- Final Fantasy IX : Have and Have Not -- Chapter Six : Courting -

---

Well, there's not too much to say. My computer still has problems, instead of writing this I should be studying for exams, and it still seems that people just don't take to my work. I don't know why I even bother to write a blurb anymore. Long chapter, here, for those of you who are still clinging to the burning wreckage of this fan fiction. And more on the way, I suppose.

---

Inside the castle ... inside his quarters ... he seemed to turn into a different person. The pickpocket found the bathroom and fumbled with the knob on the door, her eyes clouded by the thoughts swirling in her head. Inside the castle walls, he'd seemed to transform. His temper shortened, and the amusement that usually clung to him vanished.

The bathroom was the same deep colours as the rest of the house; deep wine red and mahogany. She swept the large room with eyes too vacant with her own affairs to really take in the beautiful setting. Even as she stared at her reflection, she didn't register the mirror, running along the wall in it's entirety from from the floor to the high ceiling; nor did she notice the counter running along the opposite wall, complete with a large wine coloured basin and assorted bottles huddled around it. The whole room was humid, as if it had been used recently. Maybe before he'd stumbled across her ... that would explain why his hair was so wonderfully silky-looking ...

Did he always have mood swings like that? Her own moods didn't change that fast, and she was only eighteen -- for her, that sort of thing was normal! How come she just couldn't meet someone who wasn't interested in either stealing from her, or killing her?

She crossed the room and absently turned the tap on the tub to hot, her thoughts swirling along with the steaming water. She seated herself on the edge of the tub and trailed her hand in the water as the basin filled.

It must have been the whole I'd-rather-be-a-pickpocket-than-live-under-your-roof thing that'd messed everything up. Sure, she wasn't being paraded around in dresses with enough lace to smother her anymore, and the guys who expressed their interest weren't interested in the money she would inherit one day. No, the guys on the street had class ... and were more interested in the part of her mother's genes she had already inherited.

She laughed bitterly to herself. She never should have left home ... as bad as it had been there ... it beat having people try and kill you everywhere you turned. It was better than the betrayal she faces every day.

It was better than knowing you were in love with someone who could never return it.

---

Every day used to be heavy with the knowledge that her whole future was set out for her. The horrible, crushing weight in the pit of her stomach used to make every day painful, every morning more terrible than her worst nightmare. Facing the life ahead of her, stretching away without promise of any kind, had been nauseating, and, at the time, death had seemed to be her only release.

Her salvation had been a mixed blessing.

That morning, she'd been woken by the maids, and her mother's screeching voice, the voice she always reserved for those morning hours when forcing her only daughter into the most 'maidenly' clothes money could buy. The small bundle of tomboyish sixteen year old in the bed had just moaned and pulled the covers up further over her head, hoping to keep the cold air of the mansion away from her body.

Her hopes, however, were shattered as the covers were wrenched from her grasp, and her tyrant of a mother stood over her.

"Up!" she screeched, clapping her hands almost frightfully close to the girl's face. "You have a big day today!"

You mean you have a big day ... she thought with a sigh. I'm just there for you to show off.

Still, she forced herself to her feet, in order to be smothered with the latest in a long line of too-puffy, too-lacy dresses. At least this one was black and navy blue.

As the maids clamped a corset onto her already-tiny form -- to enhance her chest, they had always said when she managed to splutter the question -- her mother began drilling her with the day's agenda.

"You've already slept in and missed breakfast, but if you hurry, we can make it to the luncheon I have planned for you with that nice, young Duke Hardrege!"

"You know he fancies the Princess Garnet --" she took a moment to gasp for breath as her corset was pulled tighter, "-- right?"

"Nonsense!" was her mother's answer, accompanied by a wave of her hand. "The moment he sees you, he'll have to pick up his jaw off the floor."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. He'll have one of his slaves do it for him."

Her mother turned a deaf ear to that, and to her protests as the maids finished tying her corset and set about swathing her in the blue-black dress.

"I've had this dress specially made to show off your petite figure, and that hair of yours, since the Duke said he liked it so much! It should also bring out the little bits of blue you have in those wretched eyes of yours."

The teen steeled herself against the barrage of criticism and curling irons that she knew was to come. Sure enough, she felt one of the maids seize one of her long, red locks and gamely attempt to curl it.

Her mother was still talking as though none of this were going on. "Your makeup for today will be far more heavy than you're used to, but you need it to cover up all the oil in your skin, and to make you look like a respectable woman for once, not a filthy roustabout. I've instructed the maids to work heavily on your eye makeup, and to only use black and grey shades, in order to ..."

The girl blocked her mother out, looking blankly ahead of her, then no where at all as the maids plopped her down on the nearest chair and proceeded to attack her closed lids, lashes and all other exposed flesh with what she was certain must be the entire contents of her mother's makeup arsenal. In minutes, the silent women who had dressed her since she was young had transformed her -- she could tell just by the feel. Her skin had lost any natural feel that it had ever possessed, and she felt as made up as the vile dolls her mother insisted she keep. She was certain she must look like a raccoon, what with all the makeup weighing down her lashes.

" ... Sophia! Are you listening to me!"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the elegant woman before her blankly for a moment. "Oh. Yes."

Her mother sniffed, as the maids worked tirelessly to pull bits of her daughter's long, dark hair back, and away from her face, to cascade in loose curls to midway down her back. "As I was saying ... We have a luncheon scheduled with the Duke at his household, shortly after the both of you can have your first outing. After which, I hope to be invited back to the Duke's for tea, then we'll have just enough time to return home and have you ready for the ball tonight."

"Let me guess. The Duke will be there, too?"

"Shall, Sophia! Shall! How will you ever be a woman if you will not learn to speak properly!" She didn't allow her the time to mutter a response. "Now, come. You look presentable enough."

She left her daughter to finish wedging her feet into her heeled shoes, and stumble after her in a most ungainly and undignified canter. Thankfully, she didn't see her daughter waddle after her in her two-inch heels; she was too busy issuing orders to the staff that she would be leaving with her mansion for the better part of the day.

In the carriage (which Sophia made her way to after ducking around her raving mother), the Lord of the house already sat, along with his trusted adviser. Both of them gave approving looks as she hoisted herself in and sat down, allowing one of the servants to shut the door behind her.

"You cleaned up nicely," her father said, as the adviser snickered.

She looked them both over, ignoring the needling statement. Her father was short, rotund, and jovial looking -- indeed, many women absolutely loved that about them. She hadn't missed the steadily younger women that her father had been toting home. Nor had she failed to catch the fact that her mother and father no longer harboured any interest in each other -- indeed, they'd moved to different bedrooms, all the way across the house from each other, so that they could entertain their overnight visitors with minimal encounters with the other.

The adviser, on the other hand, couldn't have attracted a woman if it meant his life. He was painfully thin, with a crooked back and a hook-like nose, reminding Sophia of a carrion eating bird. He always wore thick glasses which magnified his eyes to several times their real size, giving him a permanently surprised air about him. His voice was high and nasal; how her father managed to listen to it day in and out baffled her. His eyes were a dull shade of grey, as was his sickly skin and what was left of the hair on his balding head.

Her mother bustled into the seat beside her, slamming the carriage door herself when the servant could not do it quick enough for her taste, and the jerk that almost sent Sophia sprawling on the floor told her that she was on her way to a whole new kind of nightmare.

---

Kuja opened the door softly. The pickpocket must be asleep ... he'd knocked, and had no response. With the fear he'd instilled in her by now, he knew she wouldn't dare ignore him.

Sure enough, she was in the tub on the other side of the room, her head lolled back against the cushion, her eyes closed and roaming beneath their lids. He felt a smile curve his lips, unbidden.

Her clothes were on the floor in the middle of the room, and Kuja crossed to them and scooped them up under his arm. These threadbare rags could hardly be considered clothes ...

Before he left, he crossed to the closet and opened it, revealing the small collection of pristine, white bathrobes within, and added some warm water to the bath.

The door was silent as it closed behind him.

---

When Sophia had arrived at the Duke's mansion, she was already thoroughly nauseated. Her mother had spent the entire ride regaling her last visit -- aside from the elaborate furnishings, the jewelled clothes, the expensive linens, the immaculately kept rooms, and the seemingly hundreds of people in his service, it was quite obvious that he had his affections (or, at the very least, his lust) focused on Sophia herself. It was enough to make her unsteady on her feet as she forced herself onto the Duke's ground.

Shockingly enough, he strode out to meet them himself, a jovial grin on his admittedly handsome face, his fine cape billowing behind him in the light breeze. He had blue eyes, a light, beautiful blue that reminded her of a summer's sky, his naturally thin hair was a strawberry blond and reached down to his shoulders, while a short, well-trimmed beard and moustache of the same colour surrounded his mouth. He was absolutely gorgeous ...

And yet she found herself repulsed by him, disgusted. And this feeling only increased as she noticed the two servants trailing in his wake, only a few years older than her at most. Both had dark, close-cropped hair, and small, dark eyes. It was obvious that they were terrified of making a mistake in the stiff way that they walked. Seeing them like that ripped her heart out.

He noticed none of the negative emotions she knew must be playing across her face, walking straight to her and taking her hand in his, kissing the back of it gallantly. "Ah, Sophia. It's simply wonderful to see you again!"

"Duke Hardrege," she said, inclining her head. She wanted to pull her hand back, out of his grasp, but she knew her mother wouldn't approve, and she'd face the consequences of that later.

"Come now," he said, with a pleading smile, "call me Serge."

She blinked in surprise. "Er ..."

"Of course she will." Her mother's voice was threatening, and Sophia sighed softly, nodding her head.

"Of course, Du-- I mean, Serge."

He smiled and, keeping her hand gently in his -- Sophia shuddered; in their society, even that small gesture would be taken as a sign that the two of them were intimately involved -- led her and her family into his mansion.

Once inside, Sophia knew right away that her mother had not been exaggarating when she spoke of the lavish surroundings the duke enjoyed. The marble floor of the four-story-high entrance hall was a beautiful silver-white, perfectly smooth and absolutely spotless. The sweeping stairs ahead of them were made of the same, while the banister was made of the finest, most beautiful golden brown wood, sculpted and inlaid with precious metals. The heavy door swung shut behind them, made of the same material as the stairs, and just as beautifully crafted.

He smiled and swept the arm that wasn't clutching her hand around the stunning hall. "Welcome to my humble abode."

She was shocked he didn't choke on the word humble, and was even more shocked he wasn't smitten where he stood by some higher power for such obvious blasphemy.

If anyone else felt the same, they said nothing; her mother launched into a tirade of barely-suppressed greed -- about how wonderful his house was, and how marvellous it must be to have so much --, her father was nodding slightly, as his assistant stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. She herself was working diligently to extricate her hand from what was proving to be the Duke's very firm grip.

"Ah, well," Serge said, clearly in response to the latest in the barrage of questions her mother had heaped upon him, "I'm simply glad that you could join me tonight. Especially since you brought this little gem." He smiled at Sophia. "And you all must be hungry -- come, I'll have my servants bring out something sweet for us to munch on. I'm certain we have much to discuss."

As it turned out, there was more to discuss than Sophia had originally imagined.

---

Shortly after they were seated -- Sophia next to the Duke, much to her displeasure -- and an array of sweets and cakes served on a decorative plate, the conversation started.

And, at first, it was tame enough. The discussion started on politics; a subject which Sophia had many opinions on, but was not allowed to speak anything other than polite questions and short answers when she was addressed directly. But soon, the politics of Treno (which were, at the time, almost non-existent, because of a temporary lull in any major problems in the city) were abandoned in the conversation, and less comfortable matters were aroused ... Including the (rather innocent, her mother must have thought) mention that the Duke must be looking to marry soon.

He chuckled, taking the question, as he did most things, in good stride. "Well," he said modestly, "I am starting to turn my attention towards that matter ... And, I suppose, should I find a woman whom I'm attracted to, and who would consider it an honour to take my hand in marriage, then I could settle down."

Sophia ignored that, and innocently licked some powdered sugar from her fingers as daintily as she could. Her mother, however, was glaring daggers at her, clearly expecting her to speak up. She wiped her sticky fingers on her napkin, before gathering her courage, and speaking. "But surely, there must be a woman like that somewhere ... Perhaps you should consider travelling abroad ...?"

He laughed, as if what she had suggested was a hilarious joke. "Ah," he said, when he regained his composure, "but I don't have to travel abroad to find a woman as such." He reached for the hand she was resting on the table, and she avoided that by picking up her glass of what she hoped wasn't an alcoholic drink and almost choking on a most unladylike sip of it.

"You have your eye on someone, then?" Sophia sighed to herself. Her father was sweet, but hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. He couldn't fish a clue out of a bucket.

The Duke disguised the reach for her hand by instead reaching for one of the cakes that the servants had brought fresh from the kitchen to refill their snack plate. "Well, yes. You could say that." He chuckled to himself and took a bite of his cake, chewing and swallowing it in silence before adding onto that. "But ... she's a little, well, I suppose you could say she tends to be a little shy. Maybe a little under her family's thumb. She seems to be a little afraid to get to know me better." He'd tilted his head to look into Sophia's eyes, since she'd been carefully avoiding looking at him. "And I would love," he said, his voice softer and obviously directed at her, "to get to know her better."

Sophia felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, and immediately hated being a redhead ... and not carrying a fan, as her mother usually insisted; had she had the latter, she probably could have covered her now cherry-red cheeks.

Thankfully, her mother cut in so that she wouldn't have to speak. Her mother's voice sounded exactly as flushed as Sophia felt. "Oh, we'd be more than happy to allow the two of you some time alone -- at least, until Sophia must get ready to attend tonight's gala." She let out a tinkling laugh that grated on Sophia's ears.

The fact that her father said nothing was what really got to her. She could remember fuming silently as her parents had left. Every other family in Alexandria would have the common sense not to leave their daughter with any young man unattended short of a brother -- how were they to know that he was not a rapist, or harbouring such desires! Why did her family have to be such ... such ...

She never did think of a proper word, since it was at that moment that the Duke returned, and practically swept her off her feet as he guided her out to the stone patio, overlooking the his gardens.

He left her there again, whispering in her ear that he'd find her a glass of water, since she was looking rather flushed. Hmph. Rather flushed. I wonder why ...

The garden, though, really had been beautiful. Flowering bushes, fruit-bearing trees, myriads of colours stretching in all directions, almost as far as she could see, between silvery stone walls. There were fountains spewing crystal waters, gazebos and tables everywhere. She almost found herself drooling over all the colours, thrown together in beautiful carelessness.

When he returned, offering her a tall, clear glass of water (and placing a hand on the small of her back as he did so, stepping far closer than she would have liked), she started with surprise, having forgotten all about him. She covered, thankfully, with practised care by taking a polite sip of water.

And so the courting had begun ...

---

The pickpocket awoke with a start, looking blearily around the room. Had she fallen asleep ...? She must have, what with the fact that her bathwater, which had been scalding when she had drawn the bath, was now only lukewarm.

She sat up, rubbing her sore neck as she did so, and surveying the room once more. There was something not quite right about the room ... but her brain was so clogged with sleep that she couldn't quite figure out what it was ...

She's hauled herself out of the bath and stood, dripping, on the tiles before she finally came to terms with the fact that her clothes had mysteriously packed up and moved on. She felt her lips forming the word and her fingers curling into a fist before her brain could register what she was doing. "Kuja ..."