"It's late."
Nida rolled his eyes, glancing up toward the observation tower which interrupted an otherwise blank horizon. "For the fifth time, we know."
The Hyperion was bouncing on Seifer's shoulder, reflecting an unusual gleam across the nearby benches. "Dammit," he snarled. "Don't they shuttle archaeologists, or something? Shouldn't they care about their schedules?"
"Why?" Nida motioned vaguely in the direction of Centra. "The stuff they're looking for has been there for centuries. Not like a few hours are going to make a huge difference."
Seifer stopped bouncing the Hyperion long enough to give Nida a withering glare.
"Don't tell me, let me guess," Nida said. "Rhetorical question?"
Seifer turned away.
A moment later, he had turned back. "Who runs this place?" he demanded.
"Complaining isn't going to help anything," Nida stated. "It'll get here when it gets here."
Seifer gave him another withering glare. Nida remained largely unaffected.
"We could try going back to Garden, if you wanted," he suggested dryly. "I'm sure they would lend us a transport if we asked them nicely enough."
Seifer turned, taking a few steps toward the ocean and scouring the horizon for signs of the ferry. From somewhere off to the left Squall emerged from the hotel, gave the ocean a cursory glance, and dismissed it. Without a word to anyone, he located a bench, sat down, opened a book, and began to read.
Nida glanced over, and then performed a slight double-take as he noted the title of the book. "The Annotated History Of The Early Centran Nation-States? What the hell?"
Seifer paused in his glaring long enough to glance over. He rolled his eyes. "Leonhart has bad taste in reading," he remarked dryly. "It's not exactly a big secret."
Squall gave him a tired glare for about a second before going back to the book.
"That's a college text," Nida said. "Where in hell did you find it here?"
"Book store," Squall responded.
"They have a--oh, of course." Nida groaned. "Reading material for the archaeologists. Stuff on the Centran nation-states is probably all you can get there."
Seifer narrowed his eyes, staring intently at a distant speck on the horizon. "That's it," he said.
"Great. So it will be here in... what? An hour? Two?"
Seifer frowned, tight-lipped. After a few seconds, he wheeled and walked away.
Nida rolled his eyes. A sidelong glance at Squall determined that the other SeeD wasn't going to be terribly receptive to any overtures of conversation, so he turned his attention to the distant ferry ahead--which was taking its own sweet time in coming.
-
Around noon and on the other side of the ocean, Fujin had finally stopped. And it looked to remain that way for--surprisingly--at least a day.
They had unloaded the ferry at a small costal town bearing the cheerful name of Port Ruin. Trains left and returned every afternoon, speeding out into the barren wilderness of Upper Centra and humming back bearing their loads of coal, stone, steel and artifacts. There were generally three to five passenger cars on any given train--not the height of luxury, but a far sight better than hiking across the continent. Ticket sales for any given trip began about a week in advance and didn't stop until the train arrived at the station, so the first thing that Raijin had expected Fujin to do was book passage on the next possible train out.
Instead, she had gone quietly to the nearest corner market and bought the last week's worth of backlogged newspapers, a small handheld radio with a disproportionately large antenna, and--most inexplicably, after lingering over the stand for some time--a small curio in the form of a tin toy soldier. This latter item was quickly pocketed upon leaving the store, at which time Fujin clipped the radio to her belt, tucked the newspapers under her arm, and went wordlessly to a nearby deli. Raijin, still feeling about ten steps behind her, followed as quickly as he could.
Fujin had already chosen a table and ordered when Raijin joined her, looking dubiously at the stack of thin Centran papers. Snagging one from the stack--with only a tired look from Fujin by way of reproof--he glanced over the front page.
"Oh, hey," he announced after a moment's scrutiny. "Front page, ya know? Right here, down in the corner."
Fujin's eyelid dropped, but not dangerously. "Fugitive," she said quietly. "Can't find him."
Raijin lowered his chin onto his fist. "Huh," he responded. "So how do we find him?"
"I know where he's going."
Raijin nodded. "Are ya sure, though?" he asked. "I mean, what if--"
A waiter appeared at his elbow--just as waiters tended to do in the middle of conversations. "Are you ready to order?" he asked.
"He'll have what I'm having," Fujin dictated. The man nodded and walked off, leaving Raijin to wonder--again--at Fujin's odd behaviour.
"What if he doesn't go wherever you said he'll go?" Raijin asked. "How will we find him then?"
Fujin's gaze didn't waver in the slightest. "I'll find him," she assured.
When Raijin was unable to come up with anything to say in response to Fujin's stubbornness, Fujin quietly took the newspaper from him and began to read the small article in the corner of the first page, scouring it carefully as if searching for hidden codes. For several minutes, Raijin had to content himself by reading the contractor ads on the back of the paper, unwilling to take another paper from the stack.
After a moment their lunch arrived, in the form of two bowls of some unidentifiable red liquid (with meat of some sort and thin noodles, apparently) and two matching glasses of water. Raijin looked at his dubiously, poking at the bread that graced the plate on which the bowl sat. "Fuj', what is this?"
Fujin set the newspaper down, picking up her spoon. "Try it," she commanded, transferring a large spoonful into her mouth.
Raijin sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose. Picking up his spoon, he followed Fujin's example--and promptly gagged as the soup seared every centimetre of his mouth. Grabbing at his water, he downed a third of the glass in two enormous gulps. "What is this stuff? It's hot, ya--"
"Hot fish soup," Fujin said between spoonfuls. She was steadily transferring one spoonful after another into her mouth, without the slightest sign of adverse effects. She looked up, pausing her spoon halfway from the bowl to her mouth. "Do you like it?"' she challenged.
Raijin thought about attempting another spoonful, but put the thought quickly out of his mind. "How can you eat this stuff?" he asked.
Fujin quietly finished her spoonful. "Doctor says," she whispered, "that the people around me see things differently, and taste things differently, and smell things differently than I do," she said. "They have something that I'll never have, but really I won't know what I'm missing." She took another spoonful of the spicy liquid. "I like this one," she said. "I can taste it so well. But you can taste it better."
Bracing himself, Raijin tried another mouthful. Tears popped up in his eyes as he forced himself to swallow, mouth and throat burning. Fujin smiled softly as he downed another third of his glass. But she said nothing, quietly finishing her soup and offering to pay when the waiter came back around.