Chapter 4
For the rest of the academic day, Quistis feels like she's walking on eggs. Her students stare hollowly at her, barely listening, as the main study panel at her desk beeps every half-minute. The room bends under the weight of a few dozen versions of Seifer's outburst; everyone has an opinion.
Five minutes from the last bell of final period, Quistis realizes she can't stand another second of the whole mess. Mechanically, she reaches across her desk and throws the kill-switch underneath the front drawer. An unsettling eerie hum rises in chorus from every desk in the room, and the study panels go dead simultaneously.
"What the...?" Zell says.
"Take out your textbooks, turn to page four hundred and seventeen, and write a paragraph on the benefits of Stealing in the first four turns of combat," Quistis intones.
"Instructor-" Balthier murmurs, tapping his study panel.
"The study panels are closed until tomorrow morning," Quistis says crisply, and walks out of the classroom.
Nobody follows her - Not even Balthier. She counts this a small miracle as she turns left into the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time toward the study panel mainframe.
She has to have answers to this mess, or she'll never sleep again.
.
The mainframe desk is mercifully well-organized: All of Seifer's flagged messages from the afternoon before are waiting in a clearly marked folder for conduct review, and they haven't been touched.
Subj: Do you evn knw how 2 fire a Gunblade [791 char]
Subj: Tactics r for cowards [558 char]
Subj: Substitute run progression? RU high? [258 char]
Balthier's replies are lined neatly below:
Subj: Yes [3 char]
Subj: Opinion Noted [13 char]
Subj: Not Usually [11 char]
Quistis taps open Seifer's first message and nips the tip of her tongue bitterly at the wall of misspellings and grammatical mistakes. Seifer's meaning sinks through her slowly, like wet cement, and she finds herself grinding her teeth.
Subj: Do you evn knw how 2 fire a Gunblade
You're awfully mouthy for a Galbadean. Think you can walk in here and impress everyone into thinking you're not a threat well I see straight through you, you're a spy for the bad guys aren't you? Ahahahahahahahahaha, I crack me up. Listen, cream tea, got any clue how to fire a gunblade? Have any clue at all what ur gonna be doing once you get out there on the ground where everything's blowing up all the time? Because I bet you think youre so smart. But its the smart ones that die the fastest. You need to watch your back bcause I'm gonna figure you out. So listen up: are you just gonna sit in the corner and talk flowery tactical shit until you can get your greasy fingers into Trepe's bra? Cause remember she's not on the market as long as I can help it. Save your breath or get bent.
Quistis' stomach turns. Balthier's reply queued underneath catches her eye before she can get too upset, though – there's something wrong with it.
Subj: Yes [3 char]
The last bracket is flickering. Puzzled, Quistis taps it with her fingernail – and a line of code springs up.
[panel:panel/comdesk:skip=]
Quistis' head swims. "Hyne – he's... evading the mainframe?"
But then, something strange occurs to her. Frowning at herself, she takes the attendance note he gave her out of her pocket, and looks at the little tactics puzzle he's sketched on the back.
It's not a tactics puzzle.
Buff A0 = m2 (449/velocity) + span1Q
(comdesk:skip=auth02449)
(important: panic button=1+Q)
Quistis pushes her hair behind her ears, bites her lower lip hard (I can't believe this), and types auth02449 after the blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen. It immediately blanks, then flashes with a short message, typed all in blue.
Subj: Yes
In fact the GB91 you have under your desk was invented by my father. Been servicing & carrying one for five years. Lovely weapon... Truly, there's nothing to figure out, Almasy. I'm here in service, not spite. More importantly, I assure you that Ms. Trepe's underclothes aren't my business at all, and I'll thank you kindly not to talk roughly about her.
Balthier knows gunblades that well, and he's in tactics... what...? No, never mind. Quistis' head swims a little as she brings up Seifer's next flagged message.
Subj: Tactics r for cowards [558 char]
You think your so fucking adorable dragging these moron first years through their paces you make me sick mother theresa you really do. Trepe's lost her mind, bcause your clearly a science coward who doesn't know the dif between a sim and a scrum run. I hope u get fucking chopped to bits when we land on dollet and your little engineer friends have to pick u out of some lizards teeth to send u home in a plastic bag I've seen the way you look at Trepe you little greasefaggot, I'm gonna make you sorry you transferred in here and made me look like an idiot.
Quistis' mouth has fallen open. She closes it, takes off her glasses, polishes them, and rocks a little in her chair. Memories flash through her, oddly contrasting to the rising dance of panic in her mind -
7/34/YY. Seifer punches her in the throat in training and ruptures one of her vocal chords. He shows up at her bedside in the infirmary the next day with a rose, and five soft kisses for the inside of her wrist.
8/19/YY. Seifer breaks three of her ribs in combat drill and she has to be put under sedation so they can be reset. He sneaks into her room, and writes love notes all over her arm with her favorite lip-liner while she sleeps.
Her lips press hard together as she summons Balthier's reply.
Subj: Opinion Noted
For the record, Tactical engineering is reserved for men with solid constitution in Galbadia garden. Cowards we are not. Can't afford to be. Also I don't appreciate your language. Please calm down.
A thumping ache rises in Quistis' chest – she swallows hard, trying to ignore it, and brings up Seifer's last flagged note.
Subj: Substitute run progression? RU high? [258 char]
Stop smiling at her or I'll personally track u down after class and break ur neck so help me Hyne you are so close to getting your ass turned inside out I dont care if youre smarter than me youre not stronger than me and I will fucking kill you so back off!
That neanderthal. Quistis shoves her glasses on again, murderous; she fumbles Balthier's access code twice on the last message. She mouths a couple of curse words, gets it right on the third try, exhales.
Subj: Not Usually
SubRun is explained by Ms. Trepe as a viable approach on the message-board, under CMD:StudentTactics4. She'll smile as she likes, while we're on the subject, and so will I. If you have the audacity to threaten me again over her, I'll not be diplomatic. This is your last warning, Mr. Almasy.
Quistis bites her tongue hard - she tastes copper – then the office door opens.
Quistis' heart stops. Fumbling, she punches 1 and Q; the screen flicks innocently back to Seifer's conduct menu. Quistis looks up from the desk at Headmaster Cid, his kind, curious face framed by curls of steam from a fresh cup of coffee.
"What's the matter, Miss Trepe? You seem out of sorts."
"Headmaster – I'm reviewing Seifer's flagged desk activity. It seemed prudent, given the circumstances."
"Yes," Cid says gravely. "I just spoke with Mr. Almasy in my office, and he said I might find you here. He's rather upset about this whole mess and said so in quite a few words, so I sent him to his dorm to write lines. I hope he'll calm down. Tsk - would you like a cup of coffee?"
Quistis doesn't smile. "Thank you, no, Headmaster."
"From the sound of things, Ffamran Bunansa is too preoccupied to read his hate mail thoroughly," Headmaster Cid remarks as he sits beside her at the mainframe, smoothing down his sweater vest. He leans over and taps a decisive finger beside Balthier's subject lines. "That's a good lad, keeping his replies crisp and to the point. Well, it's all for the best, I imagine. Ffamran's a bright young man; it'd be a shame to see him caught up in one of Almasy's moods."
"I agree," Quistis says. Her hands tremble in her lap.
"Thank you for taking the initiative to suspend Seifer, Miss Trepe," Cid continues kindly. "I know it must have been a difficult decision - I'm led to understand you have a bit of a romantic history with the boy. But you know our harassment policy better than anyone. This kind of rambling anger can't influence our students on any level, and Seifer needs to learn that eventually." Cid eases himself to his feet and takes a contemplative sip of his coffee. "Almasy may be one of our best guns, but he doesn't have the right to verbally abuse anyone."
Quistis wants to say something insightful, but her vision is going fuzzy. Of course – Cid thinks she read Seifer's notes as they came across her desk, and then suspended him for bullying Balthier.
She turns up one palm in a shrug and smiles through a wave of nausea, sliding her other hand (still clutching Balthier's comm desk code) into her pocket.
"I do what I can, Headmaster."
Cid nods once, satisfied. "Three days on academic leave should teach Almasy something about common courtesy. Now – Miss Trepe –"
He sets down his coffee, and Quistis' heart sinks – his face has fallen.
"I need to ask you something a little uncomfortable," He admits. "I hope you won't think less of me for being concerned about this, but Seifer has it in his head that you're – well, rather fond of Mr. Bunansa."
"Fond?" Quistis repeats, hating herself. "He's a good student, and very considerate. He's asked me to teach him a little Triple Triad."
She really shouldn't have mentioned cards. The little glint that pops into Balthier's eyes when she trumps his best move makes her throat turn to sand, and now she can see him in technicolor, peering at her in mock challenge over a fan of cards. She swallows once, frowns thoughtfully, hunts for a reassuring phrase - But now her memory is on a roll, informing her exactly how fond of Balthier she really is.
When she mentioned to Xu during third period last week that she didn't have anything for lunch, Balthier bought her a sandwich and left it on her desk in time for fifth period, with a note – Keep your strength up, miss Instructor: The first-years have that hungry look about them.
And in drills, three days ago, when her safety buffer failed during a demonstration opposite a Rexaur, he drew his gun-blade before anyone else had noticed there was anything out of place. When the immediate danger passed – a simple matter of recasting her buffer – she noticed that he'd gone very white.
Oh - Balthier is definitely something to be worried about.
"Mr. Bunansa isn't a problem at all," Quistis says firmly, more to herself than to Cid. "Seifer's just upset with me."
The headmaster merely nods again, gravely. "I'll take you for your word. But, I will say one thing; Seifer had a point about your lesson plans, miss Trepe. They're a bit lopsided. Give ground combat a bit of a chance for a few weeks, all right?"
"I've just been a little fascinated with theory lately. It's my own fault." Quistis feels like her voice is coming from somewhere very far away; she barely recognizes it. "It won't happen again, sir."
Shaking herself slightly, she looks at the time flashing in the corner of the study panel. It's nearly eighteen hundred; she hasn't eaten since breakfast. Balthier will be waiting for her in half an hour, and she can't imagine how she's going to face him - oh, Hyne...
Cid puts his hand on her shoulder. His eyes crinkle kindly. "Quistis, my dear, you look tired. Put this nonsense away, and talk to me for a moment."
With one hand the headmaster sweeps through Seifer's flags and Balthier's secret replies; they file off the screen and away. Then he sits beside Quistis again and rests his hand on her wrist.
"You're a very clever young lady, Miss Trepe. Don't let Seifer get to you. Some gentlemen don't know how to behave around the people they care about, you see."
Quistis looks over at him. "Headmaster – thank you for being concerned bout me, and I'm awfully sorry about this. But may I ...aahm... be excused?"
A yawn cuts her courtesy down the middle, and her head spins. She's so tired and frightened, she thinks she might faint.
Cid's brows lift. "Of course, I'm being ridiculous - you need to lie down. Please, Quistis, go straight to your dormitory, and don't think another moment on this whole suspension fiasco. I'll take care of the paperwork."
"Thank you," Quistis says meekly, and pads quietly out of the mainframe office to the elevator.
As she slumps against the elevator wall, listening to the hum of the mechanism as it lifts her toward her dorm, she realizes something that makes tears of defeated frustration leap into her eyes.
She's half starved, hair a-shambles, makeup worn to nothing, and she can't think of anyone she'd rather collide with in all her exhaustion than Ffamran M. Balthier Bunansa, because – Quistis closes her eyes at the thought, swaying - he will smile, and the whole wretched day will disappear.