- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Five : Virtually Unnoticed -

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-- Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that! I know, this stupid god forsaken chapter took forever. My characters were being moody (something about me not getting enough chocolate), Geography is the most horrible thing ever invented (and my teacher should be terrorised by Freddy Krueger for giving so many idiotic assignments!), and there have been a few minor crisis that I seem to be mediator on (when people will actually tell me what's wrong).
So. That's what's happened to me. As well as the fact that the name shifter Trojan is not only back, but attacking my computer with a vengeance that all horror movie slashers would be proud of.
So. There you have it. My pathetic excuses. Might as well get on with reading! --

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"I'm a pickpocket," she started, after taking a deep breath to fortify her nerves. "I've lived out on the streets for a few years, getting by on ... er, well, I'm sure you know ..." She looked up at him but he said nothing, his face giving away no signs of any thoughts. The pickpocket plowed on, regardless. "I was outside the auction hall, since I knew there were going to be people around, and I could slip through the crowd virtually unnoticed."

He held up a hand to silence her. "And what, I ask, did you steal this time?"

She grinned sheepishly, reaching into a sealed pocket on her hip and producing a wallet. She held it out to him, and he took it gently from her hand, opening it to inspect the contents. He tried the various compartments, his fingers working as though he were a seasoned professional in searching things ... but she was too busy looking at his face to notice. His expression was collected, easily controlled, giving her no window into his mind. His eyes were trained on the small, leather object in his hands, giving away nothing; he showed no surprise, no interest, no anything as he rifled through the unknown person's belongings.

The teen knew what he would do next. He would, undoubtedly, pocket the wallet as evidence against her, then order her to continue with the explanation. She herself would never get the chance to see the inside of the wallet she had worked so hard to steal. She had worked for years perfecting her technique: learning how to blend into crowds, learning the art of distraction, figuring out where wallets and other valuables were most likely to be kept, and how to trick people into inadvertently showing her where they were. And for what? Well, most likely a nice, comfy jail cell in some major prison, along with whatever punishment he must be coming up with under that silky hair of his.

She nearly sighed audibly as he looked back up at her. Those eyes of his were so gorgeous; she could stare into them all day, drown in them. She could picture herself running her hand through that silky hair of his ... oh, how she wished that she could!

Something was pressed into her hand. Starting with surprise, she looked down, to see the brown, leather wallet that she'd earlier stolen clenched within her fingers. Shocked, she looked up at him, to find that his expression had softened somewhat. Perhaps he'd mistaken the look on her face for fear ...?

"Continue," he said simply.

She gulped, carefully slipping the wallet carefully back into a pocket, not knowing exactly what was going to happen if she gave an answer he didn't like. "I was following someone -- another pickpocket -- who's been following me around. I was going to tell him off, but he disappeared right around the doorway to your balcony. I figured that he must have gone in, so I went in too ..."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "There are always guards posted outside of that door."

Her heartbeat accelerated. "There wasn't when I went in. Maybe they were changing the guard or something ..." Her excuse sounded pathetically weak, even to her own ears.

His eyes were still narrowed when she dropped her gaze, unable to look at him anymore. Why wouldn't he believe her! She was telling the truth; what reason did she have to lie to him! This was just great ... she'd been dragged through a stuffy, underground passage, taken to some old city that was not only completely deserted and forgotten, but underground, and now loaded onto some sort of carriage being carried by a giant cricket, all with this man who could barely manage to string two sentences together! And, she admitted, even after he'd put her through all this, he was impossibly good looking ...

Luckily for her, it was at that moment that the Gargant stopped, shaking it's head and gnashing it's mandibles. The man she was with stepped out of the carriage and turned to her, holding out a hand to help her out. She ignored it and made it across the gap to the platform on her own, stumbling slightly as she landed, but somehow managing to stay on her feet.

She thought she might have heard a snicker come from him. "This way," was all he said before he turned away from her and walked off.

The young pickpocket had no choice but to follow. Casting one last look over her shoulder at the slowly retreating form of the Gargant, she followed this unknown man into the darkness.

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There were so many stairs ...

Whoever had made this place obviously was never forced to walk up these stairs. There must be thousands of them! The pickpocket was panting as she jogged up the stairs to keep up with the man's long strides. How many stairs had she climbed up? Five hundred? Maybe more. And still, there was no end to them in sight!

"How many stairs are there around here?" she puffed, following closely in the man's wake.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. "A fair few." The corners of his mouth turned up in a thin smile. "Tired already?"

The pickpocket stared resolutely ahead, forcing herself not to rise to the bait. She wouldn't allow herself to become venerable around him, not like she had before. She refused to show him the weakness that she had for him.

She was still scowling resolutely at the stairs in front of her when he came to a stop, grabbing her arm to keep her from walking. Clearly surprised, she looked up at him, trying to gulp down the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

"Stay here," he instructed firmly, "until I come for you. Understand."

She nodded wordlessly, afraid of what she may say if she opened her mouth.

With a stern look to ensure that she stayed in her place, he turned and hurried up the few remaining stairs. There was the sound of something heavy moving, and then nothing. Until ...

"Kuja! I've told you, don't use that passageway! You scared me -- I thought you were a robber!"

The voice was high-pitched, grating against the pickpocket's ears even though she was no where near the speaker. The tone echoed around the stone chamber that she stood in, which she was suddenly aware was quite cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, but otherwise did nothing, straining to hear what the man (evidently named Kuja) was saying in that soft, sure tone of his.

"My apologies, your Majesty. But I've come with news, and I wanted you to hear it as soon as possible."

The girl tensed, her thoughts screaming that this was the reason he'd brought her here. He must not have believed her story -- he thought she had been doing something illegal! And not only that, but he'd taken her to the queen!

"Oh? What is it then?"

There was a few seconds of silence. To the pickpocket, it seemed like an eternity.

"I believe," Kuja finally started, "that I have found a good lead as to where the Princess Garnet has gotten to -- a new source of mine tells me of a thief spotted in Treno. I believe this might be a member of the group Tantalus."

A slight pause. "Who is this source?" The voice of the Queen was suspicious.

There was a smile in Kuja's voice. "Trust me, your majesty, my source has no reason to lie to me."

A satisfied sniff and the sound of someone lumbering to their feet. "Very good. I'll go check on that now ..." The voice died off as she and apparently Kuja moved away from the passage.

She stood still for a moment, feeling the silence pressing against her. Remembering how cold she was now that there were no voices for her to focus on, she shivered, peering up the last little bit of spiraling staircase. Warm light spilled across the stone, splashing orange light across the wall. It looked so inviting ...

Her feet carried her soundlessly up the last few steps, feeling warmth spill over her as she entered the room atop the passage.

The walls were upholstered in what could only be described as a lavish fashion. The carpet that stretched across the floor was a beautiful, royal red, and spongy -- almost bouncy, it was so thick. Flickering candles rested on every available surface, giving off heat and an almost sickly sweet scent.

Turning to look behind her, the pickpocket noticed that the entrance she had come through, seemed to be concealed behind the fireplace -- which didn't seem to be a real fireplace, but a lightweight copy, made for the sole purpose of covering the passageway.

A hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

She would have cried out in surprise, but the voice spoke first. "I thought I told you to stay put."

Kuja turned her to face him and, when he did, she was surprised to see that he didn't look angry, just amused, as if he'd expected to find her there. "Come with me." With that, he turned, dropping his hand from her shoulder, and walked to the door. The teen was hot on his heels.

The halls that they passed through were well-lit and well guarded. By this time, there was no doubt in the pickpocket's mind that they were in the Royal Palace of Alexandria -- the paintings were well-preserved and expensive-looking, the marble floors were polished until it hurt to look at them, and there was almost no one about.

I feel like a stain, she thought with a sigh. Everything around here's so clean ... She looked down disdainfully at her outfit. Stains had built up over the years on the pale grey material of her shirt, turning it to a deep, almost black, whereas in other places it had been worn thin, appearing to be almost white. Her pants, which were black, hid the stains well, but were torn and threadbare. I'm glad there's no one around to see me tracking dirt everywhere ...

She tracked dirt through three more halls and up a staircase before Kuja drew to a halt. The door that he stopped in front of, she noted, was certainly not the most ornate, nor the grandest that they had passed. Perhaps that meant they didn't lead anywhere too important ...?

Kuja opened the door then looked over at her. Well? his eyes seemed to say to her. Why are you hesitating?

Because I'm afraid, she admitted to herself bitterly. I've let you get under my skin, and now I'm afraid. Her feet felt like they were made of lead as she forced herself through the door, ahead of him.

Inside was nothing like she'd imagined.

She always had had trouble with her imagination. Whenever she was alone, it always opted for garish figures of silent and speedy death other than comforting pictures of a fire, lovingly stoked by someone just relishing the happy warmth of the orange flames. It was probably because of this that she had been almost horribly wrong about what was behind the door.

It was a dwelling, basically in the same marble-floored-expensive-furniture theme as the rest of the palace. It reminded her slightly of the Queen's room but more ... masculine. Lain across the dark wood table in the middle of the room was a wickedly curved dagger. She gulped, but had to admit that she was glad to see that there were no signs of blood on the perfect silver blade. The rest of the room matched the table -- dark, but oddly inviting. The walls were painted a deep, strawberry wine, and instead of a carpet, dark wood planks stretched across the floor to hide under various rugs that matched the walls. Candles were everywhere, casting flickering, waning light.

It was a fitting look for Kuja's dwelling.

He walked past her, and the door swung shut behind him. Striding across the room, clearly at ease, he gave an easy flick of his wrist, indicating for her to follow him. She did, although very slowly, attempting to drag her feet without it becoming too obvious that she was trying to delay as much as possible.

As he walked, he spoke to her over his shoulder. "I know you're probably not going to like this suggestion, but I'm going to have to ask you to bathe -- you're tracking dirt everywhere."

She opened her mouth to object, but he held up a hand, as if he knew what she was going to say. "No, on second though, I'm not asking. I'm demanding."

The look that he fixed her with made her stop in her tracks. It was so icy, so forbidding, that she instantly knew there was no other choice in the matter. "Wh--"

He pointed, knowing that she was about to ask where to go. Well then, she thought, I guess I'll just go quietly to my death then ... She must have scowled, since he was suddenly right in front of her, snarling into her ear, his hand gripping her elbow so hard she feared it might snap. "Do you understand me?" The amusement was gone from his eyes, having fled before the rage that now resided there.

"Yes." She spat the word in an attempt to hide the fear rising in her throat. His mood seemed to change with dangerous swiftness.

"Good. Then Go." He hissed the words back at her, easily surpassing the strength that she had tried to force into her own voice. Using his sturdy grip on her elbow, her propelled her to the right, making her stumble as she set off.