Notes: Okay, so this is a re-post of the original which I deleted a while back because someone was driving me crazy about updates and I didn't want to deal with the constant demands to post more at the time. But, I'm going to try it again and see, since I'm reposting it on ao3. Please note, that version will be slightly smutty. This one will be mostly vanilla.

It's been edited and cleaned up, plus I've added some new/expanded dialogue. There are a lot of cameo appearances by characters from other installments of the Final Fantasy series, but the primary cast is still FFVIII.

This whole thing started with a dare. Write a cheesy romance in the style of one of those books with a half-naked Fabio on the cover. Then invert/subvert the tropes. The result is crack with too many ff characters in it. But of all the stories I've written, this one was the most fun. I don't know if I managed to subvert any tropes, and I'm still not sure if there's a plot, but I enjoyed writing it.

Hope you enjoy, too!

Adventures in Swashbuckling

One

Rinoa Heartilly-Caraway was late.

Time management was not her forte, but no one would wait for her today if she was tardy.

She cursed herself for dallying over what to take and what to leave, then cursed her father for lingering too long and delaying her escape. If he'd gone to his meeting when he was supposed to, Rinoa would already be staring back at port from the other side of a ship's bow.

She pushed her way through throngs of peasants and merchants and ignored the reek of the fish market and all the other unpleasant odors that permeated the air. The universe seemed determined to make her even later, and if she was, she would miss her only chance to escape her father's oppressive home and the impending doom of mind-numbing domesticity.

If she stayed, she would shrivel up and die of too much embroidery and boredom. She craved adventure and romance and action, and there was none of that for her here. Her father wanted to see her married to an awful man, and expected her to be a proper young lady in lace gloves and petticoats. To speak only when spoken to. To be seen and not heard.

Rinoa had no patience for that sort of thing. She might have plenty of practice, but she loathed embroidery and proper social engagements with her peers. All that gossip over afternoon tea and talk of who was courting who – it was all just so boring and pointless. She wanted to see the world and experience all it had to offer before she settled down to be some stranger's wife. That would never happen if she stayed here and obeyed her father's orders.

Hyne, even the Galas and the parades of suitors had grown predictable and tired. She used to love to dance with handsome men, all vying for her attention. She knew it was her father's good name, his money, they were interested in, and not her winning personality or pretty face. Once she understood that, the Galas and social events lost their appeal. She was not a barganing chip.

And so, her mind began to wander as she danced her way through party after party, imagining some mysterious and dashing young man would come and save her from her sad, boring, predictable life. Just like in her favorite books.

There was no handsome, dangerous savior waiting to swoop in to rescue her, and no such man existed. That man was just a figment of her imagination, the sort of hero only found in stories.

Rinoa Heartilly-Caraway had no choice but to rescue herself instead. She would take matters into her own hands, determine her own fate, independent of her father or a husband.

A week ago, the opportunity to escape landed right in her lap. As she wandered along the docks to gaze at the ships, dressed down in a simple wool and linen frock to fit in with the commoners, a woman approached her and asked if she knew anyone with experience as a cook.

Rinoa was wary at first.

Though the woman wore a gown of expensive silk and possessed the bearing of a queen, there was something dangerous about her. Intuition said this woman was not someone Rinoa wanted to tangle with.

The whip and the dagger at her hip were only a small part of how intimidating she was. There was something cold in her eyes. Something hungry.

Plenty of women armed themselves, especially near the wharf. It could be dangerous for a woman alone, but Quistis Trepe, First Mate of the famed Pirate ship Lionheart did not fear the violence of lecherous men. Rinoa sensed right away that men needed to fear her.

This was the kind of woman Rinoa would never be, but deeply admired. No one told her what to do. She would never be told she had no choice but to marry the man of her father's choosing, and she would destroy any man who dared to try.

When the First Mate asked about an available cook, Rinoa lied through her teeth.

Yes. Of course she could cook.

Luck must have been on her side. Trepe hired her on the spot, and now she was on her way, though running very late for the adventure of a lifetime that awaited her on the high seas.

So long as she didn't miss her ride.

She hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder and her steps quickened as the herd thinned at the end of the fish market. The triple masts of the great ship rose above the harbor, all three taller and more prominent than any of the others. She smiled at the black flag depicting a prideful lion head on a cross. The fabric flapped in a crisp wind and announced to all that the infamous Lionheart was at port.

As she made her way down the dock, her foot tangled in a coil of thick rope left lying on the weathered wood. She squeaked, flailed, and landed face-down on the wooden planks, her foot still hopelessly tangled.

She prayed no one saw, but the laughter behind her said otherwise.

Carefully, she kicked her entangled foot free, pushed herself to her knees and straightened the skirts of her dress. She pressed a hand to her face, her cheek warm where it struck the dock, and the men behind her laughed harder.

She sighed at her clumsiness, but lifted her chin and hitched her bag up over her shoulder again. She was not off to a great start so far, but at least she didn't fall into the harbor and lose her belongings, too.

A dark-haired man watched from the bow of the Lionheart, smirking at her lack of grace. Rinoa frowned back.

Hmm. Well, she would be sure to avoid that one while aboard. A gentleman would come down to make sure she was all right.

Then again, she was boarding a Pirate ship, so she could not expect chivalry. After all, from all she'd read about Pirates, they were only chivalrous when it served them.

She headed up the gangplank and found herself inside the belly of the ship. The crew was doing... things. She assumed they were all engaged in tasks required to ready the ship for sail, though she had no name for half of what she saw. She edged around them toward the galley, which was located at the front of the ship.

The galley was empty, except for a young man with spiky, sandy blonde hair, a healthy tan, and a wicked looking tattoo on the left side of his face. He was short, but muscular and he didn't look friendly. Rinoa bit her lip and wondered what she'd gotten herself into.

"You lost?"

He spared her a glance before he returned his attention to the wood stove. He chucked a few pieces of wood inside and the flames licked up against the grate.

"I'm looking for Zell," she said.

He flashed a sunny grin that made his pretty blue eyes crinkle at the corners. Smiling, he was far less threatening. No one with a smile like that could be mean.

"You found him," he said. "What'cha need?"

"I'm Rinoa," she said. "First Mate Trepe hired me for the cook's assistant job."

"Perfect timing," Zell said. "Come on in and we'll get started."

Rinoa stepped inside the galley and looked around. The wood stove was on the left, pantries on the right. A wooden butcher's block dominated the middle of the room. Barrels of things were stacked haphazardly here and there, and crates of vegetables sat next to the door. The whole room smelled of wood fire and flour and something earthy.

"Ye can put yer things in that bunk over there," Zell said. He pointed toward the front of the room. "Take the bottom. Top one's mine."

"What?"

He pulled back a dirty muslin curtain to reveal two pairs of bunks set into the wall, one above the other and a crude ladder made of knotted rope. The empty bottom bunk was neatly made with rough-spun, inexpensive fabric.

"Just put yer bag there."

"We're sharing quarters?"

"Cooks sleep in the galley," Zell said. "Blank and Cinna are over there."

He pointed to the bunks on the other side. Stupefied, Rinoa dropped her bag onto the thin mattress.

"Word to the wise," Zell said. "Do not play cards with Blank and never drink with Cinna."

Rinoa wiped her sweaty hands on her dress and gazed around the room that would be her home indefinitely. She thought there would be separate quarters for ladies. Speaking from experience, she knew a woman's reputation could be utterly ruined for less.

But this was an adventure and she was no longer a proper lady with a good reputation. She would take things as they were and not complain. Even if it meant sharing sleeping quarters with men.

"All the cooking utensils and pots are here," Zell said and opened a cabinet below the workspace. "The knives are mine, so treat 'em with respect. I plan menus ahead of time, and all the recipes are in that book over there." He pointed to the counter near the pantry. "We do three meals a day, no snacks, so if ye see anyone in here helping themselves besides the Cap'n or the First Mate, you have my permission to get violent. I recommend a frying pan to the skull. They usually don't come back after that."

Rinoa let out a little laugh, then sobered when she realized he was serious.

"What am I responsible for?" she asked.

"You'll help me with meal preparation, but your main job will be serving the Cap, the First Mate and the Quartermaster, Xu. They dine in their quarters, everyone else eats out there," Zell said hitching a thumb toward the room outside. "Cap, Quistis, and Xu are served first, then the crew, and then us."

"What do Blank and Cinna do?"

Zell grinned.

"All the stuff I don't wanna do," he said. "Peel potatoes, gut fish, wash dishes, clean up the barf when the crew drinks too much. Stuff like that."

That sounded okay. At least she wouldn't be washing dishes or gutting fish or cleaning up vomit. She could handle being a cook and a serving girl, even if she really didn't know how to cook.

The truth was, Rinoa Heartilly-Caraway never cooked a thing in her life. She wasn't even sure how to boil water and she never needed to know until now. She figured it couldn't be that hard, so long as there were instructions. With a little practice, she'd be fine. Until then, she'd fake it.

A streak of yellow and brown burst into the galley and flung itself into the only chair in the room. Rinoa started as the visitor sighed dramatically and propped her feet up on a vegetable crate. She wore a bright yellow tunic over brown pants tucked into knee-high boots, and her hair was flipped up on the ends.

"Outta my kitchen Sef," Zell said.

"I'm hiding," the girl said. "From Irvy."

"What now?"

"He's a filthy picaroon," she said and stuck out her lip. "That's what."

"Psh, how is that different from any other day?" Zell asked. "Rinoa, this is Selphie. She and Irvine handle munitions, though why in Hyne's name anyone thought it was a good idea to let her anywhere near the explosives is beyond me."

"Because I'm good at blowing stuff up," Selphie said. Her eyes narrowed. "And ye know it."

"Don't threaten the cook, Sef," Zell said and pointed his wooden spoon at her. He poured on the accent. "Ye might get a special meal, made especially fer ye."

Selphie rolled her eyes and hopped to her feet to look Rinoa over.

"Can I call you Rinny?" Selphie asked.

"Um... I guess?" she said. "My friends call me Rin sometimes."

"You and me are gonna be best mates, Rinny," Selphie said. There was an impish gleam in her eyes. "I can feel it."

The girl was friendly enough but something about her screamed violence and mayhem. Rinoa wasn't sure if that was good thing or a bad thing, but it would be nice to have a female friend on the ship. There didn't seem to be many of them around, Selphie being only the second she knew of, and though the First Mate was polite, but she was not terribly friendly.

Selphie plucked an apple from the crate by the door and opened her mouth to take a bite. Zell turned on her with a glare and whacked her on the hand with his spoon.

"Get outta me kitchen if you know what's good for ya," Zell said. "No grazing!"

"Geez, you're stingy," Selphie said. "Like you're going to miss one little apple."

"Say that again when we're twenty days out and all we have left is rice and turnips and rats," Zell said.

Rinoa cringed. He wasn't serious, was he? Rats? Rats weren't food, they were diseased vermin, and as far as she knew, not edible.

"That stew ya made last time wasn't half bad," Selphie said.

"Aye. Except for the bones," Zell said.

"It gave it some texture," Selphie said. "And anyway, we're not going to be so far away from a port that we'll have to go without."

"Don't care. No grazing."

Selphie tossed the apple back into the crate. "Oh, by the way. "Cap'n's in a mood."

"Oh, great," Zell said. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Any time," Selphie said with a wave. "Come have a drink with me later, Rinny! I'll tell you which of these boys to watch out for."

"Irvine," Zell fake-coughed.

Selphie scowled and threw a potato at him. It missed, hit the wall, and rolled across the floor.

Zell turned on her with a scowl and chased her all the way out of the galley, brandishing his spoon.

When he returned, Zell showed Rinoa his book of recipes, the meal plan, and shared his tricks for making meals go further, which was to add potatoes, turnips or rice to everything.

She tried not to frown as she looked over the ingredients in the recipes. They looked bland, boring, and there wasn't a lot of variety. Most were stews, chowders or soups. Breakfast was boiled oats or hominy, both of which Rinoa detested.

"Let's get started on the bread," Zell said. "Should have time to whip up a few batches of dough and get 'em proofed before we set sail."

Zell was patient. He talked her through the recipe and only looked a little irritated when she dropped a whole cup of flour on the floor.

"Don't worry about it," he promised. "Just... Be careful. We don't have a lot of room for waste. If we run out, there aren't many ports where we can restock once we get to Centra, so we have to make it last."

"So, Selphie wasn't joking about the rat stew?"

"Aye, she wasn't joking," Zell said. "But, when you're hungry, it doesn't matter so much what ye eat, so long as it's hot and fills yer belly."

He reached for the broom. Rinoa took it from him and began to sweep the mess she made.

"I'm sorry about this," she said. "I'm nervous, I guess."

"I promise I don't bite," Zell said. "The Cap'n on the other hand...Well this'll stay between us."

He tried to take the broom from her, but Rinoa insisted on doing it herself. She made the mess, it was her job to clean it. Besides, maybe she would learn better by watching Zell work instead of jumping in blind. If she could pick up a few things by watching, maybe she could fake it well enough that no one would know she'd never cooked anything before.

"Topside!" a voice bellowed from the hall. "Crew, Topside, pronto!"

"That's our cue," Zell said. Of the mess Rinoa was still sweeping, he said, "just leave it."

Rinoa followed him up the stairs to the deck, where the entire crew gathered. Rinoa tried not to gawk at all the strange and ostentatious clothing around her, but it was hard not to stare.

Some were dressed in simple and practical clothing, but others wore breeches with fancy top coats and big, funny tricorn hats. It all seemed oddly formal to her, but she knew nothing about living on a ship and what she knew of Pirates came from books and third-hand gossip.

One man in particular stood out. His hair was a shiny red-blonde and tied back with a black ribbon. On his head was a large hat of purple velvet with large plumes of feathers sticking out one side. Others wore similar hats, but his stood out because of the color and overall size in comparison. He also wore a long coat of burnished gold brocade that fell all the way to his calves and there were copious ruffles at his throat.

He must be the Captain! Handsome, but a bit of a dandy, isn't he?

As she took him in, he turned on a charming smile and wiggled his eyebrows at her. She averted her gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring. If he was the Captain, it certainly didn't seem like he was in a mood. Then again, Selphie never specified what kind of mood he might be in. Perhaps she meant lustful and salacious. Ready to pillage and ravage the way Pirates did in books.

The crew went silent as the door below the ship's wheel opened and out stepped a man in a long, unadorned black coat, save the silver buttons down the front and at the wrists. Three thin, studded belts wrapped around his waist to secure an odd looking sword-revolver weapon Rinoa had never seen before. Under the jacket was a simple white linen shirt open at the collar. A lion pendant on a thick silver chain hung around his neck.

Unlike the others, he wore no hat and his wind-blown hair hid his face as he stalked across the deck to stand before the crew with his arms crossed over his chest. Rinoa shivered as though the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.

"That's the Captain," Zell whispered. "Look sharp when he's around. He don't like slackers, but he does enjoy throwing them overboard."

Rinoa's posture straightened and she clasped her hands behind her back to keep them still. She was so nervous, she was sure it showed on her face, and she didn't want to seem like she was scared to death or intimidated. Even if she was.

The First Mate touched him lightly on the arm and whispered something in his ear. He gave her a curt nod and looked up, straight into Rinoa's eyes.

Eyes the color of blue steel peered back at her and her heart quickened in her chest.

Up close, he was devastatingly handsome in a pretty kind of way, and much, much younger than she imagined any ship Captain would be. He couldn't have been more than a year older than she was. If that.

To her dismay, she realized this was the same man who watched her fall so gracefully on the docks. The one who smirked at her.

Of course she would fall on her face in front of the ship's Captain. That was just her luck. He must think her an uncoordinated dolt.

A deep blush spread over her cheeks as the corner of his mouth hitched up as though he was still amused by her stumble. Indignant, she lifted her chin and stared back until he swept his gaze over the rest of the crew.

"The Dread Pirate Almasy has been spotted east of Centra," he said. "Word has it, he's looking for the same thing we are."

He was rather soft-spoken and his voice was not as deep as she imagined it would be, but it was firm and commanding just the same. A voice like that could compel her to do almost anything. It sounded the way fine velvet felt and there was a hint of whiskey in it; a curious contrast to the aura of danger he projected.

"We can not afford to let him find it first," he said. "I want all hands on deck. We need to make waves if we're to catch up with him."

"What happens when we do?" A voice called out.

"Then we engage him," he said, "and make sure he's never a problem again."

"Booyaka!" Selphie shouted, earning her a wry look from the Captain. "KaBOOM!"

"Aye," he said. "We give him no quarter."

A chorus of agreement rose all around her. Rinoa had read enough in books to know that meant there would be no mercy for this rival.

Rinoa wondered what they were looking for. She hoped it was treasure, but the prospect of a high seas battle made her insides flutter. What if the ship sank and they all drowned?

"All crew members to your stations," he ordered. "Quistis, take the helm."

"Aye," Quistis said. "All crew to your stations!"

All around her the crew burst into frenzied motion and she shielded her eyes to watch men climb the masts and all the going to-and-fro. People called out things out to one another, and it was like listening to some new, exotic language. She didn't know what any of it meant, but it was exciting. Better than any daydream she ever had and better than any books she ever read.

When the sails unfurled, Rinoa lost her breath. They rippled and filled with a snap as the wind caught, and the ship began to move.

"Jib!" a voice behind her cried.

"What?" she asked as she turned around -

Only to be smacked in the head by the boom of the mainsail as it caught the wind and careened across the deck. Stars sparked behind her eyes and the world started to spin. A second later, she hit the deck, her vision blurred and then went dark.

Rinoa awoke some time later, unsure of where she was, but her head was pounding and she could see her pulse in her eyes.

The room was dim, lit only by a candle in a glass holder on the table. Fine tapestries hung on the walls, along with maps and charts of the stars. The bed she lay in was wide and plush and smelled of something spicy and masculine.

She sat up and took a look around, only to find the Captain staring back at her from his place at the table across the room.

"How's your head?"

"Hurts," she croaked. "What happened?"

"You didn't have the sense to duck when you were told to."

Rinoa didn't remember being told to duck, but she suspected she'd done something monumentally stupid. She raised a hand to the lump on the side of her head, winced, and let it drop to her lap.

"Where am I?"

"My quarters."

His voice was soft, but his tone was icy and there was something predatory in his steely, cat-like stare. She half feared he was going to do something untoward to her and a shiver of terror went through her entire body. She was in his room, in his bed. Pirates took what they wanted, didn't they?

She swore, if he tried anything, she would stab him with his own revolver-sword thing.

"Can you stand?"

"I think so."

"Then get out and go back to work," he said and turned his attention from her to peer at a map on the table in front of him.

Rinoa scrambled to her feet, grateful that he seemed to have no interest in ravishing her. She all but ran from the room.

Twice now, she fell right on her face in front of him. He must think she was completely incapable of staying vertical.

Staying vertical continued to prove a more difficult task than anticipated as she rushed out onto deck. A strong wind blew her hair into her eyes, and the boat rocked beneath her feet. She took a few wobbly steps toward the stairs and her stomach rolled.

Still, the view was incredible. The ocean around the ship was a vast, deep ultramarine capped in white, and it stretched in all directions to the horizon. There wasn't even a sliver of land in sight.

A fresh, salty spray washed over the deck as the ship cut a path through the waves and Rinoa remembered why she decided to do this.

She was free! No more boring suitors or stiff, formal parties. No more overbearing father, no more staring out the window, full of dreams that would never come true. No more embroidery!

A giggle bubbled up in her chest and she righted herself, determined to see this through.

Down in the galley, Zell was in the midst of dinner preparation. He cast a harried and irritated glance at the two men on the floor peeling potatoes. When he spied Rinoa, he smiled and ushered her into the room.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Never seen anyone go down that hard."

"I'm fine."

"You didn't hear the jib?"

"What's a jib?"

"Oh man, you've never been on a ship before, have ye?"

Rinoa bit her lip and shook her head.

"Well, that explains a lot," he said and returned to the pot at the stove. "Whenever anyone yells the word jib or jibe, it means ye need to duck because the boom's on the move and if ye don't get down in time... well, ye found out the hard way what happens."

"That would have been a useful piece of information to know beforehand."

"I woulda told you if I'd known ye were a virgin."

"What does my virtue have to do with it?" Rinoa asked, appalled.

Zell smirked at the pot on the stove and snorted. He reached for an apron at tossed it to her.

"Put that on. We've got work to do."

Cooking was a lot more work than she thought it would be. She burned her hand twice when removing bread from the oven, and she'd nearly chopped her finger off while slicing carrots to put into the mutton stew. She accidentally burned two loaves of bread and dropped a third on the floor. The two burned loaves couldn't be served, but Zell assured her he would find use for them. The dropped loaf, he dusted off and stacked with the others.

"The miscreants will never know," he said with a wink.

Zell wasn't phased by the pace of the work. He bounced around the room and banged on things with spoons when idle. Rinoa couldn't keep up, but she tried, and at least he was friendly. He chatted about the crew and the troubles with the pirate the captain mentioned. Zell described the Dread Pirate Almasy in a deeply unfavorable light, and Rinoa wondered if he was related to another Almasy she met not so long ago.

He also gave her some pointers and things to look out for aboard the ship, all of which would be helpful in the days and weeks to come. She was only now aware of how out of her depth she was, and any little bit of advice was welcome. Her survival aboard this ship would depend on it.

Rinoa was exhausted by the time the meal was ready. She'd never worked this hard in her entire life. While there was something very liberating about real work, she didn't expect to be so tired and nauseous after, either.

Her stomach rolled, and she wasn't sure why. Nerves, maybe, but between the ship swaying under her feet and the frantic pace, her stomach was in revolt.

Zell prepared a tray with large bowl, a tureen full of stew, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of red wine, and pushed it across the counter.

"Take this up to the Cap'n," Zell said. "And make sure you ask him if he requires anything else. Say it just like that. He's an all right guy and he's a great Cap'n, but he's particular about the way things are done."

"Got it," Rinoa said and lifted the tray. "Be right back."

On unsteady legs, she climbed the ladder. It wasn't easy to balance the tray and ascend at the same time. Her headache and nausea didn't help. She almost dropped the tray twice, but managed to make it to the top without spilling anything.

Outside the door of the Captain's quarters, she hesitated. Was she supposed to knock? She couldn't let go of the tray without causing the contents to slide, so she used her foot to kick the door with her boot.

At that exact same moment, the Captain opened the door, and her foot collided with his shin, not once, but twice.

Rinoa dropped the tray in surprise, and the contents of both tureen and wine bottle spilled all over the Captain.

He stared at her and wiped a bit of mutton off his cheek.

She was done for. He would make her walk the plank for this, have her hanged. Whatever Pirates did for punishment.

So, she did the only thing she could think of to do. She looked him square in the eye and asked:

"Will you be requiring anything else, sir?"