Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mine. ❯ Whipped. ( Chapter 17 )

Warnings: Only one thing to add - Rinoa Bashing!

 

Pairings: …

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot, and the various creatures herein (their personalities, that is). I make no money off this fic.

 

Author's Notes: Was Manifest fun or what?! I've never had so many people want to photograph me before! And I yaoi'd with a Zack cosplayer. So much fun! Woo woo! Spent too much… Anyway! Now that I don't have costume work on top of uni work, I should be more regular with these updates. I know it's been a long wait, but I'm dying to get back to work on this fic. Please bear with me, and I'm so sorry for how far apart updates have been!

 

Mine.

~KittyMeowMaxwell.

 

Chapter Seventeen - Whipped.

 

- - - - - - -

 

“You're drunk again…”

 

“I ain't drunk…”

 

Squall rolled his eyes and dragged the Sheriff's arm over his shoulders, helping him to his feet and leading him out of the saloon.

 

“You're drunk,” he muttered.

 

“I ain't fuckin' drunk! Jes' leave me there!” Seifer grumbled and tried to push away from his Deputy, but he stumbled and fell into the dust. Moonlight glinted off the tears trailing down the Sheriff's cheeks when he sat back on his knees, fisting his hands in his hair.

 

“Seifer…” Squall said softly and knelt with him, touching his hand.

 

“I failed these people, Squall… M'first real test here `n' I failed… He's up there… `n' no one knows what might be hap'nin' to `im…”

 

“Seifer…” Squall said again, and this time it was exasperated. He helped the Sheriff to his feet again and they made their slow way back to Seifer's little house. “No one thinks you failed but you,” he murmured as he sat Seifer at the kitchen table and put the kettle on the stove, bending to light a fire in its belly. Once it was burning and the water was beginning to heat, he went and sat by Seifer.

 

“I deserve t' be dead…” the Sheriff muttered after a long moment.

 

“Oh, not that again. Stop being so melodramatic,” Squall muttered and Seifer fell silent, save for incoherent muttering to himself.

 

The Deputy made them both coffee then forced one of the steaming mugs into Seifer's hands and glared at him until he took a mouthful.

 

They sat in silence, drinking their coffees for a long time before Seifer spoke up again, staring into the half-finished beverage.

 

“I should have found him…”

 

Squall rolled his eyes.

 

“You did your best.”

 

“Yeah. My best just ain't good enough…” Seifer muttered.

 

Squall sighed and stood, going around the table to rap lightly on Seifer's head.

 

“Stop being an idiot. Y-”

 

His words cut off as Seifer's hand snapped up to wrap around his wrist, jerking him into the Sheriff's lap.

 

“Squall…” Seifer said pleadingly, and when his Deputy opened his mouth to protest, he took that mouth, tongue plunging within. Squall gave a muffled protest, and fought him, but he was off-balance and Seifer held his hands still.

 

And the slight tingle down his spine was almost enough to make him not want to fight.

 

There was a knock on the door and they both started, Squall falling out of Seifer's lap and jumping up as though he'd been burned. He put a hand to his mouth, glaring at Seifer.

 

“What have I told-”

 

The knock came again, cutting the Deputy off, and Seifer stood, going to answer it.

 

He didn't look at Squall.

 

- - - - - - -

 

A week or so later, Irvine lay curled in the bed furs long after the sun had risen and Zell had left to hunt. He should be up and bathed, tidying the camp and gathering berries and the like for lunch and dinner. But a deep sorrow had suddenly overtaken him, a longing for his parents and friends back in the town. It was sudden, and it was painful.

 

Irvine rolled over, burying his face and clutched at the fur. Why now? Why had it appeared so suddenly, when he hadn't thought about them since… well, for so long. And that made him feel guilty in turn. He'd forgotten those dear to him so quickly.

 

He lay there for some time longer before there was a rustling at the teepi entrance and Krerah poked his head in.

 

“/Do you sleep, still?! Now, now, WildBird! This is shameful! Up, up with you and come see what Hira'in has found! You might know what it is, for we don't!/”

 

Irvine made incoherent muttering sounds and rolled over, tugging a fur over his head.

 

“/Irvine! Up, now!/” Krerah demanded, laughing. He entered the teepi more fully and jerked the fur off Irvine. A slight smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes traveled Irvine's form. “/Come, Irvine!/”

 

Irvine grumbled, but he figured laying around wasn't going to help, and he might as well try to take his mind off it. He stood and stretched, aware of Krerah's gaze and blatantly showing off to it. It seemed some of the natives' behaviours were beginning to rub off on him.

 

Krerah only grinned and watched the cowboy ferret around for some while before he cleared his throat and held up a Torama-skin loincloth.

 

Irvine bared his teeth slightly, then shoved Krerah's shoulder and took the loincloth, tying it on with a yawn.

 

“/Come on then. Show me this grand discovery before you forget it and jump on me instead./”

 

“/Ah, yes…/” Krerah purred, sliding a hand along Irvine's shoulder and down his arm, then catching his wrist with a grin and tugging him outside. “/Come!/”

 

They went at an awkward run, Krerah laughing as his raven hair flew behind him, and soon came to the gaggle of taken and switch that surrounded Hira'in and his `discovery'. Krerah pushed through, both he and Irvine showing teeth to almost anyone who didn't move, and the second they broke through, Irvine laughed.

 

“/Of course I know what that is. Hira'in, give it to me,/” he said and held out his hand.

 

Hira'in glanced up, his unusual pale-green eyes wary as he handed over his prize.

 

Irvine gave a low whistle as he held the handle, running braided leather through his left hand.

 

“/This is the best craftsmanship I've ever seen…/” he murmured, hoisting it.

 

“/What is it?/” Krerah asked, Hira'in hovering behind him.

 

“A bullwhip,” Irvine said, then translated hurriedly. “/A patch-beast… uh… I don't think you even have a word. Let me show you./” He grinned, licking his lips. “/Back up! Back up!/” he said, sweeping an arm around.

 

“/What…?/” Krerah wondered.

 

“/Back up! The length of the rope!/”

 

When they didn't move, Irvine rolled his eyes and placed the handle of the bullwhip on the ground.

 

“/Hold that there, Hira'in. Don't let it move./” He took hold of the very end of the whip and strode out until it pulled taut, holding his free arm out so that those in front of it had to back up. The others seemed to get the message and in only a moment, there was a circle around him. He went back to where Hira'in and Krerah stood and a gesture sent them to the edge of the pack.

 

Irvine took hold of the whip and lifted it, watching the end slither across the dusty ground. A grin came to his lips as he drew his hand higher, then brought it down with a flick of his wrist, and the first crack rang out, making the natives all jump and leap back a step. He laughed and let his hand follow through to the back, flicking again and cracking the whip behind him. Again, they twitched, gasping, and there was a cry from the forests, the first of the guards springing out of the trees to come to the aid of the camp.

 

Krerah threw his head back and crowed with enormous amusement as the whip cracked again and again, Irvine handling it with great skill.

 

From the herd, Whipcrack warbled merrily.

 

More takers spilled into camp, brought up short when they saw the gathered taken around Irvine. Those taken separated and fell back when they registered the presence of the takers, and the whole group shifted as men and women moved forward through it to see what was going on.

 

“/Not too close!/” Krerah warned, glancing aside when a hand laid on his shoulder. “/Zell,/” he said respectfully, then jerked a thumb at Irvine. “/Your taken continues to impress./”

 

“/Indeed,/” Ahshey agreed, lifting both brows. “/Only how is Zell to get close enough to take his taken with that thing flailing about…?/”

 

Krerah laughed and clapped Zell on the back.

 

“/Indeed, how?!/” he cried, then called between cracks. “/Irvine! Your taker is here!/”

 

The whip slithered across the ground to a halt and Irvine turned to grin at Zell, who smiled back, folding his arms across his broad chest and lifting his nose. Irvine turned his gaze to Hira'in.

 

“/I will trade for this, Hira'in./”

 

“/What? What would you trade?/” the other native wondered.

 

“/Three quivers of my finest arrows, and a cured Ruby Dragon hide./”

 

Hira'in considered.

 

“/Three quivers of your finest arrows, a cured Ruby Dragon hide, and first breeding rights to your chocobo with one of my females./”

 

Irvine arched his brows, and the natives closest to them murmured among themselves.

 

“/You want to breed with Whipcrack…?/”

 

Hira'in nodded.

 

“/Feathers that colour will trade for a fortune to other camps. I want him for stud, and I'll take the entire first brood./”

 

“/No, you won't. No braided leather with a handle attached is worth an entire brood of chocobos,/” Zell said, glaring.

 

“/Half, then,/” Hira'ni said hastily. “/And you can have the extra if there are odd numbers./”

 

Irvine put his hand out before Zell could argue further and, with a grin, Hira'ni slapped his own down against it.

 

“/Your taken accepts for you, Snake!/” he said laughingly, then melted into the dispersing crowd before Zell could retort.

 

Instead, sapphire eyes fell on Irvine.

 

“/It was my trade to begin with,/” Irvine said, aborting whatever Zell would say. “/I fletch the arrows, I cured the hide-/”

 

“/I hunted the dragon!/”

 

Irvine ignored him.

 

“/I own the chocobo! If you really want, I'll go out and hunt my own Ruby Dragon, and cure that hide too!/”

 

Zell arched his brows, but then he merely shook his head and gave a rueful grin.

 

“/I see there are some things I will never train out of you…/” he said. “/And you have impressed the others with your special skill, so you must have your… thing./” He indicated the whip.

 

“Whip,” Irvine told him, laughing.

 

“Whip?” Krerah repeated then, finally understanding. “Whipcrack!”

 

Again, Irvine laughed.

 

“Yes. Whipcrack,” he affirmed, looping the whip several times, then slinging it over his arm.

 

“/Enough talk of Irvine's bird,/” Zell muttered. “/We still have much work to do./”

 

The crowd had dispersed, back to their various jobs and Irvine looked at Zell, twisting his hands in front of him. Then Zell smiled, and the tension went out of the cowboy's shoulders.

 

“/I didn't mean to take over, I just… I… was missing home and, like, I wanted to have it…/”

 

Zell shook his head.

 

“/No matter. Just next time don't use your whip when I'm stalking a Grendel…/”

 

Irvine laughed and hugged his lover tight.

 

“/I'll make up for it tonight, my love… In all the best ways./”

 

The native growled appreciatively and pressed a kiss to Irvine's mouth before he disappeared back into the trees.

 

- - - - - - -

 

The stagecoach rattled into town with its usual racket, the six tired, heavy-legged chocobos that pulled it warking softly as they came to a halt. (1) The driver straightened his hat, and spat to the side before clambering down, tugging on his belt to pull up his pants. He opened the stagecoach door and stood back.

 

A boot was the first thing to exit the coach, knee-high and red with silver buckles. The stiletto heel was at least two inches tall. Then the rest of the woman belonging to the boot exited to a chorus of catcalls and whistles from the saloon as her flamboyant red skirts fell over the boot, but not before she showed a little thigh. Lace ringed the skirts, and the bodice was ridiculously tight, laced to a point where it almost caused her breasts to push out over the top of the beading that lined the edge of the neckline. Ringlets of gold hair kissed bare shoulders and curled around a slender neck emphasised by an enormous pearl which sat against her throat, held by a thick black ribbon. Most of her hair sat atop her head in a complicated style which was laced with beads and jewels, and a pair of glasses was perched on the end of her nose. Blue eyes surveyed the men over the top of the glasses and she smiled slightly, then stepped the rest of the way off the coach.

 

Half a dozen women, all giggling and talking, spilled off the coach behind her.

 

“Chop, chop ladies,” she chirped. “There's work to be done.”

 

They gathered their luggage and followed the first woman around the coach and across the dusty road to the disused two-storey building that stood there.

 

The men glanced at one another as the convoy disappeared from view, then the whole saloon burst into excited chatter. The barmaids glanced at one another as well and made faces. Part of the reason men stayed that one drink longer was because of the women's low necklines, but all the men knew the two of them wouldn't stand for any funny business - besides, one of them was the Deputy's girl.

 

A brothel right across from them was the last thing the saloon needed.

 

- - - - - - -

 

“Alright, girls. Get to work. We'll have this place ready in no time. Trixie, sweep out this lower floor, and Drucilla, I want you doing the same upstairs. Lulubell, take Luanne and do the bathrooms - make sure those tubs are spotless. Katie-” The tall blonde woman cut off, looking around. “Where did that girl go?!”

 

Luanne lifted a hand, pointing out to the veranda, where Katie stood with a cigar between her fingers, waving at the men across the street.

 

“Katie!” She stalked outside and snatched the cigar out of Katie's fingers, tossing it over her shoulder before she ushered the girl back inside. “What have I told you about those? No man is going to pay for a girl who passes out because she can't breathe half way through! Now, I want you to clean the windows upstairs.”

 

“But, Ma'am-”

 

“No. No buts. Off you go.” She watched Katie go, then turned to the one remaining girl. “You and I will do something about the state of these chimneys, Penelope.”

 

“Yes'm,” the girl said, smiling a little and ducking her head.

 

The place was a flurry of industry for the next half a day, until the windows were so clean it was as if there were no glass, the tubs in the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms shone bright as the moon, not a speck of dust lay anywhere, and the beds had all be aired and returned to their previous places.

 

“Why'd the last lot leave the place, Madam Quistis?” Trixie wondered as they all rested over a cup of tea and some hastily-made sandwiches.

 

“There wasn't enough business back then. But the town has grown since then, and married men have fathered sons who aren't yet at the stage of marrying.”

 

The girls all giggled, chattering among themselves and Quistis turned her eyes to the saloon across the way, a slow smile curving her elegant lips. With all the cattle drives and the like that passed through the town, it was now a prime area for business, and she had little doubt that one or two of the town girls would jump at the chance to work for her - they always did.

 

Yes. She liked this town already.

 

- - - - - - -

 

It was as if it had never happened. Neither Seifer or Squall had mentioned it since it had happened, though they were both short and stilted with one another. They said no more than needed to be said.

 

Right now, Seifer thought Squall would probably like it if his girl said no more than needed to be said, because she had been going on for the last half hour about the women who had moved in across from the saloon. Seifer had no idea what she was talking about. Evidently, neither did his Deputy, because eventually Squall cut across her natterings with;

 

“What exactly are you accusing these women of, Rinoa…?”

 

“They… they're… they're… wh… they're wh… women of ill repute!”

 

Seifer just stared at her but Squall arched both brows.

 

“They're whores?”

 

The woman blushed, which amused Seifer greatly. She tried to pretend she was so innocent, but he wasn't the only man in town who'd heard the stories about her.

 

“Yes!” she said breathlessly.

 

“Then… you think they're opening a brothel? On the main street of town?”

 

“No, I don't think that, they are opening a brothel on the main street of town!”

 

“Please,” Seifer said from behind his Deputy. “No one would be that stupid.”

 

She glared at him, putting her fists on her hips and puffing out her chest. Seifer fought the urge to laugh, almost failed, but swallowed the explosion at the last second when Squall glared at him as well.

 

“Alright, alright. We'll check it out,” Squall said exasperatedly, and probably just to shut her up.

 

“We will?” Seifer wondered to the air.

 

“Yes,” Squall muttered. “Go back to work, Rinoa. We'll be there directly.”

 

Rinoa looked hard at him for a minute, then turned on her heel and flounced out.

 

“Is she phenomenal in bed or something?” Seifer wondered. “Because I see no appeal whatsoever…”

 

“We both know she's not your type,” Squall ground out, then; “C'mon.”

 

“Who's the Sheriff `round here?” Seifer said, but Squall was already out the door and didn't hear him.

 

Rinoa was almost out of sight when they exited, so she must be going at quite a pace, Seifer thought as he and Squall strode toward the center of town. The stagecoach was just leaving when they arrived, the driver evidently having had quite a long liquid breakfast. It was a good thing the chocobos had made the trip so many times, they didn't really need his help. The inn's stable-boy was leading away the last of the road-weary chocobos that had been switched off the coach and he tipped his hat to Sheriff and Deputy, who nodded back.

 

A woman sat in a rocking chair on the veranda of the house across the way from the saloon and Seifer tucked his thumbs in his belt as they walked over. She was sewing a hole in a skirt and she looked up from her work when their boots fell on the wooden stairs.

 

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” she said politely. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Afternoon, Ma'am,” Seifer said, and took the hand she proffered, brushing a chaste kiss across gloved knuckles. “Name's Seifer Almasy. I'm Sheriff here-”

 

“I gathered by your badge,” she cut in dryly, nodding at it. “I'm a woman, not an idiot.”

 

Seifer was taken aback by that, but he didn't let it show.

 

“Sorry Ma'am. I didn't mean to imply anything of the sort,” he said smoothly. “I hope you won't be insulted if I get directly to the point. We've had reports you're preparing to open a brothel here.”

 

She arched both golden brows and Seifer had the uncanny feeling he'd met her before.

 

“A brothel, Sheriff?” she repeated. “Who on earth would have told you that - wait, let me guess. The little bar-girl with the black hair, right?”

 

Squall arched a brow now and she winked at him.

 

“Observant,” he allowed, then at her questioning look; “Squall Leonhart.” He indicated his badge and she grinned.

 

“Well, gentleman, I'm doing nothing of the sort. We're seamstresses.” She held up her sewing.

 

“Mind if we take a look around?” Seifer asked.

 

“Not at all,” she said. “Come right in.” She lifted a hand and the two men entered the large house.

 

A little brunette looked up from a pile of holed socks and smiled at them, lowering her eyes demurely to her work. Throughout the house, all they found were industriously working women, all polite and far from whore-like.

 

They both knew it was a front, but they couldn't throw the women in jail on a hunch. The madam was smiling at them with an `I win' expression that made Seifer want to smack her.

 

“Well,” Seifer remarked as they headed across the street for a drink. “Things in town sure will be more interesting now…”

 

Squall chuckled and they pushed open the double swinging doors together. They were instantly bombarded with questions about the women opposite, much to the displeasure of Rinoa and her compatriot.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) I wish I could draw! I see these guys so clearly in my head. Clydesdale chocobos! Woo!

 

- - - - - - -

 

Authors Notes: Go Quistis! I love her so hardcore in this fic. Again, sorry for the wait. -bows to readers-