Honestly the first chapter is to inure you guys to the OC you're going to be spending a lot of time with. It's long, it's OC-centric, and the first chapter is pretty tonally different from others on purpose. I still think it's a decent read regardless. Future chapters will, of course, involve more of the main cast.

I mean, it's self indulgent fanfiction you guys, c'mon. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It's also the first time I've written anything legitimately close to a story in like. . . ten years.


Odd Jobs

Chapter One

Before we start on how I got here, I want you to know who I was before all this. You know? I was a person. I had hopes and dreams and interests and a job on the shit side of the city. On a grand scale none of these things were important but they were important to me. My name is Taceti Leparem. I was my own person once.


The first thing you learn about working the night shift is that while everyone is out at play, you're getting ready to go to work. Plus when I wasn't working club time for most people was around brunch time for me. I never really got into it as a result. Three hours into the day is no time for a party.

I work in a bar. Well, worked in a bar. It was more a strip club in the shit part of the city, really, but I worked the bar. I used to strip but lasted for about five months before I just got tired of it. Sweaty dudes touching me all night? No thanks. You literally can't afford to have an attitude, an attitude costs you cash. Being a bartender, though? They appreciate a good wit. Plus I'm not a bad looking gal. Dark hair, dark eyes, brown skin. Being easy on the eyes and sharp in the tongue has gotten me my fair share of good tips.

Ceti, you're asking, how is this even relevant? Are you just bragging? No. I mean, a little. Can't I be proud of who I was? But no. It means I'm a top class bullshitter. I could've had a bright future in politics. I've got a quick wit and a quick tongue and a penchant for drawing stories out from people. It'll be important later, trust me.

Anyway, lower class Insomnia is a real piece of work. I've never been attacked or anything, thank goodness, but I've had a few weird encounters. Funny thing is, I made enough money to move out into the middle class area. I probably could've even quit my job and made a living sell craft beers to twenty somethings in some trendy uptown bar. I just. . . I'd been living low all my life. At twenty five, I was scared. It felt too late. What if I failed and had to move back?

At least with my current job I could comfortably pretend that I could get out from the slums whenever I wanted.

So I get to work and it's a pretty fast day. A bachelor's party comes into the place and there are drinks all around. I wind up making bank. I did have to get a guy thrown out of the joint but such is life, you know? No one ever talks about it but the bartender is the one who's really in charge of the bouncers. A delicate sort of delegation, to be sure. Everyone wants to be safe, but everyone wants gil. The minute someone gets violent or one of the girls tells me she's uncomfortable, though? That customer is out.

I was the Queen of Bartendia, the General of Striplandia, the Patron Saint of the Hustle. I was doing well that night and counting tips as the sun rose that morning. I'd finished cleaning the bar, my legs were killing me, and all I wanted was to snooze for eight to ten hours back home. That wouldn't be happening, of course. I had to get up early so I could spend a full day in Galdin Quay.

It was nothing big, of course. Galdin Quay's hotel was way too expensive for me. Besides, I wasn't going with friends so I didn't see the point in shelling out a ton of gil to be a total beachside loner. All I'd need was a little travel bag. You know, the necessities. Change of clothes, a toothbrush, that kind of stuff. My mother was a careful woman. Always told me to bring a toothbrush wherever I went.

In my party girl days this helped me immensely. No one likes day old vodka breath.

I have terrible time management problems, anyway. I was pretty sure I'd wind up having to crash at a caravan. The buses don't usually run at night. Personally? I wouldn't want to take a night bus regardless. I'd heard about the daemons. Never did see one but the stories were enough to dissuade me.


My beach trip had gone splendidly. I'd gotten some well deserved sun that work so often deprived me of and collected a few seashells. I had, predictably, lost track of time and needed to sleep at a caravan.

I'd been peacefully drooling on the caravan bed's pillow when my phone started to buzz. It was my mother. It was also Too Early For That Shit. I hit ignore and turned around. I'm not sure how much time had passed from the first call to the next but she called again. My mother, by the way, has a storied history of stalker calling for the littlest things. I didn't want to hear about my little sister's latest girlfriend. I wanted to sleep. So I hit ignore. Again. This battle of attrition kept up until eventually I put the phone on silent and rolled over.

When I woke up I treated myself to a wetwipe bath and a crisp cat eye. All and all I looked presentable and not like I'd stone cold crashed in a trailer.

It was too hot for a black dress and too hot for boots as I braved the fiendish light of day and squinted out at the parking lot. Mornings always felt brighter to me than most. It's not like I woke to them often.

I'd been standing at the bus stop when I realized something was off. At first I thought my bus had been delayed. I never did trust buses, always more of a subway person myself. I'd chalked it up to traffic or some other nonsense but I had a gut feeling, you know? That kind of feeling that starts in the stomach and aches the palms.

It'd been an older woman that saw me.

"Excuse me?" She had one of those drawls you only really get in Leide.

"Yes?" Figuring she was going to ask for the time I went to pull my phone out. Out the corner of my eye I could see my notifications stacked atop one another.

"Darlin' didn't you hear?" The woman sounded sympathetic and already I knew the news was going to be bad.

"I didn't hear anything, only woke up about an hour or so ago." I said.

"Oh bless your heart. Darlin', ain't no buses runnin' out to Insomnia no more." Her voice bled sympathy. Her hand fluttered to her heart.

"What. . . What do you mean, why?" I could feel my stomach drop.

It's funny, that feeling you get when suddenly everything you thought you knew isn't what it is anymore. That odd feeling of dread. It made me run exhaustively hot and unbearably cold at the same time, made me want to shout but I couldn't find my voice.

I'd been in a fugue state as I stood there off to the side in the parking lot, away from the bustle of people and in whatever small bit of shade I could find. I checked my phone. Twenty seven missed calls. Most were from my mom. Some were from my sisters. A few voicemails I didn't bother listening to were peppered in and a few worried text messages. I can't tell you exactly what my mother said, just that she begged me to come see her in Lestallum.

I didn't have the money to get to Lestallum. Not all the way from Galdin Quay. I'd taken a good deal of cash with me but not enough to get me that far. I had no house, no job, and I didn't even have my fucking gun. At least then I'd feel less liable to get murdered while hitchhiking.

That's when he found me.

I don't know why he'd chosen me of all people. Wan in the face, looking askance, standing there in my scuffed up boots and just barely holding onto my travel bag. I must've looked the kind of desperate that wouldn't say no to a good offer.

"You seem to have run into a spot of trouble, my dear."

His voice was mellifluous, oily even. I don't often ask for favors—especially not from strangers—but his voice mixed with my desperation compelled me to turn and face him.

Ardyn Izunia.

I hadn't even recognized him when I first looked at him. I wasn't exactly keeping close tabs on political affairs and I was half in shock as it were. There was no way I could've known the importance of the man standing in front of me, what he was and what he'd become. In that moment he was just a man offering me assistance and I was just a woman desperate for help.

"I uh—I just—I just heard the news about Insomnia and I—" I know I said I'm an expert bullshitter. At the time, though, I couldn't find my charisma. It was back in Insomnia with everything else. Besides, part of being a good talker is knowing when to be earnest. I'd lost track of my words and instead let out a despondent laugh. "Just found out I'm a refugee so that's. . . something."

"Oh my." He clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Is there ought I can do to assist?"

"I'm trying to get to Lestallum but I've got nothing. No car, no food, no weapon, and only enough cash to get me half the way. Honestly—" The words all fell out of me too quick and crashing together. I let out another flat, nervous chuckle and tried to compose myself. "I don't know what anyone can do for me."

There was a moment's pause where he didn't say anything, he just watched me. I knew the look he was giving me. He was sizing me up.

"And if, perhaps, I had a job for you? It would pay handsomely." He offered.

"Well sir," I said. "I would say you're either incredibly kind or you were up to something. Maybe even both." This was enough to pull a short laugh from him. He wiggled a gloved finger at me, lips curled into a vague smile.

"Now I know I've got a job for you." With that he turned and started walking. "Follow me, if you will."

I followed him to his hotel room like a lost puppy. I was wary but I didn't feel as if I had much of a choice. What were my options, really? At the very least Ardyn dressed like the kind of guy people would remember and not like your average Joe Schmo from down the block. If something were to happen to me there was a hotel full of witnesses.


We were sitting at the table when he slapped the gun down in front of me. There was a long, pregnant pause between the two of us. There I sat, staring at the gun. There he sat, staring at me. I knew I had to say something but what do you say in that situation?

"Alright. . ." I began, picking it up. The weight of it felt comfortable in my hand, the first familiar thing since I'd heard the bad news. "What do you want me to kill?" It felt odd to say. I'd never killed a damn thing in my life beyond a few small game animals.

"Oh goodness me, no one!" There was a pause. There's always a pause. "Not yet. The gun is for your protection, my dear." As he spoke I was checking a few things. Safety was off, it was already fully loaded. Good.

Guns always made me think about my father. Sure, learning how to load a pistol isn't exactly the ideal father daughter bonding time but it was our father daughter bonding time. I can't remember much of my childhood. This was due in part to my father being a mercurial and complicated man. He'd immigrated from Niflheim and I think something had happened to him there. He wouldn't talk about it and I knew better than to keep asking.

"Have to excuse my confusion, then. What exactly is it you want me to do?" He smiled. It didn't feel like a good smile.

"There's a group of gentlemen I need to keep track of. Boys, really. You know how boys are, always getting into trouble. Occasionally I might need someone to get closer to them, do a few odd jobs here and there, book a few hotel rooms, perhaps even drive a car."

"A personal assistant, then?" I asked.

"A friend for the end of days." He corrected.

I laughed. How could I have known he was being literal? He had a good chuckle too and for a moment the "joke" put me at ease. At the very least he wasn't humorless. All in all he seemed like the kind of person I could work for. Sure, I knew he wasn't telling me the whole story. But he was easy on the eyes and easier on the ears. Most importantly, he was my only tether to safety I had in an overall uncaring world.

"How long is this going to take? I need to get to Lestallum at some point." I reminded him.

The careful raise of his brow posed a question of its own. He seemed to ask, without words, "And how do you plan on getting to Lestallum?" Instead he eased back into his chair, one leg crossing over the other. He removed his hat and set it gently on the table. "My business is wont to take me all over the world. Why, are you in a rush?"

"My family would like to know I'm safe." I could've sworn I saw a flicker of surprise in his eye. He hadn't been expecting that. It worried me.

"You've a phone, haven't you?" He asked sardonically.

"Well, yes." Now I felt a little dim. I'd have to lie, I realized, or they'd wind up asking too many questions I couldn't answer. The best lies, I'd come to find, are half truths. I'd tell them I found a job. I just wouldn't tell them what the job was. Maybe I'd say I was working the bar at Galdin Quay. My family loved me but not enough to drive all the way to the Quay to pick me up. Sucks, I know, but I don't blame them. Dangerous roads and not enough money. When my mother moved to Lestallum I'd only see them once a year.

"Perfect!" With that he lugged a suitcase up onto the table. The latches opened with a satisfying snap of a sound. Inside were a few holsters and more ammunition. "Do try not to tarry. We haven't much time."


Thanks for reading! I've an outline for where this is going but I haven't decided if I want this to involve a ship or not. I figure I'll see where the interactions go and base it off whether or not it feels right. Seeya in the next chapter!