A/N: Well, I did promise somebody out there that I was going to contribute a bit more to this section, so…well, hope you all enjoy! :) Yet again, I'm going on a drabble set here, though I honestly don't know how long it's going to be. Not that it really matters, then again. Drabbles are weird like that. :d
But anyways, onward with the story!
Disclaimer: In no shape or form do I own Tales of Phantasia or anything related therein. I just like making up the little scenes between that might have happened, but probably never happened. XD All rights go to Namco, but of course. The lucky ducks. :\
-Thief-
Def: one who steals, especially one who intends to escape notice
The bench was warm against his back, the air was crisp with the faintest tang of the sea, and the nearby fountain tinkled and chuckled softly, its damp music mingling gently with the ever-present murmur of the busy going abut their business. The echoes of hasty foot on cobblestone path made their rounds ceaselessly, bouncing against wind-bleached stone and coast-damp alley before winging into the heavens and joining the mournful cries of the circling seagulls. Creaks wove their raspy patterns around the wheels of meandering carts, laughter drifted in golden clouds over the daring exploits of young children, and a stiff wind further up to the sky demanded the vigilance of surrounding flags and pennants, snapping them to attention repeatedly with every stern, salty gust.
Although by all means he still favored the secure, quiet placidness that Euclid had to offer, he supposed there was something oddly soothing about the constant movement and bustle of a city as large as Venezia. Granted, he'd probably never really get used to it, but something about the simple knowledge of human activity and company, no matter how aloof or abundant, somehow offered a measure of peace he hadn't expected to find, with the times and circumstances as they were now. The prospect of the long journey ahead and the grim tasks yet to be done still loomed, yes, but for now they could be forgotten, if only for a little while, and he had gladly accepted the opportunity for all its worth.
In the darkness of the brim of his hat his consciousness now drifted lazily, light dreams flickering beneath his eyelids, the rhythm of his breathing calm and even, regulated little in the gentle grasp of sleep. Save for the muddle of sounds and sensations that gave indication of the outside world, which his subconscious recorded and tracked accordingly, he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. The short nap he had intended to embark upon had long since shifted into something deeper, the strains of the day gently taking their toll at last. Sleep had not been his intention, maybe, but his body had taken charge as his mind wandered, and the undeniable call for rest had been sent and obeyed. Thus he now dozed in a pleasant darkness, head blank of all thoughts and worries, balanced on a final thread of outer awareness only due to the hubbub of the city and the steady, distant murmur of the summon spirits, a muted vocal orchestra rising and falling at the back of his mind.
There was the flighty piping of Sylph, the placid musing of Undine, the blustery chorus of Gnome, the proud mental flare of Efreet. There was the peaceful resonance of Luna, the unintelligible thrum of Volt, the good-natured rumble of Maxwell, and various others after that. The vastly different voices blended together and drifted apart as each spirit traversed their respective plane of existence, their unconscious inner monologues and emotions a constant, never-ending stream that would not be suppressed. The voices, intentionally broadcasted or not, were the channeling result of the Pact Rings he now currently wore, a consequence of the bond he now shared with his spirits as their summoner. They were sometimes softer, sometimes louder, sometimes so blurry he couldn't string the words if he tried, sometimes so clear he couldn't ignore them if he wanted, though they always retained a detached, watery quality, as if he were listening from a great windswept distance. Which was probably a good thing. Lesser men would have likely already lost their minds as it were, and he himself found that, so long as he did not pay them too much attention, the voices did not affect his awareness of surroundings or ability to think. There was really no reason to waste effort trying to listen to them anyhow, as the thoughts were neither directed towards him nor his business to know. Privacy was a policy shared by humans and spirits alike, after all, and nothing good would possibly come of the angering a omniscient being. Even if he were to try, he doubted he'd be able to understand much of it, for he had learned already that spirits seemed to hold a different mentality and outlook of existence, which warped and twisted their views and opinions into emotions and thoughts profoundly strange to the mortal mind.
Some things were really better left untouched.
And, for all the complications this…odd frame of mind often brought forth, he had already grown accustomed to it, after the initial task of properly wrapping his mentality around the new condition had succeeded. As he had gradually learned to function with them, the voices had even come to attain a measure of reassurance to his conscience as a whole. That the spirits were always just within reach of contact, should they be needed, put a certain part of him at ease like nothing else.
Which was why the sudden silencing of Origin's grave, sharp tones was so jarring.
The abrupt absence produced the effect reminiscent of a notable instrument being inexplicably stoppered in the middle of a flowing song, hitching the tempo for the briefest of moments and sowing a note of unmistakable discord that remained even as the band attempted to plow on against the unexpected vacancy of one of their number. The steady, serious narration of the pinnacle of all creation had been cut off in such a fashion, the first syllable of Origin's last severed word echoing briefly by itself before the opening of the void became clear. The effect was truly startling.
So much so that, before he had even properly registered the reason for his alarm, his eyes snapped open.
Despite the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat, he found himself locking gazes with another pair of eyes. A large, brown pair. A pair filled with the kind of panic equal to that of a child who is found with his hand in the cookie jar.
As he stared, he found himself beholding the face of just such a child, a dirty face graced with a tangled mop of black hair, a face connected to the scrawny limbs and long-fingered hands of an urchin. And as the hands came to view, he found himself gazing at a ring, a band of warm gold inset with a large diamond that glistened like a frosted star in the girl's muddy palms.
He returned his gaze to the child's face, expression unfathomable. The child stared back, eyes wide, limbs tensed, like a rabbit caught in a bright light.
Then the urchin jerked backwards, at the same time rising upright from her kneeling position at the foot of the bench, where she had squirreled the ring from his own lax fingers as he slept. Although, before she could so much as take another step, her progress was hampered by an extended foot, and soon she was facedown on the cobblestones.
Frantically scrabbling back to her feet, she took off down the street with a frightened squeak, not so much as offering a second glance backwards.
And, with a sigh, he rose from his bench, wincing slightly at the bruised toe he now found himself sporting. The minuscule discomfort was forgotten, however, as he grasped the brim of his hat and bent downwards, retrieving the dropped ring from the dirt of the streets and slipping it back on his index finger with the nonchalance of a man who has just suffered a mild inconvenience. As soon as the diamond Pact Ring made contact with his skin, Origin's voice returned in a cascade of echoes that solidified into a steady voice, sounding completely unperturbed and most likely unaware of the narrowly avoided mishap that had just taken place.
Folding his arms, he nodded to an elderly woman who had watched the whole spectacle with unconcealed amusement, adjusted his hat one last time, and started off down the street, curious to see how the others were faring on their shopping spree and wondering how much time had passed during his nap.
A/N: Hehe, mainly I just wanted to explore the workings behind Claus's relationship between the summon spirits. The thievery thing sort of formed by itself, but I went along with it anyhow, and I guess the whole thing turned out okay. Though there are no exacts, this takes place roughly sometime in the Future, and he doesn't have the Daemonium spirits or Shadow and Aska as of yet. Just thought to clarify all that. :)
Of course, if this has even the slightest inkling of truth in it, I'd respect Claus all the more for it. I'd have probably gone insane, to have a whole plethora of voices babbling at the back of my mind for any length of time. You'd have to admire his endurance. :O
Anyways, I hope this first chapter turned out satisfactory. Updates should be pretty timely, as I already have additional chapters written, but one never knows with me… D: I suppose only time will tell that story.