2So… What IS your name, anyway?
Author's Note: Working on The Seeker Files, I figured to write something else for a little fun. It's always annoyed me that Rikku's brother and his buddy are called Brother and Buddy.
Here's my take on why.
Buddy's father is my own invention, as are his mother and (obviously!) Brother and Buddy's 'real' names. Everything else is copyright Square Enix.
WARNING: Contains Al Bhed obscenities, including insults that may be construed as racism. (Personally I don't see how the mere colour of one's skin matters that much in a world which has Ronso and Guado and Wood Folk and Tobli running around, but I suppose you may be insulted.) Read with caution.
I left the obscenities in Al Bhed, but please assume that most of the conversations herein are held in the Al Bhed language, with the exception of the Tidus/Buddy conversation.
"Well, 'Buddy'? That can't really be your name…" Tidus stared unbelievingly at the Celsius' navigator. "I mean, 'Brother' is bad enough. But really… 'Buddy'?"
Buddy, uncharacteristically embarrassed, roamed his gaze over his beloved baby's internal machinery. "Well… it's not my real name. And Brother has a real name, too."
"You serious?" Tidus shook his head clear. "Of course! I knew those couldn't be your real names!" He did remember to keep his voice down, though, looking back and up the stairs towards the red-limned entrance. The Celsius was unusually full tonight with their reunion visit, and the music and shouting voices of the party above combined with the rumbling and hissing noises of the airship's engines to make hearing the small movements of eavesdroppers nigh on impossible.
And Buddy did appreciate that. Okay, Tidus had come out and asked the question that Yuna and Paine and the others had not dared to broach. But at least he'd figured out that if no one knew, then there might be a reason why they shouldn't.
However…
o-o-o-o-o
It was a question that his father had dodged for the entirety of his fifteen years. His mother too, back before Sin took her. Though he did vaguely remember that her face would tighten with irritation whenever she told him to ask his father.
The young man was now called 'Buddy', by everyone except his father. He just called him 'son'.
And now he was finally going to get an answer.
His father was tinkering with some piece of machinery he'd plonked on the workbench in front of him. Rob carefully put down the soldering iron, and took a drink. He toasted his son while he was at it.
"Go get yourself a drink, son."
"Thanks!" Now that was unexpected; his father usually went to great lengths to keep him out of his booze. Buddy gleefully poured himself a double-measure of mescalos. It must have been his imagination, that amused quirk of his father's lips. In deference to his presence, he sipped at the muddy-brown liquid instead of quaffing it like he would when he was with Brother and their friends – indeed, like he was planning to when he caught up with them at their birthday celebration. Oh yeah, that's the good stuff – he sighed appreciatively; he sincerely doubted they would be able to afford anything this smooth tonight.
Rob had reclaimed the soldering iron, and was now once more immersed in his current pet project. Mostly. "Son, you've been nagging at me for years about your name. And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner." He absently snagged his drink and took another sip, careful not to let loose any drips of the flammable beverage on the gummy lead solder. "But when you were born, I promised your mother I wouldn't tell you until your fifteenth birthday."
Buddy sat up straight, intrigued.
o-o-o-o-o
"To your new son!"
"To your new son!"
Cid and Rob clinked their tankards. A little mescalos spilled on the aluminium tabletop between them. Most of it subsequently went down their gullets. A fair-sized audience cheered and whooped; after all, it wasn't every day that people went about sculling tankards of the stuff…
Two tankards raised, two voices raised. "Another!" More applause.
It was Rin who turned up, bearing two tankards; he also carried a more decently sized glass of the stuff. "Congratulations on your good fortune, gentlemen. I had not expected the pair of you to survive your wives' pregnancies."
"Shut your hole, Rin!"
"Now, now, Rob, the man did buy us a drink…" The dark-skinned surveyor shrugged and nodded at this. The three of them toasted once more. Rin even quaffed his shot, a rarity for the restrained innkeeper. His clicked fingers summoned another round, a highly frequent occurrence in his own inn.
Cid wiped his mouth, sighing gustily. "So how's business, Rin?"
"Well indeed, Cid. I am beginning to examine the prospects for expansion. The expedition crews from eastern Bikanel just arrived on their annual leave, and for some reason they wish to buy exorbitant amounts of alcoholic beverages."
"All that sand, no doubt," Rob grinned.
"No doubt that is the case. By the way, Cid… I heard today from several of our old mechanics classmates. They send their congratulations, and invite you to a celebration tonight." Rin slid over a small piece of paper. "They are in fact celebrating their return from the expedition, but when they heard of your good fortune they were eager to welcome you there."
"Huh… Oh I remember them! Good times…" Rob looked over at his childhood friend. "You think they'll mind if I tag along with you?"
The second son of the Al Bhed's current Elder snorted. "Doubt it. Might as well, eh?" They tapped tankards once more; rather more mescalos splashed on the table this time. "How 'bout you, Rin?"
"Thank you, but I must decline. The busiest hours approach." Rin finished his shot and stood. "And now I should return to work. Again, congratulations to you both."
Cid and Rob heaved themselves out of the booth, more than a little unsteady; mescalos was notoriously speedy in its intoxicant effects, which was one reason why it was so popular.
o-o-o-o-o
"The party wasn't too far away, so we decided to walk there." Rob's eyes continued to focus on his work, steadfastly refusing to meet those of his son. 'Buddy' took that opportunity to avail himself of another measure of liquor. "And on our way there, the subject of names came up…"
o-o-o-o-o
"So, Rob…" Cid swigged at his flask, passing it over to that worthy, "…you thought of a name for your son yet?"
Apart from a brief visit immediately following the births, neither Al Bhed had seen their wives since that morning. Their traditions forbade them from any other contact with the mother or the child for a period of three days following the birth, for reasons which had never been fully explained to the men (though the women tended to smile mischievously when the occasional man would ask).
At the end of the three days, the father was expected to return to the mother and child, and give him or her their name. If a name occurred to the father before then, he could use the Homenet datasystem to lodge it on the certificate before the end of the three days, but the tradition held nonetheless. The father must address the child by their name, upon returning on the fourth day after the birth.
Rob grinned, already rather drunk. "No, not yet… 'Course, I've thought up a few for your son…" That grin spoke of a punchline.
Cid tried to raise an eyebrow, but could only raise both. "Well…?"
(Buddy leaned forward. "Well…?")
Rob struck a pose, roughly similar to what some statue of a noble warrior might look like if it were brandishing a flask of mescalos instead of a gun. "Pekpent!"
Cid scowled. "Gimme that!" Snatching the canteen out of the smirking Rob's outstretched hand, he took another swig. Sure, the boy had been a big one – at least, according to the nurse. And sure, he already had a cute little tuft of blond hair, which had formed itself in an untidy crest on top of his little head. But naming his son after some outlandish mainland beast of burden was going too far…
Then the punchline sank in. "Hey, I just thought of one for your boy."
Rob looked at him. "Well…?"
(Buddy leaned forward further. "Well!")
Cid's grin was positively sharklike. "Summycac!"
Cid and Rob went down in a windmill of flailing limbs, rolling around on the ground. The fact that they couldn't stop laughing even as they attempted to knock each other's lights out was one reason why the fight barely lasted a few seconds; their well-progressed intoxication was another. The main reason was their mutual realisation that the upset flask was slowly spilling precious liquor out onto the ground. Rob rescued the flask, being closer to it at that point.
Having climbed laboriously to their feet, the pair stared sorrowfully at the small puddle for a while. Rob gave the flask an experimental shake, and cheered slightly. He took a swig.
His eyes slid to Cid's. "Chocobovilgan!"
Cid glared back. "Fymgehkdint!"
They burst out laughing. Arms draped round each other's shoulders, they staggered on towards the waiting celebration, ignoring the strange looks from passersby. After all, they were too busy coming up with ever more ridiculous names for their sons, chuckling all the while…
o-o-o-o-o
Buddy sat there, mouth agape, utterly speechless for a moment. The mescalos slid down his gullet with a panicky urgency.
Finishing his own glass, his father shrugged, "To be honest, I don't remember much of the rest of that night, or the next day. But when the three days were up, and I had to face your mother…" He shuddered.
o-o-o-o-o
For the first time in three days, Rob stepped into the maternity ward. To be honest, he'd missed his wife; he made up his mind to ask her again why the women so strictly insisted on the three days.
Having eventually sobered up yesterday from his drunken binge, Rob had finally decided on a name for their son. A fitting name, a respectable name; nothing like the terrible names that Cid had bombarded him with. A name of hope.
o-o-o-o-o
Rob sighed, his long-masked grief surfacing for a moment. "Your name was meant to be 'Venst'."
Buddy just looked at him. Rob sighed again.
o-o-o-o-o
He pushed open the door, a smile on his face.
And there was his son, mostly hidden in the folds of his blanket, tucked away in the crib, sleeping soundly. And there was his wife, coming at him with a—
The last thing he saw was the whistling arc of the pipe that laid him out cold. The last thing he heard, as his mind sunk into darkness, was his wife's cold greeting:
"I hope it was worth it, you idiot."
o-o-o-o-o
"It turned out that Cid had filled out your name on the birth certificate that night, and then forgot about it. The doctor had noticed the name, you see. He told your mother." Putting down the soldering iron once more, Rob began to rummage about in a nearby draw, pulling out a roll of insulating tape, and a flat leather wallet stuck to one side of it.
Buddy's third drink sat, untouched, on the workbench in front of him. "You. Cannot. Be. Serious…"
Separating the wallet from the tape-roll, his father opened it up to slide out a yellowing sheet of paper. Buddy's hands shook as he took the birth certificate.
His eyes fell with stomach-churning dread upon the name – the long, long name – inscribed therein. He barely heard his father's words. "Your mother gave me a choice: call you by the name Cid had given – or just call you 'son' like she did. 'Brother' was luckier; Cid's old lady just called her son Aniki, and ignored the strange looks she got for doing it."
In a daze, shocked almost to insensibility, 'Buddy' carefully folded the paper up and slid it back into the wallet. Putting the wallet down failed to remove the word burned across his vision, its message of horror pulsating in his roiling gut.
He stood, carefully, and began to leave.
"Son."
He looked over his shoulder. His father had begun unfurling the tape.
"If it's any consolation…" Rob looked up. "Brother's name is even worse."
o-o-o-o-o
(Bidnetcdnayguvycclmehkehkcred's unsteady footsteps faded; the front door hissed open, then thumped shut.
Rob was about to dive back in with the insulating tape. Then he noticed the full glass of mescalos, left behind by the boy who had likely just been converted to teetotalism. He solemnly raised it in a toast.
"Happy birthday, Venst." Had his son been there, he may have been surprised to see two tears run down his grime-streaked cheeks. He'd so long looked forward to seeing Caluht, and Drent, and all those who should have followed…
Then a lopsided smile spread across his face. The look on his face... Rob's laughter, still quivering with the tears, filled the little workshop. "Yes, my Casava. It was worth it.")
o-o-o-o-o
Tidus sighed. "Fine. I'll drop it."
Buddy shivered, shaking away the ancient horror of those memories. It had been years before he could look another drink in the face.
Even longer, he realised, than it had been since he'd last thought about his father, killed by a rogue machina while surveying Bikanel's southern coast before Buddy's seventeenth birthday. He reflected on that for a time.
"Uh… are you all right, Buddy?"
He nodded, and extended a hand. "You can call me Venst." His mother would have liked that name, he thought. "If you must."
Tidus looked at the hand, puzzlement writ large across his sunny visage for a moment. And then the meaning of the corrupted Al Bhed term registered. He clasped the hand. "'First', huh? What about 'Brother'?"
As if summoned, Brother's heavily accented voice blared through the PA. "Where are you, Buddy? You're missing the party!" Correction: his heavily accented, slurred, petulant voice. She must have rejected Xiehlo and his clumsy advances yet again. Venst grinned.
"Don't go there, man."
A/N: re. the Al Bhed names...
The literal Al Bhed translation for 'First' would be Vencd. A little hard to say; hence the 'corruption' to change it. Of course, 'Xiehlo' is also in Al Bhed.
Xiehlo was acrually my second choice for Brother's name. The first was far longer, and involved Brother's likely chances of being flock-raped by chocobos in the future. Do not ask me to translate Buddy's name.
Read and review, please - especially if you have any names you would've preferred to give them...