"Sambai Tea and Sympathy"
A Star Ocean: The Second Story fan fiction
by Sarah (Sarah the Boring)
Star Ocean: The Second Story, names, characters, etc. copyright Enix Corporation. The story is the property of the author.
Opera Vectra unfolded the worn map of Cross Continent for the umpteenth time, propping the barrel of her blaster in the crook of her arm. She squinted up at the mountains through the orange glare of sunset, following the sweeping range as it curved toward the east and west. Nestled in a valley was, as expected, the last village on her hit list.
And it had shown up none too soon; she'd been walking all day, following suggestions from various local know-it-alls in the Mikado back in Cross. That had been at least seven hours ago—though this strange sun made it hard to judge the fine details of time, the difference between high afternoon and sunset was still obvious. And if that weren't enough, the throbbing that had begun to build up in her feet was reason enough to find a half-decent inn and call it a night.
Or, if they had a half-decent pub…even better.
She folded the map back up and stuck it in her jacket pocket, then reshouldered the gun. Combing her tousled hair out of her eyes with one hand, she looked up at the rough wooden arch that marked the town's outer limit.
"Ern, when I find you, I'm gonna kill you," she muttered in her native tongue, and trudged onward into the sleepy town of Salva.
"'Rough and Tumble'," she read out loud from the inexpertly painted sign outside the tavern door. Opera smirked. "Cute." She took a deep breath and let her hair fall over her forehead, hoping for a quieter welcome than the brawl in Herlie. The trick sometimes worked in letting her pass unnoticed, but never for very long. Trying not to trip from lack of sight, she pushed the door open with one foot and slipped inside.
The bar was quiet, for some reason; it could have been caused by the day, the hour, or the whole town. The bartender lazily dusted off a rack of mugs behind the counter, while the back of the room hosted a small group of rough men with dirt-caked boots—miners, she gathered, remembering the prominent cavern entrance in town. A few random travelers nursed their drinks and rested their feet at the tables and the bar. Most glanced up when she entered, but their eyes telegraphed burning interest, not cold hostility. They saw her as a woman, a pretty blonde…not a freak. Not yet.
Shaking off her momentary unease, Opera headed for the bar. One of the travelers slumped in a stool at the corner of the bar, staring blankly into a tankard of some watered-down ale. This was not the most unusual thing she'd seen in her wanderings through Expel.
The twin dragon heads sprouting from the traveler's back were another matter.
She felt a surge of shock and excitement at the sight of another non-Expellian. She didn't recognize the species, which was stranger still. A thorough education in interplanetary sociology had given her an average knowledge of other planets and their inhabitants, but she didn't recognize this form at all. Intrigued, she sat down next to the three-headed traveler.
The stranger was male, as she'd sensed, and seemed a bit younger than she, at least by a Teragene scale. He was dressed in an odd fashion reminiscent of an archaic magician, though a pair of swords hung at his sides. His dragonlike heads—one blue, one red—acted as if they had minds of their own, looking around the room and murmuring to each other as the man's attention drifted somewhere near the surface of the bar. Strange, all around.
"Help ya, miss?" the bartender asked a little eagerly.
Opera smiled, trying to remember not to toss the hair out of her eyes. "Cider, please, if you have it."
"'Course. Coming right up."
"Thanks." She noticed the three-headed boy's glance up at her and decided to seize the opportunity. "Hey," she said warmly, holding his gaze with hers. "Where're you from?"
"El," the boy answered defensively. At first the name inspired only confusion; she remembered seeing it somewhere, but she could not place it. The boy went on, staring at the countertop, "Or I did, before it was overrun. Now I just sort of wander around." Overrun… The word sparked the memory of where she'd seen the name "El", and her hopes fell. It was just a continent, part of Expel, not a planet. He wasn't an outworlder after all. The bartender returned with her drink, and she merely nodded.
Opera smiled a bit, despite her disappointment. "So you're a wanderer too, huh?"
"Why, where are you—" He looked directly up at her, and his green eyes widened in shock. His tenor voice cracked into a near-squeak as he stumbled on. "…uh…from?"
Opera broke into a habitually winning smile and offered her hand in the common Federated custom. The boy's eyes jumped from her outstretched hand to her center eye to her chest and back to her hand again. One of the dragons snickered, startling the boy out of his frozen shock. Licking his lips nervously, he took her hand, then kissed the back of it like a knight-errant from a bedtime story.
Opera couldn't help but laugh, as the boy let go of her hand and wrapped his hands around his drink again. "I'm sorry. No offense. It's just cute." The boy stole a glance at her through a fringe of bangs; she clearly saw him blushing. "I'm Opera Vectra, by the way. Originally from the planet Teragenes. Pleasure to meet you."
"Um, you too." He bobbed his head in what she interpreted as a sort of seated bow. "Ashton Anchors, originally from the continent of El…um… the planet Expel." He giggled self-consciously, as if introducing his home planet struck him as ridiculous.
"Expel, huh? Last I checked, Expellians had one head." She playfully patted the red dragon head, but cautiously moved away when a peeved whiff of smoke rose from its nostrils.
The boy, Ashton, groaned loudly into his gloved hands. "I know! I know. This isn't how I'm supposed to be. Something messed up. Somebody messed up, actually." He growled, an inarticulate sound of frustration, and thumped one fist on the countertop. "And they wouldn't even admit it. Damn it, they wouldn't even admit it…" He trailed off, unable to say any more. He gulped down another swallow of the weak brew and wiped the back of his glove across his mouth.
Can't even get drunk properly, Opera thought. Poor kid… She polished off the last of her cider and waved at the bartender, who was more than willing to rush over to her end of the bar. The man turned a shade paler once he caught a closer look at her face, but it only took a slight leaning forward over the bar to rivet him long enough to listen. "'Nother cider, and something for the kid. Ishidaya's pretty good, isn't it? That'll do, then. Thanks." She reached in her pocket for some coins, but Ashton looked up and grabbed her hand in protest. The barkeep chuckled, shaking his head as he walked off to prepare the drinks.
"No…no, I'll get it," the boy mumbled. "I mean, you're nice enough to talk to me and everything."
"No problem, kid," she shrugged. "You seem decent yourself. Now that I think of it, how old are you anyway? I can never tell with Expellians. For all I know you could be older than me."
"I don't think so. I'm seventeen winters, almost eighteen."
"Mm." She did some complicated mental equations, converting the Expellian seasons to units she could understand. "I'd be twenty-five summers, I guess. Wait, no. Twenty-one. What's the legal drinking age around here, anyway?"
The boy blushed a deeper shade of red and whispered, "Eighteen."
Opera smirked. "Aha. Let me guess, you can pass anyway."
"Well…."
"Ha. Some things are universal, Ashton, the first being that those just under the line will find a way to pass for just over the line." The bartender set down two drinks before them, one deep amber and the other the bracing clarity of pure liquor. The boy fumbled at his belt for a money pouch and turned in a handful of coins. "All right now, kid, drink up." Opera dipped into her jacket pocket for her cigarettes and found only three left. She lit one with a quick flare of her lighter, drawing stares both from the dragon-backed boy and the scattered patrons of the bar. Taking a deep drag, she smiled at the speechless young Expellian. "Though to be fair, I guess you're not that much younger than me. On Teragenes we'd only be a year apart, so. Y'know. I should stop calling you 'kid'."
"It's all right. As long as it's not 'Demon Boy' or something, I don't mind."
Opera laughed out loud. "Fair enough, hon, fair enough." She breathed out a stream of the sweet smoke of pure Teragene tobacco—still unhealthy, but better-tasting than any other she'd seen—and took a drink from her second cider. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up like that?"
Ashton took an experimental sip of the Ishidaya and coughed, then gulped some more. "It's not my fault. I was hired to fight the dragon in the mines, and these three—these people just—" He pounded on the table again, unable to give voice to his obvious frustration. The red dragon's head curved irritably over his shoulder, rumbling deep in its throat. The boy drank deeper from the mug and continued. "I had it and they messed it all up! And then this happened, and when I asked them to make it up to me they said no… they just… refused to accept res-responsi…bility." He drained the rest of the mug; his green eyes were watering, or tearing—maybe both, each camouflaging the other. "And that's it. I'm stuck like this, I guess. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I've… I've just been screwed over… excuse me. I'm sorry." One glove flew to his mouth, his cheeks flaming.
Opera laughed. "I've heard worse. I've said worse, often, without the excuse of being drunk. Don't worry about it." She signalled to the bartender, tapping the empty Ishidaya mug with the end of her cigarette.
Ashton smiled faintly. "Okay… well, I'm still sorry."
"Apology accepted." She smiled to herself as the bartender refilled Ashton's glass. She had the strangest impulse to hug the boy—not that he was her type, of course. The Teragene looked away and took another breath of smoke. The boy was quiet, sipping his second drink while the dragons slowly slipped into softly rattling slumber. She took the opportunity to gauge the reaction of the room. The bartender's attitude had noticeably cooled, though he, of course, would keep serving as long as they kept paying. She could hear fragments of furtive conversation from the miners at the back tables, but it didn't threaten an outburst like some other barroom rumblings. She'd heard them often enough this week to learn the difference.
"What's wrong?" the boy asked, looking up from his mostly-empty mug with a slightly unfocused gaze.
Opera waved away some lingering smoke. "Nothing… just listening to the chatter in the cheap seats."
"The what?"
"The guys at the back of the room." She took a deep breath. "Since I've come here I, uh….haven't gotten the best reception from some of your locals. Not the worst, but you know, not too friendly."
"Oh. Because of your…" He touched the center of his headband, where the first eye should be. He wouldn't make a bad Teragene, actually…
"Yeah, that."
"Oh," he repeated, and fell to musing again. The Ishidaya was powerful brew, at least in his inexperienced blood; the stiff set of his back had relaxed, and his gloves cupped loosely around the empty glass. He looked up at her, a faint blush lighting his cheeks, though he was probably more flustered than nervous. He gazed into her center eye for a moment with a cloudy, determined thoughtfulness, then lightly smacked his hand on the table. "I got it." The blue dragon head peered up with a slitted blue eye, then fell back to sleep with a soft rattle. Ashton pushed back his black headband. Opera's breath caught for a moment as something appeared in the center of his forehead. After a closer look, she realized it was only a mark on his skin. Noticing her scrutiny, Ashton touched the tips of his gloved fingers to it. "Yeah, this—that's part of my training." His hair slid into his eyes, and he absently raked it back.
"Training? What is it?" She couldn't guess what it represented; it was shaped the same as the cabochon that decorated his headband, a vertical oval with pointed ends.
"It's Heraldic tattooing. I use Heraldry in my swordfighting."
"Heraldry…?" She'd overheard the word before, in awed tones that reeked of power.
"Mm-hmm." With clumsy fingers he pulled off one of his black gloves, then pushed up the sleeve of his robe. An intricate sigil in ink radiated from the back of his hand and up his forearm. "It's meant to draw out the l…latent power we all have," he explained. "This is to strengthen my fighting. This…" he touched the mark on his forehead again with his still-gloved hand— "is to focus the mind. This focuses too," he added, holding out the headband. The deep red jewel in its center seemed to capture the bar's smoky light in its depths. "Hey, that reminds me. That's what I was going to do…" He moved toward her a bit, then stopped. "Wait. Close your eyes." She did so. The silly, childish feeling of the gesture was somehow justified by his manner; he seemed like one to which these things came naturally, as innocently as to a child. It was silly, but after a few drinks and in the presence of this honest, guileless boy, she found she didn't really mind.
Ashton carefully brushed her hair out of the way and settled the headband around her head, centering the gem over her eye. "There." He laughed self-consciously, almost giggling. "That works. Open your eyes, or at least two of them."
Opera looked up and blinked, adjusting to the lack of depth perception. The boy was standing next to her bar stool, weaving a bit on his feet; as she adjusted the headband he crashed back onto his own stool. "Good. It worked." He smiled and tipped the empty glass up, waiting for the last drop of liquid.
"Mmn, no more for you, hon." She pushed the empty glass toward the bartender and steadied the Expellian with an arm around his shoulders, trying not to disturb the dragons that snored softly with their heads on his lap.
"But… oh, all right…" He slumped toward her in the awkward half-circle of her right arm, his eyes drifting shut. Opera's heart quickened as she tried to catch him, but before he fell onto her, he caught himself on the edge of the bar. He braced himself on it with both hands, one bare and one gloved, a faint groan escaping his throat. "Ummm. Um, Opera?"
"I'm right here. Are you all right?"
"I'm tired," he muttered. "I want to go home."
"Where are you staying, Ashton?"
"Hmm?"
"Never mind." She sighed, wishing her own head weren't so cloudy for a moment. "Bartender, what's the damage?"
"Three thousand fifty-eight."
"Right." She fished out enough coins from her pockets to clear the charge, adding a grateful tip. "Can you walk?"
"Umhm." He stood up and immediately swooned, almost knocking her over. Opera grabbed him and held him up awkwardly. He was taller than she'd expected; she'd probably only come up to his shoulder. She caught her breath for a moment, fighting through the inebriation to figure out how to get him somewhere safe. The boy was out cold, and so were the dragons, although that wouldn't be much help anyway.
"Get a hold of yourself, girl," she muttered to herself. "You've dragged people out of bars before." She turned and managed to drape him over her back, his head and arms dangling over her shoulders. Collecting her blaster in her free hand, she trudged out of the Rough and Tumble and into the silent streets of Salva.
They probably made quite a sight, she thought, half amused. A couple of dragons riding piggyback on a man riding piggyback on a three-eyed woman carrying a gun two hundred years ahead of their technology. Good thing the streets were empty; there was no way to explain this and make it sound believable.
The inn stood at the opposite corner of town; Opera walked the whole way, bent over slightly, Ashton's toes dragging in the dust of the road. The sign read "The Hopping Penguin". She blinked, sure she'd mistranslated. Well, no matter. The innkeeper startled awake when she banged the door open, then laughed. "Go, take that poor kid upstairs. Just come back to pay, you hear?"
"Yes, arten."
"What?"
"Um. Never mind." In her distraction she'd slipped back to the Teragene form of address. She ditched her blaster in the umbrella stand and mounted the stairs.
The first room she reached was empty, thankfully; her muscles were starting to complain, between the day's walking and this. She rolled him off her back onto the low bed, on his stomach. The dragons started to snore strangely, but the boy barely stirred. Opera crashed onto the corner of the bed to rest for a moment, catching her breath.
She watched Ashton as he slept, but her thoughts drifted in countless different directions. Ernest… it might be hopeless. She'd crossed the plains and forests of this planet on foot for the last several days, looping through all of the major towns, creeping through caves with her blaster charged. This was the last stop; in a forest south of here lay the wreckage of her ship, where she'd begun. For all intents and purposes, her search was over.
Opera sighed, trying not to let herself get morbid about it… Maybe she'd find him someday, maybe not. At least she was free. She reached into her pocket for the next to last Teragene cigarette and lit it, breathing in the smoke, breathing out, watching it drift up into the dark. Honestly… she'd find enough to do. On a planet with dragons, and curses, and all manner of adventures… and people who weren't closed-minded and jaded… She looked down at Ashton again, deep in the absolute, trusting sleep of the innocent. A sudden impulse came over her, and she unlaced his dusty boots and pulled them off. He stirred a little, turned onto his side. Opera shook her head, turning away again. She didn't do things like that. She'd hauled her friends to safety, but she didn't tuck them in.
Still… it wasn't so bad here. They still had some sort of honor here, and the people loved excitement and freedom. There were battles to be fought, and maybe…
The orange ember of her cigarette faded into the dark, and she tossed the stub in her pocket, not wanting to litter the room. Opera slipped Ashton's headband from her head, blinking into the dark, and leaned over to slide it back over his head. Her fingers brushed the Heraldic mark on his forehead, and he stirred in his sleep, but did not wake. He was a strange bird, this one, but intriguing.
The people here had honor; at least this one did… maybe… maybe there were new friends to be found, too. Even without Ernest.
You could never tell.
Opera stood, stretching, in the dark. She crossed the tiny room to the door and closed it quietly behind her. She couldn't forget to pay the innkeeper.