Never Deal with a Dragon
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that it wouldn't be sw33t to have a pet mage. Sweet little thing running around starting fires. erm. maybe not? *sweatdrops* Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people-
New characters soon, new situations! Whee hee!! *does the happy servbot dance* Ya Ya, babu! *proudly adjusts her "Walking Violation of the Vivi Protection Society" Pin, holding up a rocket launcher and a very scared looking vivi plush* heh.
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56 raised his head as he entered, shouldering open the door, careful to avoid smacking me in the head. Considering the raging migraine clawing it's way through my brain, I appreciated the gesture. I shifted in the warm sanctity of his arms, my fingers lingering over the sleeve of his coat, gaining comfort from the soft material. He murmured a little to me, illegible and soothing, straightening to give me a better view of the room.
Amber eyes met mine, a good handful of them. Seated in a circle, the other mages, spanning the three casts, blinked with dim honey gazes from within the darkness beneath their hats. I felt 56's arm shift below me, moving forward to easily support my back as his other arm lifted from my shoulder a little, rising in greeting to our brothers kneeling on the floor before us. I also raised my hand, hesitantly I admit, a bit shaken up by everything.
Seeing me, a rather distinctive form rises from his position, moving forward with a surprised, exultant sound. A very distinct form considering he utterly dwarfed the rest of us in height and girth. A type A that rivaled even the largest Cs.
I smile warmly as 56's arm moves back around me, and the other figure approaching us gently lays one large, soft hand on my shoulder. Number 44's smile is welcoming.
"Oh gods 123, you're back. I was so worried."
"We all were..." The voice drifts from the crowd, the deepened voice of a type C echoing from the room. It is a small space, metal and warm. Sand, drifting down from above lays in a thin, irritating layer we resolutely avoid. This is where we are allowed to stay when off duty. the cells. It's not that bad really. The sand can simply be swept away with a hand, to the middle of the floor, that tiny circle that everyone avoids. The magma, unseen beneath the floor, renders the whole room a warm and comforting affair, but the small, single flue at the exact center of the room must be avoided at all costs lest it singe flesh or clothing. Poor 44 still had that scar on his leg, an unpleasant gray amidst the inky black.
I feel 56 shift a little and I cling, not wanting to leave the caring embrace. He hums gently to me, easing me down to my feet, holding me for the expected, customary stumble. I lean into him, my face to his chest, simply breathing in the sulfur smell of the air and the warmth of his coat, smelling of cinnamon and magic.
Hands find me then, a warm, aiding touch. 44's eyes are kind as he guides me away from my brother, towards the group. I lean heavily, still unsteady. maybe it's the air. Sometimes the fumes from the lava can be awful.
The others look okay as I approach them however, unaffected by chemical or fumes, their expressions amiable. They watch silently, smiling, as 44 eases me towards the group, towards the gap he had just vacated upon rising to greet 56 and I. I blink blearily, rubbing at a sore eye as a drift of sand comes down, tinkling off my hat.
The others move aside, shifting to give us room as we step up to our positions. A similar activity is happening from across the group for 56. A shuffling sound is heard from the floor as the mages around us scrabble about with sand flecked gloves, and I glance down, curious. The tetra master tetrad is laid out, the game almost finished. A few rocks and pebbles litter the ground, blocking markers. The dice sit, half tilted from the odd, segmented floor. Number 32 gently collects the cards, carefully checking the protective sheathes for any potentially invading sand grains that could mar the perfect, pristine surfaces. It was a surprise really; most type A's weren't overly careful about the state of their cards, most of the cards ending up taking on a faint scraping to the corners, a worn, used and familiar look that marked a well loved hand. But 32 took his gaming seriously, keeping his cards in utterly mint condition. He had traded a very elaborate synthed bracelet he had made himself for a gross box of 500 of the clear, magically transparent oilcloth sheaths. It left no stain upon the cards and sat like flexible, yet stiff glass, a miracle to any serious card player. It had taken quite a lot of wheedling, favors and mooching to get even the sheathes for the six hands I regularly played, much less 35's entire collection all meticulously protected.
I pause, raising a hand to feel at my chest. There, square and comfortable, sits my deck, warmed by my skin, tucked into the little pocket I had laboriously sewn into my own coat. All my (good) playing cards, all thirty, from my magic slasher hand to the unexpected drop hand, to that miracle combo hand I had never, ever managed to pull off. I pull it free, gently unwrapping the length of twine holding it together, letting the string drop as I splay the cards, glancing over each familiar surface. One of the things I had noticed was that my brothers and I all tended to gravitate towards magic class cards. Not surprising considering what we were.
Shuffling through the cards, I tuck one between two fingers of my left hand, tsking to myself. They'd gotten out of order again. Had I let it go too long? Maybe I needed to buy a box like 32.
32's smile is wry as he watches me, his eyes intent. I hold my cards to me, smiling humoringly as I begin to sift through the cards, separating the hands to their respective decks. His chuckle is genuine as he leans back, allowing me my room. I laugh. It's not as if we hadn't handled each other's cards a million times, but sometimes it was fun to pretend we were all major tetra master players in a big city somewhere. I pause at the thought, my eyes going out of focus. yeah. Like that would ever happen. a black mage in a big city? Mob fodder, proposed card game or no. Unwittingly drifting off, I pause, eyes staring unseeingly at the cards in my hand.
"123?"
Startled, I look up. 32 eyes me suspiciously, busily arranging the various five card decks in his hands. He scowls briefly, his eyes acquiring a dangerous cant as he shakes his prized perfect X ironite under my nose. "You're thinking of bad things again. Cut it out. This is official social break time- you know the rules."
Smiling softly to myself, I nod, reciting in a soft voice to myself the words we had so recently come to know all too well among ourselves. "One rule, only rule. Relaxation is relaxation, peace is peace. Leave your troubles for work, now is a time for love and trust, rest and comfort." I nod softly, silent and somber.
The ironite card bounces off my hat's rim, flashing in the air to land in my collar. Blinking in startlement, one gloved hand hovers over my chest, gently probing at the sharp edged object now resting against my throat. Befuddled by the whole affair, I glance sourly at him, favoring 32 with a mock dour look, carefully extracting the card. The oilcloth gives a small gleam as I hold it up between index and second fingers, turning it so it catches the light. My eyes are mischievous as I wave it in front of him, languidly brandishing it with little flourishes before his face. "Why thank you 32. I always wanted this card."
He makes a lunge for it with an indignant squawk, hands catching me by the coat before I can skip away. Fingers winding, he heaves, dragging me closer. I laugh as I lean back, nearly falling over, holding the card just out of his reach. Being a type A, his physical strength is greater than my own and I laugh as he pretty much crushes me in a rather unexpected bear hug. I don't resist, choking on my giggles as he grabs my wrist, gently removing the card and twittering to it in worried care like some ridiculous, puffy purple bird. On my back, I look up, eyes slitted with laughter as he places a foot on my chest, waving the card admonishingly in front of my face as he looms over me like an angry mother griffon.
"123, you know the only way you'd ever get your hands on this card is if you won it, and the only way that'll happen is if I played with nothing but arrowless goblin cards with a BLINDFOLD on!!" He looked so serious, I couldn't help it. My hands slip up, gently caressing against an ankle as I ease onto one side slightly, wiggling just enough.
Giving the oddest bleat of surprise he stumbles, arms windmilling helplessly as he abruptly lurches forward, feet suddenly catching a patch of sand and snapping out and back. He falls heavily- directly onto me, crushing me beneath him as he lands... Now, black mages weigh remarkably little, but he still drove the air from my lungs as he lands, his eyes going brown and slitted for a moment. I lay there, stunned, blinking away my own momentary disorientation. half delirious, I see the opportunity, my hands drift under his coat.
".?? -!!! Ah NO NO not that eek ack AHH!!" He writhes against me, his eyes closed as he tries to struggle free, pushing at me, trying in vain to roll off. I hold him, hands beneath his coat and fingers tickling at sensitive sides, trailing under the arms and at the neck, beneath the collar. Mr. No Problems? Fine! We'd see who could take it.
44 merely coughs softly beside me, purposefully tapping his cards to the floor as I look up, holding a now nearly crying 32 to my chest. "You in the game?"
I look up to a very purple faced 32, who merely thumps me in the forehead and nods slightly, giving me a very clear 'oh I'm going to get you later' look and pushes himself up, breath labored, looking more than a bit embarrassed. I laugh as I ease myself to a sitting position, scooting into my place, sweeping sand from my sides and back as I take up my hand, carefully selecting one of the five card hands and slipping the rest back in their dark hiding place against my skin. 44 says nothing, merely giving me a long suffering look as he brushes the sand I had missed from my back.
His hand lingers; a comforting squeeze. I nod silently, thankful for the silent support.
Which deck? I look over my cards, sifting slowly, evaluating the numerics as best I could without the required dice. Browsing through my cards, I don't glance up as I ask "So, what are we playing?"
44 shuffles through his own cards, carefully evaluating each with an intense scrutiny he usually only reserves for cooking. "Eight part quad drop. Double take rule."
Yeek. eight players, four dropping cards at a time on a fifty-by-fifty grid. Lucky it was the double take rule. a perfect, unlikely as it sounded, would kill seven people's decks in one go. Considering how many of us there were, there'd be two games going on simultaneously. Oh I loved tetra master.
"So you in?"
I nod vigorously. My power hitter deck was best used in the big multiplayer games. I pulled it free, gazing warmly at my own prize card. It might not be an X card, it might not have a full compliment of arrows, but my troll had a plus four bonus to attack AND it had achieved a P status. Something that had taken a good three weeks of daily play to do. I smile, nodding and tapping the base of my cards to the ground, the signal that I was ready.
"So. what happened while I was gone?" I try to sound casual, and few look up from their first musing contemplation of the board. A random roll assigns pebbles to the extra ten spaces, and everyone begins to roll for order. 44 shrugs, looking over his cards. "Not much, the jester twins getting on everyone's cases. but I guess that's understandable. Kuja's been in a real bustle about something or other. but, of course, he's not volunteering information."
I snort softly. That was most certainly an understatement. The only thing Kuja was good for was one of those calm, scary temper tantrums that he managed to deliver so well. Reaching under my coat, I rub sand from my side, gently sweeping gloved fingers against my skin, letting the little clinging annoying grains fall free. This blasted sand got everywhere. into the food, into your bed and into your eye when you slept. And, being in a desert, Kuja never let us bathe. thank whatever power governs this place that black mages don't sweat. but my coat was getting awfully dusty.
The dice are passed, falling into my open palm. I look down at it, a simple pyramidal four-sided affair carved of bluish stone. Those that rolled a one or two would go first, the others after. Okay, I nodded to myself, dropping the dice to the metal. A three. Later group then. I carefully gather the dice and slip them into 44's open, waiting palm, giving him a warm smile as my fingers give his a squeeze.
The secondary dice fall beside me, typical six siders of a faintly dirty white. I look over as 44 curses silently. He had to go first, poor guy. First goers often lost, it was a sad and simple fact. He sighs, shaking his head and tugs his hat down a bit over his eyes as he gathers the dice, pressing them into my hand and giving me a good luck look. I weigh them pensively. A high number would be nice. A five. good enough.
The dice are passed around, from person to person. I stare, disinterested; the big games were interesting but the setup was always such a drag. Idly drawing in a drift of sand, I trace intricate, meaningless patterns, my ears full of the warm muttering of my people and the slow clatter of dice.
44, the first one, glances around the group once, his eyes slitted faintly and, slipping a card from his hand, he gently lays it into a corner of the board.
.A very well protected corner. It was one of his tougher zaghnols as well.
Another mage gently removes a card from his hand. Oddly enough, it's a frog. I stare for a bit. When did he get that? He sets it in another corner, a bristling barrier of arrows. not remarkably strong but it's odd just how many surprises this game could cough up. It's still a while to my turn, even considering how fast this game went and I smile softly as I lean over, snuggling against 44's plush side. I gently encircle his waist with an outstretched arm, feeling his own fall behind me as he waits for his turn to come up once again.
A few more, here and there. I lose interest; 288 had always lovingly called me one without a long attention span. and I find my thoughts drifting. I wonder what guests Kuja was talking about. who could he be expecting? Miss Hilda was around here somewhere, though I hadn't ever seen her. that was the only other person I knew of that he knew. unless he's speaking of the ugly lady he was always talking to, but I haven't seen her recently.
" Hellooo. 123? Gaia to 123, come in 123. Hey buddy, it's your turn." I look up, startled. They're all staring at me, waiting expectantly, a dozen warm glows all fixed on my face. a warmth rising to taint my cheeks a purplish blue, I turn back to my cards, glancing through the five card deck before me, carefully shifting cards. A good amount of arrows, but better start small. I pull my weakest creature free, looking it over appraisingly. A zaghnol, like 44's, save for a few more arrows. I gently place it down, next to 35's infamous ironite card.
I hardly even need to check the dice, but roll anyway. A loss, like that wasn't expected considering the power and rank of that monster card. The card is flipped, the '32' marker dropped atop the card as 32 leans back with a self satisfied purr and the game continues.
Cards are dropped, small murmurs of success or failure drift through the air. .What was master Kuja talking about? Who would be coming here? I don't know. it worries me. Master Kuja isn't the most gracious of hosts. looking at the way he treats us and we're officially working for him. I know we shouldn't be here but. why is he like that? Why does he hate us so much. He's a bad man. I understand that, but. what pain lurks there? I don't want to help him or anything. maybe I just want to understand. oops, my turn again.
I glance up as the card drops. Whoa. The entire board now shone with '32' markers. 32 had made nearly a clean sweep! Impressed, I glance over the cards spread before me, the intricate grid of card and pebble, each card immediately identifiable of it's owner by many a well loved game crouched in the sun drenched grass, leaning back and simply drinking in the game and the company of the ones we love... Selecting a card, I hold it up briefly, letting it drop. Another loss. I shrug, returning to my thoughts, easing against my brother once again . my eyes drift closed a little as I settle to wait, grateful for his ample, comforting presence.
I feel 44's hand slip around my waist, gently hugging me. I lean against him, glad for the warmth and comfort, propping my chin on his shoulder and snuggle. He turns, nuzzling me briefly, before turning back to the game. "Pull your mind back to the game 123 or you'll lose all your cards. 32's on a roll." I nod, trying to concentrate. what's wrong with me? Usually I eat up the opportunity to get a good game out of 32. but my mind feels like jelly right now. is it a side effect of the. alteration? Or just a raging headache. I merely lay against my brother, hands idly trailing little designs against his lower back.
32's words, snide and triumphant echo from the other side of the room. "Last round, your turn bro." I look up, meeting his preemptively triumphant gaze . Nodding faintly, I hold my last card, gently laying it beside one of my older cards, and grab a double handful of dice. Dropping them anticlimactically, I lean back, one hand idly digging faint furrows in the sifted sand beside me as they land, falling face up before me. I sigh. Win. Finally. Turning, I reach to the card's nearest neighbor, my old Zaghnol and flip, placing one of the tiny obsidian chips I use for markers on the card, gently sweeping away 32's. and blink, turning 32's ironite. And the dryad next to it- AND 44's cactuar. and the mimic next to that and. well. obsidian chips littered the area before us, each claiming a card. I blink slowly, hands hovering over the cards, gently checking for any others. another flip. no- that one's in a corner all by itself. another flip.
The assembled mages slowly lean back with a whistle, the board covered with little black glass chips. 32 stares, his face deadpan and shocked, tilting his head as he goes over the move over and over again. I blink, gently rubbing the sand from my palm. Well now. THAT hadn't ever happened before. 44 lets out a low whistle. ".whoo. Congratulations 123. that was, well, scary."
32's voice is oddly strained, his eyes an odd shade of straw gold as he leans back, waving a dismissive hand. "Happens sometimes. You won. Pick your card 123."
Sitting hunched and slumped over, I stare dully over the cards, not really seeing them, my gaze lost. Oh damn. I hate this part. Sighing, I lean back, gently running a hand over my face. the playing was the fun part, but what happens if you won? I usually lose, usually because I like to play 32. He's so enthusiastic about it, but he has such good cards. and I won against him, against nearly everybody. He'd get the card back eventually, but. I don't like taking things from people, even if it's in the rules. 32 watches expectantly, his eyes intent on mine. I also know the rules, I reflect as I gently pick up his prize ironite. No ZS choices. You had to get the card you want- anything else is an insult. Tucking it into my hand, I smile. 32 would have it back, next game or the one after that. Nothing to worry about really.
32's eyes are shrewd as he nods. I smile softly, feeling as if I had passed some sort of test, and in my own way I had. It's a sign of honor to have a good card taken, and won back. I had won my troll back from 32 roughly six times so far, and three of those times it had come back stronger simply by changing hands. Retrieving the die, I cast, hoping. and pause. A ninety eight.
"32?"
"mm?"
"Congratulations. Now plus five to attack! Your ironite is amazing!" I grin, my smile mirrored on his face as he waves a finger at me.
"Yours- for now! I'm going to play you into the ground till I get him back, so keep him mint for me okay?"
I nod happily, reaching forth to gather the little obsidian nodules. They had been in one of the conde piete trading crates, in a little bag, and I had managed to win them from the group of us who had unloaded the crate. I loved the way they felt, sand smoothed and tiny in my palm. I slipped them back in the bag, the bag back in its resting place in my coat and leaned back, a bit surprised at the results of the day. I never won against 32. how amazing.
44, hands drifting over the board after his cards turns to me, leaning back onto an elbow to ease beside me. He holds up my cards for a moment, saying softly. ".you still seem a bit depressed my brother. here." His hand brushes my chest as he places the cards home, removing his hand and patting me comfortingly. I smile reassuringly, my hand finding his. "Long day, that's all. I'll be okay. I always feel better being around you guys."
44 laughs, turning to nuzzle the side of my face with a low hum. "That's because we love you silly. You're our brother."
"Cute."
"But, unfortunately in the way you all are. clear out it is time. come on. Shoo."
How do they always manage to do that? Twisting, I look back, upside down. and blink. Zorn, a little too close for comfort, scowls down at me- and considering who'se scowling that's a considerably fearsome sight. One long nailed, bony finger finds my forehead in a disparaging poke and I wince, arms sliding out from under me as I fall to my back. 44 looks behind him as Thorn slips up, elbowing him between the shoulderblades and throwing up his withered hands. "Come on, clear out all of you must! Expecting visitors any minute master Kuja is- be here you must not be! Come come."
Collecting cards, my brothers rise, nodding differentially to the two small jesters and begin to shuffle towards the door. Zorn pauses, looking the place over.
"You, you and you." Pointing, he snaps his hand to the floor. "Get this blasted sand out of here, the master won't appreciate a bad first impression of his home, move it!"
I blink as I nod, moving forward and kneeling with a couple of my brothers to gather the sand with questing palms. it hisses as I brush it into the flue, nearly burning myself. I turn, catching drifts and working quickly at my task. 44 is bent beside me, working as well. I glance up as 192 eases down to his knees with a grunt, his hand gently pressed to the sweep of thigh beneath the cloth of coat and pants. For some reason his knees were always hurting him. I never knew why. He hated kneeling. Glancing up, he nods to me and I continue my work.
Zorn taps a foot impatiently as Zorn ducks among the mages, carefully explaining the exact tasks and positions Kuja wanted them to be in when the time arrived, whatever that was. Pushing the last of the sand into the hole, I ease upwards on my knees, turning to the red clad jester a few inches away. "Sir Thorn. what are we supposed to do?"
He turns, hat jangling and eyes appraising. "You? You? Guard the cells you three will, watching over them. Understand you do? Mm?"
I blink a little. Watch the cells? That's where the master's 'guests' would be? Flabbergasted, I nod, rising to my feet. My brothers give us a brief look before leaving, gently wiping sand from coats and pants as they go. As we near the door, Zorn turns. pausing, Thorn halts for his other.
"Understand this. Those that come here far exceed your worth. So do as you are told and everything will be okay. Don't. and no amount of phoenix down will pull you from where master Kuja sends you. understand?"
192 scowls slightly, his eyes narrow. I glance at him, worried. 192 was an edgy sort. was he going to make trouble. But he merely shrugs "Whatever." Turning, he moves to the door, slips through and away. Nodding to Thorn, 44 and I exchange a brief look before slipping out the door. Other mages emerge from the cells, having finished their cleaning jobs and move off swiftly, taking up positions here and there within Kuja's home. I watch them go, gently easing myself against the wall beside one of the cells and settle to wait.
After a moment, 192 turns slightly, his voice low "Who do you think it is?"
"I don't-"
"QUIET." Zorn shakes a hand as he walks away, taking his brighter jester twin with him as the two of them shuffle away, bells bobbling. Well, looks like nothing but another long wait. I sigh, letting my hat fall forward a little over my eyes.
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I blink. How long had I been out? I look over to 44. he's staring off into space, the perfect image of a black mage. How he had ever mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open I never knew. 192. I blink. 192 was leaning against the wall, his face pressed to the metal.
".193. what are you doing?"
"Shh!" he hisses, leaning over to me. "Listen. you can hear the sand sifter starting up. I think our 'guests' might be arriving shortly.
Hating the cold metal, I press my head to the wall, listening intently. and hear it. The whirr, the grating crunch. The machine humms. the sound increasing.
I reel back as the alarm blares forth for a single moment, lighting the area and producing a horrible sound. as the sand shifter turns on above us. The filter ungodly loud, it pulls free the sand, the door in the ceiling of the hidden room behind me suddenly opening.
Thump. The sound of a body hitting home pulls a wince from me as I glance at the door, at the slit just a little too high for convenience. 192 looks at me curiously, another sound of the ceiling opening happening right behind him.
He jumps back as the loud clamor of steel clashes from the room behind him. Falling against the railing, he suddenly spits out a curse I didn't really understand, much to my relief and confusion. A deep groan eminating from the room, he pauses, lifting himself up to glance inside.
"It's. a man. A person. and a big one. He's wearing some serious armor. Must've been a bitch to land in, and he's got a wicked sword on his back. what's yours?"
I look up at the slit. "Can't get there. maybe if I stretch." My hands find the slit, tense as I pull myself upwards, just a half an inch short and spitting some words that aren't too nice. Straining, I pause, glancing up, up, over. and stare, eyes wide.
He lay there, lay as one dead, utterly, frighteningly still, his long, floppy hat fallen over his eyes. Arms limp at his sides, he simply. lays there. I stare, silently praying for some groan, some movement, something to still my suddenly beating heart. his face was to me, his eyes closed. He was so still.
"Who is it 123?"
I gently ease from the door, falling back on numb legs. "I-it's. it's m- master Vivi."
192 stares. "Master Vivi?? Is he okay?"
I shake my head. He certainly didn't look okay, he looked small and helpless. Recalling myself, I turn to my brother. "He was still. I think he must've gotten knocked cold or something. I-I hope he's okay."
192 nods, his eyes pale. "I-if master Vivi is here. these cells. must contain his travelling companions. A-are these. the guests master Kuja was talking about? Wh-what is he planning now." Shaking his head, 192 leans back against the cells, tugging his hat down over his eyes and wrapping his arms around himself. I watch him silently. Master Vivi was here. He was trapped. And there's nothing I can do about it. Please, please if there's anything good or important in this world, please let master Vivi be okay.
and so chapter five ends. Originally I wanted to make the end scene completely different. 123 was going to have a long conversation with vivi, learning about his past life with his grampa and in turn revealing his own lost friend who was murdered before he ever got to the black mage village. Unfortunately I realized that not only plot wise could this conversation not happen, but that it would piss Kuja off so much he'd probably atomize the poor guy on the spot- you saw how he reacted to the lil guy just looking in on poor lil vivi. so I guess we'll have to learn about 123's lost friend later on.. hmm. must plan out next chapter. Lotsa stuff a happenin. Then soon. new characters and new situations! Whoo hoo! *resists the urge for a second happy servbot dance* hehe.
Disclaimer: okay easy disclaimer. Everything belongs to their respective parties but nothing belongs to me. Not that it wouldn't be sw33t to have a pet mage. Sweet little thing running around starting fires. erm. maybe not? *sweatdrops* Well anyway, there is little to no explanation as to how this story came about save that it was created from two major factors. The naturally rough terrain inside my own mind, and the almost physically painful love of everything related to the Black Mage people-
New characters soon, new situations! Whee hee!! *does the happy servbot dance* Ya Ya, babu! *proudly adjusts her "Walking Violation of the Vivi Protection Society" Pin, holding up a rocket launcher and a very scared looking vivi plush* heh.
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56 raised his head as he entered, shouldering open the door, careful to avoid smacking me in the head. Considering the raging migraine clawing it's way through my brain, I appreciated the gesture. I shifted in the warm sanctity of his arms, my fingers lingering over the sleeve of his coat, gaining comfort from the soft material. He murmured a little to me, illegible and soothing, straightening to give me a better view of the room.
Amber eyes met mine, a good handful of them. Seated in a circle, the other mages, spanning the three casts, blinked with dim honey gazes from within the darkness beneath their hats. I felt 56's arm shift below me, moving forward to easily support my back as his other arm lifted from my shoulder a little, rising in greeting to our brothers kneeling on the floor before us. I also raised my hand, hesitantly I admit, a bit shaken up by everything.
Seeing me, a rather distinctive form rises from his position, moving forward with a surprised, exultant sound. A very distinct form considering he utterly dwarfed the rest of us in height and girth. A type A that rivaled even the largest Cs.
I smile warmly as 56's arm moves back around me, and the other figure approaching us gently lays one large, soft hand on my shoulder. Number 44's smile is welcoming.
"Oh gods 123, you're back. I was so worried."
"We all were..." The voice drifts from the crowd, the deepened voice of a type C echoing from the room. It is a small space, metal and warm. Sand, drifting down from above lays in a thin, irritating layer we resolutely avoid. This is where we are allowed to stay when off duty. the cells. It's not that bad really. The sand can simply be swept away with a hand, to the middle of the floor, that tiny circle that everyone avoids. The magma, unseen beneath the floor, renders the whole room a warm and comforting affair, but the small, single flue at the exact center of the room must be avoided at all costs lest it singe flesh or clothing. Poor 44 still had that scar on his leg, an unpleasant gray amidst the inky black.
I feel 56 shift a little and I cling, not wanting to leave the caring embrace. He hums gently to me, easing me down to my feet, holding me for the expected, customary stumble. I lean into him, my face to his chest, simply breathing in the sulfur smell of the air and the warmth of his coat, smelling of cinnamon and magic.
Hands find me then, a warm, aiding touch. 44's eyes are kind as he guides me away from my brother, towards the group. I lean heavily, still unsteady. maybe it's the air. Sometimes the fumes from the lava can be awful.
The others look okay as I approach them however, unaffected by chemical or fumes, their expressions amiable. They watch silently, smiling, as 44 eases me towards the group, towards the gap he had just vacated upon rising to greet 56 and I. I blink blearily, rubbing at a sore eye as a drift of sand comes down, tinkling off my hat.
The others move aside, shifting to give us room as we step up to our positions. A similar activity is happening from across the group for 56. A shuffling sound is heard from the floor as the mages around us scrabble about with sand flecked gloves, and I glance down, curious. The tetra master tetrad is laid out, the game almost finished. A few rocks and pebbles litter the ground, blocking markers. The dice sit, half tilted from the odd, segmented floor. Number 32 gently collects the cards, carefully checking the protective sheathes for any potentially invading sand grains that could mar the perfect, pristine surfaces. It was a surprise really; most type A's weren't overly careful about the state of their cards, most of the cards ending up taking on a faint scraping to the corners, a worn, used and familiar look that marked a well loved hand. But 32 took his gaming seriously, keeping his cards in utterly mint condition. He had traded a very elaborate synthed bracelet he had made himself for a gross box of 500 of the clear, magically transparent oilcloth sheaths. It left no stain upon the cards and sat like flexible, yet stiff glass, a miracle to any serious card player. It had taken quite a lot of wheedling, favors and mooching to get even the sheathes for the six hands I regularly played, much less 35's entire collection all meticulously protected.
I pause, raising a hand to feel at my chest. There, square and comfortable, sits my deck, warmed by my skin, tucked into the little pocket I had laboriously sewn into my own coat. All my (good) playing cards, all thirty, from my magic slasher hand to the unexpected drop hand, to that miracle combo hand I had never, ever managed to pull off. I pull it free, gently unwrapping the length of twine holding it together, letting the string drop as I splay the cards, glancing over each familiar surface. One of the things I had noticed was that my brothers and I all tended to gravitate towards magic class cards. Not surprising considering what we were.
Shuffling through the cards, I tuck one between two fingers of my left hand, tsking to myself. They'd gotten out of order again. Had I let it go too long? Maybe I needed to buy a box like 32.
32's smile is wry as he watches me, his eyes intent. I hold my cards to me, smiling humoringly as I begin to sift through the cards, separating the hands to their respective decks. His chuckle is genuine as he leans back, allowing me my room. I laugh. It's not as if we hadn't handled each other's cards a million times, but sometimes it was fun to pretend we were all major tetra master players in a big city somewhere. I pause at the thought, my eyes going out of focus. yeah. Like that would ever happen. a black mage in a big city? Mob fodder, proposed card game or no. Unwittingly drifting off, I pause, eyes staring unseeingly at the cards in my hand.
"123?"
Startled, I look up. 32 eyes me suspiciously, busily arranging the various five card decks in his hands. He scowls briefly, his eyes acquiring a dangerous cant as he shakes his prized perfect X ironite under my nose. "You're thinking of bad things again. Cut it out. This is official social break time- you know the rules."
Smiling softly to myself, I nod, reciting in a soft voice to myself the words we had so recently come to know all too well among ourselves. "One rule, only rule. Relaxation is relaxation, peace is peace. Leave your troubles for work, now is a time for love and trust, rest and comfort." I nod softly, silent and somber.
The ironite card bounces off my hat's rim, flashing in the air to land in my collar. Blinking in startlement, one gloved hand hovers over my chest, gently probing at the sharp edged object now resting against my throat. Befuddled by the whole affair, I glance sourly at him, favoring 32 with a mock dour look, carefully extracting the card. The oilcloth gives a small gleam as I hold it up between index and second fingers, turning it so it catches the light. My eyes are mischievous as I wave it in front of him, languidly brandishing it with little flourishes before his face. "Why thank you 32. I always wanted this card."
He makes a lunge for it with an indignant squawk, hands catching me by the coat before I can skip away. Fingers winding, he heaves, dragging me closer. I laugh as I lean back, nearly falling over, holding the card just out of his reach. Being a type A, his physical strength is greater than my own and I laugh as he pretty much crushes me in a rather unexpected bear hug. I don't resist, choking on my giggles as he grabs my wrist, gently removing the card and twittering to it in worried care like some ridiculous, puffy purple bird. On my back, I look up, eyes slitted with laughter as he places a foot on my chest, waving the card admonishingly in front of my face as he looms over me like an angry mother griffon.
"123, you know the only way you'd ever get your hands on this card is if you won it, and the only way that'll happen is if I played with nothing but arrowless goblin cards with a BLINDFOLD on!!" He looked so serious, I couldn't help it. My hands slip up, gently caressing against an ankle as I ease onto one side slightly, wiggling just enough.
Giving the oddest bleat of surprise he stumbles, arms windmilling helplessly as he abruptly lurches forward, feet suddenly catching a patch of sand and snapping out and back. He falls heavily- directly onto me, crushing me beneath him as he lands... Now, black mages weigh remarkably little, but he still drove the air from my lungs as he lands, his eyes going brown and slitted for a moment. I lay there, stunned, blinking away my own momentary disorientation. half delirious, I see the opportunity, my hands drift under his coat.
".?? -!!! Ah NO NO not that eek ack AHH!!" He writhes against me, his eyes closed as he tries to struggle free, pushing at me, trying in vain to roll off. I hold him, hands beneath his coat and fingers tickling at sensitive sides, trailing under the arms and at the neck, beneath the collar. Mr. No Problems? Fine! We'd see who could take it.
44 merely coughs softly beside me, purposefully tapping his cards to the floor as I look up, holding a now nearly crying 32 to my chest. "You in the game?"
I look up to a very purple faced 32, who merely thumps me in the forehead and nods slightly, giving me a very clear 'oh I'm going to get you later' look and pushes himself up, breath labored, looking more than a bit embarrassed. I laugh as I ease myself to a sitting position, scooting into my place, sweeping sand from my sides and back as I take up my hand, carefully selecting one of the five card hands and slipping the rest back in their dark hiding place against my skin. 44 says nothing, merely giving me a long suffering look as he brushes the sand I had missed from my back.
His hand lingers; a comforting squeeze. I nod silently, thankful for the silent support.
Which deck? I look over my cards, sifting slowly, evaluating the numerics as best I could without the required dice. Browsing through my cards, I don't glance up as I ask "So, what are we playing?"
44 shuffles through his own cards, carefully evaluating each with an intense scrutiny he usually only reserves for cooking. "Eight part quad drop. Double take rule."
Yeek. eight players, four dropping cards at a time on a fifty-by-fifty grid. Lucky it was the double take rule. a perfect, unlikely as it sounded, would kill seven people's decks in one go. Considering how many of us there were, there'd be two games going on simultaneously. Oh I loved tetra master.
"So you in?"
I nod vigorously. My power hitter deck was best used in the big multiplayer games. I pulled it free, gazing warmly at my own prize card. It might not be an X card, it might not have a full compliment of arrows, but my troll had a plus four bonus to attack AND it had achieved a P status. Something that had taken a good three weeks of daily play to do. I smile, nodding and tapping the base of my cards to the ground, the signal that I was ready.
"So. what happened while I was gone?" I try to sound casual, and few look up from their first musing contemplation of the board. A random roll assigns pebbles to the extra ten spaces, and everyone begins to roll for order. 44 shrugs, looking over his cards. "Not much, the jester twins getting on everyone's cases. but I guess that's understandable. Kuja's been in a real bustle about something or other. but, of course, he's not volunteering information."
I snort softly. That was most certainly an understatement. The only thing Kuja was good for was one of those calm, scary temper tantrums that he managed to deliver so well. Reaching under my coat, I rub sand from my side, gently sweeping gloved fingers against my skin, letting the little clinging annoying grains fall free. This blasted sand got everywhere. into the food, into your bed and into your eye when you slept. And, being in a desert, Kuja never let us bathe. thank whatever power governs this place that black mages don't sweat. but my coat was getting awfully dusty.
The dice are passed, falling into my open palm. I look down at it, a simple pyramidal four-sided affair carved of bluish stone. Those that rolled a one or two would go first, the others after. Okay, I nodded to myself, dropping the dice to the metal. A three. Later group then. I carefully gather the dice and slip them into 44's open, waiting palm, giving him a warm smile as my fingers give his a squeeze.
The secondary dice fall beside me, typical six siders of a faintly dirty white. I look over as 44 curses silently. He had to go first, poor guy. First goers often lost, it was a sad and simple fact. He sighs, shaking his head and tugs his hat down a bit over his eyes as he gathers the dice, pressing them into my hand and giving me a good luck look. I weigh them pensively. A high number would be nice. A five. good enough.
The dice are passed around, from person to person. I stare, disinterested; the big games were interesting but the setup was always such a drag. Idly drawing in a drift of sand, I trace intricate, meaningless patterns, my ears full of the warm muttering of my people and the slow clatter of dice.
44, the first one, glances around the group once, his eyes slitted faintly and, slipping a card from his hand, he gently lays it into a corner of the board.
.A very well protected corner. It was one of his tougher zaghnols as well.
Another mage gently removes a card from his hand. Oddly enough, it's a frog. I stare for a bit. When did he get that? He sets it in another corner, a bristling barrier of arrows. not remarkably strong but it's odd just how many surprises this game could cough up. It's still a while to my turn, even considering how fast this game went and I smile softly as I lean over, snuggling against 44's plush side. I gently encircle his waist with an outstretched arm, feeling his own fall behind me as he waits for his turn to come up once again.
A few more, here and there. I lose interest; 288 had always lovingly called me one without a long attention span. and I find my thoughts drifting. I wonder what guests Kuja was talking about. who could he be expecting? Miss Hilda was around here somewhere, though I hadn't ever seen her. that was the only other person I knew of that he knew. unless he's speaking of the ugly lady he was always talking to, but I haven't seen her recently.
" Hellooo. 123? Gaia to 123, come in 123. Hey buddy, it's your turn." I look up, startled. They're all staring at me, waiting expectantly, a dozen warm glows all fixed on my face. a warmth rising to taint my cheeks a purplish blue, I turn back to my cards, glancing through the five card deck before me, carefully shifting cards. A good amount of arrows, but better start small. I pull my weakest creature free, looking it over appraisingly. A zaghnol, like 44's, save for a few more arrows. I gently place it down, next to 35's infamous ironite card.
I hardly even need to check the dice, but roll anyway. A loss, like that wasn't expected considering the power and rank of that monster card. The card is flipped, the '32' marker dropped atop the card as 32 leans back with a self satisfied purr and the game continues.
Cards are dropped, small murmurs of success or failure drift through the air. .What was master Kuja talking about? Who would be coming here? I don't know. it worries me. Master Kuja isn't the most gracious of hosts. looking at the way he treats us and we're officially working for him. I know we shouldn't be here but. why is he like that? Why does he hate us so much. He's a bad man. I understand that, but. what pain lurks there? I don't want to help him or anything. maybe I just want to understand. oops, my turn again.
I glance up as the card drops. Whoa. The entire board now shone with '32' markers. 32 had made nearly a clean sweep! Impressed, I glance over the cards spread before me, the intricate grid of card and pebble, each card immediately identifiable of it's owner by many a well loved game crouched in the sun drenched grass, leaning back and simply drinking in the game and the company of the ones we love... Selecting a card, I hold it up briefly, letting it drop. Another loss. I shrug, returning to my thoughts, easing against my brother once again . my eyes drift closed a little as I settle to wait, grateful for his ample, comforting presence.
I feel 44's hand slip around my waist, gently hugging me. I lean against him, glad for the warmth and comfort, propping my chin on his shoulder and snuggle. He turns, nuzzling me briefly, before turning back to the game. "Pull your mind back to the game 123 or you'll lose all your cards. 32's on a roll." I nod, trying to concentrate. what's wrong with me? Usually I eat up the opportunity to get a good game out of 32. but my mind feels like jelly right now. is it a side effect of the. alteration? Or just a raging headache. I merely lay against my brother, hands idly trailing little designs against his lower back.
32's words, snide and triumphant echo from the other side of the room. "Last round, your turn bro." I look up, meeting his preemptively triumphant gaze . Nodding faintly, I hold my last card, gently laying it beside one of my older cards, and grab a double handful of dice. Dropping them anticlimactically, I lean back, one hand idly digging faint furrows in the sifted sand beside me as they land, falling face up before me. I sigh. Win. Finally. Turning, I reach to the card's nearest neighbor, my old Zaghnol and flip, placing one of the tiny obsidian chips I use for markers on the card, gently sweeping away 32's. and blink, turning 32's ironite. And the dryad next to it- AND 44's cactuar. and the mimic next to that and. well. obsidian chips littered the area before us, each claiming a card. I blink slowly, hands hovering over the cards, gently checking for any others. another flip. no- that one's in a corner all by itself. another flip.
The assembled mages slowly lean back with a whistle, the board covered with little black glass chips. 32 stares, his face deadpan and shocked, tilting his head as he goes over the move over and over again. I blink, gently rubbing the sand from my palm. Well now. THAT hadn't ever happened before. 44 lets out a low whistle. ".whoo. Congratulations 123. that was, well, scary."
32's voice is oddly strained, his eyes an odd shade of straw gold as he leans back, waving a dismissive hand. "Happens sometimes. You won. Pick your card 123."
Sitting hunched and slumped over, I stare dully over the cards, not really seeing them, my gaze lost. Oh damn. I hate this part. Sighing, I lean back, gently running a hand over my face. the playing was the fun part, but what happens if you won? I usually lose, usually because I like to play 32. He's so enthusiastic about it, but he has such good cards. and I won against him, against nearly everybody. He'd get the card back eventually, but. I don't like taking things from people, even if it's in the rules. 32 watches expectantly, his eyes intent on mine. I also know the rules, I reflect as I gently pick up his prize ironite. No ZS choices. You had to get the card you want- anything else is an insult. Tucking it into my hand, I smile. 32 would have it back, next game or the one after that. Nothing to worry about really.
32's eyes are shrewd as he nods. I smile softly, feeling as if I had passed some sort of test, and in my own way I had. It's a sign of honor to have a good card taken, and won back. I had won my troll back from 32 roughly six times so far, and three of those times it had come back stronger simply by changing hands. Retrieving the die, I cast, hoping. and pause. A ninety eight.
"32?"
"mm?"
"Congratulations. Now plus five to attack! Your ironite is amazing!" I grin, my smile mirrored on his face as he waves a finger at me.
"Yours- for now! I'm going to play you into the ground till I get him back, so keep him mint for me okay?"
I nod happily, reaching forth to gather the little obsidian nodules. They had been in one of the conde piete trading crates, in a little bag, and I had managed to win them from the group of us who had unloaded the crate. I loved the way they felt, sand smoothed and tiny in my palm. I slipped them back in the bag, the bag back in its resting place in my coat and leaned back, a bit surprised at the results of the day. I never won against 32. how amazing.
44, hands drifting over the board after his cards turns to me, leaning back onto an elbow to ease beside me. He holds up my cards for a moment, saying softly. ".you still seem a bit depressed my brother. here." His hand brushes my chest as he places the cards home, removing his hand and patting me comfortingly. I smile reassuringly, my hand finding his. "Long day, that's all. I'll be okay. I always feel better being around you guys."
44 laughs, turning to nuzzle the side of my face with a low hum. "That's because we love you silly. You're our brother."
"Cute."
"But, unfortunately in the way you all are. clear out it is time. come on. Shoo."
How do they always manage to do that? Twisting, I look back, upside down. and blink. Zorn, a little too close for comfort, scowls down at me- and considering who'se scowling that's a considerably fearsome sight. One long nailed, bony finger finds my forehead in a disparaging poke and I wince, arms sliding out from under me as I fall to my back. 44 looks behind him as Thorn slips up, elbowing him between the shoulderblades and throwing up his withered hands. "Come on, clear out all of you must! Expecting visitors any minute master Kuja is- be here you must not be! Come come."
Collecting cards, my brothers rise, nodding differentially to the two small jesters and begin to shuffle towards the door. Zorn pauses, looking the place over.
"You, you and you." Pointing, he snaps his hand to the floor. "Get this blasted sand out of here, the master won't appreciate a bad first impression of his home, move it!"
I blink as I nod, moving forward and kneeling with a couple of my brothers to gather the sand with questing palms. it hisses as I brush it into the flue, nearly burning myself. I turn, catching drifts and working quickly at my task. 44 is bent beside me, working as well. I glance up as 192 eases down to his knees with a grunt, his hand gently pressed to the sweep of thigh beneath the cloth of coat and pants. For some reason his knees were always hurting him. I never knew why. He hated kneeling. Glancing up, he nods to me and I continue my work.
Zorn taps a foot impatiently as Zorn ducks among the mages, carefully explaining the exact tasks and positions Kuja wanted them to be in when the time arrived, whatever that was. Pushing the last of the sand into the hole, I ease upwards on my knees, turning to the red clad jester a few inches away. "Sir Thorn. what are we supposed to do?"
He turns, hat jangling and eyes appraising. "You? You? Guard the cells you three will, watching over them. Understand you do? Mm?"
I blink a little. Watch the cells? That's where the master's 'guests' would be? Flabbergasted, I nod, rising to my feet. My brothers give us a brief look before leaving, gently wiping sand from coats and pants as they go. As we near the door, Zorn turns. pausing, Thorn halts for his other.
"Understand this. Those that come here far exceed your worth. So do as you are told and everything will be okay. Don't. and no amount of phoenix down will pull you from where master Kuja sends you. understand?"
192 scowls slightly, his eyes narrow. I glance at him, worried. 192 was an edgy sort. was he going to make trouble. But he merely shrugs "Whatever." Turning, he moves to the door, slips through and away. Nodding to Thorn, 44 and I exchange a brief look before slipping out the door. Other mages emerge from the cells, having finished their cleaning jobs and move off swiftly, taking up positions here and there within Kuja's home. I watch them go, gently easing myself against the wall beside one of the cells and settle to wait.
After a moment, 192 turns slightly, his voice low "Who do you think it is?"
"I don't-"
"QUIET." Zorn shakes a hand as he walks away, taking his brighter jester twin with him as the two of them shuffle away, bells bobbling. Well, looks like nothing but another long wait. I sigh, letting my hat fall forward a little over my eyes.
-
I blink. How long had I been out? I look over to 44. he's staring off into space, the perfect image of a black mage. How he had ever mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open I never knew. 192. I blink. 192 was leaning against the wall, his face pressed to the metal.
".193. what are you doing?"
"Shh!" he hisses, leaning over to me. "Listen. you can hear the sand sifter starting up. I think our 'guests' might be arriving shortly.
Hating the cold metal, I press my head to the wall, listening intently. and hear it. The whirr, the grating crunch. The machine humms. the sound increasing.
I reel back as the alarm blares forth for a single moment, lighting the area and producing a horrible sound. as the sand shifter turns on above us. The filter ungodly loud, it pulls free the sand, the door in the ceiling of the hidden room behind me suddenly opening.
Thump. The sound of a body hitting home pulls a wince from me as I glance at the door, at the slit just a little too high for convenience. 192 looks at me curiously, another sound of the ceiling opening happening right behind him.
He jumps back as the loud clamor of steel clashes from the room behind him. Falling against the railing, he suddenly spits out a curse I didn't really understand, much to my relief and confusion. A deep groan eminating from the room, he pauses, lifting himself up to glance inside.
"It's. a man. A person. and a big one. He's wearing some serious armor. Must've been a bitch to land in, and he's got a wicked sword on his back. what's yours?"
I look up at the slit. "Can't get there. maybe if I stretch." My hands find the slit, tense as I pull myself upwards, just a half an inch short and spitting some words that aren't too nice. Straining, I pause, glancing up, up, over. and stare, eyes wide.
He lay there, lay as one dead, utterly, frighteningly still, his long, floppy hat fallen over his eyes. Arms limp at his sides, he simply. lays there. I stare, silently praying for some groan, some movement, something to still my suddenly beating heart. his face was to me, his eyes closed. He was so still.
"Who is it 123?"
I gently ease from the door, falling back on numb legs. "I-it's. it's m- master Vivi."
192 stares. "Master Vivi?? Is he okay?"
I shake my head. He certainly didn't look okay, he looked small and helpless. Recalling myself, I turn to my brother. "He was still. I think he must've gotten knocked cold or something. I-I hope he's okay."
192 nods, his eyes pale. "I-if master Vivi is here. these cells. must contain his travelling companions. A-are these. the guests master Kuja was talking about? Wh-what is he planning now." Shaking his head, 192 leans back against the cells, tugging his hat down over his eyes and wrapping his arms around himself. I watch him silently. Master Vivi was here. He was trapped. And there's nothing I can do about it. Please, please if there's anything good or important in this world, please let master Vivi be okay.
and so chapter five ends. Originally I wanted to make the end scene completely different. 123 was going to have a long conversation with vivi, learning about his past life with his grampa and in turn revealing his own lost friend who was murdered before he ever got to the black mage village. Unfortunately I realized that not only plot wise could this conversation not happen, but that it would piss Kuja off so much he'd probably atomize the poor guy on the spot- you saw how he reacted to the lil guy just looking in on poor lil vivi. so I guess we'll have to learn about 123's lost friend later on.. hmm. must plan out next chapter. Lotsa stuff a happenin. Then soon. new characters and new situations! Whoo hoo! *resists the urge for a second happy servbot dance* hehe.
