Dusk came and went. The warped and torpid faces of the recently dead dimmed beneath the veil of night, until a black, shambling, moaning mass was all that could be discerned of them. In a castle that was feeling more like a tomb than a safe harbor with each passing hour, nerves frayed easily. Edgar kept pacing too and fro, tugging at the gold brocade of his collar and struggling not to tear out his hair from claustrophobia. Terra sat just a little ways away from him, arms crossed beneath her breasts and hands clutching her waist as though feeling some chill that went unnoticed by anyone else.

"Could you sit down?" she barked at the monarch. "You're making me edgy. What's the big deal, anyway? We've gotten ourselves out of scenarios worse than this."

"We've gotten ourselves out of worse scenarios than this because we still had esper shards around our necks."

Terra wouldn't let his words sway her. "What about that carrier pigeon we sent to South Figaro? Have we heard any word back from them yet?"

No sooner had the question left her lips did Edgar pull the velvet sheet from a birdcage he had concealed beneath the table. Terra's chair almost toppled backwards as an undead beak smacked and clawed at the bars of its prison, white eyes twisted with rage towards her.

Terra swayed. "Well then, I guess we're on our own."

"Don't lose hope yet, kiddo."

Heads turned as the gambler descended from the stairwell leading up to the parapet. With one hand weaving to some melody only he could hear, his grin and swagger brought a smile to Terra's face for the first time in days.

"Setzer!"

He winked and gunned as Sabin labored close behind him with a crate over his head. "People of Figaro, I bring tidings of food and beer! Fill yer stomachs up while you still got one!"

"Never mind that," Edgar replied, allowing for the esper girl to get in a quick hug before bringing him up to speed. "Our situation is perilous. There's no telling how long the barricades downstairs are going to hold, and your airship could be our only chance!"

"Might be a bit of a problem without gas."

Edgar's face wilted, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Some . . . help here, please?" Sabin's voice strained beneath the weight of the container.

"Yeah. The Falcon's damn near empty. I was barely able to keep her float when I was hauling ass out of Albrook. I knew I should have filled her up this morning."

Edgar sighed and scratched at the bridge of his nose, uttering something beneath his breath that was entirely unbecoming of his title.

"Some . . . help!"

"All's not lost, though. I was able to pluck Locke and Celes out of Albrook before anyone was able to take a bite out of them."

Terra brightened. "Locke and Celes! They're alive!"

"Jiah!" And the crate crashed down on top of the Blitz Master's head.

"You bet," said Setzer, pulling a canister of ale from out of the ruined crate. "They're up in the cabin now. Said they needed a minute or two alone, though. Something about 'unfinished business', whatever that means."

The king of Figaro shook his head. "It's still just us against them, who outnumber us something like five hundred thousand to one. What do you plan to do about that?"

"What odds about them?" He took a hearty swig from his ale. "All you have to do is flick a switch and we're underground."

Edgar had wondered when someone was going to bring that up. "Technically, yes. How many pieces we'd be in, I wouldn't be able to tell you. Plates shift around a lot in three years. The old stratum's not even below us anymore."

For a whole minute, no one said anything. Setzer tilted his neck from side to side until it gave a satisfying crack in either direction.

"Well then," he finally said, "Good thing I brought plenty of ale."

Roundabout the same time that was going on, Locke was cozying up alongside his soulmate in the privacy of a deck-three stateroom. Still with his bandana on (and little else), his wet kisses tantalized Celes' neck while a free hand trailed from the rosy tips of her chest, down the swell of her abdomen, and to rest among the short, course hair of her pelvis. She smiled and turned over on the cushion, kissing his clothed forehead.

"About time we dropped the curtain on that act of ours," she said, her own hands straying for the treasure hunter's manhood.

"And what's to come from our next scene together?" he asked, tucking a golden ringlet back behind her ear. "How is it that the two of us are going to fair in this new world of ours?"

All bliss faded from her expression as she rose to dress. Whatever it was that had happened to the people of Albrook, it couldn't have been everywhere else as well. She had explored enough of the world over the past year to know that much . . . or had she?

"We'll survive and rebuild, just like we did the first time." Her breasts gave a sweet bounce as she jostled her way into the clothes which Setzer had given them. "I think we more or less have it down to a science by this time."

"I didn't know you wore lipstick."

"It's not mine." She craned her head to look at herself in the mirror, very meticulously applying a splash of red to her lips. "I found it on the night stand."

"I think that belongs to Daryl," he replied.

She gave him an almost surly look. "Oh please, Locke. I doubt she's going to mind much if I play around with her things."