Chapter 8
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Did you know that once you've had a shot of bad luck, it unlooses a floodgate and makes every possible negative occurrence given your situation about nine zillion times more likely to happen? It's a scientifically proven fact.
They've done tests.
I've always assumed that this is because bad luck is like those women who go to the washroom in packs. It gets lonely when it's the only one around. That's why good luck tends to stay good luck for a while before that first brave, entrepreneuring shot of bad luck finds the courage to jump aboard. After that, now that they have someone to keep them company, all the other shots of bad luck cackle,
"Booya! New nesting ground!"
And thus it is that you find yourself with every possible bit of bad luck, and sometimes some that aren't possible.
I'm pretty sure all those nice, social bits of bad luck are having a party right now with me.
Yup. A nice, big, raucous, beer-soaked, bean dip-filled party.
You see, an hour ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table of my parents' house, staring reluctantly into my mother's stern, worried eyes. I ran for the hills, thinking that anywhere would have to be a better choice than this.
Now, I am in the front hall of my home, staring bewilderedly into the angry eyes of my husband, who has found me in the act of leaving the house, a sack holding a few necessities of training at my side, my gun in my hand.
Oh, great.
What's got him in a snit?
"Um, something wrong?" I ask lightly, instinctively tucking my Wondershot out of sight.
"Where have you been?" he asks, almost before I finish speaking.
"I just went into town to get some lunch."
"It's close to 4:00, Lucca. How can going for lunch take you four hours?"
"That's three hours, thank-you. I didn't get out until about 1:00."
"Still; three hours?"
"I ran into Mom."
"Oh, God. Your mother," Isaac groans. He always pretends to hate my mother. I guess hating your in-laws must be fashionable right now. Still, I'm sure he'd miss her the first Christmas that rolled around without a box shortbread cookies arriving in the mail.
Honestly, I think he's just afraid of her. She has a way of asking you questions. You don't realize you're being picked for information until you've told her your life story.
And Isaac likes to talk anyway.
I, thank God, have built up a defence to Mom's questions.
Still, I can understand why Isaac, who likes his privacy as long as he has someone around to see him being independent, would find it a little disconcerting to realize with a start that he's just told this woman things that he wouldn't even tell me without a lot of convincing.
I wish I knew how she did it. There are times when it could be handy.
But back to the issue at hand.
Isaac is now raising one eyebrow suspiciously.
"And why did you feel the need to get dressed up, to go see your mother?"
"For God's sake, Isaac, it's just a skirt. I've worn them before. I didn't even put on nylons. See?"
"Don't you usually buy your sweaters a little looser?"
"This one's Marle's. I keep trying to give it back – I'm not crazy about lavender – but she keeps saying to keep it. And I have to wear it if it's taking up room in my drawer. I have a policy on these things."
Isaac snorts. He's never liked Marle any more than she likes him, although he's smart enough to keep quiet about this. It's always a bad idea to make a queen angry, especially when married one of her friends, of whom she is fiercely protective.
"So, why bother with make-up, if you were just going to see your mother?"
"I was going for lunch," I explain patiently. "Going to see Mom just kind of happened. And it was a whim. Surely your artistic temperament understands whims," I finish teasingly.
"Huh," he says reflectively and, I could swear, almost a little sheepishly. "I thought maybe it had something to do with the mens' sunglasses I found in our grass. Sorry."
"Sunglasses?" I echo blankly.
"These," he replies, holding out a pair of sunglasses that are for some reason familiar.
Suddenly, as the implication of his sudden interest in my comings and goings, and their relation to a strange man's possessions, hits me, I grip my gun, still behind my back, a little tighter, angrier than I have been for a good long time.
And that's saying a lot.
"I don't know," I say with studied calmness. "Maybe it was a door-to-door salesman."
"A salesman who trampled a path across our grass," Isaac grouses, leaning against the wall.
I laugh.
"It's October, Isaac. Our grass is already dead. I don't think walking on it really matters."
"It's still rude," he says, sounding distinctly pouty.
Well, at least he's not accusing me of sneaking around on him anymore. Although, as soon as he brings up the word 'rude', the owner of the sunglasses occurs to me.
I've always associated Magus with rudeness. Since meeting him, 'Magus' and 'rude' have become synonyms in my mind. I guess total inconsideration for anyone else is more accurate, but I don't have time for semantics. Or something.
"Y'know what?" I say thoughtfully. "I think I know who those belong to. An old friend dropped by a couple days ago, and she must have dropped them."
"She?" Isaac repeats suspiciously.
"Yeah. She doesn't like women's things, so she tends to buy men's."
"Weird girl," he says playfully. After all, we're both aware that I don't buy women's things unless they're things that are specific only to women. Undergarments leap to mind. Shirts that have space to accommodate…feminine charms are another. Otherwise, I can't be bothered to sift through the unnecessary variety that boutiques tend to have.
"Yeah; what kind of crazy woman buys men's things? Anyway, I'll take those. If I'm near her place, I'll drop by and return them."
"You're not going out again, are you?"
"Well, actually, I just came home to pick something up. I'm going back out again," I inform him cheerfully, pulling my boots back on.
As I stand up, my bag bounces against my leg, and Isaac examines me more carefully.
"Lucca," he begins slowly, "what are you doing with that gun?"
Right, the gun.
"I'm taking it to Mom and Dad's. Dad and I are going to see if we can make some improvements." Lying through my teeth; the Wondershot needs no improvement, since I did it right the first time around.
"You just came from your parents'!"
"And that's why I left. To come get this."
"You and your father are both crazy," he sighs helplessly, but fondly. I just wish I could know whether it's genuine or faked fondness.
"So, I'll see you later," I say, doing my best to signify the end of the conversation.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Bye, Honey."
I suppress a wince at this with great difficulty. Honey, indeed! I can't stand cutesy nicknames. Maybe Honey is what he calls Ariana, and he got confused.
After all, the poor boy is easily confused.
Well, okay, so he's not. No more so than any other man. I'm just bitter right now.
Either way, I get myself out of the house and down the walk as quickly as possible, running over a few things in my mind as I go.
First of all, I'm still merrily seething away at the idea of Isaac accusing me of the side-boinking that he is currently partaking in. And being hurt about it! How dare he?
Still, the fact that he began to suspect I was up to anything at all drives home the point that I have to be more careful. If I let this throw my daily routine out of whack for too long, he'll begin to wonder why, and might start checking up on me.
Considering how subtle I've been while checking up on him, that would be bad.
I'm still not ready to admit to him that I know. I want him to admit what he's been doing, to me. On his own.
Of course, the truth is, I just want to secretly forgive him, ignore it, and go on living our lives, like I never found out about anything, but I don't think I can do that.
And then there's the fact that my newfound friendship with his mistress might get in the way of "forgive and forget".
"'You're a really nice person, and I could use a friend right now,'" I mimic bitterly in that far-too-sweet voice of hers.
So, am I going to go meet her for coffee some day?
Before you answer that, consider that I'm a sucker when something that sweet
and that dumb is suffering.
Of course I'm damn well going to see her again.
Who knows? Maybe I can tell her the truth about Isaac before she gets in too deep.
During this little talk with myself, I have been gradually approaching Guardia Castle.
I think I'll try to get the Epoch back from those guys I gave it to a few days ago. Or was that yesterday?
Then I'll head over to Mr. Sunshine's castle in 600 C.E. (after all, what proper scientist uses B.C. and A.D. anymore?) to bring him back his sunglasses.
I've got enough crap going on without the possibility of an unexpected visit from an angry, sunglasses-less Magus.
Hey, maybe he'll try to get me drunk again!
The ridiculousness of the idea of Magus plying any woman with liquor is so funny that it puts a bit of a bounce in my step.
However, before returning Sunny M. his sunglasses, I'll get a bit of hunting in. At this thought, I whip out my Wondershot and pretend to shoot little imaginary creatures everywhere.
When I notice the curious, baffled gaze of Mrs. Patterson on me, I lower the gun and wave cheerfully.
With a tolerant, amused smile, she waves back.
Oh, yeah.
No matter how weird I start acting, the community of Truce won't notice a thing. It'll just be "Lucca being Lucca again."
There are times when being a widely confirmed weirdo has its good points.
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The rest of the journey to the Guardia Castle passes quickly, and I'm childishly thrilled at the opportunity to shoot at a few of the more aggressive little creatures living in the forest surrounding it, as I make my way through.
I've just summoned up my nerve to approach the gates of the castle, when a familiar figure flies through the massive door and engulfs me in a warm hug.
"Uh, hi, Marle," I choke out, having learned long ago that, soldiers near or not, she will not stand for any formality from me – apparently, even that of using her real name.
Weird girl Crono found himself.
Still, a weird girl that has boundless ability to convince people to do whatever she wants, and thus, as she chatters animatedly about how she's been dying to come see me again (even though it's only been a day since we last spoke), but she's been so busy, and she was going to go tomorrow, duties or not, I find myself dragged inside, up the stairs to a little sitting room, and shoved down onto a daintily made, surprisingly comfortable pale blue couch along one wall.
"I'll be right back," she informs me sternly. "Don't move."
So, painstakingly, I don't move a muscle until she returns, followed by a uniformed young man carrying a tray filled with two plates of chocolate cake – I'm beginning to see a pattern in Marle's method of comforting here – and two cups of coffee.
"I didn't move," I inform her dryly.
She giggles as the young man puts the tray down on the low cherry wood table in front of us.
"You're weird," she informs me.
"Don't worry; so are you," I grin back.
"So, anyway, what are you doing here?"
"Well, I did try to tell you," I remind her mildly. "I really just came to see if I could pick up the Epoch again."
"Um…why do you need to do that?"
"I wanted to use it in a barefacedly irresponsible manner, and return Magus' sunglasses before he has a little snit about it and shows up to get them at the worst time possible. I thought I'd take out a couple innocent bloodthirsty creatures with huge claws and sharp fangs at the same time."
Whoops. So much for actually convincing her to let me use it.
However, it seems that I have forgotten exactly whom I am dealing with. Marle bursts out laughing at this, nearly choking to death on a mouthful of coffee.
"Sounds like fun," she says. "Tell him I said hi."
"Will do," I agree, rising from my seat.
Marle, however, will have none of this. She grabs my sleeve and tugs me back down.
"Oh, no you don't. You're not going anywhere until you've finished your coffee and chocolate!"
"Wow; you'll make a strange mother someday," I snicker. "'Now, now, Crono Jr., you know the rules. No carrots until you finish your chocolate cake!'"
This time narrowly escaping choking to death over a bit of cake, Marle gives me a playful swat.
"So, where is Crono, anyway?" I ask.
Marle frowns slightly.
"Oh, the advisors have got him working on some paperwork today. We try to take turns, but I wish he had let me take care of it instead. I think he's coming down with something. But, you know, trying to get Crono to stay in bed when he's sick is like…well, it's like getting you to put down your book and get to sleep at a decent hour," she concludes, casting a sly sideways glance at me.
I shrug sheepishly and sip at my coffee. I guess the light burning on the other side of all those inn rooms until the wee small hours, back during our travels, didn't escape her notice.
"What can I say? An addiction's an addiction," I start to say, but Marle chooses that moment to leap to her feet with an excited squeal.
"I just remembered! Come on! I've got something to show you."
There's a nearly devilish quality in her smile that makes me wonder with a pained groan exactly where this is going.
Still, I have little time to wonder, as she seizes my hand and drags me out of the sitting room, into the adjoining, rather massive, bedroom, and to a beautifully carved wardrobe.
Releasing my hand, she throws the doors to the wardrobe open, and I peek cautiously over her shoulder as she begins to root through the various fancy ball gowns – altogether, an amount of lace and tulle that makes me nauseous just to contemplate.
Finally, with a cry of triumph, she pounces on a smallish box at the back.
"You can think of it as an early birthday gift," she says, shoving the box at me. "Or don't. Either way, you have to keep them. The store I ordered them from won't take them back since I ordered it by overnight express, and I sure can't use them. I have far too much of this kind of stuff as it is."
I stare at it, rather baffled, her words striking further fear into my heart.
"Open it!
Marle is nearly dancing with anticipation, which scares me even more, and so I work slowly at the silvery ribbon holding the box closed, and lift away the lid. Then I lift away about twenty-seven layers of fragrant lavender coloured and scented tissue paper. Then I gawk in horror as a flash of shimmering pink silk catches my eye.
It couldn't be…
Yes, it is.
Thinking things not lawful to be uttered of Marle's thoughtful nature, I lift a short, lacy, silky pink nightie out of the box.
"Isn't it great?" she giggles. "I know you don't like pink, but I thought maybe you could wear it around Isaac sometime, and see how he reacts."
"Geez, Marle, that's really…great," I choke out, regretting having gone into such great detail as to my findings.
"There's more," she says, eyes glimmering wickedly.
With a whimper, I lift away more tissue paper, and suppress the urge to vomit at the sight of a lacy red bra and knickers winking at me, clashing horribly with the nest of soft purple tissue paper.
"Oh, wow, that's really thoughtful, Marle. Still, I can't accept these."
She lifts and eyebrow and gives me a stern look that reminds me absurdly of my mother.
"Why not?"
"Well…I don't know if they'll fit me," I blurt out, hitting upon a reasonable excuse.
"Don't worry; I made a point to order them all in your size."
"Marle! You don't even know my size!"
"Sure I do! 34-B!"
I blink.
"Marle…how do you know my size?"
She waves dismissively.
"Oh, it's just the sort of thing that girls make a point to know about each other when they're friends."
"Then I'm afraid I mustn't be a very good friend to you, Marle," I admit with a sigh. "I couldn't tell you your size to save my heart and soul."
"Well, I meant girls who care about that kind of stuff," she amends. "And, just for future reference, it's 34-B."
"Hmm," I say, examining the tag on the red…thing. "You planned that well. I guess, just in case I didn't want them, you'd gain a new set of garish red things."
She wrinkles her nose.
"Now way! I never wear colours like that! Crono's never liked me in red. He prefers softer colours, like pink, and light blue, and light aqua, and – oh, he really likes soft yellow – "
"THANK-you, Marle, that's way too much information," I break in, certain that I am currently blushing about the colour of the knickers dangling limply from my hand.
And, of course, Crono chooses this moment to make an appearance.
He stops short at the sight of a woman in his bedroom that isn't Marle, and then relaxes as he realizes it's just his faithful best buddy.
"Hey, Lucca," he greets, still sounding a little confused.
Then, as his eyes light on the red set that I am still idiotically clutching, my embarrassment making me utterly unable to shove them out of sight, he begins to snicker uncontrollably.
"I assume you've got something to do with this?" he asks, smiling fondly at his wife.
She beams.
"Yup!"
Crono turns back to me. He shakes his head helplessly and chuckles.
"You poor girl. You poor, poor girl."
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A/N: Okay. Magus was supposed to appear in this chapter. But damn it, the characters took over and did what they wanted instead of what I tried to make them do. Especially Marle. The scene with her came outta nowhere. So Magus'll be back next chapter.
Sigh. I guess every story needs its filler chapters. Just not, like, seven of them in a row. The next chapter won't be filler, I promise. =)
As for Lucca's remark about being a citizen of Truce when she had already told Ariana that she was from somewhere else…let's just call that an author error that's worked its way into the storyline. =)