The Huntress Chapter 8
By Intrasonic
"But it still doesn't make any sense!"
"Of course not. But you can't make any further
conclusions without more knowledge."
Claude blinked. "And that's it? You're not at all
curious to know anything else?"
Bowman shrugged. "We know that we recently came
out of a set of ruins called the Mountain Palace. We know that it's officially
property of the Kingdom of Cross. But we also know beyond a reasonable doubt
that it has nothing to do with the Kingdom past that."
"But those demon monsters! They were _regenerating_!
A few more days and they might be as good as new again! Explain _that_!!!"
"No idea," Bowman admitted, looking somewhat less
bothered by the fact.
"I'm just glad they'll be okay," Rena opinioned.
"Even if we had to hurt them, they'll be okay in a few days."
"But it's impossible-" Claude cut himself off in
mid-sentence, looking like he was about to blow a mental fuse. Glancing up
ahead a short distance, "What about you, Opera? You must have a few ideas?"
"How should I know? I just kill the things. I don't
bring them back to life again."
"Very philosophical of you," Celine agreed. "I don't
doubt that their imminent recovery is lifting the burden from your conscience
even as we walk."
"Celine..." Bowman chided quietly.
"I'll bet the money you'll get for that precious
metal is lifting yours," Opera muttered in reply. "I thought you guys were
in a hurry or something? So hurry."
"_Some_ of us haven't had the benefit of a good
night's rest," Celine informed her.
"_I_ haven't slept in a few days."
"Lovely," Bowman quipped. "I'm being outpaced by
a woman in an evening gown and high-heels, carrying a weapon taller than
I am, who hasn't slept in a few days."
"Poor darling," Celine observed in amusement. "Your
self-esteem must be taking quite a tumble. Or are you too mature for that?"
"I'll recover," he assured her, faking chest pain.
"Somehow."
As the two continued to banter back and forth, Rena
increased her walking pace until she was just behind Opera. "Ah... Miss Opera?"
Opera tilted her head, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
"You said that you killed a dragon in Salva?"
"That's right."
"Did... did you hear anything else about it?"
"Like what?"
"Was the dragon... attached to anyone?"
"Not that I heard. I think it was just your average
two-headed dragon. Why?"
"Well... Claude and I were in Salva before. A friend
of mine named Allen was possessed by a magic rock and turned into a demon."
"Um... sorry to hear that."
***************
"So what exactly _is_ that weapon?"
"It's a heraldic field cannon. Nickname 'Kaleidoscope'."
"Yes, yes," Celine agreed impatiently, "I caught
that much earlier. Exactly _what_ is a 'Heraldic field cannon'?"
Opera gestured towards her weapon. "This weapon
right here."
"Your circular logic is absolutely flawless."
"Isn't it?"
"I find it rather dubious that you would actually
be capable of killing a demon single-handedly. Much less one that was resistant
to heraldic energy."
"So don't believe me. Watch me not care."
"Prove you killed it."
"I've got a whole load of money for it."
"You could have gotten _that_ anywhere. For all
we know, you just held up a few rich nobles and demanded the money. I think
that weapon of yours would be up to the task, hmm?"
"I'm no thief."
"So prove it."
Opera dug into her pack, rummaging about for a few
seconds before producing a handful of items. Holding them out, she allowed
Celine to inspect them. "Scales from that two headed dragon. And if you still
don't believe me, you can go talk to the guys who gave me the reward back
in Salva."
Celine glanced at the translucent scales before
carefully picking up one of the blue ones. Holding one before her with her
left hand, she pointed the index finger of her right hand at the centre of
the scale. After several moments, a thin beam of red lanced out from her
finger, passing through the scale like it was made of glass and continuing
until it faded into nothingness.
"Um... what the heck are you doing?" Opera asked
curiously.
Celine looked bewildered at the results herself,
but she recovered herself quickly, giving Opera the benefit of a knowing
smile. "Nothing that would concern you."
"Uh huh." Opera accepted the scale back, returning
it and the other scales to her pouch. No matter. Whatever else Celine had
decided, the scales seemed to have served as proof of the death of a two-headed
dragon.
"Some creatures coming our way," Bowman announced,
pointing off to the side. "Goblins, looks like."
Claude has his sword out in an instant, levelling
it at the approaching monsters. "Five of them. Then we'll just to have to-"
*BLAM*BLAM*BLAM*BLAM*BLAM*
Opera re-shouldered her weapon, not even bothering
to wait until the dust cleared from the impact sites. "What're you all getting
worked up about?"
"Nothing," Claude sighed, re-sheathing his sword
as five craters slowly came into view, devoid of anything that resembled
an intact goblin. "Nothing at all."
"Was _that_ was supposed to be impressive?" Celine
demanded in irritation, waving some of the dust away as the breeze picked
up slightly.
"No, it was supposed to kill those goblins."
"I suppose you think-" Celine stopped as Bowman
put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. "What is it?" she muttered
at him.
"Let it go, Celine?" he suggested. "At least the
walk will be relaxing, right?"
"Hmph."
*****************
"Sorry, but we're not leaving until tomorrow at
noon."
The five of them all exchanged various expressions
of distaste, impatience, worry, disgust, or indifference.
"I thought you were working with a military project?"
Opera pointed out. "Can't you requisition something for today?"
"We're just assisting them," Bowman corrected. "They
never got around to giving us any authority, I'm afraid."
"No matter," Celine opinioned. "If they think that
it's so important to have that little child protected, then they can wait
until tomorrow for us to arrive."
"Protection?" Opera demanded. "You're acting as
bodyguards for a kid?"
"Pity the poor kid," Bowman agreed with a smirk.
"Pity _us_ for having to put up with him," Celine
muttered in reply.
"You don't look like much of a soldier to me," Opera
informed Bowman. It took some effort to refrain from directing the comment
towards Claude as well.
"That's because I'm not," he agreed. "I'm a pharmacist
on vacation. But I'm pretty handy with martial arts too."
"You closed shop to go treasure hunting?"
"Not at all. My wife is handling things while I'm
gone."
This was pathetic, Opera concluded. A green UFP
ensign, a village girl, and a pharmacist on vacation. Apparently, Celine
was the only one in the group who actually did this on a regular basis. When
she found Ernest, she was going to take back every complaint she'd ever uttered
about his lack of experience. _This_ was ridiculous.
"We may as well get a few rooms at the inn," Rena
suggested.
"_You_ can go book the rooms," Opera informed the
others, stalking off into the town. "_I_ need a drink."
The others exchanged a variety of glances between
each other, but none followed her.
"I guess we should make ourselves comfortable at
the inn," Claude decided.
*****************
Half an hour later, the rooms were reserved, and
the four were convening in what would be the men's room for the night.
"I don't trust her."
"That's a little harsh, isn't it?"
Celine shook her head in response to Bowman. "I
think not. There is a great deal of information that we are not privy to
regarding that woman."
Rena looked rather worried. "Are you... sure, Celine?
Opera's helped us so far..."
"No, Rena-darling, _we've_ helped her so far. There's
a crucial difference, I think."
"What don't you trust about her?" Bowman inquired.
"Her weapon, for starters. And her claim to have
killed that dragon."
"You looked convinced before."
"Those scales were most certainly from a dragon.
I passed a beam of fire through that sapphire and it wasn't slowed in the
slightest. Sapphires that pure aren't found in nature. Ever."
"So the problem is...?"
"By the same token, a monster with such protection
would have been virtually immune to her 'heraldic' weapon. Which means that
she killed it through some _other_ means. And any monster wearing such excellent
armour would require far more than merely a good sword to defeat."
Claude finally spoke up, looking concerned. "You
think so?"
"I _know_ so," Celine insisted. "And I would like
to add that her style of dress is _most_ unsuited for exploration."
The other three stared at her incredulously.
She returned the look. "_Yes_?".
"Y'know," Bowman observed neutrally, "I'd hate to
think I was looking at a hypocrite..."
"_This_," Celine stated plainly, "is my _uniform_."
"I wonder where Miss Opera is right now," Rena mused.
"She still hasn't come back."
"Probably off drinking and cajoling with the local
riff-raff," was Celine's opinion. "Such an uncouth woman."
Claude got up. "I'm going to go find her."
Bowman halted him. "Maybe not a good idea, Claude.
Why don't you let me go find her instead? Why don't you three go see the
sights?"
Celine waited until Bowman was out of the room before
turning to Claude. "So... are you _certain_ you haven't met this woman before,
Claude-darling?"
Claude drew back slightly. "I've never met her before
in my life!"
"You never did tell us why you were so insistent
that we chase after her," Celine persisted. "And you and her have clearly
had some... secretive conversations with each other. And Rena was telling
me about your 'Sword of Light' you displayed earlier, before I met up with
the two of you. Very much like our friend's 'Kaliedoscope', I think."
"W-what are you saying! I've never met her before
in my life! I just saw her in that bar in Hilton, so I thought... that we
should help her out. We'll still be back in time to get on the ship to the
Hoffman ruins, right? I just thought that we might be able to help her out,
that's all. And you even found some treasure too, right?"
The last addition somewhat mollified Celine, although
only slightly. "I see. Very noble of you, Claude-darling. One can only wonder
why Opera seems to loath you as a result of your chivalry."
*****************
It was right out of a story-book. But not from the
part with the happy ending. It was more likely from the 'barfight scene
aftermath' chapter, Bowman would have guessed. It had most of the necessary
elements. A number of men lying unconscious throughout the room, a few smashed
chairs and bottles, some discarded weapons, and a lone person - probably
the cause of the chaos - dutifully ignoring them as they had a drink.
"Geez, what happened in _here_?" he inquired
rhetorically.
The bartender sighed in reply, rhetorically pointing
towards the only conscious individual on the customer side of the counter.
Opera slammed down her now-empty bottle, the dull
thud reverberating through the otherwise silent bar. The bartender quickly
produced another bottle, popping the cork and sliding it towards her. Without
even blinking, Opera grabbed it and sucked back a portion of the contents.
Bowman raised an eyebrow, shaking his head sadly
as he approached the bartender. "What's the story behind _this_?" he inquired
in a low voice.
In an even lower voice, the bartender informed him.
"She beat up three of Zand's men last time she came through. Some more men
attacked her this time. She takes them out with that weird magic-shooting
thing - whatever it is. Seems that Zand took exception to that and came down
to deal with her himself. Made some threats to her. She told him that she
was busy drinking. He pointed a sword at her, saying that he was going give
her an education. She tells him to go learn by himself, starting with 'His
Ass/A Hole in the Ground: A Comparative Study'. He holds the sword up to
her neck. Fast as lightning, she breaks an empty bottle over his head with
it. End of fight, she just keeps on drinking."
"I see," Bowman slowly agreed, giving the prone
form a kick in the ribs. "I think he picked a bad time to start a fight."
"You don't say? You a friend of hers?"
"Something like that. I'm not sure if she's a friend
of mine, though."
The bartender looked like he was going to make a
remark, but held his tongue as Bowman started over towards Opera. Looking
down at Zand's prone form - "Looks like you might be getting some company
_real_ soon."
Bowman coughed quietly.
Opera didn't seem to acknowledge his presence, but
Bowman caught one of her eyes briefly swivelling to eyeball him before refocusing
on the counter.
"You okay?" he inquired, sitting down next to her.
Her voice was low and raspy as she finally spoke.
"Dunno what y'gotta do to find a decent drink around here..."
Bowman didn't reply as she inhaled another portion
of the bottle. Glancing over at the bartender, he looked inquiringly between
the two empty bottles and Opera. The bartender nodded, shaking his head in
disbelief.
"Worthless crap," she pronounced, finishing off
the bottle and adding it to the running total. Wordlessly, the bartender
slid another bottle towards her, retreating quickly afterwards..
"You want to talk about it?" Bowman inquired.
No reply.
"You're really worried about Ernest aren't you?"
"Hell no... why would I be worried about that stupid
sonuvabitch?"
"Do you think he can take care of himself?"
"Sure," she muttered, taking another long draught.
"Why not? He's got a big gun. He can nuke the shit outta anything that gets
near 'im. Why the hell _wouldn't_ he be okay? Why the hell does he need silly
little Opera tagging along?"
"Do you really think he thinks that?"
"What the hell d'you think?" she demanded in annoyance.
"S'all he wanted. Just someone to keep his butt alive, y'know. No prob for
five years. Finally figured he'd stick with an AP-3 an' a pack o' smokes
instead o' a stupid little sidekick."
Bowman nodded slowly. "But I thought you two were
an item?"
"Sure we are." Opera let out a little giggle, spilling
a little of the wine in the process of drinking. "But it's a secret, see?
Everybody knows it 'cept _us_, y'know. S'funny, isn't it? I pretend he's
m'boyfriend when he ain't 'round, and he pretends I'm his g'rlfriend when
he thinks I ain't 'round."
"So that's how it is," Bowman agreed neutrally.
"Yeah, that's how it is. I's too stupid to figure
it out 'fore. So I go runnin' after the idiot. Even dressed up all nice-like,
figure it'll maybe help in makin' him a little more agree'ble, y'know? Hey,
maybe we ain't 'fficially an item, but he's still a guy. A little T n' A
justa make him easier to handle, y'know? Hell, I'm an idiot."
"So how come things are like that? It sounds like
you two have a little communication problem."
She laughed quietly. "Heh. A comm'cation pro'lem.
Yeah, that's it. Bloody commun'cation thing, sure. S'stupid Ernest decides
t'comm'cate by leavin' me behind. Well, I got 'im alright. He ain't got the
guts t'say it to m'face, so... so... he just runs away. That's it alright."
"There might be another explanation, you know,"
Bowman suggested. "He might have had a completely different reason."
"Like... _WHAT_?!?" she demanded angrily, two out
of three eyes managing to aim well enough to glare at him. "What the hell
d'you know?!? You're jus' like him!!!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"
Opera returned to her bottle. "You're jus' like
him. Buncha desk jockeys who wanna go out'n have fun 'cuz they think they're
turnin' into mush 'round home. So they find somebody to keep 'em from gettin'
wasted and take off. Betcha your wife's lonely as an empty bottle, y'know.
Worried t'hell over your worthless hide. But you don' care, do ya? Who givesashit
'bout what the girl feels... as long as you get out t'have some fun, y'know?
Ain't that right?"
Bowman drew back slightly. "I-"
"-Shudahellup," she interrupted, finishing the remainder
of the fourth bottle. "You men're alla buncha two-faced ass'oles. I dunno
who your wife is... but y'don' d'serve her-"
*THUD*
*CRASH*
Silence.
More silence.
Still more silence.
*snore*
Wordlessly, the bartender picked up a broom and
began to sweep up the pieces of the broken bottle, occasionally directing
a wary glance towards the now-sleeping Opera.
Bowman sighed, eyeing the empty bottles. "Finally
hit your limit, huh? How much is the tab?"
"Forget it," the man replied, dumping some broken
glass into a disposal bin. "She paid for the first two. Just do whatever
you have to do to make sure she never comes back in a bad mood, alright?"
"I'm a pharmacist, not a therapist," Bowman muttered,
grunting as he shouldered Opera's massive weapon and pack. "Beats me how
you carry all this stuff all day."
Slipping an arm under Opera's arms, Bowman eased
her sleeping form off the chair as best he was able. "Let's get you to bed,"
he decided. "I don't even want to imagine the hangover you're going to have
tomorrow morning."
*****************
"Pair of nine's."
"Full house."
"Four-of-a-kind!!! I win!"
"Oi."
"Ack."
"Rena-dearie," Celine began, her eyebrow twitching
slightly. "Are you absolutely _certain_ you've never played poker before?
You only learned now?"
Rena nodded, now stacking her coins in neat piles.
"Mother said that gambling was bad and that only bad people did it. But you
and Claude aren't bad people, so gambling must be okay. She was probably
just worried about me. Whose turn is it to deal?"
"I don't believe I can _afford_ to deal another
round," Celine muttered.
Bowman stuck his head into the room, surveying the
scene in a matter of seconds. "Strip poker? And you didn't invite me?"
Rena's eyes grew wide. "_What_ kind of poker?!?"
"Strip poker," Bowman clarified. "When you loose
a round, you have to-"
"Ah, we know what it is," Claude interrupted hastily.
"Did you find Opera?"
"No problem. Celine, would you mind coming with
me? I need your help with something here."
"I suppose I could drag myself away from the table,"
she decided reluctantly.
"Thanks."
*****************
Outside the room, Celine breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're a lifesaver, Bowman-dear. I do believe that I've created a gambling
monster."
Bowman chuckled. "Tsk. It's always the innocent
ones, isn't it?"
"Indeed. So whatever did you need my help for?"
He pushed open the door, gesturing politely. "Ladies
first."
"So kind of you-what is _THIS_?"
"We met her before," Bowman reminded her. "Her name
is Opera."
"Yes, I'm aware of _that_." Celine eyed the slumbering
form laying on the bed with a frown. Sniffing the air daintily, "She drank
herself into a stupor?"
"Four bottles of Jacqueline Danielle's finest,"
Bowman confirmed. "Beat up a few men too. So would you be able to do me a
_big_ favour and get her changed into something a little cleaner? Than we
can maybe give her clothing a washing for her while she sleeps. Then she'll
be in a much better mood to deal with life in general, not to mention the
splitting hangover she's going to have."
Celine was not impressed. "And we want to do this
because..."
"Because she's travelling with us. And because she
deserves a break. I can tell that you don't particularly get along with her-"
"I don't get along with her at all," Celine interrupted.
"I don't get along with her, I don't like her, and most importantly, I don't
_trust_ her. That last part is crucial, you realize?"
Bowman sighed, leaning against the wall. "Celine...
you're a smart woman, you've got a good head on your shoulders. Are you _sure_
you're looking at this with a clear head?"
"Quite certain. I can overlook the fact that she
comes from a far away land, where people all have an extra eye to see with.
I can accept that she's walking around with a heraldic weapon unlike anything
I - a star student in the village of Mars - have ever seen before. I can
ever accept that she might actually be in pursuit of her errant boyfriend."
"So what _can't_ you accept?"
"There is clearly something between her and Claude,
and it's not entirely of the amiable sort either. For him to suddenly want
to chase after her across the continent of Cross, only to have her say that
she's never met him in her life. And he claims that he's
never met her in his life either. And from what Rena tells me, there is a
great deal of similarity between the boy's 'Sword of Light' and Opera's
'Kaleidoscope' weapons."
"Okay," he granted. "But you didn't seem to object
to Claude's suggestion at first. So it must be Opera you have a problem with.
Why don't you trust _her_?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, Bowman-dear... she
doesn't trust us either. She looks at Rena like she's on medication, she
looks at Claude like he's slime, she tolerates you-"
"-And she just gives you the brush-off?"
"In a matter of speaking, yes."
Bowman exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. "Celine...
we've been friends for some time now, right? Quite a few years, off and on?"
Celine smiled thinly, but not unkindly. "Off for
most of the years, but I would certainly like to consider you a friend. A
friend, Bowman-dear, who wouldn't try to put me through a guilt trip of some
sort, I hope."
"I'd never do that. I'm just trying to cover my
ass for what I say next. Any guilt trips will be entirely of your own doing."
"Consider it covered then."
"Opera is a young woman, who from what I can tell,
is a very capable explorer in her own right. Furthermore, she's intelligent,
talented, beautiful and fiercely independent."
"Oh my," Celine tsk'd. "Am I supposed to feel jealous
now?"
He waved aside the comment. "I've also learned that
this same woman, through some process or another, has started to realize
that her love life is absolutely the pits. She wishes that she could change
it, but things haven't been going right for her at all."
Bowman abruptly fixed her with a stare. "So I ask
you, with my ass covered, does all this sound like _anyone else_ that we
know?"
"Begging your pardon!!!"
"And..." he continued, "speaking as a married man,
I happen to know that under such circumstances, a woman can potentially become
extremely irritable and bitchy, sometimes without even realizing it."
Celine's face was unreadable. "Is that all you have
to say?"
"I'm saying this as your friend, Celine. I saw what
happened back in Cross. It's none of Claude or Rena's business unless you
want to tell them. It wasn't my business either, but I happened to see it.
You and Opera are alike in more ways than either of you would probably ever
want to admit."
"Exactly what is your point?"
"All I'm saying is that, considering what I've just
said, don't you think that Opera deserves a break? I'm not saying that she's
been the model of good-will herself, because she certainly hasn't, but maybe
you should try to cut her some slack. This is the first time she's slept
in several days, and you wouldn't believe how heavy that stuff is that she's
carrying around with her. She's worried sick about everything surrounding
this Ernest fellow, whether she'll admit it or not, and she's driving herself
hard. And I think it's colouring her behaviour more than she even realizes."
"And what am _I_ supposed to do about that?"
"Well, for starters, you could help me by getting
her out of those clothes and getting her into something better suited for
sleeping."
Celine finally relented, crossing the room to where
Opera was sleeping. "I fail to see why Dr. Jean can't do it himself."
"I'm just a pharmacist, not a doctor."
"That excuse may work on everyone else, but I'm
well aware that you're simply too laidback to become a doctor."
He grinned. "Same thing, isn't it? I'll just step
out of the room. Thanks, Celine."
She smiled in return. "Don't mention it. You're
a good man, Bowman-dear. Your wife must have been a good girl to deserve
you for a husband."
Bowman's smile faded as he shut the door behind
himself, his expression transforming into a downcast look. "I wonder if I
deserve her..."
*******************
"AARRGGGHHH..."
"Sleeping beauty is finally awake, I see."
"OOOHHH..."
"And displaying an _exceptional_ amount of charm
and wit too."
Opera's eyes wavered as she tried to aim at least
one of her eyes towards the individual with a death-wish. A towel hit her
in the face, knocking her over backwards to the floor, her head ringing like
a 50-ton church bell.
"Owowshitowowshitowowshit..."
Celine shook her head, not quite able to keep from
smirking at the display. "Why don't you go have a bath?"
Opera staggered to her feet, locating the door after
some effort. The individual could wait until later. It was probably fortunate
that the towel hadn't dislodged itself from her shoulder. "Bath. Bath is
good. Owshitmyheadowow..."
The door clicked shut, regrettably sparing Celine
any more of Opera's hangover mantra.
"So uncouth," she muttered with an amused smirk.
"Most uncouth."
But rather entertaining, she supposed. Perhaps Bowman
had a point, she reflected idly, standing and surveying herself in the mirror.
She _had_ been a little out of sorts lately. Perhaps that business in Cross
was an indication that she wasn't as much of an island as she would have
preferred...
"But you're not ugly, not at all," she assured the
image in the mirror.
The mirror nodded vehemently in agreement, twisted
and posing for several moments.
"Still drop-dead gorgeous," she continued, leaning
forwards ever so slightly, "even if you _have_ put on a few pounds lately.
It's just not as much exercise with some dashing men willing to stay between
you and harm's way, is it?"
The image in the mirror pinched experimentally at
its side.
"Nothing major at all. I very much doubt anyone
would actually have _noticed_ such a trivial little detail."
*****************
Pajamas.
Bunny pajamas.
Pink bunny pajamas.
Pink bunny pajamas with the cutest little bows-
And she was walking down the hallway while wearing
them, Opera reflected disgustedly, forcing herself to avoid looking down
at them. Someone was going to die for this. But only after surviving an extended
period of torture and mutilation.
Her head still hurt. The alcohol was finally out
of her system, no mean feat considering how much she'd drunk before finally
passing out last night, but she was thinking clearly again. Clearly enough
to know that there would be hell to pay for last night, she guessed. But
she'd deal with that after shedding this idiotic circus outfit.
Lifting a hand, she began to push the door to the
room open, hoping that she remembered which room she'd come from a few minutes
ago.
"...but if you _did_ happen to hear something, you
would never _say_ anything, would you, Claude-dear? Because things could
become very _bad_ if you did, hmm?"
An audible swallowed. "Um... no, Celine. I mean,
nobody's worried about anybody else's weight, right?"
Silence.
Claude's voice sounded a little smaller. "Um...
right?"
Opera shivered as she felt a disturbance in the
Force, or whatever the hell else was being disturbed enough to make her damp
hair try to stand on end.
Apparently Claude felt it too, because a moment
later, he was throwing the door open and trying to escape a scary woman with
tiny crackles of lightning surging around her.
He was several rooms down the hallway before he
skidded to a halt and turned back to face her. Slowly, his eyes travelled
up and down the length of the three-eyed woman wearing a set of pink bunny
pajamas with cute little bows.
"Opera? You're wearing..."
Opera fixed him with a triple glare of death. "You
saw nothing. NOTHING."
He swallowed again. "Um... right?"
That said, he continued running down the hallway.
Opera looked back towards Celine, who seemed to
have stopped radiating lightning, although her face was still bright red,
possibly from anger, possibly from embarrassment. "Are these _your pajamas?"
she demanded, entering the room.
Celine's expression slowly changed into one of amusement
as she finally seemed to notice Opera. "Why, yes they are. How did you guess?"
"_Most_ hotel pajamas don't show cleavage."
"It's my extra pair. And it looks so CUTE on you."
Opera didn't even grace the comment with an answer,
instead crossing the room to where her clothing was draped on a chair. Judging
from the sudden absence of dirt on the evening gown, it seemed that someone
had gone to the trouble to having them cleaned. As for who had done it...
"You may wish to take that," Celine suggested, gesturing
towards a glass of water and a small pill on the night table. "Highly effective
for hangovers, Bowman-dear claims. For some reason, he had a hunch that you
might appreciate it."
Opera swallowed the pill, draining the glass of
water after. "Nice of him."
"Indeed."
The conversation seemingly at a halt, Opera proceeded
to remove the offensive pieces of sleep-wear. Her evening gown was still
in good condition, which was something to be thankful for. The benefits of
KevSilk fabrics were truly without end
(And almost as comfortable as the bunny pajamas).
"You can use my things to freshen up if you want,"
Celine offered after a moment.
Opera blinked in surprise, turning to face her.
The other woman wore a smile. "After all, when we
finally corner this Ernest, it wouldn't do to be looking anything less than
your best, would it?"
****************
Fifteen minutes later, a considerably better-looking
visage was looking back at her in the mirror. Considering that the curling
iron hadn't been invented on this planet yet, the benefits of naturally wavy
hair were easy to appreciate at times like this. It was a good thing that
shed outgrown the straight phase of her life some years ago.
"So how come _you_ were so ticked with Claude before?"
Opera inquired. It wasn't that she couldn't relate to the feeling herself,
but she knew more about him than the rest of the group.
"Nothing in particular."
"Uh huh. So how come you're so uptight about your
weight?"
Celine flinched, his gaze immediately darting over
towards the room's closed door.
Opera held up her hands in a warding gesture. "Hey,
nothing personal. I'm not telling anybody else. You just don't seem like
the kind of person who'd get really uptight about a couple pounds."
"You mean to say that you've never been worried
yourself?"
"Well... sure, now and then, I guess. I just quit
drinking for awhile if that happens. But seriously, you actually think you've
got too much weight on?"
Celine looked away. "I don't suppose that anyone
can truly be a proper judge of themselves."
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine."
"What about you?" Celine asked, changing the topic.
"What are _your_ thoughts on your boyfriend? I see no ring on your finger,
but..."
Opera sighed. "I dunno, Celine. It's... complicated.
Really complicated. I just want to find him, and I want him to be alive when
I do. I'll deal with anything else after that."
"But what are your thoughts? You must have at least
entertained the notion of marriage, hmm?"
Opera started to shake her head, but halted. "Maybe,
but not... realistically. We just aren't that close, y'know."
"But you would like to be." It didn't even begin
to sound like a question.
"I don't know."
"You don't want to go through your entire life single,
do you?"
"Well, no, of course not. But I travel way too much
to even meet any guys. The only one outside of family that I really see on
a regular basis is Ernest. All the others tend to be from business parties
or contractors, that kind of stuff." And most of them weren't even Tetragenes
in the first place.
Celine gave an amused smile. "I will vouch that
the adventuring lifestyle does not lend itself to finding a man. So exactly
how were you planning on getting married at this rate?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll just take a vacation for
a year or so."
"And find someone to settle down with and call an
end to your adventuring days?"
"I didn't say _that_."
"But you would be facing the prospect, would you
not? Exactly how many men are out there who would honestly embrace the lifestyle
of an explorer or treasure hunter?"
It was hard not to hear something underneath Celine's
tone of voice. It was even harder to be unsympathetic. "You haven't found
anybody yet, huh?"
The treasure-hunter sighed, looking away. "A short
time ago, Rena-darling and I met a man in Cross who went by the name of Chris.
We only talked for a short time, but it was long enough for him to learn
that I was a treasure-hunter by profession. Later on, we had tea several
times and... grew rather close. I imagine he was the first to grow interested,
but I suppose that his desire to explore and see new things caused me to
return the interest before long."
"So what happened to mess things up?"
Celine looked downcast. "I continued on with the
group, and we ran into you in Hilton. When Claude suddenly wanted to pursue
you to Cross, for whatever reason, I was secretly rather pleased by the turn
of events. I met up with Chris soon enough in Cross, and we got to talking
to the point where I think he was about to come with us."
Opera merely nodded.
"And then..."
****************
"Are you quite certain?"
"More certain than I have ever been about anything
in my life before."
Celine pursed her lips. "It's not all fun and games,
Chris-dear. Sometimes the life of an explorer such as myself can be dangerous,
and at other times it can be downright dull."
Chris smiled. "I understand, Celine. But look around
at this city. A magnificent city by any standard, yet enslaved to routine
and day-to-day existence. Yet beyond its walls, there are a thousand wonders
waiting only to be found by those with the will to find them! A woman like
yourself has surely seen so many things, but how many more things must there
be still, only waiting for you to discover them!"
"More than even _I_ could manage to find, perhaps."
"But you intend to try with all your might, do you
not?"
Celine blushed faintly under Chris' gaze. How long
had they been seeing each other? Not long by most standards. But long enough
to get to know him as more than a casual friend, a fact which she hadn't
done much to discourage. There was something... different about Chris, although
she wasn't sure if she could have put an adjective to it.
She'd had plenty of suitors over the past few years,
but Chris was nothing like any of them. Whereas the others merely seen a
gorgeous woman and an impressive fortune, Chris hadn't seemed to give such
things a second thought. But the way he would ask her to tell stories about
the places she'd gone, the things she'd seen, and the treasure that she'd
uncovered... the way he would sit at the edge of his seat as he listened
to even the most trivial of her stories... the way his face would light up
as she recalled some harrowing escape from a situation...
He wasn't merely interested in her, he was interested
in _her_. Her self, her loves and passions, her chosen path through life...
he was drawn to everything about her in a way that could only render every
past suitor laughable in comparison. And only moments ago, he had asked her
if-
*SLAP*
The notion that such a sound could have been caused
by a mere slap to the face was almost an oxymoron. The way it shattered the
silence was more akin to someone breaking a piece of lumber across a stone
wall. As almost as effective.
Chris' head spun from the blow, the side of his
face already begin to flare red in pain. But he wasn't taking any action
against his assailant, a young woman in a white dress, with two bewildered
soldiers a few steps behind her.
Which was no trouble in Celine's opinion. _She_
would be more than happy to put the attacker in their place. Using as much
force as was permissible...
"Care to explain yourself?" the woman demanded coldly.
Chris swallowed, the rest of his face going pale.
"I..."
"Begging your pardon!" Celine snapped, flickers
of lightning dancing along her fingertips. "There are considerably more polite
ways of introducing one's self. If you think that you can just waltz in and
behave in such a manner, it will be my pleasure to enlighten you. Quite
literally, if you give me cause. Chris-dear, simply ignore the _harlot_.
I was about to _suggest_ that she be on her way."
The woman seemed to finally notice Celine's presence.
"Chris? Is _that_ what he introduced himself to you as?"
"And who might _you_ be?" Celine demanded.
"Princess Rosalia Lacour," the woman replied, not
even flinching under the other's glare. "And whatever this man may have told
you, I imagine that he left out a piece of crucial information. Such as who
he is. And who his fiancee is."
The lightning began to flicker out, the fire starting
to fade from Celine's eyes. "F-fiancee? Begging your pardon, but..."
"Have you anything to say in your defence," Rosalia
demanded, "_Prince_ Cross?!?"
The magic finally disappeared completely, Celine's
face now wearing an expression of bewilderment. "Prince...?"
The man swallowed. "I... I meant to tell you, Celine.
I... just never had a chance. I'm really sorry for this..."
Rosalia pushed him towards the two soldiers, each
one grabbing an arm in restraint before he could think to escape. "...Before
you embarrass yourself any further. Soldiers, take the prince back directly
to the castle and place him under arrest in his quarters. I will deal with
him myself. Any command to the contrary that he gives is to be disregarded.
Go."
Desperately, Chris looked back to Celine for support.
Celine looked back at him, a dangerous glint coming
into her narrowed eyes. After a moment, she averted to gaze towards the woman.
"If you care anything... for the welfare of that _man_," she spat, "you would
do well to ensure that he _never_ crosses my path again."
*****************
Celine's eyes were smouldering as she finished relating
the tale. "That's all I was to him, Opera. Just a way out of his royal
responsibilities to his kingdom and fiancée. Just a happenstance escape
from what he considered boredom and drudgery. The boor lied to me the whole
time, and had the gall to finally apologize after his lie was exposed."
Opera swallowed, feeling a few puzzle pieces appear
that she hadn't been aware of before. All of a sudden, the romantic advice
that she'd offered to Princess Rosalia back in Cross wasn't sounding quite
so good... "Ahh... I... guess you were... pretty pissed off at that lady,
huh?"
"How a woman of such high standing could be so...
unrefined is utterly beyond me. I suppose I should be properly furious with
her. But I can't even find it in myself to be angry with that woman. She
did nothing but being the truth to light. But that _man_..."
"There are days," Celine whispered, fists clenched.
"I can only wonder at what exactly it is about me that I could have gone
so long without finding someone to call a soul-mate. Anyone who's interested
seems always to have... ulterior motives. But this
was the first time that I wasn't aware of it from the start."
Celine unclenched her fists, exhaling forcefully.
"...and then I hear about this Ernest fellow you are pursuing. Whatever else
you might say or feel about the man, I think that it's fairly obvious that
you also care a great deal for him. And when you tell me that he's left you
behind in such a fashion... I suppose that I'm not sure what to make of the
situation."
"I... think I know where you're coming from," Opera
offered slowly, "but I don't think it's like that with Ernest. I've never
even felt that way before. Y'know, where your heart is supposed to flutter
and swoon or whatever the hell else it does when you fall in love. I've never
felt anything like that. But I'll probably know it when it finally happens,
right?"
Celine shook her head. "Opera-darling... when it
finally happens to you, don't even listen to it."
****************
"Fold."
"Fold."
"Pair of fives!"
"Argh."
"Gah."
Bowman shook his head. "Rena, haven't you ever heard
of the expression 'Poker face'. It means that you keep your face expressionless.
Not happy. Especially when you've got a lousy hand like that."
Rena looked a little sheepish as she raked in another
pile of change. "I'm trying. But it's hard. It's such a fun and suspenseful
game!"
"Spoken like the person who's won most of the chips,"
Bowman agreed.
Rena giggled. "Another hand?"
"Another hand," Claude agreed. At least he still
had a few more coins than Bowman.
"Good morning, everybody," Celine greeted, bestowing
a smile upon the three people present. "And Rena-darling, your mother will
never forgive me if you turn into a compulsive gambler."
"I'm just playing for fun," Rena protested.
"Hmm. That's what they all say at first."
"Gimme coffee," Opera demanded, hand to her head.
Bowman's hangover remedy was amazingly effective, but it seemed to fall short
of a complete cure. Walking from the bedroom to the dining room had been
a rather painful experience, to say the least. Not unlike an earthquake measuring
at least 8 on the Richter scale. Inside your head.
Bowman pointed towards the next room over. "There's
a fresh pot of Lacour roast waiting for you in the kitchen."
"Thanks."
"You'll never believe what happened to me this morning,"
Claude began. "Remember that girl I mentioned seeing in Lacour?"
"Oh? The schizophrenic little urchin?" Celine inquired.
"And what exactly she did believe you were attempting to do _this_ time?"
"The kid from Linga?" Bowman interrupted. It had
been a shame that the girl ran off before Claude had been able to get a familiar
face for her to talk with.
"Yeah, well I saw her this morning down by the docks.
I guess she somehow made a few of Zand's men angry."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Bowman observed mildly.
"What happened?"
"They tried to take her away and tried to kill me
when I told them to get lost."
Rena dropped her cards in disbelief (revealing three
kings and two tens). "Claude!!! Are you okay? Are you _hurt_!?!"
Claude turned a little red. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine.
I just thought that you should keep an eye out while we're still here, that's
all."
"You needn't worry yourself," Celine admonished.
"I don't imagine a few low-life bandits would rate as a challenge to the
second-place champion of the Lacour Arms Tournament, hmm? Very noble of you,
Claude-darling."
"I fold for this hand," Bowman informed the other
two players, standing up. "Claude, you and Opera could probably compare notes
- she got jumped in the bar last night too. Five men out for the count by
the time I got there."
"Is Opera all right?" Rena wanted to know.
"She's fine. I think she got in a fight with them
the first time she came through, and they wanted some pay back. And I think
they bit off more than they could chew. She wasn't even scratched," Bowman
assured her.
"And I don't imagine that your heraldry cures
hangovers," Celine mused with a smirk.
****************
"How are you feeling?"
Opera turned as Bowman strolled into the kitchen
with his empty mug. "Okay, I guess. That's some nice medication you've got."
"I became very knowledgeable about the remedy in
university," he agreed with grin.
"I'll bet," she agreed, unable to help mirroring
the smile a little. "Listen... about yesterday..."
"Don't worry about it. We all get down sometimes,
right? And you're relatively peaceful when you're drunk, if I do so say so
myself."
Opera shook her head. "Not just that. I mean...
what I said to you. Maybe you have memory lapses when you're stone-drunk,
but I remember everything I say. I... just forget anything I said about you,
okay? I was just shooting my mouth off."
Bowman waved aside the apology, his face growing
a little more solemn. "No... I don't think you were. And I don't think that
you were far off the mark, either. Maybe I did originally come along for
a bit of a fun. It wasn't as though I just ran off without properly saying
goodbye, but maybe I wasn't thinking of Nene as much as I should have..."
"..."
He waved the issue aside. "I know you didn't mean
anything by it. But like the old saying goes From the mouths of kids
and drunks comes wisdom'. I think that maybe I'll listen up this time around.
I'm going to stick with the group for now, but I'm going to write my wife
a letter while we cross over to Hilton."
"I'm... sure she'd like that."
"I might invest in a little jewellery too," he added
with a wink. "The couch back home is awfully uncomfortable."
Opera finally laughed. "I'll bet. I'd be a little
upset if Ernest got hurt, so maybe I'll just have to do your wife a favour
and make sure you come back home in one piece."
"Surely you're not a suggesting that this pharmacist
can't take care of himself?"
She smirked. "I'll be the judge of _that_ after
I see what the pharmacist does when he's about to get his entire head bitten
off by something. So when does the ship leave for Hilton, anyway?"
"In a couple hours. You might as well relax and
grab a bite to eat before then? Better yet, why don't you try your hand at
cards? Rena's luck has to run out sometime. I hope."
"Bleh. I have a lousy poker face. I'd rather know
the outcome in advance when I make a bet. Card games were always Ernest's
specialty."
"About Ernest?"
"What about him?"
Bowman shrugged. "Don't think too badly about him
yet. I know you're probably more worried about this than you'll admit. And
I'll grant that things seem a little questionable right now, but don't let
it colour your judgement too much."
Opera looked away. "Everything's just... _wrong_
right now."
He nodded understandingly. "I know. But take it
from me, men can do some of the stupidest, most inconsiderate things imaginable
and not have the slightest clue they're doing it. At least, not until someone
else points it out to them. And every now and then, they even have a decent
reason for what they did. Occasionally, anyway. This might even be one of
those times."
"I'll consider it," she agreed, finishing her cup
of coffee. "But for his sake, it had better be a _good_ explanation."
"That's the spirit," Bowman approved, sipping his
drink. "No sense in getting all worked up and angry before you've got a deserving
target."
"Right!" Opera agreed, heading back to the dining
room. "Time for breakfast!"
"Hmm," Bowman mused, looking thoughtful. "After
telling her _that_, I really hope this Ernest has good reason."
.