"I thought you said the latrine was this way."
Limgas shrugged, his stumpy legs continuing down the corridor as
though he was still just as confident as when the journey began.
Sean was not in his normal attire. That is, he was without his
axe, and wore a decidedly protective layer of red leather to
compensate for the lack of plate armor. In any case, he was highly
uncomfortable as a result, and his attitude for the entire night had
much to show for it. To make matters worse, he was paired with
Limgas, who, while making an apt traveling companion and decent
battlefield ally, was not much for conversation.
"Limgas, please. You can tell me if you don't know where
you're going," said Sean, having pestered the lalafell for
several minutes now.
The black mage's eyebrow twitched. Slowly, as trace amounts of
flame brimmed into his clenched fists, he turned his head to Sean.
While not immediately worried about what Limgas was capable of
under mild duress, the warrior opted to suffer and avoid an
unnecessary altercation. "Fine, fine. Let's just keep walking
down this dark corridor to nowhere."
Somehow, the words "dark corridor" brought a sense of
realization to the black mage. The flames in his fists had
illuminated the area considerably, and this brought to mind that the
corridor was indeed dark. Strikingly so, in fact. His adventures
often led him to such places, so his trained perception likely made
him blind to the surrounding lack of light.
Also, they were lost.
Lost, and definitely not alone.
Sean had learned long ago the subliminal messages sent by the
mute lalafell, and was suddenly made wary by the halt in movement,
the sudden increase in tension, and the intimate desire for combat.
"Odd how I noticed that just as I said it." Habitually, the
brawler reached over his shoulder, only to grasp at the air at his
back. He cursed silently at his carelessness.
Whatever it was that skulked about along the edges of the wide
hallway, it came in numbers, was carrying steel, and likely did not
intend to leave survivors.
The Astral fire lighting Limgas's palms burnt brightly,
illuminating the immediate visage of his glazed, unfeeling eyes. He
was not in any particular mood for nonsense.
"Gentlemen," said Sean to whatever it was readying for a
melee. "I would strongly reconsider whatever it is you're
thinking."
The trot of steel halted in the blackness, hesitating a bit,
perhaps considering the words of a seasoned warrior.
"Limgas." Sean looked over to the mage.
The two shared a nod, instantly confirming the knowledge of a
greater plan at work.
A curved, brass blade flew toward the hyur's head, and though
true in aim, it was casually knocked aside by the thick leather armor
of a red glove. This was the armor that Sean wore underneath his
regular plate.
The soldier stumbled forward, his blade clamoring to the floor.
He was on his back seconds after Limgas shot a blast of fire squarely
through his chest.
Shane is going to love this, thought Sean, cracking his
knuckles and twisting his shoulders. "Come on then. I eat gutter
rats like you raw for breakfast."
The lalafell at his side threw another sphere of flame into the
darkness, and oddly enough, a cry of pain was heard, followed by the
plop of steel unceremoniously hitting the floor. The reemergence of
fire in both hands yielded a singular notion: there was plenty more
where that came from.
"My friend here prefers light seasoning," mocked the warrior.
"Burnt to a crisp."
Afterhours in Ul'dah's alchemy lab was
the perfect time for study. The aesthetics of loose beakers, tubes
with inane purpose, and formula charts galore along all four cement
walls was an environment for study and discovery. Messes that were
likely corrosive in nature filled the room with an odd smell of
cactuar juice congealed with creamed coffee. There were stations of
unfinished work as well, stacked with papers and formulas yet to be
tested.
This night, however, was night for alchemy.
Lulu was at her desk, fumbling through missive after missive,
code after code, trying to make sense of Ishgardian politics, learn a
completely new draconian language, and sip her tea all at once. She
was doing an admirable job, though it was only her and the
inscrutable Xillian's judgment she had to rely on.
"Are you going to do anything other than stand there and play
that stupid song?" Lulu spared him a sidelong glance, but the work
at hand was far too complicated for her irks to tear her away from it
for long. She could have easily lost her place.
The mi'qote bard played easily upon his lute, not entirely
concerned with Lulu's annoyance. At any rate, her sentiments did
not stray far from annoyed, maniacal, awkwardly pleasant, and
Xillian's personal favorite, ready to cause untold harm upon all
who cross her.
In this case, however, all of which were culminating, speaking to
dire tidings for the future.
"Ain't ya takin' this a bit too serious?" He asked.
"Shane said t' read the ones from the dignitaries. He ain't say
t' read 'n decipher the Dravanian shit too."
"Yes, well, Shane is an idiot who doesn't understand the
necessity of having every bit of information at one's disposal."
Xillian pushed off the wall he was leaning on and approached her
desk. He lifted up the shades, revealing light-hearted eyes
complimented by an endearing grin. "Take it easy. He's halfway
cross the realm lookin' for somethin' he doesn't he even know
the name of. We it got it good here in Ul'dah."
She upturned her gaze to him. Whenever Xillian grinned like that,
it was contagious. The work Lulu had forced upon herself was taxing
her sanity by the hour, and it certainly did not hurt to lean back
into her seat and forget it even existed. She did just that, sighing
with exuded effort. "I hate telling other people they're right,
but damn..."
The bard sat on the edge of her desk, strung his lute to his belt
for another time, and folded his arms. "See? Not so hard, right?"
"Do shut up, impetuous one. Relaxing is hard enough without a
smug 'I told you so.'"
He chuckled, knowing it was her best attempt at admitting the
smallest of victories in his favor. "So how's Vapas doin'?"
"Managing," she replied, closing her eyelids to perhaps fool
her body into sleep. "I keep in contact with him through the
moogles mostly."
"Ya miss him?"
Her eyes reopened, and a carelessly revealed distress was
instantly betrayed upon her countenance. "Every day."
Taken aback by his inadvertent pang at her emotions, Xillian
changed the subject. "Ya ever think of comin' back to the
Vendors?"
Again, she pondered, and the expression never changed. "Every
day."
He sighed, somehow made self-conscious and annoyed. "Jeez, Lu..."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry." She sat up in her seat again,
rolling her neck upon rested shoulders and rubbing her eyes raw with
cramping hands. "I could use a goblet of wine right now. Speaking
of which," said the summoner, hopping off the chair unfit for the
childlike size of a lalafell. "Why'd Sean and Limgas get chosen
for the party anyway?"
"For their Uldahn diplomacy, no doubt," joked the bard,
returning to his callous simper of a smile.
"I'm serious, Xillian. Sean's a lumbering oaf who breaks
wind without regard for whoever is around, and Limgas can't... or
just doesn't talk. Even we don't know what's wrong with
him."
"Isn't it enough that we understand him?"
As she approached one of the formula charts, the graphs and
numbers somehow putting her addled mind at a measure of ease, she
shrugged away yet another sigh. "Tell that to the Ul'dahns. What
kind of message does it send when we have our two least diplomatic
members go to the most diplomatic ball in the history of Eorzea?"
The bard absently picked up a loose sheet of paper and eyed its
contents with no particular interest. Something about Dravanians. "Ya
think you're a better fit?"
"Naturally," she answered, flopping a tuft of her pink hair
over a shoulder. "Or maybe Shane himself; our storied leader? Seven
hells, send Urumi. He's a paladin, a defender of all that is holy.
Precisely looks and acts the part too."
The mi'qote did not seem to be paying attention. "Doesn't
even strike me as funny that he'd send Sean and Limgas, ya know?"
He let the piece of old parchment flutter back down to the desk, then
started prodding and gawking at the many different test tubes in the
laboratory. "What's funny is that he'd call it a 'team-buildin'
exercise.' Somethin' about sending folks to their field of
weakness to strengthen themselves all roundabout-like."
"So what? My weakest discipline is filing letters and
deciphering thousand-year-old languages?"
"Have ya come up with anythin' yet?" Asked the bard.
Both shared a stark, clumsy quiet in which Xillian was holding
back the most condescending laughter, and Lulu had gone aflush with
embarrassment.
"I'm... well it's a lot of work and..." She glared at
him, indignant. "Shut up!"
It was always worth it to see her so easily miffed.
After a good forty-five seconds of ceaseless laughter, the bard
tried new conversation. "Well, at least we--"
But was sharply interrupted by his senses catching wind of a
disturbance. "Lu..." His shades could not mask intensely furrowed
brows, suddenly aware of something that should not be.
The summoner had not even reached her desk when she sensed it as
well. There was a third presence approaching, and not of the friendly
variety. It was heavy, as though fortified by authoritative steel. It
was not long before both she and the bard could hear the plated boots
and chainmail of an oncoming force just outside the lab. Small in
number, likely a singular purpose in mind given the formation. Ten,
perhaps twelves soldiers, all armed to the teeth. These men knew what
they were dealing with.
These men, bursting one after another through the doorway of the
laboratory wore dusky blues of the Crystal Braves.
Though one's heart would sing at the mere mention of a force
made so reputable by unending efforts of Alphinaud and Scions of the
Seventh Dawn, the intent etched into their formation, expressions of
malice, and drawn blades yielded a dreadful turn of events.
The air went still, placid, and dry, the friction of the
situation having spun wildly out of control in only a moment's
notice. Xillian gauged that something much grander was afoot, and
knew Lulu to be seeing the bigger picture as it came escalating
further into view.
"To what I owe this pleasure, gents?" Asked the bard,
refraining from sudden movements.
Nothing denoted rank amongst them, but one of the hyurs in
attendance spoke for the rest, stepping forward. "You are wanted
for treason against the crown. You, Lulu Luna, and the rest of your
'Fabled Vagrants'..." spat the soldier, a hint of toxicity in
his tone. "... will come with us."
Let Xillian do the talking, thought Lulu. She had gone
from ascertaining the meaning of the sudden intrusion to planning an
escape route that allowed both of them to live. The back door,
solid. She gauged over her shoulder, seeing the brass door hardly
used. Fortified. Secret tunnel. Defensible if we're followed.
The bard took a step forward, testing the resolve of the
assailants.
All of them took a slight step backward. They would kill only
when assaulted - they needed a reason, a crime. They needed some
expendable nobody of a soldier to give his life for some noble cause.
Xillian knew those motions anywhere.
He looked to and fro, and found a familiar face amongst the
Braves. His reputation was for more than garnering his enigmatic
appeal. Many of the Crystal Braves were young men and women that he
himself had recruited. "Clive, ya mum would be mighty displeased
seein' ya do this, wouldn't she?"
Clive was the boy at the end of the formation, barely a man
wielding a blade, trembling at the mention of his mother. His words
were lost on a tongue that had no mind to wield it.
The Crystal Braves had been recruiting Uldahn street urchins.
These were the lives they were willing to throw away, the lives that
would taint the legend of a Warrior of Light. It would sell, it would
turn the people against the Epic Weapon Vendors and Vagrants alike,
it would send Eorzean politics spinning on its head.
It would leave every part of the tenuous alliance forged for many
years in an ocean of warm, barely able to stay afloat.
In short, these were not the Braves Alphinaud had initially
envisioned. This was a taint that a select, rich few would concoct to
depose a threat to power.
When the boy, Clive, did not respond, the mi'qote bard took a
step back to Lulu. It was time to get moving.
He spoke to the crowd. "Tall crimes you've pinned us with,
Braves. I expect a fair trial will be in order?" A measure of
seconds passed, and when no response came, he spread his arms to his
sides, feigning surrender. When his eyes glowered, however, it became
clear that one of his hands had gone for an arrow.
And before any reaction could be made, its tip was alight with a
small spark of flame.
"Any time, Lulu!"
The lalafell had used her summoned power - a show of
concentrated kinetic force - to send the desk behind Xillian flying
forward.
The bard repelled himself backward, narrowly missing being
clipped by the thick, wooden desk. At the peak of his jump, he sent
his in-hand arrow to the projected landing area of the desk.
The desk, and the dry, corrosive chemicals resting in test tubes,
simply awaiting the kiss of the slightest flame to ignite.
Preceded by the shattering of glass, the slight quaking of the
area in response to the half-ton desk hitting the floor, and the
blunt scraping of wood against cement, flames erupted instantly all
about the alchemy lab.
The men in blue scrambled for order amongst new chaos, some lit
on fire, others grazed by flying shards of bursting glass. Blood and
blaze increased each second the chain reactions went off. The Crystal
Braves were forced into retreat by fumes that brought painful tears
to eyes, and bile spewing from befuddled stomachs. An alchemy lab was
no place for fire, as it soon proved to be a graveyard that no man
wanted to be part of.
Every Brave would live, however.
But not without a reminder of who so easily and dangerously
managed to escape them.
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