Quistis Trepe is out to catch herself a dragon.
She doesn't necessarily want to catch this dragon, but she needs to. There is a distinct difference between need and want, and she's a soldier so she knows that already, but she hates Squall all the same for sending her on a seemingly useless bounty hunt like this when there are kids to be taught and literal mountains of paperwork to plow through. Power through? She doesn't know proper verbs, anymore, because sitting on one bluff everyday looking for a sign of a giant blue lizard is starting to get to her.
Because her tiny office and empty coffee pot family and night alone in the library were starting to get to her.
She chides herself; this is peace. This is honest to Hyne hard-earned peace, she and the others braved a witch (three witches, to be precise), a tidal wave of lunar aliens, space travel, and time compression to get this peace for the world. Empty coffee pots and tiny offices is something she should be grateful for. Not many people were alive to enjoy libraries as thoroughly as she could.
The salt spray bashes against the cliff face, soaking her pink skirt. Two years of peace, and she hadn't changed her usual uniform. Girls were supposed to go shopping during 'peace', weren't they? Quistis wouldn't know. She wasn't a real girl – no doe eyes or quivering lips or cuteness to be had here. Rinoa and Selphie had tried to drag her out shopping in Deling City once or twice, but Quistis hadn't found anything she liked. Quistis didn't even know if she had a preference for clothes – anything comfy would do, and so she'd ended up putting the whole maternity section of the store in her shopping cart and Rinoa threw a fit at the cash register and put it all back. Hyne knows why; everything in that cart had been sinfully comfortable looking.
Quistis stares at the ocean of Centra and wonders when this continent became lonely.
It's the swerving canyons of sandstone and pale sands, the sparse trees and wilted piles of leaves as high as houses. The ruins of a civilization long gone crumbles under her feet, crumbles into the ocean that lashes iron waves against the bluffs.
Matron's orphanage is far south. In the year after the Garden Wars, as the populace began to call it, small towns cropped up on Centra, all eager to fish the waters and scour the ruins for antiques. Ships on Centra's coast were a common sight, now. The new towns gleam like little azure-shelled beetles, blue roofs and massive ports crowded with ships. More towns meant more people, and more people meant more idiots getting hurt by vicious fiends.
Squall had sent her after four very important ones – fiends no SeeD had come back unscathed from.
The first was this blasted Sapphire Dragon.
Whoever thought of the name had to have been drunk, Quistis decides.
She stands and stretches, shaking the salt spray from her hair. Save The Queen shifts on her hip with her movement, ever svelte and ready to draw blood.
This is peace, she thinks, and looks out at the sea.
Third day with no sign of the dragon. She calls it quits and trudges back to the tent she's pitched outside the town of Deep Folly. Squall had practically shoved the gil for an in room at her, but staying in a town consisting solely of drunk sailors left her uncomfortable. They were probably good men, but they were men nonetheless, and Quistis always like to play it safe.
'Play it safe.' Xu's voice rings her head as she strips of her wet clothes and curls into her sleeping bag. 'That just means 'sulk around like a bitch'. I keep telling you, Quistis, you should seriously consider coming with me to one of my friends' parties.'
Xu's parties were for all girls. Which Quistis was fine with, because Xu was her lifelong friend and ally, and whoever Xu loved was her business. But Quistis didn't quite understand the appeal, or the crowd. Xu was convinced Quistis' man-aversion was a sure sign she was a lesbian. Quistis wasn't so sure. She'd considered it, of course, because Quistis was full of logic and logic sat her down and went over with her just how much of a failure her life was romantically, seeking all the reasons and answers. In the end there had been none.
In the end, there was one answer.
She rolls over in her sleeping bag and curses her inability to cast Fire. She hadn't stocked it, opting instead for the high level spells with a nice element neutrality. At the end of the day, though, casting a Flare to warm yourself up meant certain radiation poisoning and, on the lighter side, instant death.
There was one answer that maybe Quistis had been avoiding. Not like she would admit that, though. Quistis Trepe does not avoid things. She faces them head on. While drunk. And held at gunpoint.
The point being, that Quistis Trepe had a fairly broken heart.
It wasn't anything to be sad about, nor was it romantically tragic. She'd simply had a crush for a very long time (more than a crush, more an obsession) on one Squall Lionheart. And when the last witch fell, in the dust of celebration and rebuilding, she watched Squall Lionheart be swept up by a sable, soft, girlish princess forevermore.
Quistis likes Rinoa. She has nothing against the brunette – being a Sorceress was punishment enough. She was cute and happy, and still very wise in her own intuitive way. Quistis, after two years of peace, understands that Squall is in love.
She decided, after realizing it thoroughly, that she was in fact not cut out for love at all. Once was enough, she thinks. Being in love so very tragically and wholly like she had been was enough for anyone. She has her instructor license back, a career to rebuild and a Garden to prepare so that Squall can run it more efficiently. He is the head and she is the inner workings. Nothing has really changed, except that she has more scars now and does not bruise as easily anymore.
She is buying apples in the market for her food satchel when something rockets into her from behind, making her stagger into the fruit vendor's stall.
"Quisty!"
The thing is bright yellow with impossibly flounced hair and the brightest smile she's ever known.
"Selphie?"
"Irvy! Irvy! She's over here!" Selphie lets go and signals on her tiptoes for someone over the heads of the crowd. "Irvy you drooling jerk-off! I'm over here!"
Irvine, with his long ponytail and wafting duster, looks up from the bust of a woman selling jewelry, his face cracking into a lazy smile as he walks over.
"Sorry Selph, got a little carried away by the...ahem...jewels."
Selphie bristles. "That's it. You're seriously in the dog house this time."
Irvine's face falls. "Aw, Selph, c'mon! You know I didn't mean ta look, it was just there!"
Selphie ignores him and smiles, grabbing Quistis' hands. "Squall told us you were here, so then I had a great idea because, um, hello, when does Quisty ever come out of her nerd-cave –"
"Nerd-cave?" Quistis blinks.
"-so I thought to myself, Selph! This is the like...the most opportune time or whatever. I've been meaning to plan this for months, and with you here on a mission and Irvy and me on holiday and Zell and his girlfriend what's-her-face on break too, plus Rinoa's gotten away from doing all those sorceress publicity things in Esthar, and Squall even has some free time in the next week or so, so I thought –"
Irvine smiles. "Brilliant Selphie here rented us a cabin on the beach for two weeks."
"Aw, am I really brilliant Irvy?"
"You know you are, babe."
Quistis chooses this moment to speak up against the logical fallacy. "Uhm...but just a moment ago, he was in the doghouse –"
"That's right!" Selphie howls. "Don't you try to distract me with compliments, mister."
"Quisty, why you gotta ruin it?" Irvine rolls his eyes.
"I'm sorry, but I'm only here for the mission, Selphie." Quistis sighs gently. "I have four fiends that need to be killed, and then I have to get back in time for the exam prep classes –"
"Where have you been staying in the meantime?"
"Ah, I pitched camp just outside –"
"A tent? No fucking way is my delicate and beautiful Quisty staying in a tent for some fiends to kill her in the night! Oh no, Quisty is staying with us in the cabin!"
Her hand is clutched, and Quistis, much taller and broader and weightier than Selphie, is strong-armed and dragged down the street by a bouncing girl in yellow.
"Zell's bringing the food, and I told Rinoa to get us a cooler of really fancy Esthar booze, so that's always fun, and then I think Squall has the extra futons and stuff, there's only like, four rooms, so that's me and Irvy in one, Rinoa and him in another, Zell and his Girlfriend in the third and you in the last one, Quisty!"
"That's...wonderful." Quistis deadpans. The cobblestone road is eroded by sand, and soon fades altogether into a path of gravelly sand lined by acacia trees and thorny bushes. The beach is beautiful – all pale stretches that meet jade water, the sun glinting off every crest of wave. The few occasional tourists stride along the beach, picking up seashells. Between sand dunes topped with waving grasses are a few beach houses, outfitted with screen doors and slatted windows to let in the summer breeze. The porches are large, and have swinging benches hanging from the roofs. Weathered windchimes and stacks of old driftwood clutter the eaves and ground.
"Here we go!" Selphie fishes out a key and turns it in the lock, banging the screen door open and leading them inside. The smell of salted driftwood and homey cloth assaults Quistis' nostrils. The wood floors have sand in the cracks. Selphie bounces on the only couch positioned around an ancient television. Irvine marvels at the paintings, all dopey lighthouses and watercolor landscapes with no real meaning. Woven throw rugs are scattered in doorways, marking bedrooms and the only bathroom. The shower old, taps rusted and the curtain decorated in clownfish with puckered lips. The toilet looks ready to fall through the floor.
The kitchen is too small. The stairs creak with age. Quistis walks up and finds herself in a single attic space converted to a rough two-person bedroom. The queen bed has a lacy quilt on it. Seaglass and rounded shells collected by someone long gone crowd the windowsills. She runs her fingers over the huge oval window that looks out onto the sea.
"Quisty! I found a bottle of gin someone left , do you –"
Selphie's voice quiets for a split second as she watches the girl at the window. Her grin is broad.
"If you like the attic so much Quisty, you can have it."
Quistis nods. "That would be wonderful."
The tent was cold. This place was not. She could put up with the gang and one bathroom if it meant staring out this lovely window all day.
This is peace, Quistis thinks as she helps Zell unload coolers of drinks – soda pop and water and the purest vodka and wine from Esthar Rinoa could find. She unpacks ham and cheese and bread and noodles and canned tomatoes and racks of herbs all waiting to be whipped into some culinary delight by Rinoa and Irvine's excellent cooking skills. Quistis smiles and inclines her head at Squall as he passes her futon after futon, Zell punching each to ensure optimal 'fluffiness'. The bedrooms have no bed save for the attic, which was why the house came so cheap for rent. No one complains about Quistis getting the only bed – she was alone in it. Having a bed made up for being alone in it, or so the twenty-something logic went.
The chaos breeds a hasty dinner of sandwiches and soda. Quistis takes hers onto the porch, where Zell's girlfriend (forever dubbed 'Bookworm' by Irvine and Selphie) is swinging her legs on the suspended bench.
"Instructor Quistis!" She smiles. "I-I hope you aren't too tired from moving everything."
"Not at all." Quistis takes a dainty bite of sandwich. (She would wolf it down, but she had a reputation to maintain in front of wide eyed students like her.)
"I'm amazed at how strong you are, Instructor."
"Simple weight training."
"Right! I never thought about doing that. I mean, my weapon is a firearm, so I didn't think I"d ever need it, but seeing you haul things around like one of the boys...I think it inspired me!"
Quistis feels her brow furrow. 'One of the boys'. She hadn't thought about her image, rather focusing on helping where it was needed. Had she seemed ungainly? She shakes it off and listens to the squeals of Rinoa and Selphie, of the deep rumbles of Squall's voice and Irbine's warm laugh. Zell comes out, holding two sandwiches.
"Oh hey there Quisty! What's happening?"
"Nothing much."
"Really? That's good." He hands Bookworm a sandwich and takes a walloping bite of his own. "Squall said you have a bounty out here or something. Need help?"
"No. I'll be alright, thank you."
"I know you will! Still, would be kinda cool to fight with you again. Like old times, eh? WE haven't gotten much of a chance, me globetrotting on missions and you...er..."
"You can say it." Quistis laughs. "Stuck in my office working."
"Yeah, that."
Night falls. Quistis stares out the rounded window, watching the sunset gasp its last breath in every color of the rainbow. She's too afraid to go downstairs to even get a glass of water – the doors are thin and she is sure everyone in the house is busy, tonight.
This is peace, she thinks. Everyone is happy, paired off, and in varying stages of love. This is peace – filled with laughter and kisses that she never feels. She never wants to feel them. It's alright to not want that.
She focuses on the sea, and smiles, and runs the brush through her golden hair in a hundred strokes like Matron taught her. Scalp to tips and back again.
The Sapphire Dragon doesn't rear its ugly head.
She watches the water for the fourth day in a row, sitting on the bluff where it was last reported to be seen. She casts an offhand Scan, the information cementing in her brain almost faster than she can understand it. Temperature is normal. Life signs include the usual sea life, a few tourists walking along the beach below, and herself.
There is a faint life sign below her, caught in the teeth of the reef alcove. Something is dying. The way of life, Quistis thinks, and goes back to staring at the sea.
Above the crash of the surf, she hears the groan.
She casts another Scan, quickly this time, and realizes the shape is much bigger than she thought – not a fish, then, but a human. Concern creases her face and salt wind whips at her skin as she runs. The shape is splayed across the alcove, ragged reef below it. She flings a Reflect at the rising waves that crash over the reef, and they stop, bubbled back by the red barrier.
She turns the body over with delicate fingers and hasty hands, eyes taking in the legs first. Two of them. That's good news. Combat boots. That's bad news. A soldier, perhaps? She continues up – no external wounds on his broad chest, his thick arms. She reaches his neck and pauses – a bloody gash extends from his jawbone down into his shirt, where the blood has stained the tight-fitting material.
Curaga. Curaga now. She summons it, the tingle of warmth deep in her veins as the green sparks dance across his chest. The wound does not heal like it should; it bleeds softly on. Her Reflect is weakening. With all her might she maneuvers the man off the reef and drags him across the sands to a dry area, the blood streaking wet behind him.
Panic. He's lost so much blood. His face is pale, jaw sharp, eyes sunken, hair cropped close, a bright blonde muddled by dirt and sweater, with a single strand falling over a red scar across the bridge of his nose –
Quistis' eyes go wide.