UnShaekable (FFXII)

I) Thief's Luck

"Oh, bloody %^&*," I mutter under my breath, leaning around a corner with my heart hammering in my chest. "Not this again." The guards pacing the halls of Rabanastre's palace are perfectly spaced, the handiwork of Vayne Carudas Solidor's careful consideration. I sigh, straightening and pressing my back to the ornate wall of the palace as two guards walk by, their armor clinking with every step. Why so many guard's when you're "not afraid?"

The clinking turns the corner around the outer wall of the room I'm outside and I slide around the corner. I can't go in circles for much longer. Frustrated, I throw my head back, eyes shut as I take a deep breath. Footsteps, the hum of conversation upstairs, the thud of my heart. There must be another way... My eyes open and a smile spreads across my face. All hope may not be lost after all. I pull my lance free from its place on my back, slamming the pointed spearhead into the wall. There's a dull thud as it pierces through, lodged amongst golden swirls and deep green accents.

I pull myself up onto the polearm, tugging the ceiling vent open and swinging my legs into the opening. Dangling upside down like a lithe child, I jerk my weapon free, littering the floor with white crumbles, and cover the hole I escaped through a mere second before the guards come rushing in to see what caused such a ruckus. Grinning, I strap my spear to my back and crawl through the narrow space between the ceiling and the top floor. Perhaps next time, my friends. Avoiding trouble with the empire may just be an inherent skill of mine.

I know I've reached the right place when a golden glow bleeds through the next grater, reflecting off the shine of the empire's gold and jewels. The treasury. Voices hum from below; I debate interrupting the goings-on between the two speakers. I should have known others would find out about the cache of riches in Rabanastre of all places.

Normally, I avoid trouble at all costs, as it always gravitates toward me anyway. However, I simply cannot bear the idea that whoever beat me to it(with whatever cheating methods they used) gets the benefits of first pick. No, piracy isn't all first come, first served. Most often it's whoever survives the encounter that gets the prize. At least, that's how I play the game. Silently, I push the grate out of the way and take a deep breathe, clocking out their locations based on low voices.

"I play the leading man, who else?"

Without further hesitation, I drop from the ceiling, holding the end of my spear to the throat of the beholder of a glowing treasure. The boy before me looks startled, his fingers clutching tightly around the stone in his grasp.

"Hand it over and you may just leave intact," I demand in a sickeningly sweet voice, offering a devilish smile.

"Fran, the magicite," another voice comes. My smile melts away as I look between the two other figures in the room. One, a towering viera with snow-white hair and deadly claws. The other a young man in a gold vest and leather pants with pouches strapped here and there. I scowl as the viera, Fran, rests a hand on her hip, staring hard at the boy.

"Now then, I'll take that," she says firmly through a thick, tell-tale accent.

"No, you won't," the boy replies, holding the stone to his chest. "I found it. It's mine."

"That's not how it works, kid," I shake my head, digging the point of my weapon further into his tanned throat.

"And then when I take it from you, it'll be mine," the man replies, ignoring my words entirely. He leans against a locked chest, crossing his arms. The viera joins his side. I scoff, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

"Not a chance."

"And you are...?" the man counters, raising an eyebrow.

"None of your business," I fire back. Outside, the echoes of a struggle break through. I look back at the wall, frowning. The end of my spear clatters to the floor, and when I turn back, the boy is gone, a pair of doors swinging loosely behind him. "Fantastic," I scoff, throwing my spear back into its sheath and glowering at the two behind me before giving chase to the thief. They reek of my kind.