Wow, it's been a while... :Guilty look: This past month has been rather hectic for a range of reasons, mostly involving the institution known as university which is the creation of the devil, I swear. XP Anyway this chapter took more than a week to piece together in between my timetable, and I am out of my mind with relief to have finally gotten it out of my hair since I could NOT concentrate on anything else with it lurking around! (Woohoo now I can start my assignments)

Like the first program step, this one ran away from me while laughing raucously, so it's also been broken up into two parts. XD Believe it or not this chapter is even longer than the previous one, just edging in at over 8570 words. :O I originally intended for it to be only half as long since I wasn't planning on Fayt playing any large role in this chapter but he still wormed his way in damn it, and stole the spotlight too. :p :Cough: The hardcore shopping starts in the next chapter, but I hope you all enjoy the preliminaries for now. XD Catch you on the flipside!

PS: Summoner-of-the-Silver-Wolf baked the chapter 4 cake. You're officially my new God. XD XD

PPS: The duel near the end was written to the accompaniment of the tunes "Ice cream" by M.I.K.E vs John "00" Fleming (M.I.K.E remix) and "Starsign" by Apoptygma Berzerk. Most excellent fighting music, if you can get your hands on them!

-----------------------------------

"STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 1):

>>Flowers?>>

Albel paused in front of the stall which the Crimson Scourge was gesturing towards, flicking his eyes disdainfully over the bouquets exploding over the rims of their damp wooden crates. The opportunistic stall keeper was already scurrying over to launch into some enthusiastic spiel reminiscent of 20th century used car salesmen, but was knocked to the ground from the force Albel used to glare a hole through his forehead.

"I don't do rainbows," Albel said disgustedly, sparing one last contemptuous look at the offensive perky colours before he turned away in a swirl of purple skirt and braided hair tails.

>>I've heard the petunias are lovely at this time of year…!>> The Crimson Scourge piped up, but its suggestion was drowned out as the roar of the market place washed over itself and Albel as they rejoined the flow of the crowd. Albel's scowl had been unwavering the very moment he'd stepped foot in Peterny, prompting a few whispered giggles from onlookers that someone obviously hadn't washed all the pepper from their undercover spice rack. Stringing them up on the Tidy Town sign hadn't really cheered Albel up by much though, because it couldn't change the fact that he hated shopping. Despised it more like! Getting in among a crowd and sharing interesting bacteria and body lice was hardly Albel's idea of a rollicking good time, and neither was haggling with shop keepers who looked as though they hadn't evolved beyond Neanderthal, if their percentage of body hair was anything to go by…

>>Quite frankly I don't know what you're bitching about.>> The Crimson Scourge snorted as it dangled awkwardly from the scabbard strapped to Albel's thigh. If Albel hated shopping, the sword hated the fact that in order for him to shop, it had to be reduced to carry-wear due to the mass hysteria a self-propelled sword would create among the general populace. >>It's been two hours already and you haven't bought a single thing. Has falling in love turned you into a Communist or what?>>

"Easy for you to say," Albel snapped irritably as he elbowed another random maggot out of his way. The market place was packed and the aisles congested, and it was taking all of Albel's will power not to whip out the Crimson Scourge and carve an easy (albeit bloody) path through the pressing wall of human flesh. Squeezing into an empty pocket within the crowd, Albel drew another breath and voiced the famous dilemma which has plagued womankind ever since Eve bummed out and gave Adam that famous apple of d00mage. "It's impossible to buy something for a man!"

>>Well you sailed straight past the bakery…>>

"Day old cakes. Pathetic," Albel said shortly.

>>… and the whole line of tailor stores.>>

"They needed hands-on measurements. And anyway, all their wares looked like a herd of goats had vomited on them."

>>The jewelers looked promising though, wouldn't you say? It's not too late to go back. You didn't kill anyone working there.>> The Crimson Scourge's mind voice was virtually pleading now as it started running out of options.

"What, and make Fayt think I want to marry him already?" Albel scoffed in disbelief, but he couldn't resist pausing to mull over that rather appealing thought. He sobered pretty quickly when he remembered that all thoughts of weddings as of late had featured a running trend of Albel in ladyware.

>>Craft dolls? Books? Writing materials? Show tickets?>> The Crimson Scourge mustered up enough inspiration for one last desperate barrage against the brick wall of Albel's mind.

"Sacrificial effigies, more like. I doubt Fayt still reads books with pictures. He wouldn't want to write when he can type. "Elicoorian Belly-Dancing Mud Wrestlers – One Night Only Debacle" is not a cultural or intellectual pursuit, nor suitable date material!" Albel countered in that precise order.

>>Alright… time out.>> The Crimson Scourge said wearily. >>I can't think while hanging off your leg. Go sit down.>>

"Best suggestion you've had all day," Albel muttered, relieved to be putting some distance between himself and the body odours of the crowd, which were mostly leaning towards smells suggestive of sitting in the back of a manure wagon for several hours too long than what would be considered hygienic.

Albel cut through the two-way flow of human traffic and into the more peaceful setting of a residential side street, set with pretty cobblestones and ornate lamp posts in front of every door. At the end of the street was a tiny beauty spot overlooking a section of the Palmira Plains, and Albel immediately zeroed in on one of the unoccupied benches which had been hammered into the patch of green turf.

>>Much better. As nice as the view is under your skirt, I could really do without the jostling!>> The Crimson Scourge gave itself a little shake like a dog after a bath, and wriggled out of the scabbard. It landed with a little "plop" on the grass and stretched the kinks out of its blade, much to the horror of a couple of senior citizens on the other benches who'd never witnessed a sword pulling off Yoga moves in all of the years of their retired existence. Both Albel and the Crimson Scourge barely noticed the consequent elderly screams of fright as the park was rapidly vacated.

Albel leaned against the backrest of the bench and reclined as best as he could against the carved stone. Now that the din of the crowd was nothing but a muffled drone in the background, he realised that it wasn't actually such a bad day to be out as long as you had nowhere to be and nothing to do… It was warm for this time of year, and the sun had been beating down constantly from the moment the Diplo had descended through the stratosphere and alighted in the nearby plains.

>>It'll be a while yet before those kitchen repairs are done, so don't think you haven't got all the time in the world.>> The Crimson Scourge said in the middle of Saluting the Sun, picking up on the sneaky side of Albel's thoughts before he could voice them. >>If we don't find anything here, then we'll just have to keep town-hopping until we do. Don't even think of going back to that ship empty-handed!>>

"Slave driver," Albel said with narrowed eyes, settling into a comfortable position which indicated he wasn't entertaining thoughts of going back to that maggot infested market for at least a good while. The Crimson Scourge clicked its tongue as best as it could in the absence of actually having a tongue and bounced onto the space left on the bench. >>No one's lazier than you. Can't even be bothered buying something for your sweetheart.>>

"Let's see if you'd be singing the same tune if it was your money we had to spend," Albel retorted, not bothering to open his eyes which meant he missed the sight of the Crimson Scourge indignantly wringing its blade. He couldn't resist a little smirk, knowing that it was exactly the sort of remark which would get the Crimson Scourge riled. Ever since Fayt had pushed all of the right buttons on the Crimson Scourge during breakfast two days ago, the sword had become unusually touchy wherever Fayt was concerned, just like its master really… but the smirk didn't stay on Albel's face for long, vanishing the very second the Crimson Scourge's hilt made contact with Albel's head with a very loud "BONK".

>>Lazy AND cheap. Money should be no object!>> The Crimson Scourge scolded as Albel cursed in language fit for a sailor's deck. >>If you want to impress the young one, you should be prepared to do whatever it takes!>>

"What type of reasoning is that?" Albel exclaimed angrily. "Don't you see it doesn't matter what I get? Or why this whole thing is so damn difficult? If it means nothing to Fayt then there's no point!"

The Crimson Scourge baulked at that. >>A meaningful gift? I don't recall that blonde ape being so specific.>>

"He wasn't. But I assume that's what he meant…" Albel said with a roll of his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he felt the first stirrings of a real wing-ding of a headache coming on. Then again, he'd always suspected the Crimson Scourge had been a hammer in a past life.

Now that he thought about it, Cliff hadn't really said much at all – ordinarily, Albel would've put the Klausian's unusually frantic manner down to the post kitchen-explosion frenzy which had taken hold of most of the Diplo crew. Something else apart from the clean up and damage control had been on Cliff's mind though…

-----------------------------------

"A… present?"

Albel's initial reaction had been an incredulous raising of the eyebrows at Cliff's latest instructions as he'd peered around the makeshift door of his room. He'd managed to feel a tinge of remorse for demolishing the nice automated door that had come before it, which had been fitted with impressive cutting edge technology like a built-in shoe shiner and a Pachelbel Canon in D door chime. Unfortunately remorse had come too late, since the quickest solution Cliff had been able to come up with was to string up a ratty old shower curtain on the door frame. The cheesy pink floral pattern had led many a homicidal fan girl to charge straight in armed to the teeth with spiked mallets, under the understandable misconception that a certain Sophia Esteed was dwelling within. (Highly inconvenient as the interruptions were, Albel couldn't help but appreciate the thought.)

"Yeah, you heard right. Get the kid something nice, that always scores brownie points. Look, we'll be landing back on your home turf in a bit so you'll have plenty of time. Maintenance needs solid ground to do repair work, and Elicoor's the nearest planet right now so-"

It had all come out rather rushed, which had been the first indication that something was amiss. The second giveaway was the fact that Albel could have SWORN up and down that the Klausian was… well… lactating under his uncharacteristically loose clothes, judging from the vertical river of milk dribbling down and out of the cuff of his pants and pooling in the heel of his shoe. Furthermore, the baggy jumper Cliff had worn was covered with tapered protrusions, almost as though a whole pantry's worth of bottles was crammed inside…

Albel had poked his head further out from behind the curtain to look Cliff up and down with a suspicious eye. He'd seen similar frazzled expressions on the faces of brand new mothers back in Airyglyph but… naaaaah, couldn't be. Maybe. Hmm…

"So is that all clear?" Cliff had asked quickly, cutting off Albel before he could formulate any questions which required damning answers.

"Actually I…"

"Great! You'll be fine! Top o' the world!" Cliff babbled, shoving a big thumbsup in Albel's face to shut him up. The swordsman had been forced to duck as a tiny jar flew out of Cliff's sleeve like a dome shaped missile, missing his head by inches. It connected hard with the door frame and clattered to a halt at Albel's feet with the label turned right-side up. The words "Baby Mash: Property of the toothless Adray Lasbard" screamed up at the two onlookers, one of whom looked guiltily stricken while the other's expression was flatter than cardboard.

"Stealing from the elderly is a punishable offe…"

"WHOA, look at the time! Where the hell does it go to?" Cliff gasped with a huge slap to his cheek, gawking at some invisible watch on his naked wrist. Unfortunately he had forgotten his own strength. That single slap sent him flying a good couple of feet down the corridor.

Albel had failed to be impressed by Cliff's one-man tumbling act, not even when the Klausian managed to catch all of his escaping milk bottles through stupendous contortion of his limbs and loin region. Leaving the milk spillage for the Diplo cleaning squad, Albel had ducked back behind the curtain to mope along the floor of his room for a good couple of hours before landing.

A gift for Fayt Leingod…

-----------------------------------

The Crimson Scourge twirled a little, scratching the stone bench with the point of its blade as it fidgeted. >>Trust you to complicate things oh Wicked One, but I can see your point. "Meaningful" has greater weight than "frivolous", irregardless of how much more convenient the latter might be. So… any ideas?>>

"I thought you were supposed to be full of those?" Albel said testily.

>>My, so young yet so angry.>> The Crimson Scourge drawled and flicked a bit of stone dust at its infuriating master. >>But since I have no wish for this day to go to waste, I'll confer my wisdom on thy rock of a head. Based on what we both know, we'll narrow down the young one's likes to what we might reasonably assume is a true passion, and we'll work off that. You start.>>

Albel blinked, experiencing a total blank just when he needed his entire brain cell count to work as a team for him, but then again he wasn't fond of being put on the spot like that. Before he could come up with anything that might pass as an acceptable answer, the Crimson Scourge had started radiating so much sarcasm that it was almost visible as waves.

>>Oh this is rich. You've traveled a zillion light years with the guy, and you've got absolutely nothing to say about him? Fine then, I'll show you how it's done!>> The Crimson Scourge made a show of clearing its throat and paused. >>Pepperoni pizza.>>

"What?" Albel spluttered.

>>You heard me, you dolt. It's his favourite food. Go on, it's your turn.>>

"Wait a minute! How the hell did you know that?" Albel demanded, his eyes bulging. If the Crimson Scourge had been deliberately rummaging through Fayt's trash then he was gonna…

>>You dare question my photographic memory? Conversation #219, dinner on the Diplo precisely two weeks ago. Ring any bells? There's a sizeable stack of info hidden away in that pinky grey matter of yours, but it's up to you to remember it all.>> The Crimson Scourge gleamed wickedly. >>At this rate, I'M the one who's going to make perfect spouse material!>>

Albel's eyes flashed with red coloured temper as the Crimson Scourge threw down the gauntlet, so to speak. Oh ho, it'd be a cold day in Mosel Dunes before he'd let the damn sword out-Fayt him! With the flood of resolve came rapid recall, and Albel started mentally channeling that beefy "Rocky" fellow he'd watched the other night on the Diplo's cable movie channel, even though the guy hadn't really possessed muscles where it mattered the most…

"Favourite sport – basketball. Point guard player, team captain, 38 hoops over two seasons!" Albel released his first volley like gunfire.

>>Trust you to be thinking about big bouncing balls. Sourced from where?>> The Crimson Scourge asked saucily.

"Stolen from Maria's logs."

>>Do I really want to know why you were snooping in a girl's room? Favourite song – "Barbie Girl". Drunken Karaoke session last month, beat that!>>

"Bah, just because he sang one song you think he liked it? Favourite Elicoorian drink – Sarsaparilla Soda, Kirlsa tavern stopover three weeks ago!"

>>Oh what utter hogwash. No one likes that excuse for a drink. That crap tastes like soap suds from the floor of a Lum stable!>>

"You don't even have the tastebuds to make a judgment, fool!"

>>I have more taste then YOU'LL ever have, mister purple man.>>

"YOU MOCK ME, MAGGOT?"

-----------------------------------

Fayt Leingod trotted along the bustling Peterny streets as easily as a local, looking about him with lively interest at the animated town. He hadn't been too sorry to hear that the Diplo would have to experience some down time for repairs. It had been awhile since any of the crew had been able to wander across solid ground, and the bracing fresh air and sunshine of the Palmira Plains were blessed respite from the comfortable but artificial environment of the celestial ship. Now that peace had been declared across the continent, Fayt found himself able to fully appreciate the colourful charm of Peterny which he'd overlooked before…

Then again, maybe he'd been quick to jump the gun at the thought of "peace". Fayt's stride faltered as he detected the pounding of multiple pairs of feet traveling up a nearby side street accompanied by elderly voices raised in terror.

Don't tell me monsters have gotten over the city walls! Fayt leapt into warrior mode, freeing his hands from his pockets and unsheathing his sword from the scabbard at the small of his back. The crowd rapidly parted to make room as Fayt pounded across the pavement towards the source of the noise. More than one onlooker couldn't help but admire the lithe form of the young fighter and the precise way his slender fingers gripped the handle of his sword at all the correct angles, or the way his strange bright blue bangs fluttered across the intense green of his eyes.

A small group of old men and women charged into the main street as fast as their hobbling legs could take them, almost colliding with Fayt who pulled back in the nick of time. They looked well and truly spooked, as though they'd just been forced to watch the entire "Friday the 13th" series without any toilet breaks and no screaming, under penalty of death. They also looked rather tuckered out after having to shuffle their way to this point of the story after a totally unacceptable 42 paragraphs.

"What's going on back there?" Fayt asked, inwardly groaning at how cliché that line sounded, even to his ears. Such is the lot which lead characters in RPGs are cast into, alas.

Most of the group was gibbering incoherently, but one or two still had their wits about them. A wizened old lady gripped Fayt's arm and shook it urgently. "I-i-it was a man! A d-demonic beast of a m-m-man!"

"No Mildred, it was female! A Succubus, it must have been! Nothing else could have such sinfully sexy legs! Er, not that I was looking," a portly elderly man babbled.

"Who cares? We all agree it was a demon!" Another yelled, shaking his cane in the air. "It had tentacles and everything and a flan for a hat!"

Meanwhile, Fayt was slowly digesting all the weird and wacky descriptions the crazy old coots had to offer (taking into small account that most of them weren't wearing their glasses), and was out of his mind with relief that the person who he assumed they were talking about was safely out of earshot. The last thing the Diplo needed while on shore leave was liability for the widespread massacre of Peterny's elderly population via a katana wielded by a homicidal crackpot with a vendetta…

Fayt lowered his sword and awkwardly scratched his head as old man and woman alike simultaneously turned his way, looking up at him expectantly as though he was the pest exterminator they'd prayed for.

"I… think it's someone I know," Fayt said slowly.

The little gathering reacted like they'd been zapped with stun guns and drew back quickly, their frightened eyes converging on the sword in Fayt's grip.

"Y-your sword doesn't do y-y-yoga too d-does it?" One of the old ladies tittered fearfully.

"No, we do comedy skits together every fortnight," Fayt replied cheerfully with a totally straight face.

Before Fayt could say "Poking fun at the elderly will most likely earn you a reserved spot in hell", a dust cloud appeared where there had been people mere milliseconds ago, with only a lonely pair of yellow dentures left lying in their wake. With the witnesses dispersed and all obstacles gone, Fayt smiled mischievously, sheathed his sword and set off down the little street to investigate the latest Albel-disturbance to have arisen in only a matter of days.

Even before he'd made it halfway the sound of general ruckus was already drifting through the air, punctuated with all the usual chaotic noises and yelling which Albel was known for generating when he was in an exceptionally destructive mood. Fayt winced at a particularly loud noise, which could be likened to something very large and heavy being ripped by its roots with one's bare hands. Okay, dangerous as it probably was, this he had to see.

"Umm…"

If it was any consolation, it looked like it had been a rather pretty beauty spot. (Duh, otherwise it wouldn't have been called a beauty spot.) Now it looked like someone had taken an industrial sized hoe and sowed sword shaped holes all over the mussed up turf. And gone over it again with a really big spiky meat mallet. Then held an international ballroom competition on it just to get a couple more tiny pits 10 feet deep, the type which only hardcore stilettos are capable of producing. In contrast to the pitted lawn was a whopping big crater in the middle, the sides of which looked raw and recently made. Fayt guessed that a nice stone bench had once occupied that patch of soil. Actually he didn't have to guess, since said nice stone bench was currently being brandished by one Albel Nox like a freakish baseball bat as he ran circles around the grass in hot pursuit of one Crimson Scourge, who was frantically hopping one step ahead en pointe while evading Albel's swipes like a champion dodgeball player. Well… that accounted for the holes, at least.

Fayt didn't say anything at first, generously allowing a couple of seconds to pass by since he was certain that any minute, someone somewhere was going to start playing Benny Hill music. When nothing of the sort happened Fayt exhaled slowly, counted to ten and then up to twenty for good measure, and finally took a bracing breath.

"Albel!"

The effect was electric. The closest word to describe Albel's vocal reaction was "screech", while his immediate physical reaction was to throw his arms up over his head. That wouldn't have been very noteworthy but for the fact he was holding onto a 20 kg chair made of rock at the time – the bench was quick to get airborne and flew straight over a partition of the city wall, falling one storey and bouncing off the armoured head of a Horned Turtle in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amid all the commotion, the Crimson Scourge remembered it was out to survive and seized the opportunity to scuttle behind the shelter of Fayt's legs with a little hop and skip.

Albel slowly turned around even as he felt his stomach sink somewhere below his knees, though some part of his brain managed to find time to wonder whether it was actually a component of Cliff's plan to make Albel look like a total jackass every time Fayt happened to be moseying by. Or maybe Fayt was just drawn to idiocy. Who knows. Anyway at least he didn't look angry, despite Albel's blatant breach of countless environmental law acts and instigation of pending law suits from the Prevention of Rudeness, Under-appreciation and Discrimination of the Elderly (or PRUDE for short).

Fayt looked down at the Crimson Scourge who was vigorously trying to dislodge the point of its blade from a large clod of dirt, raised his eyes to take in the sight of a sullen Albel shifting from foot to foot in the middle of a lawn resembling the moon's surface, and finally let out the breath he'd been holding in the form of an exaggerated sigh.

"Never a quiet moment when we're on the town…" Fayt said with a wry grin as he relaxed his tense muscles and adopted a casual stance. Albel shot him a look of pure surprise. Fayt's application of quiet understanding to even the most moronic of Albel's escapades as of late was… slightly confusing, to say the least.

"Well? Aren't you going to chew me out?" Albel demanded, exuding grumpiness from every pore. Secretly, half of him was hoping that Fayt would snap up the invitation and lecture him to high heaven. The thought of a feisty Fayt occupied one of the top three placements on Albel's mental list of covetous turn-ons, along with kinky things involving maid outfits, paintbrushes and lots and LOTS of Nutella.

"No. Why should I?" Fayt asked with a shrug. "It's been a long time since any of us set foot on land, and I know you're not as used to flying for long periods like me and Quark. Of course you'd be feeling restless, although…" Fayt paused to survey the destruction and waved one hand in a defeated motion, "… I think you could've found a better outlet."

There wasn't much Albel could say against that. Even worse, the Crimson Scourge chose that moment to reopen its metaphorical big mouth as it peered up at Albel through the gap between Fayt's ankles. >>Tell him you tried to kill me, mister purple man!>>

"ACK!" Fayt yelped in alarm as Albel dove through the air and made a lunge at the Crimson Scourge as it danced a little jig behind Fayt's legs. The sword neatly sidestepped and darted behind Albel, administering a hard slap to the back of his knees which tipped the already off-balance swordsman straight into Fayt's arms.

"Not again…!" Albel started to yell before realising that he didn't really mind as Fayt's face rapidly rushed up to meet his. Up close, the green of Fayt's eyes was even richer than when viewed from afar, full of shifting shapes, shades and lighter coloured flecks all rimmed with soft dark lashes… but Albel's reflection in those glossy irises shattered when the faces of the two men crashed together in a highly unromantic way, resulting in two very squashed, sore noses.

>>Aww… missed by an inch!>> The Crimson Scourge clucked, shaking its hilt in disappointment while it surveyed its handiwork.

Fayt's cheeks blushed a deep red when it dawned on him that the only things currently stopping Albel from falling flat on his face were the swordsman's hands, which he'd instinctively wrapped around Fayt's narrow hips as he tripped. Albel's palms were wide enough to encompass the whole circumference of Fayt's middle, and all ten fingers and claws were clutching him with a solid tension which pulled Fayt close enough for his fringe to be tickled and lifted by Albel's breath. The steady puffs of hot air against the skin of his brow were warmer than the sunlight beating down upon them… and the accidental embrace held even as more seconds passed, until Fayt was aware that his breath was also stirring individual strands within the long golden bangs brushing the sides of Albel's face.

Albel was perfectly comfortable thank you very much, and nearly growled in protest when Fayt finally uttered a polite cough and gently started to disentangle himself. Albel had scant choice but to permit Fayt to slide out of his grasp. He managed to find solace though in relishing a last minute feel of the ridges of Fayt's abdomen beneath the silky cut of his sleeveless vest. Albel closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation and committing it to memory. Gods! Why does he always have to smell and feel so damn good?

Fayt shyly cleared his throat, ducking his face so that his flaming cheeks wouldn't be so obvious. The young man appeared to be giving himself a mental shake-up. "Looks like you still need to vent some energy, huh?" Fayt said at last, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "How 'bout if you vent on me instead of the Crimson Scourge?"

Oh the perverted insinuations that could be built upon that sentence if this were an M fic, Albel thought gloomily. After pulling his mind from that particular dirty gutter, Albel got a grip and concentrated on replying. "Are you saying you want me to fight you?"

"Spar, Albel. "Fight" implies that we're enemies, when we're not," Fayt said, reaching back to slide his sword out of its scabbard with a soft metal hiss. Albel raised an eyebrow. Since when had Fayt let himself be bothered by such technicalities?

While waiting for Albel to accept or decline, Fayt limbered up his sword arm with little pendulum swings and twists, rolling the handle of the sword in between loose fingers. The good quality steel flashed white in the sun, the light traveling along the grain of the blade in an unbroken line of metallic fire…

A little niggling thought was eating its way through the back of Albel's brain as he continued to stare at Fayt's sword. In the madcap craziness of the past ten minutes, Albel had almost forgotten the reason why he'd forgone a lazy day of sleeping in to brave the flea-infested market crowd. Now his original objective had suddenly decided to rise to prominence in his head once more, brought about by ogling a weapon of all things.

Wait. That's IT!

Albel impatiently swatted away the light bulb which had flown in to try and illuminate itself over his head. He stared hard at the Crimson Scourge and gestured discreetly at Fayt with one finger. "I'll have to talk with the Crimson Scourge first. It'd be a good idea to check if the sword wants to gift me with its skill."

Fayt looked at Albel, Albel looked at the Crimson Scourge, and the Crimson Scourge looked at Albel like he was an A-grade moron.

"Well… okay. After all, you did try to squash it with a bench," Fayt conceded with a shrug and a smile.

"Just give me a moment alone with it," Albel said.

Fayt looked a bit confused. Maybe he thought Albel meant the bench. Either way, Fayt respectfully walked a little way down the street to give the Crimson Scourge all the privacy it needed to bawl out Albel.

Albel and the Crimson Scourge watched Fayt's receding back in silence, but the very second he disappeared around the street corner, they immediately whirled to face the other.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

>>I think I am, B1!>>

"Good. Any objections?"

>>Nope. Sword-play is a true passion of the young one, weapons are good investments, and you won't look like an idiot by giving him one… well, in theory anyway. I bet you'll STILL manage to screw this one up somehow.>>

"Great to know I can always rely on your brand of optimism," Albel said witheringly, every word dripping with sarcasm. "Fine, that's settled. But I'm not just going to give Fayt a sword if he doesn't need one, or if the one he's got is better than what I give him. You'll have to break the one he already has."

>>Why ME?>> The Crimson Scourge squawked, sounding appalled at the thought of vandalising Fayt's property.

"Because "cleaving the sky" came in your job description, not mine. We're getting him a new one anyway, so why should you care?" Albel sniffed, picking up the Crimson Scourge and executing an experimental swipe at an invisible enemy, immediately feeling the blade turn into a lethal extension of his limb. His arm felt a little stiff after his high levels of inactivity on the Diplo, but it was nothing that a decent duel couldn't fix and Fayt was certain not to disappoint. Albel smiled fully for the first time in weeks, his insides tingling with the anticipation of witnessing Fayt in action again, holding nothing back and giving as good as he got, if not better. Never had Albel known anyone as worthy a challenge on and off the battlefield as Fayt Leingod…

"Don't do it too early though. I intend to enjoy this for at least a little while," Albel smirked, his eyes focusing intently on the empty stretch of street which had swallowed up Fayt's figure.

>>I could just sneak up on him now and dispatch his sword. You're just frittering away good shopping time, you shirker!>> The Crimson Scourge managed to squeeze in one last complaint before Albel broke into a full-on charge down the street, his armoured feet pounding noisily against the cobblestones and sword arm bent at a readied angle in the wake of his fluttering hair tails.

Before Albel could round the corner, he sensed a stealthy movement behind him and pivoted in mid-charge with the Crimson Scourge raised, just in time to meet Fayt's blade as he swooped from the top of a lamp post. The momentum of Fayt's descent had been fed into the downward slash of his blade, sending up a spectacular clash of sparks as it scraped against the edge of the Crimson Scourge. The two blades bit into each other, both trembling with the force of the stalemate before Albel pulled the Crimson Scourge free with a wide swipe that sent Fayt hopping back out of range.

"Good to see you're still no slouch, Leingod," Albel grinned in approval of Fayt's tactics, his red eyes lighting up with unrestrained battle lust. Fayt grinned back, his own eyes swimming with green intensity and his entire body hair-triggered to attack, looking every bit the Embodiment of Destruction that he rightly was.

"I trust the Crimson Scourge isn't afraid to try and kill me?" Fayt enquired with his head cocked to one side. "I wouldn't want it holding you back."

Albel's grin grew even wider at the teenager's bravado, pouring his weight into a frontal jab with the full intention of impaling Fayt's face on the point of the Crimson Scourge. Fayt took evasive action and ducked, but felt all too well the back draft of the blade as it carved through the air where his face had just been, and the grazing of the hair on the top of his head as Albel retracted the blow.

"Just checking," Fayt laughed in response, lashing out with one foot at Albel's unguarded ankles. Albel grunted in surprise as his legs got kicked out from straight under him and violently twisted his body in mid-fall, letting Fayt's follow-up swipe glance off the steel of his gauntlet. The squeal of metal against metal echoed around the empty side street, mixing with the soft but swift pattering of Fayt's light footfalls as he relentlessly pressed his advantage. Giving up on the hope of landing on his feet, Albel allowed himself to crash to the ground and immediately entered a log roll, just as the furious clang of a sword against stone rang close to his head. Albel felt a tiny tug from one of his hair tails as he desperately rolled out of range, but the momentum he'd generated was powerful enough to pull the captive tie free from under Fayt's blade.

Albel flipped back onto his feet a split second after, the shredded wraps of one hair tie blowing away along the breeze. Long blonde strands fluttered free, whipping across Albel's face as he jerked away from another deadly slash and parried another, all the while being driven further and further back to the end of the street where it joined with the city centre…

-----------------------------------

"Yo, waiter-type guy! Gimmee another!"

The waiter bustling around the Peterny Plaza café visibly shuddered in long-suffering as that dreadful bellowing voice rang out over the square AGAIN. Muttering a quick prayer to Apris for a blessing of divine patience, the waiter dutifully slouched towards the table occupied by the huge bulk of muscle known as Cliff Fittir.

"Sir… don't you think you've had enough?" The waiter tried wheedling, both hands clasped against his chest.

"Enough is only when the kid says it's enough. Got that?" Cliff asserted, pointing to the bundle wrapped up in his bulky arms which was currently draining a ten gallon baby bottle at a rate of one litre per five seconds, and which was the catalyst for the waiter's upcoming nervous breakdown. Strewn around Cliff's table was a pile of empty milk bottles and baby mash jars just below knee deep, plus three upside-down cows lying in comas.

"Please sir, can't you start weaning your baby onto solids? Management is set to lose their entire herd. And we're being forced to sell only black coffee which is bad because now everyone can see it's just dirt scrapings. Please sir!" The waiter tried again, practically kowtowing now out of desperation.

Cliff sighed out of pity and peeked between the cloth folds of the bundle. "Your call kid. What do you wanna do?"

The waiter blinked his watery eyes in disbelief. Only the top of the "baby's" head was visible, but… but… babies weren't supposed to be composed of green icing. (Or were they? The waiter clutched his face in pure misery, knowing that he'd definitely contracted some form of mental disease from stress if he just wasn't sure anymore.)

>>Rphighdhsa - :p – fhahlpoh!>> The cake gurgled happily, spitting the now empty bottle out of its mouth to join the other hundred or so littered on the floor.

Cliff nodded with finality, and there was just something about the way he did it which drove the waiter's peptic ulcer to all new levels of throbbing. Sure enough, Cliff grandly pointed to one of the KO'ed cows. "It wants to try some of that stuff. D'you think you could hack off a leg bone?"

The waiter squeaked and promptly fainted dead away, something which would've caused a lot more commotion if not for the sudden uproar that erupted across the centre square at the same time. Cliff looked up from where he was trying to revive the waiter with smelly leftover baby mash, picking up on the sound of singing steel over the screams of the townspeople and the scraping of chairs as the café's customers ran for cover.

Cliff's height meant that he had no trouble looking over the heads of the gathering crowd, and he groaned when the two combatants moved into his plane of vision. So that's what those old coots had been talking about in the café earlier when he'd overheard babble about "two Succubi with yoga swords" wearing "a flan and blueberry" as hats…

>>Adpadoqfp - :O - Wjfmnccaz?>> The cake had been busy painting a milk moustache on the comatose waiter, but now that something seemed to have caught the attention of its surrogate mummy it wanted in on the action. Ever obliging, Cliff picked the cake up by the scruff of its neck (or at least where he thought its neck might be) and hoisted it up to the viewing platform of his shoulder.

"See that guy on the left? That's Albel. He's crazy. That's C-R-A-Z-Y," Cliff said helpfully, giving the cake time to absorb that word which would be considered useful in the vocabulary of humans and desserts alike. "And the other bloke's Fayt. He's relatively normal. Except for when he does stuff like brawling in a marketplace. Then you can call him a W-E-I-R-D-O."

>>Esaafhgk. - :( – Qlajhfwp?>>

"Why are they fighting? Beats me. Maybe Albel's idea of a good present was a blender," Cliff sniggered, suddenly remembering the relevance of the luv program to Albel's presence in Peterny...

-----------------------------------

Meanwhile, Albel and Fayt were totally unperturbed that their duel had spilt over into the busiest section of the town and were oblivious to the onlookers, some of whom were already taking bets on the outcome. Albel was on the offensive now, unleashing a merciless sequence of feints and jabs which was sending Fayt into a merry dance around the centre square. The teenager was now covered with a light film of perspiration, and Albel couldn't help but admire the sheen which seemed to set Fayt's entire body on fire every time he moved through a patch of sunlight. If Fayt was tiring then he definitely wasn't showing it – the boy's agility was paramount, gifting him with the ability to dodge all of Albel's advances with liquid-like ease, but in terms of speed they were an even match. All that was needed was the smallest of slips by one to push the advantage of fleetness in favour of their opponent…

Look out! Fayt spotted the downward cut a fraction before it started on a trajectory for the vulnerable flesh of his sword arm and hurled himself out of reach. His reaction time had been too sluggish though and while the Crimson Scourge failed to draw blood, it connected solidly with the hilt of Fayt's sword and sent the weapon flying from his sweaty grasp.

The sword cluttered a few feet away somewhere in the midst of the gathered crowd, out of reach of easy retrieval but still visible where it had landed on the cobblestones.

>>Now, oh Wicked One? Those shops won't stay open forever!>> The Crimson Scourge spoke for the first time since the duel started, longing for Albel to get back on track instead of expending an overload of testosterone on playing with swords.

Albel bared his teeth in a feral smile, his face glowing from the thrill of battle while his chest heaved from the vigorous workout. "Not yet. He's down but not out, just you watch."

>>HOLY CATFISH Batman!>> The Crimson Scourge exclaimed as a flaming hot missile sailed past the edge of its blade, proving Albel right. Even before the first ball of fire had doused itself out on the hard stone street, Fayt had already sent a second Firebolt whizzing crazily through the air, infused with a fiery homing spirit which was drawn to warmth like bees to honey. Albel darted back and forth as the crackling flame zeroed in on his body heat, swiping at it with the Crimson Scourge as though the sword was an overgrown fly swat. Just as he managed to land a solid hit and extinguished the spell in a puff of black smoke, Albel caught sight of Fayt using the brief distraction to make a mad dash for his sword.

"Oh no you don't, Leingod," Albel called out mockingly, also breaking into an angular run to intercept Fayt's path. Albel was a fraction of a second faster, kicking the sword further out of reach just as Fayt was about to fall upon it. "It's no fun if the odds aren't all stacked against you!"

"Fantastic. The feeling's mutual then!" Fayt retorted through gritted teeth, choosing to make a temporary strategic retreat. With catlike grace, Fayt back-flipped out of reach of the Crimson Scourge to land on the edge of a market stall table. His boots dug hard into the splintered wood as he steadied himself and stood tall, his upper arms dappled with blue and white light thrown by the mystical symbols now spiraling rapidly around his wrists.

For a moment or two Albel couldn't bring himself to take the initiative and strike the table out from under the young man – the sight of Fayt Leingod, disarmed yet bristling with defiance, standing proud upon his platform a head above Albel's shoulders without even a hint of terror for his adversary, provided a rare moment of wonder for the Airyglyphian captain who was usually loathe to be greatly impressed by anything. He refuses to be cowed, even when the odds look bad and he's all alone. How long has it been since anyone's dared to resist me this way…? Albel made no conscious effort to smother a bolt of arousal which went flashing down his spine as he drank in the sight of the long, lean pillar of Fayt's body, stark in contrast against the multi-coloured Peterny pennants fluttering behind him in the breeze. The stubborn tilt of Fayt's chin was softened by a cerulean strand of intricate symbols swirling around his slender neck, and the blue lines of light traveling up the sides of his face dyed Fayt's eyes an eerie burnished gold…

Without warning Fayt launched himself through the air, fire and ice rippling down his naked arms as the symbols wreathed around his limbs flared with completion. Albel buried his face in the crook of his sword arm, bearing the brunt of the blue and red wave which surged over the Crimson Scourge's aura, shielding him from the worst of the impact. Momentarily blinded, he knew that Fayt had acted during the moment's delay. Right on cue came the ominous sound of a sword whistling through the air, and a gleaming blade cut a swathe through the ice crystals and steam, shattering the elemental cloud to make way for its newly equipped wielder. Albel fended off Fayt's renewed attack with no small amount of effort, sensing in each of the bone rattling hits an echo of Fayt's determination to snatch back the offensive advantage which had been his at the onset of the duel.

In snatches of thought between blows, Albel could hardly believe that this little hellcat was the same Fayt who'd happily cooked him breakfast two days before, or the same Fayt who only minutes ago had blushed so sweetly in reaction to Albel's accidental touch. There was absolutely nothing demure about Fayt's demeanour now – even the scent of apples which constantly clung to his skin and hair was overpowered by the musky aroma of sweat, while his face was as animated as a fox. In the midst of the strangely intimate sword dance, dicing death with every stroke, shift of the feet and split second decision, Fayt never looked so incredibly… alive. It was a sensation which Albel was all too well-versed in, and for someone from beyond the stars to have literally landed at Albel's doorstep, fully capable of feeling and understanding what lay at the heart of the fighter's spirit AND being good-looking and patient and kind to boot was… well… a prime catch which Albel was definitely not going to permit to get away!

Decision thus made, Albel pivoted magnificently on the balls of his feet and slashed out once

The severed halves of the sword flew up through the air and fell back to earth at an unhurried pace, the metal turning over slowly so that the cleanly sliced edges of the break caught the glancing rays of sunlight. The audience bunched along the perimeter of the central square watched the descent of the broken sword in silence, finally uttering a disappointed "Ahhhh…" when the two pieces bounced once upon the stones before lying still.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Albel lowered the Crimson Scourge and turned to look at Fayt. The action had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and in yet another demonstration of what a shape-shifter he could be, Fayt's killer instinct was nowhere to be seen – in its place was now a quiet sort of placidity. Fayt wordlessly bent to pick up his broken sword, still saying nothing as he stared at the exposed grain dusting the blade pieces at the break.

Just as Albel was feeling the first stirrings of shame, and mere seconds before the Crimson Scourge was about to beat him into Albel-coloured moss for daring to upset Fayt so thoroughly, the silence was unexpectedly broken by an appreciative burst of laughter from the latter.

"You've gotten really strong, Albel!" Fayt complimented, not crestfallen after all, and his eyes were still bright and alert from the duel as he turned them upon Albel. "That's the first time you've managed to break one of my weapons. These swords are pretty thick in the blade."

"Hmph," Albel snorted dismissively, though a little part of him glowed at Fayt's praise.

>>Stealing my thunder now, are we oh Wicked One…?>> The Crimson Scourge said cattily.

"Oh well. Nothing that a bit of time in the workshop won't fix," Fayt mused while Albel purposefully shoved the Crimson Scourge back in its scabbard, muffling out the rest of its bitching. Then he registered what Fayt had just said, and leapt forward quickly to confiscate the sword pieces with a swipe of his claws.

"N-no you fool! You actually think you can fix this?" Albel blurted out, not sounding as guilty as he felt since he knew he was only half lying. Fayt not only cooked a mean pancake but could also wield a mean blowtorch, and given half the chance, Albel knew that Fayt would just keep applying himself day and night until his sword was mended. Admirable in most other circumstances, but definitely not what Albel needed right now.

"No matter how pure a seam you weld, the scar that's left in the blade will always work towards destabilising the sword. It'll never hold up in a serious fight, let alone against the Creator," Albel continued reasonably, hefting the halves of the blade in one hand. "I take full responsibility. I'll get you a new sword."

Fayt's eyes widened at the unexpected offer and immediately started to protest. "Oh no Albel, you really don't have to…"

"OH YES I DO! I mean-" Albel cursed his unchecked outburst. "I mean, I want to. NO! I mean… I just feel like it. And… and… good GODS, you're going to get something for free so why are you even complaining, you fool!"

Fayt hid a smile at Albel's uncharacteristic verbal fumbling by bowing his head in defeat. "Alright! Fine! If you insist!" he sighed playfully, tucking a few sweaty strands of hair behind an ear as he straightened. The humour in his smile lifted a little to make way for a more sincere expression. "And... thank you Albel. I really appreciate it."

It was Albel's turn to widen his eyes as Fayt leaned forward and delicately placed one hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief gentle squeeze before slowly withdrawing his touch. It was such a natural thing for Fayt to do, yet Albel found a fresh wave of powerful longing breaking over him in its wake. I can beat him in a duel, break his sword, call him names, and he'll still go out of his way to show me kindness. Who else would do that for a maggot like me? And who can really blame me for falling for him…?

"I think I'll head back to the inn and wash up," Fayt suddenly said. "Are you sure you don't want to do the same? I don't need a sword straight away."

>>The young one is the evil voice of temptation. Resist or I will be forced to hurt you.>> The Crimson Scourge's mind voice sailed through Albel's head like rain on his parade, laden with plenty of promised threat if he didn't comply. Albel almost uttered a sob of frustration as all sorts of delicious bathhouse plot bunnies hopped away in favour of the author's decision to stick with the shopping theme. Truly… life was a total bitch.

"No. I'm going to go. Look. For. A. Sword. Now." Albel bit out each word through clenched teeth, sounding and looking more thoroughly pained than any sufferer of constipation.

"Okay," Fayt said cheerily with no further arguments. "I'll leave enough hot water in the tub for you then. See you back at the inn!"

Fayt waved and gamboled off merrily, prompting Albel to seize a moment for himself to bash his head against the nearest brick wall. The hilt of the Crimson Scourge gleamed with malicious amusement as it uttered the three little words which formed the motto of millions of teenage girls throughout the known galaxy…

>>Let's go SHOPPING!>>

The Crimson Scourge paused to rethink. >>Again, that is.>>

-----------------------------------

I'll just point out now that I'm the saddest excuse for a girl there is, since I have virtually no interest in spending money and my friends and I just go to toy stores to set off all the talking Woody dolls and Barbie Pegasus bears. XD What IS a good gift for a guy anyway? Oo

Next chapter: The shopping component of the program concludes, but with results that neither Albel nor Fayt were expecting. Bunnies, problem gambling and cursed Choghurt – expect all that was promised before!