A/N: The only excuse I have for writing this is too much doujinshi and a very, very bad year so far. To hell with the world.
Oh and, nothing personal about city planners anywhere and every where around the world. You guys do a great job, the mind just works funny. Same for the publishers and subscribers of men's magazines.
I don't have to remind you that I don't own the final fantasy franchise. If I did Squall would not lose all his sense and fall in love with a girl just because of one dance he was kidnapped into. Or at least Rinoa's chest would not be the only thing about her that isn't flat and boring.
Enjoy.
The First Crack
The dressing table was out of a place in Seifer's room. Its mirror was a huge narcissistic creation, laid into the dark oak with silver- backed vanity. The bottom fifteen inches of the mirror reflected a cityscape of toiletry bottles, artificially extending the real line up of bottles arranged haphazardly across the table in an uncannily city- like manner. Makes you wonder what city planners really do for a living, since streamlined, penguin- shaped bottles should look more seaworthy than metropolitan.
The rest of the mirror reflected a scowling, and if Seifer does say so himself, stunningly handsome blond with an angry red scar still glistening with blood across his face. The bandages Dr. Kadowaki had painstakingly set for him across the wound lay discarded over a coffee table littered with editions of Timber's second ranked best selling men's magazine, "Iron Manhood". July's issue wasn't there though because it lay buried under his bed covers, the application form for Firmawink anti- eye wrinkle cream neatly torn out. It wasn't wrinkle cream that Seifer was interested in though as he scowled at the unsightly scar. There was no way to hide it, no concealer or foundation would stand a chance against this ACCURSED MARRING OF HIS KILLER GOOD LOOKS THAT THAT PANSY SQUALL BOY WAS GOING TO PAY BIG TIME FOR!
How did that boy manage to cut a slice of the Great Swordsman anyway? Seifer was certain that his No Mercy limit break would have done the trick. Watching the fallen dark- haired fairy who thought he could fight had given him such a rush, and just right now- a pang. Running the image over in his mind, Squall eyes wrenched in agony, blood pelting down from torn tissue, a small part of him went, 'I shouldn't have done that.' Had he felt that way too earlier, standing before his rival, arms and back burning from the clash of blades? Was that why he had reacted half a second and an eternity too slow against that final strike?
Was he actually feeling guilty?
"No way- he pulled a Renzokuken on me first," Seifer protested and grimaced as it came out whinny and childish. He did NOT want to sound like a junior classman, but he also didn't relish admitting he could have been wrong.
He had lost control, just for a moment then, the beastly blood thirst and the thrill of first blood had clouded his mind. That was the one part of himself he didn't like. He wasn't a beast- he was a warrior, a knight errant. Try however hard as he might though, the high he enjoyed from knowing that he could gut the desperate fool firing at him always got to him on the battlefield. This was the first time it happened during a practice session.
Was it battle lust? Did it just feel so good that he could no longer hold back? Hard clash after hard clash, muscles straining against each inch of ground he could gain into Squall's territory, drawing inexorably close to that imagined one wild thrust that would drive the sweet bliss home.
Except it didn't go that way.
The pale- faced gigolo hadn't faltered beneath Hyperion's edge. He had fought back, pushed back. Squall pummeled him so rapidly that Seifer could only see the explosion of darkness that came with each impact, an explosion made out of each wince he made and each slam that shook his entire frame. For a moment there, Seifer thought that he might actually buckle in defeat. In response to that, the beast howled, and it was as if Seifer's insolently relaxed emerald eyes were suddenly covered by a thin blindfold dyed in blood. It was killed or be killed. He could not be killed. He HAD to kill. Kill.Kill.KILL!
A wild swipe, but Squall's lithe body danced neatly out of blade's reach. He would not run away- arm raising- he would not get away- fire building- helpless, he's so helpless- strike- close in on him-strike- he won't get away- strike- strike!
Blood splattering, dark red arcs splashing against granite- hyne, it felt so good! His arms were killing him but his chest tingled, tingled with the rush. It was even possible that he didn't feel any remorse even as the veil was slowly lifted from his eyes, until a view of hell burst through the agony in those cerulean eyes. The first sign of regret was the brief heaviness that debilitated him as he took a sharp intake of breath, and blood, real blood- his own blood, filled Seifer's vision.
Mentally shaking away the memory, Seifer fingered the livid scar slashed diagonally across his face. Actually, it didn't look too bad, like a battle scar. It was a battle scar. Caressing the intersection of the scarlet line across the high bridge of his nose, he was filled with a sudden urge to see Squall's all cleaned up from the good doctor's infirmary. Glancing at his electronic wall clock, he realized that there was just fifteen minutes to review class. Squall wouldn't miss a class over a little battle wound, that mama's boy. The blonde self- proclaimed knight- in- training watched his reflection grin back at him, then abruptly swore and swiped a tissue from a half- overturned tissue box, as a bead of blood ran down from the part of the scar he had agitated.
Seifer never truly understood that the practice fight had, for the first time in all his years of knowing the sullen youth, made him afraid of Squall. Even with the crack on his once flawless defiance staring back at him, he never knew that he had begun to fall until it was too late.
A flash of blue.
--End--
Message of the day: Always remember, Rinoa was the product of forsaken love.
Just kidding . . . sorta . . .