Chapter Text
Setzer walked into the engine room of the Falcon and was treated to the quite pleasant sight of the King of Figaro's ass sticking up in the air. Setzer contemplated this appreciatively for a moment before calling out, "Oi!" and making his way over. After all, one could never give a man who was ass-up in your airship's engine enough warning before sneaking up on him. Gods knew that Setzer didn't want him to drop a wrench in there.
Edgar straightened, turning, and nearly dropped his wrench anyway as his back cramped up. He put a hand to it, plunking himself down against the railing. "Owowow...ow." He blew up at a strand of hair that'd escaped his braid to float in his face and called out as Setzer picked his way across the engine room, "I hope you brought lunch."
"Even better," Setzer pronounced. He plunked down a tray with enough sandwiches on it to feed a small army and a bucket that was, to all outward appearances, full of ice. He fished around for a minute under the ice and pulled out a bottle, offering it to Edgar. "Lunch and beer."
Edgar sighed as he took it. "You are a god among men."
"I try." Setzer sat down himself on the grating, pulling out another beer. He was amused when the King of Figaro, with no bottle opener immediately evident, popped the cap off against an edge of the engine housing. "You know, when I asked if you had anyone who could look the Falcon over, I didn't really mean for YOU to come out here."
Edgar waved a slightly greasy hand dismissively, then went back to wiping it off on a scrap of rag as he eyed the sandwiches hungrily. "Don't worry about it. Gives me an excuse to get the hell out of the castle."
Setzer bit into a sandwich himself, wondering if Edgar realized that he swore more when he worked on machines. Must come with the territory, he decided. "Oh, come now, doesn't the King of Figaro have more important things to do than putter around in my engine room? Treaties to sign? Wars to stop? Or start? Worlds to conquer? Marriages to arrange?" Setzer chuckled as Edgar shot him a nasty look and muttered something obscene through his mouthful of bread and meat.
Edgar swallowed. "Heard about that, did you?"
"Oh yes. It's all over Jidoor...Maranda...New Vector.... Zozo, too, believe it or not."
Edgar made a face, reaching for a bit of cheese. "Wonderful, the whole world watching my Council pester me about getting a wife."
"Hey, you're one of the most powerful men on the planet now. You could shift the entire world's balance of power depending on who you marry." Setzer bit into a pickle. "Not that I have to tell YOU that."
Edgar snorted, leaning back and wincing as he stretched his back. "Oh, no, I get reminded of it roughly twenty-three times a day, believe me." He sighed. "To be honest, I'd rather stay here and wrestle with your engine until my back gives out from old age."
Setzer grinned at him. "Well, if you ever want to run away, I'll come pick you up. Whisk you away like a damsel in distress. They'll never catch us."
"Especially since you've got the only airship on the planet," Edgar pointed out.
"Exactly. And I'd have a mechanic to keep it running."
Edgar nodded solemnly, chewing thoughtfully. "EVENTUALLY I'd need some parts or something."
"We'd disguise you. You know, dye your hair and throw a big cloak over you. You could go scavenge in Vector and no one would recognize you."
"Ah, from King of Figaro to technology scavenger." Edgar stares off into the air, munching his sandwich with a wistful look on his face. "I'm tempted."
"Mmmhmm."
"But then who would run Figaro?"
"Well, Sabin's your heir, right? He could take over."
Edgar just looked at him.
Setzer shivered. "......yeah, you're right. Maybe you should stay. You know, in the interest of world peace and all."
Edgar sighed, nodding. "Ah, a lovely dream shattered."
"I could come and kidnap you AFTER you're married and have a kid to be your heir?"
"Depending on whom I marry, I just might take you up on that. You haven't SEEN some of the women that have been paraded in front of me. Everything from sixteen year old girls who look like they're ready to bolt if I look at them crosswise to old crones that could be my mother...."
Setzer raised an eyebrow speculatively. "Maybe I should visit Figaro more often. Sixteen year old girls, you say? Is there a swimsuit contest included in this parading?"
Edgar threw a pickle at him.