kinkfest | Teach The Skeleton to Dance (Final Fantasy IX)

Title: Teach The Skeleton to Dance
Author:

jessicamariek
Fandom: Final Fantasy IX
Rating: PG for language, mostly
Warnings: Nothing, really.
Prompt: Final Fantasy IX, Freya/Zidane/Garnet: stories - knights and thieves and princesses
Word count: 1240
Summary: "If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance." (George Bernard Shaw)
A/N: This went a bit off the prompt, I think, but hopefully it'll be funny enough to make up for that. :P Many thanks to my awesome beta

pearlrose86.

This can’t be real.

This is too stupid to be real.

“So then, the messenger tells me that there’s some twit in a dress in the local jail asking for me, and when I show up, three guesses who’s there?” He smacks me on the back, laughing. “And he’s still in costume!” Blank’s on the noisy side of tipsy, and as usual, he’s on his favorite topic – the “Embarrassing Stories about Zidane” files, as it were.

Worst part is, I can’t even punch his teeth in to shut him up. Semi-formal palace dinners – ha ha ha, semi-formal here is formal-with-bells-on anywhere else – tend to be bad places for breaking people’s noses, and it would probably make Dagger mad at me. Although maybe if I did it while she’s busy giggling her head off – like, oh, say, right now? – she might be a little less likely to notice.

Nah. My luck, she’d take a break to breathe just at that point. Story’s more interesting that way.

“That’s nothing, have I told you about the time in Dali…” Oh, damn it. Damn it, damn it, et tu, Freya? “…and of course there’s this one little girl, couldn’t have been more than five years old, cutest thing you ever saw, and she asks Zidane if he’ll…” Well, at least this is one of the less ego-shredding ones she knows. And besides, Dagger at least likes the kid stories, so maybe that’s not so bad – “…and by the time I get back, oh, say two hours later, he’s still sitting there doing the fifteenth or sixteenth verse, complete with the dancing –“ which she then mimics. Along with the facial expressions. The rest of the table sets off laughing again, and I’m looking around for the wine steward. There are two ways I’m getting through tonight – either sober, or sane. Can’t have them both.

This is one of the few bad things that go along with being married to a queen. Because street-thief Zidane would have no problem slugging someone in the face to get them to shush – Freya’s a knight, for pete’s sake, it’s not really “hitting a girl.” Ruby doesn’t count either - she’s a couple genes away from being my sister and believe me, she hits back. Dashing-actor Zidane doesn’t have to worry about diplomatic ties and court etiquette and all those other things that basically translate into “No punching people, no picking fights, and no insults unless they’re the idiotic passive-aggressive kind.” Prince Consort Zidane, on the other hand, has to keep his cool under fire. I can’t cram an éclair or something into Blank’s face to make him stop talking, and I can’t tell Freya to shut up or I’ll start up about the one and only time we got her drunk in Conde Petie, especially since she’s now the “diplomatic envoy of Burmecia to the western cities,” whatever the hell that means.

“Oh, that reminds me, back when we were maybe twelve or thirteen years old and we were putting on this show…” And I really can’t tell Ruby to can it, on pain of me talking about the time she ended up having half a dozen different men show up at the hideout to take her to a ball, only to find she’d already run off with someone else completely. “So, of course on opening night I can’t even speak, never mind sing, and everyone else is already either in costume or stuck working that gosh-darned persnickety pulley system, so we end up dragging Zidane out of the storage closet he’s locked himself into…” You know, I’m starting to regret giving the Tantalus crew a standing invitation to these idiotic events. The good wine and rich food tend to make them a little bit too talkative. “Although I have to admit, Zidane, you looked almost as good in that dress as I did!” She smiles at me – Ruby, at least, isn’t deliberately mocking me, she just thinks it’s funny. I grin back at her and shake my head.
“Who are you kidding, Ruby, at that point I filled the damn thing out better than you could have!” Hey, if I have to spend the evening getting dragged across the coals, I may as well get a few shots in myself while I’m at it. Ruby splutters and Marcus laughs and says he’s not sure which one of us should be more insulted. She smacks him lightly on the back of the head, and the lacy frills on her sleeves get caught on the shiny ornamental buttons on the back of his collar. It’s so weird to see them all dressed up like this, but at least Ruby enjoys it. She always has, born drama queen that she is.

“Well, given that that was nowhere near your last time in a dress, boy…” Oh, shit. Shit on a roofing shingle, if there’s anyone at this table who knows more about me than I’m comfortable with, it’s Baku. And he’s getting in on the “most humiliating anecdote” contest? Great. Just great! Where the hell is that guy with the wine… “So next thing I know, I’m having people coming up to me during intermission asking who this gorgeous new girl is…” Actually, scratch the wine, whiskey please? “And there I am, trying my damnedest to convince this drunk noble that no, the ‘pretty girl’ playing Miranda isn’t actually a girl, and she’s certainly not ‘for sale’ if you get my drift, and he’s having none of it…”
“Whatta you mean, ‘for sale’?” Oh, Eiko, trust me, you do not want to know…but of course Baku’s going into loving detail on the subject, and our precocious little summoner is turning bright flaming red, and Dagger’s practically choking from trying not to bust out giggling.
“But that’s nothing compared to the time a few years back that me and Blank caught ‘im and some girl I’d never seen before sneaking up in the loft…” Oh no. Not this story. Baku, are you trying to put me in the doghouse?

This isn’t real, this isn’t real, I have to be dreaming –

It takes me a second after opening my eyes to realize where I am. The guest rooms at the palace in Lindblum are so different from our suite at home that I’m always a little disoriented when I wake up. Fluffy pink curtains and gingham everywhere and too much lace, instead of the nice simple stuff at home. Ugh, thank gods last night was a dream. That does it, no more candied hot peppers after dinner. Well, at least there’s one thing familiar – very pretty wife lying next to me. Very pretty, very naked wife. I like this situation. She always looks so innocent when she’s asleep – no worries, no cares, no agendas and fighting nobles and budgets on her mind. She smiles suddenly, with her eyes still closed.
“I can feel you watching me, Zidane.”
“Well, it’s a pretty nice view.” She really does look like some sort of angel, with her hair all spread out like that and snowy white sheets and a smile on her face. The fact that said sheets are thin enough to not hide her figure completely is also a rather large plus.
“Well, since you’re obviously awake and energetic, perhaps you’d like to explain a few things…like the details of that time Baku caught you and some girl up in the loft of the hideout?”

…damn it!