Twelve
- Suikoden III, Barts and Percival
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"Mm?" Barts said, stubby brown fingers digging into the dirt and tugging out a handful of dirty roots.

"I'll be a squire of the Zexen Knights this time next week!" Percival puffed out his narrow chest. "All I have to do is show up and prove that I know how to use a sword, and I can do that."

"Mm." Barts scrubbed the back of his wrist over his forehead and patted the dirt back around the cabbage.

Percival scowled. "Also, you're a big ugly stupidhead and you're not listening to anything I'm saying, are you?"

"Mm?"

Percival dropped his head onto his upraised knees and sighed. "Look, I'm leaving tomorrow, I'd think you'd care."

"Mm."

Percival lifted his head just enough to study Barts, then reached out and flicked his finger hard against Barts' forehead. Barts yelped and jerked his head up, then grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just thinking... it's going to be a good year for the tomatoes!" Barts sat on the ground and looked over his shoulder at the tomatoes, the first few already red and gleaming dustily in the sun. "My da says that tomatoes are like kids, says you can treat them any way you want and they'll still grow, but you have to treat them just right to make them grow up to be worth something."

"You weren't li~sten~ing~," Percival half-sang.

"I am now," Barts said, stung, and reached behind himself to pull a pair of tomatoes off the vine. He tossed one to Percival. "Here, lunch! So what were you saying?"

Percival told him. Again. About halfway through Barts' eyes went all dull, but Percival, intent on his story, didn't notice.

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The east was just barely beginning to gray over when Percival vaulted over the low fence that surrounded Iksay, a battered rucksack over his shoulder and his father's old army sword clumsily strapped to his hip. Two days' walk to Brass Castle if he hurried, three if he didn't, and he'd be there just in time for the yearly open recruitment... when the hand leaped out of the darkness and fastened on his sleeve he choked on his surprised yell and leaped away so fast that he ended up tumbling into a heap on the roadway.

"Sorry," Barts whispered sheepishly, edging out from under the stablery's roof.

"You scared me!" Percival hissed, scrambling back to his feet.

"I said I was sorry," Barts hissed back, edging closer. "... so you're actually going?"

"... no, of course not, whatever gave you that idea?" Belatedly Percival remembered that he was wearing a sword and dropped his hand to it meaningfully. "Of course I'm going!"

"Oh. Well." Barts swallowed, then thrust something at Percival, a small sack. "I-I thought you'd maybe get hungry on the trip so I picked a few things..."

"Ooh!" Percival clawed the top of the sack open and stuck his face into it. The fresh smell of ripe produce wafted out and he moaned a little. "Thanks, I managed to steal a little bread and cheese but I didn't think I had enough... you're the best, and I mean it. I'll... I'll write you from Brass, okay?"

"Okay..." Barts scuffed his toe in the dirt, then reached out and awkwardly squeezed Percival's shoulder. "Um. Bye. Come back some time, okay, your parents won't stay mad forever..."

Percival beamed and reached up to squeeze Barts' hand. "You bet I will! When I'm a full-fledged Knight of Zexen and they can't tell me what to do any more, I'll come back. Promise."

For a moment they were both quiet, then Barts breathed out a little laugh and tugged his hand free. "Gonna hold you to that, skinny."

"Not if I hold you to it first," Percival breathed, not caring that it didn't make any sense. "See you!"

"Good luck!" Barts watched his friend race off down the dirt road. "... see you," he whispered, once Percival was well and truly gone, and then he turned to go back into town, because the corn needed thinning today, and it would be best to get started before the day got too hot.