AN: Thank you to all the lovely reviews. So grateful that people have taken the time to read a zombie fic risen from the grave. Happy New Years. :)
Freya awoke at barmy o'clock in the morning to what sounded like pounding on her door.
A throbbing pain had settled behind her eyes and it took several minutes work to muster up the strength to crack them open and let the blurry surroundings come into focus. She'd somehow fallen directly asleep on top of the covers last night, not even making it to the pillow at the head of the bed. She'd had the sense at least to shed her overcoat and trousers the night before, though her nightclothes hung perfectly folded over a chair. Her bare legs pricked with cold and her shirt was a wrinkled mess and smelled of bitter alcohol.
She'd left the shades drawn like an idiot. It was still mostly dark out, though a faint lavender glow was starting to creep across what she could see of the sky between crowded rooftops. As faint as it was the light still speared her eyeballs and she groaned, pressing her knuckles between her eyes to quell the incessant pounding in her head. It seemed to grow only louder.
Pounding?
Freya rolled over, blinking with bleary eyes at the direction of the sound. It took her a moment to realize that what she had thought was coming from her door was in fact coming from the far wall, the one shared by the adjacent room.
The knocking picked up in speed.
Then a muffled moan.
Holy bullocks of Hashmal! Propriety be damned, she would have gone for her spear and used it—Fratley forgive her— to wack on the adjacent wall like a crotchety aunt with an old broom, but when Freya went to stand she lurched head first into the comforter, mewling like a newborn kitten. Her headache glowed as earnest as the revelry next door and she swiftly pivoted in desire to wack herself out cold instead. It had been a long time since she'd been drunk, surely, but this was just pitiful.
The noises on the other side of the wall were growing obnoxious.
She rolled over away from the wall—overshot it, and promptly fell off the bed. Fortunately she'd dragged the pillow with her, which cushioned her aching head, but her shoulder smacked against the ground and her back wobbled the night stand beside the bed. Something—her bag, toppled to the floor and the contents spilled in a raucous mess, scrolls and bits and bobs rolling around her, pinching her tail and spilling curses from her mouth.
It took her a moment to realize something was different.
Silence.
Then the unmistakable sound of giggling through the wall.
There on the hard ground, Freya covered her face with the pillow and groaned.
As they say, the early rat catches the lizard.
While the wall she shared with her neighbor had gone blessedly silent shortly after, years of ingrained training made it impossible for Freya to return to the comfort of oblivion, no matter her tossing and turning. The pounding in her head also needed tending.
The apothecaries opened around dawn and so Freya dragged herself to the nearest one, shivering down the cobblestone streets in hastily drawn breeches and her spare doublet. Aside from the baker boy who ran past her in a hurry and the handful of steam engineers returning from late night shifts, there was hardly anyone to witness her pitiful state.
The brisk walk and the chill morning air roused her as well as a splash of cold water to her fur. As for the medicinal, bitter drink the old man behind the counter whipped up for her, the first sip was as bracing as a sharp slap to the face.
Freya glared at the suspicious green liquid. "Is this what they call karma?"
The old man watched with amusement as she proceeded to force the drink down. "Poison in to get the poison out," he joked at her, then added as she returned the mug, "It's got a bit of extra pep in it, so I'd suggest eating a hearty breakfast if you don't intend to crash in a few hours."
At first the prospect of food sounded about as pleasant as the foul tasting potion—that is until the smells of cooking grease and fats hit her at the inn door. Bacon, she thought dreamily all the way into the dining room. Salted bacon, poached eggs, with toast and fruit jam. A glass of freshly squeezed juice and a coffee with sweet cream to enjoy afterwards. The inn keeper's wife brought a heaping plate to her on a wooden tray and so she parked herself in a corner and watched the slow trickle of patrons from upstairs, some in what were clearly last night's pajamas and others in degrees of festive attire. Her thoughts turned to the day's main event.
The Festival of the Hunt was about as big a Lindblum event as Winter Yulemas, perhaps even more so. It was an official city-wide holiday and all shops and restaurants closed down at around noon to prepare for it. A kiosk in the business district was setup for participants to check in, which often meant the market was packed by mid-morning.
She may as well get an early start before the crowds. Armor and weapons checks could take a bit of time, and there was not of lot time afterwards for any last minute shopping before everything closed early. A stop at the trinkets and tonics shop to top off on—
Freya paused mid-chew as an awfully familiar figure came down the stairs.
He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, though his belt and buckles were missing and the collar of his shirt was halfway tucked in from a hasty dressing. More disquieting was that his hair was down—she blinked at the gold curls that fanned down his back, longer and softer looking then her own locks growing raggedly to her shoulders since her last shear. As he sidled behind the growing line at the counter, she watched him give a full body yawn like an indolent cat, muscles bunching in his shoulders, arms stretched over his head in one long line down his back, tail curling in a golden kink.
Freya returned her gaze down to her half-eaten bacon, slowly chewing and swallowing. It was none of her business and yet her ears perked up as the inn keeper's wife greeted Zidane by name. Her eyebrows rose as curiosity got the best of her and she snuck a second glance.
"Morning, Maude," he yawned sleepily, then gave the woman a sheepish grin. "Do you still make those succulent griddle cakes?"
"Those are a winter seasonal," she scolded, but then winked and disappeared behind the window.
"Two plates, please," he called, and then shuffled to the side, rubbing sleepily at his face as he made his way towards the chair on the other side of the room from where Freya sat.
Freya was preparing to make a stealthy escape…but should have known better than to stare too long. Halfway across the room, Zidane's tail twitched and before she could react his head swung towards her direction. Their eyes met across the dining room and Zidane paused mid-step, hand falling from his face as his blue eyes blinked owlishly at her.
Not a half-second later, he was heading towards her with a shameless grin.
"Morning, beautiful," he said. Her eyes immediately narrowed to slits as she pointed her fork at him in silence. "What?" He helped himself to a chair at her table, flipping it around and propping his arms on the top. Up close, he looked far more tired than usual, the dark circles under his eyes prominent. He didn't look like he'd gotten a wink of sleep.
Up close, she could now see the dark hickey on his neck, just barely visible by the skewed gap of his shirt.
There were a whole host of things she could say to him, but all of them were awkward. While awkward had clearly never shamed Zidane a day in his life, the same could not be said for herself.
"You are not a morning person," she said slowly. It was supposed to be a question, although it came out more matter of fact than she intended. He was peppy enough, but her mind kept unhelpfully supplying her with past memories of dragging him out with protest to morning practice. She really needed to stop assuming things about him.
He saluted her though. "Got it in one. But everyone likes breakfast." He surveyed her plate with a critical eye. "When did you start liking bacon? You used to complain about buying it."
She contemplated her plate. Bacon was not a thing in Burmecia, whose typical breakfast consisted mostly of rice and fish and pickled vegetables. She'd been fairly insistent about a decent breakfast for years after leaving home, but after awhile even she could admit rice was a chore to prepare daily while traveling.
"I never said I didn't like it..." she hedged, then scowled when his quick hand snagged her coffee from her tray.
His eyes twinkled over the mug rim. "So contrary." A sip, and a look of bliss crossed his expression. "But you have good taste in coffee. None of that straight black crap, get enough of that on the road."
She returned to her plate and they sat for long minutes in silence, people bustling to and fro, the occasional slam of the inn door. She was not about to get trapped in a conversation about why he was here—it really was none of her business—but he didn't seem to mind the quiet. In fact, by the time the cook Maude appeared from the kitchen with two stacks of griddle cakes and a heavy coating of succulant syrup, Zidane was dozing on the chair, the coffee loose in his grip, his chin slumped on the back seat. Her eyebrows rose.
With his hair down, his long lashes closed, and most importantly that perverted grin missing from his features, he looked almost…pretty. Criminally so. It was criminal that she kept thinking about it.
She contemplated nudging him awake but in the end she didn't have to. Maude was halfway across the room when Zidane jerked up a little, eyes flashing open, and he blinked at Freya in confusion for a moment, forehead wrinkling. The look was soon replaced as he turned with a smile to Maude as she approached.
Freya quietly finished off her eggs, trying not to roll her eyes as Zidane outrageously flirted with the inn keeper's wife. Who was she to spoil the lady's not-so-secret delight. When Maude finally retreated with a rosy blush and he stood up with his two plates, Freya snagged her coffee back from his side of the table, determined to salvage her after-breakfast treat. She expected him to just walk away, but he lingered for long enough in her periphery that her eyes flicked up.
He was staring at her with something of a serious expression for once. He seemed on the verge of saying something, though the hesitation was unlike him.
"What?" She grumbled.
Corn flower blue eyes regarded her, then he shook his head a little. "Nothing," he said, tapping his chin with his free hand, and she almost called him out on it when he casually added, "Didn't say this last night, but I missed you."
Freya flushed all the way to her hairline. Thank god blushing was not a thing her species betrayed, though the kinking of her tail was bad enough. She struggled with the desire to diffuse with sarcasm or a joke before her damning sense of fairness dragged from her, "Missed you too. Brat."
He grinned at her cockily and then sauntered up stairs.
She didn't linger too long in the dining room, just long enough to finish her coffee as she stared out the nearby window, condensation forming a mist over the steepled buildings and passerby. It looked like it was going to be perfect weather. A beautiful day for a fight.
When she returned to her room, she wasn't even surprised to see the pair of empty plates sitting outside her neighbor's door, still sticky with traces of syrup. She paused only a moment on the landing, staring at the plates, before jumping when she heard the murmur of voices on the other side of the door. The sound of a woman's laughter.
Shaking her head slowly, Freya moved past and quietly closed her door.
Dragoo's armory already had customers by the time Freya arrived. Two young men were nervously inspecting some plate armor in the corner, while a red mage tested out the weight of one of the hanging blades. Everyone seemed to be avoiding the hulking Tauren with the giant axe staring people down as they scurried past him.
There were racks that had been brought out and set between some of the aisles, each loaded with an assortment of gear new and old that had been submitted for inspection.
The shop assistant looked harried when Freya approached the counter. "Purchase or pick up?"
Freya's eyes flicked to the side as the owner Dragoo lumbered by, carrying a giant gold shield in his hands. "Pick up for Crescent."
The assistant scribbled something down, then went to inspect some packages. He came back with a dyed red linen cuirass, the metal pieces on the chest gleaming like fish scales.
"Dressing rooms in the back," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at a dark hallway behind him. "Let us know if the adjustments were correct."
Package in hand, Freya made her way down the hall to several curtained off rooms. Inside the nearest empty one, there was just enough room for her, a short stool, and a grimy mirror propped into the corner.
She shucked her coat and linen shirt quickly, her fine fur prickling with cold. Her chest armor pad was a white corset like piece that she hadn't bothered to tighten this morning given the restriction it put on her upper body. She did so now, turning to the side to reach the cord laces under her arms, fingers pulling to draw the material tight against her chest and skin.
Once done, she inspected her form critically in the mirror.
Burmecians were uniquely proportioned compared to other species, which meant most gear purchased outside of the homeland required extensive customization. Cotton arm sheaths with leather plate inserts she'd gotten in Alexandria; armored shoulder pads on her coat from a hawker at East Gate. The chest under armor piece functioned as a breast band, given she'd never had much of a chest. Conversely, her naturally larger thighs coupled with her line of work had given her heavily muscled legs that required considerable tailoring of thigh guards to fit. Her calve sheaths were her oldest pieces—originals from when she had first left Burmecia, given the complexity of their construction. She really needed to replace those soon.
The scars were new—all collection pieces from her solitary travels. Some shiny dark marks were visible between gaps in her clothes, others hidden away. Her fingers drifted to one of the most prominent— a burn mark on her right shoulder, where a bomb had gotten too close before self destructing. If she hadn't been in the middle of a desert and three weeks from the nearest town, that one might not have been a scar at all.
Hand falling to her side, Freya stared at herself. Given the memories of yesterday and her rude awakening at dawn, she'd been suppressing idle, nasty thoughts all morning. She was no busty barmaid at Bobo's, but for years she'd never thought much of it. Fratley had never seemed to pay mind to such things, and in those few twilight months when they'd been sweet, if brief, lovers, she had never felt undesirable.
Now, she just didn't know what to feel, other than resentment over feeling anything at all. What was the point?
Freya turned away, mouth pursed, and reached for the linen cuirass.
Freya stepped out of the armory wearing her new purchase beneath her overcoat, adjusting her hat and squinting at the peek of morning sun cresting over the opposite roof tops.
Market place was twice as busy now as when she first arrived, so Freya found herself posting against one of the decorative flower beds that separated the street. Red cockscomb and white tulips brushed against her coat sleeves, perfuming a pleasant scent. A quick glance at the clock on the lamppost marked it a quarter to 8 o'clock, meaning she'd been in the armory for little under an hour. She was making good time, for once.
Alice's item shop was on the other end of the thoroughfare, but she'd make her way there eventually. Around her the crowd bobbed in a steady stream, children and dogs dashing between legs. The close proximity was expected but it was the noise that always surprised her most about the city: laughter, inane conversations, furtive whispers, dogs barking, all overlapping into a persistent hum in her ears. She would be grateful for a return to solitary climes, if only for the silence.
"Zidane!" A high voice cried from nearby.
Freya's ears twitched. With something like trepidation she turned towards the voice, half expecting to find a damsel in distress—only to be greeted with a small figure being jostled in the crowd. The person barely came up to the waist of most of the people around, and a particularly hard shove sent him sprawling to his knees, ready to be trampled by distracted passerby. Before she knew it, she'd stepped into the crowd, elbowing roughly a boarman just shy of stepping on the fallen kid.
"Watch it, bitch," the boarman jeered at her, until he noticed the kid at his feet blinking bright yellow eyes from under the shadow of a straw hat. He grunted. "Stay out of the 'effing way if you can't keep up, aye?"
Freya ignored him and the rest of the grumbling crowd, waiting patiently as the kid scrambled to his feet. They retreated to the spot she'd been standing in, and as the kid patted himself down, Freya scanned the crowd and spotted a familiar golden head of hair bobbing its way towards them. She sighed. It was getting a bit disconcerting that for a city this large, she was constantly running into the same person. Thoughts for another time.
"You all right?" She said, turning back to the kid and finally getting a good look at him. She blinked slowly.
He—she?—was a species she'd never met before. Covered head to toe in sturdy blue robes, pants and leather gloves, a frayed straw hat perched on his head. She'd thought her first glance of his face had been too dim to make out in the crowd, but even with the sun shining directly on him now, there were only wisps of dark shadow curling under the brim of his hat.
The lack of features should have been disconcerting, but it wasn't. Perhaps because of his nervous shuffling or the tremulous yellow eyes that stared up at her, full of emotion in an otherwise expressionless face. In fact, she felt a foreign pang where her shriveled feminine heart should be, which was far more disconcerting. Her mother must be rolling in her grave.
Those yellow moon eyes blinked up at her. "T-thank you," the voice stuttered, a hand going self-consciously to adjust his hat.
Freya was still at a loss for words when she felt a familiar presence appear at her side, a hand enclosing on her elbow.
"Thanks Freya," Zidane murmured in her ear, sending the fine hair there on edge. He let go quickly and moved towards his companion, falling to a knee to straighten the kid's robes. "Sorry about that, Vivi, I should have held your hand once we got here. You okay?
Vivi nodded earnestly—and Freya twitched, rubbing at the odd softness in her chest. No wonder Zidane seemed so sweet with him. He was, dare she say it, cute.
He also seemed hardly older than a child. What was he doing with Zidane of all people?
"One of your companions?" she addressed Zidane, trying to hide the skepticism.
The thief got to his feet and turned to her, putting a casual hand on the kid's head. "Yup. Meet Master Vivi Ornitier. Don't be fooled by his size, this little guy's got some serious magical fire power." Zidane threw him a wink and the boy hunched over a little, thumbs twiddling. The thief continued, "Vivi, this is Sir Freya Crescent, one of the best dragon knights Burmecia ever banished. Don't be fooled by her looks, she's got quite the temper."
Freya glared at him. "Only for you, dolt." Her expression softened when she turned to the boy. "Well met, Master Vivi."
Vivi bobbed his head. "Nice to meet you."
Introductions over with, the three turned to inspect the crowd, which continued to get more dense as the hour waned. "What are you both doing here?" She asked. Seemed like a poor time for general shopping.
Zidane scanned the crowd on his tip toes, tail poised for balance. "Looking for the check-in booth. Vivi's signing up for the Hunt."
She gaped at them. "He's participating?"
Her concern blew over their heads. Zidane shrugged. "He likes the card reward."
Vivi twiddled his thumbs bashfully. "Theater ships are cool."
Freya narrowed her eyes, mouth flat. Sweet as that was, it was besides the point. Did Zidane not remember what the Hunt was like? Packs of roaming dire wolves could very well eat the kid for lunch. She elbowed the thief roughly until he looked at her, annoyed. "You are going to let him sign up alone?"
Her intense stare finally connected, though Zidane only snorted, shaking his head. "I'd be more worried for the monsters. Trust me, Vivi can take care of himself." As one they both looked at the boy, who was staring up at them with wide trusting eyes. He looked about as threatening as a chocobo chick.
Freya's mouth turned severe. Even Zidane hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. "You'll be fine, right?"
Vivi adjusted his jacket. "I think so," he said hesitantly.
Freya threw Zidane a look. He groaned. "No, Vivi. You gotta be more confident, or else Freya will murder me." He made a shooing motion. "Try that again, just like we practiced."
Vivi pondered for a moment and then suddenly struck a pose, giving them a big thumbs up. "I-I think so!"
Reis help her, but Freya almost cracked. Instead she raised an eyebrow at Zidane who had the funniest expression on his face, parts humor and resignation.
"Well, I do think he's got it," She deadpanned.
"Oh shut up." Zidane elbowed her this time, and while she rubbed the spot, he gave a sigh. "Gods, must I join after all? I was hoping to relax this trip. Go on an airship ride."
Take a girl for a ride, maybe. Freya wrinkled her nose, cursing the gutter trend of her most recent thoughts. "Don't be such a bore," she said.
Zidane twitched, rounding on her. "I am a lot of things, but I am not a bore," he said, clearly offended, and Freya took the opening.
She threw him a supercilious smile. "Oh? Prove it."
Getting into a staring contest with Zidane was not particularly mature, but today she was game to try. She internally cheered when he was the first to give in, eyebrows raising into his hairline, a smirk on his lips. "All right fine, if you insist…but hold on!" He raised a hand to hold her smugness at bay. "I'll do it, but only on one condition."
Freya was in sudden good cheer. Boring as the hunt had become over the years, the thought of lording the title of Master Hunter over Zidane was enough to make her hands itchy for her spear. "Reward money not enough for you?"
He shrugged. "I can get money anywhere." He rubbed his palms together. "I need a more...interesting reward."
She rolled her eyes. "If you say a victory kiss, I swear I'll—"
"A date," he interrupted.
Freya blinked.
"A proper one," he continued. "Dinner, and not at a crappy bar. I'll even escort you home before your bedtime and won't ask for a cuppa." His eyebrows waggled. "Unless you want me to, of course."
Freya stared at him, perplexed. "Why?"
He shrugged. "You'll just have to find out. Those are my terms." His grin was positively devilish. "If you lose, you and I go on a date."
There was an odd feeling in her chest. His condition sounded mostly harmless, and she was an adult not a blushing school girl. There was nothing he could throw at her that she couldn't handle, and besides she didn't think that was his intent anyway.
To be honest, she'd half expected to not see him again after last night. Dinner was nice, even welcome. But why call it a date?
She was being paranoid, although it was hard not to be with him. Unbidden, Freya's eyes drifted to the base of Zidane's neck, hidden by the collar of his shirt. He caught the look, his brow furrowing slightly, and when his hand came up to touch the spot, she cleared her throat quickly. "What's in it for me?"
His gaze became calculating. "Come on, Freya. You participate every year and yet how many times have you actually won?" She grimaced and he chuckled lowly. "Either your skills have gotten rusty, which I doubt, or you lack the proper motivation."
"Which you think you can provide?"
"I think I'll manage." His grin turned lazy. "What do you say?"
Suddenly, she became aware that Vivi was looking back and forth between them, head cocked curiously. She'd completely forgotten he was there and felt heat in the back of her neck.
"You're ridiculous. Fine," she muttered, pointedly ignoring Zidane's celebratory jab in the air. "Although are you really asking the right person? Sounds like a better bet for your princess."
Zidane's eyes widened as if the thought had just occurred to him. Idiot. He crossed his arms, chin in hand, and contemplated her words for long enough to make her lip curl, ready to dismiss the whole thing.
Then he shrugged. "Those are the terms." At her questioning look, he said, "She wouldn't go for it anyway."
Freya sneered. "Then why should I?"
"What, you planning to lose?" At her irritated silence, he teased, "See? Stakes make it more fun. Now you'll take me seriously."
Her spear hand twitched. "I am always serious."
His eyes danced. "Of course you are."
And that was that. The Hunt was on.
The boys still needed to sign up and she needed her potions, so shortly after she bade them goodbye and headed out. However she hadn't got far enough out of earshot before she heard Vivi pipe up, "Zidane, what's a date?"
The innuendo in the man's voice was unmistakable. "Something grownups do with each other. I'll tell you when your older."
Freya hunched her shoulders, refusing to turn around and correct him. Knowing Zidane, he was probably waiting for just that.