Writings of an Owlmoose

Summary: Paine’s friends drag her to a flea market.

Notes: Written for an LJ metafic meme. This story is set in the universe of Parron’s high school AU story Tune in Me, shortly before her story starts.

Metadata: Gen. Rated G, 750 words, AU. First posted in April 2007.

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Treasure Hunting

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming,” Paine muttered as she picked through the stacks of dusty books. She glanced askance at Yuna, who contemplated a blue candlestick with a chip in the base. “It’s not like you can’t afford to buy better stuff new.”

Yuna put down the candlestick and looked at her friend. “That’s not the point,” she said. “You never know what you’ll find at the flea market. It’s like a treasure hunt!” She turned back to the nearby pile of glassware and plucked something out. With a grin of triumph she showed Paine the prize in the palm of her hand: a glass sphere, reddish in hue, flecked with bubbled imperfections.

Paine stared at her blankly. “It’s a paperweight.”

“That’s right.” Yuna lifted it up, peering through it at a rose-colored sun. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Paine shook her head. “Junk,” she said, and stalked out of the booth. She stood in the dusty pathway and turned around, taking in tents and tables filled with their tired wares. Her eyes landed on Gippal, and she stifled an exasperated chuckle at his box, overflowing with wires and black plastic.

He waved. “Hey Izzy, come see!”

Eyes narrowing, she picked her way around the next two stalls. “Must you call me that in public?” She peered into his box. “What kind of useless crap is that?”

He grinned at her. “All the busted electronic equipment I could find. For parts. There’s an old soldering iron in here, too.”

She met his eyes. “In other words, useless crap.”

“Hey, one man’s trash–”

“Is another man’s treasure, yeah, yeah.” She dismissed the platitude with an irritated wave, and the two of them automatically fell into step. “Already got that line from Yuna.”

Gippal raised an eyebrow at her. “Geez, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” she snapped. Then she stopped walking, glancing skyward with a sigh. Gippal waited beside her. “It’s just, this is one of our last days of freedom. Is this really how we want to spend it?”

“We have a few weeks before school starts,” said Gippal.

“I guess.” Paine started walking again, more slowly. “But Yuna’s classes at university start next week, and I have to get the darkroom set up for photography club, and Tidus’ll have practice soon, and… oh, I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter.” She took a quick breath and set her shoulders back.

Gippal took the hint and dropped the issue. “Speaking of whom… he and Yuna seem to have found the source of all bad fashion.” He gestured with his chin into a blue-tented explosion of clothes several decades out of style.

Yuna glanced up and smiled. “Look at this,” she called out. Paine met her just outside the tent. “It might be a little big for you, but…”

Paine reached out, her hand tentatively closing over the black motorcycle jacket that Yuna had presented. “Huh.” The leather was stiff and worn, rubbed smooth at the cuffs and hem. The coat jangled with buckles and zippers, their polished steel glinting in the sunlight. She pulled it on: first one arm, then the other, shrugging it over her shoulders. The sleeves hung over her hands, the very tips of her middle fingers barely visible. A bulky sweater would easily fit beneath it, as would a uniform blazer. It smelled faintly of musk and old motor oil, probably the legacy of its previous owner. She turned around slowly, caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror — and fell instantly in love.

“It’s perfect,” she said. She glanced at the price tag peeking out the bottom and swallowed hard. Well, limiting herself to peanut butter sandwiches for lunchf or awhile ought to cover it. That and some well-applied maternal guilt.

“When will you wear it?” Tidus asked. “It’s not exactly regulation.”

“After school,” Paine replied, tearing her eyes away from her leather-clad arms. Tidus still seemed confused; Gippal looked her up and down with an approving nod; Yuna smiled that infuriatingly knowing smile. “On weekends. Whenever I can get away with it. I’ll be right back.” She made her way to the cashier.

Yuna would never let her hear the end of this, in that quiet way she had of always being right. “Oh well,” Paine muttered under her breath as she pulled out her wallet. It was worth it.