(Disclaimer: As a work of fanfiction, the creation of this piece does not imply ownership of the Final Fantasy franchise, its characters, or any affiliated intellectual property.)
Ellone stamped her tiny foot and glared at Laguna. Laguna, in turn, looked to Raine for help.
"Not this time," said Raine. "I play the bad guy far too often. You made her that promise; now you get to explain to her why you can't keep it."
"Aw, man," Laguna groaned, rubbing the back of his head. He squatted so that his face was level with Ellone's and gave her a sheepish grin. "Ellone … Elle, ah, you can't … you can't go on patrol with Uncle Laguna … today."
"Laguna." Raine looked at him from behind the bar, a warning in her voice.
"You can't go on patrol with Uncle Laguna."
Ellone crossed her arms. "I can too go! You said, 'a good commander fights by his troops.' Raine's commander, but she hasta clean, but I'm assistant commander, so I get to go! I'm a good commander, right?"
"Yes, the greatest! You still can't go."
"Why not?"
"It's too dangerous. You're so cute and tiny, you're like a little snack for those monsters. They'll gobble you right up!"
"Nuh-uh. I have a weapon." Ellone reached behind herself and brandished a small stick, plucked from Raine's garden, with a single, sad leaf drooping from its end. She waved it in his face, and took a tentative swipe at the air. "See? I'm a good fighter, just like you, Uncle Laguna!"
"Well …" Laguna grasped for excuses. Ellone had been prepared, and met his every protest with unnerving aplomb. "Well, the monsters don't just hit and bite. They throw stuff, too – nasty gooey stuff, stinky, smelly stuff."
"I love gross stuff! Remember when I squashed that bug you were scared of?"
"Augh! You can't go, and that's final!" Laguna lifted Ellone and set her on one of the tables in the pub. She wiggled her short legs in the air, trying to get down, and cried out when he ran out the door to meet Kiros.
"You're mean, Uncle Laguna!" Ellone cried after him. "You're a big, big meanie and you'll be sorry!"
Kiros looked at Laguna, a bemused smile on his lips. "You'd better watch out," he said. "I think she means it."
"Ah, she's just a kid! What can she do?"
Laguna finished his drink and rose from the bar. Ellone sat at a nearby table, coloring a picture. She had calmed down considerably, but still had not completely forgiven him. She refused to hug him when he returned, and in her capacity as assistant commander, she suggested Raine court-martial him.
"Where in the world did she pick that up?" Raine asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Well, me and Kiros were reminiscing …"
"I just hope she doesn't pick up any of your more colorful language. Please be mindful when she's around."
Laguna saluted. "Yes, sir! Ma'am!"
Now, he walked barefoot to the door to collect his shoes. Recent rainy weather and particularly juicy caterchipillars had created a smelly sludge that stuck to the soles of his boots, one that Raine would not allow to cross her threshold. He sat down on the doorstep with a groan, picked up a boot, and slid his foot inside.
Squish.
A violent shiver ran through his body, from his toes to the top of his head. He grimaced, tears already forming in his eyes. What could that have been? Why was it inside his shoe? He pulled his foot out, noticed it was coated in something red and chunky, and he screamed. He screamed, his voice rising in pitch with each breath, until Raine, Kiros, and the rest of the town square had come to find out what was going on.
"Oh man, oh man, oh man! Kiros, man, Kiros, it got me!" He raised his foot for Kiros' inspection. "It got me … my foot … we'll have to amputate!"
Kiros remained strangely calm. "Laguna," he said slowly, "are you in any pain?"
"Yes! I mean, no! No … I'm not." Laguna relaxed for a moment, then looked at the mess on his foot again. "But what the flying heck is this? Did I kill something? Maybe it was a cute little animal. Oh no, I'm a murderer!" Laguna placed his head in his hands and began to sob.
Raine walked over, napkin in hand, and plucked a goo-covered piece off his foot.
"No, Raine, don't! That might've been its heart! Poor little thing!"
"It's a strawberry," she said, clearly and loudly enough for the gathered crowd to hear. A laugh rippled through the crowd, and soon became a collective guffaw. The townsfolk looked at Laguna through teary eyes, pointed at him and made all manner of comments. Laguna, his face as red as the strawberry jam on his foot, retreated into the pub, shoulders slumped.
He noticed as he walked by that Ellone hadn't moved from where she'd been sitting before. She still colored, selecting her crayons daintily, swinging her little legs from the chair, smiling and humming to herself.
"I have gathered you here because there has been an act of grave treason committed in this house. An act that reduced one of our noble soldiers to tears, to the laughingstock of the community he has sworn to protect." Laguna stalked the width of Raine's apartment, glaring in turn at Kiros, Raine, and Ellone. "This afternoon, someone defiled the most important part of a soldier's uniform – his boots – with strawberry jam. A crime such as this carries a serious, serious punishment."
He looked directly at Ellone. If he had expected to see fear in her eyes, or even the barest shade of contrition, he was disappointed. The kid had guts; he had to admit that.
"However," he continued, "since no one has come forth with information about the perpetrator, I cannot hand down punishment. Let this incident henceforth be known as the 'J Disaster'. Perhaps someday, I will be able to forgive this person, this meanie. But I will never forget!"
Ellone had begun shifting from one foot to the other near the end of his speech, holding her hands to her mouth and shaking with unreleased laughter. Finally, she gave in. "It was me, Uncle Laguna!" she shrieked, laughing so hard her little face turned red. "I told you you'd be sorry!"
The three adults exchanged looks. "But are you sorry, Ellone?" Raine asked.
Ellone stopped laughing and thought about Raine's question. "Can I just laugh a little longer?" she said. "I promise I'll be sorry in the morning."
- END -