Just a little oneshot explaining a couple of Rikku's outfits in Final Fantasy X-2. Yeah, I know, it's not my usual genre. Deal with it. AuRikku if you squint.


It wasn't fair, ya know?

Actually, she should specify the topic. A lot of things weren't fair. She listed them as she made her way through the underbelly of the airship.

It wasn't fair that Yunie had had her heart broken. It wasn't fair that Home had been destroyed. It wasn't fair that so many had died to get them this far. It wasn't fair that even though not three weeks ago she had helped defeat a tyrannical regime, she had still run into people that judged her by the clothes she wore. Or the patterns in her eyes.

But what she had found most unfair of all was the division of grief. There had been no funerals, of course. It was slightly awkward to hold a funeral for one man ten years too late, and for another man that had been just a shade above imaginary. Or something. It had all got weird at the end there. What remained of the group had met two days ago, before temporarily parting ways. There had been a lot of reminiscing, wistful remembrances of good times. Tidus had been the focal point. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

After all, he had made such an impression on everybody. The heart and soul of the team, never giving up, never losing hope, or faith.

It was just that Rikku found herself annoyed that he was getting all the attention. After all, they had lost more than one teammate that day. Lost more than one friend.

She got to the door, and found, of course, that it was locked. Paranoid old man. Not that that was going to stop her, of course.

As she broke in to the man's room, she still thought about the meeting. After Tidus, she felt that she had grown to know the man the best, not that that was saying much. Well, perhaps Kihmari had known him better, but the Ronso was never the talkative type. Strong, silent, and furry, that was Kihmari Ronso. So the cat was never gonna eulogise him. Yunie had, of course, been understandably distracted, and Wakka and Lulu had never really known the man. Rikku had never found a comfortable point to bring him up.

They had remembered the conversations they had had, of Tidus's long ad libbed speeches, and the endearing way they almost always ended in confusion. The old man had never been one for words.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Rikku was completely unsurprised by the Spartan dwellings. There was a bed, and a trunk in the corner, and that was it. Not one for his creature comforts. She made her way over to the trunk, and examined the heavy padlock.

They had remembered all the times Tidus had stood defiant, staring down his enemy and arguing even on the brink of annihilation. Glory goes to those that shout the loudest. Ol' Grouchy didn't usually waste words on the enemy.

Well, apart from "Farewell", anyway.

No, what should be remembered was the way no one got the drop on him, the way nothing flustered him, the way that there was nothing he couldn't take on, and no one he couldn't take down. And already people were forgetting. He belonged to the prequel of this adventure.

The padlock snapped, revealing exactly what Rikku had expected. Swords. She hefted one, surprised that she could even bear its weight. The blade shimmered in her hand, and she traced a finger idly over the gold insignia while cradling the sword on her knees.

She remembered the way he had wielded these swords, so cocky, so confident, so smug. And damn if he didn't have the skills to go with it.

She checked what else was in the trunk, and was surprised to see the other sword in there. She hefted it out reverently, her knuckles whitening around the rainbow hilt, trying to compensate for the huge weight of the weapon. The Masamune. He hadn't taken it, into that last fight. He'd just used a katana instead, an old, notched and dull blade. She placed a hand on the flat of the blade to balance the weight, and nicked her finger on one of the curved spikes. Cursing to herself in Al Bhed, she checked the trunk for a cloth to wrap the fearsome weapons in. She found one. Pulling it out, she stared at the red cloth.

It was a spare robe. For some reason she found the idea incredibly funny. Perhaps it was for laundry days? No, it must have been an old one, from when he was younger. She noted that the red was faded, and the buckles around the wrists were broken. Idly, she wondered how that had happened.

The image appeared, unbidden, of the old man trying to do up the buckles one day and snapping them in frustration when they wouldn't fit.

Taking the blades and wrapping them in the robe, she hefted the bundle, staggering under the weight. At least she could lift them, although getting them back to her room might be a problem.

She smirked when she remembered trying to lift one of his swords back in Guadosalam. The weapon had weighed almost as much as her, and when she had tried to heft it the weight had sent her tottering backwards. Tidus had been in hysterics. Grumpy had not been amused.

Ha, I can lift two of them now. Pretty impressive, huh old man? The thought of his reaction to the feat distracted her from the weight for a while until she realised that his reaction would like as not be an indifferent harrumph.

Staggering back to her own room, she dropped the blades on her bed with a clang. After looking at them for a while, she picked up the shimmering blade, and gave it a practice swing. It had taken both hands, but she was sure she'd get the hang of it.

This probably wasn't what Grumpy had wanted. He'd probably wanted to just slink into the background, forgotten. He'd never looked comfortable on a pedestal.

Well, too bad for him. Rikku thought as she stared at the red garment, wondering how much taking in it would need before it was wearable. I'm not forgetting you anytime soon, Auron.


Well? Good? Bad? Terrible? Let me know. And tell me if you'd like to see some more FFX oneshots. I like input.