Disclaim-age: I do not own FFTA. I do, however, own the original classes and characters in this fanfic. I sort of own Daryle. The character, as far as name, race, and job, comes from a random applicant to my clan in the game, but the story is MINE MINE MINE.
The stale bread tasted like…
Stale bread, really. What could she say? The thin, grey-furred Viera was huddled just inside the alley, gnawing on her meal. A passing Bangaa, apparently in a hurry, judging by the fact that he was running, huffing, a look of sever concern on his face, kicked her upside the head.
He didn't stop to help her. Her head flew against the ground, and her mouth filled with dirt and Totema-know-what, and she felt several parts of her head pop. Something about her right arm didn't feel right… Upon closer inspection, it was broken in more than eight places, having been stepped on by the soldier.
Using her remaining good hand, the scrawny figure lifted herself up. This was when she noticed the blood pooling under her face, adding insult to injury. Her grey mouth-veil was torn and bloodsoaked, and her once-puffy grey hat was crumpled. When a cart passed by, she realized she was deaf in her right ear, where she had been kicked. This was bad. But in Sprohm, no-one paid a moment's attention to the maimed girl…
She would have lived in Baguba Port, or Cyril, or anywhere else, but if you were homeless, this is where you wanted to live.
In her crippled state, there was no way she could cross the busy, chocobo-filled street. She retreated to the dank alley until night. She would have to move out then.
It was midnight. The moon hung over Sprohm like a spider, waiting for it's victim to hurry up and die, so it could consume the contents of the unfortunate captive. The hare-woman limped out of the alley, leaning on a katana crutch. The road was empty. A half-burnt reefer, unrolled and damp, blew through the slums. This district was the least favorable in all of the Bangaa city. The other main district was all red-and-green stone square houses, set into the cliff face.
She sat down on the steps of a small shrine, catching her breath. It was surprisingly tiring, walking along the cobbled road with a shitty crutch. She had fallen several times, and upon landing, had discovered that a piece of scrap metal was imbedded in her right leg.
Voices echoed down the path. Serious, stern voices, voices home from battle. She sat down and skulked in the corner of the road, next to the porch of the shrine. Despite her strenuous training as an Assassin, stabbing pain did make it hard to blend in, especially when the metal in her leg made it spasm. The shadowy party came into view.
Leading them was a blonde haired boy, belts and armor all over him. His hair lay flat, except for the one lock that curled up and over his head. Behind him was a paladin, distinguished by his snow-white turban and cloth garments. His arm was around the leader's shoulder, and they were smiling. Behind them walked a moogle, a Bangaa templar, a moogle gunner, and the famed Ezel Barbier, hermetic outlaw extraordinare. This was quite the party… she wondered what the rest of the clan looked like.
The moogle raised his eyebrows.
"Kupopo! There's a woman over there! She's hurt, kupo!"
The leader looked her way, and the paladin dropped his arm. The entire crew ran over, and the two humans stood in front of her, while the rest hung on the outside areas. They were probably afraid. The paladin wrapped his arms around the blond boy's neck, rested his head on his shoulder, and stared down at the viera's crumpled form.
"Awww, it's hurt. Come on, honey, let's help it!", the paladin said, giving the leader puppy-dog eyes.
"Okay. She needs our help, and from the looks of it, badly. Montblanc!", the leader exclaimed, and the first moogle came to his side.
"Kupokupo! What do you need?" A look of worry crossed the mog boy's face.
"You're capable of some healing. Heal her.". The voice was stern, worried.
"Ezel."
"Yes, sir? How can I help?" So it was… The grand lawbreaker was with them…
"Work your… Whatever the hells it is… And get her healed up."
"Yes, sir.", was the reply.
"Belnini, Olint, keep a watch out.". So he thought she had been attacked.
The gunner's name was Olint, and the templar, Belnini… She was trying to keep track of it all.
"I…I w-wasn't attacked…", she wheezed out, in between coughs of blood.
"I got trampled… My right arm is broken, my jaw is dislocated, I cut my lip, I have a minor concussion, my right leg has a chunk of metal in it, and I'm coughing up blood.", she listed her injuries.
"Stuart… care for her. I'll Cover her until we get her back to the base."
And, with this heard, the frail girl blacked out.
------------------------------------
She awoke to a rattling noise, and clanking as of metal on bars. The leader of the party was seated on the edge of her bed.
"I never did get your name…", he mumbled.
"Daryle", she replied. "You?"
"I'm Xy. Nice to meet you. You are currently more than one-hundred feet under the surface of the city of Sprohm. We're on our way to our base under Ozmonfield."
"O-on our w-way?", the poor girl stuttered. "What do you mean 'On our way'?".
"This is a Moogle-designed tram, built just for us. You're in the sleeping car. Breakfast is on the way, and we arrive just after lunch. You were almost dead, you know. What happened?"
"Oh, some careless soldier ran by and kicked me in the head. On accident, of course. Thank you for saving me."
The door to the cabin opened, and the human paladin walked in.
"Daryle, this is Stuart. He's the one that did most of the healing."
Stuart sat down on Xy's lap and smiled at Daryle.
"Feeling better? I hope so.I am the best paladin there is. Period. Even better than Xy here. Isn't that right, honey?". And so they commenced a baby-talk argument about who was better at what.
A screaming, grinding noise broke up the lovers' argument, and the tram stopped. The couple sprung up from their seat and strode, hand in hand, to the speaking trumpet set into the wall.
"Monteblanc, report.", said, speaking into the device.
A reply echoed back, easily distinguishable through the tube.
"The boys say we've got trouble. We're under Eluut Sands-- some antlions found the tram. Their acid is burning through.".
"Fuck", cried the leader, and Stuart suddenly dropped the happy face and went into combat mode.
"Daryle, stay here. Stuart, arm up and come with me." He turned to the speaker. "Battle stations, prepare for combat. Watch the openings. I want at least one healer on every squad at all times. Ezel, I'm gonna need an Azoth, and fast. Gunners, use caution and watch your fire. Everyone else, have at them.".
Xy ran out the cabin door wielding two very sharp katanas, and Stuart was right behind, carrying his favorites, Save the Queen and Excalibur.
Daryle got out of bed and went to the closet. Realizing that she was completely naked, she put on her black job garb and grabbed Zanmato. She could fight, she knew that. Not as a primary, but maybe a tertiary combatant.
Outside of her cabin, it was quiet. Teams were gathered around the blistering metal where the antlions would attack. The closest team was very small, consisting of a Gladiator, two Human Fighters, and a Sniper. The tram was a long, oblong, segmented hull, with an outer shell. The area inside this outer carapace formed a complete dome, and snipers and mages were standing on top.
The first hole to open was the top. Three bugs fell in, and the clan members in the vicinity jumped into battle, slashing and casting and shooting. Daryle could see a Nu-Mou, standing at the front of the inner hull, dressed in the robes of a Morpher. As an Antlion drew near, he flashed into a Panther and rent the insect in three. He flashed back into his normal form and glanced at Daryle. Reverting to his feline state, he pounced off of the roof and straight for the terrified Viera. She was sure she was done for, when he landed behind her with a loud splattering noise. She made a mental note to thank him for saving her, and to give him a good scare.
In the corridor surrounding the middle hull, Daryle was faced with a large red beast, it's pincers clacking loudly. Wasn't this what she had trained for? Wasn't this her plan in life? Then why was she so scared? Swallowing her doubts, she made a head-on sprint for the Antlion and drew Zanmato. It, in turn, lunged for her, fangs dripping with venom. At the last second, the assassin dove and turned, raising her blade to the ceiling. As she slid, the razor-sharp edge gouged through the belly of the vile creature, spilling juices on the floor. Suffice to say that it was dead. The clan's templar, whom she recognized as Belnini, charged straight through one of the swarm members, while Olint, that gunner, shot one through the face with his longbarrel. Stuart, up on the roof of the central hull, waded through bugs like they were nothing, hacking and cutting.
Montblanc was frying the monsters with his Black Magic, and was Xy using Ninja Jitsu and Chivalry in concert to kill what little dared oppose him. Amid the fray, Daryle caught glimpses of the legendary Lini and Pallanza of lore, as well as Ritz, Shara, and even Babus, who was content to sear targets with his Runeseeker spells. Ezel was providing support, putting foes to sleep, and curing allies of poison.
As the last of the attackers fell, Daryle collapsed on the floor, exhausted. She had slain some thirteen antlions… And there had been hundreds over all. The mog engineers busied themselves fixing damage, and a few medics went about healing the wounded. Meanwhile, outside the exo-hull, Daryle could see the earth around them whizzing past through the portholes. They were almost there.
The weary assassin returned to her quarters, put away Zanmato, and fell into the deepest sleep she had had in memory…