“L–Lucy, woah! What’s the big idea!?”
There’s a shriek and the clatter of equipment as the King is violently jerked out of his saddle without warning. He lands hard on his back when his bird rears up and throws him off in the same motion, clearly spooked by… Something.
Winded and altogether startled, Edgar rolls onto his side with a wheeze. He slowly stumbles back up onto his feet, moving to re-establish some sort of control over his wayward Chocobo. Muttering a curse or two under his breath, the King attempts to reign in his feather-brained companion and groans when she doesn’t obey, annoyed by the sudden halt in the progress they’d made on the way between South Figaro and the Castle.
“Oh, Luce, you big baby… There isn’t anything here to fear.”
Naturally, Edgar is keen to get back to his people as quickly as he can. Back to where he belongs... As soon as he can get his companion calm enough to safely remount again, of course, and he takes the time to run his fingers gently through Lucy’s long, feathered neck in an attempt to soothe her fears.
Ah, but the longer he struggles with his bird, the more he begins to understand that something may indeed be very wrong. Lucy’s never usually this timid, ( in fact, she’s almost always well-behaved, as one might expect from a Royal Mount ) and she usually even borders on being a tad too boisterous and overconfident for her own good.
So, this behavior right here? It is completely unlike her, and he eventually decides he should heed her warning and keep a sharp eye out, ready to let his companion run loose at a moments notice. Animals have far keener instincts than humans could ever hope to possess, and whatever she’s picked up on?
It cannot be good for the both of them.
[Ambience transition to silence.]
Edgar’s statement would have been met with scrutiny, if it was from a normal “peanut gallery.” Lucy the chocobo had plenty to worry about now, and if their rider had any good sense, they’d turn around and ride the way they came from. Though Kefka counted on those “beneath his feet” to make stupid mistakes, thereby ensuring their doom. It took the fun out of everything he did, but it sure made his job easier. A pity that at this very moment, the former mindset was winning out.
[Ambience: Gongora’s Plot]
Despite that, when Kefka finally made himself known to Edgar, there was no hint of the trademark simper, or the singsong voice that was the precursor to all forms of shit about to go down. It was glib, on the cusp of irritation, the same voice he used with Locke before, one of the rare instances where he wasn’t treating someone as a “thing,” but a tangible thorn in the side of his ambitions. “Setting your sights pretty high, aren’t you, boy?” The fact his body was in suspension and his fingers curled on occasion may not have been a clear indication of the hell Kefka was going to unleash, but it was a long time coming, and there was still flames of opposition in places he had overlooked. While it did nothing but buy them time, Kefka knew that the events of Narshe and Fynn would make their way to Edgar, and he was here to remind him once more of a simple and obvious truth.
People were going to die. There was nothing Edgar could do to stop it. ~
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