Very minor disclaimer: If Locke/Celes shipping and low-grade playful fluff make you vomit, be prepared. You will feel queasy while reading some of this chapter. Also, despite the title, there's no Mog content in this chapter. I just liked the combination of water (raining in Zozo) and music (opera). Maybe later. Oh, and also? The character Veledd and his lot are mine, though I can't say as anyone else would want them. Everyone else © Square-Enix.

Chapter 3: Water Rondo

A lone soprano voice flowed through the darkness of the opera house.

Locke nudged Celes in the side with his elbow.

"Wow! That Maria's sure a looker, eh?" he whispered in Celes' ear with a smirk.

The elegantly garbed blonde tapped him lightly on the top of the head with her fan.

"You know I only let you get away with that because she and I are identical," she replied.

"Yeah, but really! Look at those - ow!" Locke broke off as she tapped him again, not lightly.

"That's enough of that," Celes said placidly, not looking away from the performance.

"Yes, sir, ma'am, General ma'am sir," Locke hissed playfully at his wife.

"Good," she said, her brow furrowing in mild annoyance in a way that Locke found indescribably cute even in the darkness of the box.

"Permission to speak, General ma'am sir?" he hissed.

"Denied," she retorted in an aggravated whisper. "Watch the opera, or at least quietly stare at Maria."

"Too bad, I'm not one of your subordinates. Don't need permission," he said. "I was just wondering how Setzer's faring with Relm? I mean, last time –"

"I'm sure last time was a fluke. He's fine. Watch the opera."

"Okay. Hey, look at those – "

"Shut up, Locke," Celes hissed, indicating playtime was over.

"Yes, dear," he said in an overly repentant voice.

Then, wisely, he shut up.

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Setzer was not fine. He was cold and worried and wet and worried and annoyed and worried and tired. He was also angry enough that he wasn't sure whether Relm was in more danger from him or the local thugs. From what this author has gathered, this state of mind is known as "most of child-rearing." He had no idea how long he'd been looking for Relm now – everyone he asked the time lied to him, a local custom that became less charming with age – and he'd just had to add perforations to some thugs that hadn't known or didn't believe his reputation and had tried to jump him.

"Too old for this," he muttered, fingering a fresh wound that would probably add itself to his collection of permanent scars within a few days.

He jumped involuntarily as a high-pitched scream reached his ears from nearby. It might be Relm, it might not.

He checked his deck. Good to go.

"Too damn old," he said, as he ran down the alley towards the sound

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Relm liked these guys. Oh, sure, they seemed to lie about everything, but when they'd come into the pub, the barkeep had immediately stopped arguing with her about whether he could serve her and opened up a private room at the back for them. A private room. That was cool. And then they'd invited her to come back with them, and they hadn't called her "girlie" or "miss" or "little lady", or any of the other names she hated. They'd called her "chick," which wasn't her favourite name, but it was a, a damn sight better than "kid!"

And they didn't seem to care about anything. Which was cool, because neither did she. Didn't care at all. And when she ordered again, the bartender started to give her the same trouble, but, like, the biggest guy – Veledd, or something, his name was – showed the guy something, and then the bartender just got her order and brought it over.

Just like that.

So cool.

Relm felt good. She felt wanted, and pretty, and bad, and dangerous, and just awesome. She felt a little dizzy, too, and kind of hot. But that was nothing to the white-hot awesome pumping through her veins. She didn't care about anything, and because of that, the world was hers. It didn't get any better than this.