Chapter Two:
Vayne
Though the journey to Vayne was uneventful, it wasn't without its fill of conversation, the chief topic they'd always return to being what they'd do with the thousand-gil prize they each looked forward to. Their voice levels would usually elevate when this happened, for they could barely contain their excitement. "If Boco and I win the two-mile dash," Dalabrac said, for probably the third time, "I'll be able to re-stock on all my dagger cleaning supplies, spoil Boco with another year's worth of treats, and probably still have enough left for a week's vacation in Tasado!" He let out an excited whoop before adding, "this elfling is getting himself a full tan!"
Adrian couldn't help but laugh, partly from his own excitement, but mostly from the thought of Dalabrac actually bringing himself to lie down for any extended period of time (besides sleeping). "I hear you, partner!" he finally replied, "Laguna, too, shall be quite spoiled, if he and I win the all-terrain race, and if I can secure myself a bottle of farmer Marlan's renown wine, I think you and I will both be happy for a few weeks! Of course, I'll be saving most of the prize money for when we go to Jacole."
"Adrian and his books!" Dalabrac said, shaking his head with a smile, "you'll run out of shelf space one of these days, if you keep visiting Jerme's bookshop every time we visit the place."
"You're probably right," Adrian confessed, "I guess that means I need to save some money for a new bookshelf, too!"
It wasn't long (to them, anyway) before they finally reached the familiar last hill, topped by a sign that read, "Vayne." They could barely contain their excitement as they crested the hill and gazed upon familiar riverside merchant town. There they would once again put Boco and Laguna's training to the test against dozens of other ranchers, racers, breeders, traders, and the occasional aristocrat who only touched the chocobo he or she owned as many times a year as there were races.
They quickly led the caravan down the hill and toward Vayne's northern gate, where they heard the familiar voice of the gate-keeper, Jorad, greeting them with a loud, "hail, travelers! Why, if it isn't the legendary breeders, Dalabrac Bramblefoot and Adrian Trepes! I pray you've taken good care of Boco and Laguna, for I've saved up two months' worth of wages for the betting booths this day!"
"You flatter us, Jorad!" Dalabrac called back, "it's good to see you again. Will you be watching the races this year?"
"Yes, indeed," the gate keeper answered, "now, don't let me waste another minute of your time. Welcome to Vayne!" Dalabrac and Adrian could hear Jorad kick the lever to the gear mechanism that would slide the gate open even above his hearty laughter. It wasn't long before the gate keeper's laughter faded from their minds as their progress through town was brought to a crawl. The town's main streets were always a busy marketplace on the days surrounding the chocobo races.
"If I were riding Boco I might at least have the satisfaction of knowing that people are looking at an incredible creature, my good friend, and my partner in a race to victory. Granted, if Fallia's as aggravated as she is now, I don't think I'd want to put Boco through it as well." Fallia gave an unhappy "wark!" and Dalabrac patted her near the base of her long neck, answering "yes, my dear lady, I thank you for putting up with this crowd. Rest easy, we're almost there."
"I agree, this crowd is a bother," Adrian commented. "I never imagined it would be this difficult getting eight chocobos down a street! It might benefit us to leave the day prior to the races next year."
When they finally made it to the Raine Inn, they were quite relieved to learn that there was a room for two open, in addition to the stable space their chocobos needed. They wasted no time making sure their eight birds were well-situated before they set off for the Highwind Tavern, pushing their way through the crowd on foot. Their old friend Cid wasn't behind the bar when they arrived, but they wasted no time taking their seats, hoping he'd make his way out of the kitchen soon. They didn't have much time to wait for Cid before they heard the familiar voice of Maltog, one of the moogles who worked for Cid, famous to all the tavern's regulars for being the only moogle who could wait on the entire bar while under the influence of every alcohol under the Tavern's roof.
"Ah-ha ha ha!" he cried in a voice that, while it was about as deep as a big-boned ten-year-old child (though it had a nasally squeak to it that wasn't quite human), was quite low for a moogle. He stumbled across the bartop (being at the average moogle height of about a foot and a half, the bartop fit him quite well), his small, purple bat-like wings flapping lazily on his back, almost in perfect unison with his arms as they waved dizzily. "I'd recognishe Adrian and hic! Dalabrac any proof in me! What bringsh my good ol' friends to Vayne?"
"The chocobo race today," Dalabrac answered, who wasn't too happy to see the moogle drunk. Though Maltog was famous for having kept an entire bar served while tanked beyond what was even possible for a human, Dalabrac still felt uneasy: any individual whose coordination and speech were both impeded by alcohol always worried him. "Is Cid around?" he asked.
"Of courshe he's around! I'll go get'im!" Maltog answered. As Adrian noticed his wings beginning to flap more heavily, he reached out to grab hold of the drunk moogle, but he was a second too late. Maltog had already lifted off, and before Adrian had the time to open his mouth, Maltog flew head-first into the door that separated him from the kitchen.
The lack of laughter from most patrons made it clear that it was not very unusual for Maltog to fly into doors. Adrian guessed that most of the patrons seated at the bar (the area closest the kitchen door) were regulars, some of whom had probably even grown bored of such events as these. When Dalabrac noticed a woman's voice giggle lightly, he ascertained two things about the elf he suddenly noticed: first, that she had to be new here. The second thing he noticed was that she was very beautiful.
Deciding it was best to say as little as possible, Dalabrac tugged on Adrian's sleeve, pointing towards her with his thumb. Though Adrian felt rather ridiculous, he glanced toward her briefly before whispering back to Dalabrac, "the elf? What about her?"
"Isn't she stunning?!" Dalabrac whispered back, with a tone that expressed a kind of surprise that he could hardly believe what he was saying. Adrian took a second glance before he answered, "actually, yes. Very yes. But I thought you didn't like elven women."
"That's just it! I thought the same!" Dalabrac answered. He took one more glance toward her, said to Adrian, "wish me luck!" and was about to slip off his barstool when Adrian gripped his shoulder, adding, "you see that half-orc sitting next to her?" Dalabrac indeed noticed, though only for the first time, an imposing and rather grumpy-looking half-orc. He felt that, for the moment at least, his stool was a lot more comfortable than being anywhere near a half-orc who, for all intents and purposes, looked like he could eat Dalabrac for a snack. He asked Adrian, "You think he's with her?"
"The elf has a tattoo at the base of her neck, right above her left collarbone," Adrian answered, "and the same symbol is etched upon the green man's leather wristband." Though Dalabrac didn't doubt his friend's vision, he glanced back at the odd couple to see for himself. Adrian's sharp eyes had served him well: the small etching of a lion's head could be seen in both places Adrian had mentioned. It seemed that, if the two were attempting discretion, they'd missed their mark.
Cid's familiar voice was a welcome distraction from Dalabrac's own concerns. "What'll it be for a familiar pair of gents?" he asked in his gruff, loud voice, "the usual?"
Thinking of the cool, smooth taste of Cid's lemonade, Dalabrac came very close to giving an enthusiastic nod, before he remembered what Adrian's 'usual' drink was. At the same time Adrian calmly nodded, Dalabrac asked, "should Adrian really be drinking whiskey the afternoon before a race?"
"Well, there is no rule against racing under the influence," Cid commented as he grabbed bottles of Locke's Lucky Lemonade and Captain Faris from a shelf behind the bar. "Still, he's gonna have me and a few other people to answer to if he falls off his chocobo." Adrian laughed. So did the elf, and Dalabrac yet again found himself drawn toward her. This had to be unnatural, he decided. Never before had he ever felt any attraction toward women taller than himself, least of all elven and human women, yet even her laugh hypnotized him. Every time he looked at her, attraction to her was exactly what he felt. If only she didn't have that bodyguard, or if he would just go away…
"Whatever it is you're thinking of doing," Adrian said to Dalabrac when he noticed him staring, "don't do it until I've had my first gulp." As if on cue, Cid placed a shot of whiskey in front of Adrian and a glass of lemonade before Dalabrac. "You know me too well, my friend," Dalabrac answered Adrian as he took a sip of lemonade. Cid took one look at Adrian's worn face and asked, "he's planning something, isn't he?" Adrian laughed softly before knocking back his glass and adding, "you know me too well, my friend."
It was not long before Adrian began to feel the effects of Captain Faris, and he leaned over to Dalabrac and muttered, "now, what was it you were concocting within that elfling skull of yours?"
"Just order a round of drinks for the two of them… loudly," Dalabrac answered, slipping off his stool and disappearing into the crowd of folk, an easy task for man whose stature reached less than five feet. Adrian had a feeling that something less than legal was about to happen, but the whiskey had already worked its charm: he didn't care. "Hey, Cid!" he called out, "a round of drinks on me for these fine newcomers, whatever they fancy!" If Cid was surprised, it was nothing next to the shock that showed on the she-elf's face.
"We always give a round of drinks to newcomers," he explained to the elf and the half-orc, "and we can tell you two are new to Vayne." The elf opened her mouth to reply, but a roar from her half-orc counterpart interrupted her as he bounded into the crowd. Out of simple reflex her gaze turned to where he'd been sitting only seconds ago, and found Dalabrac sitting there instead, sipping his lemonade.
"Could we inquire the name of our fair newcomers?" he asked, slowly turning to face her. The smile on her face told of amusement, though Adrian thought he saw a heavy shadow weighing upon her mind. Dalabrac's shenanigans were, he could tell, a welcome relief from her recent troubles, but she was trying to keep from getting too carried away.
"My name is Aerith," she answered, and Dalabrac could hear her hesitate as she said it. Aerith was no doubt a fake name for overinquisitive strangers. Just then Dalabrac felt a strong, heavy hand squeeze his shoulder, as Aerith continued, "his is Glenn."
Dalabrac cursed his small stature as he was lifted off of Glenn's barstool by the collar and found himself face-to-face with Aerith's bodyguard. He just knew he shouldn't have planted Glenn's wallet on one of the bar's regulars, though he was surprised the folk here actually knew he could pick a pocket that subtly. Glenn certainly hadn't noticed when Dalabrac actually lifted the wallet off of him, nor had the regular notice Dalabrac plant it on him, so how did he know it had been Dalabrac? At any rate, it hardly mattered, not now that he was at the green man's mercy and silently praying to whatever spirit would hear him that the worst thing Aerith would allow Glenn to do would be to snarl at him.
As the half-orc opened his mouth, Dalabrac tried to fight back the urge to flinch, but before he could even get a whiff of Glenn's breath, he heard Adrian slam his shot glass on the counter, and Dalabrac could tell that his fellow rancher was already under the influence of four shots of whiskey. He wasn't about to complain, however, because his next announcement caught Glenn's attention:
"Holy Toledo, would you look at the time!" he exclaimed in a dramatic that only a well-tanked man could accomplish. When Dalabrac saw the grandfather clock near the back of the tavern, he knew there was still hours to go before the race. He also knew better than to let Glenn get a chance to figure that out as well. "Yes, indeed, how late we are already!" Turning his gaze back to the half-orc (who was once again looking back at him), Dalabrac gave a big, friendly smile as he announced, "sorry, sir, but we must part ways now!" Not a second later, Adrian snatched Dalabrac out of the half-orc's hands as he continued dashing toward the door, and Dalabrac started to think that maybe Adrian wasn't as drunk as he'd thought. He didn't have the chance to finish his conclusion, however, before Adrian tripped in mid-run. As Dalabrac was sent flying out the open doorway (now he understood why Cid left the door open), he remembered that not even four shots of whiskey could make Adrian trip over himself, and while he was thankful that a cart loaded with a bale of gyshal hay decided to pass by and catch him as he flew out of the tavern, he could only dread the coming race if it would see Adrian still under the effects of eight shots of Captain Faris.