So I really should be quickly typing my entry for the calendar challenge on ladycordelia17's forum The Moogle Nest, nevermind that it's late, but this idea just would not go away. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles.


Valentine's With the Moschets

Jack Moschet was not happy.

There wasn't often a time when he was ecstatically happy, but life had its moments. He lived in a mansion, after all. He certainly enjoyed his creature comforts. So maybe his wife wasn't the nicest lady. She was nice enough occasionally, and she was his lady. He'd certainly planned on showing her a nice time tonight. He'd had it all planned out: fancy dinner, some dancing, an early night, maybe some sweet lovin'…

And then those damned little people had to show up.

Jack didn't mind the small ones usually. They were just trying to make a living, same as him. What he hated was that every time they entered his home, everything turned to complete and utter chaos. Today was not an exception.

Saint Valentine's Day, the most romantic day of the year. Couldn't they have waited a day, he wondered, as he slammed his fist into the particularly tiny one. Not to be deterred, the sprout-head jabbed at him with her lance, and he roared in pain.

Couldn't they see the lovely decorations he'd put up? Surely they'd noticed the satin sheets on the bed, the delectable smells his chefs had been hard at work cooking up? Jack roared again as his coat, a lovely purple cloth that had cost more than he would have liked, caught fire as the bird mage released her spell. Why did these people invade his home periodically? Had no one ever taught them to knock?

"That cost me a thousand gald!" he roared, throwing himself in the air in a fit of rage. The impact of his landing had a double effect. Not only did it put out the flames, it caught the caravanners off guard, and he took the opportunity to use his icy breath as a weapon. 'Comes from your cold heart,' the missus had said more than once, sneering at him from her place at the table.

She'd been fighting the group with him, but like with everything else (including their marriage) she'd given up after few minutes and ran away to sit in the corner. She could have helped him, but no, it was always 'Jack, earn more money,' and 'Jack, I want a bigger chamber,' and 'Jack, throw those pesky humans out.' Never a moment of rest, not even on a day meant for romance.

He knew he was getting tired, getting old really. He wasn't hitting as hard or as fast as he used to. The little people were running circles around him, even the one carrying that bucket they always had. A sword pierced his hand; he cried out as a racket slammed into the side of his head so hard he saw stars long before the evening had arrived.

Jack Moschet had had enough.

"Why?" he roared, banging his fists on the ground once, then twice. "Why?"

The caravanners, a motley group of six, stared at him with utterly confused faces. Jack roared again. "I hate my life!" He took off running for the entrance to his own mansion, intent on hiding out somewhere in the wilderness until they were gone.

"Wait! Jack, wait for me!" his wife called, but he was already down the road, past the wagon and hopefully soon to be the new lord of Tida, where surely those damn caravans would never seek him out again.