Disclaimer; I don't own anything belonging to Squaresoft.
Author's note:
I've heavily edited this story, taking out bits and pieces, changing chapters entirely, and adding a couple of more. I didn't like the way the story was moving, and I've spent a lot of time revising it, so that it moves the way I want it to. I also took the advice of some of the reviewers, so I hope it's a little better in that aspect, too. I might edit it again a little more, just 'cause I'm anal like that, but it won't make much of a difference, I think. If you've had the patience to put up with me, many, many thanks.
If you've read this story before, you'll know what I changed and whatnot. I hope you like these new chapters, though. and thanks for reviewing my story! (: 333
I always thought I was
A trivia question unfit to be asked.
"Jump."
"What the fuck, Trepe. You're a crazy whore. I'm not jumping."
"We could've done this the easy way."
"You shouldn't have fired all those fucking bullets."
"If you opened the door when I knocked, maybe—"
"—maybe you wouldn't have knocked my door down?"
"JUMP. You can jump, right?"
"I'm a little drunk, but I can jump."
"I don't have time to mess around."
"We'll fight them off."
"No, we won't. Almasy, JUMP."
"Fuck. You."
Even after everything that had happened, he was still stubborn, if not more.
It had been a still night—children were tucked away in their tiny beds, clinging with their little fingers to blankets and dolls. A full moon cast its beautiful glow upon the carefree people. And then it was all over. At exactly 12: 00, Quistis Trepe made her existence known within the borders of this minuscule sliver of a town.
There had been many nights before, where she'd found herself in the same, shitty apartment building. Fog lined the stairwells and halls—it was barely impossible to see anything beyond. Many times before, she'd found herself staring into the cold surface of the worn, wooden door, which looked as if it had been repaired once, but slashed to bits again. This place was nothing more than a mere hole in a wall—and a shitty, half-assed hole, too. She'd knock on the door gently, cringing with each time. It wasn't pain that caused her insides to writhe—it was the fear of the entire place collapsing when she touched it.
But today would be different. The man on the other side of this door would finally respond, even if it was by pure force. With a stable and hard kick, the door fell to the floor with a loud clatter, shaking all that stood beneath her. But she did not fear—she held it all back with a defiant look. 500 tons, what was that, anyway? Hardly anything to Trepe.
There he stood, beer bottle halted midair, emerald eyes peering through the thick fog, toward the silhouette in the door.
"Seifer Almasy."
"Instructor, what a pleasant, surprise."
-&-
"You're not the first to hunt down the shit out of me. There was that other crazy bitch that knocked down my door—you wouldn't happen to know her, would you? I would think there's a whole community—an asylum where you ass fucks go to, right, Trepe?"
"Shut up, Seifer."
"Just leave."
"I can't."
"What, SeeD hired you?"
"To protect you."
He scoffed.
"Of all the people they could have sent to 'rescue' me, they sent you, Trepe."
"Screw you, Almasy."
"Screw you too, Trepe."
He resisted leaving. He merely planted himself on his shitty mattress, flipping bottle caps across the litter-strewn floor, not caring in the slightest. And then she fired the first warning shot. And then the second. And then she released a whole round from her trigger-happy fingers. He replied after that.
"'THE FUCK, TREPE. PUT THAT SHIT DOWN." Seifer roared, the metal bottle caps springing up just slightly from the reverberations.
"We need to leave." Sirens wailed and lights danced through the windows, fighting its way through the fog.
"Just jump."
"I can't fucking believe they sent you, of all fucking people, Trepe." Quistis paid no heed to his damaging words—and they were completely damaging. But after years of learning to ignore his opinions, she carried on, casting a single glance over her shoulders. No one yet. It'd be a matter of minutes before the whole placed would be swarmed, and she'd have red dots floating all over her body. In fact, she was anticipating it.
"Almasy, jump," Quistis urged, skimming upon the very surface of a plead.
"I could use a good fight before I go down." With Hyperion in his gloved hand, he swung it threateningly once, slashing at the air. He seemed complacent—as if he had all along been preparing for his eventual death—or execution—anything that involved him dying, really. Quistis, on the other hand, had no reason to look as complacent and still—sure she was a queen at being a blank slate, but even so, there would always be that evanescent presence of panic.
"You'll see why they hired me for this job." Without another word, Quistis looked intently at him for a moment, as if suddenly just deciding upon her choices. She extended an arm quickly, and tugged the shit out of his ear, pulling it towards her feet—his whole body collapsing to the floor with her force. Twisting the appendage, Seifer growled—it was unexpected and utterly painful. All in a split second this happened, and in the next second, a bullet—or what seemed like a bullet—ran straight through his leg. A loud roar escaped as he gripped his thigh, writhing on the floor, his ear still caught between Quistis' fingers.
"Hide your face and shut your fucking mouth." Quistis hissed as she stepped in front of his face. And sure enough, ten men decked out in armor appeared at the doorway, guns eye-level, and aiming at her. Seifer bit his lip in pain and rocked back and forth on his side, his hands wrapped tightly around his leg. The slightest, suppressed squirms could be heard coming from the injured man.
"PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN." Quistis tossed in her gun. "SPEAK."
"I'm a SeeD. I was hired to catch this murderer here, who arrived early this morning." Her hands were up in the air. It was fucking bright. Flashlights filled the doorway, piercing the mist, and hitting her directly in the face. But she didn't flinch, she didn't move a joint.
"I.D." The I.D. holder slid across the room, and the commander picked it up. "QUISTIS TREPE."
"Affirmative."
"YOUR EMPLOYER."
"Identity cannot be compromised.'
"SECTION?"
"Balamb Garden."
"COMMANDER?"
"Squall Leonhart."
"What?!" That was the first comprehensible thing Seifer had said after he got shot. And he got kicked for that.
"Don't speak until spoken to," Quistis hissed. "Permission to leave."
"Permission granted." The commander made a move forward, only to be halted by Quistis.
"Please, don't move any further. The identity of my captive is to remain a secret."
"…Understood." From there, he slid her gun and ID across the floor, signaling his men to leave. SeeDs were not to be tangled with—he had learned that from a previous lesson forced upon him, and was never to forget it.
"Thank you."