Disclaimer: Were I really to own Balthier, this is not what I would be doing with him.
A/N: I know I promised this chapter "soonish" a week ago, but I became busier with exams than I thought. Apologies to all. Thanks to Priestess of Groove and Into the Blue for being my first reviewers, and thanks to them for their kind comments. I have just reached Nalbina Fortress in my game and realized I have some serious writing to do if I want to catch up to myself - I was under the impression I had more time. Ah well. Just means more updates for you!
Without further ado, please enjoy chapter 3!
When I woke, my first thought was not of Balthier. It was of Psellia. What would happen to her, I wondered. But there was no way I could take her with me. I wanted no reminders of my past and she would just slow me down. I felt sorry for the girl, but she was intelligent and strong. She would get through this. I had to find my own way.
With that thought I rose. Before then I'd no notion of how I would live out my life after I made my mark. But now I knew. I had briefly thought of training up by taking marks, then hiring out as a mercenary, seeing how much I loved fighting, but I had quickly reconsidered. As a mercenary I would have no more control over my patrons than when I was a whore. It would mean another master to answer to, another cause not my own. No. There was only one cause of true freedom, true boundlessness. And it was piracy.
I could almost imagine the comments the people closest to me would make – if there were people close to me. – Oh, please. Is there no honest work for you to do? – You just want to follow that Balthier! – You're gonna get caught! – Stow the romanticism and make something of your life! And they would be right. No doubt their advice had been heeded by generations of romantics, else there would be many more pirates in the skies today. But they would also be wrong. I wanted a life that was mine, one that I could control on my own. Not many had the opportunity to break from the mold. I had been given one, and one would not come around again any time soon. I would take it where it was offered. It was true that if I encountered Balthier along the way, I would consider it so much the better. I never forgot that I owed him a debt for my life.
With that thought, I rose, looking at the pile of gil and jewels on the bedspread. Not needing to dress, I merely grabbed my extra chemise (the more opaque one), and in this makeshift sack, I placed Balthier's gift. I went to the door, turned and took one last look at the room I had shared with Balthier, then left it forever.
The familiar hallway, with its doors inscribed with their owners' marks, the planked floor yielding beneath my boots. Down the stairs to the entrance, and Psellia standing there greeting. She stared, wide-eyed, at me, glancing around her for the Flamenca. Satisfied she was nowhere in sight, Psellia began to speak.
"There's nothing wrong with your breasts! The Flamenca said you were in disgrace, that she'd thrown you out. What happened? What's in the sack?"
I took a deep breath. This would be difficult.
"Forgive me, Psellia. But I am leaving. Balthier… my patron – he paid for my mark. I'm free to go – I'm seeing the markist right now. I won't be coming back. I'm so sorry."
Psellia's eyes filled with tears, but they were tears of joy.
"Oh, Siyana, that's so wonderful. I had no idea that man was so generous. And how handsome he was! Oh, you're so lucky! Was he any good?" She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered the last words so that there could be no doubt of what she meant. In my mind the scent of Galbana surfaced and I remembered his kisses on my neck and nipples and smiled, thinking of his eyes on mine as I rode him.
"Yes. Good enough indeed."
"Don't worry, Siyana. You did good by me and I won't forget it. It's unrealistic for you to keep holding my hand for the rest of my life. Go, be happy. I'll be fine. Who knows? Maybe I'll find someone as generous."
I drew her into my arms, tears staring in my own eyes at her bravery and forgiveness. I did not deserve this pupil.
"So, what are you going to do? You… you fell in love with your patron, didn't you?" Psellia's eyes were wide and innocent. She had always been perceptive about such things. I shrugged.
"I honestly don't know, Psellia. I have to find him again to make sure. That's why I'm becoming a sky pirate, like him."
Psellia clapped her hands in excitement. "Oh, Siyana, how romantic! Flying the skies of Ivalice like a bird… I could never do it, though." She began to turn away.
"Why not?" I asked, curious. Psellia turned back and winked.
"Afraid of heights," she said, raising a hand in farewell. "Goodbye, Siyana. Thanks for everything!"
I too, waved. "No, Psellia. Thank-you. Goodbye."
She would be all right, I knew. Reassured, I stepped out of my two years' prison into the sun, free to do whatever I wanted. There were so many things to do! Go to taverns, hunt the Estersand, explore Lowtown, see the Palace…
But first, to see the markist.
It was good my sack was sufficiently innocuous that no passers-by gave a thought to what it contained – otherwise I might have been robbed by the myriad of pickpockets roaming the streets of Rabanastre. The daggers at my sides helped too. The day was hot, and I shaded my eyes against the sun pounding down on the dusty city. I took one step, then another, leaving behind House Flamenca – and my past – forever.
House Flamenca was located in the Southgate District, near the freight entrance to Lowtown. The markist contracted for my mark worked out of Lowtown, so I took the shortcut through the freight door, past Old Dalan's place (and that pot of treasure no one seemed to touch, without knowing the reason – most just assumed it belonged to Dalan and left it alone) to the markist's shop. Posted on the door were examples of finished mark designs. I was both amused and gratified to see mine displayed in prominence.
When I entered the shop, a little bell rang somewhere in its depths and the markist (a moogle with a blue bobble atop her head) appeared from the vaults, where she had been no doubt counting gil. It would appear to outsiders as though the little moogle made a good profit off the business, considering how much per mark she charged, but in fact she only scraped by on a margin, the ink was so expensive. When finished, a mark was to be borne proudly and inks were chosen based on artistic merit, not only whether they would not poison the body or leave scars and burns. It was part of the reason the price was so high, (though another was to make it difficult for those who had fallen to living such a life to leave it, in order for those higher-up to make a profit).
"Ah, Siyana! Thought I'd be seeing you soon, kupo! Haven't come by any unexpected windfalls, have you?"
"In fact I have, Kylie," I said, grinning, "and that's why I've come. I'd like you to finish my mark today, if you're not too busy." The latter was said merely for formality's sake – the shop was empty and Kylie would never turn away an offer of great amounts of gil. She had a business to run, after all.
Kylie jumped up and down in surprise. "Finish, kupo? But you're only just half-done! How can this be, kupo?"
"I've just served a very generous patron," I told her, setting my makeshift sack down on her table and opening it. Kylie's eyes grew wide at the sight of so much gil.
"Generous indeed, kupo!" she exclaimed, "But I am glad – I so much like working on your mark. Let me take this into the vault, kupo, and then I'll be back to work on you. Why don't you get ready?" She took my sack and disappeared into the back room. I stripped and lay down on the table. In a little while, Kylie returned. She was just at my eye level, waving a scrap of paper.
"Was this meant for me, kupo? Because you could have told me straight out, you know." Sitting up, I took the note from the diminutive creature. Kylie went to work preparing her instruments. In an educated, flowing hand, it read:
To Markist: Put in more Red.
There was no signature, but I could hazard a guess as to who had written it. I folded it in my hand as Kylie returned.
"So, what was that about, kupo?"
"My patron apparently wants more red in my mark."
Kylie gave me a shrewd look. "So, do you want more red, kupo? I've counted, and the payment should cover how much more the red costs, kupo."
I felt a smile creep over my face. Balthier really had thought of everything. I thought of encountering him again, in some far country, and offering to show him the red in my mark. I nodded to Kylie. "Why not? Galbana are red, after all."
The markist saluted with her needle. "Very well, kupo! Red would look quite nice in yours, I think. Face down."
I lay down again and felt the needle sear my skin. The first time I had felt it, I had nearly screamed, but now I was used to the pain and merely clenched my fists and teeth, feeling Balthier's note in my palm and waiting for it to be done.
So, he wanted more red, did he? I wondered if he liked the colour red, or whether it was merely for aesthetic purposes. I let my mind wander through the pain and tried to decide whether Balthier had requested the red because he was planning on seeing my mark again, or for no reason whatsoever. Maybe in between – he wanted to imagine my mark with red added on his request. Or perhaps he had simply requested it on a lark, and whether it came through or not didn't matter. In any case, he had to have written the note while I was asleep and planned all along to slip it in with my gift. I certainly would never have thought of it without his prompting.
The rest of my marking session was given over to thoughts of airships and clouds with Balthier's face. I was at the controls of a sleek-looking craft and flew into a panic that the glossair rings weren't moving, until I realised it was Balthier who propelled the vessel with one finger, wings on his feet.
'We must all learn to fly on our own,' he said, dropping me and watching me fall. I struggled to get the hover back up, then I became aware that I didn't know the first thing about piloting an airship. I fell in flames to crash on the cliffs of the Westersand. I felt a searing pain in my lower back as the fires engulfed me.
'You're finished,' Balthier said, as he calmly watched my struggles to get free from the ship. 'Didn't you hear me, kupo?'
Hearing Balthier say 'kupo' was what finally woke me from the dream. I was relieved to discover that Balthier was not, in fact, turning Moogle and that it was Kylie shaking me.
"Come on, up you get, kupo. I have customers," the markist said, handing me a mirror so I could see the finished product. Rising, I took a look, surprised I had been able to fall asleep through the pain. I must have been more exhausted than I thought.
My mark was beautiful, a continuous vine of lines snaking across the bottom of my back. Feathers became lilies and lilies feathers, and petals and wings seemed one and the same. Yet slightly different, for lily blossoms had the faintest accents of red around their fluid lines, and they stood out from my tanned back looking almost real.
"So, what do you think, kupo?" Kylie asked. What was there to say? My markist was a master of gorgeous subtlety.
"It's beautiful, Kylie. Thank-you."
"Well, you paid for it. But you're welcome, kupo. What are you going to do no that you're a free woman, kupo?"
I took a deep breath. A free woman. It felt so good to think. "I'm headed for the Aerodrome, Kylie." The moogle chirruped knowingly.
"Patron was a sky-Hume, was he, kupo?" I stared at her. How did everyone know that?
"I think it's a good idea, kupo," Kylie continued, "You should find him and thank him, at least, for his generosity. And how did I know him for a sky-Hume, kupo? I know you wouldn't fall bobble over toes for just anyone! And you muttered in your sleep. Go to the Aerodrome, Siyana. Good luck, kupo!" She hopped off the table to tend to her next customer as I got dressed. The Aerodrome. A life of piracy, danger, and freedom awaited. But first, to level up.
A/N: Levelling up gets featured prominently because at the time of writing I had just passed through Giza, Ozmone, Golmore, Paramina, and back again about six times for each party member. It was worth it because at the end I was level 32, just in time to beat Mateus and Bergan. Still... 'twas rather dull and frustrating, but so I expect is real weapons training. I wouldn't know. I'll try to make travelling and fighting for a living as realistic as I possibly can without getting gruesome.
Also, thoughts on my new summary? I like it much better than the old one, though it still leaves much to be desired. What do you, the readers, think? What was it that attracted you to the story, and what didn't?