|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Streams of Life
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter 2
Mikoto's leg dangled over the small bridge, barely touching the waters of the pond. She was feeling uneasy, and slightly worried.
What the Genomes and black mages have researched here did not seem very positive. It was discovered that there was a mystery concerning herself, which she wished she knew the answer to.
She was different from the other Genomes.
She knew she was created out of life that was extracted from Terra itself.
She was imbued with a soul right from the time she was created, and never had to grow one from within herself like the others.Her blue eyes pondered, gazing into the emerald waters of the pond as a tiny leaf fell into it. There was a soft ripple, which spreads out to create larger ripples only to fade off, overpowered by the larger body of water.
The leaf did not sink, but floated around aimlessly until it touched the side of the pond and joined the small bits of weeds that grew there.
"Would I be like the ripples, or the leaf?" She questioned philosophically, then looked up into the sky for an answer.
A drop of water fell on her little nose. She looked up, and saw that a particular cloudy squall was coming her way.
"No squall or cloud shall hinder my way...yeah right," Mikoto grumbled inwardly, incidentally recalling this particular phrase from her brother's theatre script, which he often recites for no particular reason while he was unconscious. Looks like he spends more time studying and training up his acting skills than anyone might expect.
Since the clouds refuse to give her a decent answer, she stood up and patted the dirt off her skirt, then proceeded into one of the small houses in the Black Mage Village for shelter.
Then the rain fell. It was heavy, as if the sky was pouring all it's complaints upon them like there were no tomorrow, much less a day after tomorrow.
The weather turned as cold as the colour of the wailing sky.
A black mage offered the young girl a cup of hot cocoa, which was gladly accepted. It was a nice place to be, with everyone being as nice as they could to everyone else. In fact, they were too nice. It was lucky that their village was well hidden in the forest, or any stranger who comes along could easily take advantage of their generosity.
The female Genome twitched her tail, as a gut feeling hit her that a storm, a larger one than the present one, was coming.
That would really be a bad hair day.
----------
----------
It was a relaxing day. There was nothing much to do but to and hang around. Being on a lookout of pickpockets was a must, for in the city of nobles, there was enough thieves to compromise the nobility of the place.
It was not a really good place to be in when one has no money. Zidane searched every nook and cranny of Treno, but could not find as much dropped Gil or items as he hoped he could. Equipped with a sharp sense of thievery, he was at least safe from getting his belongings stolen. Thieves in Treno recognize a fellow thief when they see one, Zidane noted, right from the first time he stepped into this funny city.
Genomes are good at whatever they decide to be, Zidane deduced that from his time in Terra and the conversations with Garland and Kuja. Kuja had laughed at him being stupid and wasteful, as he became a thief instead of a powerful mage.
"I like being a thief..." Zidane muttered, counting the Gil he scrimped and searched around for. One advantage of one his caste is the skill to look around for money and items, and as a top notch master of his trade, Zidane had managed to come up with a couple of cards and 120 Gil from his original 80 Gil that was to his name.
He had the option of going out to fight some monsters for Gil, but somehow he had a bad feeling about all that. His injuries must have sapped all his strength away. He instinctively placed a hand over his abdomen. There was something suppressing his full recovery, but it was probably only temporary. Probably just indigestion or something he ate.
However, even without his full strength, he still maintained his full set of skills. That would just have to help him get by for now.
"In Alexandria, the streets are paved with Gil..." Zidane compared.
His thoughts wandered to Garnet, wondering how she was doing, but somehow, he felt responsibility to carry his own burdens to the end before he had any face to see her again. There was no feeling of regret or yearning, only slight longing and comfort for he knew he would be welcome when he went back to her.Pushing that one side, he focused on the important task that was at hand which was a responsibility that was solely his. He had to find cash to
buy new clothes.Whatever he had found did not help much. He was far off from even being able to buy a decent enough set of clothes, not to mention tailoring himself
and Kuja a new set of clothes. For now, Zidane was not that concerned
with his own welfare, but for a man whom he knows will not stop
complaining till kingdom come if he had to stand another day in
Doctor Tot's artistic pyjamas.----------
Kuja sneezed once. He rubbed his nose and decided that he might have caught a cold or something. Sitting up slowly, he readied a Curaga spell for himself. Bright white speckles of soft light touched his skin and it rejuvenated. His scars and scabs started to dissolve and were replaced by new skin. On the outside, he was perfectly fine, but he still had that annoying headache. He would have to get some ether to ease it off.
He sneezed again.
He rubbed his nose again, and decided he desperately needed a handkerchief before he got his pyjama's sleeve sticky.
Searching through the cupboard, he found where his old clothes were.
It was not really in bad condition, but there was a gaping tear in his beloved white garb. As he held the garb, he moaned at the thought that there would be no way he could ever again, wear this set of clothes.
He would have to bring this set to a tailor to replicate.His nose started to itch a lot, and he panicked. He quickly took up whatever was in his hands and blew his nose into it.
Realizing what he had just done to his old set of clothes, he winced in disgust.
"No doubtb aboud dit, I'mb havbing a coldb," he observed as he sniffed.
Physically, his injuries had recovered, but due to the low immunity he had these few days, getting sick was nearly inevitable. A pity the cure spells he had could not cure something like influenza.He would just have to wait for it to pass.
The silver-headed youth rummaged through the pile once more and picked out his heavy purple armour.
Looking at the limited selection of clothes Doctor Tot has, he picked out the most normal looking one he could find. A dull-looking brown canvas cloak. Not thinking further more, he wrapped it around himself so that his pyjamas would be totally out of sight. He then wrapped a scarf around his head and nose to caution against the wind outdoors which may cause his cold to worsen.
He lugged his purple armour into his large cloak and decided to go get some money and find a good armourer and tailor as soon as possible.
The old doctor poked his head through the doorway and found it amusing to see the mess of the cupboard Kuja had created.
"Going off? Don't you want to eat first?" The kindly doctor asked.
"Justb bfor ba dwhile. I'b be backg." Kuja replied, not bothering to turn around to greet the doctor's presence, for he was engrossed in searching around for something that seemed of utmost importance.
"Tell me if you need anything," the doctor offered, which Kuja immediately took advantage of.
"Do byou bhave a handgerchieb you gould lend bme?" the Genome with Flu snuffled.
----------
Afternoon was slowly crossing into the path of Evening.
The big clock chimed to remind anyone who cared for the time.
A teenager's light brown hair swayed slightly with the wind. His clothes were tattered from hard ordeals he had suffered, but none as difficult as this. In his right hand were some cards, which he would claim to be his best. His left hand rested on his currently most cherished weapon, the Orichalcon.Taking a deep breath and putting on a determined expression, he entered the auction house.
"But sir, you will have to register with us first, and that will take some time, perhaps a few days," a neatly-dressed man, perhaps in his late twenties, stated as-a-matter-of-factly.
"It's taking too long. I need to get some Gil fast." the impatient blond tapped his foot.
"If I may be direct, these are not stolen goods, are they?"
"Of course not! These are in fact my most prized possessions! If I didn't need cash that badly, I wouldn't even think of selling them!" Zidane retorted, getting slightly frustrated.
"I'm sorry sir." the prim-and-proper auctioneer apologized. "I'll see what I can do for you then."
The young Genome swung his tail to show depression as he handed his Orichalcon and cards over to the experienced auctioneer, who examined the items meticulously, then handed some forms for Zidane to fill in.
"Now that everything is in order, we'll be auctioning these items in a while," the man concluded, "You may wait at the auctioning area if you please, sir."
"The things I'm doing for you, Kuja," Zidane sighed, "you'd better appreciate it!"
With that, Zidane went to take his seat in the auction hall.
----------
With a "thud" of the hammer, the auctioneer handed Zidane's prized cards to a middle-aged man, not well shaven, but who received cards he bidded for with extreme care - the mark of a card fanatic.
Zidane felt a little relieved that his cards would at least have a good home. They fetched quite a good price, but what would get him the bulk of cash he needed would be the next item.
That very thought crumpled his heart into a little ball and tossed it out of the auction hall window.
"Oww..." Zidane moaned, as the auctioneer shouted the next item up for bidding.
"...what is said to be the strongest thief's daggers - The Orichalcon! This is rumoured to be obtained from no other world than our moon Terra itself, this weapon is not only formidable, but of wondrous keeping value!"
Zidane had to admit that the nerd up on the stage had some professional execution in this trade.
Some finely-dressed gentlemen started shouting out their bids, and it more or less settled on one of them*
* note #1: which both Zidane and the author decided that it would hell to try and differentiate between them since they all look alike in their suits and top hats.
The final countdown began, as the auctioneer mouthed the words, "Any last bids? If not, this gentlemen..."
And he was cut off by a hand raised by someone who entered the hall.
"And the bid is raised by 200 Gil!" the bidding continued.
This particular someone went up the stage and whispered something into the auctioneer's ears. The neatly dressed auctioneer broke into a compromising smile and shook the mysterious man's hand, then nodded his head in acknowledgement with whatever was said between them.
"I'm sorry," the young man announced, "but we've received order from the top not to sell this item."
The gentleman who nearly won his bid gave a civilized sigh, not getting what he wanted. He was about to stand up courteously and protest politely about the auction when he saw his wife, who elegantly* stormed in and dragged...I mean, invited him out of his seat and out of the hall. The lady with a fancy feathered hat mumbled along the lines of her husband spending too much money on useless items.
* note #2: the refined must do what the refined has to do. Period.
The monkey-tailed boy had no time to stop and chuckle at the amusing couple. His gaze averted to the balcony, where the mysterious man who interrupted his auction was. The man, as if to hide his identity, was wrapped from head to toe with a scarf and a cape. He sat with as much grace as any royalty would on a formal looking red-with-gold-lining chair.
Zidane gritted his teeth and glared at the man, who only coughed slightly and tapped his well-manicured nails on the balcony rail.
As if on cue, the auctioneer responded. He immediately ended the auction and called it a day. Everyone left the auction hall, and a security guard politely requested Zidane to leave.
"I'm not leaving!" Zidane firmly insisted, and marched to the stage where the auctioneer stood.
"Why isn't my item sold!?"
"I have said, it's an order from the top," the learned man explained, "he said not to sell this item at all cost."
Zidane snapped his head up and pointed at the caped man at the balcony, who was still enjoying a cup of tea served to him a moment ago.
"You! Yeah, the VIP guy there. Get down here, I demand an explanation!"
The man of due mystery raised an eyebrow and 'tsked'. He took his time to go down the steps of the stairs one by one, which only served to test Zidane's Patience, which happened to be walking tightrope right now.
"These nobles sure do act big!" Zidane said to himself, folding his arms and positioning himself into a pose to show his displease.
The caped man took off the scarf around his head. Under the yellow lighting of the Victorian-styled auction hall, his hair had a soft lustre that seemed to belong only to the moon. His fine features contorted into a royal pout.
Zidane's jaw dropped.
The auctioneer made use of the mysterious man's backing.
"The orders come from him, sir, so if you please, take back your item and leave."The silver-haired man held out a hand to stop the auctioneer from ushering Zidane away.
"It's all right. He is with me."
Kuja's nasal voice rang in the empty auction hall. He suppressed a sneeze with a soft 'tsch' and dabbed his nose with a handkerchief.
"What the heck are you playing at, Kuja?" Zidane sulked, irritated at being played the fool.
"What do you think you were doing, my dear Zidane?" Kuja kept the handkerchief and immediately tossed his hair vainly Kuja-style™, as his frown eased into a mocked smile.
"Selling my stuff so that you can get some new clothes, of course!" Zidane raised his voice, getting frustrated from all the work he had done.
"Zidane, you know that I have, or at least, had influence all over Gaia, do you not?" Kuja grinned, obviously having fun at Zidane's ignorance.
The golden-haired youth closed his eyes and folded his arms, waiting for a decent explanation, "...and what would that do? Get us money?"
"Bull's-eye!" Kuja exclaimed sweetly, clapping his hands together.
Zidane opened an eye and eyed Kuja with it.
The caped young man directed his question to the person next to him. "Auctioneer, tell this man who this place belongs to,"
"Surely, Sir," the sales professional obeyed, and told his tale in utmost professionalism, "This auction hall belongs to Mr Kuja, whom has the full shares and investm..."
"That's enough," Kuja waved before the whole economy situation of Treno was told.
That bewildered the young blond. Surprise soon turns into anger as he grabbed Kuja by the cape collar.
"I nearly sold all my stuff! What about my precious cards? Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"
"Well, you never asked."
Zidane tightened his grip on Kuja.
Before the Infuriated One could say anything in defense, his grasp slipped and the cape was yanked off his elder brother.The auctioneer's eyes nearly fell out.
Kuja blushed in a shade of red that matched his eye-shadow.
Zidane stared.
Then he quickly picked up the cape and hastily wrapped it around his brother.
Pain struck the ill-fated young Genome in the shin as the utterly embarrassed Destroyer of Terra kicked him with metal-laced boots.
Like a lady who accidentally lost her modesty, Kuja held on tightly to the cape around him, making sure that every part of his shame was concealed.
Guilt struck the monkey-tailed youth as he sat down clumsily, holding his shin in pain.
"I'm...sorry, Kuja. I didn't know you were wearing those...pyjamas underneath."
The being-who-nearly-destroyed-Gaia felt like digging a hole to hide in.
"Pretend you never saw this," Kuja hissed.
The auctioneer nodded head and excused himself, probably trying hard not to laugh all the way to the bathroom.
"What in the name of Gaia and Terra are you still doing in those pyjamas?" Zidane asked."My old clothes are absolutely not in a condition to be worn, that's why!" Kuja snapped, not having been as humiliated as this. He then bent over and offered Zidane a hand to stand up, which was gladly taken.
"I can't believe I bothered to stop you from selling your junk," Kuja muttered.
Zidane grinned, scratching his head, inwardly appreciating Kuja's
rare act of kindness. "Well, that was all my mistake, wasn't it?"Kuja tilted his head, then threw his armour at Zidane, who caught it with an 'oof'.
"If you may, help me get this to an armourer. I refuse, with all my dignity, to go out in the streets now that accidents are liable to happen. Account all the debts to the auction house." Kuja reached from behind the auction table and handed Zidane a piece of document.
"Yes sir," Zidane did a mock bow and walked off, slinging the armour over his shoulder.
The fair-haired man gave a long-suffering sigh and a twinge of guilt struck him for not being able to swallow his pride enough. He had not been exactly very nice to Zidane.
All along, Zidane had been giving in to him, no less.
Even a moment ago, Zidane could have whacked him upside down if he wanted, but he did not, and even took the blame to himself. Kuja chided himself for being petty. Even though he was older, Zidane was behaving more like an older brother if anything. Why was Zidane being so nice to someone who owed him his life?
Kuja shook his head.
He had once thought he would do anything to repay Zidane for coming back.
For coming to the Iifa tree to a dying man.
For a dying man who would not live long even if he had survived.
Restless and not being to do anything but to wait, Kuja examined the auction items left on the silk-clothed table. He slid his fingers over a mirror and thought it would be good get one for himself. Then a small glass ball the size of his fist caught his attention. He picked it up and examined it thoroughly.
A projection of an airship assembled before him, its source being the glass ball. It was a model he had not seen, which puzzled him, for he was rather sure of overseeing each and every construction of airships produced in Terra.
Kuja mentally probed further into the glass projector, and as if turning a page of the book, the drafted plans came into view. He could see all the working parts - the engines, the propeller designs, the fuel tanks, undercarriages neatly drawn out. The plans were more or less complete, and the designs of the inside were rather bizarre compared to the usual ones he saw.
Interesting how much information this ball contained.
Normally, no one would use up so much memory of a projector* to store the drafts as well as the image of a prototype.
* note #3: The projector is usually storing basic information on models for some sort of exhibition purposes. It can possibly be compared to demo CDs people give for computer programs. Most of them don't work unless they like you - [continued in note #4].
The prototype was very much similar to the Invincible, in fact, he would say that this was probably an improved version of the last Invincible which fell into Zidane's hands. He could remember vaguely a couple of incomplete plans going underway on Terra before her destruction, but none as fully assembled as this particular one.
Whoever would come up with such must have known the original plans to the Invincible, as well as being well versed in Terran technology. The projector reacted to him, which very well signify the origins of the device.
However, Terra was destroyed.
Who would have the time or chance to make another set of airship plans?
Zidane strolled in, a piece of receipt in his hands.
"Yo! It's done, we can collect your stuff in a week. Say, what about the rest of your clothing?"
Snapping out of his thoughts, the feather-headed one replied, "I drew up the descriptions for the clothes I need, so we'll just need to pay a visit to the tailor's."
"Okay then. We'll do it later...WOAH! What in Gaia is that?!" Zidane skipped over to Kuja and pointed at the projection of the airship.
"Hey cool. One of those projector thingies, right? Where did you get it?" Zidane fawned over it like a young boy with a new toy car.
The projection faded away with a buzz as Kuja lost his interest in the device.
"Here, you can have it."
Kuja tossed it over to Zidane, who caught it and fiddled around with it, trying to see how it works.
"Just hold it still," the older man instructed wisely, "it should react to you."
A waned smile appeared on the Genome's pallid face. There was something comforting about seeing his young benefactor being free from woes and having enthusiasm as any teenager should have.
His years as a teenager had been nothing more than time spent on obtaining power to overthrow his own creator. Wasted on a goal that had no special purpose other than to spite and to prove his existence to Garland. There are so many other ways to prove his individuality, which was only taught to him by a silly monkey who could not even use magic.
Kuja's musings was disrupted by a rather disturbing image he saw.
The projection of the airship he witnessed was like the scanning of raster lines on a faulty television on the wrong channel adjustments, not that they had any televisions in Gaia, but he could only describe the image appropriately as such.
Snatching it from Zidane's hand, he only managed to prove that it was working perfectly fine for him.
Zidane scratched his head, and then looked at Kuja in puzzlement.
It was perplexing.
He threw the ball* back to Zidane and walked down the aisle in a huff, leaving the confused youth to shrug before tagging along.
* note #4: [Continued from note #3] - in which this case, it doesn't like Zidane much, doesn't it?
There was something disturbing him.
Perhaps some kind of deja-vu, that things are not as simple as it seems. Something could be wrong with either Zidane or himself.He sure hoped it was just him and his spells going haywire.
Mikoto had told him something weird in regards to Zidane that happened at the Iifa tree right before he whisked them away with a teleport spell. He stopped right in his tracks and turned around to face Zidane. To test his sister's words, he chanted a spell, controlling it to the minimum strength.
As the spell zapped the guinea pig of his younger brother, it yelped.
"What did you do that for? It hurts!" The aforementioned experiment specimen complained, rubbing it's head where the spell struck.
"Nothing. You go to the tailor's. I'll head back to the observatory..." Kuja stuffed more papers into Zidane's hands, and then said to himself "...and try to find out more about this."
Zidane groused along the lines of having an ill-fated life and headed off to run his errand.
"I'm sorry," Kuja apologized to the table as whoever he should address had already scooted off, then supplemented for good note-taking, "but that was a Curaga spell."
***************
- End chapter 2 -
3:35am, 28th July 2001
Duh...^_^; I'm not good at storytelling when it comes to complex-issues (and humour...), which I really want to try my hand on...all thanks to you, XD!! I'm blaming you and the "Shock! ~Kuja Project~" for this!
FF9 fanfics, FF9 fanart, FF9 doujinshi...boy am I going into the deep end. And I only played FF9 once. I'd better go play it again in detail this time before I write anything more complicated than this that my brain can't handle.Revised a couple dozen times between then till 8 August. If there's still typos or whatnots, don't bother me about it. I am NOT going to read this thing again. @_@
***************