Disclaimer: I still don't own Final Fantasy VIII. Hopefully, I am not offending anyone who does, by writing this.

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Authors Notes – I actually did not originally intend to publish this on because I don't know if it will ever be finished like I want it to. This is the result of listening to Cat Power's "Moon Pix" about five consecutive times and realizing that I hadn't written in a long time. I wrote this before the beginning of "Fool's Gold," but considering that I'm having writer's block on that one, I wanted to demonstrate that I am still alive and kicking. Woohoo?

Enjoy, at least I hope you will enjoy. Tell me what you think, you know the drill!

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Ramshackle Land

By giggleplex

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She would be the first to admit that she knew very little about dying.

The strangest thing about death is that it becomes so much easier to accept once it has begun to run its course.

Carnival bells tolled jovially, and they pounded to the tune of her head. Something was beautiful about the fading of the world. Something was ironic about that beauty.

People became blurs as inconsequential as those carnival bells, though shapes hovered over her in rapidly shifting forms. Soon, even the trickle of bells ringing was grasping for notice. People were shouting. People were shadows.

Another sensation burned her, and she knew she was screaming.

Someone was touching her arm, insistently as if their worries were any meaning to her. Her, a dying woman. A woman long starved of something other than food, a woman starved of love.

How dare they, how dare they. How dare they weep for her, to want her to come back to their reality. How dare they selfishly wish to save her!

In a last-bit mustering of strength, she pushed them away with her mind and finally closed her eyes. Her lids sat still.

Then she convulsed. She felt the forceful taste of blood in her mouth, and felt a warm, red stream bead down the side of her lip. Her eyes shot open to impossible wideness as if they struggled to pop from their sockets.

Irony. Juxtoposition. Perfectly manicured nails shot out and grasped someone, something real. The cloth was rough, but invigorating. She knew it would be the last thing she ever felt besides pain. Her grip tightened and her face, slackened with the shock of painful rapture, turned toward her grip.

"Remember me," a gasp, a choke "remember . . . remember . . . " something was disappearing, a part of her was dying " . . . Quistis Trepe."

She drowned in delirium, as more than one part of her died vaguely in the miasma of oblivion.

The figures above her had sharper senses than that of the broken body on the floor. Memories came quick. These beings remembered. These brave, loved, misunderstood individuals.

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I remember. It seemed like so long ago.

It was May, and finality to the rains had finally come. The air was sweet, the ballroom pristine, and I was standing to the side in self-imposed isolation. It could have been the end of the world and my thoughts would never have strayed beyond my slight interest in the sparkle of my champagne.

I remember my dress, a colorless affair that reflected the shade of said champagne. It was nothing I would have picked out for myself, Selphie had as I remember, all straps and slinky silk. That was the first, and the last time I wore that dress.

My two greatest and most bitter friends—Selphie and Rinoa—had been trying for months to get me into a dress that did not reach from my fingertips to my toes. I had avoided the subject, quietly, yet they had cornered me a week before the ball with cash in their pockets and stubbornness in their eyes. It was the sort of infallible, female stubbornness that sometimes overtook small girls teaching even smaller girls about life, or forceful mothers as they looked down spoons of vegetables upon their children. They took me to Esthar, and I hurriedly picked the first thing I saw.

It was not as if I really cared so little about my appearance, because I did care about it. I was the master of first impressions. Selphie and Rinoa had not understood—until they saw me at that very same ball bare-legged and scowling. They had averted their eyes, muttered token compliments and avoided me for the rest of the evening.

In fact, most people had avoided me that evening. I could recognize their attempted discreet glances at the remains of gunblade wounds criss-crossing up my too-pale, too-long legs. It was a rather gruesome sight, and I could barely stand to look at them myself; not because I was squeamish of gore and pain, but because I was squeamish of memories. Recollections from blank-eyed brunettes who could not turn down the rough stares and unspoken challenges of hard-eyed blondes.

I wish I knew then what I do now, about memories. Yet, there is little use in dwelling upon what has been or "I wish I had"s.

Cold breezes occasionally swept the large room, and they did little to improve my temperament. I was feeling as bitter as my mouth tasted. I was still at the point where I thought that by proving myself right, I had earned my happiness despite my alienation of those involved. Yet time and time again, I found myself lonely and brooding afterward.

I could not sacrifice my thrice-damned pride to speak to Rinoa or Selphie, so I stood to the side, glaring at my glass and brooding.

Gentlemen and ladies, without battle scars paining their steps, twirled in tandem around the ballroom floor. I found it ironic that their careful steps were surrounding the inlaid SeeD logo in the center of the room, that all of their efforts simply accentuated the image associated with so much violence and dirty business. As far as I cared to tell, there was no violence and dirty business that evening.

It was an ode to destruction, a beautiful ode. Women were dressed in long gowns, men in their primmest finery. I felt bemused, yet I stared at them most of the night.

Sometime during the course of my thoughts, one person did approach me. Her heels clicked even more prominently than that of the other women around me, and I recognized the stride from the sound before I turned to face her, before I knew for certain she was coming to me. Only one woman had such a surety to her walk.

"Good evening, Quistis."

"Good evening, Xu." I replied.

She walked toward me with her hands neatly clasped behind her. It was my own habit as well, and I admit to emulating Xu's confidence and practicality. I smiled back at her kind countenance, the closest thing to a sincere smile I managed that evening.

"You look nearly as tired of these events as I feel." She smiled. I was sure she appeared much better put together than I. Suddenly, I felt ashamed of my scarred legs, and my inability to admit defeat to Selphie and Rinoa.

I again tried to exchange the gesture, I tried to reassure her. I look back upon myself with pity, as I was not in a state to be assuring.

I licked my lips.

"It has been one year." I said softly.

Her expression softened empathetically. I knew she would not try to compare her experiences with the events in which I participated a year prior. Xu understood me better than anyone.

She and I were not the best of friends, but we had a wonderful relationship based in pure respect. With Selphie and Rinoa, I could scream at them and I could sob in their shoulders in the same day. Xu was the sort of friend that I respected too much to get close to. I could never scream at Xu about my personal life, and I could never be short with her.

I suppose the same could be said for Xu herself. We were all smiles when faced with each other, a concept that I suppose began when we were still enrolled in the academy. She was nearly three years older than I, the resident child-genius of my age. Xu had been rather young for her level of Strategy and Tactics (level 3) as well, and I suppose we began our distant friendship as the "young" students.

She and I would borrow each other's notes, and I idolized her for showing me such kindness. I had so few friends in those days. Her notes were always highlighted and tabbed with fluorescent plastic tabs whose organization always made perfect sense. I admired each one of her "A's," always identical to the others in blue or black ink on un-crumpled paper.

I never wanted to get to know her better, because I never wanted to be faced with any faults I would probably find. We had each other for kind words when we had screamed at our closest friends, but we rarely spoke to each other on other occasions.

My recent alienation of my two best friends warranted as a time to speak to Xu, to settle myself.

"It's amazing how dreadful these parties are, when the intent was to allow us to enjoy ourselves."

"I have a feeling this was arranged for purely economic reasons." I said smartly, eying a nearby middle-aged couple.

They looked as if they were leaving the ball, and the woman was wearing a coat trimmed in mink fur. Xu turned as well, and I could sense the recognition in her face as she recalled the features of one of Dollet's most prominent Dukes. Cid was hovering not too far away from them, wearing his familiar red vest and golden pocket-watch chain hanging out.

"I suppose you are right." She sighed "But they could hardly sponsor a wild, clothing-optional fiasco in the fountains, however more enjoyable we SeeD's would find it."

I laughed softly, a chuckle that came from my throat and had little substance or resonance. She had a pleasant sense of humor, not outstandingly comedic, but welcome. I had a feeling and I still do that Xu's boring jokes were another reflection of our boring, respectful relationship.

"I would probably still rather be in my dormitory, reading a book."

Xu shook her head.

"I worry about you sometimes, Quistis." She joked.

I chose that moment, however inconvenient, to feel terribly sorry for myself.

A lump in my throat became present, but she did not seem at all ill at ease from my silence. I was renown for being silent. I was notorious for being lonely. It was easy for other people to accept this, but I never could.

We chatted a bit more. Our conversation touched on trivial things like that beautiful dress, that terrible weather, those horrible cadets who did such and such . . .

I found myself drifting, far away from that chilly beige ballroom and into a plane of consciousness somewhere in the vicinity of the stars. My eyes reflected the hung lights on a midnight sky that enveloped Balamb like a layer of gauze. They seemed to burn overbright, but I couldn't look away.

Dimly I recalled responding with automatic answers to Xu's carefully inoffensive stories. My head was toward the stars, tilted like my glass of champagne, and my mind elsewhere. I could feel the photons from the thousands of clear stars as they reflected in my half-lidded pale eyes like the bubbles from my glass. When I breathed in, I felt a rush of peacefulness that overcame any fleeting feeling from the watered-down alcohol.

Yet with that peacefulness came a great stirring in my soul, the likes of where my story begins, an inspiration for this catastrophe. If I had only gone home early that evening, and not fallen under the spell of the stars perhaps things would have turned out differently. Or perhaps even in my dorm room, through the scent of dust and disinfectant, I would still be able to taste the wonder of that evening.

I know now that grand events such as Time Compression forever change the balance of luck in the world, but I did not know it then. That night was one year after her defeat, and I did not know enough to avoid the spell of fate. The breath that I breathed could have been the Sorceress' last, it could have traveled through her star-spun cloak and down to the earthly sights of Balamb in that connection of the years.

I did not realize what I was saying until it was too late to take it back. I was star-struck.

" . . . And despite all of this, I have to go to Balamb at 7 AM to pick up that blasted order of potions Cid ordered last week." Xu was saying "I get the feeling that he doesn't want me to have a social life."

"It was probably Squall's decision, we all know he doesn't understand the concept of a 'life.' "

Xu laughed richly.

"You know Xu," I began "I have a mission in Timber next week, and I might as well get myself situated in the town early. Would you mind if I accompany you tomorrow? At least to the train station."

The other woman blinked in surprise. I was taken with her eyelashes, thick and the same shade as her dark eyes. She was the midnight at the moment of my starlight. I could have been blubbering like a fool, and my mind could be nearer to my head.

Xu finally bestowed a brilliant grin that contrasted with her dusky appearance, and clasped her hands in front of her neatly.

"Of course, Quistis!" she laughed "It's always nice to know another person in the world has to wake up at the same time I do!"

The events of that night and the morning after were a bit hazy for me. It was as if a presence had gently pushed aside my mind and will, and taken control of my body like a courteous co-pilot. I left the party early after the plan with Xu, and managed to walk as meaningful as ever away to my dorm.

The two black leather briefcases I pulled out from my closet were gifts of SeeD "valor and bravery" from my days as the youngest SeeD in the history of Garden. In one I placed a few scattered essentials and in the other, a total of two-hundred-thousand gil, organized in neat pressed packs. I had accumulated a great deal of money with my steady employment and nothing to spend my earnings on.

When I slipped out of my slinky silk dress and took down my hair, I was asleep before I knew it. However, it could have been my hazy recollection. As I mentioned before, I still can't understand what made me do the things I did.

I awoke at 5:24 AM, a few minutes before my alarm. Once my eyes opened I was completely awake, and rose from my bed without any fuss, stretching, or yawning. Breathing evenly, I donned a neatly pressed SeeD uniform.

My medals and honors shined on my chest like large, clumsy diamonds. Gazing into my plain mirror, I was caught with the thought that the straight skirt was very similar to the gil bills I had packed the evening prior. Those bits of paper, endowed with the esteem of the world. I began to ponder the transition from dead wood to riches. Why did those bits of wood turn into wealth, while they could have very well been a paper towel, or a failed assignment.

I looked away, and determinedly refused to even glance into the silver looking glass.

I finished my last-minute packing earlier than I had expected. The trance of mine faltered for a few minutes as I surveyed the room that had been my home for nearly four years, as if grasping for any reason to—but the sterile walls stared back contemptuously in their pristine sheen.

Finally, I spotted a red leather-bound book at my bedside and nearly scrambled to search it. It was my last chance at reason.

I flipped through a few pages before realizing that I had never truly written anything substantial in the journal Selphie had given me. Blushing, and a bit ashamed, I closed it softly with resolve. A faint puff of dust still scattered, and I sneezed. It was the first sound I had made all morning. Then . . . silence.

My hair found itself tucked back in a long golden pin, familiar and vaguely reassuring. I slipped my wire-framed glasses over my nose, tucked my ID card into the front of my formal uniform, and in a last-minute moment of decisiveness, picked up the neglected journal and tucked it under my arm. Both black briefcases found themselves in my hands, each one a perfect balance of the other.

Silently and solemnly, I strode out of my room.

I did not go to the parking garage immediately to meet Xu. Instead I stepped softly down the hallway where "F. Tikes" transitioned into "S. Tilmitt." The hallway lights were still dim, but I could hear them buzzing—the unearthly presence in every hallway of Balamb Garden. I stopped in front of that dormant dormitory door, and stared at my hands. The buzzing reverberated through my head as if it were a storm of angry accusing bees that had traveled through my ears and mobbed through my cranium.

A wave of fear swept over me, and I began to rub my cold hands together to drown out the sound. Relief swept through me at the distraction, but my unease still remained.

After that pause the journal fell from my hands, and I did not look back as I walked quickly back down the hallway. I did not look back at my faults, or my successes. I did not know it then, but I was denying myself a past. And yet, sometimes pain needs to be numbed.

I do not know if what I did was entirely necessary, but I was a walking corpse weighed down with unfinished business, resistant memories and no purpose beyond a flurry of paperwork. Or at least, that is what I came to realize the evening before.

I greeted Xu in another dormant hallway, the one that led to the parking lot. She was also dressed in her uniform, but was looking worse for wear as she was drooping a little. Her response was an unhurried "hello" and a rubbing of her reddened eyes.

We made off toward Balamb without ado. I placed the briefcases in front of my bare legs as I sat in the passenger's seat, so that the slick businesslike leather brushed against them. The friction heightened my agitation, as well as Xu's lack of conversation.

After asking, I flipped on the radio to the Garden cargo truck just as the sun came up.

The music that floated through the speakers had an eerie quality that I was not altogether comfortable with. However, Xu smiled and mentioned something about the band being popular and I resisted the temptation to switch it.

We made it into Balamb about ten till. The air was sweet and damp, and Xu was muttering to herself when I stepped out of the truck. Politely, I voiced my goodbyes and she casually waved me off.

I was on a train to the beginning of the end of the world, ten minutes later.

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The next chapter is much stranger. I've got like a Dylan-like Seifer coming up. Please, I would much appreciate it if you told me what you think! Thank you so much for reading.

giggle