Chapter Text
Celes Chere stood on the parapets of Marguez’ central fortress, her eyes fixated upon the pink and orange hues of the setting sun. Time had a strange effect on her perceptions. This individual moment seemed like it could last an eternity, but her life had been filled with thousands of sunsets, some she hadn’t even seen. Eleven years ago, this city had been called Vector and was a thriving engine of nefarious creation and military might. It was Celes’ home, her birthplace, the origin of every harsh lesson and fond memory of her youth… but it was also the city that gave rise to the greatest evils the world had ever seen. So diabolical that ten years ago it had been wiped from the face of the map by that very madman and replaced by a tower of rubble and death; an unfinished monument to non-existence presided over by an all-powerful fiend who sought to destroy the very concept of hope itself. Sometimes it all felt like a dream: a fantastic flight fancy from an overactive, unconscious imagination. But then she’d look out over the city around her, feel the ache in her muscles, and become keenly aware of how much had happened in those eleven years. Where the Emperor’s palace had been was instead the golden, domed Senate building where Marguez’ leaders met to discuss the direction for their country and the fair governance of its citizens. Celes remembered helping to mortar the bricks for it. Gone was the sprawling facility for research that married stolen magic and vile weapons of war, instead making more room for homes and businesses. Her right shoulder still clicked sometimes from an injury sustained while assisting the construction teams in raising beams for houses and laying stone for the streets that ran in-between. Twenty-nine wasn’t that old, but she had lived a hard life, and the nightmare from ten years ago was a very real part of it, no matter how distant it seemed.
“Senator Chere?” The uniformed guard was another significant change; a soldier in Marguez’ military, but instead of a grunt’s battered leather armor hanging ill-fit from his form, it was a starched, fitted black coat over pressed slacks and shined boots. The gold embellishments leant an air of class to the ensemble, and his rank was worn proudly above his left breast. The biggest difference, of course, was that she could see his face. He was a person giving his best service to Marguez and her people, not just a number waiting for the next chance to die. His services also ran more along the lines of handling Celes’ affairs and delegating responsibility to those in station lower than him, as opposed to open warfare with the free world, which was a change the Senator appreciated.
“Not for much longer, Caleb,” she smiled.
“It’s not midnight yet, ma’m. You’re still in office for another four hours.” He bowed his head a bit, his rigid stance softening a bit. “Beside that, I’m not sure I could ever get used to calling you just ‘Celes’.”
“It’s kinda funny,” she mused. “I’m not sure I’ve been ‘just Celes’ since I was a kid. Private, Lieutenant, General… traitor…”
“And now Senator,” Caleb said quickly, encouraging her not to dwell on the sour-tasting parts of her past. “For at least four more hours, ma’am.”
“Right.” The smile blossomed into more of a grin. Ending her time guiding Marguez was bittersweet, but she was looking forward to the reprieve.
Celes couldn’t remember the last time she had more than a week off, including the period following the war. The world needed help to heal its deep, magical scars, and she had the capability to aid in that healing. The time she spent with her friends battling the forces of evil taught her that responsibility and loyalty weren’t always the same thing, but both concepts begged her to use what skills she’d learned in Vector’s military and her iconic status as one of the fourteen people who snatched the world from the brink of destruction to shepherd it safely into a new era. That was finished now, and had been for some time, but there was a certain obligation to stick around and help where she could; an obligation she might still feel beholden to if it weren’t for a surprise letter from an old friend that found its way into her mailbox just shy of a month ago.
Correspondence between them was frequent in the first few years; everyone was doing something exciting, and the bond of what they endured held each of them fast. Of course, though fourteen of them went into Kefka’s tower, only thirteen made it out with their lives. Gogo the enigmatic copycat was the first whose letters stopped coming. None of them were really sure where their former teammate got off to, or why, but an unannounced departure was fully in character for the person they’d spent the least time fighting alongside. Strago Magus was next, suffering an illness so dire he could barely lift a pen. His adopted granddaughter Relm kept up in his stead, taking diction from his bedside when he had composure enough to give it. But the octogenarian had no doubt been sustained by magic for so long that his body began to struggle in its absence. That was the price for defeating Kefka, of course; he had absorbed the source of all magic in the world, so without him it ceased to exist. Celes had her own struggles with nagging illness and the clumsy introduction to recovering from injury without the aid of restorative enchantments. She could only imagine how much worse it was for someone who had seen as many summers as Strago. He pulled through, eventually, but the disease left difficulties in its wake, and he never resumed his communications.
Locke Cole was the last person she stopped receiving regular letters from. For the first year they sent their updates together as he stood by her side during Marguez’ foundation. But slowly, as things often do, their interests took different paths. Even the casual observer could see the feelings she developed for him during their time together, but in the absence of a shared goal so overwhelming as ‘prevent humanity’s annihilation’ it ran out of ways to make sense. What did he want out of their coupling? To start a family? Even if that were biologically possible after all the Magitek experiments Celes had endured, she wasn’t certain child-rearing was a venture she wanted to pursue. Her own childhood had failed to provide proper examples of how to do that, even considering how she might go about teaching someone how to be in the world when she barely understood it herself caused a surge of anxiety to send her pulse racing. Would he have rather traveled the world with her, looking for lost treasures in exciting locales? Perhaps. Adventure was his greatest love, even more than Celes or Rachel before her. But duty called her to oversee Marguez, which kept them anchored. She had asked him several times if he’d rather be doing something else… with someone else, but he declined with that mysterious, cocky little smirk of his. How someone who wore his heart on his sleeve could be so difficult to read, she’d never understand.
Not long after she officially became a member of the Senate, Locke received a letter of his own from an old underworld contact. Survivors from the neighboring towns had begun talks of clearing the monsters out of Zozo and organizing a guild to legitimately monetize the skills former burglars and ‘treasure hunters’ like Locke could provide. He played off his desire to join them, but she could see it in his eyes, in every slant of his posture. More than wanting to be there, he needed to. This meant something to him, much more than the more generalized way aiding Marguez and its neighbors did. He was never a citizen of the previous Empire, but he had walked many miles in the boots of those who felt society had only offered them a life of crime. The chance to help those people, his people was too monumental to ignore. Celes allowed him to martyr himself for only three weeks before they had the longest and most difficult talk of their relationship. After several hours of arguing, soul-searching, and tears, they spent one last intimate night together and the next morning he boarded a ship bound for Zozo.
Officially, they were ‘separated’, but they had been ‘separated’ for six years now. It seemed unrealistic to think he hadn’t met someone else in the interim, despite the fact that Celes herself hadn’t. She was busy talking with the rest of the Senate about controlling the population of dangerous, mutated beasts that still roamed the countryside and reviewing the old code of laws to see what was still relevant in a post-Imperial society. She’d barely had the social bandwidth for a few inconsequential dinner dates, nevermind a full-blown, cohabitative relationship. Locke, however, was turned different. The romantic stereotype of the vagabond scoundrel lived firmly in his heart, and it was doubtless he’d encountered some femme fatale who could match his energy in the time since his letters stopped appearing in Celes’ post. He lasted nearly a year, to his credit. That was more than she would’ve without the encouragement of a fresh missive from him about the progress they were making toward turning the dangerous slums of Zozo into a home.
“Setzer’s here, then, I assume?” She asked aloud, pulling herself from her thoughts. She might’ve rather it had been Locke’s letter beckoning her away from Marguez after all this time, but things rarely work out in reality with quite so much poetry.
“Aye, ma’am,” Caleb nodded. “You might be pleased to know our airship dock accommodates the Falcon quite nicely.”
“That is good news.” They’d only made a few smaller vessels; short-range aerial security intended for one pilot as opposed to the massive propeller-driven dirigible that could fly for days without making landfall that was the Falcon. The dock was, in fact, built to Setzer’s recommended specifications, but he hadn’t found time to stop by since it had finished last year and Celes often expressed concerns that it was a little too small. “Maybe that tourist craft Senator Gottlieb suggested last week isn’t as far-fetched as I originally thought.”
“I still think referring to it as a ‘pleasure barge’ is a misstep, ma’am.”
“I’ll thank you to encourage that caution in my replacement,” she grinned again. Celes took a few hesitant steps toward the man who had been her right had for the last eight years, then closed the distance and embraced him, much to his surprise. “I’m really going to miss you, Caleb.”
“You as well, ma’m.” He carefully returned her hug with a few pats.
“If you ever decide to run for the Senate, send me a pigeon and I’ll write a few letters to the right people to get you where you need to be. You’ll have my full support.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”
Senator Chere made her way to the airship dock alone, taking the long way to soak in as much of what Marguez had become as seemed reasonable. In her youth, the city that stood here often felt like a dour prison; an imposing monstrosity scraping the sky with lofty towers of technology obscuring abysmal ideals in their shadows. Now there was color, and light. She took the one thing Kefka tried his damnedest to destroy, the thing in the end that had torn him to shreds, and planted in the place he grew. Now, hope was in full bloom from Marguez to Albrook and beyond, and even if she never found her way back to this place, she was satisfied with the state she was leaving it in.
* * * * * *
The airship dock was open and airy, even beyond the requirements of its function. Instead of shutters on each bay, there was a durable glass dome with copper struts that made the space feel as open as the sky above. The Falcon was nestled snugly into the second bay, and Celes audibly gasped as her heart lightened at the sight of it. Compared to Setzer’s old ship, the Blackjack, it was built for function over form; speed, durability, and economy of space instead of a snazzy black balloon carrying an entire casino. But something about the steely gray zeppelin with its orange fins and aerodynamic prop ship brought out an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt in years. It certainly helped that the balloon was reflecting the sunset with the perfect blend of hues, that its handsome pilot had cut his hair since she last saw him in a way that highlighted his angular jaw and high cheekbones, and that some manner of giant, fluffy creature was gamboling about him on the dock.
Setzer Gabbiani’s lavender eyes narrowed with his smile as he spotted Celes, spreading his arms wide as he approached her, his boots clapping against the polished wood with every step. They wrapped their arms around one another, his signature black longcoat rough and cool from being windbeaten at his pilot’s position on the deck. The billowing poet’s shirt and silky scarf were in contrast to this, warmed by his body heat and soft against Celes’ skin. He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down, his smirk changing shape as he examined her own navy-colored woolen peacoat with its copper buttons and light blonde hair tied in a low bun.
“You’ve changed a lot,” he chuckled.
“After all this time, that’s all you have to say?” she teased.
“My apologies.” Setzer cleared his throat and executed an unnecessarily low bow, the furry beast finally settling at his heel. “Madame Senator, the years have been most kind to you. Those azure eyes take my very breath away, just as they did when we first met. Though pushing pencils is much less strenuous than swinging swords, you have still managed to maintain most of your former physique, and seeing you out of armor after all this time is still no less impressive, despite your choice to bundle up.”
“It’s always colder than you think on that airship,” she explained. “Anything else?”
“I like your hair.”
“Likewise,” she complimented. “I’m sure it’s much less of a hassle not having to disentangle it from all your… baubles.” She gestured broadly to his earrings, necklaces, rings, and other bits of jewelry Celes had no proper nomenclature for. Clearing it away from his face also cast his scars into sharper relief; the marks of surviving disputes following questionable games of cards and dice, as well as reminders of the lack of wisdom in insisting to work on the airship without proper protective gear.
“Would you believe I got it stuck in one of the props? After all this time, I finally went bust on my glorious mane.”
“I would,” she chuckled. “Plenty of time to grow it back, though.”
“Eh, if I feel like it. We’ll see,” he shrugged, rubbing the smallest hairs on the back. “I love the feeling of the wind in my hair, but there’s something to be said for feeling it so close against my scalp.”
“Well, I think it suits you.” Celes barely paused for a second before changing the subject, gesturing to the beast at Setzer’s side. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I beg your forgiveness.” Setzer swept his arm wide, coat flapping to add a little extra drama to the attention he was drawing to the great, shaggy thing. It was taller than the Dobermans she’d spent most of her life around but had a similar enough shape somewhere under all that fuzzy pink and purple hair. It had long, floppy ears not unlike a rabbit, a button nose, soulful eyes, and a large, lolling tongue. “Celes Chere, this is my esteemed colleague Poshul. You can pet her if you like. She hasn’t bitten anyone yet…”
“Aren’t you just the most darling thing?” Celes leaned down slightly, not needing to kneel to reach the beast’s massive head. Her fur was soft and plush, and closer to her body it somewhat resembled the larger, mutated bulldogs the Empire once armored and employed. “She’s a dog?”
“I think so,” Setzer nodded, patting her. “I made a pitstop to resupply at that cave on the Veldt a few months ago and found her at the mercy of a few of those smooth lizard-things. Her wounds were pretty bad and… well, I couldn’t just leave her there.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like her. The Veldt really does attract all kinds.” Upon further examination (and in-between avoiding a few slobbery dog-kisses), Celes found a large, studded leather collar around her neck with a padlock where tags might usually be. “Is this your addition?”
“No, she had that on when I found her. She seems attached to it; she brought it to me to put back on after I bathed her, so on it stays.”
“Why the name ‘Poshul’, then?” The ‘dog’ provided that answer for her, barking once. It sounded less like a sharp ‘arf’ or bellowing ‘woof’ that she’d heard from other canines, and more like a muffled sneeze. If she had to give it an onomatopoeia, she would’ve indeed chosen ‘poshul’. “Oh! Well, that makes sense. Thank you, Poshul.” The dog barked again, leaning onto her forepaws and wagging her cloudy tail.
“She might be a monster herself, for all I know,” he shrugged again. “She’s the nicest monster I’ve ever come across, if so.”
Celes didn’t respond to that, finishing her introductory chin-scratching with Poshul and avoiding another lick from her prodigious tongue as she stood. With magic having left the world, there were a number of questions still lingering in the air that the remaining scholars hadn’t answered. If magic wasn’t a factor, what was the difference between a ‘monster’ and a wild animal? Many of the more threatening creatures had gone missing since Kefka’s defeat and the death of spellcraft and Magitek. Was there a difference that mattered? It wasn’t worth correcting Setzer over, but it made her miss her adopted granddad who was possessed of a keener insight into these types of things. Lacking his advice and compassion during the last decade was perhaps the hardest part of everything she’d been through, and the thing she was still the least used to. The grass eventually became green again, the ocean blue and the sky to match… but no matter how much things went back to normal, Cid was still gone and always would be.
“You look like you need this,” Setzer observed.
“I do,” she nodded with conviction. “I’ve realized it more with every day since your letter arrived. Like you said, I’m not a machine. There’s no way I could stay at this pace forever… there’s just been so much to do. So much that needs to get done. But… seeing everything we’ve built work out so well… go so fluidly… I realized that I don’t need to be the one to do it anymore. And after I figured that out, it became easier and easier to feel the weight of the last decade across my shoulders.”
“Good thing you’ve got strong shoulders,” he remarked. Celes wasn’t sure if he was buttering her up, joking around, or paying her a genuine compliment. Perhaps Locke being inscrutable wasn’t the problem so much as Celes being terrible at scruting.
“Even still, they could use a break.”
“And they shall have one!” Setzer wrapped an arm around those strong shoulders and gestured to the horizon. “I have the perfect itinerary for you. Figaro’s food and wine festival should start by the time we arrive, then we can spend a little money in Jidoor. Five-star hotels, fine dining, a little shopping without looking at the price tag…”
“Maybe catch up with some old friends?”
“Well, we’re taking my ship, I was hoping you’d allow me to accompany you—”
“You know what I mean,” she wrinkled up her nose and shoved him playfully. “Terra, Edgar, Sabin, Cyan, Relm, Strago… hell, Umaro, Mog, and Gau if we can find them.” Setzer folded his arms as she listed the names of each of their living companions… except one. Silently he raised an eyebrow to confirm her omission and she shook her head to dismiss the subject.
“My lady, I will take you anywhere your heart desires.”
Setzer offered another bow and broad sweep of the arm, this time directing his guest toward the gangplank. Celes boarded the Falcon, each step feeling less like a departure and more like a return home. Even the gambler’s flirtatious wordplay was something she’d long missed in the presence of earnest workers and dour politicians, nearly forgetting how it felt to be so at ease around someone familiar. Poshul and Setzer followed the Senator onto the ship as the sun continued to dip below the clouds, all three spirits lightened at the thrill of the oncoming adventure.