The Things That I Want
A Final Fantasy XI fanfic by Renfro Calhoun

Disclaimer: Settings, ideas, etc. are property of Square-Enix. They are used without permission, but with the utmost care and respect.

Notes: Separate from the 'Lessons' stories, but features the same guy from Versatility; Hume Red Mage named Karlinn. Just a bit of adventure to reclaim a lost part of one's childhood, quite literally. Also an opportunity to write a wee bit of Buuma's gals, whom I like so very much. Thoughts are in parentheses. Have at it!

I grunt in disgust as I pull my weapon out of the beastman's chest, wincing at the sight of its blood along the blade. With my foot I pry the dead Yagudo off, pushing it to the ground with a dull thump. The body kicks up a small cloud of dust and knocks a few pebbles loose, which tumble down the side of the slope, deeper into the darkened cavern.

I hate caves, and pretty much everything about them. I must've been one messed-up little kid.

My face contorts into a grimace at the scent of the air; thick, musty, old. (Hard to believe only a week ago this place was sealed,) I think. Frowning at the corpse, I silenlty add, (And already, these damned beasts... we used to play in here, for crying out loud.) I'm more than a little glad the place will soon be gone.

Sheathing my sword, I bend over and pick my lantern back up, resuming my descent down the slope. Briefly, I recall the article in the paper: a tunnel that ran between Sarutabaruta and Tahrongi, a network of caves that dated back before the war. Windurstian patrols regularly ran through the caves, and it was not uncommon for some of the more adventurous children to poke around inside. A bit of an accident involving explosions and Yagudo opened up a hole, a few people started checking the place out, and so on, and so forth.

I turn around, following the natural ramp to the bottom of the chamber. (It's down here somewhere... I know it was around here. I think it was around here.)

As I understand it, they don't have the manpower or resources to properly buttress the thing, so rather than wait for it to collapse - and possibly with someone in it - they plan to seal it back up in a couple days. In the meantime, all known entrances were under constant surveillance. Fortunately, for me, they had a couple of Captain Buuma's women on one of them, both of whom I was friends with. I was doubly fortunate they were both miffed about a pay freeze, and offered to let me look around in exchange for a bit of a tithe, and also the assurance that I could get out in a hurry if - purely hypothetically speaking, of course - the ceiling started to come down on top of me.

I'm not too worried, though. My problem is usually fireballs chasing me down a hallway and blasting me out a window or something, and how often are those a problem under a mile of rock? I submit, not very often.

My boots scuff on the rocks as I carefully tread down the hill. It gradually levels off, depositing me on the cave floor, and I take a good look around at the massive chamber. (It was over in one of the corners,) I ponder, squinting into the dark. I immediately wish I'd invested in a better lamp.

Suddenly, the flame in my lamp goes out. One of my eyebrows arches upward, and I open the small hatch on the side. Clearly, someone is granting my wishes, and they're horrible at it. I mumble a little something and gesture into the lamp; a bit of a cantrip, and it gets the job done as a small lick of flame starts the oil burning once again. Satisfied, I shut the lamp and start towards the nearest corner.

I see a small, conspicuous pile of rocks, not one any bigger than my own fist; piled like they fell around something. The floor slopes a bit as I walk towards it. (It slid over there,) I think, slowly shifting my gaze up the walls. (Hope it didn't get crushed...)

That'd be just my luck, wouldn't it?

Kneeling down, I set the lamp to one side and start moving the rocks. I carelessly toss them aside, grit and dust caking my palms and fingers; I hear the rocks clatter and roll as they hit the ground. Toss, throw, toss... I start to wonder if it's even here, if I'm not mistaken. (Where else could a pound and a half of wood drop to here?) I silently wonder.

One of my fingers pokes against a sharp edge. I dig more carefully, and soon find something that couldn't possibly be stone. The light shines brightly across its lacquered surface, dented and scratched but most certainly intact. I reach in and pull it loose, upending it and shaking the dust off.

I can't help but smile at the toy wagon in my hands. (So that's where you've been hiding this whole time!) I turn it over in my hands, and sure enough, 'Karlinn' is etched underneath the carriage. Dad said this old thing would outlast me when he made it, and damned if I didn't think so too.

Something dark snakes across my mind, a memory; something I try hard to fight back, to repress. No good. I throw a look back towards the ramp. Yeah, here I come. Damn it, not again.

I hear a little boy's voice; curious, bold, eager for action and adventure. I see him up atop the ramp, standing a little bit too close to the edge. Wouldn't you know it, there's the wagon, right there in his little hands.

He tilts his head; he hears something. "Is there anybody down there?" he calls, his voice echoing down the chamber. "Hello?"

For Altana's sake, kid, what are you trying to do, break my neck? Oop, there he goes.

I wince, though this isn't the worst part. A nasty misstep onto a particularly loose rock; the kid takes a tumble, grunting and crying and yelping as his body rolls down the rocks. His clothes get torn and dirtied, his knees scraped and arms bruised. He lands back on the ramp further down, the wagon tumbling out his hands and further down the hill. The toy bounces and skips and rolls down the rocks, eventually flipping end-over-end and landing on two of its wheels.

It rolls off to the corner and comes to rest. And so, I should add, do I.

I don't have to actually see the kid to know what he looks like: battered, bloody, miserable and scared out of his mind. I can hear his wracking sobs, cries of pain, cries for help, cries for mommy and daddy and anybody that might possibly be in earshot.

(No... goddamnit, no, I don't need to see this.) I squeeze my eyes shut and look away, the wagon clutched firmly in my hands.

He just lies there, a mess of tears, confident only that he is as good as dead. He wails openly, pained in every part of his poor, young body. C'mon, kid, get up, get us out of here, you can do it. I silently wish he'd pick himself up and get out of there, make it out of there on his own, be a man for crying out loud. All he gets right is the 'crying out loud' bit.

He's there for at least an hour, curled up in a ball, still weeping, weeping until he seemingly runs out of tears. He's scared, terrified; he's not too young to know about death, about the beastmen, about all sorts of horrors that are a little too real to hide in his closet or under his bed.

(Let it go... let it go,) I beg myself, I cringe at myself. (Please, let it go...)

I open my eyes; they're a little wetter than they were a minute ago. I know how the story ends, one of the patrols finds him, patches him up, escorts him safely back to Windurst. He gets both a stern lecture and a loving embrace from worried parents. He goes to school, gets a job, enrolls in a training academy for Red Mages, and eventually becomes a decent, productive member of society.

And still feels sick to his stomach about that day. And wishes he could've held onto the toy his dad made for him.

The boy disappears from my mind. There's nothing I can do for him. I stand up, with the wagon in one hand, and the lantern in the other, and immediately I freeze.

I don't know how, but there are now five Yagudo in a semicircle around me, penning me in and blocking my escape. Their cold, beady eyes glint dimly in the lamp's light, their weapons bared and pointed threateningly at me. Though they don't look too happy to see me, the center one looks a little amused that I finally noticed them.

For a second, I kind of wonder whether the fireball thing would've been preferrable.

"Smoothskin reunited with his toy," squawks the one I assume is in charge - he's got the gaudiest necklace, at least. "Smoothskin about to separated from his head!"

For once, I have a reply at the ready. "That's clever, brother," I say dryly, just a little bit frustrated. "Did it take all five of you to write that one? Guess I'm dealing with the bright kids today."

"This Hume disrespects the sanctity of our..." starts one of the others.

"Yeah, yeah, save it." My composure starts to crack, and I can feel something unpleasant boiling up from within. I scowl and motion to the leader. "You. Move or be moved."

"The smoothskin will not leave here alive!" screeches another one.

I've had it. I just wanted my goddamn toy back. I flick my wrist, snapping open the door for the lamp, and chuck it at the nearest Yagudo. Without even setting the wagon down, I draw my sword, which is still caked in beastman blood.

The lamp connects, stunning the Yagudo. It drops to the floor and the glass breaks, splattering the oil at the bird's feet. The oil catches fire, and within seconds so does he.

"Kill him!" the leader shouts as he rushes me, his comrades alongside him.

I raise my sword, still clutching the wagon. "Yeah, fuck you too!"

They must've heard my foosteps. They have good ears. It's part and parcel for their race, I guess.

"Who's down therrrre?" I hear one of them trill. I think that's Sola Jaab; I see the two of them outlined against the daylight. I shield my eyes and calmly wander up the tunnel, sore all over and still just a wee bit angry.

(Clearly, one of my better ideas,) I complain to myself. "'s just me!" I call. "And you have no idea how glad I am to see you two."

The other one shouts back. "Karlinn! Are you all right?"

I wander into the light, out from under the rock. The two Mithra guards - one white-haired, one brunette in a beret - watch me curiously, probably more relieved that I got out before the shift change than that I got out at all. I work up a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." I hold up the wagon and give it a little shake. "Got what I was looking for. Thanks, you two, I owe you one."

The brunette - Tih Pikeh - stares at the toy, puzzled. "All that forrrr a little toy wagon?" she asks, just before taking a bite out of the Mithkabob she's holding.

"Eh, more or less."

Sola takes a more careful appraisal of my person. Her kittenish eyes narrow in suspicion. "You look quite a bit worse for wear," she says, traces of concern evident in her voice. "What happened in there?"

"There's some Yags about a mile in there. I'll tell the Captain when I get back to Windurst, get her to send some back-up. No big deal."

Her tail sways a bit to the left and stops. She cranes her neck and glances down the tunnel. "No big deal, huh?"

I throw a look back. I can almost see the kid again, being led by the hand by a kindly Mithra soldier. He's in bad shape, too, but he doesn't look so scared now. In fact, if one were to ask me, I'd swear the woman had somehow gotten him to smile.

"Nah," I quietly reply. "Not anymore."