Sudden Shower

-

You are a spectator, a watcher, a paragon of unimportance. At a small Ostian outpost, where merchants try any desperate ploy to attract attention to their wares, you offered your services to a traveling group led by Lords Ostia and Pherae, Hector and Eliwood, respectively. You have hair, are of indeterminate gender, and are shorter than everyone you are traveling with except that weird tactician-person (who nobody really cares about anyway).

You were offered a relatively uncomfortable room lying on wood in the back of the resident grumpy old codger's supply convoy, given about one-and-a-half square (rectangular) meals a day, and given the opportunity to see the world, visit exotic new places, etc. etc…

Being an apothecary, you have many chances to peddle your herbs and medicines of varying qualities and levels of legitimacy. Along your travels through Ostia and Laus and the southern ports, you make a decent profit selling reasonably priced crap to gullible saps. In particular, your aphrodisiac sells absurdly well, and it takes you the longest time to figure out why. Despite your tendency to fail horribly and occasionally mix up an off-colored, bad-tasting, ineffective potion, you still find it a morbidly lucrative endeavor for everyone involved. People begin to make a habit of coming up and asking for those "sex pills" by name, despite the fact the aphrodisiac is quite obviously a potion (a pink potion!) and not…a lousy…PILL! Get it right! After selling the ninth love potion of the day (some day, as time seems to blur together on a long journey), you pack up your wares, jump on the uncomfortable covered wagon, and get on the move again. But, however, not before seeing the local theatre troupe perform an absurdly bad rendition of the quintessential classic Ostian anti-peerage culturally-relevant satiric dark comedy Ostian Girls are Easy.

At some point as the caravan rolls along through the highland flats, you come to a fork in the road. WHAT WILL YOU DO?-?-?

You decide quite intelligently to follow the rest of the group, who all turned right down a cobbled, sloping road away from the city and down towards the countryside.

Sitting in the caravan, cramped up with your knees scrunched up near your head like a little ball, you have plenty of time to listen to people gripe incessantly about stupid crap that probably doesn't even matter. Sometimes the stupid bitchy arguments seem like really strong sexual tension. You contemplate cutting a small hole in the side of the convoy so you can see into the cabin of the wagon in front, just in case people decide to start getting freaky, then you think better of it because it's bad enough having one creepy person (tactician) in the group.

At some point, you hear the unmistakable sound of Sain, the overtly cavalier cavalier, followed by the loud, imposing sound of young lord Lyn's voice answering. Even in such a short time, you've learned to recognize their voices, which, perhaps, bodes ill for them. Maybe.

"You mean to say-" the loudmouthed horseman says, "that not even if-"

"Not even!" you hear Lyn say. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

"But that- that would be- so cold-"

"Yes!" Lyn insists fervently, and you shiver. At least it's not you getting chunks of your dignity mercilessly ripped from your body.

"Why would it have to be so cold?" says Sain. "I would say, 'no, dear Lyndis, there is a place in a warm heaven for us, not a cold he-'"

"Shush!" You always-" your hearing of Lyn's flaming reply is cut off intermittently by the sound of the dumb, annoying, grumpy old crotchety eccentric mustachioed merchant guy snoring at the back of the wagon, lying buried in a blanket of fruit, near the tactician (buried in potatoes). You catch portions of Lyn yelling, "why do you- don't say that to me- please, please- I hate- come here, you-"

The old merchant man (who you have a strange feeling will be equally as semi-important in about, oh, twenty years or so) rolls over onto his side and stops snoring and you think you can hear the two people talking again.

Do you choose to listen?

Yes (x) No ( )

Lyn. "Don't you know how much I've had to worry about?"

"I, er, yes! Of course I know what you've—"

"No!" You nearly jump, Lyn's voice comes so sharply. "You can't! You don't know anything about what I'm worrying about. All you know is 'sworn duty', ale, and women. Sorry, you wouldn't understand."

"No, wait! Lady Lyndis! My liege, don't leave! Beauteous f-flower!"

"What do you want, Sain? You might have time to run around chasing women, but I have other things to live for. Ever since you two came for me that day…I've never put my blade down, not even for a second! Do you think I've forgotten about the people who murdered my tribe? I've more important things to worry about than to run around smelling the flowers. Maybe I could have before, but not now. Do you not understand, even if I wanted to, I could never...gah!"

"No, wait! Lyn! No, don't run away! Come look at the sun with me! Come look at its beauty! We could be together, if only for a while, and we could be happ- Ohh…curses. Very smooth, Sain. Very smooth indeed."

You wake up sometime later from a long nap you apparently took after hearing the two dysfunctional warriors argue. You have a strange feeling that something is missing from your pack when you rustle through it, but you can't figure out what, and most of your stuff seems to be still there, so you shrug it off.

Leaning against the front-most wall of the wagon (still going thump-thump-thump-squeal!-thump-thump), you listen in and hear the sounds of Sain talking to someone who may or may not be (but probably is) himself. You try to ignore the squeal of innocent scurrying animals that may or may not be (but probably are) being crunched underfoot of the wagon.

"Oh, I can't believe this!" Sain laments, accompanied by some thumps that are probably him slamming his beautiful head against the wall. "My dear, beauteous Lady Lyndis…why can't I do it right? What do I have to do to make you love me? When will you finally tell me what you really mean by your words, which sting so mercilessly? Why have my pure advances gone unrequited?"

You lie back against the side of the wagon, and try to ignore the fact that the damned thing is bouncing around too much to accommodate sleep, and you try to sleep anyway. Even worse, Sain keeps mumbling to himself, half in some stupid antiquated rime or rhyme or stupid poem or some such thing. You hear him talking about something that will win him Lady Lyndis' beautiful unfettered love 'if he is lucky'. 'Lucky' keeps you laughing through your sleep and thoroughly disturbs the silent tactician, who sleeps at the back of the rearguard supply wagon, near you, blanketed by a burlap sack and still buried in a pile of potatoes. As you fall asleep, you hear something that may or may not be Sain blubbering.

One day comes along in the middle of somewhere, in a large grassy field where mounds of stone and rolling hills provide small private corners in which to be alone, and it rains. It rains. Before long, people are bitching about how suddenly it started raining. In particular, the grumpy old codger seems utterly beside himself. You catch snippets of: "Oh dear, oh dear, woe is me! Absolutely miserable! The clothing, the clothing! –take weeks to dry- never any sun…"

What's curious is that there is a sun. But it rains. Stupidly, you apparently either don't care about or don't think to look for the rainbow that probably is there.

Smartly, however, you hide all your valuable crap in the covered wagon, where the rain can't do a thing to them. The grumpy old merchant still maintains his goods are too valuable to protect from the rain by hiding them under a canopy like a cowardly little fool. As you get up and start walking around, getting your clothing soaking wet, you notice Lyn walking away towards an emerald green valley a ways off. Further on walks Sain, ahead of Lyn, occasionally stealing glances backward through the pitter-pattering rain. You happen to notice—as you surreptitiously "follow" them wherever they may be heading—that Lyn's shirt is completely soaked and clinging tightly to her body. You might have noticed the curves of her body clearly visible through the nomad's clothing, but whether you chose to stare is up for debate.

Sain begins to descend down out of sight into the valley, beckoning Lyn to follow with the wave of a hand. They say you can't go home again. In that case, what's the problem with tagging along for a little while? You follow at a decent distance, inching closer to the place where the two people disappeared and descended into the valley. At some point you stop, afraid to go any further for fear that they might sense you. You're soaking wet, aren't you? Why are you so interested? Are you curious about what's going on? Is your natural curiosity egging you on? Or is it something else burning deep within you? Either way, you're soaking wet, and it's quite uncomfortable, so you might as well uncomfortabilize yourself some more while you're at it.

From the valley below, you begin to hear some conspicuously ambiguous noises and the tense voices of both Sain and Lyn. Unfortunately, you couldn't dare risk watching them. The rain pattering all around you muffles the sounds quite a bit, you so lean against a rock, crane your neck, stare up into the endless gray sky (as the sun has gone away behind an uncertain blanket of gray clouds), and focus your ears towards the sweet chorus of voices from below.

"Lady Lyn…if I have offended you, I am sorry! Forgive m- yeeeeee-ouch!"

"Stop. Don't say another word." Lyn's voice. "How about this, hm? Your shoulders…"

"Ahhh! L-Lady Lyndis! M-my shoulder…"

"What, does that hurt?" you hear Lyn say. "Does it hurt?"

"A-a-a…ahhh…"

"Why do you do this?" she says. "Do you want me to be like this?"

"Ah- ow! Ouch, Lyn! Ooh, oooooh, my Lyndis! That h-hurts—"

"All this time…you asked for it," you hear Lyn say, and she seems to be breathless, each phrase coming distinctly like the shuddering of a wave. The sound of an ecstatic laugh is drowned away from you by the gentle patter and splashing of the rain. The water beads in your eyes and you can't see clearly. "You're only getting what's coming to you…you tempted me one too many times…"

"Ah…ohhh, ouch, what are you…" Sain said, groaning loudly. "No, stop…aah! Milady, why? What is this? Ohh—my shoulder."

"Come on," you hear Lyn say as you crane your neck closer to make out (the words). "Come on! You scoundrel. Ohhh…don't say this isn't good enough for you!"

You wonder: Just what is going on? What do you think? What are you pondering? Are you thinking in your heart of hearts' mind's eye what those two might be doing? Could they truly be having an exotic tryst in a lush green valley, or are they just plain going at it? Alternatively, it could be, you ponder, that Lyn is simply beating the crap out of the (formerly) healthy young cavalier, which might account for Sain's odd yelping noises. Alternatively alternatively, it could be some cruel, strange method of torture unbeknownst to you that, if you discovered it, would haunt your nightmares for anywhere from six to six and a half months until you discovered something else that frightened you even more (like green tomatoes. Ooh! You shudder.)

It seems strange that a rain shower, started suddenly, could have lasted for so long, but the sky seems to be clearing, slowly, or so it appears from your resting point. You might have fallen asleep or perhaps not to the chorus of potentially painful-sounding thump thump noises and alternating groans. It is some time later, and now the sun is shining down even while the rain still patters along.

You consider looking down around the rock and down into the grassy vale, and once again think better of it. The rain seems to be slowing now, and from the valley below you can hear the sound of gentle splashing in a puddle of water.

"I always used to hate the rain." Lyn's voice. You note it sounds much calmer, much more peaceful than before. "I never knew why the rain existed, even after I learned of the flowers. I used to hate getting wet…but you taught me it's okay to play in the rain. I never thought that way before."

"A-aahh…" and you think you hear Sain crying. Is that the rain misting your eyes, or are you crying too? Before you can take a moment to figure it out, the rain has stopped.

-

The following morning, you see Sain, utterly exhausted and favoring his right shoulder, perhaps slightly bruised about his head and neck, mumbling something about how rough Lady Lyndis can be. Lyn, however, seems vibrant and full of even more masculinely girlish energy. You wonder what really happened the day before, but decide it's probably better if you didn't ask and instead left it to your sweet, sweet imagination. Incidentally, you finally realize that the only missing item from your bag was a lone aphrodisiac, and one of the bad ones, at that!