Chapter 3: Meet the Family
The scent of apples filled the air. He smiled. Mom hadn't made apple pie in years. There was never enough time, or more important things to buy...but he hadn't seen any apples in the kitchen yesterday. Had she gone to the store? Maybe he had slept in late? Mom was gonna kill him.
Good mood gone, Marche started to get up when he felt his bed. Why'd his bed have dirt in it? A cold feeling rose in his chest, and he warily opened his eyes.
Clipped grass greeted his view, and as he looked up, flowers of all sorts waved to him. He recognized a few; some rose bushes, a bed of daises, even a row of sunflowers, but the rest were as foreign as the clothes he was wearing.
Wide-awake now, his jaw dropped. This was the dream. How could he still be dreaming? The last thing he remembered was a broken nose and that bangaa grabbing his head, then darkness. But...those bangaa. He'd kill them too. Were they alive, or...he swallowed and tried to ignore the dread he felt.
He caught a whiff of the apples again and he looked for the source. It came from an open window, the bottom floor window of a two-story mansion to be exact. He could barely hear laughter from inside, and then a door to the house opened, revealing a human like rabbit walking toward him.
"Oh! You're awake!" The bunny cried out. Marche bolted to his feet and she stopped a few feet away. "Woah, calm down! No one's gonna hurt you, except maybe Montblanc for the heart attack you gave him."
He blinked. "Y-you know Montblanc?"
She nodded. "He got me and Luke when you wouldn't wake up." She giggled. "And let me tell you, he wouldn't stop pestering Luke once we got you here. Said something about how you had needed help."
"Montblanc did that? But I just met him today…" He mumbled.
Marche looked at the bunny girl more closely. She was taller than him, and her thin, brown-furred body only accented it. Long silver hair flowed down to her knees, and he could see small flowers peeking between braids. She wore a bright yellow mini-skirt, and when Marche looked higher, a matching top. A very revealing yellow top. He blushed. "And where is here, exactly?"
She didn't answer, instead yawning deeply. Her body arched in a not so subtle way, and Marche felt his cheeks heating up. "Luke's house." She answered lazily. She paused at his blushing then smiled widely. "Come on! Anna just finished baking, and you must be starving!" She grabbed his arm before he could answer.
As they approached the house, Marche kept going over his last moments. He had died! If this wasn't a dream, how was he still here? And what about his family and friends? Were they here too, or was he alone in this crazy place?
He couldn't recognize the girl's race, but it was probably another one from Doned's games. "Hey, umm..."
"Rona. Rona Eld." She flashed him a smile and opened the door. "Come on, Luke can't wait to meet you! He's been looking for another soldier to train with."
"Train with? What for?" He cried out, but she had already vanished into the house. It gave him to time to think. The moogle was obviously trying to help, and Rona seemed nice. He shrugged and walked in. "Not like I have anywhere else to go."
The passage reminded Marche of a medieval dungeon. Unlit torches were spaced along the walls, and every door had an iron emblem embedded on it. As he walked down, Marche examined the long tapestries along the hall. Some showed kings, others displayed great feasts, but the last and largest grabbed Marche's attention. From each end of the faded silk charged an enormous army of mystical creatures. One side was led by a knight in purple-ish armor, while the other was led by a fierce looking nu mou, the mace he wielded glowing with a dark energy. The colors had faded, but the detail in each object captured Marche's attention. Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall what it reminded him of.
Following the apple scent and noise, Marche found the others. Rona sat at the main table, laughing with Montblanc as a grinning human woman arm wrestled a boy. From the sweat pouring off the boy's face, the girl was winning. The aromatic apple pie was on the windowsill nearby, and beside it was a nu mou in white robes. Her fur was a pale lavender, and a single silver hoop hung from each long ear. Green eyes met his as he entered and she smiled sweetly.
"Ah, I see our patient found his way. You've been out for four hours, how are you doing? Any pain or soreness?" He shook his head, and she glanced at Montblanc. "Aren't you going to introduce us all to the poor boy? You only stole him off the streets!"
"Yes, yes kupo." The moogle fluttered onto the table, careful to avoid the two humans' match. Waving a paw at the nu mou, he said, "May I introduce the ever-mothering Elthia Intican, the kupo-ist white mage in town. You already know Rona, but Luke also helped bring you here, kupo. And this is his sister, Anna, baker of the extra-ordinariest pies ever." The moogle looked dreamily toward the captivating creation and the human girl giggled just as she slammed Luke's hand down.
"I wouldnt go that far Monty, but thanks anyway." She got up and looked Marche over. She was taller than him, though shorter than Rona, and her bare arms revealed lean muscle. Like Rona, she wore a top and bottom that would excite any teenage boy, but the sharp look in her eyes threatened something much less enjoyable. He kept his eyes on hers, and prayed he hadn't blushed. She shook her head. "Ole Feld must be losing his touch. Have you even lifted a sword before?"
Not waiting for an answer, she walked past him. "I'll be back in a few guys. Luke, tell mom when she gets home, k'?"
"Just don't come home poisoned by your own blade again." Luke said. His eyes widened, and he faced Marche. "You heard nothing."
Before he could question what he had even heard, Montblanc fluttered onto Luke's head. "Kupo, he's not gonna tell anyone secrets." He looked up to Marche. "Right kupo?"
Marche nodded. "Believe me, I wouldn't. Your sister looks like she'd get to me first." Luke nodded and seemed to relax slightly. "By the way, thank you all for helping me. None of you even know who I am."
"Like we'd leave someone to die."Elthia snorted as she took a seat across from him. "Which reminds me, here." She took a small green orb the size of a marble out of her robes and rolled it over. Marche picked it up slowly, and she explained, "I suppose a traveler like yourself wouldn't recognize that. It's a remedy, or as most people call it, a cure-all. Just swallow it, and any ailements that might be in you will vanish."
He quickly complied. It broke apart in his mouth, releasing some foul tasting liquid. Coughing a bit, he asked, "I was poisoned? I thought I had my neck broken."
Montblanc spoke up from the window. "Kupo, you did. The cure-all's just because you didn't wake up after the fight. I thought you had gone in already dying!"
"Why? Would it matter? I already came back from the dead."
They went silent. Montblanc and Elthia stared, Rona's jaw had formed an 'o,' and Luke had stopped in the middle of slicing the pie. Marche squirmed under their looks and chuckled uncomfortably. "Eh-hehe…I'll take that as a yes then."
Luke placed the knife down and groaned. "If you tell us you have amnesia, I will kick you out."
"Luke, it doesn't have to be amnesia. Maybe he never learned about the specifics. Not everyone has a master fighter for parents, remember?" Rona said, an annoyed expression on her face. Luke flinched and went back to cutting.
"Kupo, you really don't know why?" Montblanc asked. Marche nodded. "Well, when a judge lays out the arena for an engagement, he makes sure any injuries are reversed after, kupo. But if you had been stabbed before he was summoned, you'd still have a wound."
"Oh." He should have guessed it'd have to do with magic. "So what's stopping them from doing so?"
Silence. Then Elthia looked at him curiously. "I suppose it'd be due to the limitations of judge magic. When the judge appears, they immediately cast a spell over the battlefield, centered around the combatants. From research and a bit of guessing, I believe it holds the combatants' souls in the area, and as well as restores their bodies after the battle." She looked out the window and played with one of her earrings. "As for why they don't heal or revive outside of a battle…that's due to laws and personal morality. And perhaps the gods, if they exist."
At his confused look, Montblanc spoke up. "Kupo, I said Elthia's a white mage. So she can heal, defend, and even revive someone from death." He laughed at his wide eyes. "Don't think it's all that, kupo. I tried to heal a cut once and ended up gasping for breath after. And I left a scar too. Even basic healing spells take a lot of energy, and some are harder to cast then black magic!"
"Correct, Montblanc." Elthia turned back to Marche solemly. "My dear, learning the way of a white mage is a way of life. Just understand that under no circumstances, none whatsoever, let anyone revive someone outside of battle, especially if they've been dead for a while. They…" She frowned, tugging on her earring again. "They don't come back right. At that point, the mage is called a necromancer, since they've controlled the dead."
Marche nodded, overwhelmed by the information. Perhaps Doned would understand this better. Or Mewt, or Ritz, really any of his friends. Thankfully, the conversation lightened up once Luke and Rona brought over the pie, now sliced for everyone. Rona boasted about her archery skills and argued with Luke over the practicality of her outfit when fighting. Elthia questioned Montblanc on his magic training, and Marche quickly blocked them out as they started speaking nonsense.
Not wanting to intrude on Luke and Rona, he examined around the room. It was in good condition, although after looking closer he realized most of the objects were new. The wooden chairs and table weren't even worn, and the tiles on the floor looked newly placed. How did this place have tiles from his world? What else could this crazy place have that they shouldn't? Refrigerators? Planes?
Luke grunted, and Marche glanced at him. The boy, well, teenager, looked around his own age, if a bit more built. He wore the same style shirt that Marche did, although his was red and made of finer material. It was tucked into leather...britches? Breeches? He couldn't remember what they were called. The boy grunted again, and Marche realized Luke wanted his attention.
The red-haired teen wiped his mouth carefully before he spoke. "So, what business do you have in Cyril?"
Marche inwardly cringed; he didn't have a story for that. He quickly took another bite of pie to think. He didn't know other towns, and next to nothing about the area…and he couldn't lie to save his life. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm not from here."
"…and? What are you doing in town?" Luke waved his hand toward the window. "Were you passing through? Picking up supplies? Meeting family or friends?"
"The last one." Marche smiled in thanks as Rona took his now-empty plate away and added. "Of course, for all I know I'm the only one in this world."
Luke raised an eyebrow. "'This world?' You do mean 'this city,' correct?"
"No, I meant world. Because as far as I know Elthia, Montblanc, and Rona should not exist. Bangaas should not exist. Magic doesn't exist. I should be back in St. Ivalice, waking up on vacation, not in this-this fantasy!" His last words were a shout, and he realized he had stood up. The group was staring at him in varying degrees on shock at his outburst. Well too bad for them.
Suddenly, Elthia pointed a staff at him and said, "Sanare." Green mist poured out of the staff and settled around Marche. He quickly started coughing on the sickly sweet gas.
"That should have cured him of any tampering." The nu mou said, settling back into her seat.
"What tampering? You just did magic on me again, how do I know you aren't doing something to me, like changing my memories or poisoning me or-"
Montblanc jumped onto the table. "Kupo, calm down!"
Marche barely heard him. "And what if I'm stuck here? Am I going to walk out of town and get attacked by zombies and dragons too?"
"Yes, kupo!" The moogle shouted, loud enough to rattle the plates next to him. "But all this panicking won't help you, kupo. If you want to do anything about your situation, sit down."
Marche stared at the moogle. He hesitated then he asked, "You believe me?" It came out as a whisper.
The moogle nodded. "Sit down, kupo, and we'll help as much as we can."
Marche complied, facing the group. Montblanc looked sympathetic, as did Elthia, but Rona looked confused and Luke had turned his back on them all.
The moogle sat down next to a slice of pie and as he nibbled on a piece, asked, "What do you remember about this St. Ivalice, kupo? You said it doesn't have magic, right?"
He nodded. "The closest thing would be machines and electricity I guess."
"But we have electricity!" Rona interrupted. "Or at least, spells that shoot lightning, right?"
Elthia nodded, not looking up from her lap. "Yes dear, but I don't think that's what Marche meant." Scowling, she lifted a notebook to the table and crossed something out. "Can you describe these machines Marche?"
For a while he did. It was funny to watch them become surprised at the mere mention of refrigeration, although Elthia was disappointed when he said he didn't know how they were made. Even Luke asked some questions as he washed the dishes.
"Kupo, one more thing." Montblanc said, as Marche finished explaining a television. "You said that the three of us, Rona and Elthia and I, aren't real. Why, kupo?"
"Well, the closest I ever saw to you guys was in a video game. Err, think moving pictures controlled by someone. My brother was always playing them, and I remember seeing all of you except Rona in it."
He chuckled as the girl's ears drooped. "No viera, huh? No fair."
"So now that I answered your questions, can I ask some?" Marche asked. Montblanc nodded and Marche sighed. "Hoo boy, where to start..." He actually couldn't think of where to begin, so he asked the first question that came to mind. "Why do you always say 'kupo?'"
Nobody answered. Montblanc, Luke and Elthia stared at him in confusion, while Rona's jaw had dropped. "Uh, guys?"
"You say you're from totally different world, and the first question you ask is, 'Why does the small, anthropomorphic rabbit-slash-bat have a verbal tic?'" Luke asked, regaining his voice first. Marche nodded slowly and Luke snorted. Then he broke down in complete laughter. The rest soon followed and after a moment, Marche joined them in the silly moment.
After they all calmed down the group began explaining the world to him. As he absorbed the information, Marche felt like he was with friends.
Montblanc sighed. By the time the four of them had explained Ivalice to Marche, the sun had set and Luke's parents had returned. Luke's brother was still with the mayor, and Anna was...somewhere. Both Mr. and Mrs. Harkold were tired, but they had allowed Marche to sleep in Marcus' room after a quick talk. Montblanc had led the overwhelmed teenager to the room and then ran to his own bedroom to think.
A whole different world with no magic or adventure. It didn't sound familiar to any myths or legends he'd learned here in Cyril. None of the stories his teacher had told him mentioned anything of the sort either. But Marche seemed to know a little about this world. The teen had described a chocobo and goblin accurately enough, although he had seen the judge's chocobo earlier. Dumb luck maybe?
Hoping to distract himself, the young moogle glanced around. Some old spellbooks lay in the corners, and a collection of writings by his teacher on proper black magic pronunciations were open on his desk. The moogle scrunched up his nose at the sight. Those readings would take ages! Besides, Elthia had already tested him today and would probably tell his master about it.
He frowned. No, Elthia's husband was his teacher. His master…the moogle glanced back at the desk and sighed. All this talk of worlds reminded Montblanc of his own dilemma. Before he could stop himself, the moogle had hoped off his bed and walked under his desk. Muttering a word, he heated his hand and melted the ice underneath it, catching the notebook frozen inside. He hopped onto the chair and opened his secret.
A picture of his siblings were on the first page, with their master standing behind them. The page after had one of just Montblanc with his master, as he knew it would. He had memorized every single page in this notebook, but looking through it always brought worry alongside the nostalgia. Where was his family? Were they alright? Had they made a place for themselves, or were they dead and buried? No, they couldn't be. He'd know, somehow. Right?
Someone knocked on the door and he let out a squeak. "Just a sec, kupo!"
Refreezing the notebook, Montblanc hopped over to the door and, after a flap of his wings, pulled the handle down to reveal Anna. She looked exhausted, but still managed to keep her hair in that weird bun of hers. She grinned down at him. "Hey Monty!"
"Hi kupo! Did you just get back?" She nodded, following him into the room. He fluttered onto his desk and rested against the wall as she flipped through one of his spell books. "You didn't kill anyone, did you kupo?"
"Hmm? Oh, no. I already reached my quota for the week." If he didn't know her better, Montblanc would have believed her. She peered over the book at him. "In fact, I was searching for info on our out of shape soldier. Did you know, not a single guard remembered seeing someone like him enter the city?"
He rolled his eyes. "Kupo, you know that hundreds of people walk into Cyril every day. Besides, I wouldn't let you slit his throat after I had him saved."
She pouted. "But that's my favorite." Becoming serious, she added, "But really, you have to admit it's odd. The kid's wearing a pretty standout shirt, something that shade of blue's pretty memorable."
He sighed. She wouldn't stop bugging him until he fessed up. "Kupo, he isn't from this world. The last time he saw a chocobo was in a video-something or other." She blinked and rested her head in her hand.
"Huh." She eyed him. "And you all believed him?"
"Yes kupo. Elthia and Rona did too. Luke seemed skeptical, he wasn't as serious with answering questions."
She shrugged. "Well, I suppose Marche'll just have to convince him then, although how my brother doesn't is beyond me." She giggled at his surprised look. "What? The kid looked ready to bolt the moment he saw everyone. And I stuck around a bit before I left. He's a crap liar, so he tried dodging my kid-brother's question."
"But kupo, it's just so hard to believe. A world without magic? No monsters? No clans?"
"Monty, there's always monsters." Anna waved at herself. "I'm sure where ever the kid's from, there's people just like me, and worse ones."
"I suppose, kupo." Montblanc sighed. "But if he is stuck, how will he survive? You said it yourself, he's never wielded a sword before today. And once I told him how magic works, he moaned about being back in kupo school."
"Hmm, good point. Learning pure magic would be difficult for him, but maybe blade techniques would work. At the very least he could make some money and set up shop, or maybe join a clan." She leaned back in her seat. "How 'bout having Marcus train him. My brother might not be happy with another thing on his plate, but he can't say no when I offer-" She cut herself off, chuckling as she got up. "Well, you don't need to know that Monty. Get some rest, I'll talk with the kid."
As she walked out, she added, "Heck, after Marcus's is done with him, maybe you'll get that clan you always wanted."
Marche woke up and took a deep breath.
This wasn't some sort of dream. He wasn't back home. He was in Ivalice. Was there a way back? Was he the only one here? How had he gotten here? He counted to ten before releasing the breath. Falling back into his pillow, he considered the other side of his situation. What was the good side? He could hold himself in a fight, although the little time he'd spent last night trying to shadow fight hadn't gone nearly as well. He still had that bag full of gold coins too and now some people he could call friends. So, some pluses.
Good and bad down, but what would he do now? Anna's suggestion wasn't a bad idea. Train under a recognized swordsman, join a clan and become rich and famous. Also known as, forget about St. Ivalice and live out his life in this new world.
He looked out the window. The sun had just risen, and the glow radiating throughout the gardens put every flower on display. It was beautiful. If only Doned could see it. He loved little things like that. Thoughts of his brother and mother gave way to his friends, which made him start panicking again about never finding them…That's it! He'd make a clan, and he'd search for everyone. And if they were stuck here, he'd be able to help them too. And if not…he'd find a way home. This world held magic after all, there had to be some way to teleport a person.
Feeling better, Marche hopped off his bed and stretched. The room he'd been given was Luke's older brother's, and he had fallen asleep too fast to look around. He hadn't missed much. Plain walls stood behind bare wardrobes, and not a single picture was to be seen. Next to the bed was a desk, a snuffed candle on top of it.
Well, if there was nothing in plain sight, what about hidden things? He fell to the floor and peered underneath the bed. A dusty box met his gaze. He hesitated, but curiosity won out and he tugged it out. Wiping away the buildup, he saw the name Marcus etched in gold. The box itself was big, and upon opening it he realized why. The shield inside, if it was still worthy of the name, was longer than his forearm and not much shorter in width. Dents and bends decorated the metal front, and flipping over showed the other side had endured just as much abuse.
"What are you doing?" Startled, Marche dropped the shield, whirling around to see Luke frowning at him from the doorway. The teen wore a red leather tunic and shorts, but the silver dagger strapped to his waist caught his attention. The disgruntled teen walked over and picked the shield up. "You are a guest in my house, yet you go through my family's possessions as if they are your own."
Marche got up, and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but I saw how bare the room was and figured someone hid something around the place. I apologize."
For a second, Marche thought he was going to get stabbed right there. Then Luke shook his head. "I suppose I'll accept your apology, though I'd rather not."
Marche frowned as he got up onto his bed. "And why's that? Expecting a fight from me?"
"Yes." He frowned at Marche's perplexed face. "Why, is that odd? I did insult your honor, and left you the perfect opportunity for a duel."
He was about to ask why, but then Rona's passing comment came to his mind. "Are you sure you are not the one searching for a duel?"
Startled, Luke stared at him. "Matues, why would I want that?" His eyes narrowed. "Rona said something, didn't she."
He shrugged. "I'm just saying so because you were so curious about my opinion on the fight, which still hasn't changed. I may have been exhilarated, but I was still scared for my life."
"Interesting." The teenager looked down at the shield, tracing out the dents and bruises with a finger. "After how boring you said your world was, I would have assumed you would find an engagement a refreshing change of pace."
Marche opened his mouth to say no, he didn't think so at all, but… "I guess, ignoring the fact that I died, and those two bangaa had died, it was…kinda fun."
Luke nodded and placed the shield back in its container. "Well, I suppose a truth for a truth would be fair. When Montblanc told us that you took on Feld on your own, I will admit, I was intrigued. Pardon me for saying so, but looking at you now, I can only assume it was beginner's luck."
"And because of that, you don't expect a challenge from me, huh?" Marche grinned at the teen and stood back up. "Well, if someone could call up one of those judges, we could test that."
Luke winced. "About that...Montblanc may have been a bit...overeager to win your fight. Your blade melted under a very intense fire spell. I imagine he will apologize at breakfast."
Marche stared at him, unsure of how to respond. "Oh, err, can I get another one somewhere?"
Luke grinned. "Yes. There's numerous armories and smiths in town, as I'm sure you saw yesterday. We'll be going shopping later, so I suggest wearing that chain mail you have."
"Do I have to? It smells really bad." Luke laughed as Marche scrunched his nose.
"Don't worry, we're all used to it. I'm sure you'll only take a month or two to be the same. For now though, I'll leave you to change."
Just as he reached the door though, Marche remembered something. "Hey Luke? I passed a really huge tapestry yesterday when Rona got me. There were two armies charging at one another. What's it about?"
"Oh that?" He kept walking until he was at the doorway then turned with a surprisingly serious face. "That displays the end of the world." He suddenly grinned. "What a way to go, eh?"
Luke led the four through town. Rather, he tried to lead. With Rona dashing ahead every street, it became more of a chase. Running to keep up with her, he glanced back at Montblanc and Marche.
The moogle's wings were flapping, but he could tell Montblanc would not be happy once they stopped. Marche was a little ahead of the moogle, and Luke wondered again if the boy had ever followed some exercise regime. His face was beet red, but he kept moving. Perhaps it had been cruel to make him wear his chainmail underneath his tunic. He shrugged, facing forward to keep track of Rona. If he didn't get into shape quick, he'd be useless in a clan.
He hadn't talked with Montblanc since yesterday, but already Luke could see the friendship between the moogle and Marche. Just how did the boy do it? Rona said she liked him as well. "He's nice enough, and he did apologize after yelling. Come on Luke. Don't be such a downer," She'd told him. His response that he didn't mind Marche caused her to roll her eyes before walking away. For such a simple girl, she managed confound him at every turn.
Slowing down, he made sure his followers saw where he was turning and moved. They had left the high class area of town and had passed through the gardens behind them to reach the smithies. It was said the walls were made of steel and ash here and from the black dust settling down on his tunic, Luke had to give the myth some truth.
It was still early in the day, but the smiths in town had already lit their furnaces. The roars could be heard throughout the entire street. Only one, however, also sent out the music of tempered steel. Luke shook his head with a smile as he walked into the offending shop. Tabris was probably working on his latest project.
Rona was already chatting with the owner, a Mr. Ichen Grandose. From his grunts and hand motions, he was probably describing the latest weapon someone had asked for.
The door behind him swung upon, and he turned in time to see Montblanc and Marche stumble in before falling to the ground. Marche glanced up at him with a look promising pain. He shrugged and pointed at Rona. It's not like he had decided to run here.
"Luke! Wonderful to sssee you again lad. I've got half of yer order all sset." Mr. Grandose said. Luke tried not to grin too widely as the bangaa looked at the fallen boys and laughed. "Montblanc too, eh? Finally come to yer ssenssess and want a real weapon?"
Picking himself off the floor, the moogle shuddered. "No way, kupo. I'll stick with my magic."
The bangaa shrugged. "Ah well, can't hurt ta ask. And whosse this youngin? New friend of yerss?"
"This is the boy I was telling you about Mr. Grandose." Rona said, waving a hand toward Marche. "May I introduce Marche Radiuji, the final piece in our future clan."
Luke resisted the urge to throttle the viera, and instead settled for a glare. When had they decided they'd make a clan, let alone force the strange boy in? Even if Marche was interested, at least ask him!
Mr. Grandose considered it, looking over Marche carefully. Finally, he grunted. "Well, he lookss like a twig. And where'ss thiss ssoldierss' weapon?"
Luke cleared his throat and stepped up to the counter. "That would be why we came here, sir. His last sword is currently a melted mess in the ground due to..." He eyed Montblanc, who had the decency to look guilty, before turning back to the grey snouted bangaa, "An incident. So we came here to pick him up a new blade."
The bangaa nodded and jerked his head at Marche. "Alright boy, you come with me and we'll ssee what you can actually pick up with those ssprite arms of yourss."
Muttering under his breath, Marche followed him past into the back room just as another bangaa with dark orange scales walked out. Luke could make out a frown at the sight of them all, but whether it was at how they were all laughing or because they were there at all, he couldn't tell. Probably both. He stood a good head taller than Luke and covered as he was in soot and ash, the shield he held shone with not an impurity on its silver front.
Catching his breath, Luke walked over to the towering bangaa. "Hello again Tabris. Working with opal, I see."
That brought a smile to the bangaa's face. "Yess, I've been working on thiss ssince lasst thurssday." He said, looking fondly at the shield. "Opal iss a different beasst compared to ssteel and mythril, but itss magical defensive propertiess are perfect for any warrior." He glanced past Luke and saw the others. "Did you all come for gear?"
Montblanc shook his head. "Nope, kupo. Just getting some for Marche." The moogle flapped himself to the nearby display rack and peered at the spears. "Think he could use one of these, kupo?"
Luke couldn't wait to hear that answer, but he was tugged back by Rona. She dragged him, flailing and kicking, behind the rows of armor on the other side of the shop. Regaining his balance, he looked up and frowned. "Rona, if you want some armor, you could just ask Tabris. He wouldn't say no."
She slapped her forehead, messing up her hair. "I don't want armor, stupid. I wanted to talk about stuff."
Pushing a lock of hair out of her face, he said. "Then go ahead, although why you didn't just say something earlier remains a mystery to me." Was she blushing?
She crossed her arms. "Oh really? Well then maybe I shouldn't tell you then."
He mirrored her and grinned. "Oh, I doubt that. Remember Montblanc's chocobo incident?"
"Hey, I didn't even tell you the entire thing! Just that he made a bit of a panic." She was laughing along with him despite her defensiveness. "Alright, but I actually wanted to ask you...would you want to make a clan together? You know, one day?"
Luke examined the armor nearby, hiding his sigh. Well, he had glared at her, so she would worry. It's not like he wasn't interested in clan life, far from it. But none of them were prepared for it, least of all their latest addition.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Luke? You okay?"
Faking a grin, he turned to her. "Of course I am. And to answer your question, one day. One day we can, but that won't be for a while. Not until you can actually use that bow of yours anyway."
"Hey!" Laughing, he dodged her punch and escaped back to the others, just as Marche was coming back. The blonde was holding a simple silver blade and a sheathe. He seemed to be panting, and Luke grinned. Old Grandose had put him through the usual tests.
Marche glanced at him and smiled despite his obvious discomfort. "Took a few, but this sword fight in my hand perfectly."
"Good, you'll need it for training tomorrow." Luke laughed as the boy's face fell. He stopped, curious, as Tabris approached Marche. Montblanc was sitting on his shoulder, yapping in his ear.
Marche turned and jumped back. "Oh! Uh, hello there." He sheathed the weapon and offered his hand. "Marche Radiuji. Nice to meet you..."
The bangaa eyed him, before actually putting out his own hand. "Tabrisss. Are you ssure you can usse that blade?" He seemed skeptical when Marche nodded, something Luke agreed with. "If you sssay sso."
He looked over at Luke, one ear flipped slightly. Luke shrugged, and said, "Hey, my brother is going to be holding a training session tomorrow. Interested in coming?"
The bangaa grinned widely. "You bet. Thiss time, he'll never see me coming."
"Oh, I doubt it kupo. Remember last time? I think the ground still has an imprint of your body." Laughing, Montblanc didn't notice Tabris glance at him. The laughter ended when his ride flicked him off his shoulder.
Luke hid a grin as he walked out of the shop, calling back, "See you tomorrow then. I'll tell Marcus to bring his good gear, just for you." He broke out into laughter as the young bangaa groaned.
The palace. Center of Ivalice's government, and thus the center of Ivalice, the palace rested upon a large island in Lake Moon. The lake was little more than a large moat around it, but nevertheless the name stuck.
But the palace itself was the focus, and all the artisans who worked on it made their marks over the years. Towering stone walls, enchanted fountains taking a myriad of shapes, color-changing stained glass, the amount of work put in was staggering. And as Mewt awoke to his third day in Ivalice, he smiled.
He rested in his bedchambers, dressed in fine green silk robes and lying on a queen sized mattress. And next to him lay an old green and yellow book with a blue gem embedded on its cover. Out the window, he could see the sun rising high in the sky, shining a bright light into his spacious room.
Two walls were covered by bookshelves, stacked to the ceiling with a seemingly infinite knowledge-and the royal library was even larger! A few of the books lay open on the desk nearby, although most of the space was taken by the pages and pages of notes written out over the past two days.
Hearing a familiar humming, Mewt rose out of bed and stumbled over to his armoire. Dozens of colorful shirts and pants met his eyes, and he grabbed a pair at random. Green shirt and white pants were fine, he supposed. Maybe tomorrow he would actually have time to sort through them all.
He had just thrown on his shoes when his caretaker walked in. Just as yesterday, Babus walked humming to himself and holding some papers. Mewt barely resisted the urge to hug the nu mou. His white fur was so soft and it reminded him of his stuffed bear, but Babus' was much better.
"Good morning, my prince. I trust your sleep was satisfying?" The purple nosed nu mou asked, laying out his papers on Mewt's desk. "Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I wished to go over your work for the day."
"Hello to you too Babus." Mewt said, resting his head in his hands across from him. "So what's the plan today? Explore secret passages in the palace? Train my own chocobo? Oh, how about learning some magic?"
Green eyes met his own, and he could make out an exasperated smile on Babus' face. "You are royalty, not an common clan member, Prince Mewt. Today, you are to learn proper court etiquette, followed by history and arithmetic lessons."
"Aww, but Babus, not even a little bit of magic?" The nu mou looked at the pouting royal's face and sighed.
"I suppose I can add in some magical history for the week." He finally relented. Despite his tone, Mewt could tell Babus would be more than happy to teach him.
Running around the table, Mewt hugged him tightly. "Thanks Babus! You're the best!" He said, before rushing out toward the dining hall, leaving the bemused nu mou behind.
From magical history, to magical theory, and soon he'd be learning how to cast it! This world is amazing! Mewt thought, running past a maid. He slowed down before a large pair of doors, making sure he looked presentable, and stepped inside. A humongous hall greeted his eyes with huge pillars rising up in symmetrical patterns down it all. Apparently this room was used for the balls and other functions hosted by the palaces, including engagements on more then one occasion. Usually though, it served as the dining hall.
The main table was folded up for just his family's use today. Father was already seated. His silver judge armor shone brightly, and Mewt almost laughed at the way his beard stuck out. But Mewt's attention shifted to the right, where a woman in a maroon dress sat talking. Deep blue pearls hung from her neck, and dark red hair flowed over them. Blue eyes looked up to see Mewt and the woman smiled.
"Good morning, Mewt. Coming to join your father and I for breakfast after all?" She asked. Beckoning toward a third seat, she added warmly, "Cook already prepared your favorite, chocobo egg and gysahl bread."
With a laugh, Mewt ran across the floor to join them. His father chuckled and began asking about what he planned to do today, but then Babus walked and soon the three adults began discussing some silly act a noble of Cyril had done.
Mewt didn't care. He was enjoying his wonderful breakfast with his living, breathing mother.
Hello everyone! Here it is, chapter 3. I realize it's out far later then most would hope and I apologize. And with college starting soon, I'm unsure of how much time I can set aside for these stories of mine. I'll be trying though. Special thanks to Noyb and Dusk Mind for their reviews, I'm glad that you both enjoy this story.
So, what do you guys like so far? Is Marche what you'd expect? How about Montblanc or the others? Am I overly descriptive, or too little? I want to know so I can improve and write an even better story for you all. Thanks, and see you (relatively) soon!
