FINAL FANTASY VIII: THE NOVEL

CHAPTER X: Catalyst

The club stood in the core of Timber like a tumor, unsightly and misplaced in its existence. The three of us waited impatiently in line to get in, betwixt the beginnings of the frigid temperatures of October, hands dug deep into my leather jacket pockets, thumbing a slip of paper and watching Rinoa, her back grudgingly turned away from me, and Zell, tapping his feet to the pulsing rhythm of the bass. Once inside, I am pertinently reminded of my distaste for dense crowds and parties. But unlike the inauguration ball at Balamb Garden, this environment I deemed far worse, for here, the vagrant miscreants have been lured keenly, like maggots drawn to rot, where in flippant surges of emotion they fought, necked, and drank to excess. As far as I could tell, even Zell felt uncomfortable here, his liveliness whitewashed under the psychotic drone that resonated in the air and eyes of those around us. And even though I held a suspicion that Rinoa had no interest in these kinds of places, nor these types of people, I could tell that the environment excited her; invigorated her; made her feel alive. It was in that moment I understood we were polar opposites. Her: an outgoing, extrinsic gentlewoman. And I: something else entirely.

Drinks of glowstick green, lunar yellow, and passion pink in tall, skinny glasses were offered to us, but resolutely rejected, as we sought for the back entrance. The music, the lights, and the hands that pumped the air in excited fists were soon but an undesired memory that I placed distantly behind me, as Zell, Rinoa, and I climbed the stairs to what we assumed was the TV station. It was.

I turned to Rinoa whose aura was eager with anticipation: "I'm sure the president's in the studio, but there are going to be too many guards to storm the place. But it's your call."

"So we shouldn't just rush in…? Hmm, we've got to come up with a new plan now!" She shrilled, pausing only momentarily in thought. She snapped her fingers and her eyes jolted up to mine as she continued: "If the president leaves when he's done, maybe the guards will too! That's when we do OUR broadcast. It might not be as influential," She shrugged, "But it's better than nothing, right?"

There was a moment of silence.

She continued, unsure: "We don't stand a chance if we take 'em head on, right…?"

Her excessive questions, lack of planning, and hesitation had begun to weigh me down. I sighed, turning to her, with an answer that I hoped could stop all of her questions, and maybe, if I'm lucky, her future ones as well: "Don't worry about us. We'll fight your enemies based on your decision. That's our duty." –That should clear things up.

Zell nodded: "You tell us to go, we go," He paused, crossing his ankles and resting his weight against the handrail, "Even if it is a losing battle."

Rinoa's face seemed to drop, the edges of her lips losing their upward curve: "How sad…" She started, "Act on my decision? That's your duty?" She let out a scoff, "Oh, what an easy life it must be, just to follow orders…"

It was offensively evident she knew absolutely nothing about SeeD. She was beginning to irritate me: "Call if what you want. All we're here for is for you to achieve yourgoals using our help. I find it hard to believe that you can do it, though."

Her face flamed, her tiny hands turned into tight little fists that dropped to her sides as she leaned forward, peering up like an angry child ready to fight:

"W-what did you say!? If you have something to say, just say it!"

I took a step back. "Forget it." She'll probably figure it out sooner than later.

"You started it! The least you can do it finish it. Come on, what's on your mind?"

"Seriously, forget it," I turned away from her, hoping to diffuse the conversation.

"Tell me! This is an order—an order from your client!"

—You really want to hear it? Fine.

"How serious are you? Really? The three of you plop down on the floor to discuss strategy? On top of that, you can't even make a decision without our input, right?"

I had gotten so close to her that I was forced to tuck my chin just to lock eyes with her. She was staring up at me with dark oak brown eyes that had widened in bitter curiosity, her body quivering in either intimidation or anger. I could feel the heat of her nettled breath, but I didn't care. So I continued.

"How do you think we feel, working for such an organization?"

Another moment of tense silence in which she refused to break eye contact with me.

"You're being too harsh, man," Zell had whispered behind me.

And I suppose I was. She was our client—someone we were supposed to remain 'professional' with and not bog down with our opinions of how they should be. We do as we're ordered by them, and we have no place to pass judgment.

I took a step back, my blood losing its boil: "…Sorry," I apologized, releasing a drawn-out and distended sigh, "Guess I got a little carried away." I don't mind admitting mistakes.

Rinoa choked back angry tears which I had hardly noticed until now. She shamefully wiped the moisture away from her eyes: "You know, maybe this was all a big mistake. I thought everything would work out fine once SeeD came to help us. But, I guess it's not that easy. You were all hired, it's not like you're one of us." I suppose her words and realizations were in sync, for she turned away from us as if her reasoning could stir her to tears once more: "Um, let's see…" She paused, catching her breath, "We'll cancel the plan, and we'll disperse for now."

I took a step in Rinoa's direction. Dispersing wasn't necessary, and I was going to encourage her to do otherwise. But she suddenly spun in my direction, her eyes ablaze once more with a heat intent to burn, her tongue sharp: "You probably think this is all a game to us. Well, it's not!"

I watched her speak, my face unimpressionable, as she, soaking in my indifference, took a hesitant step back, her face enraged with quiet anger, unconscious spite, and overwhelming passion. She fought a losing battle to obscure them though, and realizing her defeat, inadvertently brought her delicate hands up to partially cover their outpouring:

"It's not a game. We're serious…" She cooed, taking another step away from me. "…So serious, it hurts."

Rinoa finished these words, but barely, overcome by her sentiments, hastening down the stairs past Selphie who was ambling in her ascent, pausing only in surprise and awe of Rinoa rushing past her. Selphie's eyes explored my face for reasoning of Rinoa's retreat, but they held no explanation. No qualms.

A broadcasting TV, ten yards by ten yards and hung above the metal stairwell, began to flash white, red, and black as it intercepted a signal. The picture caught and on the screen was a podium with nearly fifteen microphone attachments where behind a corpulent broadcaster with bleach blonde hair began speaking in excessive gusto:

"Ohhh~~! People of the world! Oh! This is incredible! Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a recording! This is an actual broadcast over the air— The first one in 17 years!" The fat man stopped for a second, clearing his throat and dropping his head. "'scuse me, I seem to have lost my composure," He said, pinching the top of his tie and securing the knot. He tightened it in such a way that caused his fatty neck to spill over the edges of his collar. His skin was rich and reflective under the luminous broadcast lights. "We would like to present to you," He started again with a voice that hardly resembled his former, "A message from lifelong President of Galbadia, Vinzer Deling. Ladies and gentlemen: President Deling." He dignified, his forehead moist with sweat as he hurried off-screen.

It was in the way that President Deling walked. It was in the way his arms swung pompously back and forth. His pride was evident from the point of his nose to his perfectly filed fingertips. Everything about him appeared polished and pressed. His skin, like his clothes, had been smoothed (or injected) to appear wrinkle-free, his hair was lush (aside from a few strands of grey he retained for distinction), and his hands—his hands had been manicured and moisturized and pampered. They were hands of a non-working man; hands of a dictator; hands of someone who only needed a trigger finger and middle finger to power. His voice more closely resembled his age, approximately forty-five, as he began:

"Greetings. I am Vinzer Deling, lifelong president of Galbadia," He emphasized, his hands gripping the sides of the podium as if it would escape, "Today, I stand before you to make the following proposition: We, the people of this world, have the power to end all wars."

Selphie gripped my arm and tugged at it unapologetically: "See! See! It's a peace proposal to the world. I knew it!"

"However," The president continued, "There are some trifling problems standing between Galbadia and other nations, and they must be resolved. I plan to convene with other nation leaders immediately to resolve these differences. At this time, allow me to introduce the ambassador, who will serve as my representative for the conference, Sorceress Edea Kr—"

The president stopped suddenly and his eyes went wide. He blindly stumbled backwards, both frightened and stunned until one foot under the other he began losing his balance at the sight of the carnage that must have appeared beyond the camera frame. His arms pinwheeled wildly in a desperate struggle to catch hold of the curtains behind him until his grip finally met, inevitably bringing the entirety of the backdrop down with him.

Another figure rushed on frame, blood smeared across his clothes and skin. The figure's face, dripping foreign blood that was not his own, made him appear like a character from an action film, and even more so when he bent over to grip the throat of the president and raise him from the ground, drawing his weapon and pressing it so rigidly against Deling's neck that blood began pouring down his white shirt. It had dawned on me that maybe this mission wasn't going to last long after all. I tried to identity the undertaker who was putting this wild-goose chase of a mission in its grave. My eyes fought against the increasingly harsh pixelation of the broadcast.

A resistance member from another faction? No. Wait… that weapon… is that…? No… No!

Selphie quivered, as if to voice our collective recognition in one fluid cry:

"Seifer!?"

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It was that easy to start a war.Little did we know it at the time, but this event would ignite the catalyst for a tragedy that would last for what felt like forever... A development that could serve as the disingenuous hand to guide me unwittingly into an endless and adrift subsistence.

…Perhaps in the beginning, I was right after all.