The GC Fairy Tales

by Esse

Includes Goldilocks, Three Little Kitte—err—SeeDs, yeah, that's it..., and Balamb Town Musicians. Excessive ingesting of grat; read at your own peril.

1. Goldilocks

Disclaimer:Square owns the characters from Final Fantasy VIII. Esse owns keychains of the characters from Final Fantasy VIII. Esse thinks her possessions are much happier than Square's. Make no mistake about it, if Esse had owned Seifer, he'd of been doing something a lot more interesting than fishing at the end of the game.

Notes: Umm, what can I say? I was working on Guidance Councillor, really! Then this long, scaly thing slithered out from underneath the cans of yams and bit me on the ankle… It must be the grats. Yeah, that's it, the grats made me do it… This is based loosely on events that occur in GC, which really won't help you much, since GC is still sitting around on my computer waiting for me to finish it.

Warnings: Esse can't keep her fairytales straight. Bright Lady knows whom all I've ended up stealing from. heehee, guess you should also be aware that Esse wrote this with the help of her electronic dictionary. Be very, very afraid! Esse's verbose.

FF Notes: Written the beginning of 2000. First posted at calicodragon 2/27/2001. Minor formatting changes to comply with FF. Minor corrections. Shounen ai. Guidance Councillor will never be released for various reasons…

.oO0Oo.
Goldilocks
.oO0Oo.

Once upon a time there were three SeeDs. Well, to be accurate, there was one SeeD, and two other young men who had contrived to receive SeeD pay without passing the SeeD Field Exam. Their duplicity had not yet been noted by Balamb Garden's harried staff, which was much too busy trying to find alternative food sources to supplement the steady diet of grat which all the residents were getting heartily sick of. In the interim, the two young men were taking advantage of their unexpected good fortune; skipping out on classes, wearing SeeD uniforms, and harassing the younger students. To the best of everyone's knowledge, they were Seeds, and so no complaints were filed.

Anyway, the three SeeDs shared a single room in the dormitory. They would have much preferred separate rooms, but due to serious overcrowding they had been forced to live together until repairs to Galbadia and Trabia Gardens had been completed. They had been assured that the situation was temporary; they had been assured that weekly for the last four months. The tallest of the SeeDs responded by brandishing his gunblade, the longhaired one lovingly polished his rifle, and the youngest shrugged, murmured, "Whatever," and walked off.

Thus, the three SeeDs had to learn how to tolerate one another, though it was no easy task. They had never been friends, and being forced into close proximity with one another only exacerbated an already less-than-ideal situation. The longhaired one took to playing practical jokes, while the tallest one took up needlepoint. The youngest, who was also the most phlegmatic, watched the deterioration of his roommates in disinterest, shrugged, and became the designated cook.

So it was that on this particular morning the youngest SeeD (who also happened to be the shortest of the trio) was hovering over a small butane cook stove, trying to prepare breakfast for himself and his cohorts. He had long since given up trying to access the burners in the cafeteria; a contingent of Trabia students had taken up residence on top of them, and refused to budge for anything less than dinner preparations. It was an inconvenience he was growing accustomed to, and his attempts at cooking food on the tiny camp stove were slowly improving.

Seated a few feet away upon a plush recliner, the tallest SeeD (who also managed to be the crankiest) looked up from the dainty lace doily he was busy crocheting and frowned at the long-haired SeeD (who by the slimmest of margins won the title of vainest). "Hey Kinneas, could you stop fiddling with those flowers already?"

Irvine Kinneas flipped back his long hair, and stared at Seifer with disgruntled violet eyes. "The longer you keep nattering at me, the longer it'll take me to finish peppering these things. What's the matter, those long underwear you knitted yourself itching someplace inconvenient?"

Seifer Almasy pointed one elegant, slender crochet hook at the longhaired SeeD. "You're just jealous that I've got a change of underwear."

"Hah!" Irvine smirked, while twirling a long-stemmed rose between his fingers. "You're just jealous that I'm getting away without wearing any underwear at all!"

"Now that," Squall said, shaking his mealy porridge spoon at Irvine, "is just plain sick." Picking up a chipped blue bowl, he filled it with porridge and sat it on the nearby table, next to an equally shabby green bowl and a bright orange soup mug. "…Well," he motioned the other two SeeDs to join him, "breakfast's ready." The youngest man sat, and stared glumly down into the congealed gray substance cowering at the bottom of his bowl.

Grumbling, Seifer got up out of his chair and claimed his orange mug, making a detour to the counter to pick up the tray of condiments the trio used to make their meals edible. With a dark look at the contents of his cup, he sat, picked up a small bottle from the tray, and liberally poured a brightly colored sauce into his mug. He stirred the hot cereal slowly with a spoon, wincing at the thick, slurpy noises the porridge made as it tried to devour the utensil.

Equally wary, Irvine prodded at his breakfast carefully before choosing a condiment; after a few moments dithering, he selected a small bag, ripped it opened, and dumped the contents into the drab green bowl. He gently folded the tiny bits into the mixture, then reluctantly lifted the spoon to his mouth. He took the tiniest of tastes, then gagged, hastily covering his mouth with the hand not holding the spoon. "Yuck, not again, Squall! This is the second time this week you've made grat porridge. I can handle grat steaks, and the grat-teriyaki bowls were actually almost edible, but forcing us to eat grat porridge is too much. What are you trying to do, poison us?"

Seifer sniffed warily at his spoon then dropped it, letting it clatter against the rim of his soup mug. "I hate agreeing with anyone, but this time Cowboy's right. Grat porridge twice in one week is too much for even the staunchest SeeD to bear." He pushed his mug towards Squall. "And seeing as how you're the staunchest SeeD in Balamb Garden, and I haven't seen you take a bite of this mush, I feel absolutely no obligation t' try an eat it."

"Well…" Squall's face went curiously blank, and the other two boys knew he was carrying on a deep and introspective conversation with himself. They had often speculated on what exactly he talked to himself about, seeing as how even the longest of the youngest SeeD's silent soliloquies led to decisions of the most asinine nature. Both would have been pleased to learn that at the moment Squall's id, instead of offering an intuitive solution or a dream-like flashback, was throwing a temper-tantrum on the floor of Squall's mind, clawing and biting at anything in reach, and yelling at the top of its voice, 'No No NO! I'm not eating grat porridge again!' It was soon joined by its brethren ego and superego, and the young man eventually yielded before their combined ire. Squall's eyes cleared, and he sat his spoon down on the table. "Maybe the porridge is just too hot. If we leave, go on a walk or something, and let it cool down…"

"You're kidding, right?" Irvine choked, prodding at his breakfast with trepidation. "If we let this stuff cool down, it'll gain sentience, then where will we be? With another roommate, that's where."

"Stop being so melodramatic. It's been proven that it takes grat porridge three days to gain intelligence enough to crawl out of its bowl." Seifer stood, and grabbed his trench coat from the back of his recliner, absent-mindedly leaving his crochet hook on the seat. "Look at it this way, it can't be any worse by the time we get back. And while we're gone, we won't have to look at it, or smell it."

Squall left the table to find his jacket, while Irvine tossed on his duster. He came back, trying to brush off the light-blue lint that covered his expensive, dry-clean only garment. "Any ideas on where we should go?"

The longhaired man grabbed his shotgun and opened the door. "How about the training center? We could go after a T-Rexaur, maybe get some real meat for a change."

"Sounds good." The tallest man ran a hand swiftly through his ruddy blond hair in a futile attempt to slick it down. "Should be a challenge. With the cadets killing off most of the grats, the T-Rexaurs have taken t' eating each other. Made the ones that are left wily."

"…" Squall distinctly commented, and closed the door to their room. "…" he tried again, waiting for a response from the other two youths. Crossing his arms, he said loudly, "…" When that failed to gain their attention, he stomped one booted foot and shouted, "!?!"

Irvine turned around at the sound of the footfall. Seeing the youngest SeeD glaring at him, he sighed, and shook his head in resignation. "You forgot again, didn't you? How many times do we have to tell you, Squall; we can't hear you if you don't say anything out loud. We're not mind readers, you know."

Blushing a faded dusky rose, Squall pouted while Seifer hastily turned a snigger into a cough. "…Who has the key?" Irvine checked his pockets then shrugged, while Seifer held out his empty hands to be inspected. "Great," the youngest SeeD muttered, pulling at a lock of his auburn-tinted hair in distraction. "We can't lock the door. You guys are irresponsible; what happened to the Hello Kitty keychains I gave you?"

"You have to ask?" the tallest SeeD smiled meanly, and started walking down the corridor. "Just leave it, its not like anyone's going to break in and steal our grat porridge."

"Yeah," Irvine seconded, running to catch up with the other faux SeeD. "Not that that would be a tragedy. 'Oh no!'" the violet-eyed boy wailed in a quivering falsetto, "'Someone ate my grat porridge, and now it's all gone!' Heh, shame we don't have that kind of luck. No one here is desperate enough to brave Squall's grat-surprise-of-the-day except us."

Squall gave one final doubting look at the unsecured door, then followed his companions. "I'm still the Commander here, you know," he whined in complaint. "Next time you can make your own stupid breakfast."

.oO0Oo.

Down a different hallway, another SeeD was being pushed out of his residence by one of his roommates. "Lemme go!" he said furiously, struggling futilely against the hold the much larger man had on him. "I said…" he started again, then squeaked in surprise as he was picked up off the ground and tossed out the door. Flailing wildly in midair, he twisted a second too slowly and landed on the floor in a painful heap. "Ow!" he yelped and jumped to his feet, rubbing at his sore bottom. "Whadja do that for?"

Raijin shrugged, unapologetic. "We're having a party, ya know? And you're not invited."

The small SeeD tried running back into the room, but was blocked from entering by Raijin's bulk. "How could I not be invited? I live here!"

"DOESN'T MATTER." Fujin came to stand next to her partner, her small pale form standing out starkly from the other's large shadow. "NIDA GONE TOO. NO WUSSES ALLOWED."

"I'm not a…" the small SeeD started to scream, only to be stopped by the lump forming in his throat. He fisted his hands tightly at his sides, and stood as straightly as he could. "Why are you guys always picking on me?" he asked in a voice which trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Umm," Raijin scratched at his head, clearly nonplussed. "I'm not really sure…OW!" he stumbled as his partner kicked his shin.

"STUPID." Fujin glowered at the large dark man disgustedly with her single crimson eye. She then turned her disconcerting stare upon the small SeeD standing forlornly out in the corridor. "IT'S FUN," she told him, gesturing with her hand. "YOU'RE SHORT. SILLY HAIR." Fujin chuckled, grabbing one of her own tresses and waving it at the young man. "GOLDILOCKS!"

"I am not!" the small SeeD wailed, while his two tormentors burst into hysterical laughter. "You — you…" words failed him, and he stood shaking in impotent fury. "Fine then! I don't want to hang around for your stupid party anyway! I've got important stuff t' do." He stuck out his tongue, which only caused the two other teenagers to laugh harder. "Jerks!" Face crimson in embarrassment, he stomped down the hall, pausing only once to kick an unassuming water fountain.

"GONE?" Fujin asked quietly, the laughter suddenly stilled.

"Yeah, looks that way," Raijin replied, walking back into the room.

"About time," the pale girl smiled, closing the door gently and throwing the bolt. "I thought we'd never be rid of him." She arched one eyebrow coyly, and leapt at her muscular friend. "Hey lover, ready to party?"

Raijin hugged her back, a dazed, happy expression on his face. "Zell's bed or Nida's?"

.oO0Oo.

The small SeeD meandered slowly down the hallway, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Every few steps he'd scuff one bare foot along the beige carpeting. "Big bullies," he moped, unobtrusively rubbing at his damp eyes. "They could of at least given me time ta grab my shoes." Unconsciously, his hand reached up and toyed with a strand of hair. "Goldilocks indeed!"

He paused, unsure of where he was. He'd had no destination in mind when he had started walking, and contrary to what he had told Fujin, he had no place in particular he needed to be. A glance at the nearest door informed him that he was in the third wing of the dormitory. He quickly recalled the room assignment list for the wing, then snapped his fingers in sudden decision. Squall was housed in room 327, and it had been almost a week since the short blonde SeeD had last pestered him.

With new determination Zell marched along the brightly lit corridors, pausing only once when it occurred to him that he was as likely to run into Seifer as he was to meet up with Squall. "Aw heck," he whispered, fidgeting. "So Seifer might be there, big deal. It's not like he could come up with anything more humiliating than Goldilocks." Nodding his head, he walked up to room 327 and knocked firmly on the door.

Away in the training center, Squall stepped back from the grat he was butchering, and shivered in foreboding. Taking advantage of its attacker's distraction, the grat crawled into the underbrush, where it thankfully planted itself and converted to vegetarianism.

Zell knocked on the door a bit more loudly. "Yo, anybody home?" Not getting an answer, he punched the door lightly in irritation. To his surprise, it swung neatly open on its well-oiled hinges. "Oh wow," the small SeeD uttered worriedly, guiltily lowering his fist. He poked his head through the doorway, and surveyed the dimly lit interior. "Hey Squall?" he called out, planting his elbow against the doorjamb. "Like, I didn't mean t' bust your door in." Greeted by silence, he took a miniscule step inside. "Umm, Irvine? S-Seifer? Anybody?"

Getting no reply, he finally accepted that no one was in. "Now isn't that strange?" He examined the door in puzzlement. "Huh, looks like they forgot t' lock it." The small SeeD shook his head in agitation. "What am I supposed t' do now? Anybody could just walk right in…" The light bulb that appeared over his head blinded a Trabian student at the end of the hall. "That's it! I'll stay and protect the place till Squall gets back!" Pleased with his solution, he darted into the room and slammed the door closed behind him.

The first thing the small blonde SeeD noticed was the horrific stench of the room. He couldn't identify the source of the noisome odor, so he settled for opening a window. He stared at the view enviously; his room overlooked a maintenance closet. However, he knew that his invidiousness was mean-spirited; Squall was Commander of Balamb Garden, and thus had a room befitting his rank. A tiny, querulous voice at the back of his head irritably demanded to know what Seifer had done to earn such posh accommodations, but he quickly shushed it.

However, the view could not hold his attention for long, and he soon turned to survey the room. "Too cool, they've got a TV!" he exclaimed, as he rushed over to examine it. Zell practically fell to his knees in worship at the sleekly black 21" screen, and he quickly snatched up the remote resting on the stand next to the television. Wiping one hand hastily across his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling, he reverently pushed the power button on the remote, and sat back on his haunches as the gray-toned screen slowly flickered into glowing, technicolored life.

Rapturously he watched a commercial for fertilizer, then changed the channel to Home and Garden. "Ohhh, Boukie Wenkle is on!" Sure enough, there on the screen was Boukie in all of his 4'8" splendor, amicably pulling weeds and planting tulip bulbs inside a small border along the east wall of Deling City's Presidential Palace.

"Now remember," Boukie warned his audience (which at the moment consisted of Zell and the President of Esthar), "you don't want to plant your bulbs too deep, or they won't sprout come Spring."

Zell nodded in avid agreement while he slowly backed across the room to the nearest chair. Gripping the armrests, he sat upon the chair, only to yip in pain and spring to his feet. Boukie Wenkle momentarily forgotten, he spun around to see what had poked him so sharply. In dismay, the small SeeD picked up a golden crochet hook from the cushion of the recliner. He tilted his pale blonde head to the side, and squinted at the hook through slitted eyes. Finding no answers in its slim length, he allowed his gaze to stray, where it fixed upon the pile of lacy white doilies he had inadvertently knocked from the armrest. "Too weird," he groused, setting the hook back down.

He walked over to the next chair, a squat, lumpy thing upholstered in an unappetizing shade of green leather. Philosophically figuring that beggars couldn't be choosers, he cautiously sat down on it. When nothing untoward immediately happened, he allowed himself to relax. Curious, he ran one finger along the leather in exploration. Suddenly he stopped, his vivid azure eyes widening in dismay as his finger encountered a large patch of something damp and greasy feeling. With meticulous care he worked himself out of the chair, and inspected his hand. It was covered in gun oil, as were his pants and the back of his shirt.

"Great, just great," the blonde boy snapped as he peeled off his stained shirt. "I don't have laundry privileges till Tuesday." Unbuckling his belt, he quickly slipped off his shorts and kicked them into a corner, where he soon threw his shirt as well. "Hell, I don't even know how t' get out gun oil. Maybe I can ask Quistis; she must know something about laundry, she spends all her time down there with those socks…"

Glumly he eyed the third seat, a severe straight-backed wooden chair that looked highly uncomfortable. Gingerly he lowered himself down on it. He rocked it back then forward, finding it to be stable. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned his attention back to the television, and Boukie Wenkle, who had moved on from bulbs and was now explaining the difference between weeds and wildflowers. Soon, the brightly-lit box had resnared the youth with its hypnotically alluring pictures.

The loud knocking on the door jarred Zell out of his blissful trance. Grumbling, he got up and made his way across the room, stubbing his toes once along the edge of the recliner. He shook his arm threateningly at the doily-covered chair, promising it retribution later on. A fresh burst of knocking convinced him to hurry. Yanking the door open, he placed his hands on his hips and glared at the intruder. "Yes?"

Standing out in the hallway, Rinoa looked at Zell in astonishment. "Umm, well," she stuttered, pushing her gray wig back into place, "I was looking for Squall…"

"He's out," the small SeeD answered curtly, catching the music to the end theme of Wenkle's show. "Can I take a message?"

"Well, you see…" Rinoa pulled her voluminous black cloak tighter about herself, and held out a wicker basket. "I'm trying to earn money for my SeeD tuition by selling these apples I've picked from the Quad." She peered hopefully up at the blonde SeeD through thick, heavily mascara-smeared lashes. "They're wonderfully sweet, very nutritious, and a welcome break from all the grat we've been eating. Would you like to try one dearie?"

Zell looked at the apples in the basket, and his mouth began to water. They looked delicious, and he'd had nothing to eat since he'd managed to down a slice of Nida's mince-grat pie. He reached to pick up one of the vibrantly red pieces of fruit, then hesitated. "Eh Rinoa, are you still a witch?"

"Yesss," the raven-haired girl replied reluctantly. "It's not the sort of thing I can just quit, you see."

"Uh huh." The small SeeD quickly sat the luscious apple back into the basket, suddenly nervous. "And by any chance are these apples poisoned? Say with some potion that'll cause whoever eats one to fall into a death-like slumber, their only hope for a cure being a kiss of true love?"

"Maybe," Rinoa acquiesced reluctantly. As Zell goggled at her, she hastily defended herself. "Oh, what did you expect? I'm a witch! It's what witches do. It's either this, or bake gingerbread in a house made out of little kids." She rolled her eyes woefully. "This witching stuff's not as easy as it looks." She brandished one of the apples at the young man. "Take this for example. Did you know that the spell only works on people with lips 'red as blood' and skin 'white as snow'? I mean, c'mon! How many people fit that description here?"

Eyes sparkling mischievously, Zell hinted, "Have you tried selling Fujin an apple?"

"Huh?" Rinoa scratched at a small itch by her nose, accidentally scraping off one of her fake warts. "Why would I…Oh!" Picturing Fujin in her head, the witch-in-training allowed a huge smile filled with sharply pointed teeth to cross her face. Impulsively, she darted forward and hugged the small blonde boy. "You're the greatest, Zell! Thanks!"

"Believe me, it's my pleasure," the young man declared with a smile of his own.

"I'm off then." Rinoa pulled the hood back over her head, then shook it back down. "Ah, Zell? Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he replied, puzzled.

"Why exactly are you in Squall's room wearing nothing but boxers decorated with little blue PuPus?"

"Oh, go sell some apples!" he replied crossly, firmly closing the door on the disguised witch. He looked down at his underwear and frowned. "What's wrong with them? I thought they were cute…"

Shrugging, he started back towards the wooden chair when he noticed the three bowls lined up on a small table to his right. Curious, Zell picked up the orange soup mug and examined its contents, paying no heed to the way the contents examined him in return. He stirred it dilatorily, taking note of the gruel's thick consistency and noxious miasma. Smiling softly at the ugly orange mug, he sat down at the table, and lifted up a spoonful of the gray substance. "There's only one thing that could smell this bad; Squall's infamous grat porridge."

Now it must be noted that few dishes had gained the notoriety that Squall's grat porridge had achieved. Many students had tried and failed to produce a meal that rivaled the porridge's sheer grossness factor, though Selphie's grat mousse came a close second. Squall's porridge was already a legend; it was the subject of many new folktales, and it was rumored that a small group of shumi had deified it. Few were brave enough to eat it (the last daring SeeD that had tried was still tied down in the infirmary under psychiatric evaluation). However, none of this phased Zell, who figured that since he had survived Headmaster Cid's grat stroganoff, he could certainly manage to eat Squall's porridge. Hunger can make a person do strange things, and Rinoa's scrumptious apples had reminded him that he was ravenous.

Zell lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a large bite, chewing against its grainy texture. Then he chewed more slowly. Soon, he stopped chewing entirely and turned a fiery red. "Waah!" the small SeeD cried, waving his hands at his mouth. "Hot, hot…" He rushed to the nearby sink and turned on the faucet full blast. With nary a second thought he plunged his head under the icy stream, sucking in as much water as he possibly could. After a few agonizing minutes the burning sensation in his mouth faded, and he reached out with one trembling hand to turn off the faucet. He straightened, and his wet hair dripped tiny rivulets of water down his neck and back.

Angrily, he snatched the small bottle that had been next to the orange mug, and read its label with an increasing sense of incredulity. "Tabasco sauce? Who in their right mind eats an entire bottle of Tabasco with their breakfast?" Flipping back one straggling lock from his wet bangs, he put the small bottle back on the table. "Skip that, who could possibly stand to have Tabasco mixed in with their grat porridge? I didn't think there was anything a person could do to make grat worse."

With trepidation he peered into the drab green bowl, checking it for the ominous pink tint that would warn of the presence of Tabasco. Seeing only pallid gray sludge, he dipped his spoon quickly in, then stared at the porridge in fascination. It was somewhat lumpier than what was in the orange mug, but Zell attributed that to the fact that it may have been sitting around longer. Crossing his fingers, he took a taste.

The first thing he noticed was that the lumps were not chunks of improperly boiled grat. Instead, they were sweet, almost sickeningly so. Grimacing, he spit one of the lumps out into his hand, hoping to discover what it was. ~It — it looks like one of those chocolate candies the little kids like so much~ he thought, poking at the small sphere with the tip of his finger. It certainly explained why the porridge was so sweet. Holding onto the edge of the table, Zell managed to swallow what he had in his mouth. He then sat there, breathing shallowly, hoping he'd be able to keep it down.

For a brief moment, he looked longingly at the empty Tabasco bottle. The overwhelming taste of chocolate covered grat was making him nauseated, and he was willing to try almost anything to get the flavor out of his mouth. "They're sick!" Zell whimpered, pushing away the drab green bowl in consternation. "I don't know why anyone would want to, but they've managed ta make Squall's porridge even more putrid than it was. It shouldn't of been possible…"

The young man was close to admitting defeat as he pulled the third and final bowl towards him. The chipped, dark blue dish weighed heavily in his hands; the porridge rested complacently in the bottom. Lower lip quivering, he brought up a spoonful, trying to ignore the way it dribbled slimily back into the bowl. "Third time's a charm," he whispered in fervent prayer, and stuck the spoon in his mouth. Eyes closed in concentration, he tried to figure out how the third bowl of gruel had been sabotaged.

It was with true delight that he discovered that the only thing he was tasting was the rubbery, slightly musty taste of Squall's infamous grat porridge. It was a tad cold, and a bit gluey, but after his previous two encounters, it seemed like ambrosia. With renewed enthusiasm he tossed the spoon away, raised the bowl to his lips, and slurped up the rest of the porridge, taking care not to breath in for, even though it was edible, it was still made out of grat, and nothing made out of grat could ever taste good.

Heaving a sigh of contentment, he sat the bowl down and contemplated his stomach, which rumbled unhappily back up at him. "Oh hush now," he warned it, patting it reassuringly, "at least you're full. It's better than being empty, ain't it?" Unsure, his stomach gurgled a final complaint then quieted. "That's the spirit," he cheered. "Just sit back and try to digest."

He got unsteadily to his feet, eliding a twisting in his gut where the bowl's worth of porridge sat like so much course sand. A particularly sharp pain caused him to stumble against the recliner. He reached out his left arm to catch himself, only to end up pricking his thumb on the sharp, golden crochet hook resting on the cushion. The small SeeD fell to his knees and gaped dazedly at his wounded digit, where a bright bead of brilliant red blood was welling.

"Of all the luck," he croaked, bringing his thumb up to his mouth and sucking on it, grimacing at the metallic taste. His stomach cramped again, and the walls of the room wavered at the edges of his vision. "Maybe eating the porridge wasn't such a good idea," he mused, then gasped as a wave of queasiness hit him. Clenching his arms tightly about his middle, he staggered back to his feet. "Maybe — maybe lying down will help." The small SeeD yawned hugely, fighting back weariness. "Don't know why I'm so tired all of a sudden."

Teetering alarmingly, shivering with a sudden chill, he drifted into the back room, and came upon the first bed. Through doubled vision he could see the bedspread, a frothy construction of white upon white, with tiny white crocheted roses stuck upon tiny white crocheted crosses. In disbelief, he reached out to touch the pristine quilt, only to have his hand sink into the downy softness up to his wrist. He jerked back his arm, appalled. "A — a person would suffocate if they tried to sleep there."

Raising his hand to cover another yawn, he noticed that his thumb was still bleeding. Aggrieved, he stuck it back into his mouth. "Stupid crochet hook," he mumbled around it, only vaguely aware that the sickening taste of grat was fading from his senses. For some reason, the pricked digit continued to bleed. Zell hunched his shoulders, and turned to the next bed.

It was covered in a plain green comforter, and looked to be neatly made. He tested its pliability, and found it to be reassuringly firm. Eyes glazing with fatigue, he pulled back the blankets, then froze, horrified at the sight that lay before him. The sheets were stained, filthy, and covered with things he didn't want to think about. The dizziness he had been fighting off returned in full force, and he flung the comforter back to its original position before he had a chance to faint.

"Oh, oh, how gross, how revolting…" His legs finally gave out, and Zell found himself abruptly sitting on the third bed. He was too dazed to notice, though, and he continued to look at the second bed in horror. "How could he?" the small SeeD whimpered. "He musta had a fight with Selphie, but, oh gee, he could at least wash his sheets… Yuck, I'm never gonna shake his hand again…"

The energy from the sudden burst of adrenaline faded, and the blonde boy slumped bonelessly down on the third bed. Groggily, he breathed in the smell of detergent, and he rubbed his cheek against the crisp texture of heavily bleached linens. "Just right," he murmured, and with the last of his strength, he crawled underneath the pale blue bedspread. Sucking once more on his wounded thumb, his eyes fluttered closed for a final time, and he slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber.

.oO0Oo.

Seifer stormed furiously down the hallway, his gunblade slashing out at his side. "Well, that was a waste of time," he snarled, coming close to impaling a younger student who was walking in the opposite direction. "We were there to find something decent t' eat, and what do you do, Squall? You go about hacking apart every grat that crossed our path." The tallest SeeD wanted to pound something, preferably the youngest of the trio. "Grat! The cafeteria now has enough grat to last until the end of next week."

"Now, you're not being fair," Irvine interjected. "There wasn't anything else left to hunt, not after the way you scared off all the T-Rexaurs." The longhaired man laughed in remembrance. "I didn't know those lizards could look so shocked! It was priceless, the way that T-Rexaur's eyes bugged out when you started gnawing on its tail."

"I was hungry," the fair headed man defended himself.

"Yeah, sure," Squall said, miffed. "It just didn't occur to you that we all could have eaten it if you had just bothered to kill it before you started snacking on it?" His face expressionless, he turned the doorknob to their room. Although he tried not to show it, he was extremely disappointed that they had failed to bring down one of the giant reptiles. "Now we're stuck eating porridge for breakfast."

"Don't remind me," the violet-eyed youth shuddered, and stepped into the room.

"Maybe we were lucky," Seifer mused, trying to cheer the long-haired SeeD, "and it evolved while we were gone. Maybe it's civilized enough to sign a pact of non-aggression with us." He walked over to his chair, and began frowning when he noticed that all of his doilies had been knocked to the floor. "Okay, which one of you idiots messed with my crocheting?"

"Don't look at me." Irvine walked over to inspect the mess, then gave a low whistle. "Whoa Almasy, I didn't know you were such a sadomasochistic bastard."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Irvine pointed out the blood-spotted crochet hook. "I'm talking about that. It must take balls to prick yourself that badly without making a sound. Squall and I never knew you'd hurt yourself."

"I didn't," Seifer growled, picking up his golden hook and glaring at it. "Squall, someone came in and sat in my chair while we were gone!"

The youngest SeeD came over and crouched down, examining the fine drops of red that marred the floor. "Well, I don't know if they actually sat in your chair, but someone was in here." His brow furrowed, and he glanced over to the longhaired SeeD's chair. "We do know that the intruder sat in Irvine's chair."

"What?" Irvine darted forward, and patted down his chair, checking for harm. "Ack, someone did sit here! They ruined the coat of oil I'd polished it with."

"Well, at least they didn't bleed all over it like they did with mine," Seifer grouched, picking up his doilies from the floor and rearranging them back on the arm rests.

"I don't see why the two of you are complaining," Squall commented from next to his own wooden seat. "The intruder spent most of his time sitting in my chair."

"How can you tell?" the tallest SeeD asked.

Squall bent down and retrieved the fallen remote control. "He left this here. It's my guess he, or she, came in and watched TV." He turned the television on, and the screen flickered to life. "Hmm, Home and Garden." He quickly turned the show off. "I don't think we have anything to worry about. Anybody who watches Home and Garden of their own free will is harmless."

"Harmless?" Seifer spluttered, outraged. He held out his orange soup mug in the palm of his hand. "The freak took a bite of my porridge!"

"You're kidding!" Irvine gaped in disbelief. He left off rubbing the slick leather of his chair and trotted up to the table. He looked into his own green bowl incredulously, then started laughing wheezily. "I don't believe it. I absolutely do not believe it. Someone ate out of my bowl, too!"

The youngest Seed finally neared the table, and picked up the heavy blue-enameled dish. One eyebrow quirked sharply upwards, and something that suspiciously resembled a smirk flitted across his lips. Mimicking Irvine's earlier falsetto, Squall tipped his conspicuously empty dish at the other two men and squealed, "Oh no! Someone ate my grat porridge, and now it's all gone!" While his companions favored him with dark looks, the hazel-eyed man sat his bowl back down and wagged an admonishing finger. "And that's why we lock our door before we go out. Otherwise any deranged freak can come in and steal our breakfast."

"You have issues," Irvine accused him.

"Don't we all?" Seifer asked philosophically while shrugging out of his trench coat. "This has just been too weird. I'm tired from all that exterminating we did in the training center. I think I might go lay down for a bit; I've got a late class this evening." He entered the back room, then spat out a scathing expletive which brought the other two men hastily into the room to investigate. "I don't frickin' believe this," he swore, pointing at the indentation marring the fluffy surface of his quilt. "Someone's been messing around with my bed!"

"Mine too," Irvine added, gesturing to his hastily thrown comforter. "This is getting bizarre; you don't think it could be a stalker, do you?"

At the back of the room, Squall shook his head and lifted up his bedspread. He settled it gently back down, then lifted it once more, but the view remained unchanged. The humor of the situation leaked into his voice as he quietly called out, "Someone's been sleeping in my bed, and look, he's still here!"

The two other young men hurried to their Commander's side, and they all looked down at the peacefully sleeping Zell. The small blonde was curled up into a tight ball, and as if aware of his watchers' scrutiny, muttered something softly and turned over onto his other side, causing his damp bangs to straggle down his face.

"How cute!" Irvine cooed, "He's sucking his thumb."

Even Seifer was moved by the tranquility of the scene. "Look, he's wearing little PuPu boxers, isn't that darling?" he whispered.

"…Well," Squall stared at the disarmingly childish boxers, which had hitched up revealingly in places, "yeah, I guess. So what do we do? Wake him up?"

"Oh no, I couldn't," the longhaired SeeD denied, backing off. "The poor little guy looks plumb tuckered out. Guess the porridge didn't agree with him." He turned back once at the doorway, and cocked his head. "Although it does make me wonder, Squall, what it is you've been doing to the porridge, that it was able to take Zell out?"

"Quit complaining, it's not like you could cook anything better," Squall retorted, pulling the blanket he held back down. "I guess it won't hurt anything if we let him sleep it off. I don't think he's been able to get much rest lately, what with having Raijin and Nida for roommates." He also started walking out of the room. "You coming Seifer?" he twisted his head back and asked.

"In a moment." The ruddy blonde SeeD waited until his cohorts had left the room, then gently eased Zell's thumb out of his mouth. He looked at it intently, observing the bruise that darkened the pale flesh, and the trickle of new blood that worked its way from a small slash along the ball of the boy's thumb. "Ah, so you're the one that pricked himself on my crochet hook."

He sat down on the bed, and brushed the limp locks of golden hair out of the boy's face. "Well," he stated lowly so as not to be heard by his companions in the other room, "there's two choices I could make. One, leave you here sleeping forever, or two, wake you up with a kiss. Now which should I choose? I suppose I could always wait and see if one of the other guys could gather up enough courage to break the spell — but alas," Seifer sighed, "I think they're all cowards. Would it frighten you, to know that your fate lies in my hands?" He chuckled softly, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Somehow I doubt it. More likely than not, you'd just be pissed."

Placing his arm to the right of Zell's head, Seifer leaned down till his lips were almost touching the smaller boy's own petal pink ones. Slowly he crossed the distance that separated him from the slumbering blonde, and with surprising gentleness kissed the younger boy; a light brush of lips on lips, almost too ethereal to be felt. Task done, he drew back, and waited for the sleeper to awaken.

Delicate, blue-veined lids flickered briefly before opening to reveal clouded azure eyes. Zell gazed dreamily at the face hovering above his own, still caught in the last vestiges of his dream. "Seifer," he murmured sweetly, reaching out to cup the other's face in the palm of his hand.

"Chicken-wuss," the scarred youth answered back winsomely, leering down at the drowzy boy.

"Whaa?" Suddenly realizing what he was doing, the small SeeD snatched his hand away as if it had been scalded, and started blushing a fiery red. "Seifer?!? What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that question. You do know that you were sleeping in Squall's bed, practically nude?"

"I am no…" Zell peeked underneath the bedspread, then pulled it tightly about himself. "Ack! What happened?"

Grinning maliciously, Seifer pulled the blanket back down. "Well, let's see. You broke into our dorm room, sat in our chairs, ate all our porridge, and slept in our beds. It rather reminds me of a story Fujin was telling me last week…"

"Oh no, no no nonono!" Zell hid his face in his hands, wondering why no one had yet discovered a magic that could make a person disappear.

"What was it called again?" Seifer scratched at his chin thoughtfully, enjoying the small SeeD's discomfiture. "Of course, how could I have forgotten. It was called Goldilocks." It was all the tall man could do to keep his composure as Zell's entire body blushed in mortification. "Heh heh, and do you know what the Papa bear did to Goldilocks when he found the little brat asleep in his bed?"

"Umm, invited her for tea and crumpets?" Zell hazarded.

"Nah, he decided to eat her for breakfast instead!" Seifer leapt at the startled young man, who shrieked and rolled off the bed in a tangle of sheets. Growling, the tall SeeD allowed his prey just enough time to free himself from the bedding before lunging again.

Terrified, Zell ran from the room, yanked open the front door, and started sprinting down the hall, Seifer hot on his heels. Bemused, Irvine got up and closed the door. "Squall, do you think we should help him?"

The youngest SeeD lifted his shoulder in indifference. "Which one?"

Before Irvine could answer the door swung open once more, and Seifer entered proudly with his catch pinned securely over one shoulder. "Don't mind me," he assured his roommates while Zell frantically pounded on his captor's back. He repositioned his struggling burden and headed for the back room. "If you need me, I'll be in bed." The last coherent thing the two men in the front room heard was Seifer cackling in glee. "Finally, I've got something decent ta eat!"

An ominous silence descended. After a short interval, small noises began to break the quiet. Irvine blushed at the suspicious sounds coming from the back room. "I — I think I promised Quistis I'd help her with something," he said vacillatingly, then fled the room.

"…Whatever." Squall rolled his eyes, and joyously went back to his eavesdropping.

"Seifer!" Zell screeched, "Give me back my boxers!"

"Nyah nyah! Make me!"

.oO0Oo.

And yet even more notes: Tada, all done! And it prolly only hurt a little bit, huh? Now that this is out of my system, maybe I can go back to Guidance Councillor…how do you pronounce procrastination? Okay, here's the fairytales I've managed to screw up. The most obvious would have to be Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Rinoa and her apples came from Snow White. And Seifer's amazingly sharp golden crochet hook got its inspiration from the spindle used in Briar Rose. There may have been more, but those are the ones I was aware of writing ^_^ Liked it? Tell me. Hated it? Blast away. Flames will be read and wept over, praise will be printed out and posted on the fridge, held up with my cherished Goofy magnet.