Disclaimer: No, FFTA is not mine. I want it to be. It is not, however. My muse shall disembowel me and offer my entrails to the gods if I claimed it was.
Thanks to Mako-Streak for reviewing: Yes, that was one of the more embarrassing events in Marche's history.
Keep the reviews coming and keep my incentive flowing!
In the present…"Why are we moving out again, kupo?" asked Oskar, a moogle thief, nudging Etoile in the ribs.
"Because we need to go and kick some serious ass," answered Katarina, grinning as she stepped up beside them. "Why else?"
"You always kupo say that!" replied Oskar cheerfully. "And then it always ends up that you kupo stay in a corner and blast them from far off!" This resulted in a lot of loud screaming on the part of both, Katarina in fury and Oskar in laughter. There was pandemonium as one incensed summoner, brandishing her Mythril Staff threateningly as she chased the little thief, kept running and forgot about the fact that viera cannot phase through trees. Oskar, quite small even by moogle standards, collapsed laughing against an unpacked tent and sent it toppling around him, much to the fury of the occupants, who started yelling abusively and using interesting mog swearwords that involved razors and blunt knives. Etoile doubled over in laughter.
"You are all insane," commented Ingg calmly, now healed from the harrowing experience of being told by a certain summoner what amputation was all about.
"You noticed? How long did that take you?" asked Loraine, cocking an eyebrow as she tried to wind the black scarf around her ears again.
"Well…put it this way, I never wanted to bring it up for fear of getting blasted, shot, impaled or stabbed," answered the ninja. "Do you need help?" she added, eyeing the difficulty the assassin was having with the long scarf.
"No," answered Loraine haughtily. However, the effect was spoiled a second later as the scarf slipped out of her fingers and dropped on the ground around one of her boots. She tried to pick it up. She failed. She tried to lift her foot and get it off. It was stuck in the buckle somehow. A few minutes later, Ingg, Darios and Marche were laughing as they watched her run frantically around camp cursing the stupidity of scarves very obscenely. Eventually it wound round her legs and sent her face-to-face with the grass.
"It was an accident," mimicked Marche. "It could happen to anyone."
"It could!" she snapped huffily, picking herself up. Turning to the sniper, who was no longer hysterical, she asked, "How the hell do you get it so perfect?"
"Practise," shrugged Etoile, but her eyes sparkled with laughter, which was turning her brown skin slightly darker as she attempted to suppress it.
"Yeah. Right," said Loraine sceptically.
"Practise makes perfect," answered Darios.
"Right. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that from Mr. I-hate-this-job-it's-too-hard-and it's-a-gay-job-anyway, Darios Starcall," Etoile retaliated, her tone incredulous. He started to edge away, warily rubbing the back of his neck where she had bashed him at yesterday's bar fight and turning slightly red as she brought up his brief sojourn into Soldier-ism. Incidentally, the results of yesterday's fight had been a win on her part for the possession of the gil. Entirely. And no, there had not been a scuffle late at night that resulted in Montblanc's tent getting blown up and Montblanc himself unwittingly blasting a certain summoner (who, yeah right, hadn't done a thing) with Return Magic.
"Why haven't we left here?" asked a voice from near a now-dented tree.
"Because of you blowing up Monty's tent and Basil not being a morning person," answered Marche. "Otherwise we would've left, believe me." Ingg smiled.
"Hey
Marche," grinned Etoile. "Look who's coming." She nodded in
the direction of the road to Nargai. The clan leader took one look
and blanched.
"Hide me!" he yelped frantically. "Quick!"
Too late. A red-haired girl was storming along the path, trailed by a
green-clad viera who seemed to be choking. With laughter, that was,
at the dramatic reaction of the clan members who had formed a small
ring around their desperately afraid leader.
Ritz entered and glared at Marche, who was using Darios as a meat shield and trying to avoid the wrath of the red-haired girl.
"Marche…" said Ritz silkily, in a voice that dripped menace, "Get out from behind your clanners for once and don't be a slow, lazy coward." Stung, the blond archer emerged.
"I am not a slow, lazy coward," he declared. "I am just cursed to wait eternally for two very grumpy mogs. There's a difference."
"Yeah, one's an excuse and one's a confession," shot back Ritz, unimpressed. "You're an idiot as well as a coward. Get your ass to Jeraw Sands now or die."
"Jeraw, kupo?" asked Oskar, emerging finally from the wreck of the tent. "But they were in Uladon!"
"They snuck out," answered the angry female. "What's so funny, Shara?"
"Nothing…" gasped the viera. "Nothing…"
"Right, as if." Ritz's eyes narrowed. "The rest of my clan is holding them to make sure they don't run any more. But you will get there now or you will get into a coffin." She paused. "By force."
"Yes, mom," said Marche, grinning irritatingly.
"Good Marche," she replied, and moved away, back to where she came. Shara kept sneaking glances back and almost laughing.
"What happened, kupo?" asked an unusually gravely mog voice from behind them. Ingg looked Montblanc up and down a couple of times and sighed.
"You've got a hangover, Monty," she said matter-of-factly. He muttered, very quietly, 'yes' and retreated elsewhere to sulk and consume coffee in gallons. The ninja watched him for a few seconds, caught the rest of their eyes apologetically and raced after the moogle mage to make sure that no unfortunate accidents with the coffee occurred.
"And why is he drunk?" asked Katarina, sitting up. It seemed like she already knew the answer.
"Because every Friday, the bum has Lads' Night with his brother at the pub and drinks more than his weight in alcohol. Secondly, every Tuesday he joins his group of females friends and they have Lasses' Night and drink lots anyway, Yesterday-"
"Whoa, whoa," said Darios, holding his hands up as he interrupted the sniper. "Firstly, how do you know all this and secondly; Monty has lady friends?"
"Yes," nodded Katarina. "The two of us got curious. So we followed him."
Marche shook his head in wonder. "Wow."
"Tons,"
grinned Etoile, ignoring the first question and the blond human's
statement. "He's very, very popular among the young mog
girls."
"I didn't think moogles had females!" blurted out
the blue mage.
"How do they ensure the continuation of the species?" asked the summoner darkly.
"I don't know," grinned Marche. "Darios is under the assumption that there is an endless supply of viera who ensure the survival of the other races. That's sick, I know, but he's sick in the first place." Darios ran as Katarina and Etoile gave chase, this time for 'being offensive and prejudiced'. Loraine, preoccupied with her scarf, finally got it on and sighed in satisfaction.
"Did you hear a single word of the past fifteen minutes?" asked Marche, fascinated by her concentration.
"Not a whit," answered the assassin cheerfully, examining her nails. "All I know is that my traitorous clan is now in the Jeraw area."
"Lori, get it straight, kupo," sighed a voice from her knee. "It's your traitorous former clan, kupo." The viera looked down at Oskar, who leaned against her and hugged her leg.
"Don't do that to any enemies," warned Loraine playfully. "They might get the wrong message."
"But Lori, kupo!" protested the thief. "That's exactly the kupo idea, so that they won't notice until I hack their kupo knee off!" At that, Loraine pretended to scream and hopped around the camp with Oskar hanging on and laughing, all the time with the assassin yelling, "AAAH! IT'S GOING TO HACK MY LEG OFF!! GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF!!!"
"No, he said your knee off, Lori," laughed Marche. "Not your whole leg!" She stopped hopping temporarily to glare at him, snap, "So what?" and alter her yell slightly.
A
couple of hours later, with the hung-over mogs doused in coffee and
the warring tendencies of a couple of viera curbed temporarily, one
blue mage rescued from aforesaid viera, one hyper assassin calmed
down and one moogle thief detached from aforesaid assassin's leg,
the company proceeded. The little clan drove on, plodding along the
road until nightfall where they arrived in Muscadet.
"No
Card-Keeper's shop to sit on," sighed Loraine, disappointed.
"No Ezel and his damn hat to bash me up," sighed Marche, grateful. "Let's go to Spina Lodge!"
"The inn, kupo?" asked Basil incredulously. 'Isn't that a bit expensive?"
"Hey, we'll see," said Marche, pretending disinterest. "We can afford it, you know."
"Yeah. Right…" said Etoile sceptically. They ended up staying at the inn, but the three viera teased Marche unmercifully about a crush on the pub barmaid.
"Let's go to Muscadet. It's nice this time of year," mocked Katarina. "And no matter if it's Madmoon, Sagemoon, Bardmoon or Huntmoon, you always say that."
"It's nice all year!" protested Marche.
"…Yeah…" Loraine shoved him lightly. "Because she's there all year, isn't she?"
"Well, maybe…" Marche tried to defend himself, but was shot down by the viera, a particular gunner and a certain moogle thief, who gleefully joined in. The other clanners watched Marche's discomfort with rising amusement over their game of Go Fish.
