All characters of FFIII (FFVI, whatever) are © of Square.
Being a Hero
Locke poked at the pile of bones, guts, and generally gory mess of what was once a very nasty monster with a long (he would have preferred it longer) stick.
"It's dead," he decided aloud.
"Gee, what clued you in, genius? The maggots, the flies, or the fact that its head is separated from its body—"
A well-aimed elbow in the ribs from Celes silenced Edgar's somewhat sarcastic litany.
"Very dead," she agreed with Locke, wrinkling her nose at the unsavory smell of decaying flesh.
Edgar, feeling miffed at being ignored, began muttering, "Good thing Sabin's not here, he'd be doing that stupid 'Oh yay, dead monster' victory dance of his, stupid idiotic brother..."
"Aw, does poor Edgar miss his nice, soft bed at Figaro Castle?" Locke asked as innocently as possible (which, considering his profession and acting ability, wasn't all that innocent). He hadn't heard exactly what Edgar had been complaining about, but he guessed correctly that the good king was upset by their less than royal quality camping conditions.
Locke, Edgar, and Celes were standing in the middle of a lovely field somewhere near Kohlingen. The grass was green, the sky was clear, the sun was bright, and approximately every thirty feet or so lay the corpse of a dead monster. (Well, saying "dead" is somewhat redundant, since if something is a "corpse" it's usually dead. Usually. Those undead are nasty fellas...)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Locke's last remark. While Edgar shot daggers with his eyes at him for that, Celes cleared her throat loudly and said, just as loudly, "So are we going to set up camp here?"
Edgar glanced around at their chosen campsite dubiously.
"Well, it's either this, or closer to the monsters we just killed over there," Celes said impatiently, pointing at the fresh, bloody carcasses of several decidedly disgusting looking monsters.
Edgar was pondering. Hmm...fresh dead animal, or rotting dead animal. Choices, choices....
"I don't see anything wrong with this spot," Locke said cheerfully while swatting away a pesky maggot that had crawled up on his shoe.
"Then it's settled." Celes declared, "This will be our campsite." Edgar merely sighed and idly wondered how all of the history books and old ballads conveniently failed to mention this sort of thing happening to the heroes, while his two friends began unloading their gear.
"Lesse now," Locke said thoughtfully, contemplating the tent he was setting up, "we have two tents, and once Sabin's back there'll be four of us."
Edgar rolled his eyes. Apparently grade school math was not a requirement for being a 'treasure hunter.' "Two people per tent, Locke."
"Right, right," Locke answered distractedly, watching Celes' back intently as she busied herself with her own tent.
Comprehension dawned in Edgar's eyes. He grinned lecherously. "Ah...I guess I'll be going with Celes. Locke, you and Sabin can take the other tent."
Locke looked at him incredulously and snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure poor, innocent Celes wants you of all people sleeping beside her, when someone like me is around."
Edgar was about to reduce Locke to a bite-sized worm with one of his scathing remarks, but was interrupted when "poor, innocent Celes" came up to the two men and gave each of them an irritated whack to the head with her gauntletted fists that sent their heads spinning, and not because of her heavenly good looks. Apparently, Celes had heard their most recent discussion concerning bedding arrangements.
"Ahem, I just want to tell you boys that this is my tent," she stated in a tone that said "don't piss me off or I will kill you messily," and indicated the tent she had just set up.
Locke opened his mouth (presumably to put his foot into it), but Celes cut him off before he could say anything, leaving him like a fish out of water, his mouth hanging open widely.
"I'll warn you two right now that I tend to talk in my sleep quite loudly."
"That's alright—" Edgar began.
"And I kick in my sleep. Hard."
The two men looked at each other a little nervously. It was well-known that, despite the fact that Locke continually told her that he had never, ever been attacked by anything as long as he was in a tent, Celes still slept in full armour. Which included her steel-toed, titanium reinforced, spike-heeled boots.
"And I'm somewhat jumpy. The kind of person who would 'stab first, ask questions later' if something surprised me in the middle of the night."
Edgar and Locke, who had been eager to hop into Celes' tent just a moment ago, were more than just a little nervous now. It was also a well-known fact that the former general slept with sword in hand too (If anyone teased her on this point, she would mutter darkly "better paranoid than dead". People tended to leave her alone after that).
At that moment, Sabin decided to enter this little scene. "Hey everyone!" he called out loudly "Look who I found at Kohlingen!"
A dark figure, coming (seemingly) from out of nowhere, stepped out from behind Sabin.
"This is Shadow." The prince announced cheerfully. "He's coming with us."
Edgar glanced at the two little tents they had. He glanced at Celes, who was staring at her sword contemplatively.
"Well...Shadow, we only have two tents for five people, so, well, aheh, you can go with Celes," Edgar gestured at the only woman in the party, who was currently standing with her arms crossed across her chest and glaring at no one in particular.
Locke, seeing an alarming scowl growing on Celes' face, said diplomatically, "Or I guess the four of us can squeeze into one tent..."
Shadow didn't respond. Not a muscle twitched to betray his emotions. When he spoke, it might as well have been the voice of a dead man, except dead men can't speak.
"I'm leaving. Ta ta." He turned to go.
"Hey wait!" Sabin yelled, waving his arms frantically. "You can't leave just like that!"
"Why not?" Shadow intoned ominously, in a way that would have made Sabin shut up if he had been paying more attention.
"Because I paid you 3000 GP!!" the prince of Figaro exclaimed in frustration.
"And I said I'd leave anytime I feel like it. And I do now."
Some might think that these words attest to Shadow's callousness, his total lack of feelings. Actually, these words attest to one of Shadow's many abilities he had learned in order to survive (and make a little money at the same time) in a world where being an assassin is not looked upon as the most respectable of professions. Over the years, he had developed a keen sense that told him when it would be less than conducive to one's health to stay any longer in one place. When it would be wise to bail out.
Think about jumping over a waterfall, with piranhas nipping at your heels the whole way down, only to land on a certain monster-infested Veldt. Think about staying on a monster-infested floating island to face a power-crazed clown (who happens to have a few buttons missing) who has the magical power to tear the world apart like a cheap bit of cloth armour. Think about staying in a town full of less than friendly mage warriors who aren't particularly fond of strangers, only to raise a daughter who would later find it fascinating to enter into the wonderful world of profanity at the tender age of ten.
Think of sleeping in a small (very small) tent beside an irate ex-general of the oh-so-kind-and-forgiving empire who has a habit of chopping off body parts in her sleep, or in another small (very small) tent with three other men, one of whom is the size of a small Tusker, another who is a lecherous womanizer, and the other being a notorious thief.
Yes, Shadow's "it's time to leave" sense was sending some definite warning signals.
"Come, Interceptor," the ninja called out.
To Edgar, Locke and Celes, it wasn't apparent whom the ninja was summoning, but Sabin said, "Oh damn," and quickly dropped flat onto the ground.
Edgar felt the sensation of something big and ugly tackling him enthusiastically with its claws, then bounding away after Shadow's retreating form. The king lost his balance and fell into a conveniently placed mud hole.
"See, that's why I wear my armour all the time. Never know when something is planning to attack you," Celes said smugly to Locke.
"Yeah, whatever," he waved her aside, "Damn, that thing was fast! It just came out of nowhere!"
"That was Shadow's dog, Interceptor. Cute little thing, isn't he?" said Sabin.
"Hello? Can anyone help me up here?" Edgar pleaded from his position of being sprawled in the mud.
"Cute? Little? Are you feeling alright, Sabin?"
"I guess you guys didn't get a good look at him. He really is an adorable little fella."
"Hellooo? Anyone there?!"
"You weren't drinking while you were in Kohlingen, were you, Sabin?"
"Of course not, Celes! Master Duncan said that stuff will poison your body."
"HEY!! CAN SOMEONE GIVE ME A HAND HERE!!!"
Sabin, Locke, and Celes looked at Edgar.
"Sheesh, bro, you don't have to scream."
"Eew! You're all covered in mud!"
"Can't his royal highness even keep himself clean?"
Edgar gritted his teeth and hoisted himself out of the mud hole he had been sitting in. He was absolutely filthy.
Locke grinned and pointed in an easterly direction. "There's a nice stream you can wash yourself in that we passed about two miles back," he told Edgar. "Make sure you get back before dark."
Thinking evil thoughts about maiming a certain 'treasure hunter,' the king of Figaro began trudging east, dripping mud the whole way.
Sometime later, Celes remarked, "You know, I think he should have at least taken a weapon with him."
When Edgar got back, minus the mud, he had some new scratches and bruises on him, plus one nasty cut across his previously unmarred face, which he was extremely ticked off about. When anyone asked him about it, or even mentioned the word "monster," he would go into a snarling fit.
Dinner that night was supposed to be roasted Leafer, except it was Celes' turn to cook that night, and, well, let's just say one does not get much experience in the culinary arts when one is a general of the empire. Locke had, of course, said it was delicious, before excusing himself to be violently ill away from camp and Celes' hearing range.
The whole time Edgar was asking himself why he was out here and not in his nice banquet hall at Figaro castle.
"So what are our sleeping arrangements for the night?" Sabin asked, looking a little green in the face, but able to hold down his meal.
Celes, for some reason, hadn't been affected by her own cooking at all. "You three will take the orange tent, and I will take the green tent," she said, with perfect calmness.
"Three of us in one tent?" Sabin said skeptically then decided to shut his mouth when Celes turned her serene gaze on him. She was rather frightening when she was like that, Edgar reflected, especially in the firelight.
Locke came back right then, and Celes turned to him and inquired if he was feeling better. Locke laughed in an embarrassed sort of way and nervously said that yes, he was feeling better, he had probably been poisoned slightly by a monster they had fought that day...
Or a monster we ate today, Edgar thought grimly, feeling a little nauseous himself. Where did that girl learn to cook...?
Celes was fondly recalling how Cid had taught her to cook a fish once. She would always remember that cooking lesson gratefully. Sure, a Leafer, wasn't exactly a fish, but the concept was the same; just put food in a fire.
"I'm going to sleep now," she announced suddenly, and gave the three men a radiant smile. She knew they were putty in her hands when she used that smile.
"And I would appreciate it if one of you would kindly stand watch. I'm still nervous about travelling in the wild with such a small group," she continued girlishly, then ducked into her tent before the others could argue with her.
Edgar, Sabin, and Locke stared after her for a moment before making a beeline for their tent and managing to somehow get all three of them stuck at the door. Amidst the arguing, thrashing, and general mayhem that inevitably occurred thereafter, one of the tent's flimsy supports was knocked down. Things only got worse after that.
"Okay, this obviously isn't going to work," Edgar said with as much patience as he could muster after being pushed into a mud hole by a rabid dog, attacked by monsters while weaponless, nearly poisoned at dinner by Celes' delightful "cooking", and practically suffocated under the damn tent just recently. "We should draw straws or something to see who has to stand watch," he managed to get out through clenched teeth.
"Why don't we have a strength contest?" Sabin suggested, not surprisingly, already eyeing some obscenely heavy-looking rocks.
"Nah, why don't we just race to that tree and back and see who's the slowest?" Locke gave his suggestion, full knowing that he could outrun the other two easily, any day of the week.
"How about something fair, you dingbats? We'll draw straws."
Sabin and Locke didn't seem very pleased at this prospect. Sabin suddenly brightened and, looking very pleased with himself, pointed out, "But we don't have any straws. We can't draw straws without any straws!"
"Shut up, brother." Edgar was tempted to throw a nice, heavy rock at Sabin's head, but instead he picked three blades of grass of varying lengths and held them in his hand so that they appeared to all be the same size. "Whoever gets the longest one has to stand watch. Now draw!" he barked in a military tone that would have impressed General Leo himself.
Locke shrugged and picked one of the blades of grass. Sabin followed suit. Edgar opened his hand and regarded his lot.
"Wow, that's one long piece of grass you have there, bro."
"Hope you enjoy standing watch, Edgar old buddy. Our lives our in your hands." Locke grinned widely, slapping the king on the back. Everyone knew that no one ever, ever got attacked while in a tent.
Edgar scowled as his "friends" left him alone to stand watch. Yeah, you two just yuck it up. He sat down on a rock that was somewhat less jagged than the rest, though it was by no means comfortable. Especially for his royal tush.
It was going to be a long night. Time to ponder, and let memories, whether unpleasant or joyful, take over reality. Time to figure out his purpose in life, the meaning of it all, how that "kick me" sign got on his back...hey wait a minute...
A little while later, Edgar decided being a vigilant watchman was very, very boring and, ironically, tended to make one feel entirely unvigilant. After playing a tenth tic-tac-toe game with himself, and having numerous daydreams (though it wasn't day anymore) about scantily clad women, he got up and began pacing between the two tents.
From Sabin and Locke's tent, he could hear some extremely loud snoring that he would have guessed was a mammoth, if his 'little' brother weren't in there. And in those rare moments when the cacophony of Sabin's nighttime endeavors ceased, he could hear Locke mumbling in his sleep. Edgar listened to him for a moment, and could make out: "Oh, Celes... you naughty girl... hee hee, mmm..."
And they call me a lecher. Hmph. He scowled, and felt that...that....thing Celes had concocted at dinner doing the Snowman Jazz in his stomach.
Celes' tent was silent, despite her assurances that she talked in her sleep and would wake up at any bit of noise.
Hmmm...I guess I'd better check on her to make sure she's all right. Heh heh.
He silently tip-toed over to Celes' tent, and opened up the flap just a fraction of an inch.
What followed involved a very un-Celes like scream, which some may recognize as the universal scream of a woman being walked in on while, ah, indecently exposed (Edgar, having heard it several times before, certainly recognized it), an ominous slashing noise, and a bedraggled king of Figaro being thrown back about ten feet by a hoppin' mad Celes in her 'stab first, ask questions later' mode.
Edgar, getting up from his unfortunate fall, decided every bone in his body was broken and vowed to give up women forever. He heard an angry "hmph" from Celes' tent, and, after laying in agony for a few minutes, turned to yell at her for nearly killing him.
Instead of fulfilling this ungentlemanly intent, however, his eyes grew as wide as saucers and he stared at the green tent with the fascination of a schoolboy with a playboy magazine.
Celes had lit up an oil lamp or some other sort of light, and he could see her silhouette through the thin tent canvas. Her slim, perfect form was barely hidden by a tight-fitting peek-a-boo nightie. Edgar, needless to say, was enjoying the show immensely.
Heh. I could sit here all night. Eat your heart out, Locke. Who would have thought Celes would be into lingerie...
The light in the tent suddenly disappeared, along with his source of entertainment.
Edgar scowled. He seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. Can things get any worse...?
It started to rain. Hard. His blond locks were now plastered to his skull, and he was quite certain he was about to have a severe case of hypothermia. I just had to ask.
He thought he could hear a crack of thunder in the distance, and if he wasn't mistaken, that was a herd of Tuskers coming to trample him (but they wouldn't touch the lucky folks in the tents).
He sighed.
Sometimes being a hero wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Fin
Author's Note
I do believe this is the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. Fancy that!