the complete idiot's guide to the care and feeding of your chocobo
-irishais-
Zell is a goddamned moron.
It's not the first time that Seifer's thought this, not today, not this afternoon, not in the last five minutes, but it still never fails to amaze him that one person can be capable of such complete and utter incompetence.
It's mind-boggling, and Seifer possesses a mind that is very rarely boggled by anything, even Dincht's idiotic haircut. (For the record, which he has taken great pains to ensure that everyone is aware of, it looks quite like a chocobo has landed ass-up on a potato that someone had been scribbling on with permanent marker previous to the chocobo-squashing.) Stupid hair aside, Dincht, Seifer belives, has just gone and set new records for moronic-ism— and if that isn't a word, Seifer is going to damn well ensure that it gets in the dictionary with a picture of Zell's face as its definition.
"Ow! Motherfu--"
"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Chickenwuss?"
"Hey, screw you, man, you're not the one with—"
Seifer smirks, the corner of his mouth curling just enough as he wields the tweezers. "You would do very well to remember that fact, too. Because I'm not the dumbass who— ah, gotcha, you little fucker..."
"Oh, christ on toast, could you at least try to be gentle?"
"I could just leave you here with the tweezers and you can fend for yourself." True to point, he tosses the metal tweezers in Zell's general direction, rising off the bed in the same smooth motion. Zell looks at him desperately.
"Man, you cannot leave me here like this." His eyes are wide, comically so, because while Dincht may be a moron, he is not stupid, and he knows that yes, Seifer will leave him here like that, take a stroll down to the nearest bar for a drink, and lose absolutely no sleep over it later. The only solution is begging. Groveling, if Seifer's feeling like a particular bastard today.
"Please. I'm gonna miss something and it's gonna get infected, and I think I honestly will throw up pulling these things out on my own— Seifer, don't be such an asshole, dude."
He makes a great show of stopping in front of the door to smooth his hair back and pluck an invisible Dincht-hair off of his shirt.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you'd just leave, I'm going to kick your ass—"
He studies his fingernails, prying out a little dirt from under his thumbnail.
"You know what? Fuck you and the chocobo you rode in on—"
He snickers, a little. "It was," he clarifies, "a '69 Mesmerize." With all the options possible and a convertible top. He relishes the memory, even if it was tarnished a little when he parked in Garden's garage to realize that Herr Commander Squall Leonhart McEmoLoser, Esquire, had purchased the exact same vehicle in silver.
Seifer's was red. It was automatically better; it almost made up for the lack of SeeD officer parking.
Almost.
"Dude. Seriously. Please?" Zell's still leaning against the bed, looking a rather unhealthy shade of green. He holds out the tweezers in a last ditch gesture of hope.
Seifer rolls his eyes. "Don't you have like fifty junior cadets who would do this for you at the snap of your fingers?" he asks, sauntering back over to pluck the tweezers out of Zell's hand, who looks more relieved than he ought to at the prospect of Seifer hovering so near with something that could technically be considered a deadly weapon (and technically is, according to page 234, Regulation 399, section c, of the SeeD manual, right above ladies' razors and ballpoint pens.)
(Briefly, he recalls that time in fifth year where he won a fight using nothing but a mechanical pencil that had happened to be in his pocket. He had single handedly caused a revision of the Manual, and when the books were reissued, "mechanical pencil" was carefully printed in the list, somewhere between knives and hot grease.)
Seifer leans forward, squinting a little as he tries to focus on just one part of the problem area. "Stand still," he orders. "Last thing we need is some idiot officer busting in here because you were squirming like a pig and I stuck you accidentally."
He draws out another one of the thin, razor sharp cactuar needles, and drops it into the pile on Zell's bedside stand. Zell groans. "Grow a pair," Seifer admonishes, and pulls out three at the same time, just because he can.
"Mother of Hyne!" Zell shrieks, jerking away from Seifer. "Ow!"
Seifer clucks his tongue, and aims the tweezers again. "You'll live," he assures Zell dryly.
Zell glares at him, a squinty, one-eyed stare that Seifer assumes is meant to intimidate people. He raises an eyebrow thoughtfully, analyzing the look.
"Helps if you actually look a little terrifying," he offers up as constructive criticism. "But I suppose looking a little like a hedgehog does add a little something to the effect."
"Screw you," Zell retorts.
"Sorry, honeybunches, but I don't do pincushions."
He clenches his fists at his sides, tightly, to keep from killing Seifer. He should've gone to Quistis, but she's out on mission, and the last thing he needs is for anyone else to see him looking like a total loser while he's wandering the halls trying to find someone else who can help, and Seifer's already here and he's fast at getting the little suckers out...
"Now sit the hell still, because I'm going for that one right next to your eye."
...Even if he is planning on trying to blind Zell before the night's out. But it's not Zell's fault, really; the stupid cactuar was just there, out of nowhere, and how the hell was he supposed to know that Xu had decided to implement cactuars into the training center curriculum? It wasn't like they put up signs about that or anything, although Zell can sort of remember seeing something on the con—
Suddenly, there is a distinct yanking sensation.
"Holy shit, seriously!" Zell exclaims. There's gotta be a way that Seifer can do this that doesn't make it feel like he's tearing all those little needles straight out of Zell's brain.
"Dincht, seriously, for the last time, I am not the one who decided to go hug a cactuar, so take a big boy pill and maybe I won't blind you in the other eye." Seifer looks entirely too pleased about that prospect, and Zell mutters under his breath.
Dude could at least try to be nice about it, cripes.