Purple and Gold

And never I saw

That open door

So appealing as it was before

Sand.

It swirled and rippled, thrown high into the air by the howling winds.

A hot gust of wind rushed passed her face, pushing the coarse granules across her cheeks, through her hair and partially up her nose. Her bare unprotected limbs stung from both sun burn and the small grazes the tiny grains left on her skin. It was everywhere, in her clothes, in her ears, even in her teeth.

Three quarter pants, a sleeveless top and sneakers were certainly not the best choice for one to be traveling through a desert in, but then again she hadn't really gotten out of bed this morning expecting to end up in the middle of nowhere. After what felt like hours of walking, she still could not find a single sign of human civilization.

Various scenarios of how she had ended up here included alien abduction, she was very very high, or she was the only survivor after total global annihilation.

Hmm, the former and the latter seemed highly unlikely, but being high…well that was a lot more plausible than alien abduction, perhaps someone had spiked her drink last night.

Another gust of blistering wind battered her form.

Well whatever they put in it had to be ridiculously potent; god when she woke from this ridiculous delusion she would have the worst frigging hangover ever.

That thought brought a grin to her lips—and another mouthful of sand. With a cough and splutter she tried her best to rid of the dirt, but there was always that elusive grain right at the back that refused to budge.

God how she hated sand.

If she ever woke from this horrid dream then she swore she would never step foot on a beach again.

When her sand-filled shoe hit against something hard, she was pulled off balance, tripping and face planting right into the yellow sands.

. . . .did she mention that she hated sand?

With a growl she pushed herself out of the grit, spitting out what felt like a desert from her mouth. She'd tripped, tripped! How the hell did one even trip on sand—wait, her foot had snagged on something hard.

Surely enough when she looked behind her she could see something lying half buried in sand. Pulling her weary body around, she bent on her knees to inspect the object in the sand. It seemed to be a mass of discarded material—hopefully large enough to make a sun shade. A hand reached out, brushing away the granules, eventually sand gave way to skin, hair, a head and torso.

Eyes widened.

She hadn't tripped over just some random rock, but an actual person. She curiously lent closer to the figure's face noticing something glinting red under the harsh sunlight.

The metallic scent of copper.

She recoiled.

The red on him was blood.

Oh God oh god oh god! Please don't be dead. Shuffling herself forward on her knees, trembling fingers reached out to touch the clammy skin of his neck. There was nothing for a few moments, till finally she felt a light pulse.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips.

Dammit this was ridiculous, just how vivid could a delusion be? If an almost dead man lying in the middle of the desert was her subconscious' way of telling her something…well she had to be pretty bad in the head.

Wait, why did she care anyway? This man was a delusion, a figment of her imagination, whether he was dead or not was completely trivial. In that case—her eyes flickered to the baggy clothes and copious amounts of jewelry he wore—he probably wouldn't mind if she relieved him of his clothes as they would provide much better cover than hers did from the harsh sun. Just as she was leaning over him, she heard a groan from beneath her as the figure shifted. Unfortunately with his sudden movement, the hand she was using to stabilise herself slipped. A squeak escaped her lips as she fell, both her hands shot out fixing into the course sand, barely stopping herself from face planting straight into the man's body. The mentioned man moved again, sand tumbling off his form, a soft groan passing from his lips. Eye lids fluttered, cracking half open.

Amber gold met indigo blue.

And the world stopped.

Purple—yes purple—hair the shade of violets, eyes like burnished gold and handsome features.

Even through sand partially covered his form and he had blood caked across his face, he was undoubtedly one of the most striking men she had ever laid eyes on.

And this man—this figment of her imagination…she was currently straddling him.

Silence stretched on.

The man had yet to make a sound, or move, or shift his cloudy gaze from hers.

She gulped feeling her face go bright red.

"A-a-ahh…t-this isn't what it looks like!" She squeaked.

Stupid, stupid, stupid delusion. Wake up already!

Purple brows furrowed, lips parted, a breath was drawn, she could help but lean closer in anticipation….

". . . Well this is certainly one of the weirder things I've woken up to…"

Gibberish. Complete and utter gibberish. She couldn't understand a single word he was saying.

With a groan she rolled off the man and flopped onto the hot sand beside him.

Great. She was completely stoned, in the middle of a godforsaken desert, lying next to an exotic cosplayer, who spoke a foreign language that sounded similar to Arabic. If liver failure didn't kill her than sunstroke would. Hmm—she eyed his purple sand covered hair, taking a strand between her dry fingers. It was pretty soft for a hallucination—well at least she got to die next to someone attractive…ha that sounded so stupid.

The sun beat down furiously above her, relentless, merciless. The world was spinning, her ears ringing, nothing quite making sense. Dark eyes took on the form of the amber-eyed man as he—with much difficulty it seemed—rolled onto his side facing her.

Nonsense again.

It looked as if he was trying to talk to her—not that she cared, she was happy to let him prattle on—she was just so tired…

Perhaps unconsciously, she shuffled closer to his larger form, tugging at his blood soaked top, pulling it over her head. The minimal shade the cloth offered was bliss, she sighed contently, barely even stirring when the strange man prodded her.

. . .

The man stared at the boy once more with an odd look on his face…he was strange, with odd clothing and effeminate features—could almost be mistaken as a girl in the right light—although he couldn't be sure as he could barely see straight anyway.

A pained smirk flittered across his features; he was lying with a peculiar boy in the middle of a desert, slowly bleeding out. Somehow he always seemed to end up in these situations.

Ja'far was going to kill him.

Looking at the boy again he sighed, considering they were both in the same situation the least he could do was offer him some shade. He barely had enough strength to wrap his arm around the boy's waist and pull him to his side.

Poor thing, probably wouldn't last till the next morning…but neither might he . . .

A/N: I'll be honest, I'm not very well versed in all of the intricacies of the Magi universe, so if I got something wrong don't hesitate to tell me.

Why a Sinbad/Oc story? Well I find his character quite interesting, and I would find it amusing to see him in an actual relationship, not just hitting on every girl he comes across...not that he actually realizes that she a girl. And to be frank, I have found very few Sinbad/oc stories written well or believably (not hard considering how complex a character Sin is).

As for the gender confusion...well Sinbad is injured, can't see straight and the Oc is dressed in a somewhat boyish fashion.

I'm not even sure this was written acceptably, so I may not continue this fic...so yeah.

Rainbowrunner01 riding her rainbow out of here~