"Do Not Disturb"

by Princess of Pain

Nobody asks any questions.

It's just one of those things, one of those oddities that people who are questing together never really consider. There are a lot more things to be concerned about. The Empire closes in, scampering on their tails like mutant wolf-hounds. They haven't seen or heard from Locke in days. Sabin was last spotted in the river, being swept away in spite of his struggles against the tide.

And Edgar has taken on that pale, sullen look that speaks volumes to her, that says most clearly that he no longer believes that the cavalier thief, nor his wayward brother, will be reporting back at all.

Terra does not understand very much about the King of Figaro, who is deliciously, falsely open on the surface, and painfully closed off at the core. She had to speak to hand-maidens in order to get any information about him that wasn't already well-known, for God's sake. She only catches glimpses of what he's actually like: the shot of pain that bolted through his handsome face when he first clapped eyes to his brother again (the one that appeared seconds before that smile slip on to cover it up again); the strong undercurrent of something between Locke and him when the thief had warned her to stay away from him. These were only the rarest of sightings, though, and like the uncovering of a living Esper, they were nigh-impossible to come by.

She is shy, and withdrawn, and doesn't remember how to live with other humans. So she doesn't ask questions about him, no matter how open he seems, because she senses the walls in his heart and immediately pulls back. Neither does anyone else; perhaps, though, they already know.

She wants to know why the King is so determined to give the appearance of being carefree. She wants to ask him what it was like to grow up with Sabin, and how he managed to keep himself together after his beloved brother turned his back on the kingdom. And how Edgar, himself, could speak to the Empire—the men who were responsible, in all likelihood, for poisoning his father—with a smile and a charming word. How he could do this while secretly plotting against that Empire for years, without revealing himself or getting arrested and discreetly executed for treason against Gestahl.

And she wants to know how Edgar manages to make it through his days. What he does in his spare time, if he happens to come by some. If he does anything other than flirt. How he flirts with every woman, from giggling servant-girls to upturned-nosed courtesans, as if none of them are on to his charade. How he has lived this long without a wife, and why—when they stay in an inn—only two rooms are rented, between herself, Locke, and Edgar. Certainly, it was inappropriate for one of them to sleep in the same room with her (she can just hear Edgar declaring that he would never do such a thing to a lady), but there didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason behind them eternally bunking together, either.

But these are not questions that she ever feels that she can ask. Every time she gets close, and walks to him, she sees that worried, pale look in his electric-blue eyes. He always smiles at her, and asks her what is wrong; she murmurs "Nothing" and retreats.

He was for all his playful openness, a door with a "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging from the handle.

And Terra had been trained to obey orders.

-end-