#cidirya

This was the look. The look mentioned in this fic here.

Gentle fire light danced on the sandstone ceiling of Girya’s room; rolling sunset red, orange and every hue in between. On a regular night, the bed jutting from the wall was hardly enough space for her and Mame both but now two adults rested easily atop the cozy single-person. The soothing warmth of the firelight coaxed them into repose; close and comfortable. 

Her pounding heart and tingling skin calmed at last. The man beneath her breathed deeply – steadily; her head lifted with each inhale that filled his barrel chest. She eventually let her eyes drift shut, lulled to near slumber by the thumb he brushed idly along her shoulder blade.

Girya sighed contentedly and he stopped. 

“No, no,” she said. “You can keep doing that.”

Cid’s laugh rumbled in his chest. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like that.”

“Happy to oblige.” 

They resumed their blissful rest and she might have fallen asleep on his chest if he hadn’t broken the silence.

“I imagine it's time for me to leave,” he said without moving a muscle. 

Girya pushed herself upright, the movement sending her tangled unbound hair across her face.  

“Don't get the wrong idea,” Cid said hastily before she could respond. “That was amazing albeit unexpected but…”

She cleared the hair from her face and leveled a wry look at him that made his cheeks burn. “I mean, it isn't that I hadn't thought about you this way, I just hadn't suspected that it would be reciprocal.” 

“Is it really that hard to believe?” 

Light glinted off the lenses of his goggles as he propped himself up onto his elbows. How funny that she hadn’t noticed them until now! It was strangely endearing how he never took them off - perhaps he forgot they were there and it seemed that she had too. 

“Not entirely,” he said slowly. He had the look of someone hunting for the missing piece that would complete the puzzle.  “In my experience, it’s the people that take the spotlight that women flock to.”

Girya couldn't stop the peel of laughter that burst out of her at this, earning her a confused look “How many people do you know that have had the word “prodigy” linked to their name?”

He blushed so deeply that she could distinguish the red on his cheeks from the red in the firelight. “You're parsing words. I don't deny that I capture a non-traditional attention of sorts but you know what I mean.”

The raw sincerity on his face wiped all of her unspoken jibes aside. It was obvious that he expected an answer from her but she hadn't stopped to think about why she was drawn to him and she certainly couldn't speak to it now; post coitus, nude and still in bed with him. 

“Listen Cid, I don't think we need to dissect this right now, at this very moment. Hells, we may never need to.”

“I don't know that I can be in a relationship, Girya,” he replied. “I don’t know that I’m built for it. When this is all over, I don’t know where my work will take me. It could be…”

Girya chuckled and slipped her leg over his hips to straddle him before he could finish his thought. A playful tug at the beard on his chin drew him upright and nose-to-nose with her. 

“Whoa! Temper your expectations, Master Garlond. You think I have time to be in a relationship? Like I said, this doesn’t have to be a thing. This can simply be two adults celebrating a victory by showing each other a good time.”

He still looked unsure but that lack of certainty didn’t keep him from wrapping his arms around her waist. She let go of his beard and leaned forward to pass the whisper of a kiss across his lips. 

“Stop over thinking Cid.” 

“I am told that's the one thing I’m not good at,” he murmured against her lips. 

Here's the second part of the fic I began on the previous post. This story documents the beginning of Girya and Cid's relationship. They don't even know they're going to be an item soon!

***

This went on for some time and as with anything that becomes routine Girya became too comfortable. 

On this particular day, Girya perched on the railing to watch him, almost daring him to see her and say something. Her sleek green tail twitched with irritation; she hadn’t been getting much sleep herself between resuming her work to unlock her remaining chakras, fetching the materials for the Enterprise and watching Cid from the shadows. She was growing impatient waiting for him to slip up. Perhaps she could startle him out of this role he’d adopted. 

Girya narrowed her eyes, boring holes into the back of his head and then into the spot between his shoulder blades when he bent forward to adjust something on the hull. He straightened and rolled his shoulders back. She remained undistracted by the flex of muscles that caused his shoulders and neck, rather she stayed focused despite the display, until her concentration shattered when he spoke loudly enough for her to hear. 

“I don’t mind an audience,” he said, raising his arms overhead to stretch his back and neck. “But I do require that they lend a hand.” 

She balked and struggled to think of some retort. As if to hammer his point home, he glanced over his shoulder right at her without having to search in the slightest. When she did not answer he grinned, the cheeky bastard. 

“Either come down and help or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” 

Trying and failing not to sulk, Girya slid off the railing to descend the steps. She walked with purpose, watching him as she did. He didn’t wait for her to alight on the landing deck before scaling a tall step ladder. 

As she neared, he stretched out a hand, gaze fixed on whatever it was he was working on. “Hand me one of those bolts, will you?” 

She looked down at the pile of bolts on the deck and in that moment decided that she would help rather than integrate. She dropped one of the bolts into his palm and he resumed his work, unaware of the ice in her eyes or not caring. 

“Thanks,” he said. “You don’t have to stay up there, you know. There’s a much better view of her down here.” 

He was right, she thought. The Enterprise was beginning to look more like she must have before she crashed; the blue canopies stretched, seamless and taut, over her head and the wooden deck. From here she could examine the massive wheel at the helm, the many handles tempted her hand even before the wood had been restored to a subtle luster. This miraculous machine had somehow survived years in the dark, freezing cold and could still climb high into the clouds – a marvel if she were to admit it and give in to her curiosity.  

“I’m not keen on conversation when I really get to work.” 

She looked back up at him to find him watching her with a light in his eye that hadn’t been there in Coerthas. She handed him another bolt. “You won’t have to talk much and I would be grateful for the help.” 

Girya didn’t answer and he went back to work. She also did not remount the stairs to resume her distant stake out. The allure of the airship and the heights it could climb captured her imagination the way the tall trees of the Shroud captivated her as a little miqo-te in her village. If the price to be this close was handing the man tools occasionally, she could pay that easily. 

Cid x WoL needs more content. There, I said it. So I've been jotting down the occasional brain-worm and the odd bits of story that stick with me after a playthrough. This is part one of this little piece -- I have to get used to posting content here.

***

After the frigid roaring winds in Coerthas the gentle leaf-whispering wind in Gridania should have come as a comfort but it did not. Perhaps it was that she was accustomed to the constant buzzing energy that coursed through each street and alley way of Ul’Dah like the blood in her veins; full of life. Perhaps it was that she’d grown accustomed to the ever present woosh as she traveled through the air with Mame and most recently aboard the rickety remnants of the Enterprise. It was most likely not the soft creak of the watermill nor the rustling in the trees that had her on edge – it was Cid. 

Girya was likely unaware of the soul-deep impact the massacre at the Waking Sands had on her. All that she knew was that it felt too convenient that the robed refugee at the Church of St. Adama Landama just happened to be a realm renowned engineer, a genius, the only man alive who could ferry them past Garuda’s whirlwind to continue the Scion’s work. It felt a little too convenient. 

To further rouse her suspicions, the man hardly ate or rested while he tinkered with the weathered wracked airship’s inner workings. He declined the offer of a room at the inn stating that he felt at home just looking at her, her being the Enterprise, and that he preferred to sleep aboard. Alphinaud had accepted this readily and even arranged for bedding to be delivered to the dock so that he could rest easily. Yes the weather in Gridania seemed ever pleasant but it wasn’t as if the inn were far away. Quite the opposite; he could easily mount two flights of stairs and find respite in a private room with a goose-down mattress and the softest blankets this side of Eorzea. 

[ARR Spoilers] This scene takes place some time after the Bloody Banquet. Some of my HC that you should know about before enjoying this piece; I HC that Cid and Girya keep their link pearls from Operation Archon linked and that they have had an on again-off again relationship since then. You should also know that after the banquet, Girya gives him her link pearl, effectively cutting off contact with him.

This is a section from a much longer, much 🌶spicier🌶 fic.

Immediately before this scene, Girya shows up uninvited and unannounced at the Ironworks workshop in the midst of a huge storm.

***

A thick silence settled in - the sound of the rain on the stone outside was clear as crystal. After a moment, Cid sighed and shook his head. “What can I do for you?” he asked, turning to one of the workbenches that lined the pit where some new mechanical wonder was taking shape. 

The air rushed out of her like she’d been struck. His tone had changed, obviously recovered from her sudden appearance, to that of a business man speaking to a customer. It would be better if he shouted or berated her – anything but commonplace politeness. 

“Isn’t that why you came? The Scions need something?” He continued without looking at her, cleaning his wrench with a rag and taking great interest in doing so.

She didn’t answer; standing there dripping water all over the shop floor watching him with those Twelve-forsaken eyes. She was so quiet and still that he thought he might be hallucinating - working too hard - but Biggs and Wedge had seen her too. He was determined to wait her out, to hold the silence long enough that she would be forced to break it first. 

Despite that resolve the wrench occupying his attention was clean and his temper was rising. What did she want from him? What was she waiting for? 

“Will you, bloody, say something?” The wrench hit the workbench harder than he’d intended and the crash echoed off the walls. With fists on the bench top he leaned forward, buckling under an anger more raw than he expected. He had his fill of games. What was the point in mincing words or caution or civility? 

“All this time passed and not a word. Not a bloody letter. Hells not even a message that you were well! Even friends owe each other that much.” 

His words landed, burrowing into her like molten screws to the skin. He was right – completely right. While she had no control over the grief itself, she did have agency in dealing with it. Girya, sinking into the depths of her pain, chose to shut herself away from anything that might offer solace. The pain she bore was a reminder; she was the Warrior of Light and that was all she would ever be. If the Scions had died to save the Warrior of Light then she would separate herself from the role to become what they paid for with their lives. 

It had been a mistake; all of it. With painstaking slowness, she regained parts of herself despite the sorrow that remained. Among those mistakes - ridding herself of the linkpearl that had tied them together since Operation Archon. Even after he had saved them, what remained of the Scions, she treated him coldly. She wished that she could forget the look on his face when she placed the pearl in his palm and stepped down onto the snow covered ground but she could not. 

Now she was here, disarmed in front of him without an inkling of why she had come or what she wanted from him. Girya opened her mouth to speak but a strangled cry rushed out before she could stop it. She clenched her teeth and knotted her hands into fists at her sides; she tightened around all of the ugly feelings and desperate words inside of her until her body shook. If she had wanted to flee, to escape those piercing blue eyes, she could not. Every moment she remained in his presence weighed heavily on his shoulders; pushing in around her until she thought she might suffocate. 

“Damn it.” He cursed and in less than a breath his arms were around her. She pressed her cheek to his chest and felt his hand on the back of her head. His embrace was strong, comforting; grounding. 

“What happened to you, Girya?” He could feel her shaking against him and what had started as righteous anger burnt down, leaving only the hurt he’d borne all this time. When last they were so close, she was bold and cocksure but that endearing cheekiness was gone now. He scarcely believed this was the same woman. 

She shook her head as well as she could in his arms and tried to speak but her voice was muffled. He loosened his arm just enough for her voice to carry.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I should never have…” 

He shook his head. “It’s okay.” The tears on her voice were more than he could bear. 

I'm not an artist but I did art! Once I'm happy with it, I'll transfer this to the proper paper for some water colors. This is directly from this fic (Part 1) and (Part 2)

I imagine Girya showing up with each bag of elemental sand looking like she's crawled belly first through the Bramble Patch in the Eastern Shroud -- messy and proud of herself.