RETROUVAILLE : the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a l o n g separation `; rediscovery
March 3, app. two thirty-three in the afternoon
"Miss, please refrain from doodling or making any marking on our desks. Thank you."
A rose's core as it might appear in the shade bloomed into Rinoa's otherwise pale cheeks and, with it, welcomed a fire; her hand, which had taken a pen with black ink as its dancing partner, had once tangoed across the surface of the cherry wood desk situated against the far wall of the library, froze with her widening doe eyes. The girl, who had renamed herself a woman officially as she had just hit her twentieth year of life, quickly regained her composure and allowed a dazzling smile to lift either ends of her lips. She spoke with the melody of her mother's song in her voice, and with the decadence of her father: "I apologize! I got carried away; I'll clean it up…"
The librarian cast a knowing glare and stalked away to peer over the shoulders of the more youthful students. Relieved, Rinoa slid her thumb against the bridge of her tongue and tried to scrub the stars from the polished wood but, to no avail, they did nothing but smear darkness over what she thought to be one of the most beautiful shades of red in the whole world. She sighed a little; at a later time (when she remembered, honestly) she would creep into the cabinets of the janitors and properly wipe the excess ink. But, for now, she used her notebook to bring them out of sight and instead tried to refocus on her original task: studying.
After years of not attending formal school, Rinoa could hardly remember how to study. She took too many notes on irrelevant conversations with her instructors and could, therefore, hardly retain the correct information. She was completely intent on absorbing and passing the few classes she had chosen to take this semester, however; Cid (what a nice man, really!) recognized the desperate tone in her voice and was easily persuaded into letting the raven-haired woman enroll into formal training instead of the self-taught rogue abilities she had acquired from striving for independence for Timber. The instructors emphasized the practicality and mastering of magic, especially as they applied to a sorceress, such as herself. The lessons were accommodating, but they were heavy, and Rinoa felt as though her knees could buckle under the weight at any moment.
"That's the witch. You should probably look at Mrs. Picone one last time, 'cause the witch will probably murder her!"
"Maybe she'll ruin her face. Or burn off her limbs."
"Or cast a curse?"
Rinoa glanced at the source of the voice trio: three juniors, one female, two male. Though all but one male were standing with their backs to her, she didn't recognize them. So she reread the same sentence she had read twice before but focused harder, hoping the fragment would suddenly make sense and the trio would fade into the background of the rest of the gossiping Balamb students.
"I think they should lock her up, for good," the second student, a female, continued. "There's a place where they freeze sorceresses and their powers. Sure, she won't do anything now, but have you heard the rumors? They think that the one sorceress – Ultimecia or whatever? – is actually her – but her future self. I say if they lock her up, a lot more people will be better off."
Just block it out. Just block it out! They're just stupid kids. They don't know any better. . .
"Heh. Know what I think?" The first, a boy, piped up. His voice suddenly became a little quieter, and there was cockiness laced with self-satisfaction that made Rinoa's gut wrench. "They won't pick her up 'cause she's fucking Commander Leonhart!"
"Must be a good lay," the third, also a boy, said stupidly. Rinoa tried so desperately to pretend like she was studying, but the red lingered in her face, her fists were practically vibrating in her lap, and tears boiled around her long lashes and, finally, spilled over when laughter from the trio cracked the biblio atmosphere.
"Hey. Why don't you all go fuck yourselves? Your hand would probably help out with your little jacked up problem; are your mothers just too fuckin' loose? Does Daddy's cock have warts on it?"
Rinoa remained very still and the buzzing of students, not only from the trio who had harmed her, halted. She didn't need to look out of the corner of her eye to know who it was who had said such words; the voice was like an impregnated memory: conceived, cognizant, but not quite alive.
"Seifer Almasy! Get out, right this very instant! The disciplinary committee will surely hear of this –" The librarian quirked up, but his boots were already clacking against the hard, emerald floor and becoming louder.
"Right, whatever. Say somethin' to me, but not these little assholes," he said, his voice laced with cool steam and disdain. His hand clamped on Rinoa's shoulder and lingered, only for a moment, before the clacking of his boots faded.
Her heart was throbbing so much inside her chest, it almost kind of hurt. She turned a page, followed by another, and hardly noticed that she had passed the section assigned and was skimming over a section titled "Advanced Elements". Students slowly began to whisper, but it was much quieter – about her, of course, but quiet.
"My head hurts," she said to no one particular and rose from her seat. She gathered her things, tucked them beneath her arm, and, with her tear-streamed face held high, followed her childhood sweetheart.
"Seifer! Seifer, wait, please! Don't make me make you!"
His gunblade had risen from its position inside his belt to the surface of his shoulder where it bounced idly on its dull edge; through the heat brimming in the lining of her eyes, she wondered which song was playing inside his head and why. It might have been a waltz, she thought, because he smacked his shoulder a bit rough after two soft beats. A tiny smile enlightened her visage. Dum, da, da, dum, da, da…
He paused in such a fashion as to make her believe that he was considering otherwise. "Oh no, what's the princess planning?"
"You don't wanna know!" her brows perked. "It's pretty intense."
"I'm not afraid of you," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm and a play for the knowledge of the cocky archetype. He resumed his stride but was much slower, and he replaced his gunblade.
Rinoa took action. Wiping the hot moisture from her cheeks with the blue cloth on her wrist, she rushed behind his tall build and pounced. Her arms wrapped around his sleek neck and her legs around his waist and clung tightly despite his clawing and effort to remove her from his back.
"I'm going to fall over because of you, fatty! If I break my back, it's your fault!"
A soft giggle omitted from the core of her chest. "Hey! That's not very nice! Apologize!"
His elbows linked around the bend of her knees. "Make me."
Her teeth nipped against the wide ring of his ear only for a moment before she pulled away, pretending to spit on the padding beneath his silver coat. "Ew, ear wax! Do you ever clean yourself?"
"That's what she said," he teased, shrugging his shoulders to support her clinging figure. She relaxed her chin against his shoulder and sighed.
"You're not very kind, dear sir."
"Yeah, well…" he trailed forward, into the past, and lingered briefly before catching himself and dragging his mind into the present. The gunblade specialist cleared his throat. "What was I supposed to wait for, princess? To give you a chocobo-back ride?"
"Of course! You say that like you're bothered by it. Am I to replace you? Send you to the dungeons to allow you to waste away for all eternity?" Rinoa mocked.
"No, never! Please forgive me, oh foul-smelling princess!"
Rinoa's foot jutted into his ribs and her tongue clicked. "Onward, slave!"
Seifer's cyan hues glistened. He took a few reluctant steps forward and his back heaved with purpose, as though her weight was truly tremendous in comparison to his strength. "Where are we going, anyway? You dropped your books back there…"
Rinoa cast a careful glance over her shoulder. Behind them was a bundle of crushed papers and a very thick textbook, which lay idly in the way of Balamb students who were walking to and from the library. She tossed her silk hair and shrugged. "Irrelevant! Take me,… oh, take me to the moon!"
He cocked a brow. "The moon? That'll take days…"
"Is that too much of a request? Shall I ask someone else?"
"No, no, the moon it is," he rolled his eyes and shrugged again. Apathetic, he turned right where the blue trail met with the color-tainted path. As silly as the circumstances were, they were distracting him from his responsibility to report to the disciplinary committee and explain himself thoroughly. Cid had allowed him to return to his old life with the promise that he would behave himself as its underlying foundation; he had withheld that promise, mostly, and he knew Cid would understand so long as he relied on Seifer instead of Mrs. Cactuarface for sources.
Rinoa became quiet as they rounded the hall. Her nails dug into his coat and her eyes slipped shut. "Thank you."
"I think my back is giving out…"
"No, I mean – oh shut up! I mean for back there. They're awful. They really, really are."
Seifer's voice softened. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment."
"I'm so scared. I really do think that one day I'll become her,… Ultimecia…"
"You're not! They're stupid. She claimed to have been from several generations into the future. It wouldn't make sense. If you were her, or she you,… or… whatever, then why didn't she know what Ellone at least looked like? The only way she even knew that she had existed was because of what that crazy little fucker in the clown suit named his machine –"
"By then, I'll probably have forgotten everything. She seemed lost, like she didn't have an origin."
His jaw clenched. "It. Wasn't. You."
Rinoa's eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want to discuss it."
Silence, again, betray each other's insecurities. As they approached the opposing opening to the elevator, Rinoa tugged Seifer's sleeve and he slowly allowed her body to slide down his back until her feet kissed the floor. He then turned to her, his narrow eyes betraying the warmth resulting from the contentment he truly felt.
"Well, Sir Almasy, I must thank you for coming to my rescue and for your gracious transportation."
He nodded. "I am,… err… honored to have been able to service the princess on the day of her birth."
The sorceress blinked. "On the day of my… what? It's not my birthday!"
"It's the third of March. That's the day you were born, right?"
"I… I think so. You sure today is March third…?" she trailed off, her lips pursing in a tight frown.
"Sorry to break it to you," Seifer chuckled. "Happy twenty-first birthday, princess. Look, I should probably go before the staff gets their panties in a bunch. But, I,… I really do want to talk about things."
Distracted by her questionable memory, Rinoa brought her fingertips to her face and nodded. "Y-yes, of course, that would be great…"
"I really do miss you," he said confidently as he tried to take her by the hand. She yanked away from his touch and, as if she had been stolen by a trance, drifted towards the elevator doors.
"Where's Squall?"