'Thoughts'
FRIDAY MORNING
05:00
Rinoa closed her eyes at last, after having spent a moment in the kitchen gulping down a glass of water, then heading to the bathroom to wash away the remains of her make-up. She had studied her face as she brushed her teeth; her brown eyes had been tinged with red after she had accidentally gotten some soap into them. Not only did she feel tired, but she looked it also.
Perhaps physical exhaustion was a blessing, as she knew that when she was rested she'd have a mountain of questions to run through her mind. She also knew that she'd have no answers that would be rational and if she had been in any state to begin thinking now, she'd never get to sleep.
With eyes now closed and a floating feeling washing over her, Rinoa realised that she'd been up for nearly twenty-four hours. It wasn't something she wanted to do again in a hurry. At least tomorrow was Saturday and she wouldn't have to wake up to the sound of her screeching alarm.
"She's asleep," Selphie said looking back from the window to the two men in the room. Only one nodded, the other scoffed.
"Are you mentally stalking people now?" Seifer asked. Although in truth he didn't really mind Selphie, it was just that winding her up was more fun than being pleasant. Whilst Squall might stand up for her from time to time, it wasn't often. He had a sneaking suspicion that Squall was just glad that he wasn't the one on the receiving end of his jibes for once.
Selphie scowled. Of all the people she could have been magically bound to, Seifer Almasy was the worst imaginable. It was impossible to fulfil her debt, since the man was too good at saving his own life. Even if she had thought she had helped him out a million times, the magic or 'curse' as she liked to call it, didn't agree.
"I can feel people…the more I see someone, the stronger it is," Selphie explained, knowing that if Seifer was in one of his teasing moods she would have been better off staying quiet.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Selphie said sticking her chin out defiantly. "Like…I can tell when you are thirsty."
Seifer smirked.
"Can you tell when I'm horny?" he asked watching her blush and become outraged all at once.
"Squall?" she appealed, hoping that he'd take her side and tell Seifer to shut up. But he was far away, daydreaming again.
"What?" he asked oblivious to what was happening.
"Forget it," Selphie snapped, stomping across the room and leaving, slamming the door behind her.
They were staying in the first hotel they had found. Sometimes it was safer to stay in the area, rather than hopping across distances in order to recharge energy levels. With so many Bleaks in the area, Squall had no doubt that they would be out there looking for them. He thought it likely that Selphie's flying had attracted their attention, even if they did appear to be staying away for now. A large jump across town would certainly be noticed and only serve to draw them in.
"You shouldn't piss her off so much," Squall warned standing up from the sofa, and taking hold of the cushions. He hated sharing a room with the others, but it couldn't be helped. Funds had been low lately, with no opportunities to make money.
The cushions found their way onto the floor and into a pile, as Squall threw them out of the way.
"Why not? It's fun," Seifer said lazily watching Squall do all the work of turning the sofa into a bed. "She's good for nothing else."
"That isn't true," Squall said but his mind on the task in hand. He missed Seifer's amused laugh.
"Should I leave you two alone?"
Squall didn't even bother answer that. Instead he continued to make up his bed. He didn't even bother trying to convince Seifer to give up one of the comfortable beds either, it would just never happen.
05:00
Zell looked out of the window. He had been sitting in his living room ever since his blonde visitor had left. His home was not an ordinary one, at least not what someone would expect the home of a young man living alone to be. Rather than being filled with the latest gadgets and the largest flat-screen TV that could be afforded, it was instead adorned with the unusual.
The living room was filled with books, overflowing from the bookcase and stacked up against the walls. A battered wooden table and equally sorry looking chair were pushed up against the window, covered with unorganised papers and unwashed mugs.
The young man sat in the middle of the room on an old sofa, a book in his hand but his eyes no longer looking at its words. It was beginning to rain but that was not what bothered him. He was thinking back to what he had told his visitor. It seemed unlikely that she would have believed anything that he had told her.
Most people thought he was a charlatan, making money from gullible people, but his clients tended to think otherwise. Most of the time he made his money doing tricks for children at parties. Doing the usual, pulling rabbits out of hats, and changing white handkerchiefs into a string of coloured ones. Occasionally he did the unusual, such as calling in birds from the garden to fly around the room.
But it was the work he did in unsociable hours that was the most interesting. He often joined others for ghost hunting; always eager to assist someone who had a genuine interest, on a quest to prove their existence. Or holding a séance to contact the recently departed. Occasionally he had chased a poltergeist from a family home, which had been terrorising said family for years.
But it was the people that came to him with a belief that they had been cursed that proved the hardest to deal with. Rarely were people genuinely cursed nowadays, but they were suffering.
The Bleaks were the bane of his life. Following him along streets, hungering after the magic he possessed. Always watching him, hovering around his house and drifting past the windows. They attached themselves to his unfortunate clients, and refused to be removed without a struggle.
But even the Bleaks couldn't irritate him as much these days, not since he had been contacted by something more intruding. The paranormal investigator gave the Bleaks a run for their money when it came down to whom he'd rather meet in a dark alley. But today he felt as if he had met someone different from the norm.
Although Quistis Trepe was seeking to write a book on the paranormal, she was keen to search out new material. Rather than ask about the usual, vampires, ghosts and ghouls, she had been searching for something different. But where she had first heard about Bleaks, he had no idea. He had the feeling however that she would soon be back.
A collection of butterflies glinted at him from their case on the wall, the light reflecting on their wings and the pins that held them in place. Zell had acquired them at an antique shop, along with the painting of the sea in the moonlight next to them. Old things held his curiosity. He could feel when an object had been well loved, or had been despised.
He thought again about Quistis Trepe. She had had a good aura. She would come back.
Author's Note