Draco: With apologies to Jake Kaufman, Tommy Pedrini, and Brent Black.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

The Impresario

"What the hell is this!?"

The impresario turned to find Celes standing there with a look of fury on her face. They were at the opera house, and it was late enough for the night sky to obsure any flying airships; Locke and Terra were already in position, and Celes had already changed into Maria's finest dress and ribbons - which didn't mitigate her glare whatsoever. In one hand was a copy of the script/sheet music, and as she got the impresario's attention she slammed the script into the nearest table.

"It's two hours to performance," the impresario stated, worried. "Haven't you got your lines already?"

"I'll be surprised if it matters," Celes protested. "What is this farce?"

The impresario sighed, setting one hand on his head. "You chose to participate in the night performance," he insisted. "Five Mime Theatre always puts on two shows - one earlier, for the more cultured audiences, and one later, for the younger crowd."

Celes was confused. "Why the hell would you need a separate performance for the 'younger crowd'?" she demanded.

"Because classical music is not well-liked by that generation," the impresario admitted. "We don't do anything to stop anyone from attending either show, but that's the word that gets spread."

"So you completely butcher one of the greatest operas in the world just to sate a cheap crowd?" Celes accused.

"Look," the impresario insisted, "if you had brought this up sooner, I would invite you to take it up with Klauser and Baldesion, but everything is already prepared and positioned. If you need Setzer's airship, just grin and bear it."

Celes groaned. She had no reason to believe that Setzer was going to drop in after this show - not if he was looking for a good performance. "Fine," she snapped. "But you damn well better make sure this gets changed afterward. This is disgusting."

With some difficulty - a dress is not easy to move in - the Lady of the Frost stormed off, making her way to her dressing room.

She was surprised to find a figure in dark, tight garb standing there, knife in hand.

Celes went for her sword before she remembered she couldn't wear a sword with a dress. Her gaze went about, finding that they were alone; then she raised her hands, snowflakes trailing from the fingertips. The figure raised its empty hand defensively before reaching up and pulling off its cowl - revealing the face of Locke Cole, his hair unbound.

"You would not believe how stuffy it is in there," he warned.

"Why are you dressed like a ninja?" Celes inquired.

"Ninjas don't dress like this," Locke reprimanded.

"Shadow does," Celes countered.

"He's an assassin," Locke corrected. "He dresses for intimidation and to hide his face. This is what all the stagehands are wearing. This way we don't show up against the backdrop."

Celes chuckled. "So, you and Terra are going to be dressed like assassins for the entire show?"

Locke angled his head. "Something like that," he mused. "What were you up to?"

The former general scoffed, offering him the script and stepping past him. "I can't believe I have to put up with this dress for something designed to satisfy teenagers who can't handle opera."

The treasure hunter looked over the sheet of music. After scanning the first page, he started humming the overture, briefly; then he turned to Celes. "It fits the music," he mused. "It would probably be alright just to listen to."

"You know Maria and Draco?" Celes inquired, turning to him.

"As far as the songs go, anyways," Locke admitted. "I've never actually seen a performance."

"You should have been here sooner," Celes replied. "There's no way Setzer's going to think this is 'worthy of shining alongside' Maria."

Locke sighed, setting the script down on a dresser of sorts. A long moment of quiet passed; then he turned to the Lady of the Frost.

"For what it's worth, you look beautiful."

Celes blushed lightly. "I... thanks," she admitted. "It's a pain to move around in, though."

The monstrel chuckled. "Yeah, well... formal wear does that," he agreed. "At least a suit has separate legs."

"When have you ever worn a suit?" Celes inquired, turning to the treasure hunter.

"I... it was..." Locke lowered his gaze. "That was... a good while ago."

Too late did Celes realize when he would have worn a suit - with Rachel. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Locke shook his head. "No, it's alright," he assured her. "You had no way of knowing."

There was a long quiet; then Celes coughed lightly. "I... I should probably... get this... script memorized," she prompted, picking up the set of paper and starting to a small table - upon which sat a half-finished meal.

"Hey... Celes?"

The former general turned. "What is it?"

Locke sighed. "When... During that situation with Valigarmanda," he prompted. "You... Why were you so upset when he was talking about Terra?"

Celes shook her head. "I've been serving the Imperial army for a good while," she admitted. "When the Emperor introduced me to Terra, he called her a 'critical measure' - a last resort for when the last resort fails. And that was the last time I heard anyone call her by name. I thought it was just Kefka, but the soldiers, too - they call her Flare Dancer whenever she's in action, and pyro witch when they're off-duty. Knowing what that crown did..." She scoffed, shaking her head. "I hate it. When Valigarmanda was just calling her the 'one who freed him with fire', it just brought back all those memories."

"I see," Locke mused.

He slipped the stagehand cowl back over his head and opened the door, leaving Celes alone in the dressing room. Idly, her hand went into the pocket of her dress, drawing out a gold coin; the 'good-luck charm' of the former Figaro king.

The surface was engraved with the face of Edgar Roni Figaro.

Celes snickered, bracing the coin and flipping it into the air. "I didn't think a king would show favouritism between his princes," she admitted, catching it in her plam. "Let alone between..."

She fell quiet - for now the coin was engraved with the face of Sabin Rene Figaro.

"...twins..."

Curious, she held the coin between two fingers, turning it with a third. The coin was two-headed, just with differing heads; one coin had Sabin's face, and the other had Edgar's face.

"Was your father a gambling man?"
"Not exactly."

With a chuckle, Celes realized what the Figaro king had meant. "That's... kinda sweet," she admitted. Her smile faded. How would you hide that? If you're trying to rig a bet, they'll notice one of the faces. A moment's pause; then she shifted her grip on the coin, so that it was trapped between the thumb and index finger of a closed fist; Sabin's face was hidden by the curled finger, leaving only the rim of the gold.

"I guess that could work."

+x+x+x+

"Ten minutes to curtain-rise, places!"

Terra and Locke were both 'dressed like assassins' as they got out of the way for the actors to take place. Terra wasn't familiar with the performance (as far as her broken memory had to say about it), so she couldn't say anything about Five Mime Theatre deriving from the original - Locke, however, had quelled any belief that this could be a decent show when they had been instructed to set up the interior of a castle dungeon.

To be fair, they had spared no expense on the effects. The dungeon in question could have been part of Doma Castle (Locke could have sworn it was a brick wall when he had first seen it), the backdrop was a night sky that was just dark enough to make the stagehands invisible (with very convincing lights pinned to it to act as stars and a rather impressive full moon), and as Celes took position on a high ledge, she found herself showered with shimmering sparks that made her look positively spectral. Klauser and Baldesion were back-to-back in the center; with the script having them take alternate lines, one section of the set had been designed to rotate - without being separate from the rest or even showing any indication that it was there until it began moving.

"You're sure this is going to get us a ride to Vector?" Terra asked Locke as the impresario was counting down.

"Absolutely not," Locke muttered.

The curtains began to ascend - and then, three seconds later, a deep chorus began to sing.

"Loo~k into the sins of your pa~st!
Lo~ve as if today were your-"

That was as far as they got; at that moment, someone high above the stage shouted, "STOP!"

Everyone - actors, stagehands, musicians, audience, impresario - everyone's gaze went skyward. One panel of the skylight that served as a roof was open, and now, descending on a rope, was a man in a long coat of black leather with golden trim, a deep black shirt beneath it (which was open to reveal another, white shirt beneath that), and a fine pair of black leggings. His hair was silver, and flayed skyward, and his face was very pale, adorned with scars that stood out against his flesh. On the front of his jacket's left shoulder was a series of gold pins marking playing card suits; spade, heart, club, diamond.

His descent was littered by his own shouting; "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" He landed with another loud "Stop!" The rope continued to trail down after he released it, and as the last notes faded he turned to the impresario, who was standing just off-stage. "What the hell is this!?"

The impresario made his way up the steps nearby. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The newcomer gave him a look. "I came in through the skylight, on a rope, hanging from an airship, and I have playing card suits pinned to my jacket. Who do you think I am?"

"Sorry," the impresario corrected, "that was meant in the context of, Who are you and what have you done with Setzer Gabbiani?"

"I came across a copy of your script," the man - Setzer - reprimanded, reaching into his jacket and coming out with a set of papers. "What is this farce?"

Celes had to resist the urge to laugh upon hearing her own words repeated by the man who had intended to praise the play; the impresario looked incredibly awkward. "We... put on separate performances... for audiences that dislike classical-"

Setzer slapped him with the script. Locke, Celes, Klauser, and Baldesion all winced; the script wasn't long, but sheet music, as a rule, takes up several more pages than a set of lines on its own.

"You have no reason to butcher this most wonderful of performances just because you happen to have a crowd that can't handle classical music!" the gambler reprimanded. Then, turning to the audience; "I mean no offense, by the way; opera is a very acquired taste." Back to the impresario. "You eliminated an entire setting, you tore down one point of the love triangle, and you turned this love story into some cheap Romeo and Juliet rip-off!"

"It still fits the music!" the impresario protested.

Setzer slapped him with the script again. This one knocked him down, and the gambler threw the script down on his legs. "Look, dental floss," he snapped, "if you have any respect for Maria and Draco, you will never let this farce be heard again unless it is acknowledged as parody. And if you did this on purpose because you were scared that bodyguard in the rafters wouldn't stop me, I don't blame you, but you still ought know better than to force anyone to participate in... this!"

Then he turned to the set and raised a hand to Celes, who was still on the high platform - although the shower of ethereal sparks had been halted when Setzer had dropped in. "Maria!" he called. "My plan was to wait until the curtains fell, and take you for a flight of celebration! Now, however, I offer you escape from this ruinous pretense for performance!"

Celes rolled her eyes. "Oh, my hero," she called sarcastically.

The impresario shot upright. "Wait," he mused. "Bodyguard in the rafters?"

"What," Setzer mused, turning to him and lowering his hand, "was he supposed to wait until after the fact?"

"The only one who even remotely fits the description of 'bodyguard' is with the stagehands!" the impresario insisted.

Setzer was concerned at this point. "Wait, then who...?"

Everyone - Setzer, the actors, the stagehands, the audience, the musicians, and the impresario - everyone gazed skyward to see someone standing on the rafters with something large and heavy before them. They seemed to realize that they had been spotted; a loud scoff sounded, and then a twisted voice shouted, "Oh, screw this!"

"Is that an anvil?!" the impresario cried.

It was; with a loud grunt, the hidden figure shoved it off the edge of the rafters, causing it to plummet towards the stage; Setzer and the impresario dove in opposite directions as it smashed through the stages, throwing wooden splinters everywhere. The crowd burst with a sequence of panicked screams, everyone taking off towards the door, and the anvil dropped leapt after his projectile with a laugh. Klauser and Baldesion took off past the stagehands as he landed - wrapped in blue denim, with navy hair and bug-eyed glasses.

"I know him," Terra realized.

Locke turned. "What?"

The dancer tore off her cowl to bare her face. "Ultros," she realized. "He's a kraken, he tried to drown me while we were getting away from the Returner base. He's the reason Sabin was separated from us."

"You've got to be kidding me," Locke muttered, turning back to the group.

Setzer had recovered while they were talking, and Ultros was busy eyeing Celes - who was trapped on the high platform, the ladder she had used to get up there having been taken away. The kraken had started to advance forward when Setzer hurled a hand of cards at him - and these cards cut into his flesh, through all the denim. Ultros yelped, pulling away, and turned to Setzer, who had already drawn another set in his other hand.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Meathead."

"Heads up, slimy!"

Ultros whirled around as Locke leapt forward, still cowled and wrapped, with a knife in hand and a massive bag (in which were Celes' armour and his and Terra's clothes) in the other; the creep's attempt to dodge still got him skimmed by the blade, and left him an easy target for Setzer's toss of cards. The kraken tumbled off the stage, and Setzer quickly grabbed the loop of rope that had formed. "Maria!" he called, throwing the loop towards her; she caught the end, and a further deal of rope landed between them. Setzer quickly gave the rope a fierce tug, causing the rope to retract and dragging him towards the skylight.

The kraken recovered as he took off, glancing around; the only ones left around the stage were Locke, Terra, Celes, the kraken, and a rapidly-retreating Setzer. With a roll of his eyes, he grabbed the edge of the stage, pulling himself up - and a mass of tentacles emerged from around him, some of them lunging towards Locke and some going in Celes' direction.

All of them pulled back when a bolt of fire connected with one of them.

Terra leapt out from behind the set. "Go!" she called. "I'll keep him distracted!"

Locke wasn't so sure. "Terra-!"

"I'll be fine!" she insisted. "I can take him!"

Celes leapt down, landing with some difficulty in her dress, as the rope started to run out. "Locke, take the rope!" she shouted.

Locke sheathed his blade and grabbed the rope, and he and Celes were dragged skyward with all haste. The skylight panels were large enough that they didn't have to worry about running into the frame, and Ultros' attempts at grabbing them were quickly shot down by a bolt of Terra's fire.

"Yeouch!" The kraken whirled around at Terra, who landed with one hand on the floor - although she was still in the stagehand garb, she had left the cowl behind, leaving her face bare. "You're that pretty thing from the river!" he realized.

"And you're the seafood soup," Terra reprimanded.

Ultros leaned his head back. "Oh, hah hah," he mused. "Very funny." His tentacles writhed around him as he spread his arms tauntingly. "You wanna play, huh?"

Terra only raised one hand forward, palm skyward.

"I should warn you: something is happening to me. Something I don't understand."

Then she raised one hand skyward, palm forward.

"Which means I have no way of knowing how much I'm going to hurt you."

Draco: Okay, now I feel like Brian Clevinger.