shortie: ha, ha! I forgot I had already written up something resembling a sequel to "Not So Hopeless." Well, here you go, Wings of Heaven! I hope you like it.

Uh, oh yeah. Basch's telling you each piece of gossip word for word.

Disclaimer: Don't own FFXII. Or you. Just the plot.

The whole nation of Archadia was aflame with gossip about the emperor's wife:

"I thought Emperor Larsa was marrying Princess Emilia of Rozarria." Bewilderment.

"But she looks similarly to her!" Confusion.

"Who?" Completely clueless.

"The emperor's tart of wife!" Jealousy and hate.

"I wonder if she pulled a fast one over our dear Lord Larsa." Worry.

"She probably did, warming her way into his bed!" Outrage and disgust.

"Oh, that poor, poor Princess! She got Emperor Larsa stolen from her! She must be terribly heartbroken." False inferences.

"I heard that she ran away from Rozarria the day before the wedding. No one's heard from her yet." True…

(There was a collection of gasps.)

"And so, that witch partook in the wedding under the guise of Her Highness?" …completely wrong. Shock mixed with resentment.

(A nod threw them all into an angry frenzy.)

(The men, on the other hand…)

"Have you seen the emperor's wife? She's one hot babe!" Total glee and excitement.

"Looks nuthing like dat girl, the lil' princess." Amused observation.

"Wonder where he managed to pick up such a sweet thing like her." Curious musing.

"In Rozarria! I heard he ditched the Rozarrian Princess and eloped with his wife." Surprise.

"I'm surprised the Rozarrian king hasn't sent any airships over here to destroy us yet." Wary.

"Didja think she went to bed with him?" …Overwhelmingly nauseating.

(There was a mixture of guffaws and scoffs.)

"The wench probably did-"

"BASCH, WOULD YOU QUIT IT ALREADY? I'M READY TO PUKE!"

Said man chuckled, finding your predicament to be quite entertaining. Your face was a lovely cherry red, cheeks burning. The churning of your stomach indicated that there was a possibility the contents would be regurgitated-and if you did, you hoped it would be on the shiny silver armor Basch wore.

The door clicked open. "(Your Name). Basch."

His tone was questioning, but you didn't give him any information on the situation at hand as you hastily walked over to him, holding him tightly to you, face buried against his chest. Inhaling his scent helped ease the turmoil in your abdomen (but it made your heart race). You felt him tense up in surprise, mostly likely wondering what had brought this sudden act-of affection, was it?-on. However, he immediately relaxed after a few quick seconds, wrapping his arms comfortably around you. Lips were lightly pressed against the top of your head, and the murmuring of his soft voice was calming, soothing.

…unlike that old man Basch.