BD-Ringabel + Edea: Technique

“Heh. It seems… a tool used wrong… makes a fine weapon…”

The smug smirk never left Red Mage Fiore DeRosa’s face as he uttered those last words. Even with his dying breath, he remained as poised as ever. Blowing a kiss to his four vanquishers, he fell first to his knees and then to his hands, never again to rise. Tiz crouched beside his body, as did Agnès, his gaze following the large gemstone that rolled out of his pocket. “It’s another one of those asterisk things…” he murmured wonderingly.

Ringabel, however, was not so curious about the source of DeRosa’s abilities. He had already run to the dazed Edea’s side—she had collapsed in the aftermath of the fight—and was now helping her to stand. “Are you all right, Edea?” he asked, his voice filled with uncharacteristic worry.

“I… I’m fine,” she managed. “Thank you for coming to my rescue—all of you. I was careless…” Though she addressed everyone, her gaze met no one’s in particular, focusing instead on the floor beneath their feet.

Tiz nodded and glanced at his companion. “Ringabel led the charge the whole way,” he replied modestly. “Direct your thanks at him.”

Edea hesitated. Her gaze flickered up towards him for the briefest of seconds, and the blonde could almost imagine that he had seen a tiny smile on her face. “Thank you, Ringabel,” she told him, though her gaze had returned to the ground once more. “You’re squarely on the ‘white as the driven snow’ list for today,” she added, more brightly.

“Appreciated, my dear.” Ringabel looked on the verge of saying more, but he stopped himself before saying it, instead regarding the girl pensively. “Though… Ambition or not, I don’t know why he should go to all these lengths just to use women…”

“Yeah… You have to wonder whether a more direct approach might not have been more effective.” Tiz rubbed the back of his head bashfully, as he usually did when embarrassed or confused.

Meanwhile, Agnès had climbed the flight of stairs near the cell in which Edea had been imprisoned and now returned to the trio, carrying a thick set of tomes. “Just look at all this!” she told them. “Reports. I imagine they’re his handwriting.”

Wordlessly, each of the companions took a volume of DeRosa’s Red Reports and sifted through them. Edea’s eyes widened with each page she turned. “Ugh! I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed angrily. “How could I fall for such a craven wretch so quickly?! I’d thought myself better than that!”

“You mustn’t berate yourself, Edea,” Ringabel consoled her distractedly, his nose buried in his tome. “He had you enthralled with that cologne of his. It’s not like you’d meant to fall for him.”

“I know, but I did! That’s why I’m mad!”

While Edea fumed, Tiz shut his book and stretched. Of the four, he had read the fewest pages. “Beating yourself up over it isn’t going to help anything, Edea,” he yawned. “Come on; let’s get out of here and get some rest. We’ll need it to find Olivia.”

Though the girls were only too happy to oblige, Ringabel remained cross-legged on the laboratory floor, reading avidly. His brow remained furrowed in disgust, yet he had already read more than half of the tome and seemed in no hurry to stop. “You three go on ahead, Tiz,” he told them, not glancing up from his reading. “But first… Might I have a look at that asterisk of yours?”

“Are you sure?” Doubtfully, the Norende boy approached his friend’s side and handed over DeRosa’s badge. As the older boy nodded and tucked the asterisk away in his pouch, he too nodded and stepped back. “Well… Don’t take too long, Ringabel,” he told him. “Come on, Agnès, Edea. Let’s go back to the inn.”

Once their footsteps had faded beyond his hearing, Ringabel glanced back at the elevator and, after ensuring that they were indeed gone, uncovered the asterisk and turned it over in his hands. So here was the dandy’s symbol of his position in the Eternian Forces… Something about the man had felt familiar to him before and during their fight, and though Ringabel knew not exactly why, he didn’t like it one whit. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he and the others had slain DeRosa prematurely. “He never did tell me exactly what his technique was…” he mused. Granted, the red mage had taken great delight in regaling Edea’s rescuers with a full yet empty account of his methods. In a way, the blonde realized with an incensed growl, that DeRosa had had them all enthralled. Every word that had fallen out of that snake’s mouth had made Ringabel want to punch the man even more. Yet, he had held himself back. And for what? Not one thing he said substantiated his claim that he was the better charmer without his addictive poison. Nothing he’d said would have made wooing her any easier.

He sighed and stretched, yawning. An errant thought struck him then. What if he pretended to be DeRosa, pretended to woo someone the natural way, without that insidious scent? Ringabel frowned thoughtfully. Why not? Perhaps putting himself in that state of mind could yield something. It was worth a shot… Casting one final glance at the elevator, the blonde set aside DeRosa’s report and pressed both hands on the sides of the red mage asterisk. The amber stone glowed, dimly at first and then with rapid intensity, and Ringabel was forced to shut his eyes against the blaze of light. When it faded, he was mildly surprised to note that his knightly armor, so much like the late Commander Heinkel’s, had been replaced with DeRosa’s flamboyant open suit and roses. How finely made these garments were! After spending so many weeks wearing a knight’s chafing armor, this silky garb felt almost luxurious upon his skin. He smirked as he fluffed up his pompadour. What an outfit! Perhaps he should also have asked DeRosa who his tailor was.

Ringabel spent a couple hours practicing in front of one of DeRosa’s mirrors, rehearsing all manner of inviting lines aloud. While he practiced, one of the red mage’s prisoners came to, and after checking that she was healthy—and providing her a hasty explanation to avoid getting slapped—he rehearsed with her instead. She was cranky, but played along well enough, and when their antics were over, she even wondered aloud if he would remain in Florem for a time.

It was well past midnight when the blonde finally rejoined his sleeping friends at the inn, exhausted but feeling very much satisfied.

“… morning…”

Edea mumbled angrily and rolled over under her quilts, trying to blot out that annoying noise that threatened her beauty rest. She hadn’t slept well all night, mainly because she had squandered part of it stewing over her own inability to follow through with her original plan. Yet the noise persisted, and with a huff, the girl ducked under the covers, burying her head under her pillow. Her efforts, however, were promptly thwarted by the delicious scent of eggs and syrup floating in from the inn’s kitchen. Her mouth watered, and she awoke before she could drool all over her face in the pillow. “Wait for me!” she hollered before leaping out of bed and flinging off her bedding.

Abruptly, she bumped her nose into something uncomfortably warm.

Edea flushed bright red and hastily backed away. The first thing she saw was that familiar red open-front jacket, with that rose on the shoulder. Instantly, her adrenaline spiked. “You stupid old lech!” she fumed, aiming a punch at where she knew DeRosa’s face would be. “I thought we killed you already! Haven’t had enough?!”

To her immense surprise, she didn’t feel any noses breaking, nor did she hear that arrogant voice cry out in pain. The red-robed man in front of her had instead caught her hand inside his own before she could make contact. “Now, now, Edea,” he purred, “you wouldn’t dare hit a gentleman, would you?”

That voice! “Ri—Ringabel?!” she stammered. True enough, when she glanced up at his face, it was Ringabel who stood before her. Somehow, seeing his familiar cocky grin made her blood pressure spike, and his current getup wasn’t doing him any favors. “You startled me!” she scolded. “Why aren’t you eating breakfast with Tiz and Agnès? And why are you wearing that old wretch’s clothes?!” When I still haven’t forgiven myself for falling for him, too!

“It’s a simple answer, really.” With his hand still wrapped firmly around her fist, the blonde hauled her gently in for an embrace. Edea’s neck ached keeping her head out of the deep V on DeRosa’s—Ringabel’s—crimson jacket, yet she refused to give in to his embrace. When she flushed redder and made to shove him away with her free hand, though, he merely used the momentum to send them both back towards the bed, so that he was sitting upright with Edea on top of his chest. “You seemed upset yesterday about DeRosa; I thought to offer you what comfort I can.”

Edea groaned. “Yeah? In his clothes? Besides, what sort of consolation can you give me, anyway? You’re too young to have known any better? You should’ve worn that bikini for me?” She sighed and repositioned herself more comfortably on Ringabel’s lap. He hadn’t given up on DeRosa when the other had belittled his charm, so he wasn’t likely to give up now, especially not when she was such an easy target. If the man wasn’t going to go anywhere, then she might as well make herself comfortable. After a little while, she reluctantly decided to confide. “I guess… I’m just mad at myself for not doing any of the things I had planned to do to figure out his technique for you,” Edea told him. “I’d said that I’d put on an act to see what his game really was, that I’d scream if he dared touch me. Yet none of that actually happened! How could I forget everything at a whiff of that stupid cologne?! And why had I even agreed to help you out, anyway—just so that you could flirt with more girls?!” Her voice had steadily increased in volume, as it normally did when she was flustered, so that she was nearly shouting when she finished.

Ringabel shrugged, an idyllic grin gracing his lips. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Edea,” he told her. “DeRosa cheated. What honest man subverts his natural charm for false chemistry? What an underhanded way to woo the ladies. In my opinion, his first mistake was forsaking his already enviable technique. Who cares about the technology?”

Edea huffed. “No one cares about your opinion, Ringabel,” she retorted reflexively, folding her arms. “Of course the man’s black as—Wait, are you trying to imply something?”

“Not at all,” he replied airily. “Though I’d be honored if you thought I was.” Edea felt his arm snake around the small of her back; growling, she slapped it away. Even then, he appeared nonplussed, save for the wrinkles of worry that creased his brow seconds later. “Obviously, DeRosa isn’t your type… So who is?” he asked.

“Why do you care? Philanderer!”

Ringabel held up his hands as if in surrender. “Ah, how terribly you misread me, Edea. Jumping to assumptions already? Humor me a little, please.”

The blonde glared at him, but, seeing his earnestness, sighed and decided, reluctantly, to just obey. Anything to get the man off her back. “Well… I want a man who’s as strong as my father,” she began. “Someone who shares my values, who’s done and seen much, and yet would willingly give that up to be at my side. Someone who sweeps me off my feet, whose smile makes me cherish the day I met him… I guess what I want is someone like my father, but who listens to me and doesn’t leave me all alone.”

Suddenly, Edea was falling. Her wild tumble halted before she could even think to scream, and she realized that her head was now just two feet off the ground, with Ringabel’s face just above hers, confidently smug. “Why look any farther when you have all that right here in front of you?” he purred again, in that infuriating suave tone of his.

Dumb fox! She hadn’t meant that literally! “What?! L—Like I’d ever fall for you!” she retorted, unable to control the furious flush that spread across her cheeks. “You won’t even stay still if you so much as see another girl walk by! How can you even pretend to be satisfied with only me?”

“Oho! Is that denial I hear?” At her lack of reply, he continued. “Again: How terribly you misread me. I am a gentleman, first and foremost; that alone should say something. My journal seems to indicate that I’ve traveled the world at least twice over already, and as for the last?” He leaned in closer, so that their noses were nearly touching. “Think about it. For all my games, when have I ever left your side, Edea? You forget; it was I who figured out where you were in time to rescue you.” He winked. “I can think of no truer display of love for a man than to go charging into the enemy stronghold to save his beloved from some dire fate. Wouldn't you agree?”

The man had a point, darn it. Not that she would ever admit it to his face in a million years. Yet somehow… In his own coy way, Ringabel had succeeded in his original mission to comfort her over her grievous mistake. Perhaps he did have a sort of technique about him, after all, something that drew her to him despite her attempts to resist. What was it? Was it the fact that no matter how outrageous his words, they were somehow always true? Was it the familiarity she sensed in his voice and movements, that she couldn't pinpoint the cause of? Was it his incredible prowess in battle despite his years, that so reminded her of her father? Edea sighed and closed her eyes, but could not entirely suppress the miniscule smile tugging at her face. Perhaps he was actually more white than she had taken him for…