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Remixed	By : krissifer Category: Final Fantasy X > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter contributed by : QuatreLupin

Remixed

Upcanjydeuh [Dha]
Summary: It's wrong, it's all wrong... Gippal thinks, Baralai writes. Preparation for the game begins...and a revelation takes Gippal to the edge of insanity. Again.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.

Archiving: Ask. I don't bite often...

Notes: This one is for my wondermous Nora, the Don Dolla Bill WHAT WHAT! She showers me with compliments even though she doesn't understand anything what happens. YAY! Best daughter in the world, she is. For the story...I've got no idea where it's going, how it's going, why it's going. I have a general direction, how I want it to end...but getting from Point A to Point B is tricky, dears. So input is welcome.

There were things about himself that Gippal hid from the world. He loved the feel of the desert sand against his skin at night, the grains that were both rough and velveteen soft, the cool shadows of darkness a stark contrast to the hot sun he lived under. He loved the soft glow of candlelight, its orange light flickering, casting shadows.
But most of all, he loved blitzball. Playing it was a thrill, an intoxication. The water surrounding him, encasing him, inside a little bubble of his own, oxygen slowly depleting. But it was not just the game he adored, but the pure excitement surrounding it. The energy that spectators gave off filled him with the warm fuzzies most people would associate with being in love. Had the events surrounding the Crimson Squad been different, he supposed he might have lived out his days playing for the Psyches.
Fate, sadly, was cruel to him, to his companions. "Should have" was what he most often contemplated lately. He should have been a star player for the Psyches; Paine should have became a famed historian, like this Maechen summoners would always talk about meeting (she had a knack for it, really); Nooj should have found the peace and the will to continue living; Baralai should have became the greatest Maester to come to Spira.
"Memories are nice, but that's all they are," he murmured, to himself, standing on the balcony of the suite he shared with Baralai, looking out over the city. The great machina city, beautiful with its twinkling lights, the busy streets, the people hurrying here and there. A city that, by all accounts, shouldn't exist.
Baralai had told him they were in Zanarkand. The only Zanarkand he had ever known consisted ubblubble, pyreflies and monkies. The Gullwings had made certain of the monkies. He grinned a little; monkies were better than tourists, they had said. In a way, he supposed they were right. It was sacred to Yuna, the turning point of her life. It was, to her, what Home was to all Al Bhed.
His thoughts were lost when arms wrapped around him, smooth, darkly tanned arms that felt so very right when he closed his eyes...but so very wrong when coupled with the spectacular view below him. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on the railing.
"If you still don't feel well, you don't have to come tonight," Baralai said, moving to his side to assume an identical position along the rail. Gippal laughed, shaking his head.
"Wouldn't miss it for the worlddn'tdn't know Bevelle had a team, though."
There was that awkward silence again, where the Baralai of this reality looked at him as though he had become a fiend of legendary proportions.
"Gippal, you used to play for the Fakirs*," his companion said, worry evident in his voice. Gippal shook his head, stepping back away from the balcony, away from the gorgeous city.
"This is all wrong."
And with that, he did the only thing he knew how to do at the moment; he locked himself in the bathroom to think.
There, lying on the counter, was a leather-b boo book, enscirbed with a golden "B". Baralai's journal, something he'd recognize no matter what reality he was dumped in. Even as he took the book in his hands, flipped through the pages...he knew it was wrong. Curiosity was just one of his many quirks.
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(Excerpt: Baralai's Journal)
We were sent to Macalania today, to meet with the leaders of Bevelle, in hopes of negotiating a truce of some sort. The woods are a beautiful sight, naturally beautiful, starkly contrasting the man-made beauty of the machina cities. Gippal seemed to enjoy the woods as well; it was the first time I'd seen him smile since I told him I was going to become a summoner.
He belives that summoners are on a suicide mission, that no human being could survive having their energy drained for summoning enough times to be effective against an army. I have heard him rant and rave many times about the unfairness of sending the summoners out first, out to thont ont lines. I know I can't change his mind. In some ways, I suppose he is right. But I must not question my orders, or trouble may fall upon all of Zanarkand.
For all his whining and ranting, though, Gippal was the first to volunteer to be my guardian. I will forever remember this, remember him, no matter what may happen. I love him. As I write, he is setting up our camp. He insists on doing it himself; he really is amazing.
I fear something is about to happen, something terrible. I only hope I can be strong enough to protect him, to return the favor he's afforded me all these years, should the time come.
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Stunned silence. That was all that accompanied the thud of the journal hitting the tiled floor, Gippal sinking to the edge of the tub with all the grace of a drunken Chocobo.
Of course he had known his reality was distorted. Of course he had. But to see it in writing, in an exact replica of the journal he had given Baralai the day they parted for the first time, after the Crimson Squad...to see it written down in this precious artifact all but tore his heart from his body.
This is how Shuyin must have felt, to be thrust a thousand years out of the time he knew. A world of faces that were familiar, but of souls that did not know him; atleast, not as he knew himself.
He didn't know why he was here right now; maybe it was just a fluke, a strange happening, something from before the cold light that had sent him here. Perhaps it was simply a dream, or maybe all he knew before had been a dream.
Before he could figure any of it out, a soft knock came on the door; tearful words floated through the wood, drifting across his ears, a tone to make even the hardest hearts softer than the petals of a rose.
"Gippal, please don't be mad at me...I could not live if you were mad at me..."
A sigh, and he crossed the room, stopping at the door, his cheek pressing against it.
"I don't know what's going on, Baralai..." he whispered, gently, unlocking the door, opening it slowly. Arms were immediately around him, pulling him close. Tender lips were upon his, desperately, seeking to rectify any displeasure his words had done. It took all the willpower he had to pull back, even the slightest, and his body began to tremble.
"Tell me what happened at Macalania." It was a plea, a request for any type of sanity that could still be salvaged. Baralai shook his head, and, with all the care of a mother, led Gippal to the bed.
"Sleep first, my heart. You look pale..."
Gippal never was one that had to be told twice to sleep.

*~*Aht Bynd Drnii*~*
[Yes. You'll have to wait until next time to figure out what happened in Macalania. Because Krissi doesn't know herself.]
Title: Observation [Two]

*Fakirs: holy men

Aht Bynd Drnii: End Part Three.
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- 4
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