Act Three

Sixteen of the years are spent searching for the little furry baby, and Sorceress Vayne, he looks every-which-where for her. Most of all, everyone knows that Castle Behemoth, the scary, overly-gothic castle on aptly-named Forbidden Mountains--oh, the names, they slay me!--thunders with wrath and anger and other not-nice emotions while little furry baby still lives.

"This is ridiculous!" Vayne cried, shooting purple lightning out of his staff at random. His followers cringed. "How hard can it be to find one little rabbit-eared person? She couldn't have cast Vanish, not at her level!" Vayne leveled a finger at one of the lackeys gathered around him. "Are you sure you looked everywhere, Larsa?"

"Yes," Larsa answered, frowning at the accusatory finger in his direction. "All the houses, the towns, every hi-potion shop--"

"--and all the cradles!" one lackey chimed in over Larsa's shoulder. Vayne went very still.

"Cradles?" Vayne's eye twitched, and Larsa began backing away slowly.

"Yeah, allll the cradles," the same lackey grinned idiotically.

Vayne's eye twitched again, more violently. "Cradles?!" He looked to his crow for solace. "Do you hear that, pet? These mindless idiots have been looking for a baby the whole time."

"Caw?" Gabranth questioned. At this, Vayne broke into gales of maniacal, ridiculous convulsing laughter. The imperial soldiers surrounding him tentatively began to join in, Larsa having backed away to the exit preemptively. Suddenly, Vayne shot purple lightning at the ranks of his lackeys.

"FOOLS!!" Lightning bounced around the room dangerously. "IDIOTS!! AH--Oh, dear, I've forgotten my thesaurus. Gabranth?"

"Caw," Gabranth suggested.

"Ah, yes, thank you. IMBECILES!!" The last crack of lightning disappeared as the lackeys all fled the room. Vayne sank into his overly-elaborate throne with a sigh. "It's so hard to find evil help these days. Gabranth, you are my last hope. Fly far and wide, and search for a viera of sixteen--hair of pure white and eyes red as the rose. Now go."

"Caw," Gabranth answered. He then took to the wing and fluttered out the nearest window.

The fairies, they hide the girl well in the woods not of Rozarria, and raise her from the baby. Thankfully, we skip over the baby mess, for I have dreadfully sensitive stomach. The rainbow of fluids, I pale to think on you! Instead, we press on like brave ones to the sixteenth year of Fran's life in the woods under the fairies. They were like three mothers to the furry adorable one; three angry, vacant, bossy mother hens. See how I make the metaphor? Al-Cid, the learned one am I!

Ah, here she is now, apple of the eye and orange of the throat. They keep her as the peasant girl, but still how beautiful she grows to be! The fairies' gifts, they all have come true, with the beauty and the singing and the dying. But the dying not so much, yet. We see later, I will get back to you. And this being the day of prophesy, we see now if the fairies do good on keeping this one alive. Perhaps she lives longer in Rozarria? How now can we tell?

Fran's long furry ears twitched as she heard the voices of her aunts below in the kitchen. She knew each of their voices so well now, and wondered why they didn't stop to remember that with ears so long and sensitive she could hear their every word.

"I like this one the best, with the shoulders up a little bit," Aunt Ashe's voice came. The rustling of pages followed, also with a muttered insult from Aunt Vaan.

"Oh, like you care about modesty," he grumbled, although Ashe either ignored it or didn't hear.

"OOH!" Aunt Penelo squealed, "look at the ruffles!"

"How about something, I dunno, good?" Vaan suggested, flipping through the pages.

"Well, what do you suggest, Vaan?" Ashe bristled.

"Oh! Oh! Pick me!"

"...Yes, Penelo?"

"A cake! A big, fancy, big old cake! With ruffles!"

"Yes, a cake and a dress. We've discussed this. Weren't you paying attention?" Ashe asked impatiently.

"Ooh! Butterfly!!" Penelo launched off to chase the insect around the room, waving her arms about in glee. Just as she ran past the stairs, Fran waltzed down, smirking knowingly. Ashe started, throwing the book with the dresses out the window before Fran could see.

"Fran! You're awake!"

"I am." She looked about, smirking at the still-flailing Penelo. "And I feel you have endeavored to hide something from me."

"What, us?" Vaan implored innocently. "Never! We just, ah..."

"Berries!" Penelo bleated, pulling a cartwheel across the kitchen into a well-stacked pile of bowls. As they crashed to the floor, one rolled to Ashe's feet. She picked it up and shoved it in Fran's direction.

"Right! BERRIES! We need some berries for some vague and unexplainable reason, and you're the only one who has the power to collect them!"

"The berries have been picked before, two days of late," Fran said objectionably.

"We need more!" Vaan insisted. "A ridiculous amount of berries! The Gods demand a berry sacrifice! You don't wanna upset the Gods, do ya Fran?"

"Of course not," Fran gave a knowing nod, took the bowl, and allowed herself to be pushed out of the cottage by an over-enthusiastic Aunt Penelo.

Vaan leaned confidentially over to Ashe. "Think she suspects?"

"No, I do not," Fran called back from the end of the path.

"Well, good," Vaan grinned and stepped back inside the cottage with the other two. Fran shook her head.

"My trio of imbeciles," she murmured fondly, then set off into the wood.

With Fran gone, the fairies were set to go about their work. Penelo bounced to the kitchen, looking wound-up on something. Ashe clapped her hands together in preparation.

"Oh, will Fran ever be surprised! A real birthday party!"

"Yeah, last year all we got her were berries," Vaan said absently. "So, we gonna get the wands?"

"What?!" Ashe thundered, looking fierce. "Never! We must never use the wands! Their power is too great!"

"Okay, Creepy," Penelo mused.

"Well, how am I s'posed to make a big ol' fancy cake without wands?" Vaan seemed unfazed by Ashe's warning.

"Oh, Penelo is going to make the cake," Ashe said, waving Vaan off nonchalantly.

"With ruffles! And flowers! And... And..."

"You've gotta be kidding!" Vaan pleaded. "You think I'm bad at cooking, she's gonna make the house blow up!"

"Get over it, and help me make the dress," Ashe demanded, pointing at a nearby stool.

"What, out of a stool?"

"No! You stand on the stool and be the dummy. Not that that's much of a stretch..."

From the kitchen, they could hear crashing and giggling, followed by Penelo's voice muttering, "Cups, cups, cups, cups..."

"What?" Vaan cried as Ashe threw a sheet of pink fabric over his head. "Pink?! I'm allergic to pink! Make it blue!"

"You are not," Ashe grumbled, cutting odd shapes into the fabric. "Besides, I decided pink is her favorite color."

"Bossy little--" She cut Vaan off as she tied a ribbon tight near his neck. He made an odd choking noise and waved at his face under the pink fabric. "Can't... breathe..."

"Eggs!" Penelo called from the kitchen, and Ashe winced as two splattered to the floor.

"This dress reeks," Vaan pointed out as he finally found a head-hole.

"That's because you're wearing it," Ashe pointed out moodily.

"What's yeast?" Penelo asked, poking her head in.

"The opposite of east, I think," Vaan said sagely.

"Oh, right!" Penelo grinned and turned back to the kitchen, throwing a compass into the mixing bowl.

"My goodness," Ashe sighed as she measured up the sloppy pink dress with her eyes. "That girl sure has grown."

"It seems just like yesterday we snuck out the back door of the castle in the dead of night to hide in these dark woods..." Vaan muttered, looking nostalgic.

"Just a widdle furry baby," Penelo mused, rocking the mixing bowl gently.

"And tomorrow," Ashe began to tear up, "we won't have her to our own anymore."

"THE PAIN!!" Penelo cried, throwing her arms up and loosing the mixing bowl into the air.

"Oh, brother," Van rolled his eyes. "Good riddance, little furry baby."

"Don't cry, Vaan," Ashe sobbed, mopping up her tears. "We knew this day had to come! We had her for sixteen years, after all."

"Sixteen miserable years," Vaan grumbled, trying to escape from the tangle of a pink 'dress'.

"OH, we're acting like ninnies!" Ashe crowed, and she was nearly decapitated by the falling mixing bowl. "Come on, we've got to finish this!"

It was a beautiful midmorning, and the sun shone through the hazy treetops to light up the undergrowth. It swelled deep in Fran's chest, and she felt the odd desire to sing out with reckless abandon. After all, no one but adorable furry creatures lived in the forest beside herself and her aunts. So, sucking air into her lungs, Fran began to sing.

But, you see, she sings not just any silly old song. No, she sings the song of hopeless romantics, of the lonely, lonely dove without another to coo alongside with. See, her three overbearing auntie-faries are keeping her secret from the boys, which is shame of shames! She is beautiful and wants to see the boys. This is not so bad, is it? Yes, she sings for Love maybe to find her, and perhaps to bring chocolate. Bring some for Al-Cid, won't you, Love?

Berry-less, Fran sang herself into a clearing, where flocks of birds had appeared to listen to her song. All other assortments of creatures gathered around her, birds twittering along, and one fat owl humming a counter harmony.

Far in the distance, however, someone else was listening to her song. A handsome young man sat atop a bright white chocobo, which was grazing quietly. Fran's beautiful song lilted to their location, and the man's ears perked up, looking about for the source of the noise.

Ah, but this is not just a silly boy on a giant bird-horse! This is Prince Balthier, the little snotty boy from Act One! Oh, chances, what are you for this rare meeting? Come, let us watch what happens now, for my popcorn, she is finally done.

"Do you hear that, Sampson?" Balthier asked, patting the head of the white chocobo. It looked utterly uninterested and continued to eat. "It sounds fantastic," Balthier continued. "Let's go find out what it is, shall we?"

He jerked the chocobo's reigns, and it warked angrily in return. He scowled down at his mount, leaning down in confidentiality.

"I see. Well, I speak that language as well. What is your price? An extra bucket of feed?"

Sampson sniffed haughtily.

"Hmm. Perhaps some... greens?"

Balthier had to sit up quickly to avoid being head-butted as Sampson's head jerked up with a quick 'WARK!'

"Ha HAH! That's the spirit! Let's be off!" He kicked Sampson in the ribs, and they galloped heroically off into the wood. Balthier hummed his own personal theme song in his head as they rode toward the sound of the beautiful lady's voice.

As he failed to pay attention, Sampson leapt over a creek and clothes-lined Balthier with a low-hanging branch. The prince was left soaking in the small creek, adjusting his soiled shirtcuffs and scowling up at the smug chocobo.

"No greens for you, you fiend."

Will the prince find our furry Fran? Will his shirtcuffs survive this tragedy? My shirtcuffs, they feel for yours, Prince Balthier. I am on the tenderest of hooks waiting for brilliant conclusion. But, what is this you say? We must wait for the next act? Cruelty! Al-Cid will not stand for this! Ah, but the story, she must be narrated. Rozarria can wait, my friends, so long as you do not leave me. This would be cruelty highest of all.


AN: Hello, all, it's me The Shoeless One again. Sorry this fella took so long to get up, but our internet connection is unstable at best right now. Hope this is up to expectations, and all that good stuff. My brother is next up again for the following chapter. Honestly, I'm having a great time writing this, and I hope y'all are liking it as much as we are. Soo, lemme know what you think, if anything should be fixed, and leave some love. Happy reading and have a great 4th!