The public is a ferocious beast; one must either chain it or flee from it.
--Voltaire
Vayne's Night Off.
A low needy high-pitched sigh sounded in the darkened Solidor chamber, with gilded mirrors above and aside, a diaphanous long curtain obscured the partly naked members upon that linen and modest large bed, without the fluff and without the curls, there were leftover bowls of fruits not eaten, two goblets of wine untouched; on the floor were garments discarded in proper order. Not even Vayne could stand the improper mess that derived from removing one's clothing despite the most intimate circumstances. He did not prefer such garishly pompously displayed decorations, favoring the bolder but simpler flavour of reserved gold and black upon the sheets without so much as shine on its pattern.
For at the moment, Vayne was in the middle of taking a dancer into his bed, frustration and stress he believed was to be relieved between a hume's tender thighs; he was sliding his pale-elegant hand over the tanned supple skin, free of scar and blemish, kissed softly, almost agonizing slow over the hume's inner leg. Slipped a tongue between the crevices so that he heard the pleasurable moan from his companion; and only paused long enough to gaze lazily through his half parted lids at the trimmed curls, the taut smooth brown flesh, heard the insistent foreign noise that was not coming from his companion. He shifted, reluctant to look up, but the distressing noise—which was, he thought irritably—as bad as a leaking faucet pump, wrung his concentration from such a deliberate, and almost tender lovemaking.
He enjoyed all the pleasures of life, and he had been much too long amongst the snare of the Senate's suspicion, under the weakened disapproval of his late father's stare; always, and always keeping the blindness in young Larsa's untainted eyes—so the boy may never see what truly went on. Larsa is as he should be. While he would have continued in this vein, taking slow torturous pleasure from his lover's anticipated pain; yet, that little tinkering noise seemed to penetrate the room's atmosphere; the annoying sound came from above where an expansive mirror was situated above the garish bed. He finally shifted his head to the side, looking up, from above his dancer's trembling thighs, his shoulders tensed, then saw that there was a poster flickering: it was the draklor laboratory's image, with new designs and a note in blindingly yellow which said, 'never mind the swimming pool, that's much too boring; how about a Venat of your own? You can't beat that! Always willing to lend a helping aid…." And the words had gotten smaller that he had to squint. Vayne twitched his lips, the long black wavy end hairs tickled the flushed skin of the hume beneath him.
He rolled over on his back, his, releasing his dancing-bed partner, black hair fanning out amongst the downy-soft pillows, and fisted his eyes, "ARGGH! CIDOLPHUS!"
A holler of alarm from his lover stirred him to pull the fists from his eyes, saw in a flash—the naked flesh quickly scampering out of the bed, scarlet garments covering private parts, running out of the door. Vayne sat up, saw Cid standing by the entrance, then strolling in, whispering to the invisible Venat, about how this was most improper but aye, yes, yes,--this was the best route, you say? Oh yes, indeed.
Vayne grabbed the smashed pillow beside him and threw it over at Cid (wishing it were a more solid object); it flew over the doctor's and would have landed on Venat but the misty Occuria-regenerator vanished completely, taking with it the rest of the sparkling mist in its wake.
"You'll never get the extension to your laboratory this way, Cidolphus! We have stormed all over the east end of Ivalice to further help you with your experiments, surely you go too far. If you were not such a favoured & valuable ally to me..."
"Now now, calm yourself, your most high excellent Vayne, let us not be hasty, for Gabranth has certainly planted the seed most deep." Cidolphus paused at that, and hummed disapprovingly, "That was an incredibly bad way to phrase it."
"There is nothing to discuss, until there is evidence of Ashelia's condition. Has Venat been busy finding out what has happened?"
"To be sure, Lord Vayne, Venat refuses to be privy to such private affairs, finding that part of the deal too demeaning."
"Nonsense." Vayne grumbled, his hair was messed up, and he reached up to whip back the strands with one flick of his wrist.
"I wholeheartedly agree, but Venat will be following the Princess's condition in due time."
Vayne pushed up from the bed, glad to be wearing his robe and pulled the curtain aside, "We'll resume this discussion when I'm properly clothed."
Market-place; Ashelia.
"That is a mighty fine sword there, miss." The merchant exclaimed happily behind the smooth-lacquered counter, handling the heavy blade across his hands, "there is a hefty price for it, though, and I'm afraid your purse strings are not enough to cover it."
Ashelia bit her lip, drew her brows together, counting the last remaining coins within her meager pouch. She was indeed too poor for such a valuable weapon and she took a quick glance behind her, where Gabranth was mulling over the books on the shelves upstairs. She hated to ask him, too proud; and turning to the merchant, she declined gently, averting her disappointed eyes away.
"It's fine. I shall come back for it when I have enough."
The owner seemed to have taken pity on her, for his voice took on a gentler tone, "I'm afraid that this might not be here when you return, but I can always trade you for that—ring there."
She gasped at the ring he pointed; the one on her finger. Nay. Never. But there were two rings on her finger, one from her departed husband, and the other—a friendship ring. Both were important jewels on her person, and she could not bear to part with either one. For such a weapon, it was not worth the exchange. She shook her head, "I can't. It's not for sale or for exchange." She fingered the ring with a tender caress.
He could see that she thought too much of it, and he smiled, "You can offer me either one. I can see both are rare and possess a certain quality I'm interested in; think of it as a wager, where you take the weapon and I hold on to your ring and when you return to exchange the weapon again, I shall have this ring returned to you, intact."
She was confused, "But what profit would that bring you?"
"No profit at all if you return too soon. I shall have to give you an expiration date to return the sword, and I must offer a price above it as well."
"And that is?"
"You must bring me not only the sword back, no matter if it has been damaged, I run a smithy in the back to take care of such things. You must also bring back a special and rare hunt for me."
"Pardon?"
He procured a poster from out under the shelves beneath his counter, laying on the smooth surface, and ironing it out with his hand. The beast in the photo was one that was in the Barheim Passage. She looked closely, "what manner of creature is that?"
"Supposedly a vampyr bat, for there is the passage and you must go deep within the surface." Then he looked at her perplexed expression, and continued, "Worry not, once you complete the hunt, you may keep whatever the creature possesses. I only ask that you bring me proof of its defeat. I shall also reward you back your ring, and then you may also be richer for it."
"How much will I profit?" She was interested, and if she had enough funds she could do without Gabranth and find her way back to Rabanastre, find the rest of the insurgences and deal with the Empire later. She must think of a way to require her independence back; however in order to do that—like all cultures and civilizations—they must work hard to earn it. How far she had fallen from a privileged princess to one who must skulk beneath Rabanastre; she had lived for the past two years, in the modest hidden shelters of Lowtown and, running through the Waterways, making grand plans. All the while, thinking of the most desirable thing: to get retribution.
But her chest pained when she took one of the rings off her finger, and settled it with some reluctance upon the smooth, shiny counter. She saw the merchant take it eagerly, staring into it with interest, "You shall profit well, with two thousand gil and a transporter stone. I'm a generous merchant, and you'll find me more than fair." he continued to peer closely at her ring, noticing the gems around the rare silver-hued band, "Ah, not one of its kind that I've ever seen. It is a rather rare piece, and the metals, they are not common here in Archades," He looked to her, "Rozarria?" Then saw her shake her head, and continued, "You look not of Rozarrian blood, but—you are not from here. I wager, somewhere far and distant, or from a land that has been destroyed by the war."
She said nothing. She did not want to give anything away, but slid the blade into the scabbard it came with. The heaviness would take something to get used to, but she would exercise it like all the other blades she has been able to wield.
Once she spoke to the Gran Kiltias, and find what she has to do, then all will come together. The owner signed something in the hunt's announcement, folding it neatly and handed it to her, "Here, this is an unofficial board hunt, but I shall know you instantly when you return with your success."
"Why have you not posted it before hand?" She had to ask.
He leaned in, whispering low as if to offer a very secretive morsel, "I was due to go this eve after I close up and post it, but you came along, and let's just say---the less who hunt this, the more likely you'll get your prize and benefit from it. There are far too many hunters in Archades searching for the best hunts and profit well. You—on the other hand." He sent her a pitying look, "now I don't know what your relationship with the gentleman there, though he is well dressed in simple yet fine clothes, I get the feeling that you are not very close."
"He is, but a companion for the present, nothing more."
"Ah." He nodded, but there was something in his rheumy eyes that told her he did not believe her, "let me know then if you need anything else."
"Thank you," she said with kindness, and walked over to Gabranth who was leaning his shoulder casually against the bookshelf---sifting through the large volumes-- sturdy wood-lacquered bookshelves that contained not only large gold bound books, but various paraphernalia, which looked quite overpriced. His hand held the open book steady, while his finger turned the pages slowly.
"I'm ready, Gabranth." She told him breathlessly.
He looked up from his perusal, "You have bought what you needed? Do you need any extra gil?"
"Aye, I have what I want for now, and nay, I am fine."
He gazed at the new weapon at her side, raising his blond brow with interest, "a bastard sword?" She heard him scoff and watched as he folded the book with one snap, sliding it neatly back unto the shelves next to him.
"What of it? I could afford no other sword, and the one I had was too weak. Surely you know that my ancient sword would not do."
"It may not have much damage, though be it sharp, it possesses a potent curse."
She lifted her chin, "True, it does, but I need to vanquish my enemies quick, not wait until they render me helpless."
He pushed away from the bookshelf, "all right, Princess, I am more than happy if you're happy." And he turned away, sauntering past her.
She seethed silently, "Your genuineness does my heart good, Gabranth. A girl could ask no more." He ignored the biting remark, and she followed him a little ways, down the steps towards the exit.
They walked through the throng of humes, passed the cheers of spectators who were ogling at a pair of mimes with overlarge shirts and powdered faces. She looked above at the sky, where the traffic was sparsely filled with the glorious concoctions of the Empire, of the modern ships that zipped by and the train compartment in the sky that held a handful of people—traveling to and fro—to the other side of the city.
She was so caught up with the noise and unusual beauty of the city that she had lost sight of Gabranth; the heads of humes bopping in and out of the crowd. She sucked in her breath, and looked towards the north and west, where she had glimpsed earlier the cab stop. Her fingers on her pouch, recalling in her head of how much; and may have enough gil to get her out of the city and perhaps, she would ask among the throng of citizens where she may get to the Passage safely. Ashelia had not asked the merchant earlier, and would have—but her thought at that moment was that she would ask Gabranth. That he would willingly take her would be nothing short of seducing him to get what she wanted. It made her disgusted of what she must do, and though other hume females have done worse—much worse in a time of war torn Ivalice, to survive; hers was, she truly believed so much more an affront. Her feet took her swiftly meandering across the steady parade of humes. And she often glanced behind her to see if he had noticed that she was gone, or that she was on her way to the opposite direction.
Ashelia spotted the cab and the driver was already taking the last passenger inside; and she ran, gently pushing people aside, "Pardon, please, I must, I have to get through." She whispered apologetically.
Gods! Don't leave! Her heart raced.
-continued-