Here it is everyone: the SPECIAL EDITION CHAPTER!!! XD Yeah, I know, you probably think I'm loopy, but let me explain first. This entire story, from 1-9, has been focusing on Seifer, Quistis, and the more recent struggle between Dizz and his former buddy Len. Since this is the big one-oh for this story, I figured I'd do something special! Relax, the story'll go STRAIGHT back to our hero's big day back at school and you can resume your Squall-hating. I'll explain why I did this down at the bottom… okay, I guess that's it! Enjoy!
Coming Home: SPECIAL EDITION CHAPTER
Chapter 10: Another Side, Another Story
Zilenard rubbed his eyes, standing stiffly as his mother ran a hairbrush along the top of his head. He was a nervous-looking boy, thin and gangly even for an eleven-year-old with beady grey eyes and a thick black mop that served as hair. It seemed that only his mother could tame the tangled mess, and even though Zilenard hated being treated like a child it was nice to see it hanging past his shoulders in a neat ponytail instead of sticking straight up. A tie hung loosely around his neck, and the boy was dressed smartly with a deep blue suit and polished black dress shoes; he almost looked like a duplicate of the man standing in the other room, smoothing wet, thin hair over a bald spot.
"Ilysa, could you hurry this up?" he asked sharply, straightening his own tie quickly. "I don't want to disappoint our guests." Smiling sweetly, Ilysa swept brown hair out of her eyes and continued to comb her son's hair at the same irritatingly slow pace. Wincing as she pulled the teeth sharply across his scalp, Zilenard shrugged at his father and began stumblingly fixing his tie. "…Hurry up means that you go faster, dear," his father said with a small smile.
"Gilbor, I'm trying to make our son presentable!" she laughed. "How often have you complained that he looked as though he had a bush growing off the top of his head?"
"Far too many times to count, Mother," Zilenard sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if to see whether or not she was nearly finished. Finally, Ilysa pulled out a black ribbon and laced it through her son's dark hair with a content smile.
"Are you through with attacking our boy's head?" Gilbor asked, inspecting his son with the traces of a light sneer around his mouth. "He looks rather… pompous. Should we really bring him out to greet our fellows like that?" Pouting and taking hold of the boy's shoulder, she flicked his nose with the end of his hair.
"I think he looks dashing. Besides, shouldn't he be at his finest tonight? It is, after all, his twelfth birthday tomorrow!" He glowed with pride, holding his head high and looking rather haughty. People always said, every day he grew to look more and more like his prestigious father; maybe one day he would take over the family business and grow as successful as him. The Maleva family lived in Esthar, one of the more elaborate districts saved especially for the wealthy and well-to-do. As such, Zilenard grew up witnessing every possible shape and form of pampering and the power of money, one he found himself drawn to and wishing that someday he could hold a power like that. Tonight, for example, his father was throwing an esteemed ball-like party in celebration of his son's elder years, leaving behind the days of awkward childhood and stepping into being a young adult.
However, as Zilenard would soon find out, power and wealth brought many enemies, most of which were commoners who felt like the Malevas were drawing money away from the upkeep of the city, right from their very own pockets. Gilbor felt as though the peasants, as he called them, were merely filled with greed and jealousy, lusting for the power, status, and wealth he had. Zilenard wasn't sure of that, but he knew that merely stepping out into the street was a dangerous attempt for him. Thus, he'd been shut up in the same dull house for most of his life, seeing a manner of butlers, maids, and nannies come and go, mixed in with the occasional personal tutor. This manner of life wasn't bothersome in the slightest, on the contrary, it made him feel important and as though he maybe possessed a small fragment of the strength Gilbor had.
"Just look at him." Gilbor puffed up like a balloon, chest swelling with pride at the sight of his son. "We mustn't keep those guests of ours waiting." As the family strode elegantly out of the room, Zilenard was on a personal high. Never had his father looked upon him with so much pride, so much glowing acceptance. As they sidled to the stairs, watching their guests with happy smiles, no one noticed the shouts from outside until the last moment, when blazing torches were thrown into the elegant house and set tablecloths, furniture, curtains, and anything it could reach alight. Things seemed to slow down before the boy's eyes, watching as guests threw their hands up into the air, screamed, and dashed for the door only to find it locked and barricaded. All of a sudden, through the smashed open window came a blinking and beeping device, resting in the middle of the living room floor. Gilbor shouted something, pulling Ilysa and Zilenard to the floor, but it went unnoticed in the young man's ears as his mother threw herself on top of him and clutched him to her chest. Later, screams and shrieks would resonate through Zilenard's ears in his darkest dreams, but he never heard them on the day it happened.
The very next day, he was led away by an elderly woman clutching a leather suitcase and looking sadly back at the ruins that once was the Maleva household. The whole affair was hushed up, it wasn't known that such sturdy, metal buildings could explode and it would be dangerous for word to be issued to the public. Zilenard still wore the suit, hair still up in its ties with everything he could salvage in his arms. Almost everyone was gone, destroyed by the explosion caused by crazed, drunken lowerclassmen. They had yet to be found.
As Zilenard stared sadly at the scrap of his mother's dress clutched tightly within his fist a burning, stinging rage overcame him. What good had turning another year older done if he still wasn't able to protect the ones he loved? His heart plummeted as he watched paramedics continue to drag lifeless bodies out of the debris; even now they seemed to have no end. Smoldering ashes caught his eye, burning dimly as it pathetically asked for something to once more fuel its burn. Watching it, he felt the smoldering ashes within his own heart catching flame, burning with violent anger. When he was older, stronger, wiser, he would repay the men for what they did to him, his parents, and the life he once new. Resolve burning brightly as the fire the night before, he tossed the torn scrap of his mother's dress onto the ashes and turned his head away as it slowly shriveled up and burned. And so, the first metal plate was built around his heart and the first shroud of ice encircled around its very core.
-.-.-.-
"You're slipping, my servant," a deathly voice whispered. A large woman sat lazily in a large chair, almost throne-like if it wasn't for the dismal setting it was placed in. Crouched in front of it was Len, having bowed elegantly then sank to his knees in honor of the woman he called "her Highest". "It's been long enough, and your prisoner has yet to divulge anything useful. That and we haven't heard word from our prodigal son yet. Do you have a valid explanation?"
"That and more, my Highest Almighty," he whispered in reverence. "The prisoner is being unnaturally stubborn and adamant about what he knows. The mayor, shrewd and withdrawn as he is, trusts the ex-soldier with more then he's choosing to reveal right now. He will break. I assure you." Lazily blinking, she waved a hand adorned with various ornamental rings for another of her servants to run forward.
"Take this. While he sleeps, uncork it and let the stench waft through his nose. After three nights of this, he'll be weary and weakened, more ready to talk. Don't overdo it, though… your lust for blood will be resolved soon enough." Standing upright and bowing deeply, Len took the bottle from her lesser servant and held it cautiously as he made his way back to the hidden door. His wolfish grin was extremely evident in the pale light filtering through drawn curtains, moonlight making the teeth shine brightly. He would finally have the revenge desired for the seventeen years he spent in exile, watching and waiting from a dirty hovel. At Adel's side, he would raise a fist and crush the city that had accepted and then rejected him, destroy the lives of those who destroyed his.
Still, every so often Len's heart would attempt to tug at him while in the middle of questioning his old friend. He was an old man, unable to do much harm to Adel's plans. Then it would once more be swallowed by the extreme senses of joy as he remembered how badly the man deserved it. Everything that had happened was his fault. Taking great care to cover his nose, Len stepped into the room and approached the elder man's sleeping form, pulling the cork off the bottle and letting it hover beneath his nose. Doubtless it was a sort of poison, meant to weaken his mind and physical being. Len smirked again, waving it back and forth a little bit. Completely, totally, and undeniably all his fault.
-.-.-.-
"Smell that?" Dizz asked, grinning happily at his friend. "It's the smell of a new dawn, another day filled with satisfying results. At this rate, we'll overthrow that sorceress any day now." He smiled back, in the process of pulling his hair away from his eyes. After the year-and-a-half they'd spent in Esthar, it began to dwindle past his shoulders again and he couldn't be bothered to cut it. The two had more pressing matters.
Since their unexpected joining of the resistance force so quickly corrupting Esthar, the two became less concerned with the oncoming end of their vacation from the army and more interested in the struggle between visionary power and segregated commoners. For once, he understood how the people from his past felt, though he could never forgive them for taking away the one security he had as a child. Clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder, Dizz's grey eyes shone with concern. "Something got you down, Zilenard?" he asked. Zilenard was passively silent, absent-mindedly scratching his wrist. "Oh, come on, lighten up! Once that sorceress is gone, we'll be revered as heroes! Women will fall at your feet, and you can finally settle down and smile for once." Zilenard shot Dizz a friendly glare and inhaled the morning breeze.
"I note that you said 'you', and not 'we'. Are things finally going somewhere with that warrior princess of yours?" Completely unabashed, Dizz bared his perfect teeth in a smile that made many ladies swoon.
"You could most certainly say that."
"Whatever. It's her fault that we were dragged into this politics thing in the first place." A frown graced Dizz's face, looking relatively strange since he normally had a beaming smile in its place.
"What do you mean? This is the best thing that could've happened. Two friends, once a soldier and his general, fighting side-by-side to bestow independence and liberty upon a striving country? You said yourself that this is where you used to live. Isn't its freedom important to you?" Silent again, Zilenard tugged the edge of his gloves down and turned to look down the strange streets of his city. True, this particular misadventure provided more entertainment then he had really thought possible, and it was nice to have a companion rather than travel the world alone as he'd done for most of his life. Merely looking at the part of town where his home once lay, however, was enough to get his blood boiling and make his soul scream for vengeance.
"…I suppose. Still, it doesn't appeal to me to be executed for going up against the strangest sight this side of the moon. Did you ever take a close look at those photos of her?" Attempting to change the subject using humor, the two quietly walked along the path to where the resistance faction often met. Along the way, as they discussed quietly and avoided the eyes of soldiers, they made a quick stop down an alley with Zilenard at the front to check for oncoming assailants.
"Sophia?" Dizz asked quietly, peering down the alley. Almost instantly, a young woman with a bright smile, one to rival even Dizz, and a full head of red hair clamored out of a small corner and quickly ran to connect herself to his elbow. Long robes in the standard of Esthar leaders hid the old soldier-type pants and shirt underneath, used mainly for spying missions and when she grew tired of wearing her mother's insisted apparel.
"Good. We'd better hurry if we don't want to be-" Zilenard began, but all of a sudden he felt something strange encircle his mouth and dimly heard the muffled screams of Sophia. Mind working furiously, he soon deducted that he, Dizz, and Sophia were close to the innermost workings of the resistance, so that explained their capture. Had soldiers been following them the entire time?
"No! Come back!" Dizz shouted, having wrestled one attacker to the ground and incapacitating him with a bullet to the leg. Two others were attempting to pin him down, but for the moment the man remained free of bonds and holding the upper hand. His distraction with Sophia's capture led to the removal of his gun, lying outside the circle he and the two soldiers formed. To his utter dismay, Zilenard was hit over the head with a large rifle/harpoon combination of a weapon and carried off in the same fashion as the woman. He howled in rage, despair shaking and coursing through him as the men forced him to the ground. "…Zilenard… Sophia…"
-.-.-.-
"I don't blame you, you know," Len muttered as he watched Dizz sleep lightly. He was sitting on the table again, back to the wall and looking rather stretched thin. Perhaps he was tired, or maybe (he hoped not) a little of the poison seeped through him as well. "That day led me to the ultimate satisfaction, the wonderful release that meant power and dreams fulfilled. You see, there's some things you don't know about the day I returned that I doubt I'm ever going to tell you. You never understood anyway. Why should I be sympathetic now?" The wolfish smile briefly flew across the shadows and was gone again, thin lips pressed together with strain.
Deep in thought, Len sifted through the various bits of information in his head before resting upon old thoughts on Dizz. The once blonde hair was now a thin white, obviously diminishing though most of it still looked there. He ran one hand along his own hair, less dark then it used to be and showing occasional flecks of grey. From what he could see, Dizz really hadn't changed much since the last he saw him, more or less twenty years ago on that fateful day when his spirit and friendship were broken for eternity. "I still have the wound… the one you gave me. Say what you want about it, I know it wasn't completely an accident. If it was an accident, it wouldn't have hurt as deeply. Then again… I suppose it always hurts to be betrayed by your old friend. Scars are emotional and physical, eh?" Absent-mindedly rubbing his leg, Len winced as one finger fell into the thin, shallow tear in his skin marring his left leg. It stretched from just below the knee to mid-calf, deeper at the top then at the bottom: the mark from a recklessly fired pistol.
As night slowly fled to make way for dawn, Dizz began to stir a little. Taking this as a signal, Len pulled a match from his pocket and re-lit the dying candles to provide some sort of light. The dark room was soon once more casting flickering shadows on the two's faces. "I prefer the dark, as you may remember," he whispered as he let one hand silently pass through the tiny flame, "but with every new light comes a new hope. Not for you, of course. For me. For me and my sorceress: a new hope that one day we will take back what's been stolen. Feel grateful that you have a starring role in our little daytime drama for now. Before too long, it'll be gone… and I'll have my revenge."
-.-.-.-.-
"Almasy!" Instructor Britt shouted. "I should think that on your first day back you should be willing to pay more attention!" Seifer sat up quickly, wiping traces of sleep from his eyes and attempting to make sense of the notes he'd scribbled before his untimely doze. As expected, he'd gotten absolutely no sleep the night before, and when he emerged from his new room he found Quistis, or Instructor Trepe as he now had to call her, gone and a small schedule written on a piece of paper. To his glee, he found his gunblade and what other items he possessed sitting by the door, which he placed in his room. Now in the first class of the day, it wasn't twenty minutes into it before he was asleep, fitfully replaying the night before in his head. A few students around him tittered, obviously pleased to see the former head of the Disciplinary Committee being admonished.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, gritting his teeth. It pained him and his pride to say such a thing to such a pig-headed woman, but if he was to do well this time around it would benefit him to actually learn from the classes, even if he already knew most of it. As she continued her tirade on the elemental effects certain magic had on certain beasts, he let his mind wander as he doodled absent-mindedly on his paper. Originally decipherable words and graphs turned to unreadable scribbles, covered in strange runic symbols and pointed, crudely made yet oddly menacing knives.
"Words are," the instructor said as she whipped the paper from him, startling him back into the present, "strangely pointless unless you mean what you say. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Almasy?" His eyes narrowed, watching her as his fists clenched under the platform of the metal desk. He knew, of course, that the mocking words and furious glares would be increased tenfold after the Sorceress War, but he'd forgotten how angry they made him. "Thus, when you say you're going to pay more attention, if you don't mean what you say your words are quite technically a waste of breath."
"Oh, I disagree, ma'am," he ground out through clenched teeth. The heat of his temper flooded every crevasse of his mind, a rush very familiar to him yet still foreboding a dangerous release. Pain from the night before still ate at his heart, though sheer narcissism kept him from the need to apologize. Square-rimmed glasses perched on the very end of her hawk-like nose, Britt turned to look at him with dangerous narrowed eyes with the worthless notes clutched tightly in her hand.
"Really, Almasy? Then what is your opinion on the matter?" she asked, voice dangerously low as one hand subconsciously flew to flatten the grey bun perched atop her head. The rest of the class was quiet, silent enough for even the slightest intake of breath to sound like a gust of wind. It had been months since any of them witnessed a true Seifer/Instructor showdown, and the thrill of it normally promised a day without any lessons whatsoever. However, there was also the chance that the entire class would be punished, making it a gamble on all behalves.
"I figure," he said calmly, "that if you wish for your words to have some significance, truthful or not, then they're not a waste of breath. Still, if one were to be rambling on about something of no real importance, such as fire magic against the monsters of the North, then I would be forced to consider that a waste of breath." A few girls gasped, boys looked at each other with rueful grins. Britt turned three shades of red, all in rapid succession, before her face became dangerously pale against her graying hair.
"Very well, you little ingrate," she snapped angrily, moving to the intercom with more speed then most would've guessed resided within those plump, stout legs. "I refuse to teach you; your moronic attitude makes it impossible for me to see how an unpleasant, unprecedented, and absolutely unethical child like you made it into Garden." Past the point of apologizing now, he made a swift bow and stepped out of the room, leaning against the doorframe.
"Likewise," he said under his breath, still able to hear steam blowing out of her ears as she punched a button on the intercom.
"Direct me to Instructor Trepe's room," she hissed; there was a few moments silence before the obvious sound of her voice came through the crackling speaker, if not a bit muffled. "Yes, Trepe, it's about him. I refuse to ever even speak with the boy again; his rudeness and demeanor make it quite clear that he… No, Miss Trepe, I will not reconsider. Despite what you and our esteemed headmaster think, it is very plain to me that the boy has yet to change. I'd prefer that. Thank you." Leaning against the wall, Seifer quietly drummed his fingers against the wall and thought about what had just happened. Despite his constant efforts to make some sort of change, his old ways and joys of getting under other's skin was coming back. Was it even possible for him to change?
"I don't believe it; it's your first day back and already you're in trouble. Do you do these things on purpose?" Quistis's voice rang clear in his ears as he turned his head a little, a bored expression plastered on his face. She was wearing her regular Instructor's clothes, glasses looking as though firmly wedged between her eyes.
"Good morning to you as well," he said sarcastically. "Sleep well?"
"There's no time for your ridiculous jokes! You're here to become a SeeD, not to go straight back to agitating your peers and authority! What happened to all that honesty and humbleness I heard when you were asking for another chance?" During her mini-tirade, the two began walking towards her classroom, where undoubtedly there was a room full of students anxiously waiting to listen while Quistis told him off.
"Flew out the window the instant that woman started talking to me."
"Seifer, you have no right to call her 'that woman'! She's your teacher!"
"Former teacher," he corrected with a small smirk. "From what I heard she never wants to see me again, let alone teach me. Or is today Opposite Day?" Growling in anger, she rounded on him and jabbed a finger into his chest.
"Why do you have to be so damned impossible!?" He shrugged, eyes dimly checking the hallway for any other stragglers. Luckily, there was no one else around. "You just purposefully make everything so hard for everyone! Do you take pleasure in that?" Seifer was silent, knowing that once again he'd completely messed yet another aspect of his life up. Here was a young woman (though older than him) who'd been kind enough to stand up for him, if it weren't for her earlier outburst he'd even think that she believed he could change… and what did he do?
Quistis, on the other hand, was even further enraged by his silence and matched it with her own steely quiet. How dare he treat her this way? How could he pretend that nothing had changed? Did he… did he hate everything so? Her thoughts were interrupted by the "whoosh" of a mechanical door, signaling her reappearance in her classroom. Memories of the morning Seifer and Squall received their mirror scars hit her like a ton of bricks before she shook it off and pointed at a seat in the back. "Back to business, everyone," she said, setting herself at the desk in the front. "Now, then, where were we before I left?" One student, rather young-looking, raised her hand timidly after glancing around the room nervously. "Yes?"
"We… we were reviewing history, Instructor Trepe," she whispered. Nodding and giving the girl a brief smile, she pulled a few papers closer and skimmed one or two before finding their place.
"Of course, thank you. Now, it's common knowledge that the Sorceress Hyne is either the first or one of the first sorceresses to appear on our planet. However, in most of the published works or even within historian reports nothing is ever mentioned of her knight." Seifer very quickly grew uncomfortable. He would've been willing to bet his precious Hyperion that someone somewhere was enjoying getting every sort of rise possible out of Seifer all in one day. "Knights didn't actually come into play in recorded history until nearly three hundred years ago, where one by the name of 'Mriazi' served a particular sorceress known only as 'The Fallen'. Quite obviously, this knight didn't do his duty as expected which led his sorceress to ruin." This was, Seifer thought, a class for newbies, students more recently admitted into Garden. To be honest, he hadn't remembered ever having to take this class and wondered if it was a new addition, or requirement.
"Of course," Quistis continued, "There is a more recent example that many of you will understand. Our other example is Adel, the previous ruler of Esthar for some time. Adel either never had a knight, or hers failed as well. Either way, she spiraled into insanity, which led to the eventual destruction of her reign." As Quistis continued, Seifer felt a small tug in the very base of his mind, twitching and stinging. Rubbing the back of his neck, he felt the twinge grow stronger and nearly cried out in pain, feeling as though a knife was driving into the back of his head. Once Quistis switched topics, however, the nagging feeling went away. Watching him from the corner of her eye, Quistis shook her head and wondered. Even if it had only been a short time, something in the deep caverns of her mind began to pick at her and whisper that bringing him back had been a stupid choice, a mistake. She recalled the night before, his angry outburst with good cause and the horrible feeling of regret she'd woken up with that morning. Maybe it... was a mistake. Stumbling over her words, she quickly banished the thoughts and dedicated herself to speaking. Despite the distraction, she noticed the guilty look in Seifer's eyes as she spoke of sorceresses and the undying loyalty of their ever-faithful knights.
-.-.-.-
Panting heavily, Seifer kicked open the door to his room and threw his stack of books, papers and miscellaneous items onto the bed. Seifer himself followed, precariously dangling off the edge to avoid destroying his homework. "What a day," he muttered. Things were much harder when one actually paid attention. Even so, he suspected that the instructors piled on because of who he was. "I'm probably just being paranoid," he said to himself. Shrugging, he sat up with a grunt and rolled to his feet. Quistis had yet to return; doubtless she was somewhere grading papers or something boring like that. With a grin, he shouldered his gunblade and, telling himself he'd do the homework later, quietly stepped out of the mini-apartment and walked briskly down the hallway.
It had been a long time since he'd visited the training center. Unless they found new monsters recently, he figured that a few easy battles would clear his head. As his footsteps echoed along the empty hallways, he took note of the lack of Garden staff that he'd been so accustomed to seeing. Things really had changed since the last time he'd come here…
"GREETINGS."
"Hey, how's it going, you know?" Jumping lightly, Seifer turned to see Raijin and Fujin, looking rather happy. Even so, Fujin's visible eye shone with concern. "We've been hearing stuff about you, you know?"
"RUMORS," she added quietly.
"All over the school. Sounds like we have some enemies, you know." Seifer chuckled, pulling Hyperion off his shoulder and leaning on it.
"You mean me. As far as I can tell, you two are off the hook… consider yourselves lucky. Look, I'm going to the training center before Instructor Ice shows up."
"Then we'll come too, you know!" Raijin said, moving to stand at Seifer's side. He shook his head, turning away and shouldering his gunblade again.
"I'd rather be alone. I appreciate your concern, but still. Hey, let's try meeting for lunch tomorrow in the cafeteria. We can catch up on our first days back," he added with a small smirk. "Twelve thirty, okay? See you." With that, he continued on his way to the training center, leaving his dearest friends to stare after him sadly.
"SEIFER…" Fujin muttered. Raijin patted her shoulder and gently guided her in the direction of the cafeteria. Both of them glanced backwards from time to time, watching his figure disappear rapidly. "WORRIED."
"Yeah, me too. He's been real quiet, you know? Isn't like him. Do you think something's wrong?" She shrugged, boots clicking as they neared the cafeteria.
"QUISTIS?" Raijin started, raising an eyebrow at her.
"You think she has something to do with it? I dunno, Fuj, last I saw of it they seemed to be getting along fine, you know?" Planting one hand firmly on her hip, she shook her head and pursed her lips.
"INSTRUCTOR," she said obstinately.
"Oh, please, how does that count? Since when has Seifer called her by her real name, you know? Proves nothing, you know." This rather one-sided argument continued as the two inhaled the familiar aroma of Garden's hot dogs and took their place at the back of the line. Even though Raijin continued to make his point, all the while deeply inhaling through his nose, Fujin's mind was somewhere else entirely. "And he still smells the same, you know, not to mention that they-" he babbled.
"QUIET!" she snapped, cuffing his arm. "LOOK." There, at the far side of the cafeteria, sat Quistis herself. She was silently taking minute bites from her food, as if she wasn't really focused on the task. "SPEAK," Fujin implored, unwilling to miss this golden opportunity to talk with Quistis.
"In a minute, y'know? I'm starving," Raijin muttered. Shooting him an angry look, she kicked his heel swiftly and made her way to where the instructor was while he jumped up and down, moaning in pain. With a clear of her throat, Quistis paused with the fork halfway to her mouth and, after a moment, smiled brightly and set the implement down.
"Evening, Fujin. Need something?" Shaking her head, she smiled a little back and briefly pondered how to fit a day's worth of questions into one of her trademark statements.
"QUESTION," she decided.
"About today's lesson? You seemed to understand it before, should I try explaining it again?" Quistis asked, a concerned tone in her voice. Ah, the pitfalls of attempting to convey yourself in one-word sentences.
"NO. SOMETHING ELSE."
"Hey, look, Fuu, I got one, you know?" Raijin practically galloped over. However, he skidded to a stop and shamefully lowered his head when he took a good look at the table. "…'Lo, Instructor Trepe," he mumbled. Laughing a little, she nodded. Fujin poked him in the arm a few times, grateful to have her translator around.
"ASK."
"Oh, yeah. Instructor, do you know why Seifer's been acting so funny, y'know?" She immediately blanched, to several unhidden love struck sights. Undoubtedly a few Trepies were hanging around. "…Hey… you all right?" he asked, cocking his head. She nodded quickly, attempting to regain face.
"We… I… uh… We both shouted a little last night. He's probably still a little sore at me." Shaking her head again, Fujin looked out at the other occupants of the room. Guessing her thoughts, Quistis cleared away the rest of her half-eaten dinner and followed Seifer's "posse" into the hallway.
"RAGNAROK."
"Yeah, Seifer hasn't been the same since we got off that ship, ya know?" Positively white as a ghost by now, Quistis nervously laced her fingers together. "Really, are you feeling well, you know?"
"O-of course. I… it's probably just a passing ailment."
"You know," Raijin continued, "he's been rather strange ever since we found your scrapbook at the orphanage. He practically threw every last cent of our Gil out on train tickets, rental cars, inns, all kinds of stuff. He even paid some brat for three chocobos, two thousand Gil, you know! Each!"
"OBSESSED," Fujin shrugged. Quistis gaped, open-mouthed, before waving her hands in a frenzy for silence.
"Hold on a second- how long did it take for him to bring it back?"
"Eh, about a week, maybe two or three, you know?" Blinking back surprise, she turned toward the dormitory and, without a single word to Raijin or Fujin, and took off running.
"HEY! WAIT!"
"…Maybe I shouldn't have told her," Raijin sheepishly stuttered, scratching the back of his neck. You think she was angry?"
"NO. SURPRISED." The two nodded, nonverbally asking even more questions between themselves. What made Quistis leave like that? What could possibly be bothering Seifer? More importantly… could anyone tell them what was going on?
MOOOWAHAHAHAHHAHA –hack cough- Hello, everyone!!! Okay, I'm going to skip the sentimental crap (XD) and explain why I went off on the angsty Len-ness. I was writing and stuff, and all of a sudden a new plot idea smacked me one in the face. So, I started to write about it… and then I realized that I would need to know more about Len, Dizz, and Adel, which I didn't. So, I spent about a week writing back-story for the three of them and my new plot idea and now I'm good to go. But I figured… why keep all the back-story for myself? I picked out bits and tidbits to show more about Dizz and stuff, so… yeah. And I've been neglecting poor Rai and Fuu, so that's why I called this the "Special Edition" chapter since it only focuses on Seifer and Quisty a little.
Anyway… XD Reviews and then I'm gonna get started on the next chapter, m'kay?
Verdanii- And that makes you laugh evilly why? XD Thank you; I suppose she is… a little. –shifty eyes-
Hibeki- XD It will, I promise. And thank you!
Dragon Princess Isis- Yes, I'm a genius, aren't I? –grins- Thanks.
Sir MIDNIGHT- …Oh. XD Sarcasm's wasted on type, isn't it? Hope this was soon, and thanks very much.
Kitsu- Yeah… let's start climbing! Thanks.
BY THE WAY!!! Lotsa fluff in the next chapter! YAY!
Have a very good day, mah friends!
Grieverwings