The Belstone caravan – making Crystal Chronicles a bad influence for children since 2004... ish.
Sorry this one is so short. And since I've been writing about ten simultaneously, the chronology is also so wrong I want to cry about it (think there's two between the last one and this, but they aren't finished). If it helps, I'll write the order in which the oneshots ought to be read on my profile.
Enjoy!
Crouching Lilty, Hidden Gil
The mailmoogle arrived at roughly four in the afternoon that day.
As was part of the Belstone caravan's restraining order, the moogle deposited the letters on the dirt track and then backed away warily. Sam Teh, the only member of the caravan not required by law to be ten feet from any postal moogle at all times, went to retrieve them and came back looking rather pleased.
"Mine feels heavy," he said cheerfully. "Maybe my mum sent a present."
"Mine doesn't," Tag replied, taking his envelope. "Miserable skinflints."
Esther's letter was a guilt-trip courtesy of her mother, detailing the nightmares her younger brother Larkin was still suffering about being eaten by giant vegetables; Tag's was a messy scrawl from his little sister Paulie ("Loook I can doo my ay-bee-sees!"); Sam's contained three letters from various relatives, all scrunched up around a handful of gil.
The three were all utterly absorbed in their reading until Kronan let out a choked gasp.
"What's wrong?" Esther asked, looking up.
The Lilty had gone pale – the effect was rather unsettling. He cleared his throat weakly and read thusly: "Dear Kronan, I write bearing bad news. Your mother is very sick and we had to take her to the doctor. The healer's bills come to a sum we can hardly afford. Please send home fifteen thousand gil to help meet costs. Love, your father."
"Your mother is sick?" Sam said, just as Tag coughed out, "Fifteen thousand gil?"
"It's nice to see where your priorities lie," Esther commented acidly.
"I can't believe he just expects me to have that kind of money lying around!" Kronan said furiously. "If I had fifteen thousand gil to spare, does he really think I'd still be out here every year hanging around with you guys?"
Esther expression was one of hurt. "Hey."
"He has a point," Tag said. "I don't think the entire village of Belstone has that much gil combined."
"Aw, don't worry about it," soothed Sam. "We'll just have a fundraiser or something in one of the big cities and send home as much as we can. In fact," he flipped the money his letter had contained over to the Lilty, "there you go. You can start with that."
Kronan caught the coins and seemed to struggle internally for a moment. Then, with a wince, he overcame his instinctive urge to keep whatever object of value came into his grubby little gauntlets and handed the money back. "It's alright. I don't need it."
"Of course you need it!" Esther exclaimed. "That's fifteen thousand gil we're talking about here!"
"Okay, Esther." Kronan gave her a deadpan look. "You know how you have that weird hoarding thing where you have keep every single thing you pick up – "
"Just in case I need it!"
"- just in case you need it? Well, I don't have that problem. I sell every single thing I can find that isn't nailed down, including stuff that I, er, borrow off Tag."
"Hey!" Tag looked affronted."You steal my things?"
"We are not discussing what I've stolen from you," Kronan said smoothly. "We are discussing my sick, possibly dying, mother."
Tag subsided, although he did mutter something that sounded like, "But we're going to discuss it..."
"Anyway," Kronan continued, "I don't need any money from any of you. I've sold so much stuff in the last few years that I have fifteen thousand gil all to myself, thanks."
Sam spoke up, brow furrowed. "I asked you for ten gil yesterday and you said you didn't have any! I gave you ten gil!"
Kronan chose to not hear this.
"You're really sending all that gil home to your mother?" Tag said incredulously. When Esther and Sam both stared at him, he added, "I wouldn't. My mum gives me gourd potatoes. I hate gourd potatoes. It's the one time I see her every year and what does she give me? Gourd potatoes."
"Of course he's sending it home." Esther whipped around to face the Lilty. "Aren't you, Kronan?"
"But it's miiiiine," whined Kronan. "I earned it!"
"You only get one mother," Sam said sagely, shaking his head.
Kronan glowered at him. "Fine! I'll send it back!"
The Lilty marched into the caravan with a thunderous expression on his face, did some rummaging for dramatic effect, and then emerged with a heavy-looking sack. He did an about face down the road, hefted the sack and hurled it. It soared through the air with a deathly jingle.
The unfortunate mailmoogle did not move fast enough.
"Kronan!" Esther squeaked. "You killed the mailmoogle!"
The sack jingled again, and then flopped to one side. The moogle appeared, dazed.
"Nah, see, he's fine," Sam Teh said as the moogle walked into a tree.
About half an hour later, when the mailmoogle had finally managed to get airborne and refused all medical assistance with a look of terror, the group were unpacking the cooking items.
"Wait a second," Tag said suddenly, ladle halfway off the hook. "Kronan, you said earlier if you had fifteen thousand gil lying around, you wouldn't be here, and I quote, 'hanging around with you guys'. Why are you still here, then?"
There was an awkward pause, during which Sam Teh put the empty gourd potato sack over his head to avoid the uncomfortable silence. Kronan muttered something unintelligible.
Tag grinned. "Aw, Kro, I knew you liked us really."
"I don't."
"Yes you do!" purred Esther, attempting to gather her diminutive friend into a hug.
"I do not!" yelled the Lilty. He struggled wildly. "I hate you all! You are just a convenient excuse for me!"
Esther abruptly let go of him, which was lucky since Kronan had been considering punching her in the face as his next option. Her eyes were wide. "What do you mean, convenient excuse?"
Kronan rolled his eyes skyward. "Why do you think my dad hadn't realised I had fifteen thousand gil? Because I was still out here hanging around with you guys!"
Their final stop for the year was the Mine of Cathuriges. Esther had not forgiven Kronan his insult and had refused to speak to him for the rest of the journey. Instead she used Tag and Sam to carry various messages to him, such as, "Shut up, you suck."
The Orc King stepped out with his customary roar and then promptly wished he hadn't. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
With a full chalice and fresh set of grazes and bruises, the Belstone caravan rolled back into town just before the end of October. The Elder was there to greet them, and he hurriedly snatched the chalice away from Tag as if he no longer trusted the Clavat to hold it. As Tag irritably tried to take it back, his mother appeared with a coo of delight and exclaimed, "Tag, darling! I'm so pleased to see you! I'll whip you up some baked gourd potatoes!"
"Does she do it to drive me away or something?" Tag demanded, while his mother patted him blithely.
Esther and Sam were met with similar expressions of love (and resignation) by their families, although Larkin did kick Esther in the shins. While his taller companions were being hugged and asked nonchalantly, "So, ah, when are you due to leave again?", Kronan did a quick search of the welcoming committee and realised neither of his parents had showed up.
"Ma!" Kronan yelled, and broke away from the group. "Maaaaa!" He disappeared over the bridge and up the lane towards his house.
"Come on," Esther said wearily, fending off her avenging younger sibling. "I suppose we'd better follow him and make sure his mother's alright."
Kronan's family were blacksmiths, and it was easy to find the smithy in Belstone – the smoke spiral above the forge was a clear beacon. They hurried up the road in Kronan's wake, turning the corner into his front yard. Kronan was stood square in the middle of the yard, and his father was before him. Both were silent and unmoving.
"Kronan?" Tag asked tentatively, fearing the worst.
Sam Teh cocked his head on one side. "Hey, the forge looks different from last year."
This statement was met by a panicked look from Kronan's father which suggested that had possibly been the worst thing Sam could have said. Kronan turned to face them with a slightly maniacal grin.
"You want to know why that is?" he asked loudly. "Because my dad used my fifteen thousand gil to buy a new roof."
"Now, son," Kronan's father said, backing away hastily, "don't be so cruel. Your mother was real sick - "
The lady in question chose that moment to appear in the doorway. She looked startled. Then she looked like she was considering hiring a ferry to Leuda.
"She doesn't look sick to me," Kronan declared. "In fact, ma, have you put on weight? Was it from all the food you bought with my gil? Did you cook all that food in the new kitchen extension I can see through the window?"
Kronan's parents exchanged nervous glances, and then his mother coughed. Unconvincingly.
"Well, all the soup we made did make me feel much better," she trilled.
When Kronan continued to stare murderously at them, his father stepped forward. He twisted his hands together for a moment. Then, with the air of someone on the edge of a very high cliff, he said, "Welcome home son. It's not much, but we did set you aside three hundred gil to see you through next year."
End.
While the wording may not be exactly correct, we genuinely did receive the letter that forms the basis of this silly fic.
I am sad to say that the conversations and scenarios that followed its arrival also actually happened (although I did my best to pin some of the worst remarks on everyone else), because my friends and I are dreadful people who do not appreciate our mothers.
However, in our defence, we wonder this: how is it that your parents only profit enough to provide you with roughly 300 gil a year, but can afford to visit a doctor who charges 15,000 gil a session?
Hmmm. Yeah, that's what we thought.