Categories > Games > Final Fantasy X > Yevonite to Al Bhed
It was going to come back to haunt him. He knew that. He might have been a thick-as-bricks blitzballer, but he knew girls, and he knew this girl. It'd come back. She'd come back. And she'd beat him until he was crouched on the ground, spitting up blood and begging for more. Whoa, okay, hold up there. Not like the way you're thinkin' it, ya? Maybe she wouldn't beat him within an inch of his life (not that he'd... uh, let her, but not that he'd stop her with anything resembling strong physical force), but she'd probably yell and call him names like meanie and poopie-head and then start all over again but this time in Al Bhed. Everyone would avoid the two of them, arguing in the hallway, and Wakka would end up turning bright red, curse his hair and his inability to hide his emotions because of it. Stupid hair. Stupid girl.
So he was hiding, in the shower of his bunk, where she most likely would not come and find him, seeing as they weren't on very good terms to begin with, and... it had been a while. A long while. Since they'd, well... since before the scene out on the ice when it'd finally hit him straight in the middle of his forehead. What she was, what she represented. It'd been a little too much for a back-water Besaid blitzer like him. He'd done homage to his red roots and popped his top. She'd deflated like a punctured blitzball. He pondered that for a moment. /Deflated blitzball/. Was that approaching poetic? Would she maybe forgive him if he got out a scrap of paper and tried to write an ode to her luminating self? Nah. Bad idea. He was never good with spelling anyway. He turned the shower off, ignoring the fact that even if he was clean, he'd been using machina to get that way, so spiritually, was he dirty? The question made his head hurt worse than a morning after a Besaid bonfire with a little too much fire whisky. It was easier when everything and everyone around him agreed perfectly with Yevonite beliefs. He had a bad feeling he'd be getting a lot more headaches in the next few weeks to come.
The door hissed open before he had a chance to grab a waiting towel and she was standing there. Green swirled eyes glittering with anger, every line in her face dark. Her fists were clenched, a claw glinting sharply in the bathroom lights on one arm. Chances of survival? Meh, possible. Chances of ever having children? Slim to none, ya?
"Uh, Rikku... this..." he tried to temporize, looking anxiously at the pile of towels. Would she strike him down if he were to shift slightly and just... reach? There really wasn't anything in the Yevonite handbook on How To Talk To Heathens to cover this subject. He mentally flipped through the pages of the little manual and tried to find an entry under /Al Bhed Goddess Corners You In The Bathroom and Tries To Remove Your Fifth Limb/, but came up blank. He also tried /Converting Sexy Scantially Clad Al Bhed Teenager To Yevon's Ways So You Might Make An Honest Woman Of Her And Have Many Happy Children/. Maybe not.
"Happy festival fireworks, huh?" Her pose changed, one hand on her hip, her legs crossed challengingly. He felt like a beetle. A very naked beetle.
"I was just... just... y'know... cheerin' ya up..." he stammered and finally reached over and nipped a towel, wrapping it around his waist quickly. Her eyes followed his movements and her mouth quirked up.
"Not like I haven't seen it or anything, Wakka." She rolled her eyes and sighed, a little anger seeming to run out of her. Suddenly she was next to him, stepping into the shower blindly, tears welling up in her eyes, streaming down her delicate face. Tiny hands wrapped around his waist, her nose buried into his collarbone, cheek pressed to his damp skin. He sighed and ran a hand down her her head, pulling out the hair-tie and lettingher pony-tailfall loose and open. His fingerscrooked into the silky gold strands.
"Don' cry..." he tried to stem the sudden outpouring of grief that overcome all of her anger and had managed to bridge the world of hurt that had seperated them both sincethat fateful day at thetemple. Her walls came down as she curled in his arms. He was dimly aware that she still smelt like hot sand and sunshine, even though they'd been gone from Home for half a week. "Don' cry," he repeated gently. She just shook her head and hiccuped a sob, pressing him against the cool tile and cried harder.
Yevon forbade it.
Yevon abhored it.
Yevon couldn't stop him anymore. He loved it, laying next to her in the darkened room. She slept soundly, after crying out the hurt inside, sprawledon the thin pallet of his bunk. He eased one hand under her neck, stroking his thumb along the soft downy hair, curling her braids around his fingers. Curse Yevon, she was beautiful, even snoring softly, twitching in her sleep like a kitten having a dream. Dirty tear tracks ran down her cheeks where dust had settled after she passed out. It's hard to lose your home. He knew. He'd lost his too, but he had been younger, and didn't really remember it so well. In a way, the change in her was more tragic than the actual destruction of Home. She'd been so excited, jumping up and down more than ususal, not paying so much attention to chests, just anxious to get home... even if it meant that he might have given them all up for Yevon's justice. She'd had to trust him, wanted to trust him. Now she'd never know, and neither would he. Someone else betrayed the Al Bhed before he was given the chance.
So he was hiding, in the shower of his bunk, where she most likely would not come and find him, seeing as they weren't on very good terms to begin with, and... it had been a while. A long while. Since they'd, well... since before the scene out on the ice when it'd finally hit him straight in the middle of his forehead. What she was, what she represented. It'd been a little too much for a back-water Besaid blitzer like him. He'd done homage to his red roots and popped his top. She'd deflated like a punctured blitzball. He pondered that for a moment. /Deflated blitzball/. Was that approaching poetic? Would she maybe forgive him if he got out a scrap of paper and tried to write an ode to her luminating self? Nah. Bad idea. He was never good with spelling anyway. He turned the shower off, ignoring the fact that even if he was clean, he'd been using machina to get that way, so spiritually, was he dirty? The question made his head hurt worse than a morning after a Besaid bonfire with a little too much fire whisky. It was easier when everything and everyone around him agreed perfectly with Yevonite beliefs. He had a bad feeling he'd be getting a lot more headaches in the next few weeks to come.
The door hissed open before he had a chance to grab a waiting towel and she was standing there. Green swirled eyes glittering with anger, every line in her face dark. Her fists were clenched, a claw glinting sharply in the bathroom lights on one arm. Chances of survival? Meh, possible. Chances of ever having children? Slim to none, ya?
"Uh, Rikku... this..." he tried to temporize, looking anxiously at the pile of towels. Would she strike him down if he were to shift slightly and just... reach? There really wasn't anything in the Yevonite handbook on How To Talk To Heathens to cover this subject. He mentally flipped through the pages of the little manual and tried to find an entry under /Al Bhed Goddess Corners You In The Bathroom and Tries To Remove Your Fifth Limb/, but came up blank. He also tried /Converting Sexy Scantially Clad Al Bhed Teenager To Yevon's Ways So You Might Make An Honest Woman Of Her And Have Many Happy Children/. Maybe not.
"Happy festival fireworks, huh?" Her pose changed, one hand on her hip, her legs crossed challengingly. He felt like a beetle. A very naked beetle.
"I was just... just... y'know... cheerin' ya up..." he stammered and finally reached over and nipped a towel, wrapping it around his waist quickly. Her eyes followed his movements and her mouth quirked up.
"Not like I haven't seen it or anything, Wakka." She rolled her eyes and sighed, a little anger seeming to run out of her. Suddenly she was next to him, stepping into the shower blindly, tears welling up in her eyes, streaming down her delicate face. Tiny hands wrapped around his waist, her nose buried into his collarbone, cheek pressed to his damp skin. He sighed and ran a hand down her her head, pulling out the hair-tie and lettingher pony-tailfall loose and open. His fingerscrooked into the silky gold strands.
"Don' cry..." he tried to stem the sudden outpouring of grief that overcome all of her anger and had managed to bridge the world of hurt that had seperated them both sincethat fateful day at thetemple. Her walls came down as she curled in his arms. He was dimly aware that she still smelt like hot sand and sunshine, even though they'd been gone from Home for half a week. "Don' cry," he repeated gently. She just shook her head and hiccuped a sob, pressing him against the cool tile and cried harder.
Yevon forbade it.
Yevon abhored it.
Yevon couldn't stop him anymore. He loved it, laying next to her in the darkened room. She slept soundly, after crying out the hurt inside, sprawledon the thin pallet of his bunk. He eased one hand under her neck, stroking his thumb along the soft downy hair, curling her braids around his fingers. Curse Yevon, she was beautiful, even snoring softly, twitching in her sleep like a kitten having a dream. Dirty tear tracks ran down her cheeks where dust had settled after she passed out. It's hard to lose your home. He knew. He'd lost his too, but he had been younger, and didn't really remember it so well. In a way, the change in her was more tragic than the actual destruction of Home. She'd been so excited, jumping up and down more than ususal, not paying so much attention to chests, just anxious to get home... even if it meant that he might have given them all up for Yevon's justice. She'd had to trust him, wanted to trust him. Now she'd never know, and neither would he. Someone else betrayed the Al Bhed before he was given the chance.
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