♡ ▐▒ ━━━ Luckily, Zidane had always known how to survive in a broken world. He’d known the moment his blue eyes popped open that Gaia was frankly screwed, and he knew best because he lived in the deepest holes that existed in the hell once known as the Midgar slums.
Not that the experience made Zidane Tribal jaded or anything. In fact, he was the happiest, most optimistic thief anyone had ever met. Sure, his meals did not always make his belly full, and he always seemed to have a thin layer of dirt coating his skin no matter how many times he showered, and yeah, sometimes things looked a bit bleak… but Zidane always pressed on with a glorious smile on his face. His acting (mostly done as merely a cover for his true occupation) and brother-in-arms carried him onward, allowing his spirit to soar. His family in the Tantalus band of thieves was a beautiful blessing, and yet still a sly curse.
So when the planet finally got tired of everyone’s bullshit and destroyed everything, Zidane had a harder time finding his smile than usual, but he still did. He rallied everyone together in the slums–with the help of Baku, Tantalus’s eccentric leader–and they managed to guide a great swath of refugees to Edge. From there, things continued on as normal–or as normal as things could be considering the circumstances.
“Man, this is so stupid,” Blank muttered as he crushed leaves in a clay bowl, making more desperately needed medicine for the bandit crew–there never seemed to be enough these days. He was Tantalus’s best alchemist and wingman. He looked annoyed today. “Why are you doin’ this again?”
“’Cause the boss told me to,” Zidane replied promptly, considering a few ‘minor’ explosives Cinna had bartered off a nameless source. How the hell did these things work anyway? He worked nimble fingers over it, while Blank plowed on. He was such a mom, sheesh.
“That’s funny Zidane, ‘cause now that I think about it, doesn’t that cute mechanic work at the shop you gotta swipe from? What was her name again, Susan or somethin’…?” Blank drawled, eyes steady on Zidane’s blonde head. Tap tap tap of stone against hardened clay.
“Her name was Tracy bro,” Zidane sighed. Then paused, eyebrows furrowing over the wires and tiny switches on the bomb… “Or no, wait, Tracy works at that diner… Susan is the teacher. …I think… which is the mechanic…?”
“God Zidane,” Blank muttered, clearly exasperated. “Whatever. Just get the part we need so the Prima Vista will work again. Try not to get distracted.”
“I never get distracted!”
Blank was about to retort, when suddenly his single eye (the other hidden under bandages, as he lost it in the calamity) flickered to the explosive that had a single red light blinking rapidly on its top.
“Dude, did you just activate the bomb?!”
“Wha–?” The monkey-tailed thief glanced down. “Ohshitohshitohshi-!!!”
He tossed the explosive to Blank, who caught it and blinked stupidly, and then shouted and flung it back to its source, “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TOSSIN’ IT TO ME?!”
Zidane smacked the explosive away with his hand, crying quite shrilly, “IDON’TKNOWWHATTODOWITHIT!”
It began beeping (they both started cursing and tossing it like a hot potato), finally Blank swung it to the front door, where it plinked against the wood, hit the floor and–
Fire roared from the tiny thing, a flare of light flashing, Zidane’s hearing immediately shocked, the monkey-boy being flung toward the rafters and Blank flipping backwards. Everything burned and hurt, and abruptly it was all utterly silent and gray.
Then, as Zidane’s hearing began to finally emerge from the buzzing, and his vision cleared as it sifted through the choking smoke and ash, he could hear Blank sputtering out a ragged cough. Valiantly, his ‘brother’ still managed to hiss out a string of curses as he tossed aside broken remnants of furniture.
“you.are.such.a.dumbass,” Blank declared as he got to his feet, dusting off the endless gray soot. Zidane could only groan for a reply. Blank quickly strolled over and plucked him from the rubble. “The Boss is gonna kill you, Zidane. Like, he’s actually gonna do it this time, you freaking blew up the front door!”
“Mmm yeah,” the blonde sighed, ruffling his already messy hair to relieve it from dust. “Why’d you throw it at the front door anyway?”
“Are you seri–? WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH IT?! EAT IT?!” Blank yelled, tossing up his hands in exasperation.
“Sounds like I’d better skedaddle then,” Zidane mused calmly, rolling his shoulders and shifting about for his supplies–maybe no more bombs, though. But other gadgets could be useful, plus his daggers snug in their hilt.
“What am I gonna tell the Boss?!” Blank cried after his disappearing visage.
“Tell ‘im Cinna caught the place on fire or somethin’!” He replied, waving his arm in goodbye.
Blank shook his head, tsking, “You are such an asshole Zidane.” He found his bowl and tool in the gloom miraculously, and a chair that had survived on the fringe. He plopped into it, still shaking his head. Tap tap tap. “But alright.”
Zidane was eating a sandwich, sitting casually upon the weirdo fountain the citizens erected in the “square” of Edge, an eagle spying upon its prey. He had happened upon a fire hydrant that was busted on his way over, spraying cold water into the street where children played, and so Zidane indulged in a few games of hopscotch while the water cleansed him. So yes, as he munched away on a stale peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he looked like a wet cat.
But his plan was already set in motion, target acquired thirty minutes ago.
Gee, just look at that kid, Zidane thought as he wondered absently if this jelly was going bad too. He’s seems pretty eager to help people, huh? Marching around like he is, must be one of ‘em soldiers. The bandit’s eyes were focused on the brunette’s uniform specifically, so arrogant that he didn’t really ponder the theft itself but rather how cool those buckles made the outfit look. He glanced to a lone clock tower, he had maybe ten more minutes or so.
He tossed the unfinished sandwich to a homeless man sitting nearest to him, saying to him as an aside, “I dunno, it may be going stale, but it’s food right?”
Then he jogged up to Denzel from among the thrashing crowd, still dripping wet, waving an arm at him to get his attention away from whatever boring task he was assigned to.
“E-Excuse me? Hey! I need some help! There’s this hydrant broken a few streets over,” Zidane gestured to his sopping clothes. “And a kid–this kid fell in the water and they look really hurt! They said they’re lost too, I don’t even recognize them.”
He made sure his body was tilted towards the soldier, shoulders hunched to make it seem as if Zidane needed the soldier’s strength, due to his own humble weakness. The gleaming of his sapphire eyes, fixed wide alongside simpering lips, should hopefully do the trick.
