seikilos

Title: The Importance of Honest, Direct Communication
Fandoms:

luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of Phantasia, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, original work, Final Fantasy IV: The After Years, Bomberman 64: The Second Attack
Genre: Humour/romance
Rating: PG
Words: 981 this part, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: The early days of Grune and Dhaos' relationship, as seen through the eyes of Fenimore, Norma, and Dhaos. Part 1: Fenimore attempts to solve the mystery of "Who Finished Off Grune's Remaining Wits?"
Author's Notes: Yeah, this was supposed to be a short one. And I did manage it for the first chapter! ...But the second and third exploded on me. Whoops. So, I guess you could consider this more of an introduction than a first chapter, but whatever.

The phrase "honest, direct communication" (c) the first result that came up when Googling "relationship communication." :|b

Every once in a while, it occured to Fenimore to worry a little about Grune.

Not all that often, for all Grune was an incredibly trusting, extraordinarily naive, and unbelievably gorgeous woman with the kind of figure Fenimore didn't even bother dreaming about. Grune's luck was such that if she found herself surrounded by a pack of ravenous monsters, it would be on the day they'd discovered they preferred snacking on plants to eating people.

But she did worry about her sometimes, especially when it came to the friends she kept accumulating. Keeping track of that ever-multiplying list would be a full time job, and so Fenimore didn't bother trying. But whenever she started picking a name out of the stream more than a time or three, she liked to investigate.

Especially since doing so this time might let her solve a mystery that had been tugging at her curiosity lately.

She never would have expected it to be possible for Grune to get spacier, but apparently, the impossible didn't exist when it came to her. (She should know. One look at Grune's cup size would be enough to prove that beyond any doubt.) Lately, Grune had been staring off into space and softly smiling . . . more than usual, humming to herself . . . also more than usual, and occasionally stopping in the middle of what she was doing to press her fingertips to her lips. That last one was new, and what had started her wondering. As weird as it was to think about Grune kissing anyone—well, this was Luceti. Weird was a daily occurrence in this place.

Narrowing down the party responsible for Grune's unusually unusual behaviour was a big job, though, and, after a bit, Fenimore took to working out the problem as she did her chores. It wasn't a bad way to pass the time.

Dhaos was the obvious lead suspect in the "Who Finished Off Grune's Remaining Wits?" mystery. Fenimore had had her suspicions about the way Grune acted around him for a while now. (And him turning up naked in her bed wasn't a bad clue, either.) But for all the guy seemed decent enough, he was also pretty . . . remote. It was hard to imagine him kissing anyone, let alone Grune—not that she wanted to. And so she set him to one side and considered the other options.

There was Giles, of course. Not only did he and Grune spend all kinds of time together, but he had even given her a hand-crafted necklace that she now wore everywhere. That was definitely a boyfriend thing to do, she thought as she absently fiddled with the necklace Shirley had given her. And Grune's reaction to the gift only strengthened that impression.

The only thing was—Giles was kind of old. Too old for Grune, as far as Fenimore was concerned. (How old was Grune, again?) So he was probably out of the running, too, although just to be sure, Fenimore set his name aside with Dhaos'.

Link's name turned up a lot, too, and he visited House 34 fairly often. He was pretty cute, too. But he was closer to her own age, not Grune's (whatever it was). He was probably too young for her.

Mentally, she went through the names of Norma, Moses, and that woman, Alice, who Fenimore had once seen talking to Grune's . . . er, there, instead of making eye contact. She was pretty sure those three were in it only for the hugs.

Who else was there? She paused in sweeping the living room for a moment to think. Before, she would have immediately said that guy, Cecil, who used to live next door. He was the right age, friendly as anything, and he and Grune tended to chatter on forever if they weren't interrupted. But then, after one New Feather cycle, Cecil had started introducing his wife to anyone who'd hold still for two seconds and had been so soppy about it that his name had been very firmly crossed off the list for good.

Pommy definitely acted love-stricken enou—no. No. . . . No.

No.

"Fenimore?"

"No."

"What?"

She blinked and looked over to a very confused Stella. Whoops. "Sorry, I was thinking about something else. Do you need something?"

"Could you go tell Grune it's time for supper?" Stella asked as she headed back to the kitchen. "I think I last saw her in the garden."

"Sure. Just give me half an hour or something," Fenimore said with a grin.

Stella made an amused sound. "Do your best. I'll keep your food warm."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

*

Finding Grune, as she had been joking with Stella, was always a bit of work. Even when she was given a location as specific as Grune's garden . . . really, that wasn't narrowing it down much at all. When in the world did someone as airheaded as Grune find time to make it so big?

She considered just shouting out Grune's name a few times to get her attention, but that felt a little too much like calling a dog. And anyway—wait, was that her trowel lying on the ground? And was that Grune's veil sticking out from behind one of those trees over there?

Starting forward with visions of still-hot chicken pot pie dancing in her head, Fenimore began, "Grune, it's time for—"

Grune. Was behind that tree. Kissing Dhaos.

The remainder of the sentence died in her mouth without even a squeak. She had just enough time to catch sight of Dhaos' head jerking up, eyes wide and cheeks reddening, before she had whirled around and buried her own burning face in her hands.

" . . . Supper," she managed. "It's time for supper."

And then she fled, not even waiting for Grune's no doubt completely unruffled acknowledgment.

Case closed.

Chapter 2