A/N: This chapter is NSFW. Also, thank you to TimeMage for leaving kind comments on my other fic, it really brightened my day to read your thoughts on it! And makes me want to revisit that fic world sooner than later :)
Chapter Thirty
"I will miss Rad, but I do not envy them the return trip to Ivalice," Alma said to Mustadio and Malak. "I should be pleased to never see another camping tent in my life."
Mustadio set down his tools, then stood up to stretch his back. Just the mention of their tiny camping tents made him suddenly feel crunched and cramped up.
At least the mine shaft was tall enough to allow him to stand up straight. Not many mine shafts could boast that.
It had turned out that the cave-in was not quite as bad as Mustadio had feared. It had taken Construct 8 and the rest of the team about two weeks to clear the tunnel of rubble, so that the mine could be used again. They could have probably accomplished the task much faster, but Mustadio had insisted on caution rather than speed. He didn't want Construct 8 to slip into the depths and get damaged, if another rock slide was caused by careless maneuvering.
And now, they were back to work. On the first day back, Mustadio and Alma had certainly felt a little nervous; both remembering only too clearly how claustrophobic they had felt while trapped in here for a short while.
Of course, none of their friends were even aware that they had been trapped inside the mine, thanks to Alma's secret teleportation skills.
The nervousness had subsided, thankfully, and both Malak and Besrodio still remained blissfully unaware of their terrifying encounter.
"Do you wish to go with Rad and Luso?" Mustadio asked Malak. "They never put your face on the heretic papers in Ivalice. You probably could get away with returning, if you wanted to."
"No," Malak said. "I've no home left in Ivalice. The people who do remember me there… they might not be happy to see my face again, heretic or no. Some of them consider me a traitor to their Lord Barinten, I am sure."
After a long pause, Malak added, "I might go back, if it was Rafa's wish. But I am content here for now."
Alma cleared her throat. Little bits of black rock dust always managed to creep inside her face covering somehow, no matter how she adjusted it, as she worked in the mine.
When their work shift was over for the day, Alma found that she couldn't face the thought of going inside the crowded house just yet. The weather outside was cold and damp and dreary, but she told Malak and Mustadio that she was going to take a walk to the pond before dinner. Mustadio offered to join her, but Alma told him that she needed some time alone, and set off at a slow pace.
When Alma arrived at the pond, she simply stood by the shore.
The air tasted a little gross here, probably thanks to the thin film of scum on the pond's surface. The gray sky looked a little gross, too. Her mood was a little gross. So was the chilly wind that blew her bangs back from her cold face.
Alma wondered what it would feel like if she teleported herself deep beneath the earth. If it would even work; if the solid packed dirt and stone could, in fact, create a space for her body. She wasn't sure if anyone with teleportation skills had ever tried that before.
Would she feel any pain, or would everything end instantaneously?
Alma took a deep breath and tried to shake off the thought. She knew she was being silly. Her life was good, wasn't it? Wouldn't her life seem like a wonderful dream, to any of the peasants still left homeless in war-torn Ivalice? Here she was, with a big house, and beautiful clothes, and kind friends. And a body hale and hearty—should she not be more grateful that she did not have leprosy, for example, and that her legs were able to carry her on this walk?
The nightmares had been particularly bad, the night before. She wondered when, or if, they would ever stop.
"Alma!"
She turned at the sound of her brother's voice, and watched Ramza approach.
"Malak told me you walked out here! It has been a while since you left. I wanted to… make sure you were all right," Ramza said, catching his breath a little after bounding over the hill toward her.
Alma forced a smile onto her face, even though it physically hurt.
"Of course. I only needed some fresh air."
"Have you packed for the trip tomorrow? Meliadoul and Rafa have been trying to figure out how much to bring along all afternoon."
"Mmm. Not yet." Alma could hear the sullen disinterest in her own voice, and fought to add some bright charm, even though she felt anything but charming at the moment. "It is amazing that Balthier crossed paths with Luso again! Incredible! I am so very happy for Rad, that Luso returned to fetch him and bring him on his adventures."
"I am sure you are excited to see the port city again, when we drop them off. All the shopping you could hope for!" Ramza grinned.
This time, Alma could not even feign a tiny smile. She scowled as she stared out at the pond, away from her brother.
"Hey… Are you… all right?" Ramza asked.
"How could—" Alma sputtered, "Honestly, how could I possibly be all right, Ramza?" she nearly screamed. "After everything, after both of our brothers died, and you will not even talk about it with me, after we lost our home and everything in Ivalice!"
"I—"
"It is like you do not even care!" Alma shrieked. "Did you never love them? Zalbag? Dycedarg? How about me? If I had died, would you pretend that did not happen as well? Would you still be cavorting around each week as if nothing was wrong?"
Ramza's eyes were glassed with tears by the time she finished ranting, but they didn't start to fall until Alma angrily shoved his chest.
"Alma, no—" he moaned, and he suddenly sounded as distraught as Alma felt. "I just wanted you to be happy! I thought if I could save you… I thought…"
"Happy?" Alma laughed incredulously. "You think it makes me happy, that you want me to pretend it was always only the two of us? To pretend I don't miss Zalb—"
Her voice cracked, trying even to say her dead brother's name aloud, and then they were both sobbing and choking out words that hurt as much as healed.
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Though Ramza's statement had irritated Alma at the time, she had to admit that the port city in southern-most Ordallia was, indeed, an excellent place to go shopping. Today she had spent hours roaming the stalls and picking out new accessories.
Alma and most of the crew had taken their carriage to the port in order to see off Luso and Rad, as the two began a new journey to Ivalice. They could have technically just said goodbye back at the house, but the trip to the port city was also something like a vacation for the rest of the crew. They planned to stay for a few more days, after Luso and Rad boarded their ferry tomorrow morning.
By the late afternoon, Alma had picked up two new Angel Rings (one for herself, and one for Rafa, who had chosen not to come on the trip this time), as well as a bottle of the Chantage perfume that she sometimes smelled on Meliadoul and had decided she really wanted to have for herself as well. Meliadoul was probably getting tired of her borrowing sprays from her bottle.
Alma was still quite depressed about her lost family members and her feeling of displacement from the life she always thought she was supposed to lead, as a noble daughter of Ivalice, but shopping did have a mysterious power to push all of that aside for a few hours, she found.
And back at the inn, it also helped to spend a couple hours soaking in the magic-heated bathing pool with Agrias and the other ladies.
At the dinner table that evening, in the large common room of the inn, Alma made sure to sit next to Mustadio.
Alma murmured to him, once everyone else had started participating in a loud and lively dinner conversation, "I told Ramza all my secrets. About… you know. Altima. My memories."
Mustadio nearly choked on his most recent bite of chocobo stew.
"Really?" he sputtered. "And, um, that actually went all right?"
Alma grinned, nodded, and continued eating her own stew.
Toward the end of the meal, Mustadio muttered again, "Why would you do that? I thought you agreed you were safer keeping it secret?"
"I know. I still do think that. But I do not wish to hide things from Ramza forever. He is my only family now; I want to be able to trust him."
"Yeah, it sure is nice to be able to trust family," Mustadio grunted, briefly glaring down the table where his father sat next to a handsy Alicia.
Alma stifled a giggle. "Yes. I was sorry to hear about… that whole, er, situation."
She got the impression that the wound was still too fresh for Mustadio to be open to discussion about his father and the girl who had been kissing Mustadio days before she started kissing Besrodio.
"Mustadio," Alma said quietly, as she reached to her left and grabbed his hand where it rested on his thigh under the table.
"Huh?" Mustadio said. He looked confused, but he gripped her hand back. He gave no indication to anyone else at the table that Alma had touched him.
"I do appreciate you keeping my secrets, as well," Alma said. "If I had not had you to talk with first, I am not sure that I ever would have found the courage to speak to Ramza about everything."
"O-of course," Mustadio stammered. "You can—can always tell me things."
"I feel like everything keeps changing," Alma whispered. "Having no one left in Ivalice… I thought things would finally settle down here. But now, even Rad and Luso are leaving. I know I should be happy for them, but I am really going to miss Rad. I feel as though every time I make a friend, something happens to take them away again."
Mustadio looked a little lost for a moment. Then, he turned her hand inside his, and he stroked his thumb over her curled palm.
Alma stared down at the table. "I do not know what is wrong with me…" she muttered. "I should be happy. I am still alive, and that is a miracle in itself… But… I cannot stop looking back. I have terrible nightmares, Mustadio, almost every night. Sometimes I dream about Dycedarg or Zalbag, and they are horrifying… I dream of them being slaughtered, and I am not even trying to help them, because in the dreams I have no power, and I keep running, but wherever I go there is more blood… And those are not even the worst dreams, because—"
Alma's voice came in a rush now, "the worst is when I dream about our lives here! Mayhap once a week, mayhap even more often, I dream that Ramza tells me he is leaving me here. That—that he rescued me and I should not expect anything more, that he owes me nothing more and he does not wish to be around me any longer. And then, in the dream, I am alone. Completely alone, and I cannot figure out why I should even go on, or if there is any point to anything at all. And it haunts me when I wake up, as well. I thought—I thought that if I escaped Vormav, then my life would be happy, or normal, again. But I do not feel happy. Does that even make sense? Does—all of this—does it make you feel fearful? As if there is nothing left to look forward to, ever again?"
Mustadio thought for a moment. He had witnessed so much horror during their travels through Ivalice, and it did trouble his sleep on a fair number of occasions. But the lives lost had never been very close to his own heart. It had always been someone else's brother, someone else's sister, lost to the destruction caused by the war and the lucavi.
"I have nightmares too, sometimes," he admitted. "Not as bad as yours, I don't think. And anyway, I don't think Ramza would leave you like that. And even if he did leave, I'm not going anywhere. You wouldn't really be alone," Mustadio said.
Alma smiled weakly. "How can you be sure? Will you not wish to go somewhere else, once our mine runs dry of Constructs to unearth?"
Mustadio shrugged.
"I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, as if the matter was really that simple.
His thumb continued to trace around her palm, her wrist.
"Honestly, I didn't think you liked Ramza very much, even if he is your brother," Mustadio added.
"What? Why would you say that?" Alma retorted.
Mustadio took another sip of his drink and then grinned. "Well, you know. You're not actually all that nice to him."
Alma chuckled.
Mustadio's thumb went on lazily tracing little nonsense patterns against Alma's palm. The back of her hand rested against the warmth of his thigh, and Alma felt a tension she always kept, there in the back of her shoulders, release almost all at once as she relaxed into her chair.
She was finished with her dinner, but she realized she felt no desire to ever leave the table.
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Alma made an excuse to retire early to her rented room that night, walking away fast while everyone else was still chattering in the common area. She slowed her pace, though, once her door was closed behind her, once she was unlacing her dress and letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Thank the gods she had insisted on having a room to herself during this trip, she thought.
Stripped down to her shift, Alma paused.
She so often felt as if she was being watched, ever since she had woken up in the underworld, all those months ago. Still, the feeling didn't matter enough to set her off her desired course, at the moment. Breath hitched, she let her hands drift languorously onto her belly, her ribs, even up to her chest. She cradled her own breasts in her hands for a very long moment, through the thin fabric of her shift, fondling herself softly.
She had often wished that Izlude's hands would have wandered here, during their nights in the dark dungeon. The memory mixed strangely with thoughts of Mustadio's hand holding hers, and stroking it in slow, maddening circles.
Rather than opening the second drawer of the dresser the inn provided and pulling out her nightgown, Alma instead reached under her shift and removed her underwear. She slithered into her bed, laying on her stomach beneath the covers.
She sighed, and wriggled against the mattress as if the shape of it might miraculously change to suit her fantasies. Then, she lifted her hips enough that her hand could squirm down between her legs, cupping her own sex; thrilled by the intense warmth against her palm.
Alma knew she was lying face-down as if it might let her hide the truth of her actions from even herself. As she had done every time previously. Even Altima hadn't done this more than once or twice in her past life. She had always had others to service her.
Alma suppressed a whimper as she rocked her hips a bit, enjoying the pressure of her whole hand pressed so tightly there. Of course, it wasn't enough, eventually, and soon she worked deeper, pressing her middle fingertip against her hole, sliding it inside. She allowed herself a small gasp, and a strand of honey-blonde hair stuck to her lips.
Still making the smallest movements with her hips, Alma tried to work her index finger inside as well. It was too much, it was uncomfortable, even, but she didn't want to stop, either. Her slick inner walls squeezed her fingers so hard that the digits twisted around each other.
Alma's breathing was short and shallow and panicked now, but still she rutted against the fingers she had inserted. Just there, at the very edge of where her fingertips could reach, just barely there, was a spot that was all sweetness and heat, which she desperately wished to have touched.
Her wrist was cramping. Her hips rocked fast. She was so wet that it started to make her feel disgusted with herself, after a while.
Alma slid her two fingers out, keening with frustration. Her fingertips slid upward a little, going frantically at herself, at that most sensitive spot there. She rubbed fast, her fingers soaked with her own juices, until she was nearly causing her bed to vibrate.
It felt good, it felt so good, but the frenzy wouldn't end. It wasn't until she allowed her awful, sinful mind to imagine Mustadio's long, dexterous fingers shoved inside her that she finally came, all the warmth and the wet at last producing something satisfying.
Alma lay limp then, face down, too distracted to even feel guilty about wiping her slick fingers dry on the inn's bedsheets.
What in hell is wrong with me? Alma wondered.
She had come to terms with the darker thoughts she associated with Altima. She had mostly accepted that they would always be a part of her life, going forward.
But this? Even Altima hadn't usually stooped to this.
Desperate times, desperate measures, Altima's voice shrugged in her mind.
Alma frowned. She would bet that serious, prim Rafa never felt an urge to do something like this. She would bet that cheerful, athletic Meliadoul never felt a need to let her mind or her fingers go to such dark places while alone.
Alma felt that perhaps something had always been wrong with her, since long before Altima ever came into the picture. She felt heavy, now, with guilt that she had pulled Mustadio into her sick imaginings. Surely, he wouldn't have wanted to hold hands with a maiden who did things like this?
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