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White Hot by Blood and DaisiesChapter One
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There was nothing Quistis Trepe desired more at that moment than to forget her name and the curse of who she was and where she came from. Maybe then she wouldn't be the target of most petty kidnappers and evil plotters that came along. Then again, they usually weren't successful. Usually.
"What do you want?" she shrieked at the guard, past the quiet dignity she'd endured the last eight days with. Quistis was past any shred of her former pride. All she wanted was to walk out the door of the dank cell and into the fresh air that she knew had to lie beyond.
She was greeted with silence. That was another thing beginning to wear on her; the stagnant stillness. It was enough to drive someone mad. Besides that, she was more than a little peeved by the guard, who refused to acknowledge her position as an instructor. Part of the reason she had taken the job was because it was about power over others, and this man didn't care at all.
She began to throw what little she had at the head of the guard. If someone had asked her why she did so, she would have replied that it seemed like the last thing left to do. One final hurrah before inevitable death. Quistis had been refusing the meals offered to her for at least three days now, and she had quite a store of stale toast. The guard didn't move even as the slimy bread, wet from days in this pit where she was being kept, hit his ears.
"You know," said Quistis conversationally, as her shoe pelted him in the eye, "where I come from people answer my questions." She raised her other shoe just as the door opened.
Whoever was on the other side took a few steps in, chuckling deep in his throat. Despite herself, Quistis' cheeks coloured slightly. How awful she must look; stern uniform rumpled and stained, hair down, mussed beyond repair, and one tasteful navy mule held high in air, squinting like a mole at the invading brightness. She dropped the shoe.
The silhouette turned to speak to the guard. "Bring her out." Quistis' eyes had adjusted just enough so that she knew he was smiling. "And Tobias – you've got toast in your hair." He laughed again and quit the room.
"Wait!" Quistis called. "What do you wa – aaahhh!" The guard hauled her out of the cell by her upper arm, mumbling something about toast and free licence to kill.
They went down a hall that Quistis determined was dark green, still peeking out of one eye. She felt like a bat. The light was a physical presence, invading her head and kicking the daylights out of her poor brain. Finally they arrived in a small room, complete with two chairs, a table and overhead lamps. It was the sort of room one was interrogated in. It even had what appeared to be a mirror on one wall.
Roughly, the guard – Tobias, as it were – shoved her into one of the metal seats. A moment later the man who'd invaded her cell came in, laughing again. It was only because of his laugh that she recognized him immediately. He sat down, wiping at his eyes.
The man was familiar, and it didn't take Quistis long to match up the green eyes, blonde hair and strong jaw with that of Seifer Almasy. The only problem preventing positive identification was the lack of a scar.
She quickly ran through all the healing magics she knew of, but could not remember a single spell which would erase a scar without leaving so much as a shadow. They could be prevented through healing magic, but as punishment for fighting Squall and Seifer had been denied such luxury.
Quistis remembered how Squall had hated that. It had left him unable to frown without extreme discomfort, and a reminder of a man he despised. Seifer, however, had revelled in it. He showed it off to his friends and the girls who were always at his heels. He likewise pointed out Squall's, in a classic form of you-should-see-the-other-guy. It was agreed upon in Garden that that Squall came off the worse in that fight, though the scars were nearly identical. Quistis couldn't picture him getting rid of it, even if he were being hunted by a thousand SeeD who knew it as his only distinguishing mark.
"Seifer," she breathed, then hated herself for it. So what if he was? She'd washed her hands of that situation long ago, and been demoted because of it.
"That's my name," he acknowledged, gesturing to a video screen to his left. "And this, my dear instructor, is my game."
Melodramatic, as always, Seifer, she thought. The video flashed on, and Quistis found herself staring at what appeared to be Squall. He was surrounded by ten of thousands of bees the size of baseballs, but sat in the middle of them all, a blue light around him in a sort of cocoon.
"They're poisonous. A new creation, a cross between…well, it's not important. Right now he's summoned his Guardian Force to protect him. But soon he'll simply lack the energy."
"How long has he been in there?" asked Quistis. It was inconsequential if her own life lay on the line, but drawing Squall into it…she couldn't allow that. He had a life, a beautiful girlfriend whom he planned to marry. She had nothing to defend but an unrequited adoration of Squall and a career she hated. Then again, would anyone except that as a fair trade? What was Seifer up to?
"A few days. I'd say he has enough energy left to last another two. Then he'll flicker out like a lightbulb." He smiled unnervingly. "But obviously I have my motives, instructor. There's something I need from you."
She wanted to scream at him that she would do anything, but her training forbid her. Instead she eyed him coldly and tried not to let him see her grip on the situation falter. "What is it you want?"
He leaned down until his face was mere inches from her own. "Instructor, I want you to marry me."
Whatever she'd been expecting, that wasn't it. "You what?"
"After I parted from Garden I spent some time in Fisherman's Horizon. I met an older man there, on vacation, and – sparing you the details – he came to see me as the son he'd never had. It was all very touching, especially when he named me his sole heir to an incredible fortune. Fortune like you've never seen, Quistis. Can I call you Quistis?
"But the old man has this incurable habit of telling me I need to settle down. He had a clause added to his will specifying that I must be married to inherit; then he had the audacity to take to his deathbed. I suspect he believes I'm motivated by money." He said all this very smoothly, almost drawling the words.
"I'll let you in on a little secret about that…I am. SeeD always paid shit, didn't it? I suppose that's why you always wear that hideous uniform when you aren't in battle." Seifer turned to watch Squall, who was looking blank as always.
"For Hyne's sake, Almasy, that's ridiculous. Why don't you just marry a girlfriend? I'm sure you've found someone who'll touch you, you're not completely disgusting." Quistis fought off a blush at this last.
"I'm glad you think so, Quistis." He drew out her name in a way she decided she didn't like. "Randell has never approved of my choices in women. He would prefer I go out with a polite, nice, boring young lady. And you know when I think 'prudish uptight bitch', I think of you."
"And so you decided kidnapping was a good idea? Now I know why you never passed SeeD."
"Oh really? I heard they blamed it on you. Bit of a blow to the ego to be a cadet again, I imagine."
"At least I made it that far," she snapped. "What have you been calling me instructor for, then, if you knew?"
"Old times' sake, I guess."
"And why was I in that Hyne-forsaken cell for eight days?" Seifer shrugged noncommittally.
"I had business to attend to."
"Look here, Almasy–" That got to him, it seemed. He slammed his hand down on the metal table. The clang reverberated throughout the small room.
"No, Trepe, you look here. Do you want your prize hero to die slowly and painfully in a room full of poisonous hybrids or would you rather accept my offer and save yourself an expensive funeral?"
Quistis paled. She chanced another glance at Squall, who was hanging his head and looking up at the camera. The lighting of the room he was in made his eyes look brown. She wanted him to be able to walk away from all this – especially from his rival, who had completely given over to the temptation of being an evil bastard.
"Fine," she said quietly.
"What was that?"
"I said. FINE."
Seifer smiled, and the effect was extraordinarily eerie.
"Excellent."
~*~
Well then, seems I've decided the cure for writer's block is shorter chapters. Oh well. Maybe at least I won't spend six months trying to churn out nine pages, eh? Please review, it makes me fuzzy and warm inside.