A mini fic - a glimpse into Penelo's point of view just before one of her first major battles with something much more dangerous than desert hyenas.


Sulphur and Pitch

"Don't worry, Penelo, I'll protect you." Vaan pushed past her and rushed forward, his hand reaching for his blade once he caught up with Ashe and Vossler. They hardly seemed to notice that Vaan now stood by their side.

Although Vaan meant well—he really did—Penelo couldn't stop the muscles in her shoulders and chest from tightening. Her jaw clenched. Breathe. She knew this wasn't a time to chew herself up about the way people look at her. Think. Something was making the ground rumble again and she thought that she could smell Mist. She needed to find a place to stand, a safe place where she could protect her own back while readying her bow.

"I might suggest you fall back rather than stand out in the open." Balthier brushed past her as he readied his rifle.

"Ready." Fran's voice whispered over the quick clicketty-click of her boot heals striking hard stone tiles. She had moved over by a pillar where she could provide cover for Ashe's and Vossler's position.

Penelo looked at a similar pillar over on the right side of the room. She could move there. She could provide cover from there too. And when needed, she could dart in to provide support. That's what she would do. But then Penelo saw Basch step toward her, moving in near silence as he approached her from her left while surveying the dim, cavernous room. "Wait."

Penelo could definitely smell the Mist now. There was no longer any doubt about it. The Mist tickled the insides of her nostrils, prickling and stinging delicate skin. Her sinuses were beginning to burn. She should take cover by the other pillar and soon.

"Wait." Basch stood stock-still. He seemed to be listening more than looking. Then he glanced across the room at Vossler and they engaged in a brief, silent exchange that lasted for no more than a second and ended with a nod, yet it was clear they had communicated something, probably something that they have said in just as few movements many times before.

"Take these." Basch handed her a narrow leather quiver with arrows that smelt strongly of sulphur and pitch. He nodded toward a dark corridor. "Do you feel that draft?"

She did. There was another way into this chamber. She could feel the floor rumble again, this time stronger and closer.

"Over there." Basch motioned with his chin toward an alcove five feet behind her where a gas-blue flame flickered atop a stone altar.

Not a moment after she has positioned herself, Basch drew his blade and walked closer to the darkened doorway.