Uncharted Territory
Jan. 28th, 2023 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shinonFandom: Final Fantasy VI
Characters: Locke, Edgar
Word count: ~1800
Warnings: Strong language, pet death mention
Notes:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genprompt_bingo - "Maps." Post-canon.
Locke was running out of excuses to stick around, and just as quickly - though he knew better than to say this - running out of patience with the Figaro brand of hospitality.
"No, really," he'd say, "I'm a big boy, I can handle myself," but still everywhere he went castle staff would materialize to offer him snacks or an escort somewhere or advise him on locally available entertainments. "I come here a lot!" he'd say. "I've known the king for eight years!" This also had no effect. He hardly recognized any of the people doing it, either - most of the castle's familiar faces from the world before had been trapped underground for a year and had jumped on Edgar's offer to rotate to new positions elsewhere. See the sun. Look for what might remain of their families out of town. Couldn't hold that against them. And you couldn't blame the new blood if they didn't know what to do about Locke -
("It's the damnedest thing," Edgar said once, innocently. "Someone seems to have told them you're a thief.")
- because that part was all on Edgar. But it wasn't anybody's fault if Edgar himself was too busy doing royal junk, and too responsible to drop it at a moment's notice and hang out like they used to. If he was the kind of guy who'd do that, Locke told himself, You wouldn't like him as much.
So - okay, no. There was no bad guy here. Just this weird feeling of being both smothered and a little neglected - and a bit of "damn, when did I get this high-maintenance?" - and that meant it was time to go.
How to make an exit, though, that was the question. Maybe because he was pushing thirty, maybe because too many people had vanished in the past few years, but the old standby of "nick something and go out a window, snarky farewell note optional" was starting to feel in poor taste. But what was the other option? Fight tooth and claw for a moment alone with His Majesty just to say, "hey, your kingdom's kinda boring me, catch ya later"?
Early afternoon, ambling along the parapets (on the shady side, thanks), Locke was waved down by one of his several extra shadows, a young guardswoman. "His Majesty invites you to join him for breakfast."
"What, tomorrow?"
"In half an hour."
Locke squinted pointedly up toward the white-hot afternoon sun. "Great hour for breakfast."
"That's the message I was given."
"Okay, whatever. Tell him I'll be there."
If anyone was growing coffee beans, here in the world after the end, they sure weren't selling it to anyone. So Edgar's customary small cups of deathly bitter black sludge were gone from the breakfast table - hadn't been there in over a year - replaced with big mugs of reddish tea that smelled, charitably, like a gods-damn brushfire. "It's the best we can do at the moment," Edgar said, nudging a tray of amendments toward him, "doctor it however you want, you won't hurt my feelings." Locke wasn't sure how honey or some kinda plant-based cream substitute could possibly improve the experience, so he demurred. At least there was pretty normal flatbread, and pretty normal fruit preserves. Locke helped himself and made friendly banter like always, remembering weird hours and slapdash meals together on the Falcon, when they'd all been maybe doomed and there hadn't been much of a castle to run.
And Edgar said, "You'll be leaving soon, right?"
Locke blinked. "I never said -"
"You don't have to. In your shoes I'd have left days ago." Edgar smiled, but there was something wry and restrained about it. Locke thought, He's never leaving this place again. "Flattered as I am that you're still here - no need to explain, you're held in thrall by my personal magnetism, it happens to everyone -"
"Like hell -"
Edgar talked over him: "As gratefully as I accept your tribute" - and in a less grandiose tone - "it's hardly fair of me to keep you. We'll have other, and better, opportunities to chat, after..." He trailed off, frowning, like he was consulting a calendar projected on the inside of his head.
Locke said, quietly, "We will, right? You're not just saying that?"
"After the solstice," Edgar said, "and that's a promise. You can kidnap me if I default. In the meantime" - and he reached under his chair to produce a hide-bound packet of papers, an inch or two thick. The papers themselves were an irregular jumble, all odd sizes and torn edges and signs of recent crumpling. Edgar said, "I wondered if I could offer you a quest."
Locke's treasure-hunter instincts went ping. "I do like quests," he deadpanned, with what was supposed to be a nonchalant sip of tea, except the tea was still so damn nasty he barely kept a straight face.
"Would you believe I've noticed that about you?" Edgar half rose from his seat to hold the file out to Locke. Locke, asking no questions, accepted it. Edgar sat back down, spread pine nut paste on bread, and didn't disturb him for the next minute or two while he poked through whatever this was.
"Maps, huh?" Locke said finally.
"I've been buying 'em off people for a few years now." Pause for thought. Horrible smarmy eyebrow raise. "Well - mostly buying them off girls. I have fewer credible excuses to cold approach the gentlemen."
"Sure you do," Locke muttered. Last he'd checked, Edgar hadn't had any particular objections to cock. "Couple years, you said?"
"I started a little after the Day of Judgment, yes. These should all reflect the world in its present state - as filtered through the memories and drawing hands of the survivors, of course."
And yeah, those drawing hands varied a bunch. Some maps were clear and specific, had a defined scope, pointing out interesting changes to the face of the land or caches of useful materials. Some were confused squiggles. One said in childish hand THIS IS WHERE WE BURIED MY DOG JANNY, IF YOU COME BY HERE LEAVE HER TREATS, SHE IS A GOOD GIRL, and that was fine, that was cool, Locke had totally come in here prepared to cry at two P.M. on a Wednesday. That poor fucking kid. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again he had to look at something else. Here somebody had drawn a diagram of good places to ford a river, although which river was anyone's guess.
"I was wondering," Edgar said, "if you might care to investigate some of these. Since you travel widely anyway, maybe you can match them up to real locations... make corrections as needed... and provided you keep coming back and telling me about it, naturally any treasure you find is yours."
Locke looked at the maps spread out before him. Then he looked at Edgar. "These aren't things people would just have on them. You asked them to draw stuff for you."
"What about it?"
"You asked them," he said, thinking through the timing, "when you were playing thief lord?"
"Information gathering."
"Bull. You're a sap, is what you are. I dunno how you didn't blow your cover a dozen times over."
Edgar drew back, offended. But it was easy to imagine. This guy, staring into the face of something he couldn't fix and not wanting to admit it. Not knowing what to say to people in distress, not having any reassurances to offer, but unable to walk away, he'd have handed them writing tools and said, "Okay, show me where you've been."
Maybe it had helped.
Edgar said, "Listen -"
"Did you put the dog one in there on purpose?"
"You think I'm manipulating you?"
"I think you know what a done deal looks like."
"I haven't added or removed anything to or from that file. Keep going through it and you'll find worse, I promise you."
"Well, fuck me, then," said Locke, sitting back, "what kind of quest is this supposed to be?"
Edgar said mildly, "I'd do it myself, but..."
Locke winced. "Yeah, yeah. I didn't say I wouldn't take it." For purposes of a break in the conversation, he got to work on some of those cucumber slices in yogurt sauce, and he didn't speak again until he felt like enough time had passed that it would sound casual. "Got any favorites?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, if you were doing it yourself." He waved vaguely with a cucumber slice. Cucumbers were orange now, in the new world, but that was just something you had to get used to. They still tasted mostly the same. "You've had these for a while. What's the one you're... second-most curious about?"
Edgar frowned. "Second-most? Bit arbitrary -"
"Well, yeah, I'll save the biggest one for another time. Wouldn't be fair if I did it without you."
Edgar's eyes widened. Just a little. For just a second.
Locke said, so casually, "You helped save the world, y'know. If anyone says you haven't done enough to earn a break now and then, tell me who and I'll break their kneecaps. We're having adventures again, okay? Count on it."
Edgar stared at him, for so long he started to think he'd overplayed that one. There was no need for the Returners anymore. They weren't tied together by any kind of all-consuming mission now. Figaro was the most technologically advanced nation in a world gone to shit, and Edgar was in charge of Figaro, and responsible for all that power and everybody's welfare. Things were different now. Maybe a regular guy like Locke wasn't supposed to have the kind of leeway, these days, to say Hey Your Majesty are you getting kinda hemmed in here? Let's go exploring. Let's go get some beers.
But - what else was he supposed to do? Pretend they weren't friends? Pretend not to notice when a friend needed help?
Edgar said, slowly, "I don't have many kneecaps to spare."
"Then you'll come with me next time?"
"I'd like nothing more."
"That's not actually a 'yes.'" He leaned forward, across all the maps and bread and vegetables and stuff, and said, "Look me in the eye and tell me yes or no."
"Twist my arm, why don't you," Edgar said. He leaned forward, too, and grabbed one of the maps out of Locke's spread. "All right. Yes. And I have dibs on this one."
Take a couple, Locke wanted to say, We'll have more than one trip. But he didn't want to push it. He didn't want to be told no, or waste this big stupid feeling of relief. So they had breakfast. So Edgar had that map in reserve. He'd take things as they came.
Characters: Locke, Edgar
Word count: ~1800
Warnings: Strong language, pet death mention
Notes:
genprompt_bingo - "Maps." Post-canon.Locke was running out of excuses to stick around, and just as quickly - though he knew better than to say this - running out of patience with the Figaro brand of hospitality.
"No, really," he'd say, "I'm a big boy, I can handle myself," but still everywhere he went castle staff would materialize to offer him snacks or an escort somewhere or advise him on locally available entertainments. "I come here a lot!" he'd say. "I've known the king for eight years!" This also had no effect. He hardly recognized any of the people doing it, either - most of the castle's familiar faces from the world before had been trapped underground for a year and had jumped on Edgar's offer to rotate to new positions elsewhere. See the sun. Look for what might remain of their families out of town. Couldn't hold that against them. And you couldn't blame the new blood if they didn't know what to do about Locke -
("It's the damnedest thing," Edgar said once, innocently. "Someone seems to have told them you're a thief.")
- because that part was all on Edgar. But it wasn't anybody's fault if Edgar himself was too busy doing royal junk, and too responsible to drop it at a moment's notice and hang out like they used to. If he was the kind of guy who'd do that, Locke told himself, You wouldn't like him as much.
So - okay, no. There was no bad guy here. Just this weird feeling of being both smothered and a little neglected - and a bit of "damn, when did I get this high-maintenance?" - and that meant it was time to go.
How to make an exit, though, that was the question. Maybe because he was pushing thirty, maybe because too many people had vanished in the past few years, but the old standby of "nick something and go out a window, snarky farewell note optional" was starting to feel in poor taste. But what was the other option? Fight tooth and claw for a moment alone with His Majesty just to say, "hey, your kingdom's kinda boring me, catch ya later"?
Early afternoon, ambling along the parapets (on the shady side, thanks), Locke was waved down by one of his several extra shadows, a young guardswoman. "His Majesty invites you to join him for breakfast."
"What, tomorrow?"
"In half an hour."
Locke squinted pointedly up toward the white-hot afternoon sun. "Great hour for breakfast."
"That's the message I was given."
"Okay, whatever. Tell him I'll be there."
If anyone was growing coffee beans, here in the world after the end, they sure weren't selling it to anyone. So Edgar's customary small cups of deathly bitter black sludge were gone from the breakfast table - hadn't been there in over a year - replaced with big mugs of reddish tea that smelled, charitably, like a gods-damn brushfire. "It's the best we can do at the moment," Edgar said, nudging a tray of amendments toward him, "doctor it however you want, you won't hurt my feelings." Locke wasn't sure how honey or some kinda plant-based cream substitute could possibly improve the experience, so he demurred. At least there was pretty normal flatbread, and pretty normal fruit preserves. Locke helped himself and made friendly banter like always, remembering weird hours and slapdash meals together on the Falcon, when they'd all been maybe doomed and there hadn't been much of a castle to run.
And Edgar said, "You'll be leaving soon, right?"
Locke blinked. "I never said -"
"You don't have to. In your shoes I'd have left days ago." Edgar smiled, but there was something wry and restrained about it. Locke thought, He's never leaving this place again. "Flattered as I am that you're still here - no need to explain, you're held in thrall by my personal magnetism, it happens to everyone -"
"Like hell -"
Edgar talked over him: "As gratefully as I accept your tribute" - and in a less grandiose tone - "it's hardly fair of me to keep you. We'll have other, and better, opportunities to chat, after..." He trailed off, frowning, like he was consulting a calendar projected on the inside of his head.
Locke said, quietly, "We will, right? You're not just saying that?"
"After the solstice," Edgar said, "and that's a promise. You can kidnap me if I default. In the meantime" - and he reached under his chair to produce a hide-bound packet of papers, an inch or two thick. The papers themselves were an irregular jumble, all odd sizes and torn edges and signs of recent crumpling. Edgar said, "I wondered if I could offer you a quest."
Locke's treasure-hunter instincts went ping. "I do like quests," he deadpanned, with what was supposed to be a nonchalant sip of tea, except the tea was still so damn nasty he barely kept a straight face.
"Would you believe I've noticed that about you?" Edgar half rose from his seat to hold the file out to Locke. Locke, asking no questions, accepted it. Edgar sat back down, spread pine nut paste on bread, and didn't disturb him for the next minute or two while he poked through whatever this was.
"Maps, huh?" Locke said finally.
"I've been buying 'em off people for a few years now." Pause for thought. Horrible smarmy eyebrow raise. "Well - mostly buying them off girls. I have fewer credible excuses to cold approach the gentlemen."
"Sure you do," Locke muttered. Last he'd checked, Edgar hadn't had any particular objections to cock. "Couple years, you said?"
"I started a little after the Day of Judgment, yes. These should all reflect the world in its present state - as filtered through the memories and drawing hands of the survivors, of course."
And yeah, those drawing hands varied a bunch. Some maps were clear and specific, had a defined scope, pointing out interesting changes to the face of the land or caches of useful materials. Some were confused squiggles. One said in childish hand THIS IS WHERE WE BURIED MY DOG JANNY, IF YOU COME BY HERE LEAVE HER TREATS, SHE IS A GOOD GIRL, and that was fine, that was cool, Locke had totally come in here prepared to cry at two P.M. on a Wednesday. That poor fucking kid. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again he had to look at something else. Here somebody had drawn a diagram of good places to ford a river, although which river was anyone's guess.
"I was wondering," Edgar said, "if you might care to investigate some of these. Since you travel widely anyway, maybe you can match them up to real locations... make corrections as needed... and provided you keep coming back and telling me about it, naturally any treasure you find is yours."
Locke looked at the maps spread out before him. Then he looked at Edgar. "These aren't things people would just have on them. You asked them to draw stuff for you."
"What about it?"
"You asked them," he said, thinking through the timing, "when you were playing thief lord?"
"Information gathering."
"Bull. You're a sap, is what you are. I dunno how you didn't blow your cover a dozen times over."
Edgar drew back, offended. But it was easy to imagine. This guy, staring into the face of something he couldn't fix and not wanting to admit it. Not knowing what to say to people in distress, not having any reassurances to offer, but unable to walk away, he'd have handed them writing tools and said, "Okay, show me where you've been."
Maybe it had helped.
Edgar said, "Listen -"
"Did you put the dog one in there on purpose?"
"You think I'm manipulating you?"
"I think you know what a done deal looks like."
"I haven't added or removed anything to or from that file. Keep going through it and you'll find worse, I promise you."
"Well, fuck me, then," said Locke, sitting back, "what kind of quest is this supposed to be?"
Edgar said mildly, "I'd do it myself, but..."
Locke winced. "Yeah, yeah. I didn't say I wouldn't take it." For purposes of a break in the conversation, he got to work on some of those cucumber slices in yogurt sauce, and he didn't speak again until he felt like enough time had passed that it would sound casual. "Got any favorites?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, if you were doing it yourself." He waved vaguely with a cucumber slice. Cucumbers were orange now, in the new world, but that was just something you had to get used to. They still tasted mostly the same. "You've had these for a while. What's the one you're... second-most curious about?"
Edgar frowned. "Second-most? Bit arbitrary -"
"Well, yeah, I'll save the biggest one for another time. Wouldn't be fair if I did it without you."
Edgar's eyes widened. Just a little. For just a second.
Locke said, so casually, "You helped save the world, y'know. If anyone says you haven't done enough to earn a break now and then, tell me who and I'll break their kneecaps. We're having adventures again, okay? Count on it."
Edgar stared at him, for so long he started to think he'd overplayed that one. There was no need for the Returners anymore. They weren't tied together by any kind of all-consuming mission now. Figaro was the most technologically advanced nation in a world gone to shit, and Edgar was in charge of Figaro, and responsible for all that power and everybody's welfare. Things were different now. Maybe a regular guy like Locke wasn't supposed to have the kind of leeway, these days, to say Hey Your Majesty are you getting kinda hemmed in here? Let's go exploring. Let's go get some beers.
But - what else was he supposed to do? Pretend they weren't friends? Pretend not to notice when a friend needed help?
Edgar said, slowly, "I don't have many kneecaps to spare."
"Then you'll come with me next time?"
"I'd like nothing more."
"That's not actually a 'yes.'" He leaned forward, across all the maps and bread and vegetables and stuff, and said, "Look me in the eye and tell me yes or no."
"Twist my arm, why don't you," Edgar said. He leaned forward, too, and grabbed one of the maps out of Locke's spread. "All right. Yes. And I have dibs on this one."
Take a couple, Locke wanted to say, We'll have more than one trip. But he didn't want to push it. He didn't want to be told no, or waste this big stupid feeling of relief. So they had breakfast. So Edgar had that map in reserve. He'd take things as they came.
