author note: My computer decided to fry itself a few days ago. This resulted in wiping and reformatting the hard drive (and it's still not working). That being said, I've lost all documents, including both the original file for A Bluer Sky and the individual chapter files. We have another computer, which I can use, just not often. This will (obviously) really slow updates, and I have no idea what I'm going to do when I return to school in two weeks if the comp's not working by then. On a less annoyed note, I'm really glad you all are enjoying this-- reviews make me grin like a maniac. Thank you so much!
-irishais
xx
4. just out of center frame
Deling City
The city came...alive at night. There was no other way to describe it--Deling had a heartbeat. A soul. Ten gil to anyone who would bet him said that if he stood in one place, he'd be able to feel the thump-thump of the city's pulse.
He was getting too into this, too...metaphorical. But then again, he was a dead guy walking through the heart of a city who loathed him, and who the fuck would've ever seen that one coming?
Tap, tap went the plastic of the pill bottle against his palm, and out rolled another bright blue pill. He tossed it in his mouth, swallowing, and immediately the chills went up his spine, a frigid lover's touch. Open your mouth wide, suck down the heart of a million people. If only it was that easy.
Goddamn, but it was hot.
He loosened the skinny black tie around his neck--like a noose, but the knot was different. Somehow, amidst all his metaphorical musings, the bottle had migrated from his right pocket to the left.
If he closed his eyes, he could taste the blue coating peeling away, chalk-white pill dust sprinkling down, down his throat.
The last few pills rattled around in the plastic bottle as he tucked it back into his pocket--almost out, and perfect timing. He pressed his palm against smooth black-glass doors and pushed them open.
"Welcome to Ninth Circle," the hostess said, a brilliant smile on her face. He smiled back at her, all the hints of a smirk around every corner. "Would you like a table, Mr. Almasy?"
By the time she had finished her welcome, Seifer had already brushed past her. "Is Damien in the back?" he called over his shoulder, and didn't wait for her reply. The dark red curtains that cut across the back right corner of the restaurant were pulled, a clear indicator that Damien was, in fact, there. Seifer edged his way through the crowd--the later it got, the more Ninth Circle turned into a club rather than a place to eat. He lifted a hand and pushed the heavy velvet aside, slipping through the curtains. The fabric fell back into place like he hadn't even touched it.
Damien held his hand out as Seifer sat in one of the empty chairs. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while."
Seifer dug in his pocket for his wallet, and yanked out a wad of gil. "It's been three days." He took a moment to count the bills, and neatly lined them up so all the edges matched. Damien plucked them from Seifer's grasp and tucked the money into the pocket of his jacket. In exchange, he pushed a silver box across the table.
With his forefinger, Seifer flipped open the lid, scanning the neatly arranged rows of pills in their individual packets. They were all there.
"I don't cheat you," Damien said as Seifer palmed the slender case and put it away with his wallet. He sounded mildly affronted, like Seifer had offended him in some deep and personal way, even though they had been sitting together for exactly three minutes.
Seifer shrugged. "I always check." It had been ground into him since he was eight--it was the first lesson he had ever learned at Garden: trust no one.
Damien took a deep sip of his drink, heady red wine that Seifer could smell from here. "You want anything? Dinner, drink?"
He shook his head, looking up over Damien's greasy-gelled head. A painting hung there, all brimstone and hellfire with generous splashes of reds and oranges. It complemented the walls. Very avant-garde. Seifer couldn't decide if he hated it or not. "That new?" he asked.
"It's a Kelling. Cost me nine thousand gil. Pretty cool, isn't it?"
"Edgy."
Damien laughed, lifting his wine glass again and giving Seifer a grand toast with it. "Edgy, yeah. I like that. You have a way with words."
Seifer gazed at the painting for a moment more, the abstract blotches of reds all blurring together. Nine thousand gil for that? "You got any water?"
"Yeah, yeah, we've got water." Damien tugged aside one of the curtains. "Someone get me some water," he shouted, and pulled his head back in. "I've got the best liquor money can buy, and you want water. I don't get you, man."
"That's probably a good thing."
A waitress entered, and set a black napkin in front of Seifer. She placed the water glass slightly off-center, and he took a moment to shift it just-so. The waitress hovered for a second.
"Anything else?" she asked, and Damien dismissed her.
xx
Balamb Garden
She sat near the middle of the booth, raising a half-full glass to her lips, leaning to one side to hear what one of the White SeeD said, laughing in response. She glanced up, looking directly into the camera for a split second, bright with food and drink, caught in a brilliant smile and then she turned her head--
Pause.
Ellone's face froze, half blurred with static. Squall thumbed a button on the remote, and the security video moved back four frames, so that Ellone was looking at him-- at the camera.
Rewind.
Ellone, laughing, looking up, smiling.
Pause.
He reached out carefully, his fingertips brushing across the screen briefly, and he withdrew when his brain finally caught up to what he was doing. With a murmured oath, Squall sat back from the small television and resumed the security video. The camera panned away from Ellone's table, swiveling to catch a girl in a black dress, hair pulled back from her face. She crossed the crowded restaurant and disappeared from the screen.
Squall stared at thirty seconds of rich people drinking, eating, laughing-- enjoying living, he assumed. The camera panned back around to Ellone's table.
She and the woman in black were speaking--if he squinted, he could make out the wide silver bangle around the woman's wrist. Rinoa. He was almost surprised when he felt little more than a brief tightening in his chest. Well, at least she looked alright. Better than the last time he had seen her, anyway, back in Kadowaki's office as the doctor fitted the Odine bracelet to Rinoa's slim wrist. He hadn't even been able to think straight, much less get a proper last look at her, the way that he was doubled over in a chair, sick with magic as she tried to force the severing of their bond.
The second that Rinoa had left out the door, he had thrown up all over the shiny white tile.
On screen, Rinoa pulled a case from who-knew-where to pluck something from it and put it in her mouth-- mints, Squall surmised, and watched as she offered one to Ellone. His sister shook her head; the case disappeared. It wasn't important. The camera pulled away again, and when it returned to Ellone's table, the group was getting up to leave. The last he saw of Elle was her back, and the fluttering ends of her pale green shawl.
He watched for a moment more, the camera completing two full rotations, but there was nothing further. The table was being cleaned off by a busboy in a crisp uniform, dish bin propped on his hip. Squall pressed the rewind button.
"Commander?" Xu cleared her throat as the video worked its way backwards, and Squall looked away from the screen.
"Yes?"
When had she come in? How long had she been standing there?
"What are your orders, sir?"
Squall shrugged.
"Sir?"
"I don't know." He glanced back down at the remote clenched in his hand, and leveled it at the television. The screen went dark with a faint pop. "I'm going to Deling."
"Sir? Do you really think that's wise?"
Squall stood, feeling a creak in his knees, tight from sitting too long, from rewinding, rewinding. His watch told him that it had been nine hours and five minutes since Xu had brought him the tape. He glanced back at her. "I'm going to Deling," he repeated, a bit slower, sounding surprised that she would question that.
Xu nodded. "I'll assemble a team, then, sir?"
"No."
Xu paused, then flinched-- Squall had brushed past her, and flicked on the lights in the process. "I beg your pardon, sir?"
Squall looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, Xu was fairly certain he was going to demote her, at least. Then, something in the commander's jaw relaxed.
"Instructor Trepe and I will proceed to Deling City in place of you and Irvine. You will return to your regular duties at Garden."
Xu nodded tersely. "Yes, sir."
Squall watched her for a moment more-- if it had been any of his other senior staff, they would have left, but Xu was pure soldier, right to the core. "Dismissed," he added. Xu made it nearly all the way out in the hall before he spoke again. "Xu?"
She paused and looked back. "Yes, sir?"
"...Thank you."
"Yes, sir."
Then she was gone, shutting the door behind her and leaving Squall alone in the cramped AV room. His mind raced-- Xu's dismissal from the mission had been impulsive, unplanned. They hadn't uncovered anything except Rinoa and some security footage; whether he wanted to or not, Squall had to go there, to see the place with his own eyes. There had to be something that his team had missed. He wasn't willing to admit this might have simply been chance-- not yet.
He needed to talk to Rinoa. None of this made sense.
With a grimace, Squall banged his fist against an abandoned computer terminal, only to jerk his hand back at the cracking of plastic. The casing bit deep into the side of his hand. He glared at the destroyed terminal; it offered up a spiral of dusty smoke, finally giving up the ghost. Grabbing a spare cleaning rag, Squall wrapped it around his bleeding hand.
"Dammit," he muttered. Ifrit snarled in agreement, and Squall stalked out of the audio-visual room.