Take Two for Trilly (DONE)

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Okay, I'm on the computer that has my story on it now, so here's the prologue. WARNING: short and very fail.

SPOILER: Click to show

PROLOGUE

The first lesson the Mirrorlings learned was this:

You do not forget what you owe the Master.

They were newborn, glistening pools of living matter lined up in a row on the shores of the lake they had been born from. There were ten of them. They were all somewhat disconcerted from their sudden transformation, having gone from inanimate handfuls of water to brand-new beings who quivered slightly as they tried to master their newfound consciousness.

They were bright and new and beautiful, but the world had not intended for them to exist, so they had no place, no purpose, no real reason for being there....

So it was the Master, the Creator, who told them what they were to do. The Mirrorlings watched with rapt attention as the being who had given them their lives spoke to them, and began numbering them off from one to ten, simultaneously drawing the corresponding number on each new being. Most of the Mirrorlings were completely enraptured as they were given their number, content to finally have a place in their new world.

The Mirrorling called 10 was the exception. Rather than calming down as its new task was explained to it, it began trembling even more violently and inched away from its creator, only to be stopped in place by a cold glare.

"I take it you do not agree with these terms."

The Mirrorling did not--could not--answer. It did try to get away, but the Master scooped it up in his palms, touched the number he had just drawn, and murmured something under his breath. In only seconds, the Mirrorling was gone, reduced to water dripping from the Master’s hands.

And then there were nine.

This taught the Mirrorlings a valuable lesson. They belonged to the Master. They could be replaced.

And thinking for themselves was certainly a bad idea.

[Rikku]

Colds are vicious, evil things of vicious evilness. D=

I find that rather pretty. <3 The Mirrorlings are interesting, and there's a certain starkness about that one's destruction. I feel extremely sorry for them.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

I still feel teh sick today, but not the horrible "I can't find the will to move my fingers enough to type" sick from yesterday, so I made a fair amount of progress on my story and *shock* I actually kind of like what I came up with.

That makes me very happy! I was kind of trying to put an emphasis on the Mirrorlings and their motivation early on in the story, because although they're not always going to be likable, I don't want them to be entirely loathsome, either. Totally loathsome villains are boring.

Also suggests they have the potential to be more than just tools.

But really, the prologue is my least favourite part of the story so far.

[Rikku]

... Perhaps you should post more, then? *wears a look of deep cunning*

[Trilly (18426 words)]

*surreptitiously posts Chapter 1* >>

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 1: The Three Bards of Wheathold

Raucous singing and potentially life-threatening dances were all the rage in Wheathold’s pubs, and had been for as long as anyone could remember. Historically, the custom of accompanying heavy drinking with music had probably started out as people just picking up anything that could serve as an instrument, their alcohol-slurred minds working wonders to convince them that they were actually pretty good at creating that music stuff. And really, it sounded pretty good providing no one was sober enough to hear it properly and thereby judge it adequately.

Times had changed, however, and the quality of the music (if not the dancing) had taken a rise.

The song that resounded against the stained walls of the tavern was a fan favourite, a classic that involved a fair amount of audience participation. They were allowed and even encouraged to bang the tables and walls as loudly as possible, creating a a strong beat to accompany the main instruments. The song had been written by a retired bard by the name of Benjamin Crane, and it was a comedic recount of one man’s many unsuccessful advances toward the daughter of a particularly bloodthirsty Count. Benjamin Crane had been a free-spirited individual to say the least, so it was widely believed that the song held at least a basis in fact. There was no amount of surety when it came to guessing just what Benjamin had done with most of his life.

What made this performance even more of a treat to the patrons of the Dusty Log was that the beaming mandolin player on the stage was none other than Benjamin Crane’s son, Baxter, a Solitary Bard like his father and as well as a brilliant and well-liked musician. He was a tall and good-looking lad, but not enough-so to be conspicuous. He had a wide smile on his face as his fingers flew across the strings on his instrument, taking joy from creating good music and making people happy. He was, essentially, a very simple soul.

The music sped up and finally finished off with a bang, and earning applause and demands for an encore from nearly every guest at the tavern. Baxter waved it all off modestly, massive grin in place, before giving a bow to the audience. Their applause became even louder. Baxter himself was a fan favourite, as well.

He gave a tired thumbs-up to his friend and fellow musician, a blond sitar player named Felix Featherfinger. Amusingly, this name didn’t sit particularly well with the other musician at the moment, as he appeared to have managed to break several strings on his instrument from that song alone. That shouldn’t be too surprising, however, as that particular ballad had not been written with the intent of being gentle on instruments.

“Should we do another?” Baxter asked over the noise of the audience as Felix pulled some extra strings out of one of his pockets and began replacing the broken ones on his instrument.

“We still have some time,” the sitar player said to Baxter, then turned his attention towards a dusky-skinned younger girl--who was probably too young to be in a pub--and said, “Why don’t you make the rounds while they’re happy and willing to pay, Chesse?”

Chesse nodded brightly and picked up a worn green felt hat from the side of the stage. She went around the room with it, holding it out hopefully and giving very grateful thanks as coins were tossed inside it.

Felix gave a half-smile as he tightened a string and plucked it experimentally. “I swear, that girl is a wonder. Most bards, even good ones won’t see half as much money in a night as she manages to wheedle out of them.”

“Everyone loves Chesse”, Baxter said with a slight widening of his already impressive grin.

They made a good team, Baxter and Felix and Chesse. Baxter had been the only bard in the area until, two years ago, Felix had shown up with his student in tow and begun looking for work. In most cases when there was more than one bard in the area, there could be strife and trouble over who would play where and when, eventually escalating to the point at which both groups fought it out to see who would stay and who would go. Bards had some territorial habits.

Baxter was pleased that he had never had to fight with the other two bards for anything. He liked them a lot, and instead of competing, they had created a mutually beneficial arrangement where they divided the majority of their profits equally. This meant that they were able to play music involving multiple instruments together, which seemed to be very popular with Wheathold residents.

And another unforeseen and unspoken benefit was just how well the little group’s personalities seemed to complement each other. Baxter was very outgoing, loud, and always seemed to be recklessly happy, while Felix tended to be quieter and more soft-spoken, with a solemn but occasionally sarcastic way of seeing things. They balanced each other out quite well, with Chesse somewhere between both of them--serious when needed, playful when she had the chance to be. The three of them just seemed to fit somehow, sometimes so well that Baxter had to remind himself that he hadn’t actually known them for his entire life, just a relatively small portion of it.

His musings were interrupted as Chesse returned in a hurry and tapped urgently on Felix’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. Felix’s pale blue eyes sharpened, and he quickly stood up and began dragging both Baxter off the stage, Chesse following.

“Hey, what’s this all about?” the mandolin player asked, not particularly alarmed about being pushed around.

“Falcons. Neither of you should be here--Chesse is underaged, and you,” he hissed in exasperation, having gone over this argument many times in the past, “refuse to get a bard license from the guild. They’ll be coming in here in a second, and if they see you, they’ll arrest you without blinking--”

“Haha, stop worrying so much. This is hardly the first time this has happened, and it always turns out fine.”

Felix decided not to grace that with an answer, instead opting to shove Baxter under one of the more crowded tables while directing Chesse to do the same.

The Falcons came in a second later, just as Baxter was scrambling to get into a position where he wasn’t constantly being kicked, although the people sitting at the table seemed to be trying to move their feet to give him a bit more room. He tried to find a spot where he could watch what was going on without being visible, but all he could see at the moment were two pairs of matching boots standing by the door. Big, grey soldier boots.

The boots began to move, and Baxter could no longer see them from his vantage point.

“Hey, barkeep! We’re looking for a little something for the road!”

Baxter carefully turned and adjusted his stance until he could finally see the Falcons. Both were large in size, although one was rangy and lean and armed with a sheathed broadsword, while the other was heavyset and carried a pair of axes strapped across his broad back. They wore the distinctive brown and copper livery of Duke Peregrine, which kept most customers of the tavern quiet and unwilling to draw attention to themselves as the two newcomers untied skins from their belts and gave them to the barkeeper to fill with ale.

The rangy one’s gaze settled on something out of Baxter’s sight, but it didn’t take him long to find out what he had seen.

“You! Do you have a license for playing that instrument in public?”

“Yes, here.” Felix’s slow, measured tones reached Baxter a moment before he came into view, looking alarmingly small next to the two Falcons as he handed over a folded piece of parchment.

The two Duke’s men looked over the scrap of paper carefully--Baxter suspected that they weren’t the best readers-- before one finally whistled and handed it back to Felix. “Featherfinger, huh? I’ve heard of you before--you’re popular in the big cities. Never would’ve dreamed I’d see you all the way out here in the middle of bloody nowhere.”

There were some subdued murmurs around the room at that. Wheathold was not in the middle of nowhere, bloody or otherwise.

Felix shrugged, accepting his license back and tucking it away in his red coat once more. “I got sick of the cities. I thought it might be nice to try for a change of scenery.”

“Might not be the best idea, these days. You never know if the nice little village you settle down in is going to wind up getting swallowed up into the ground or leveled by a firestorm. The Blood Mages at least try to avoid damaging the cities for the most part-- Duke Peregrine does keep a tighter guard on them, anyhow. They’re safer, is for sure.”

“I don’t really care what the Blood Mages are up to,” Felix said, cool as frosted glass. “Nothing they’ve done so far has bothered me in particular, and until it does, I’m not going to worry about it.”

The swarthy Falcon grinned. “That’s probably the best stance to hold on this whole affair. The Blood Mages are pretty tough and darned scary, but really, if the Duke got some men together and overran them, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Shame he probably won’t even consider it though.”

“Because of his daughter?” Felix asked, an unreadable glint in his eyes that told Baxter that this wasn’t just small talk. Odd. What possible interest could Felix have in the Duke’s daughter?

“Yeah,” he said. “You gotta feel sorry for him. He loved that little girl and it nearly killed him when she disappeared. I don’t think he’s been the same since. At any rate, he’s certainly been accused of letting this area ‘go to seed’, whether it’s because he’s still mourning his daughter or not.” He let out a bark of laughter at his own joke, but he was met with only stony silence from the other occupants of the tavern.

“Tough crowd,” he muttered, then addressed Felix. “Hopefully, I’ll see you around sometime. We can share a pint or two, and I can see if your music is all it’s cracked up to be.”

Felix gave a polite nod as the two Falcons reattached their now-full skins to their belts and made their way out of the pub.

Baxter waited until he was sure they were gone before climbing out from under the table and giving a goofy mock-bow, as if he had been staging a show solely for their benefit. The tavern’s patrons broke into applause.

Everyone loved an outlaw.

***

They played a few more songs to finish off the night and sent Chesse around with the hat once more before leaving the Dusty Log and making their way back to their lodgings. It was a summer night, surprisingly warm for the late hour. Baxter hadn’t realized just how long they’d spent playing until he’d seen that the lamps had already been lit, and that the streets were nearly empty.

Not that he was complaining. It had been a good night... but then again, most nights were. Even the few times when earnings were thin and the audience just wasn’t into the music still felt like resounding successes to Baxter, who found that he was satisfied with pretty much anything so long as he could play his music.

“So are we still going to be playing at the festival tomorrow evening?” Chesse asked, the excitement obvious on her face. The fifteen-year-old girl was only an apprentice, but Felix had decided that she was already proficient enough with her flute playing to try some solo pieces for the festival-goers. It was an honour and a testament to her dedication to music that she was to be given such a big role so early in her career.

Baxter grinned, leaning over and ruffling Chesse’s hair so that wiry curls sprung free from her neat ponytail. “No, we haven’t cut you out of the program yet, kiddo. We’re not that cruel... we’d certainly tell you first, anyhow....”

The flute-player let out a brief exclamation and shoved a laughing Baxter with a mock glare on her face. “You wouldn’t dare.”

After he had righted himself and brushed off his vibrant red and black vest, Baxter continued, “Of course, such a thing would be impossible, because if we were to do so, a short and underfed little girl would be angry and try to exact revenge. And we can’t have that--oof!”

He was interrupted by a sharp elbow to his ribs. “Well, this little underfed girl could kick your Solitary rear around Wheathold any day. Besides, I wouldn’t even have to hit you to win this one. I’d just go to the festival and wait for Gwenna Jay to show up. Then I’ll tell her that you and Mabel Fairbright were caught--”

“Evil child!”

“Simpleton!”

Felix rolled his eyes. He rarely participated in these arguments, seeing it as hardly worth the effort. No one was getting hurt (except maybe Baxter, but he was asking for it), and since Chesse was often unable to spend time around people of her own age, it was probably good for her to at least have someone of a similar maturity level to talk to.

And it was rather amusing to watch a tall and fairly well-built man be knocked around by a little girl.

But Felix would keep this to himself.

[Shadaras]

I don't know which of those characters is my favorite. xD ...possibly Chesse, just because she's a flutist. <3 ...but Baxter and Felix are awesome too! Soyeah. Post more, please? ^_^

[Amneiger]

That was fun. =D And yes, more would be good.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Shade- Originally, I was going to have a lot less of Felix and Chesse in the beginning of my story, but I kind of fell for them and ended up doing a lot of Baxter, Chesse, and Felix moments. Really, I could probably write an entire story with just the three of them. ^__^

Red- Glad you liked the first part, then! Partially brought to you by sick, dizzy Trilly on cold medication!

I will post more later tonight, or tomorrow. ^^

[Kathleen]

I shall so read chapter one when I have the time. =D *wishes she did so now* The Mirrorlings are awesome-cool. You give like this almost-humourous but also incredibly chilling description. I'm sorry for them now. D=

Colds are no fun. >.< Get better soon!

[Trilly (18426 words)]

I'm very glad that the Mirrorlings seem to be going over well in the tiny bit I've shown of them so far. ^__^

Thanks, Kath! I'm feeling a bit better every day now.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 2: The Application of Spoons, Staircases, and Flutes as Weaponry


Baxter knew he was in for a busy day.

Most of it was his fault. He could have been simply content with being a regular (albeit an unregistered and somewhat of a petty criminal) bard, but he had always had a broader variety of interests than could be filled by the job occupation of “minstrel”.

As a result, Baxter was signed up to perform juggling, tumbling, fire-eating, and a number of different magic tricks before he even started on the music later on in the evening. And, for whatever reason, he had also mysteriously been volunteered to judge the pie-baking contest.

Baxter suspected that Chesse had a hand in the last one. Or Felix, since the joke seemed a little bit too subtle for Chesse and Felix’s sense of humour was weird like that. Baxter was a guy who spent most of his time laughing, but he was never sure whether to laugh at Felix’s jokes and clap a hand on his shoulder or cringe inwardly and wonder what the hell the man was thinking.

Clomping down the lodging house’s stairs in a pair of his customarily huge boots and making his way to the kitchen, Baxter called out in his best declaiming voice, “Tabitha, oh Queen among women, what colour of cloak should I wear? I need to look threatening and impressive today, like the bards of old from the songs and legends!”

A plump little woman with greying black hair and round cheeks looked up from where she worked at the stove, frying sausages and eggs to put on the morning’s bread. “Oh, certainly the blue one, Mr. Crane. I haven’t seen you wear that one since Midwinter last year. Oh, or that green one of yours!”

“But I wore the green one when I was seven, mum, I don’t think I’d look particularly imposing in it now.”

“Seven! Time flies, doesn’t it?” she exclaimed as she artfully flipped the eggs. “I remember your dad playing at the festival when he was younger. We had some wild times at those festivals with him around, is for sure. And here you are now, all grown up and making a name for yourself.”

Baxter snatched a sausage off the grill, drawing his hand away just in time to avoid a sharp smack on the hand with a wooden spoon. “Well, hopefully it’s a good name.”

“It won’t be if word gets around of you stealing my sausages, boy”

Chuckling quietly to himself, Baxter turned his attention towards the well-scrubbed dining room table and began setting his cloak options down on the smooth surface. He did a double take at the sight of a person sitting at the table.

“Felix? What happened to you?”

The other musician was holding a water-soaked rag to the side of his head, looking sleep-deprived and moody and decidedly worse for wear. He grimaced at Baxter’s inquiry, but hesitated from answering.

Baxter was a little bit alarmed. “Did you get beat up?” he asked. “But no, you couldn’t have. You came home at the same time as me and Chesse did, so how...?”

Felix gritted his teeth. “I fell down the stairs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I got up this morning, and I was still tired but I decided to come downstairs anyways, and I must have fallen asleep or something because the next thing I knew, I was at the bottom of the stairs and I couldn’t remember going down them.”

Tabitha came around with a pan of freshly-cooked and altogether wonderful smelling food and began dishing it out onto Felix and Baxter’s plates. “You neglected to mention that you were up ‘till all hours writing new music last night, so it’s no wonder you were tired. While we’re on this subject, may I also point out that you forgot to tie your bootlaces again before you decided to take your ill-informed trip downstairs.”

Baxter laughed brightly.

“And while you may call yourself ‘Featherfinger’,” she continued ruthlessly, “the sound of you falling down that flight of stairs was more comparable to the sound a rockslide would make if it fell on Duke Peregrine’s fortress--trumpet players and all.”

Felix reddened.

“So I must conclude that since dear Baxter was unable to hear the incident occur, he was too busy singing to himself to notice.”

“Ha. That’s probably true,” Baxter said, unabashed as he dug into his eggs. “Thif is weely good!” he said around a mouthful.

“Swallow first, then talk,” Tabitha ordered, but she didn’t even try to school her expression into something fierce. She’d known Baxter since he was a child, and he’d always been a very enthusiastic individual-- and a bit prone to not listening, but she could never really be angry at him for that. He was one of those unfortunate people whom it seemed impossible to remain angry at.

“So when’s Chesse going to come out?” Baxter asked. “Is she nervous?”

Felix shrugged with one shoulder, both his hands occupied as he tried to simultaneously eat his breakfast and keep the rag from dripping water on his food. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen her yet today. And as her instructor, I’d say she probably is nervous, but as far as music is concerned, she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

“She’s good.”

“Of course she is,” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t be letting her do this if she wasn’t darned good, but still....” He trailed off, drumming slim fingers on the tabletop.

A sudden insight struck Baxter. Perhaps it should have been obvious before, but sometimes he just needed a little bit of time for the facts to sink in. “Hey. You’re the one who’s really nervous about this, aren’t you?”

Felix shot him a look.

“What? There’s no way you should be worried about your own playing, since you’re a fully-licensed bard with even more years of experience than me. And you just said there was no need to worry about Chesse... what are you worried about, then?”

“I’m worried that you might botch judging the pie contest,” he said smoothly and without hesitation. “It’s a very big responsibility.”

It was obvious even to Baxter that that last statement had been a deflection, but he decided not to push it. After all, it could have been too personal of a question to ask him.

“So it was you who signed me up for that,” Baxter said, feeling altogether sneaky and clever for figuring it out.

“Who, me? Why would I do such a thing?” Felix replied offhandedly, not bothering to look up from his food.

“Huh. I actually don’t know.”

“There you go, then.”

“But--”

They were both spared what promised to be an extremely long and arduous conversation by the sudden appearance of Chesse, her violently curly hair up in pins and wearing a bard-style dress with alternating panels of green and checkered navy and purple. The effect was actually quite nice, apart from the fact that she had chosen to leave her flute behind her ear and she looked a little bit barmy as a result.

But still... nice.

Naturally, Baxter hopped straight to the point and informed her of the flute, first and foremost.

“I know it’s there,” she growled, playfully knocking the instrument against her older friend’s head. “You don’t need to be cheeky.”

“But if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be the me you guys love so much!” Baxter protested.

“Oh, gods. I can practically hear the violins,” Felix groaned, head in his hands.

“Mandolins, you mean.”

“Yes, those too.”

Baxter snorted. “Fair-weather friends... see if I buy you anything nice for festival.”

Chesse grinned, picking at her skirt. “Didn’t you and Felix already chip in to buy me this dress?”

“I don’t recall....” Felix began.

Baxter continued. “Anyways, we expect it back at the end of the day.” Unfortunately, this comment only served to make Baxter a more inviting target for Chesse’s flute. “Okay, okay! You can keep it!”

Chesse grinned, withdrawing. “Thanks for the dress.”

“You’re welcome,” Felix said, Baxter echoing a second behind. “You’ll be fine today. Just do your best and I’ll be very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she said, and Baxter almost... just almost missed the look that passed between them. The look that said that there really was something going on that Baxter wasn’t aware of.

Something that by all means was worth worrying about.

[Rikku]

Finally got around to having time to read Chapter 1! ^__^ Good stuff. As always, entertaining and with lots of clever bits. Love the interaction between the three of them, though that may be my musician's bias coming into play. All the same. <3 Your writing is very readable, y'know? It just trips along nicely like a good story should.

... Aaand now to find time to read Chapter 2. xD

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Eee! I'm glad it's nice and easy to read. ^^ I know it's not going to be full of the stuff that makes a classic or even a piece of serious literature, so it's nice to know it may at least make someone crack a smile a little.

I couldn't resist. It only took a bit of time away from writing, and I love these guys too much.

SPOILER: Click to show

...And Chapter 3

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 3 A Pie is a Gift That Keeps On Giving


Baxter eventually decided that Felix must be secretly in love with Chesse.

He had been thinking long and hard throughout the day, as he juggled and backflipped and conjured up paper butterflies for the children to chase all around the decorated town square, and he had come to the conclusion that if both of his friends were acting weird, the reason for it was probably something personal between them. And as far as Baxter knew (and unfortunately, he lacked experience in this area) love was the prime cause for making two people act strange. All of the great ballads and epic sagas had people going mad for love and doing all sorts of senseless things, like killing themselves the day before they are forced to marry someone who was not their one true love, maiming themselves horribly to prove their affections, or even being reduced to standing outside windows for hours while reciting some of the worst-written sonnets Baxter had ever had the misfortune to hear in order to really get their feelings across.

Luckily, Felix and Chesse didn’t seem quite that crazy (yet)-- they were just a bit off of what was normal and it was actually surprising that Baxter had noticed anything in the first place. But Baxter was at least fairly confident that his friends would not be making any grand gestures or reciting love poetry to each other anytime soon.

However, that’s not to say that this development didn’t worry him slightly. They were his friends after all, and he liked things the way they were. He had a feeling that it would become awkward between the three of them if Chesse and Felix were “together”, and he certainly didn’t want that. Not to mention that there was a fairly significant age gap between the two of them....

“Umm... excuse me Master Crane,” a portly, slightly nervous older gentleman pointed out tactfully, “but you seem to have been savouring that single bite of pie for the last five minutes... is that our winner?”

Baxter snapped back to reality and swallowed the now-soggy morsel of cherry pie he had been holding in his mouth, looking out at the expectant people gathered on the street before him.

“Yes,” he decided. “Yes it is.”

They all tasted pretty much the same anyways.

“And Mrs. Gertrude Pinion’s cherry pie is the winner!” the official exclaimed, to wild applause and the beaming, red-faced joy of a yellow-haired woman with three small children clinging to her skirts.

Baxter couldn’t help but smile; the happiness of others always seemed to effect his moods as well. He stayed just long enough to watch an ecstatic Mrs. Pinion receive a gilded trophy in the shape of a pie and then for her to shove the remaining portions of her winning entry into Baxter’s hands in thanks. He couldn’t afford to stay longer; he didn’t want to be late to the big dance.

So he left the Pie Baking contest one pie richer, already having decided to refuse to share the pie with Felix, since it was his fault Baxter had been forced to judge the competition in the first place. Then he began to wonder if this meant that he should share the pie after all, because if Felix hadn’t set him up to judge it, he wouldn’t have gotten the pie, either.

Which made him wonder if Felix had planned the whole thing just to get free pie.

While he was musing on this particular conundrum, he hadn’t been paying an especially high amount of heed as to where he was walking, and several accidents had barely been avoided through the intervention of people on the streets around Baxter, and not through the bard’s own actions.

So it was a bit of a shock when he actually did bump into someone.

Baxter recovered quickly. “Very sorry miss, I don’t believe I was looking where I was....”

He trailed off because there, right in front of him, stood Gwenna Jay the Traveling Bard. He had, in fact, just run into Gwenna Jay the Traveling Bard.

She seemed casual, for someone who was really making a name for herself all over the kingdom. She was gorgeous, a few years older than Baxter himself with a mass of shoulder-length red hair that softly framed a pretty face and bright green eyes. Despite her looks, however, she wore only plain traveling clothes in greys and dusty browns, rather than colourful dresses and jewels, and her famous lyre was unobtrusively wrapped in strips of cloth and strapped to her back.

The first time Baxter had seen her had been the last year his father had played in the festival. He had been about fourteen at the time, and he assumed Gwenna had been about sixteen. He’d thought her beautiful then, and it seemed that time had only made her more so. He had heard of her exploits sporadically for the last several years, and he suspected that she turned up in Wheathold every year on festival day just to see if the great Benjamin Crane was playing again. He had looked several times, but this was the first time he had actually found her, and it was completely by accident.

“Sorry!” Baxter exclaimed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. He was rarely uncomfortable, and was unaccustomed to how he should act in such a situation.

Gwenna looked him up and down, quietly taking in the bard before her-- bright festival tunic, the missing button on his shirt, worn boots, light brown hair, and all. Recognition flashed in her emerald eyes, and she smiled. “Baxter Crane. What happened to your mandolin... or do I take it that you play the pie now?”

Baxter laughed, shaking off some of his uncertainty with the revelation that she actually recognized him. That was certainly an unexpected pleasure. “I was doing other things this morning, since the music doesn’t start until tonight. I’m just going back home to get my mandolin now. But anyways,” he continued, “Are you here to play tonight, or are you just dropping by?”

Her grin became apologetic. “Just passing by, sorry. I was just wondering if your father was playing at all tonight, so I had to stop by just to see.”

“Ah, he’s not here,” Baxter said, rubbing the back of his head in an embarrassed gesture. “He hasn’t been playing his own music for years now, and he won’t listen to anyone else’s either. He says that contemporary music is soulless and that young people don’t understand the complexities of music as well as the previous generation.”

This should be confirmation to Gwenna’s real question, which was unvoiced because it wasn’t really the most polite thing to be asking. Yes, Benjamin Crane was still living out of a bottle and doing a number of things that would certainly destroy his reputation as a legend.

Gwenna Jay was probably Benjamin Crane’s biggest fan, not that he realized it. She was the one who had started the rumour in the first place, the one that claimed Benjamin Crane was actually dead. Her reasoning here was that, if Benjamin was considered dead, none of his current awful habits would matter, and the legendary status the man had earned in the prime of his life would be secure. A similar stance had been adopted by die-hard Benjamin Crane fans across the kingdom. Despite this, Baxter knew that Gwenna was still holding out for Benjamin’s come-back; where he’d turn around his life, come back into the public eye, and begin performing again.

“Well, if he has so much against contemporary music he’s certainly never heard you play. You’re really quite good,” Gwenna said. “Give it a few years, and you’ll probably be a legend yourself.”

He guffawed at that, simply because it seemed so far from where he was then, and so very unlikely. “Well, I suppose you never know where any of us will be a few years from now. I mean, the last time I say you, you’d only just completed your apprenticeship, and now you’re not exactly a small time bard either.”

“You remembered that.” There was a different tone to her voice now, one that Baxter couldn’t quite decipher.

“Of course, it was the year my father stopped playing.”

She hummed, tapping her toe thoughtfully on the cobblestones. Finally, she said, “Well, if I wasn’t able to hear your father play all these years, it was worth showing up just for the chance to hear one Crane play. You’ve gotten good, and you’ll only get better.” She straightened, leaving her leaning position as she prepared to leave. “I’ve gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you later, but if not...” she grinned, tapping an ear for emphasis, “...I’ll certainly hear you.”

Baxter felt warmth rush to his face, and he dearly hoped that it didn’t show. “Here”, he said to the other bard as he offered the pie in his hands to her. “Genuine Wheathold cherry pie. It’s a prizewinner, you know.”

She actually laughed as she took the pie from him. “Why thank you. What a gentleman you’ve grown into!”

Baxter smiled and waved as she left, feeling an extra burst of elation as she waved back at him. With a sigh, he placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, content to enough with life to simply enjoy the sunset.

Hold on a second. Sunset?

Holy hopping jokefrogs, he was late! He also still needed his mandolin, and Felix would be already there and wondering where Baxter got to because he was just supposed to judge the pie-baking contest, get his mandolin and go straight to Center Square....

In other words, he really had to pick up the pace to get there in time to set up before the dancing started. He didn’t want the fun to start without him.

And he absolutely didn’t want to miss playing for Gwenna.

***

“There you are, my beautiful one,” he said tenderly.

Baxter was very thankful he had had enough foresight to leave his mandolin right inside the front door of Tabitha’s lodgings, so he only had to take a few steps inside the building to grab the instrument, rather than having to run all over the house looking for it. Tabitha herself had already left, probably to gather with the rest of the village at the Square, and there was a note left on Baxter’s cased instrument instructing him to remember to close and lock the door if he was the last one out. Baxter smiled at that, because he probably would have completely forgotten if he hadn’t been reminded.

“Everyone out of here?” Baxter called out, not expecting an answer. He was so late as it was, it was very unlikely Felix or Chesse would be as far behind as him.

But... he could have sworn he heard a clattering upstairs a few seconds after he had spoken.

Baxter’s customary smile fell into something that, if you knew him well enough, could even be considered a frown. Thievery wasn’t unheard of in Wheathold, although it was rare, and most people seldom bothered to lock their doors in a false sense of security. He didn’t want to think that someone--especially someone he may even know-- would enter the house without permission, but it seemed unlikely the sound from upstairs had been made by an occupant. He’d have to investigate.

He set down his mandolin carefully and climbed the stairs, practically wincing every time the old wood creaked before he reminded himself that anyone in the building would know he was there anyways, since he’d just loudly announced his presence. He was only a little bit worried--he was a bard, but a bit of a magicker as well, and he was sure he could pack a decent punch if he really put his mind to it. He was just slightly worried that the intruder might be armed, as Baxter himself was unarmed (there was no way he would use his mandolin as a weapon, whatever the circumstances). He would, quite frankly, sooner die than damage the instrument.

Had the building always been this sinister when it was empty? Baxter couldn’t remember it ever being this quiet, since he was sure that he, Felix, and Chesse consistently made more than enough noise to keep the whole village up some nights.

He halted in his tracks, his ears just picking up the sound of footsteps approaching down the hall, coming from the direction of the bedrooms. The intruder would turn shortly, and come face-to-face with Baxter. Not a particularly happy thought, but it was inevitable.

Baxter steeled himself as the figure came into view.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

I didn't write AT ALL yesterday, and I'm really behind today. I'll have to write like mad today and tomorrow to catch up and maybe even surpass my minimum daily wordcount.

I'm sick of writing a million chapters to explain what just happened in the story, too, but I'll be able to move away from that by the end of the chapter and actually make something new happen.

Here is Chapter 4. It's my shortest chapter so far.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 4 In Which Baxter Makes a Friend


It was Chesse.

After the initial surprise (during which he had, unfortunately, jumped a little bit), Baxter felt his smile returning to it’s proper place at the sight of the familiar figure. So Chesse was just a little bit late, too.

“Shouldn’t you be at the festival already?” he quirked an eyebrow questioningly. “Felix will be wondering where you are.”

“Yeah, well... it’s no big deal,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Just a little bit late, s’all.”

Baxter felt his brows knit slightly. “Hey. Is something wrong? You don’t seem very happy--” Oh, no. Did something happen between her and Felix that was linked to his earlier suspicions? He really hoped not; the show was due to start soon.

“I’m fine.”

“But you’ve been really looking forward to playing tonight, so I just find it a little bit worrisome that you weren't over there long ago,” Baxter protested, concerned. “Look, I just want to help you. Did something happen?”

Chesse grimaced. “Look, Baxter. I guess I’m just not really excited to play tonight because it’s not like it’s much new... I mean, it’s not exactly a rare occurrence that I play the flute. I’m looking forward to it as much as I would any performance. And I’m just a bit late getting there because I was fixing up my hair.”

“Really? But it’s your first solo... and you never go out of your way to do your hair. Aren’t you always bragging that ‘once in the morning is enough’.”

“Well, I’m really excited about the solo and I want everything to be perfect, so I ran back here and made sure my hair wouldn’t get in my eyes while I was playing,” she finished, brushing right by Baxter on her path to the stairs.

The mandolin player stood in place for a few seconds, running through the conversation in his head. He wasn’t the most clever person in the world, but even he could tell that something wasn’t adding up properly. Something was definitely wrong with Chesse.

But now, Baxter wasn’t sure if it really had that much to do with true love.

“Look,” Baxter said as he turned and began following her down the stairs. “I know you’re just a kid but you have to be at least mature enough to recognize that I’m a friend who’s trying to help. You’re not acting the same, and it’s actually kind of scary that you don’t seem to trust me.”

“Do go on,” she said in a tone he had never heard Chesse use before.

“Look, I’ve just about had it with this,” the older bard hissed, catching up to Chesse as she entered the small kitchen and grabbing her shoulder. He spun her around to face him, ignoring the angry yelp she gave and trying to meet her eyes. “All you’ve been doing is....”

He trailed off, blinking in incomprehension at what he was seeing. He still held the girl in place, but his thought process had kind of derailed after meeting her eyes.

Chesse had brown eyes, Baxter knew. He had seen them nearly every day for about two years now.

But this Chesse-- this unfriendly one who wouldn’t talk to him and didn’t act at all like she should be acting-- had eyes of a very pale silver.

“What....” Baxter ground out. “Who are... you’re not Chesse--”

A massive force impacted his chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall. He struck it and crumpled, breathless and unable to believe that the small, slight figure before him was capable of such strength. He stood before he fully recovered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while sizing up the other individual. She looked completely unruffled from delivering a punch like that, while on the receiving end, Baxter felt like he’s been trampled by a few dozen galloping horses.

“What have you done with Chesse?” he snarled. “If anything happens to her, I swear that--”

“Oh, come on.” The Chesse-lookalike tossed back her hair and looked at him with a weary loathing. “Just for the record, Baxter-the-bard, you may be capable of many fine things like singing and dancing and whatever other irrelevant pastimes are out there, but I’m on a mission, and I, unlike you, also happen to know how to hold my own in a fight. You’re not in a position to demand anything from me.”

Despite the impersonator’s words, Baxter could tell that she enjoyed being in control, and liked the power of knowing things that he didn’t. He hazarded a guess that she had an oversized ego and was just itching to tell him exactly why she was better than him.

So he decided to try to keep her talking. Fighting would probably not prove profitable for him, and his current fear for Chesse--wherever she was now--far outweighed anything he might feel for himself.

“Where is Chesse now?”

She smirked nastily, and Baxter decided that he hated that expression on his friend’s face. “Gone.”

“Is she all right? Did you hurt Felix?” He pressed on.

A yawn. “Your questions suck almost as much as your boorish, nice-guy persona.”

She was enjoying this, taunting him. And that made Baxter snap, for the first time ever.

“To Hell with this,” he growled, making his way towards the door. “I’ll find them myself, if it takes all bloody night. I don’t need to be held up by some prissy little--”

He was pushed back into the wall, facing the thing in Chesse’s likeness, but unlike last time, she opted to hold him there. Still a bit amazed at her impossible strength, he gave into the urge to take his gaze off her furious face and direct it down, towards where she kept her hand pressed against his chest.

Her hand didn’t even look human. The only thing it even came close to resembling was a mass of some kind of liquid--like water, but thicker and more opaque. It didn’t seem to be something she would be manipulating around herself magically, either, if the smooth transition between light brown flesh and the pale liquid was any indication. It was almost like the silver portion of her arm was as much a part of her as her skin was.

“Did you really think you could leave?” she hissed at a wide-eyed Baxter. “You never had any part in the plan, so if you would’ve just been a good little mudcrawler and not been so darned pushy and nosy, you might’ve lived--”

Baxter shoved her roughly off of him, somewhat doubting that he would be able to accomplish it, but she was off-balance and, despite all her strength, she wasn’t very heavy. She stumbled back only a few feet before hissing at him and lunging forward, seemingly prepared to...dissolve?

Baxter could do little more than watch in horror as Chesse’s form changed, losing colour and solidity as the intruder moved, before her entire body was just one mass of the same silver liquid her arm had been made of. But it was still changing, regaining a defined shape and turning solid again...as a rattlesnake.

The newly-created snake latched onto his arm, sinking dripping fangs deep into his flesh. Baxter cried out in pain and grabbed the snake, no thoughts running through his mind as he instinctively pulled at the offending creature, trying to dislodge it through brute force alone as the snake deepened its bite.

Reaching around to the counter behind him, Baxter’s hand came into contact with the heavy metal skillet Tabitha had used to make them breakfast that very morning. Approaching desperation and nearly drunk on the pain in his arm, he picked up the pan by the handle and brought it crashing down on his arm, striking the snake’s head and finally knocking it free of his flesh. The animal dropped to the floor, stunned.

Although his arm was screaming in pain-- he’d have a huge bruise to go with the bite, if he lived-- Baxter pulled an empty earthenware cookie jar off a shelf with his good hand and placed it down on the floor. Then he knelt painfully, dropped the snake in the jar and closed the lid, barely conscious enough to mutter “Glus” under his breath, thereby sealing the snake in its prison with a simple spell.

As the room began to grow darker, Baxter only had enough time to briefly wonder why the snake had appeared to have a marking in the shape of the number 9 on its back before he was out cold.

[Rikku]

Am finally caught up and enjoying it greatly. <3

... I firmly approve of the use of kitchen utensils as weapons against fiendish shapeshifting goop.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Yay! Rikku approves!

Well, I'm glad you liked that, because the next three chapters will probably suck. Exposition, much?

But it was necessary.

SPOILER: Click to show

CHAPTER 5 Felix Tells All

Falling unconscious had been easy. It was soft and gentle and a welcome respite from the torture his body had been put through. He had been able to relax and forget about everything that had been troubling him, and just allow himself to drift. Really, being knocked out wasn’t so much of a bad thing as it was always made out to be in the songs.

It was waking up again that was a real pain.

His arm (and his shoulder, neck, and at least halfway down his ribcage) was one great mass of agony, his head was foggy and his eyes seemed unable to focus. He really wanted nothing more than to fall unconscious again, but his brain clicked on just as he was preparing to do so.

The intruder. Chesse. Felix.

Baxter’s eyes snapped open, and he made a daring yet sadly misguided attempt to sit up, which resulted in him falling back down on the bed (how had he gotten to a bed, anyways?) and jarring his injured arm. He howled, startling awake someone who was sleeping in a chair next to his bed.

“Oh, you’re finally up now,” his visitor said, and Baxter turned to face him just to be sure he wasn’t just imagining the voice. He wasn’t; it really was a bleary-eyed Felix who was keeping him company.

Baxter blinked several times, overrun with emotions. Relief that Felix was safe and that he himself wasn’t dying, confusion at any number of things and outright panic that he couldn’t see Chesse in the room with them....

“Hey, hey. Calm down--it’s going to be okay,” Felix said, making placating gestures as Baxter made motions that suggested he was about to start panicking. “You’re fine now. In your own room and everything.”

Baxter settled down slightly at Felix’s soothing tone and the fact that he was in familiar settings. There was still plenty to worry about, but he was determined to at least try not to let it overwhelm him. Honestly, he was feeling kind of pathetic at being so useless at fighting and getting information out of the intruder that he was quite sure his self-esteem might just shrivel up and die if he ended off the fiasco by crying like a little girl.

Instead, he settled for a question and was careful not to let his voice crack as he asked it.

“What happened?”

Felix sighed softly, tangling both his hands in medium-length blonde locks. “That’s a question I should really be asking you, Bax. I’m not the one who showed up bleeding and dying on the kitchen floor.”

“I know, but please. Just tell me what happened to you,” Baxter pushed. “I’ll tell you my side after.”

The sitar player sat in silence for a moment or two, before shrugging. “Not much to say. I showed up at the Center Square and almost everyone was already there. You were missing, but I know how easy it is for you to get sidetracked and I’d even kind of suspected beforehand that you would, so I wasn’t worried. Chesse wasn’t there either, but I had only just seen her about fifteen minutes previously and she’d just wanted to take a look at the booth with all the exotic animals before it closed for the night, so I thought she’d be right over.

“So I waited, and the audience waited as well because I couldn’t very well play the songs we’d decided on myself, and after you were both really late I started to get worried. So I went back to the house to look for the two of you. I found you on the floor of the kitchen, and at first I was sure you were dead because it would be just like you to have the audacity to die bleeding, tragic-looking, and clutching a cookie jar with your last ounce of strength--” he continued drily, as Baxter actually managed to crack a grin, “--but you were still alive after all, so I called in Goldfen the doctor and he came and treated that bite of yours. It was very bad, and he told me to tell you that you’re darned lucky to be alive right now.”

“What about Chesse?” Baxter asked, changing the subject with a wave of his hand. This was more important. “Have you seen her?”

Felix shook his head regretfully. “Not since the festival night, two days ago. Yeah, you have been out for awhile.” He stopped talking, looking over Baxter’s head at the street outside the window. “Your turn,” he decided.

“My turn for what?”

“Did you just decide to pick a fight with a poisonous snake for fun? What happened to you?” Felix asked.

“Umm....”

Truthfully, he was kind of hesitant to mention it, because it was embarrassing, but Felix had a right to know. Chesse was his friend, too.

So Baxter explained everything, leaving nothing out of his story from getting sidetracked by Gwenna all the way to his resoundingly pathetic fight against the Chesse impostor. Felix looked incredulous during some parts, but he never made a protest or gave any other hint that he doubted Baxter’s words.

When Baxter had finished relaying his side of the story, Felix sighed and turned away. “So she’s gone, then.” His head dropped into his hands. “darn it,” he cursed.

“You mean Chesse?” Baxter asked, confused. When the sitar player said it like that, it almost seemed as though he had seen this coming on some level and had been steeling himself for the possibility for a long time. Baxter wondered if this had anything to do with Felix’s whatever-it-was with Chesse, and decided that, at this point, there was nothing else to do but call him out on it.

“So... I know this must be hard for you,” Baxter began innocently enough, wondering how easy it was going to be to get Felix to confess. “Especially with how you felt for Chesse and all....”

Either that was suspicious, or there was something off in his tone of voice, because Felix’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘how I felt’? Are you insinuating I had feelings for Chesse that were not purely platonic?”

“Ummm... yeah?”

“Stupid Baxter!” Felix shouted, picking up an unused pillow of of Baxter’s bed and whacking him in the face with it. He raised it again in a threatening manner, and Baxter waved his hands pleadingly. “I’m still hurt! Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you....” he trailed off. “But were you in love with Chesse?”

Felix made a slightly strangled sound in his throat. “Chesse is my student, Baxter! That’s just totally inappropriate... not to mention plain strange, since I’m several years older than her. I’m older than you, so you should know that!”

“Okay, okay!” Baxter attempted to calm a hissing and spluttering Felix, “I just drew a conclusion and ran with it. And you can’t really blame me--it made sense at the time. And come to think of it, it explained some things that I couldn’t think of how else to explain, and now there are a bunch of things I don’t understand again!”

“There are many things you don’t understand,” Felix said with a withering stare, still put out at Baxter’s implications.

“Aww, come on. Stop being mean,” Baxter said. “It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, and I already apologized. So can we... move on?”

Felix sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Ask.”

Baxter gnawed his bottom lip, wondering how to best phrase his question. “You and Chesse... you’ve been hiding something from me.”

“Yes.”

“For a very long time.”

“Yes.”

“For as long as I’ve known you?”

“Yes. Ask better questions,” Felix said through gritted teeth.

Baxter winced. “When things get back to normal--if they get back to normal--remind me that we should work on people skills with you. Anyways... yes I’m continuing now... geez. Okay. Why Chesse?”

“Huh?”

“I think Chesse has been kidnapped,” Baxter explained. It was a theory he was quite confident in, despite the fact that he’d been so completely wrong about his suspicions regarding Felix. “The... the thing that was pretending to be her was probably left in her place while whoever took her got away. I just asked you if you know why they’d choose to kidnap a bard apprentice out of anyone out there.”

“That,” Felix said eventually, “was the right question. Chesse isn’t just a bard apprentice.”

“She’s not? What else is she, then?” Baxter asked.

Felix grimaced, rubbing the back of his head in discomfort. “She’s kind of... that is, she’s... you know Duke Peregrine?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah, the nobility that controls this area. He’s supposed to uphold the law and keep the Blood Mages under control, but he hasn’t been doing that in years.”

“Seven years.”

“I guess.”

“Because...?”

“Because... because his daughter ran away, and he’s still really depressed about that,” Baxter recalled triumphantly. “But what does that have to do with... are you okay?”

Felix looked downright embarrassed

[/b]. “Chesse is his missing daughter.”

Baxter blinked, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He blinked again.

“What?” he asked, almost thinking he hadn’t heard right.

“It wasn’t fair for Chesse there. He father loved her in his own way, sure, but he wasn’t the most attentive parent in the world and he wouldn’t give her the freedom to make her own decisions. She loved music, and he would never let her play, so she ran off and joined the Bard Guild under a fake name and when she became my apprentice, she told me and I promised not to tell anyone, even though her father was still looking and he was neglecting his job the entire time she was gone....” Felix babbled in a panic, and Baxter found himself a bit bewildered at the mess of new information. He was still only just processing the fact that Chesse--saucy, little-sister Chesse--was the child of nobility.

“We tried keeping a low profile in the cities, but I was too well-known and we kept drawing attention,” Felix continued, calming down slightly as he spoke. “So then we went into the country, where there were fewer Falcons and we weren’t as popular, and that’s how we ended up in Wheathold. We stayed hidden really well here, and Chesse was really excited because she was finally going to be able to perform solo in public, which was something she could never have dreamed of doing in the city because she would’ve been recognized, but even here we were kind of worried someone would figure it out. Looks like we weren’t paranoid enough, though, if she was found out and taken away before she managed to make a solo performance.” Felix was silent after that, and Baxter assumed he had finished.

There was only one question that had to be asked after that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Baxter asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. He had never dreamed they kept so much from him, and it was painful to think that he wasn’t in their confidence. “Didn’t you trust me?”

Felix looked at him. “Of course we do. You’re a good friend to us, Baxter.”

“Then why?”

Drawing his knees up to his chest, the skinny sitar player answered, “Because... things might’ve changed, I guess. We liked the way things were--you know, finally working for us and we liked playing music with you and goofing around, and stuff. Didn’t want you to change, either... kind of selfish, huh?”

“It’s okay”

Felix looked up. “Really? You’re not angry?”

“A little, maybe, but it’s not important. I wouldn’t have wanted things to change, either, so who knows--maybe I’d have done the same thing.” Baxter said truthfully. “But now... I just want to get Chesse back.”

“How are we going to do that?” Felix asked as Baxter sat up with a pained hiss.

The mandolin player cracked a lopsided grin. “I kind of thought I’d ask our friend in the cookie jar.”[/spoiler]