The Le Page mansion wasn't particularly grand as far as mansions went. Three floors, six bedrooms, and only four statue rooms. This wasn't because the owner wasn't as well of as the other Treno nobles; he just wasn't a greedy man. Fortescue Le Page didn't need a five floor palace with en suite jesters, so long as he had a bed or six and an ancient mosaic over his head at night he was a happy man. He even considered himself quite charitable. Each year when the nightss got cold, old Fortescue would donate a gil or two to a starving child as he wandered past. He once considered letting one of the children stay during these nights, but in the end he considered it impractical: he had scant enough room as it was. He was sure the children preferred the wide open space of the streets. And so, given his generosity; his small, unobtrusive abode; and the few creature comforts he kept around it, imagine his surprise when he came home one day to find himself being robbed!
There were three men, each holding one side of his Van Gaart mosaic. They were stood stock still, a look, not of fear, but of surprise etched across each one of their faces. The man on the left had an odd garment across the top half of his face, the like of which Fortescue had never seen before. His hair was spiked upwards, and sheathed at his side was a sword. The man in the middle was wearing a bandana, and he had a moustache to rival that of Fortescue himself! The Noble noticed that he too, had a sword.
The man on the right looked strange. His shirt and cravat where impeccably neat, but for some reason the whole ensemble had "common" written all over it. His blond hair stuck out from the other two figures, but that's not what Fortescue noticed. It wasn't even the tail which swung calmly above the ground. What Fortescue noticed, was the fact that this man did not have a sword. Unfortunately, he did have a pair of rather sharp daggers, which he felt where more than capable of doing him similar damage. Thankfully for Fortescue, he had been well trained to deal with thieves like these. Step one was to try and gracefully negotiate with them. So, in his politest, most gentlemanly voice he asked the young men if they would do him the courtesy of leaving his possessions where they were and vacating his house.
"What do you think you're doing you common scum?" Fortescue shouted, "Put that down THIS SECOND, or I'll cut you up so small the orphans won't even have to chew!"
The men lowered the art to the ground and drew their weapons. Fortescue was disappointed polite negotiation had failed, but he did not despair, for he was also a master at step two, which was combat itself. Fortescue readied himself for the battle ahead and made the first move. "GUARDS!" screamed the noble at the top of his lungs. As his bodyguards entered the room and drew their own swords, Fortescue bravely cowered behind a nearby cherub statue.
The fat man cowered behind a nearby cherub statue. Zidane stood his ground as the three bodyguards advanced. "Go!" he called to the others, "I'll hold 'em off!"
Blank and Marcus looked at each other for a moment and nodded. They each grabbed a side of the mosaic and ran to the window they had left open when they came in. Meanwhile, Zidane began parrying the strikes dealt by the broadswords of the three bodyguards. He was surprised at their agility given the weight of their weapons, but Zidane was still the quickest of the lot. He turned to the left as one of the swords came down, and it embedded in the ground a few inches away from his feet. Zidane took this opportunity to throw his weight into his attacker, who went tumbling over backwards. Zidane threw his hands out and sprung himself upright again. As he turned he had to duck to avoid a second blade, and then jump over the third. The first man was on his feet again now, and was already busy at not making things any easier for Zidane. A few strikes and dodges later, the youth found himself surrounded by the men. Fighting his way out of this was going to be next to impossible, so he'd have to try and be unpredictable. He sheathed his daggers and raised his hands to indicate surrender. "Gentlemen," he began.
They charged.