Author's note: I needed some totally unsexual Relm&Edgar in my life. And I really wanted to see him use his technical skills for something other than weapons or giant castle engines :p
Wind-Up
xxx
Edgar is seriously considering to outfit his crossbow with some kind of return mechanism. It's getting rather tiresome to scour the terrain for his bolts after every little skirmish.
He picks up another projectile and cleans it of a slimy liquid he doesn't want to look at too closely. A few steps away from him, little Relm is kneeling on the ground, rummaging around in her backpack and swearing under her breath, and Edgar can't help but be impressed at the torrent of vituperation that comes out of that small mouth. By the Triad, the girl cusses like a South Figaro dockworker.
He saunters over and sees her pulling something out of her bag. She fiddles with the thing, whatever it is, there's a grinding sound - and then she starts to weep.
Edgar stops dead in his tracks, shell-shocked. He has seen this girl face monsters which were easily three times her size. Just yesterday Strago had to Cure a bite wound on her leg that would have made a grown man faint. Relm hadn't so much as blinked an eye.
He drops both the bolt and his ammunition pocket where he stands and kneels down at her side. "What's wrong, little lady?"
He gets a heated glare for his trouble, complete with a scathing "None o' your business!" She snuffles noisily, and Edgar feels his heart melt.
"My sincerest apologies," he says gently, offering her his handkerchief. "But when a lady is crying, a gentleman is obliged to extend his services to her."
Relm blows her nose and rubs her fists across her face until it is covered in a mixture of dirt and tears. "It's broken," she says, pointing at the metal object in her lap. "I fell on it because the stupid monster scared me. I should have painted it," she adds gloomily.
Whatever the object in question is, it certainly does look rather the worse for wear. "May I?" Edgar asks, holding out his hand.
Relm eyes him rather skeptically, but after a moment she shrugs and hands the item over.
It's a music box. Dark blue metal with a pattern of clouds and stars, and a tiny windup key inserted into the side. There's a deep dent in the casing, and when Edgar tries to turn the key, it produces a few clicking sounds, but nothing more.
"Careful!" Relm orders.
Edgar frowns, turning the little item back and forth in his hands. Toys of this kind are usually quite simple constructs; the dented metal is probably pushing down onto the cylinder, preventing it from rotating, or the comb teeth may have gotten bent and wedged...
"Hey!" Relm snaps. "Are you listening to me?!"
With some difficulty, Edgar manages to refocus on the conversation. "I can fix this," he tells her.
"Really?"
"Little lady," he says, smiling. "I own a castle that can burrow underground and dive through the desert. A music box is no challenge for me."
"You're lying," she states with such conviction that he can't help but laugh.
"One day I'll show you," he promises. "But first..." He takes the handkerchief back and uses it to gently wipe the grime off her face. He's fully prepared to get snapped at again for patronizing her, but she surprises him by sitting docile until he's done.
"There," he says, brushing errant strands of hair out of her eyes. "Beautiful as morning itself."
"You're creepy," Relm says. But she grabs his hand and allows him to pull her to her feet.
The battered music box in one hand, the girl's fingers clasped in his other, Edgar makes his way back to their traveling group. The others have obviously decided to pitch camp for today. Someone - Terra, he assumes - has lit a small fire, and the rest have started to set up the tents. Slightly away from the group, Interceptor is happily wagging his tail as he licks water out of Shadow's cupped hand.
Locke is the first to spot them, and frowns when he sees Relm's hand in Edgar's. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing the right tool couldn't fix," Edgar says blithely.
Relm is mighty interested in what is for dinner tonight, so Edgar lets her go while he himself makes a beeline for his backpack to collect his tool belt. As luck will have it, Terra has lit the fire right next to a fallen tree where it's protected from the wind, and that tree trunk makes for a perfectly good improvised work bench.
"Hey, nerd king," Locke calls from where he's busy sinking a tent peg into the ground. "How about making yourself useful for a change?" Edgar gives him his most brilliant smile.
"One of these days, my dear, you and I will have to sit down together and define the word 'useful'." He ignores the rude gesture thrown at him, unties the leather roll that contains his precision tools, and gets down to work.
Screwing, hammering, cutting, polishing - it's routine work, as expected, but it's been a while now since he's had a chance to do some tinkering, and he enjoys the easy familiarity of it. On the other side of the campfire, Strago is ranting at his granddaughter for bringing along such delicate toys.
"You don't know what you want, grandpa," she grumbles. "You always say I should take care of my things. How can I do that when my things are at home and I'm not?" She has settled down next to him, Edgar realizes with some surprise. When exactly did that happen? She sits with her legs crossed, chewing on an apple, and watches him with that childlike mixture of distrust and exasperated patience that says: Grownups don't know a thing about toys, so obviously I have to keep a close eye on you.
Over the tree trunk, Edgar catches his brother's eye, and they share a reminiscent smile. Ah, young crown princes Edgar and Sabin could wreak havoc on an entire castle simply by squabbling over each other's favorite toys.
He puts the cover back over the clockwork, screws it in place and whips some pieces of copper wire into a kind of chain to attach the wind-up key to (keys are always the first thing to get lost). Relm tosses the apple core into the bushes and wipes her fingers on her trousers. "That was quick," she says - which, judging by the look on her face, is more along the lines of Are you sure you did that right? instead of an actual compliment.
Edgar smiles. "Well, let's see if my modest skills can live up to your expectations," he says and hands her the key while he stoically ignores his brother coughing the word "flirt" into his fist.
Relm doesn't look too optimistic, but she takes the proffered key, puts it into the lock and twists.
The clockwork whirs to life obligingly and proceeds to produce an airy, happy little melody, all trippling notes like a bubbling mountain streamlet winding its way through a lush meadow. Even Shadow looks up at the sound that is so out of place on this wind-swept plain in the middle of nowhere. "It works!" Relm cries. "It works!"
Edgar has to fight for balance, as he suddenly finds himself with a armful of jubilant ten-year-old. "Relm!" Strago snaps. "By the Triad, leave the man alone!" Locke is doubled over with laughter, Sabin is grinning from ear to ear, and even Terra's mouth has curved into a soft smile.
Gently, Edgar extricates himself from the embrace and instead takes Relm's little hand in his, briefly touching his lips to her knuckles. "My pleasure, little lady."
She frowns deeply at him, but it looks more thoughtful than annoyed. "You know," she muses, "if you stopped behaving like an idiot, you'd actually be nice." And with that she grabs her music box and saunters over to her grandfather who looks ready for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Edgar hears Sabin snort into his soup in a valiant attempt to hide his laughter. Locke is less considerate.
"Wow," he says, smirking around a piece of bread. "Hey, what does that feel like, getting psyched by a ten-year-old?"
"Mr. Cole," Edgar says in his best 'I-am-the-father-of-my-country' voice, pressing one hand to his chest. "We are sadly hurt by your unfavorable opinion of Us." Then he thinks of something, lets his hand drop and says: "Ah, damn it."
"Yeah, that's what I figured," Locke says with an air of malicious joy. Edgar heaves a sigh.
"Not that, darling. My ammo." He gestures aimlessly to encompass the plain before them. There's no sense in starting another search - dusk is beginning to fall, and he can't even remember clearly where he's left the pocket.
Sabin drops the spoon into his empty bowl with a flourish. "Guess that means you'll rise with the sun tomorrow, bro."
There is a witty reply to this, but Edgar gets deprived of the chance to give it by a black flash that swooshes past him, raising dust. The flash skitters to a halt at Shadow's feet, drops the thing that dangles from its jaws and furiously wags its tail.
Shadow bends down to pat Interceptor's head and flings the unshapely item into Edgar's direction without further ado.
Speechless, Edgar stares down at his ammunition pocket. It feels considerably heavier than before, somewhat damp at the sides, and sports the occasional impression of dog teeth. Interceptor pants heavily and then ambles along as Shadow, without a second glance, ducks into his tent.
Edgar casts his companions an inquiring glance, but they all look equally perplexed. Locke shrugs.
"So," he says loudly and firmly. "How about dinner, technical boy?"
*Fin*