Potion Commotion

When one of Celes' potions goes missing, the entire party become suspects in the case. (I like to imagine these kinds of scenes taking place while I'm levelling up my characters).

"WE HAVEN'T DONE this for a while, have we?" Locke called over his shoulder to where he had abandoned Celes, Edgar and Setzer to dismantle their shared tent. He gazed out over the cliffs of Mobliz in wonder. The swell of the tide against the rocks mingled a salty tang within the earthy scents of the Veldt's lush, green grasses. The adventurer sucked in a great lungful of aromatic air, along with a rather unfortunate fly. He gasped and began hacking noisily into his gloved hands.

After The Returners' feeble attempts to defend themselves against the pride of Doma's army, Celes had decided that the crew needed to return to a regimented combat-training programme. With potions and phoenix downs bundled into packs, sharpened swords stowed in sheaths and relics securely buckled, her hand-picked platoon of four had ventured out into the plains of the Veldt. The idea was to go for a few rounds with the local wildlife and then find their way back to camp in time for Sabin's Spicy Behemoth Broth.

"Hunting for game, collecting up a bounty, sleeping out under the stars…" Locke gave a luxurious stretch and scratched the back of his head. Behind him came the clang of poles and the sounds of material crumpling. He half-turned towards the source of the noise.

"Everything okay back there?"

"Fine!" lashed Celes with all the acidity of an adder bite. Pole in hand, Edgar gently probed at the folds of the collapsed tent. The mass rumbled and from beneath the canvas emerged the striped face of a stray cat. It bore its yellow teeth rudely, before a pale hand shot out from under the tent and yanked the creature into the air by its bushy tail.

"Who do you think you're smirking at, you little bastard?"

Using his elbow as a prop, Setzer extracted himself carefully from the folds of material. He struggled up onto his knees and began examining the scratches which were visible through his torn shirt sleeve. The cat continued to writhe and yowl in his outstretched hand.

"Locke, you're meant to be carrying one of these!" Celes lifted a rolled-up sleeping bag and threw it at the adventurer's feet. "Edgar, put the poles away in this case and Setzer let go of that cat!"

"Do you mean before or after I skin it?" Setzer growled through his teeth. Celes did not answer him, for her attention had become entirely fixated on the brown, leather bag which swung from her shoulder. She rooted around its contents desperately, her face contorted in concentration. Unable to grasp the item she desired, Celes set the pack on the floor and emptied its contents upon the grass. She counted the items audibly, placing back tiny pumps of ether and phoenix down needles, still sealed in their packets. Eventually, all that remained on the ground were two bottles filled with clear, sparkling liquid.

"Um…" Celes straightened slowly. "Did any of you borrow one of my potions?" There came a general murmur of dissent, followed by a sharp intake of breath as the stray cat lunged at Setzer. With his final assault complete, the creature scampered off across the plains.

"That- that damned animal!" The gambler pressed his injured hand to his mouth and sucked on the wound. Locke felt his lip twitch. He turned to tie the sleeping bag to the top of his pack, his cheeks aching with suppressed laughter.

"All the same…" Celes continued, relegating Setzer's agony from her list of immediate concerns, "I packed three potions and now I only have two. Could you all just check in case you accidentally picked one up?" Edgar obliged by theatrically rummaging about in his bag, before withdrawing an empty hand.

"Sorry Celes. You know I'd never touch your things… without permission." He lifted the bag of tent poles onto his other shoulder and, with a final wink, strode onwards. Locke narrowed his eyes distastefully after his friend, then turned to shrug at the ex-general.

"I don't even like carrying my own potions. That's why I take-" He grimaced, conscious of a fault. "-borrow them elsewhere… sometimes… er… Setzer?" The pilot patted down his pack then concluded his enquiry with an expression of resignation. He removed his bleeding hand from his mouth.

"As we're talking potions, could you throw one my way?"

Celes' eyes were ice.

"Or I can just quietly bleed to death, if that's easier?" Setzer sighed morosely. The strained silence was broken by a tinkling sound as Edgar extracted his wallet.

"Take four-hundred… five-hundred gil? What do potions go for these days?" He held out the money towards Celes who, even as her voice rose to a scream, did not take her stare away from Setzer's whitened face.

"It's not about the potion. It's the principle!"

"Celes, cool it!" Locke held out his hands warily. "We promise we'll be more careful with your belongings in future. In the meantime…" He extracted his own wallet and peered inside to see a blackened shard of old magicite and a dead moth.

"…let Edgar buy you another one!" Locke finished hastily, shoving the leather case back into his jacket.

"But it's not just one potion, is it?" Celes snapped, "this happens every other day and I'm sick of it! In fact, I'm not going to buy them anymore! What's the point when they just end up getting stolen?" The young general's nostrils flared like two great caverns; her taught lips blanched into a pale, indistinguishable line. Locke gasped suddenly as though he had received an invisible blow to the stomach.

"What was with that look?"

"I'm angry," Celes replied tersely, "and I don't see why you're singling yourself out. Unless you've got a guilty conscience?" Her gaze flicked down to the knapsack which swung from Locke's shoulder. The adventurer clasped the bag's buckle defensively.

"Of course you'd assume it was me," he snarled, "you think I'm some petty thief." Celes' eyebrows slowly lifted themselves into her hairline.

"Prove it then. Empty your bag." Setzer and Edgar exchanged a nervous glance.

"Celes…"

"It's a potion…"

"It's the principle," Locke interrupted scathingly, "except we're not living under martial law, Celes. Maybe stop-and-searches and house raids were all the rage in Vector, but we're in the free world now!" The muscle in Celes' jaw flexed dangerously.

"Empty your bag." Her fingers trailed the hilt of her sword. Locke squared his shoulders.

"Make me."

"You think you're some special breed of treasure hunter," Celes hissed in a voice barbed with venom, "All you are is a lowly, common, garden-variety pick-pocket." Locke's mouth fell open in outrage.

"I'd rather that than be an oppressive fascist like you!" Edgar and Setzer's heads snapped rhythmically from side-to-side, as though following the progress of a particularly savage tennis match.

"Well?" Celes breathed shortly. Locke threw her a look of revulsion before violently upturning the contents of his pack upon the grass. Amidst a faded balaclava, a spare set of gloves and some assorted lock picks, the ground was littered with jewels. A pearl broche, a diamond pendant with earrings to match, golden rings, spangled bracelets and what appeared to be a sapphire-encrusted naval ring all lay gleaming in the fading sunlight. Disbelief glazed Celes' features.

"Guess he's not just a pick-pocket," Setzer remarked wryly.

"It's not what it looks like!" Locke exploded, "I'm curating a collection for an exhibition next week." He dropped to his knees and began frantically stuffing the jewels back into the bag. Behind him, Edgar stifled a snort.

"What exhibition is that then?"

"Eh…" Locke's hand sought the back of his hair.

"And where did you 'curate' these from exactly?" Edgar stooped to pluck the naval ring from the ground. "Hey, my Aunt Cornelia used to wear one just like this-"

Locke lunged forward and swiped the jewellery piece from the King's open palm.

"Doesn't matter!" The adventurer buckled his bag then stood to his full height, swinging the knap-sack from his shoulder. "Some of Jidoor's wealthiest widows were feeling generous! More importantly, I clearly didn't steal your potion, Celes." He folded his arms and glanced coolly over at her, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Well, someone has it," Celes snapped, ignoring Locke's bold invitation for an apology. She strode before the three men with hands clasped and nose held imperiously in the air.

"Considering that Edgar has just admitted having an intimate knowledge of his own aunt's anatomy, I'm sure he would find it comparatively easy to confess that there's an extra potion in his pocket-"

"Maybe he's just pleased to see you," Setzer interrupted. He threw his grizzled head back and gave a great bark of laughter, his shoulders heaving. Sensing that such amusement was not shared by his comrades, the gambler slowly lowered his head to find all eyes trained upon him.

"Oh, come on…"

"This is martial law, my friend," Edgar sighed, seizing Setzer's pack from where the pilot had dropped it on the ground. The King held the bag to himself briefly, his features tightened with uncertainty.

"Just to clarify, Cornelia was my uncle's wife. We weren't related by blood." Edgar nodded to himself, before adding in a slightly lower voice, "Thank Goddess."

"Ed, we know your libido knows no bounds! Just throw the bag over here." Locke caught the canvas bag in his outstretched hands and began rummaging through its contents. Celes appeared at his shoulder, poised as though supervising a subordinate officer's cross-examination.

"What have we got here? A pack of trick cards, darts, tobacco… some foreign coins…" He lifted a piece of silver from the bottom of the sack. Turning the coin, Locke's thumb traced the embossed image of a scowling, one-legged dragoon brandishing a spear.

"Boy, he looks pissed."

"Won them at the Dragon's Neck Coliseum," Setzer blurted hastily before anyone else could interject. Locke made a sound of acknowledgement then swung the bag back and forth a final time, allowing its innards to collide and jangle nosily. Celes placed a firm hand on his arm.

"What's this? A sword fragment?" Mystified, she withdrew a dull shard of metal which had apparently suffered at the hands of a manic graffiti artist. Locke craned his neck to read the feverish engravings which had been carved across the entire length of the fragment.

"One… porn from a dragon host…? I can't make it out!" He squinted more closely at the barely-legible text. Unbeknownst to him, Setzer's expression had set rigidly.

"Won it at the Coliseum…" the gambler mouthed faintly.

"…the light and the dork… Arse high up in the sky…?" Locke lowered the blade to stare at Setzer in amazement. "What the heck is this thing?"

"It's…" The pilot ran his tongue across cracked lips. He swallowed. "It's… all a bit of a blur. The night I got this I was so drunk… I got into a fight with a mirror." Setzer shook a mass of silver hair from his eyes and lifted the mysterious artefact from Celes' hands.

"So, no one can tell us what happened?" she asked, her tone tinged with disappointment.

"Well I was never invited back there, that's for sure…"

"No! What happened to my potion?" Celes seethed, her hands working themselves into balled fists, "we've been out here for what feels like hours and we're still no closer to discovering the truth!"

Warily, Edgar raised his hand, only to find Locke's accusatory finger waved before him with a jubilant cry of "AHA!" The whites of Celes' eyes gleamed in revelation. Sensing that another unwilling participant had stepped before the searchlight, Setzer's taught expression finally relaxed.

"Firstly, I don't have it."

Edgar waited for the appropriate amount of time for his companions to express their exasperation at this anti-climactic turn of events, before speaking again. "However, I believe a certain someone has realised the potion has been in her bag all along and is now too embarrassed to admit otherwise." Here, he gave a very deliberate nod in Celes' direction. The young General's stare could have rivalled a high-frequency Magitek laser.

"Aren't you quite the detective?" she quipped, her icy tone plummeting several hundred degrees further. "Who else believes Edgar has made it quite obvious that he has my potion?"

For a moment no one spoke.

"500 gil says Celes is guilty," Locke decided aloud.

"I'll take that action," Setzer snapped like a fish on a line, "Double or nothing Celes is as clean as freshly-fallen snow." He waited while the treasure-hunter peeked inside a leather wallet.

"We have an accord!" Locke cried, grasping the gambler by the hand. His suspicions roused, Edgar drove a hand inside the pocket of his travelling cloak, only for his fingertips to meet with empty folds of silk.

"I wish it were that simple," Celes sighed, rubbing her eyes irritably, "I wish I could just remember drinking one earlier. But the ugly truth is that some selfish, inconsiderate person took my potion, forcing us to stay here all night until we find out who exactly that was…" She swept her comrades with an implicit glance.

"All night?" Locke groaned, clapping a hand to his stomach, "but Sabin's making broth-"

"NO BROTH UNTIL WE FIND THE POTION!" Celes roared, causing a flock of cirpius to scatter, shrieking from their nests in a nearby tree. Edgar, Locke and Setzer all leapt as though she had fired a warning shot. Instead, Celes hurled her bag at Locke's face.

"Check my belongings. Setzer, you look through Edgar's bag." As the investigation unfolded, she began to patrol the group of men restlessly, her hands gripped behind her back once more.

"Just a bunch of clothes in here…" Setzer commented, pulling out a handful of unusual garments from Edgar's pack. As his pale hand enclosed around a small, black, leather-bound book, Setzer lifted the item and began rifling its pages; his grey eyebrows knitted together in interest. Beside him, Locke was neatly laying out a row of medicinal items from Celes' bag.

"Do any of the women in here have names…?" Setzer glanced up abruptly from his current page. "Scratch that, did you really hook up in The Fanatics Tower?" Edgar accepted the book back as though preparing to study it further, but promptly pocketed the item instead.

"She was obsessed with Kefka." His face paled. "Don't make me go into details."

"Okay, well, his conscience is cleaner than the rest of him." Setzer returned the King's bag, leaving Locke to glance up from Celes' pile of possessions. A piece of folded, white fabric lay strewn across the grass.

"Your Imperial General's cape," he said quietly.

Celes hesitated, then tentatively knelt to lift the cloak into her arms. She stroked the material wistfully with her fingertips.

"Just in case. You know, sometimes it gets cold out…" The Runic Knight stared out across the rising tide. Pin-pricks of stars were beginning to puncture the gathering darkness. A sigh of wind swirled the tall grass around them.

"Sometimes… wearing it makes me feel like I still have a purpose. I look at this cape and it doesn't matter whether we have a plan or whether the universe needs us anymore, because this was a version of me I was once proud of." She held the gold-lined cape to her chest, folding her arms defensively across it. Warily, Locke approached her.

"Celes…"

"I'm sorry I overreacted." She turned away; eyes closed exhaustedly. "I shouldn't treat every situation like a crisis. I guess the transition to civilian life has been more difficult for me than I realised."

~̃*~*~̃

And so the missing potion was abandoned to the wilderness of the Veldt. Reluctantly, Locke paid Setzer his winnings ("Told you Celes was innocent. I'm a man of faith and as soon as she sees it, that's when you're going to lose our other bet!"). The quartet strolled back to camp, agreeing never to pry into one another's business again. Little did they know, only one of them would actually manage to keep such a promise.

Reunited over Behemoth Broth, The Returners talked animatedly through the night about where their adventures would take them to next. Thanks to Sabin's culinary delights, Celes found that her spirits had lifted significantly. She even managed to apologise to Locke and express her wish for a "fresh start." This would become a phrase that Locke would repeat smugly to each of his crewmates in turn, beyond the young general's earshot. Only Kefka's offer to permanently carve the adventurer's grin upon his face with a rusty knife succeeded in deterring him.

No one heard the scampering of bare feet through the Veldt's fields. A teenage boy was scrambling on all fours; a small vial held in his dirt-stained hands. As he neared the mouth of nearby cave, he clambered atop a pile of miss-matched items, discarding the glinting bottle among them.

"Shiny shiny!" he called gleefully.

"What have you brought back this time, Gau?" A dark blot slithered out of the shadows. The shape seemed to uncoil itself and stretch out an impossibly long arm to retrieve the vial. As the bottle was lifted into the light, the liquid within bubbled. A faded label bore the scrawled initials C.C.

"Another potion?" Ultros smiled. "Why, Gau, you are such a good boy!"

Setzer's Airship Repair Fund: 1000 gil