotbunnies!" Ghirahim slammed the book shut and resisted the urge to pour his mug of tea onto it to rinse out the content. Just what on earth was wrong with this book? And what was wrong with this dense protagonist and his imbecile wailing – my lady, my lady! And the nerve of that girl, bitching as if he had cheated on her with every potted plant he'd come across! This had to be the dumbest, most primitive typescript that he had ever-

"It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Yes, that error in taste had to be some kind of wonderful. Ghirahim forced his hands to relax and looked up to see Kina eyeing him sympathetically. He could feel someone glaring daggers at his back, but didn't pay special attention to that. He was an intruder, after all, and pestering their darling flower Link.

"Indeed. I seem to forget my breakfast over that chapter", he murmured, his voice was laced with a lightness that indicated irony. However, the cheerful hustle on the porch drowned that out. It was another sunny morning, and Ghirahim had decided to eat on the broad porch of the Lumpy Pumpkin to escape that smell of bacon and eggs. Unfortunately, every other customer seemed to have had the same idea. So the smell stalked him, even under the colorful sunshade that kept the morning sun off. Ghirahim had figured it was better to control his tan.

Kina stared at the bowl of oat flakes, but wisely decided against bugging the Demon Lord with sugar, honey or cinnamon, whatever fatty addition she would suggest. Ghirahim wasn't sure why the girl even stuck to him, although he could use her assistance. It was just like working, only without having to pay her.

"It's so… sensuous", he remarked. Fabulous lie. The most intense physical contact he'd witnessed so far had been the lady resting her hands on the protagonist's palms – if that was supposed to create erotic tension, Link still had a lot to learn about the stuff underneath the clothes.

Kina didn't seem to mind, she was practically brimming with excitement. "Magnificent, isn't it? It's so touching!"

Ghirahim thought that he'd obviously missed the touching-part. The part where that whiny chick loosened her corset and ripped up the breeches, that was what he termed as touching.

He produced an expectant smile. "Which part are you referring to?", he asked. And please tell me that it involves a discovery tour under the bodice and at least some blood, not serenades of chivalrous lovey-dovey.

Kina gave a very feminine giggle that could easily melt a man's heart. In Ghirahim's heart, it awoke the wish to jump into his breakfast bowl.

"Oh… For example, there is this moment when he sees the lady for the first time. It's so… She's so beautiful! All he does is describe her in that tender way of his, take her completely in, and it concludes in your mind that she must be so beautiful! I've never seen such a delicate style of writing, it's… it's like the book leads the way and your mind follows on its own. It's incredible, it's… the work of a genius!"

And to Ghirahim, it had looked the work of a superbore. But only great minds thought alike. Although seeing Kina blush with enthusiasm and stumble over her words did emphasize one thing once more: those two books were legendary, even after three years time. Ghirahim recognized the praise he'd already read somewhere in a similar form, and everyone seemed to agree that Link was something special, even those few who had really not liked his work.

Special? More like someone from an ivory-tower, no kidding. What the fuck was that about, not telling that lady that she was damn pretty? That was the whole deal with women, they wanted to hear it, not trust their boyfriend to 'conclude'. It was way too abstract.

"I see… Too much of a genius to give his characters names, eh?" Ghirahim was honest despite his playful tone. That dampened Kina's mood for some reason, and she frowned at him.

"That's because you don't see – the narrator does not have a name, nor does the lady. They are both tools, and people keep giving them titles and stuff. It's not before the end of the second book that the hero realizes that he lets himself be exploited without knowing who he is, and who his princess is." Kina disapprovingly cocked her head, obviously disappointed by Ghirahim's lack of appreciation. "In the third and final book, he will discover his real name, and the boundaries will fall. Only then can he face-"

"Technically, there is no third book, so there's no way of knowing, darling." Ghirahim sadistically enjoyed cutting her off like that, watching her face fall. It was not a smart thing to do, especially because Kina could be helpful. Truth be told, Ghirahim wasn't sure where it had come from. He hadn't slept well (stupid books boring the fab out of him!), so he blamed it on that.

"'s he bothering you, Kina?"

A young man with chestnut-colored hair and a challenging glimmer in his eyes appeared behind the girl, seemingly ready to fire sappy one-liners for her sake. Ghirahim was less than impressed.

The situation seemed to be a frequent occurrence, at least by the way Kina relaxed and smiled an easy, professional smile at her defender. "We were just discussing literature, Keet. Is something the matter?"

Ghirahim drank the rest of his tea. Do piss off, Keet, I'm trying to work here.

Keet seemed a little lost due to the way Kina handled the situation like an ordinary chat with a guest, so he quickly prepared to drag the conversation into the comely corner of escape and rescue again. "That's what I'm askin' you, if there's-"

"Not a problem, you are indeed very welcome to claim your lovely girlfriend again – I lost track of time", Ghirahim purred, his smile was slightly sourly when he stood up. Keet immediately blushed at the mention of his girlfriend, or his favorite wishful thinking, and Ghirahim blinked dryly. Congratulations, Keet, for having the attention span of a two-year-old. You fail at heroism.

"You're leaving already?" Kina seemed much less flustered. "Would you like a tour through the village?"

Why the hell would he? And how had she gotten the idea that Ghirahim gave a flying fuck about this place, just because it was better than a tent? It was becoming tiring to keep up the open-hearted smile.

"Unfortunately, I must excuse myself now."

"You hardly ate", Keet put in. Not another one of those food-advocates! There had to be a nest of them somewhere around. Ghirahim gritted his teeth and winked at him. "Have a fabulous day, you two."

He took the book and elegantly navigated his way between the tables and off the porch. Kina sighed and began to clear the table, and Keet frowned. "Oh, so it's that guy."

/

Day three of the safari posed a new problem: this time, Link really was absent.

Ghirahim didn't know it at once, of course. He walked around the farm house to search for Link, and there were traces that the author had been outside. Damp clothes were neatly lined on a washing line; it was sunny and warm, but they were not yet dry. Ghirahim took the opportunity to inspect the clothes – Link pretty much ignored fashion trends, and while a person's clothes usually told significant things about the owner, these didn't seem very informative. Link favored plain cotton and at best very simple patterns. And he obviously didn't fear thievery. Well, who would.

The only interesting observation Ghirahim made was that the shirt Link had worn yesterday was among the laundry. It was nothing terribly special if he chose to wash it now, still he had eliminated any trace of gooseberry that might cling to the fabric. Fortunate coincidence.

Epona was grazing nearby on the paddock. When she noticed Ghirahim, she came closer to the fence, sniffing at him. Seemed like she had digested the body lotion well, because there was no colic in sight.

"What do you want, pony? I'm not feeding you."

He wasn't developing any attachment to that beast only because it had done the marvel of moving its butt off the street yesterday. And if Epona had any clue where Link had gone, she kept it to herself.

Ghirahim frowned thoughtfully and ran his tongue over the corners of his mouth again. He supposed he could wait for Link, but that could easily waste a whole day. He had recently demonstrated that he was patient, and this had aggravated Link enough to actually leave him a message, the first real interaction. Instead of hiding in his gingerbread house (all that kitsch surrounding you had to be too much to endure), he'd make use of the fair weather.

Well, fuck. As if outdoor activities weren't overrated enough.

The Faron Woods were huge. The chance of finding someone around here was, to be optimistic, pretty slim, especially when Epona seemed to move around freely and was therefore quite fine if she was on her own for a few days. Ghirahim experienced a small moment of earnest fear, imagining that scenario. That bastard could kick the can down the road. Ghirahim should at least have kept that blasted page containing Link's handwriting, but that was gone. How could that odd mood have lured him into such an amateur mistake…?

Something rubbed against his calf. Something hairy. Something he wanted to kick right now.

"What do you think you are doing there, you… furball?"

A cat. A scrawny tabby cat with a ridiculously short tail and large, peridot-colored eyes (the color would have been pleasant if the feline hadn't been squinting so horribly), and it leant against his boot.

Ghirahim had the strangest urge to scream. He hated animals, how was it possible that since coming here, these creatures kept cuddling up to him? Link wasn't here anyway, so he could just kick this thing and at least feel better, right?

It was his short inner debate that cost him time. The cat lifted its paws and dragged them lazily down his boot, scratching the soft leather with the sharp claws. Ghirahim felt it like a real and physical pain, no matter how his skin was actually protected from the claws.

His boots, his favorite, favorite boots! They had been with him when he became the Demon Lord, when he'd completed his famous reportage about the secret life of Tiger Willis, when he'd taken these highly explosive photos on board of a cruiser and when that blithering idiot Lycos had tried and failed at the conference to take over his column. And… not to mention these boots had witnessed some really mind-blowing sex.

There weren't just ruined, they were fucked up. And these boots had been made for walking. And that's just what they'd do…

The cat jumped back before Ghirahim's foot hit it, fur on the back immediately rising. When the tiny tail ruffled, it looked as intimidating as a fluffy bunny's tuft, but Ghirahim was anything but susceptible to cuteness right now.

He was going to kill.

The cat literally turned tail and ran, and Ghirahim followed. It was quick and agile, though it seemingly was not used to anyone chasing it. The strabismus, however, seemed to pose a problem, so the cat chose the shortest route and swiftly climbed up the ivy that entwined around the rain pipe, safely out of Ghirahim's reach. He skidded to halt and glared up, his sharply curved brows knitted together as he was denied the pleasure of taking revenge on that kitty. His heart beat wildly against his ribs as the pressure of frustration raked through his body.

"You scabby piece of filth…! You will atone for this when I epilate every hair off your body and stuff you like a pillow, you can swear that up and down."

The cat blinked at him owlishly, staring at his face with its ridiculous eyes. Ghirahim swallowed the lump of rage that seemed to close up his throat – first things first. Link was his top priority, and he needed a calmness to squeeze himself into that tiny tunnel of Link's mind. In moments like this, he remembered the times when he had pressed his head between his knees to ease his panic. It was well behind him, it had to be, but the memory of his display of weakness always shook him back to sense.

Ghirahim breathed in and turned away from the cat on the roof. Link probably hadn't gone to town, the distance would take quite a while even for someone with good stamina, and for someone as reclusive as that blond, he'd at least take his horse. And Ghirahim knew from his research that Link got his supplies from the small department store in the village that delivered them every two weeks.

So Link had either gone into pathless terrain, or he hadn't gone far at all. Ghirahim had never been a boy scout (not in the traditional way), but perhaps he could find tracks around here.

Simply fab, now I'm actually considering crawling around in this dirt, sacrificing my jeans and the rest of my boot's dignity for a wood gnome. Whoopdifuckingdoo.

He made a new tour around the farm house, watching out for suspicious paths (one of them leading to the muckheap, thankyouverymuch) that went into various directions. Ghirahim made his way through some fern that reached up to his navel, curiously peeking around. He didn't call out; why warn Link if the guy was obviously avoiding him?

The discovery was unexpected. Ghirahim noticed a movement and even ignored his disgust of bugs and spiders to walk closer to an ash tree. A narrow, wooden swing rocked gently, almost impalpably in the breeze. It was difficult to say how old the toy was, for both wood and rope seemed to be all-natural and were exposed to the weather. Grass and moss were growing underneath the swing, so it didn't seem to be in frequent use.

Ghirahim lifted his camera to take a photo without knowing why he should capture this motive. He could note down how this swing had been built by Link for his non-existent children and he had been in too much pain to remove it, and they would believe him. Just why did he feel like it was wrong in the simple meaning of untrue?

Ghirahim snorted inelegantly and crouched down to take his photo.

"You're not getting me", he said with a wry smile, hoping that he was only talking to himself and not to a construction of wood and rope. Besides, he didn't lug around his camera equipment for nothing. He reached for the tripod in his white bag, almost dropping the gadget in his hands when his fingers touched something soft.

The cat lovingly examined the small, glittering rhinestones on the bag and looked up when Ghirahim accidentally touched its fur. The awfully squinting eyes locked with Ghirahim's for a second, and before he knew it, claws dug into his bare arm and a scrubby bundle of cat launched itself up and onto his shoulder to bat at the shiny diamond dangling from Ghirahim's right ear.

The Demon Lord was very rarely stunned. Having that happen twice in about half an hour could only mean that the apocalypse was close.

Ghirahim ripped the cat from his shoulder, wincing when the thin, sharp claws tried to grasp his skin and dug deeper. The feline twisted from his grip before he even knew what he was going to do (physical violence against animals was rather new to him) and jumped back. This time, it fled deeper into the wood – Ghirahim scrambled to his feet and followed, savage instincts of a hunter kicking in.

He hadn't known he possessed those. Self-discovery could be so easy sometimes.

/

Ghirahim discovered one more thing about himself very soon: he was not what you called cross-country.

He was always sure to keep himself in shape by balancing his body with both discipline in fitness training and dieting, and this made sure his sex-appeal was untouched by stress and moods. And usually, Ghirahim would have been sure that sex-appeal was all that mattered.

But chasing a cat through a forest, he neglected it and was rewarded with the unflattering realization that he lacked stamina.

The clearing appeared before him all of a sudden, and he stumbled right into it, his movements a far cry from his sashaying grace; for once, Ghirahim didn't care, for all his thoughts had been drowned out by the fact that he felt like puking out his lungs and every muscle in his burning legs seemed to have tensed to the maximum. His sides ached with each breath, and his face and arms were numb where twigs had whipped the skin. He would have worried about his hair if getting enough air into his strained lungs wouldn't have been completely consuming his brain.

The moderate warmth of the morning had been replaced by summer heat, and he was sweating. When Ghirahim staggered out of the protecting shadows, the light hit him and made him squeeze his already teary eyes shut. At the same time, a balmy breeze blew into his heated face. No high-tech air conditioning had ever felt as sweet as this.

Ghirahim leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. His throat was dry, yet at least he regained some control over his heaving breaths. His legs were shaking slightly from the exertion, and he absent-mindedly plucked a leaf from his hair. It was hopelessly tangled.

Dead cat, right now.

He had wondered why the creature had ran into the woods instead back to the house, since it obviously had trouble seeing straight, then the stitch in his sides had cut off the thought. Ghirahim adjusted the strap of his tote sack on his shoulder and ran his tongue along the sides of his mouth. Luckily, his eye-shadow was water-proof… His lipstick, though, was not.

He blinked against the harsh sunlight and straightened. He had no idea where his chase had led him. Considering that, he was not sure whether this place was even on a map…

Ghirahim faced a lake. The light reflections on the surface were so lurid that he had to avert his gaze; tall grass bordered the shore. The murky water had a shade of grayish green that did not invite you to swim if you didn't want to look like Swamp Thing afterwards, and the ground was dark and muddy. The lake itself didn't have a specific shape; it just twisted into something briefly resembling a hook.

Ghirahim wondered if he had brought insect repellent along.

The sound of meowing awoke his primal urge again, and he forgot his worries. He marched along the shore, careful to stay away far enough to not sink into the mud. "Come on, kitty, we're fixing that malposition of your eyes right away", he growled when he heard the grass rustle. Turning into that direction, he took gingerly step towards the lake. The ground was slippery, and if he ended up falling onto his butt…

The cat darted out of the grass in front of him and snuck past. Ghirahim snarled in rage and whirled around, nearly losing his balance in the process. The mud beneath his feet gave a disgusting squelch.

Link stared at him with an expression that for once declared all vocal communication unnecessary. What the hell are you doing here. And this is not a question.

Ghirahim didn't bother to decipher, for once. Talk about cavemen.

Link was not wearing his plain shirt. He had doubtlessly not expected Ghirahim or anyone else to find him, and if the mud on his bare feet and the bucket in his hand were anything to go by, he had no reservations against the lake. The cat brushed against his bare shin, purring frantically and hopefully glancing up at the bucket where something silvery swan in circles. Ghirahim paid no attention to his archenemy.

He'd never had a thing for beefcake-chic before – frankly, he was so used to men running around in shorts, showing off their oiled muscles, that the sight did not harbor any appeal to him, it was on the media every day. And Link seemed to do it all wrong, with his dull-green pants that he had willowed up to his knees, the dark mud clinging to his feet. He was sweating, and his skin didn't seem to be prone to tanning; it had a healthy color with a layer of pale freckles on the shoulders, but his face was unsightly red, the blonde hair stuck to his forehead and neck. His chest was built, however not six-packed. He looked disheveled in an unprofessional, sloppy way.

Ghirahim had never found him more magnetic.

His mouth had been dry before, but now it seemed dry as dust. The intensity of his own reaction intimidated him once more, and suddenly, he grasped for words.

Don't tell me that virginity of his is contagious. For the sake of being a Demon Lord, don't infect with that!

"Found you yet again, darling."

Ghirahim smiled triumphantly. So what if luck was one of his fabulous skills, too? All the better!

Link gave him a weary look before his hand flashed into the bucket and took a slim, wildly coiling fish from it. The cat bounced around before his feet (maybe it had some personality disorder and believed it was a dog instead?) and caught the fish, then ran off with its prize. So that was why it had gone after Link…

"I see you are prepared for a photo session." Ghirahim was proud that his voice was not as hoarse as he felt inside. Perhaps Link heard it nonetheless, that would serve the purpose. Anything that made Link nervous did.

The author simply turned away and walked along the shore. Ghirahim allowed himself a short moment to marvel the fine curve of Link's back before strolling after him, taking his camera out. That yomp through the woods might be good for something after all.

Link's fishing ground was a fallen tree whose leafless crown was buried underwater. The tree had seemingly not collapsed there, but had been moved and now served as a swimming wharf. Planks had been nailed to the head wood to ensure a safer footing – though the whole construction still looked pretty slippery to Ghirahim.

He unpacked his equipment and glared at the cat that seemed to have scarfed down the fish and now stared longingly at the diamond at Ghirahim's ear again.

"Your cat likes me, too." Or dog. Or magpie, whatever it was. It wasn't useful and Ghirahim hadn't forgiven it.

Link ignored his remark and phlegmatically endured the flashing of the camera while he took up his fishing rod again. From time to time, he splashed murky water onto his body to cool his skin. The movement probably disturbed the fish and scared them off, but Link didn't seem to mind.

Ghirahim didn't, either. He was busy hating the fact that he could think of Link as sexy even though that greenish water dried on his skin. It was not fab, damn it!

"Don't give me that. We did communicate already, so where's the problem?" Ghirahim slowly lowered the camera after he had taken enough pictures of Link in his muddy glory. When the other man didn't respond, he pressed on: "Give me what I want, and I'll go away soon enough, so why don't you get it over with?"

Link didn't actually react, but he glanced up, as if he had sensed something in Ghirahim's words. A question, maybe. Give me what I want. It should be obvious that he wanted to complete his interview, and nothing else.

Ghirahim clicked his tongue and stowed his camera safely in his bag before he squared his shoulders and set one foot onto the trunk. He caught sight of his boot, now stained with green, brown and scratches, and of his own reflection and the horribly tousled hair (to be honest, he looked like he had been pulled backwards through a hedge) and quickly proceeded.

The trunk swayed beneath his feet, and the hazy water seemed to look up to him, waiting. The sun pricked the back of his head, and Ghirahim had to hold out his arms to steady himself.

Link didn't watch him. The blue eyes were fixed on the floater, but he had to feel Ghirahim's steps.

It seemed like an eternity until the journalist sat down, his fingers held onto the planks. The trunk still bobbed gently, and there was dirt on the bark, and yet, Ghirahim was satisfied with being above the water. He had to pull up his knees to his chest, and he was sweating even worse – he was sitting. Nice and safe.

"Why do you want me to leave?"

It should be obvious. Link seemed to think so, too. Ghirahim brushed his sweaty hair from his face.

"Is that third book ever going to be published? Have you even written it?"

Something tugged at the floater and swam away again. Insects buzzed in the air. Ghirahim vaguely realized that it could become troublesome to sit in the midday sun like this, especially when he was not used to it and his circulation could be thrown off. But he refused to go already.

"You know, those names – have you actually thought of them?"

A trickle of sweat ran down Link's temple. Without following his own actions at all, Ghirahim leaned over, sharing body heat that was not needed and seemed to make the air between them crackle. His tongue touched the cheekbone lightly, and Link shuddered. It was subtle, but he could feel it.

"The lady…", Ghirahim whispered huskily, "… is she going to be named Zelda?"

Link leapt up and ripped the fishing pole from the water, splashing water everywhere. He waded, lustily and tense at the same time, to the shore, and Ghirahim could not follow him that fast.

"I'm right, am I?"

It was the last he saw of the author that day.

/

Short note again: There was not much interaction this time, sorry; I was preparing. The next day will be more… rich in content. I'm excited to write it!

About the use of Own Characters: I'm usually rather negative towards those, however, I will need them for the staff of Skyward Serenade. I cannot really picture Demise in a suit behind a huge desk, and if I use other antagonists from the games, I can't do all of them justice. In addition, I don't know all of them… Bringing in Vaati might cause a storm of fabulousness.