Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading through this F&I re-re-write- we're about halfway through. Please, if you have time, leave a review! Thanks!
Recommended Listening: 'The Difference" by Matchbox 20, "Run to the Water" by Live, and for a certain scene, dance-type music. "The Difference" actually inspired part of this chapter.
SLOW DANCING SLEEPWALKING THROUGH THE SUMMER RAIN AND FOR ALL YOU KNOW NIGHT SWIMMING STAND WATCHING …EVERY WORD YOU NEVER SAID DAY BREAKING ON THE BOULEVARD
ON THE BOULEVARD
IN THE QUIET MOMENTS
WHILE THE CITY'S STILL DARK
IN THE TIRED SPACES
YOU COULD HEAR HER NAME
THIS COULD BE
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WHAT YOU NEED
AND WHAT YOU WANT TO BE
IN HER DIAMOND DRESS
MAKING SMALL CIRCLES
MOVE ACROSS THE SURFACE
FROM THE STEADY SHORE
LYING WIDE OPEN
AND WAITING FOR
ECHOES DOWN YOUR EMPTY HALLWAY
EVERYTHING THAT WAS YOUR WORLD
JUST CAME DOWN
IT JUST CAME DOWN
FEEL THE
SUN WARMING UP YOUR SECONDHAND HEART
LIGHT SWIMMING RIGHT ACROSS YOUR FACE
YOU THINK
MAYBE SOMEDAY
MAYBE SOMEDAY
-excerpts taken from 'The Difference' by Matchbox 20
Disclaimer: If I owned Squaresoft, I'd own several candy factories and need a forklift to leave my decadent mansion filled with puppies.
Chapter 21
Balamb Park was located just on the edge of the city, about three blocks in width and length combined. It was a stone's throw from the beach, and the scent of salt water hung heavy in the air. A row of old, rusted monkey bars sat between a grove of trees, and red cobblestone paths snaked all through the grass. Far away, the distant hum of a train whistle could be heard, the sound an almost mellow whisper on the wind.
A few willow trees sprung up on the dead grass nearest the benches, and towards the center lay a sandbox with a few toys scattered beneath the sand. The wind rustled through the almost skeleton arms of the trees, whistling through the grass and clinking the swings together, as if ghost children still inhabited the park. The merry-go-round spun idly in the wind, squeaking to no one.
The park was empty, save for the slouching forms of three tired SeeD's, legs and arms sprawled out against the bench and one another. The three had changed back into their normal clothing, and were tightly bound in long coats, legs stretched out in front of them and shoulders resting on one another. Combat boots sunk into the muddy grass, the shine dull in the December sun. All three looked unprofessional, but not one of them seemed to care.
It was an empty playground, and three individuals who had never really been children at all were taking shelter in its serenity…a quiet irony.
The three had met at the Bait, Not Fried Shop, silently nodding and falling into step behind Selphie as they walked in silence along the sidewalks, changing in the public park's small bathrooms. They would not be recognized, even in the unlikely event that BioTech or AmmuCorp could gather enough evidence to grow any more suspicious.
Now, the three visibly relaxed, letting the tension evaporate from their brains and bodies, breathing in the clear, salty air of Balamb's coast.
"Got it?" asked Selphie, glancing over at Arya and Irvine from her perch on one end of the bench, speaking for the first time that the three had been united.
Arya nodded. "Got it?" she returned to Selphie, lifting up slightly to meet her friend's gaze across from Irvine.
Selphie nodded, giving her a thumbs-up.
The two heaved a collective sigh. Both girls turned to regard Irvine, whose hat was folded over his face, arms crossed and long legs stretched out in front of him. Both giggled. The cowboy was sound asleep.
Selphie frowned suddenly. "What happened to his face?" she whispered, indicating the small red welt that stretched up the tanned surface of his cheek.
It was sheer force of will that kept the smile off of Arya's face. "Fell down some stairs," she whispered.
Selphie frowned, but leaned back, watching the edge of the park for the line of the train to appear. The three young SeeD's huddled tightly together, dozing like a pride of lions in the winter sun.
…
…
…
"So much for not drawing attention to ourselves," muttered Quistis, as both she and Seifer exited Joe's Tavern into the brisk late afternoon air. Clearly, the other patrons thought the two intended to make good on Seifer's crude ballad, and a roar of applause and innuendos had followed their exit, much to Seifer's amusement and Quistis' escalating horror. Quistis wasn't quite sure why she found the whole situation so embarrassing, but it was even more embarrassing to be uncomfortable in front of Seifer.
Seifer just shook his head, glancing over at Quistis. "Why is it so important that we're inconspicuous, anyway?"
Quistis waved her hand. "Oh, I don't know, perhaps the fact that Galbadian politicians are currently attempting to get us labeled as a large-scale terrorist faction?" She glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "To name one of many. The less any of us are seen, the better."
Seifer just rolled his eyes in response and muttered something about a stick.
"Besides," continued Quistis, resolutely ignoring him, "You and I are hardly inconspicuous figures. You especially." She swallowed, the burning aftertaste of the wings still lingering in her throat. It was definitely the last time she let Seifer select a restaurant.
"Yeah, what can I say? I'm a real fucking celebrity." Though said flippantly, a certain bitterness surrounded his words that were not lost on Quistis. Seifer's brand of fame wasn't necessarily a coveted commodity. Quistis had suffered through her own fame after the second Sorceress war, which consisted of nagging reporters, uncomfortable TV interviews, a few badly done comic books, and a widely popular movie spin-off that made Zell and Rinoa laugh and the rest of them cringe. Quistis had been played by a popular Dolletian swimsuit model, and was still irritated about the director's choice in clothing. She hadn't stormed onto a battlefield in high heeled boots and a tube top, damnit. She sincerely hoped Seifer hadn't seen the film.
Seifer adjusted the lapels of his black trench coat around his neck. He'd ripped off the SeeD patch off this new one, and although this coat didn't fit as well as his old, gray piece, it was certainly less conspicuous. There wasn't anything he could do about the scar.
The two walked in silence for a while before Quistis glanced over at him. "What exactly do you know about this Déjà Vu?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest as they walked to keep out the cool air that now swept the streets.
"Not much. Guarsen'll be there after eight." Well, that was true. Déjà vu was a place Seifer had only heard of, built recently on the outskirts of town by some guy named Xared Jawson who had a bad reputation for drug and firearms and even more shady side jobs. The place was bound to be interesting, to say the least.
The very least.
Trepe was giving him that scrutinizing look again, the one that she'd often awarded him as her student. "Well, what do you know about it?"
They were nearly the edge of town now, the edges of the horizon beginning to darken with dusk. "It's uh, very…reputable." He replied evasively, walking up to the building where a neon sign read: Live Action, this week featuring Velvet Knight. Quistis didn't appear to notice it.
Seifer almost chuckled. Quistis was about to find out that Déjà vu was on the edge of town for a very good reason.
The building was a plain, white brick, surrounded by poorly grown grass and a few stray beer bottles. Seifer snatched Quistis' wrist and glanced at her watch. "Seven fifty-nine. Right on time."
Quistis scrunched up her nose as she took in the atmosphere, and Seifer let her hand drop back down to the side. "Another bar?"
Seifer looked at the sky. "You might say that," he replied, pushing through the doors and holding them open as Quistis ducked in after him.
Quistis tried to squint through the smoke that pooled up from the floors, red lights flashing strobe as sweaty bodies twisted and turned in the dark room, mostly men raising beer glasses and whooping like primates in heat. Scantily clad waitresses weaved through the crowds, balancing beer-laden trays above their heads with one hand and slapping away stray hands with the other.
Quistis curled her nose. Human evolution had stopped short here, and by the looks of it, stopped directly after Erectus part.
Her body tensed instantly as she surveyed the perimeter. Crowded corners, large groups of uncontrolled, heavily intoxicated people, and aside from Seifer's prowess with Hyperion and her Save the Queen looped on her belt underneath her own black trench coat, they were relatively unarmed. One exit, if one didn't count the windows. Her casting and debatably her strongest defense was null and void, and Seifer's casting was limited. Seifer was a physical fighter by design, but she doubted his sword skills would be of much use in a crowded atmosphere like this one. She wasn't sure exactly what made her nervous, but the uneasiness was there, same trepidation coiling low in her belly like a rattler pre-strike.
Quistis disliked situations in which she lacked the upper hand, but this one, should it go bad, she had virtually no hand at all.
She noticed the strobe lights strung along the ceilings, and several wooden platforms from which metal poles protruded. Mirrors dotted almost every available wall space. Quistis frowned.
Wait a minute…
She turned to him. "Seifer, just what kind of a bar is this?"
As if on cue, a pair of overhead lights snapped on, and the whooping and hollering increased. "And now, gentlemen, all the way from Dollet, a school teacher that's just dyyyyying to teach you a lesson…she'll make you stay after class….Miss Velllllllvet Knight!"
Music blared, and Quistis' hands jumped to her ears as a red curtain was flung dramatically back. A pair of long legs stepped out, curtailed by a shamefully short wool skirt and a matching double-breasted wool jacket. Catcalls erupted. An obnoxious guitar solo nearly splintered her ear drums.
"A reputable establishment, Seifer?" shouted Quistis, turning back to glare at him. She could barely think above the blaring music.
Seifer folded his arms. "Well, I didn't say it was a good reputation…" He flashed her a mischievous grin, one she knew was supposed to soften her up but only made her want to strangle him more.
Suddenly, Ms. Knight thrust off her wool jacket and white button down shirt, revealing nothing beneath. Well, nothing natural, of that Quistis was fairly certain.
"Oh, nice." Muttered Quistis, shaking her head.
"Yeah, nice." Echoed Seifer.
Quistis elbowed him in the ribs.
"What?" he snarled irritably, rubbing his side.
"Oh, nothing, just the voluntary socio-subjugation of women using false principals of aesthetics and sexuality. Nothing a modern-day woman wouldn't love to advocate." She gave him a look as if it were obvious.
Seifer rolled his eyes. "Oh, right." He feigned distress. "I meant, look at all this oppression! It must be really subjugating to have to take money from moro-"
Another elbow caught him in the ribs. "Hyne, I was agreeing!" he snapped. Really, the blatant eroticism of the strip bar was fairly antiseptic to Seifer, but it was fun to piss Trepe off.
"Maybe if you'd applied some of those moves in your classroom…" he muttered, earning another, harder, elbow to the stomach. Rubbing his side, he followed after Quistis, who was now shoving her way through the crowd. He turned away from the dancer in the blink of his eye, his gaze not held by the neon lights and swaying flesh like the other male eyes in the bar.
The array of women that had woven in and out of his young life were mostly unmemorable, brief interludes that involved little else but momentary lust. Most of the women that he had been with had thrown themselves at him with little effort on his part and he'd quickly grown bored with them- there was little challenge in and out of the bed. They'd had no personality and very little intelligence, and while appealing at seventeen, it was hardly attractive now. He'd managed to seduce a couple of debutants, but that had been more for fun than out of any seriousness on his part. Now, almost twenty-one, his life before seemed some immature, trite amusement…a veritable fucking circus of little substance and even less foresight.
Nine tenths of the women he had been with he blamed on hormones. The other tenth could probably be claimed as temporary insanity, and Rinoa's case...well she was everything a man like him wasn't supposed to have, but wanted anyway. It was like buying expensive art without knowing what it meant or why it was so damned expensive in the first place. You bought it just to have it, because that was what you did when you had money. He dated a girl like Rinoa, because that was what you were supposed to do when you had a dick.
Seifer staggered back as an obviously drunk man bumped into him from behind, sloshing beer onto his jacket. He glared at him, and the man redirected his stagger, stumbling into another man like a wayward ping-pong ball.
Ms. Knight had now shed her skirt, and was currently accepting gil in the crudest manners possible. Quistis just frowned with disgust and headed further into the club. Some women were a discredit to professionalism.
Seifer chuckled at her expression and followed after her, eyes skimming the crowds, his hand a feather-light touch against her back so that he wouldn't lose her. At least, that's what he told himself.
"Hey, you know, if that Instructor position ever falls through for you, Trepe-…Ow! Fuck! Watch the kidneys!"
…
…
…
Zell stretched back in his seat, interlacing fingers over his swollen abdomen and groaning at the ceiling. Twenty-two hot dogs had seemed like such a wonderfully delicious idea an hour ago, but now, all twenty-two of the tasty morsels were threatening to throw themselves back up.
His groan echoed through the empty cafeteria as he pressed his cheek to the cool surface of the table and prayed to die. Not for the first time, he made the pledge that he was never going to eat another hot dog as long as he lived. He could practically feel the lining of his stomach tearing.
Selphie had once compared him to a dog. Leave a dog alone in a room full of food, she'd said, and it'll eat itself to death. Zell moaned like a man possessed. The dog had eaten even more than he had, but hadn't seemed bothered. The dog…
Oh shit!
He opened his eyes, only to find the mongrel that had once lain at his feet nowhere to be found.
"Shit shit shit!" groaned Zell, clambering to his feet and then quickly gripping his stomach like a pregnant woman about to give birth. Where the hell could the dog have gone? It was there a second ago…
Shit. Quistis was going to kill him…and who knew who or what the dog was currently munching on. He tore out of the cafeteria as fast as he was able to run, gripping his stomach and making a mental note to drink a few bottles of stomach antacid as soon as he was back in his room.
He grabbed the first cadet he saw by the collar, out of breath and sweating. "Hey, you," he panted. "Have you…seen a giant dog… come this way?"
The cadet stared wide-eyed at him. "Some beast just escaped from the training center, if that's what you mean. Serabin's been chasing after it for the past hour."
Oh, great. Serabin. The level 30 cadet had kept up what was once Seifer's abandoned Disciplinary Committee for awhile, and ran it twice as tight. Serabin made Xu look disorganized, and in terms of seriousness often made Squall look like a party animal.
Shit.
Zell could see his SeeD rank going down the tubes…any minute now. Level 20…level 15…. level 10…He'd be scrubbing the sub-level floors with a toothbrush…
"Did you…see where it went?" gasped Zell, leaning on the baffled cadet for support.
"Who man, Serabin?"
"No! The monster! I mean, the dog!"
"Uh, I dunno, last time I saw that thing, it was tearing back into the Training Center. Looked like a baby Wendigo or something, man."
Zell released him, barreling down the hall. If Serabin got ahold of Cerberus…or if Cerberus got ahold of Serabin…
"Shit…Shit…Shit…" muttered Zell, running down the hall and grimacing as a tongue of fire caressed the inner walls of his stomach lining. Damned hotdogs…they'd be the death of him. Either that, or this dog.
…Or Quistis.
Man, he didn't need this shit. He was going to give himself gallstones by the age of twenty-five.
Quickly, he ran through the sliding doors of the Training Center, scanning the somewhat jungle-like atmosphere for any sign of a darkly colored beast, or the remains of one.
He heard rustling, and turned to see Cerberus marking a tree, panting, and a T-Rexaur retreating back into the foliage.
Zell would never be able to prove that the dog actually scared the T-Rexaur, but the story quickly became one of his favorites, till according to Zell, years later, Cerberus had taken down two T-Rexaurs and eaten a bite bug in a single gulp.
"There you are," said a voice behind him.
Serabin.
Zell glanced back, only to see Serabin on the other end of a standard issue Valiant, the barrel pointed directly at the dog. He didn't even appear to see Zell.
"No, don't-" started Zell, but Serabin's finger had already closed around the trigger, The gunfire echoed off the walls of the Training Center, followed by one very surprised shout.
…
…
…
"This is just wonderful," muttered Quistis, staring around the club.
The bar lay in the center of the small, cramped space, an area where patrons gathered like ants on a honey puddle. Several stages lay off to the side- small wooden platforms surrounded by chairs. The music was much louder here, and Quistis could barely hear herself think. The sooner they questioned the woman and got out, the better. This place made her nervous, and for good reason.
She assumed Ms. Guarsen was here. If she wasn't, Seifer was going to have a lot of explaining to do…with Save the Queen wrapped around his throat.
The bar sported virtually no women patrons, and notice was quickly and unfortunately taken of Quistis. A string of catcalls followed her as the two walked further in.
Quistis blinked as a gil note was suddenly thrust in her face. "Hey honey, how much for a lap dance? I got-"
The man never finished his sentence. Quistis' fist snapped around, sending the man spinning. The drunk hit the bar, crumpling down into an unconscious heap. A waitress stepped over him.
Seifer chuckled. "Damn, that was sexy."
Quistis grabbed her hand, gritting her teeth. In her haste, she'd hit him wrong. "What?" she shouted, above the noise.
"I said," shouted Seifer, leaning closer. "That was hot!"
She rolled her eyes before grabbing his neck and pulling him down to her level. He willingly obliged, stooping lower. The intoxicating smell of her perfume wafted up to him as she leaned in closer to be heard.
"I am assuming that Ms. Guarsen works here, unless you want to get yourself killed for wasting my time in this sort of establishment." She pressed closer to him as another patron accidentally bumped into her, and he took ahold of her waist to bring her out of the way. Surprisingly, she didn't protest. "How are we going to find her?"
He leaned closer, her sweater shifting and his hand accidentally brushing the bare skin of her hip. She shifted, her body moving into the gesture without thinking. Seifer quickly withdrew his hand. "We'll check the back rooms."
"Isn't that going to get us in trouble?" she asked, wondering at the shiver that coursed through her body at the accidental touch. The room certainly wasn't cold…
"We'll see." His voice was a low rumble in her ear, and suddenly, she wasn't thinking about the crowded strip club, or the lewd men in the background…just his hand on her waist and his lips nearly brushing her ear.
"Hey honey….what d' I gotta pay to get a little attention?"
Her spine stiffened at the interruption, and Seifer could have killed the drunken moron behind them as she tried to pull away. He kept his grip on her, however. Was he imagining it, or were her cheeks a little flushed?
He looked around the crowded club, letting his eyes travel over the crowd until they came to rest on a 'changing room sign'. Unfortunately, the door looked to be guarded by a man whose neck was nearly twice the size of Seifer's thigh.
This was going to be interesting.
She swatted at his hand. "You can let me go now, you know."
What the hell was she thinking? That was just it. For a moment, she hadn't been.
Seifer, meanwhile, shook his head, removing his hand. Hot, cold. The day he figured out women was a cold day in Hell.
"The dressing room's over that way."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I dunno, the big neon sign may have given it away."
She glared at him before stalking back into the crowd. Seifer rolled his eyes.
In truth, although Seifer certainly didn't mind touching Quistis, he'd actually had good intentions. Places like this were even more unpredictable than regular bars. The mixture of testosterone and liquor made for a very…volatile atmosphere, one that would prove dangerous to even a deadly SeeD like Quistis.
Wait a damned minute. Hell, was he beginning to feel…protective, over Trepe?
Impossible.
He turned back, only to find Quistis nowhere in sight.
Shit.
"Hey cutie, imagine meeting you here!" A voice rang out behind him, and a hand seized his jacket.
Shit.
…
…
…
Quistis had been glancing over her shoulder, trying to find the exit in the throng and clear her head at the same time. She turned around at the somewhat muffled sound of his voice, but didn't see him. He had disappeared into the almost gyrating throng of morons that surrounded the wooden stages.
Quistis looked around the club, blinking against the thick, almost suffocating combination of smoke and the heavy scent of beer. "Seifer!" she shouted. A few drunken chuckles echoed after her. A hand squeezed her side, and she whirled, only to find laughter and that the mass of bodies had just closed in around her. Quistis narrowed her eyes. This was not a good situation. "Seifer!" she shouted again. She could see the back of the club, where the changing room door was, but Seifer wasn't there.
She scanned the mess of sweaty bodies, looking for a familiar blonde boy in a dark trench coat.
She found him after what seemed like hours- in a corner with a young woman, who looked more than happy to see him.
The brunette held a tray fastened to her hip, long legs sheathed in black leather boots with a black skirt and red halter-top. The other parts of her that weren't fastened to the tray, however, seemed fastened to Seifer.
Furious, she stalked out towards the door. If he was going to waste her time, then she'd leave him here in Balamb...
She turned, only to run into something solid. She opened her eyes to find herself staring at a man's shirt buttons on a swollen chest. Following those buttons, she came to be looking at a man whose neck seemed to be roughly the size of the span of her hand. Something clamped onto her wrist, and she looked down to find the man's meaty hand encircling it.
"Well, well, well, fellas, what we got here? Seems this little filly strayed a little to far from the herd, eh?" Quistis' eyes narrowed.
Filly?
"Kindly release me."
"Lissin' t'this one, eh? Puttin' on airs in a place like this…you get lost, sweetheart?" The laughter increased.
"I'll only ask you one more time," she stated calmly.
The man's grip increased, his fat stomach shaking with laughter. "Whatcha gonna do, honey? Kick me in the shin?"
In a move faster than the man's brain could register, she kicked out his knees from under him, then quickly doubled it up with a kick to the groin on his descent. The giant fell over, and Quistis leaned in, stamping her boot onto the man's forehead and glaring down at him. "If I have to tell you a third time, you'll walk away with parts missing." She'd heard Xu say that once, and had always wanted to try it out. No one placed testicular threats quite like her friend.
She glanced towards the back room, where Seifer had said that Mrs. Guarsen would be. Was she really going to pass up the chance to interview that woman and find those children, just because Seifer was an idiot who didn't think a coherent thought above his navel?
And just when did she start caring about what brain Seifer Almasy chose to think with?
Since he became your responsibility, she reasoned. That's all.
Gritting her teeth, Quistis turned and made her way to the back room. This time, the crowd actually parted a little. Perhaps she'd overdone it with that big oaf, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Shaking her head, she once again shoved her way through the crowd. If Seifer wanted to get laid, let him do it on his own time. She was going to question the woman and get the hell out of here.
…
….
…
Seifer was just about to look back to see where Quistis was, when something soft barreled into him, sending him flat against the wall.
"Seifer Almasy!"
Seifer grimaced again. He knew that voice, and it most certainly didn't belong to Quistis. In fact, if memory served correctly, that voice belonged to a hot, young waitress that he had added to his one-night collection a number of years ago after too many tequila shots. Although the young woman herself was most decidedly forgettable, owing to the fact that she carried all her assets below neck-level, her voice was not. High-pitched, whiney…it had driven him nuts for the few hours he'd associated with her.
Not that they had talked much.
Seifer grimaced. The girl was looking up at him, head cocked like a bird, her long brown hair hanging down to her ass and a few thousand layers of mascara weighting down her lashes. Her breasts nearly spilled out of her halter-top, and although that was interesting, like the rest of her, it was only momentarily so.
"You remember me, don't you?" she asked, pressing her hip into his as if that gesture along would make her simply unforgettable. Seifer was quickly getting disgusted, and alarmed.
The fuck was her name?
Unless feminism had opened some new drawer of empowerment in the past two years, he doubted women particularly appreciated having their names forgotten. Looking around the bar, he ran a hand through his hair. "Of course I remember you." He replied evasively. Maria, Gretchen, Zui, Emilia, Gabriella…shit shit shit…
"So, what brings you here?" she asked. "Looking for me?"
Hell, no. "Not exactly," he replied smoothly, once again searching the crowd for Quistis' form. She was going to kill him.
…Lisa, Jasmine, Jynne, Rachelle…
Hyne, he was beginning to feel like a slut.
She was just smiling, frowning a little as she stared up at him. "You don't remember my name, do you?" She asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Of course I remember your name," he replied, sweating. Luara, Andres, Lilia…Lilia! That was it! Lilia Loren. He turned his grin to full blast. "How could I forget a name like Lilia?"
Her eyes lit up, and he knew he'd gotten it right. "That's not all you remember, I hope." She was leaning closer now, smiling that same come hither smile that had all the cheap brilliance of a neon light.
When the hell did he develop standards?
He pressed at her shoulders to pry her off of him. He looked up at her, searching for an explanation to give her that would distract her long enough to make an exit.
Only to find himself looking at Quistis Trepe, smiling her tigress smile, standing directly behind Lilia. Lilia, both astonished and admonished, followed Seifer' gaze back to where Quistis stood.
"I didn't know you had a girlfriend." Lilia gasped.
Quistis considered for a moment denying that, and leaving Seifer to deal with his little female problem. However, this situation could most definitely be used to her advantage, and Quistis Trepe was not one to let an opportunity pass. Trying to play the angry, distressed girlfriend, she instantly narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms and straightening her posture.
Lilia's dark eyes were on her instantly, appraising her competition. "She doesn't look like your type," she remarked.
Quistis smiled sweetly in return. "He's upgraded from gutter trash since you knew him, if that's what you mean."
Furious, the other woman straightened up, face contorting with fury. "Did you just 'dis' me?"
Quistis cocked her head at the other girl's language. "If 'dissing' means accurately calibrating your personality, then yes, I have."
Lilia's eyes flashed with confusion for a moment, then registered that Quistis had most likely insulted her. "Prissy little-." She raked a hand up to slap Quistis, but that hand was quickly caught, and wrenched behind her back. The shorter brunette squealed in pain.
"If that was the extent of your fighting abilities, I suggest you work on making this up to me," said Quistis.
Lilia squirmed, hollering like a stuck pig as Quistis tightened her grip on her arm. "Owwwww! Okay, okay, how can I make it up to you?"
Quistis pretended to consider. "I want you to go and get Sheri Guarsen for me."
"Whadda you want to talk to her for?" asked the shorter girl.
Quistis tightened her grip, earning another squeal from the shorter brunette in front of her. "Making it up to me does not entail asking questions. Now go run along." Quistis released the girl, watching with satisfaction as she ran past the man with two necks into the dressing room.
Seifer was looking at her with amusement. "A cat fight for me, Ms. Trepe?"
"Don't flatter yourself," replied Quistis, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a very ladylike fashion. "She was simply the easiest route to Ms. Guarsen." She looked behind her, a twisted smile on her face as she tapped her chin. "You know, I do believe she was wearing press-on nails?"
"Fuck you."
The blonde woman in front of him simply clucked her tongue. "Such language-"
Quistis felt a sudden pressure on her arm, and Seifer looked up, suddenly. Quistis turned to see a man who testosterone had obviously been kind to. He towered over both of the young soldiers, and had a glazed, single-minded look to his eye. Brawn and not much brain.
The perfect bouncer.
"Mr. Jaweson doan like people messin' up his bitches unless you plan to be one of them, honey."
Quistis glared back at him. "Kindly let go of my arm." She snapped.
The man looked past a seething Quistis to Seifer. "She yores?"
Seifer shrugged. "You might say that," he replied.
The big man released her, and Quistis turned fully and furiously to face the larger man.
"So, whadaya want?" asked the oaf. "You bein' a distraction. Mr. Jaweson doan like distractions."
"We're reporters, here to do a story on Ms. Guarsen," replied Seifer, crossing his arms and staring back at the lumbering giant.
The man crossed his massive arms, shaking his head. "Mr. Jaweson don't like reporters."
"What is your name?" asked Quistis, glaring at the man. He reminded her of a rogue Ward.
"Not important." Replied the colossal statue.
"Well, in that case, 'Not Important'," replied Quistis, getting angry. "We're SeeD's."
"No good." The mammoth shook his head. "Mr. Jaweson hates SeeD's."
"Mr. Jaweson doesn't like much of anything, does he?" asked Quistis, wryly.
The giant didn't answer, but looked as if he were contemplating the quickest way to get rid of the two people in front of him. Not a train of thought Seifer was fond of.
Seifer stepped in front of Quistis. "Did she say SeeD? She meant, 'paying customers.' We'd like to pay for an hour of Ms. Guarsen's time."
At the mention of pay, the big oaf inclined his head. Apparently he was trained to the scent of money. "How much you got?"
Seifer turned to look at Quistis. "How much money do you have?" he asked.
Quistis narrowed her eyes. "I'm not giving him-"
Seifer glared at her and lowered his voice. "Look, you've obviously got no better ideas and there's no way either one of us can take this guy in here without causing a commotion. So," he leaned closer. "How much money do you have?"
The look in her eyes could melt iron, he was sure of it. "Three hundred gil."
"Give it to me."
She simply glared at him.
Seifer rolled his eyes. "Do you want to be here all night?"
"Of course not!" she snapped.
"Then give it to me." He snarled. Glowering at him, she reached into her bag and shoved her money into his palm.
Seifer reached into his back pocket, pulling out two one hundred Gil notes. "Here. Five hundred gil. Mr. Guarsen likes money, doesn't he?"
'Not Important' curled the small notes in his fist, then turned without a word. Seifer and Quistis exchanged a shrug, then followed after him into the back room.
The hallway was a dimly lit rat hole, with cracks in the ceiling and a single, dim bulb that swung eerily from the ceiling. Quistis seemed to shrink away from the edges of the halls, as if each dim corridor made her uneasy.
Seifer could relate.
The bouncer stopped in front of a tattered looking door, knocking three times. "You got an hour. Don't cause no trouble."
"Let me guess," asked Quistis dryly. "Mr. Jaweson doesn't like trouble."
"Not Important" cast Quistis an angry glare before stalking away.
Seifer just smirked at her. "When did you become a smartass, Trepe?"
She shrugged. "Must be contagious."
The door creaked open, revealing a short, blonde-haired woman that at one time might have been beautiful, but time and weathering had made haggard. Her eyes, probably once an exotic cut of blue, were dimmed and faded to a dull cerulean luster and heavily dusted with mascara. Her blonde hair, bottle born, was frizzed and streaked under the cheap florescent lighting. A bright red halter-top hugged a pair of sagging breasts, and black leather pants sagged below her hips, exposing a thin, white cesarean scar line. It was a sad picture of a woman…and an even sadder shell of a human being. The woman's face still held a cheap beauty, but it was hollow.
It was a face that had seen too many neon lights to be beautiful any longer.
She looked them over, eyes appraising. "Well, ain't you a tall, handsome drink 'o man." Her eyes traveled over Quistis. "Don't git many women back here, but whuteva tickles ya, honies. 'Mon in. Ya got fifteen minutes."
The dressing room was bare, save for a vase of dead roses with crumbling black heads and a small vanity with a folding chair. A small rack sat on wheels in the background, upon which a few sparse, glittery outfits were tacked. A white moth knocked itself against the single bulb in the room, powder falling from its wings with every clink.
"We paid for an hour," insisted Quistis.
The woman chuckled. "Y'all doan't gotta wine an' dine me. Whateva you wan's only gonna take a quarter of an' hour, believe me."
"All right," she said, gesturing them in with an impatient wave of her hand and a crack of her gum. "What'd y'all pay for?" She bent over, fixing a strap on her high-heeled shoes. "Lap dance, five minutes o' heaven, shoe shine, blow-"
"An interview." Said Seifer, quickly.
The woman straightened a suspicious gleam in her eyes. "A inter-view?" she repeated. "That some sorta new position?"
Seifer folded his arms. "We want to question you about the events that happened the night your children disappeared."
Ms. Guarsen stopped applying her lipstick mid-swipe. "You th' cops?"
Seifer shook his head. "No. We're just-"
"Furthering the investigation." Finished Quistis.
The woman straightened, and Quistis could see clearly the bags under her eyes. "It's the same ol' story I told the cops. Ah came home, late as usual. Usually Gwenth, she's the oldest, Gwen'd have Sinnera in bed and have some sorta sandwiches made, tv on, but the whole place was pitch black. Ah move t' turn on th' lights, and somethin' just bowls me over, then another thing, then another. Shit was broken all over, but the door latch wasn't smashed in at all. By th' time I get th' light on, my babies 're gone. Out th' window." The woman shook her head. "I doan understand it at all. If ah taught those girls one thing in mah whole failed parenting life, it was to lock that door and not lot anybody but me n' Hyne himself through."
"Your children were home alone, then?"
At that, the older woman glanced up sharply, a shred of pride glimmering in her eyes. It was a tattered, pathetic pride. "I didn' see people lining up with free baby-sitters to watch my girls while I put food on the table, so yeah, I guess they was alone."
Quistis shook her head. "Ms. Guarsen, we're not here to judge you."
The woman just uttered a wry chuckle and lit a cigarette. "Ain't that the biggest bullshit ever. Every day, people eatin' and livin' and breathin' judgement. Comes with havin' a heartbeat, honey. I don' care if people judge me 's long as they're payin'. So let's cut the bullshit. Ah'm trash, and we both know that. Y'all seem like nice couple an' all, and I 'preciate you tryin' to find my girls, but I ain't got all the time in the world. They're gone and I still gotta eat." She tilted her head up, smoke flowing from her painted red lips. "So les' just keep going now dat we got an understandin', all right, honey? And make 'em quick. Time is money and if you ain't made o' money I ain't got time."
Quistis' respect had just risen for the woman. She wasn't a particularly smart or admirable human being, but she understood the way of the world and was honest about it. Quistis could respect honesty, even in a place like this. "So," continued the young SeeD, "You don't believe your husband took the girls?"
Ms. Guarsen ran a hand through her hair, clearly distressed. "Farlen used t' beat me and I had some alcohol problems, back in the days, so the cops wasn't too keen on my story, specially since I had a…customer along." The older woman capped her lipstick and threw it back on the vanity. "They think 'cause a who I am I ain't got no concept o' what the truth is."
Quistis leaned forward. "Can you think of anyone who would take your children? Someone out for revenge, perhaps?"
Ms. Guarsen shook her head. "Police think Farlen took 'em, but Farlen never wanted those chil'ren t' begin with. He wouldn' take 'em, not even to spite me, an' the girls wouldn't a let 'im in, anyways."
Sighing, Ms. Guarsen ran a line of perfume between her breasts with a plastic applicator. "People I work with don't steal kids. They steal cigarettes and tip money and stereo sets. Not kids. They got enough a' their own."
"So you noticed no suspicious activity beforehand?" continued Quistis. "Nothing that would warn you that something strange was going on?"
The older woman looked in the mirror, adjusting her cleavage. "Sinnera was havin' her nightmares again. That Sinny was always havin' weird dreams, bout soldier men with blue eyes and a big spider lady that was gonna come eat her up. My psychic friend Billy Jo said all them nightmares was prolly 'cause we live in an' energy vortex or some shit, but Billy Jo's a crack ho that doesn't know shit from her arm pit. Anyways, smart girls, my girls. Big imaginations." Satisfied with the alignment of breasts, Ms. Guarsen turned away from the mirror. "A bad thing in a life like this. Never wanted my kids to be smart. They get smart, they start wonderin' what they're missin, wonder why things are the way they are. Ain't no answer for that. Things just is."
A knock sounded at the door. "Hey Kandy, you're on in five." Came a feminine voice on the other end.
"Yeah, all right." She hollered back, then turned back to her interviewers. "Look, fellas, sorry I can't be o' more help, but it's all I seen. Sure I thought it was a little weird three big shadows in the dark come t' take my kids when they was only two little girls and whoever wanted 'em coulda probly come alone an' dragged 'em out by their stick arms. I doan' know why anybody'd wanna take those kids." She looked straight at Quistis, the defeat and exhaustion in her eyes burning into her own. "Do me a favor, honey. You find 'em, don't bring 'em back here. There ain't nothin' here for anyone."
Another knock sounded at the door. "Kandy, get your sagging ass out there!"
"Hold yer horses, y' ol bitch!" she hollered back, stamping out her cigarette on the counter. "Well kids, it's been fun. Ah appreciate th' help an' all. Y'all take care now. Been the first time in a long time people paid t' ask me questions." She smiled, but the smile was as flat as the sparkle in her eyes- painted on and plastic.
Quistis attempted to return the wan emotion, but felt ice settle in her belly as the woman's sad gaze sank into hers. She might well have been looking at herself, along a different road.
It was the sadness inherent in womankind, in women like Quistis who so easily read others. Quistis saw herself in the fallen ashes of others, in the sadness and defeat of sullen spirits just as much as she absorbed their happiness.. It was the burden of a good woman, to constantly read the dark in other's eyes and load their sadness on her shoulders, testing the weight.
"I didn' ask fer this life." Came the mutter as the door shut behind her.
Silence remained a moment after Ms. Guarsen left, before Seifer turned to look at Quistis. She sighed. "Well, I'd say that we're right back where we started, minus a few hundred gil."
Seifer just shook his head. "I don't know what the hell I thought we'd find here…I just…have this feeling. I can't explain it. Like this is all supposed to make sense." He ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I sound crazy." He looked up at the feel of a hand on his shoulder to see Quistis, shaking her head.
"Not crazy. The more I listened to her, the more suspicious it sounds. Whether or not it links in with the IGCS occurrence, I doubt, Seifer, but there's more to it then the article expressed." Quistis checked her watch. "Come on, it's almost ten o' clock. We still can make the midnight train in plenty of time."
Seifer just nodded, and together, they headed down the narrow, haunting corridor back towards the main room. Seifer found he disliked the hallway as much as Quistis- failure was confining, cheaply lit and suffocating. It was the hall of a whorehouse, the rank room of a crumbling hotel…it was dank and putrid and smelt a little like cheap vodka.
Quistis flinched at the wave of noise and scent that assaulted her sense as soon as she opened the doors. As of now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of here, away from the noise and flash and fragrance of the dirty club, away from the image of the young mother and the shadows that haunted her eyes.
She wove through the crowd, Seifer behind her, weaving their bodies through the tangled orgy of sweat and skin that filled the small wooden room. Quistis stopped suddenly, tense, and Seifer looked ahead to see a large man sporting a black eye. A few others were with him, smaller lackeys with the shine of an obedient dog in their eyes.
"Yep, that's the one, boys." Boomed the man, still gripping his groin. "Let's teach 'er some manners."
One of the men, however, seemed to have taken an interest in Seifer. "Heyyyyy wait a minute…I know you! Weren't you th' Sorcerrrrrresss's little bitch? Hey lookit this, fellas! We got us a celebrity in our midst!" Seifer glared back. "An' whoo'ssss this, eh? A new witch?" Quistis felt Seifer's shoulder coil into a hard knot as he stiffened up next to her, eyes narrowing dangerously as he took in the men around them. "Y'know, I do believe if we git this one a muzzle, she'll dance real purty for us."
"We're leaving. We…don't want any trouble," mumbled Seifer.
Quistis was shocked. Seifer Almasy didn't want any trouble? Had the world gone mad?
The larger man just chuckled. "Maybe not, lapdog. But we do." With a start forward, he shoved Seifer a few steps backwards.
Furious, Quistis started forward, but rough hands grabbed her waist, suddenly, dragging her back. "Why doncha cast a spell on me, honey?"
Laughter.
"Get off me!" she ordered, furious. Quickly, she twisted her body to the side, jabbing an elbow into her assailant's skull and whirling, only to be intercepted by another pair of hands. She looked to see Seifer snap his head around at her and start forward. He was quickly intercepted by a man with a beer bottle, who cracked it over his head. Seifer slumped against the bar, dropping to one knee.
"Seifer!" Quistis started forward, but hands kept her effectively back.
Already distracted, Quistis turned to greet her attacker, only to swipe at nothing. Another hand was quickly on her ass, squeezing tight enough to hurt. Swearing, she whirled again, furious. Another hand closed around her arm, hauling limb and sweater further down to the floor. Her jacket was jerked off in one great tear. They were everywhere, and in the thick smoke and strobe light of the club, it was difficult to place faces with hands and aim correctly.
Fury made her careless, and she turned again, moving out of the grasp, only to realize that she'd moved farther into the fray.
Shit.
The sweater tore at the shoulder, and she swung around again, her fist connecting with the skull of the man closest to her right, but as soon as he stumbled back, another replaced him, hands tugging, pulling, yanking…one hand closed around her hair, jerking her hair back up towards the ceiling. The disco ball spun in her gaze as she wriggled, unsuccessfully, alcohol and sweat invading her nostrils as her boots slipped on the beer-soaked floor.
Hands on her hair…
Alcohol intoxicating in her nostrils…
"Let me go! I'll go to my room, I promise!"
Her eyes glazed like an animal coming out of the daze of headlights. She caught a man in the groin, who hissed and stumbled back. All at once, however, they had her arms again. A fist caught her across the jaw, the pain blunt and bright like lightening across her eyelids. She staggered, but their hands kept her up. She struck out with her elbow, feeling the soft crunch of cartilage splintering behind it- a broken nose.
"I wonder, would you mind if I broke this?"
"Put her down. Hyne, put it down!"
Her hair was loose in her face, and their grip was hurting, and she was Quistis Trepe, damnit, she was a SeeD trained to kill with her bare hands, to strike down entire armies with a graceful flick of her wrist, and she was snagged like an insect in some damned hell hole of a bar by a mob of drunk baboons. She heard what sounded like Sheri Guarsen's voice shout to let her go, but the sound was far away-
The brush in her hair, hard and harsh and hurting-
Eyes watching her from the mirror, dark like coal and shimmering with vodka and bitterness-
Red, red, red, rising up, rising up to catch her-
These damned memories, they rose up like waves and dragged her under like a dark dream, and she couldn't think, she couldn't move, and-
"Do you know what boys do to pretty little girls?"It was hurting, and her head was hurting-
Fury curdled in her breast, quickly giving way to desperation. She tumbled off the slick surf of the floor and raising her legs, kicked them out, sending two men across the bar. She turned, then found herself flying, crashing into one of the tables behind her. She slipped on the floor, attempting to scramble to her feet. She grabbed onto a chair, crashing it over the head of an approaching attacker, but once again, she was leveled back onto the ground. Her head struck the table, and she nearly blacked out, but they were dragging her up again, laughing…
"Seifer!" She'd lost him in the crowd somewhere…. wildly, she searched for his face, but found nothing. Her whip was no good- there was no room to wind it up properly, and no hands to grab it in the first place. "Seifer!" Desperate, she flexed her wrist, trying desperately to call a spell forth, but remembered, too late, the doctor's restriction on her casting-
Pain instead of magic surged forth in her arm, liquid magma boiling beneath her skin instead of the burbling rush of Blizzaga. Her veins shorted like a frayed wire, and her arms tremored in agony. She screamed in pain, kicking out harder and thrashing her head back and forth, trying to slip her wrists out of their sweaty grasps long enough to jab her index finger into a waiting jugular. But it was the rage of a butterfly, caught in a net with only furious desperation beating in her wings-
Without her magic…she was helpless in a mob like this.
The throb of the beat was so loud in her mind, she couldn't hear anything else…and the lights, she couldn't see, couldn't see-
Red…red….red…..
The red carpet, tumbling down….hands in her hair and a whisper hot at her neck-
She couldn't breathe, and the darkness was rising up, up up-
Suddenly, the hands released her, and she stumbled forward, turning to see a flurry of motion in front of her. The crowd parted like a school of fish under a shark attack, and she saw a familiar flash of blonde hair as another barreled forward, tackling the large man to the ground and raising his arm to bring his fist down into the man's face in a savage swipe.
Seifer.
The man punched Seifer in the stomach, but Seifer quickly brought his head down, cracking skulls with the bigger man and sending his skull back down onto the floor, punching him again in the face as his head ricocheted back up like a rubber ball. Blood sprayed across the floor and the man's head slammed into the ground yet again, nose obviously broken. Seifer swung again, catching the crooked, bloody stump of a nose once more, and the man's legs stopped thrashing. He climbed to his feet, fists flexing at his sides as he waited for the next attacker.
Blood ran down the Seifer's forehead onto his shirt, but the young man seemed unphased as he spat another mouthful of blood onto the floor. His gaze flickered across the crowd, landing on hers for a brief instant before another bar patron was on his back. Seifer twisted, grabbing the drunk's coat and throwing him into the crowd, which parted once again to allow their comrade access to the floor.
Quistis stood, stunned. Violence, she was used to, the motion of blood and shouts and broken bones almost antiseptic to her- clean and meaningless and often necessary. It was Seifer's gaze that chilled her. His eyes were narrowed, wild in a way she had never seen before, save in Edea's grasp. Even then, however, his rage had been fenced in, controlled by Ultimecia like a wind-up toy. Now, it lay bare in his eyes, roaring like fire, lips curled back in a hateful sneer. He was going to kill one of them-
She crouched, rooted, mesmerized, and immobilized by the aftermath of memory still coursing through her veins. She pressed her hands to her temples, hard, trying desperately to smash out the thoughts that surfaced.
Blood, stairs, shouts, glass, snow- The images swirled too fast in her mind to make sense of them-Two more advanced on Seifer, one catching him across the jaw in a clumsy but accurate uppercut. His head jerked back, but just as quickly, he spun, leading with his foot and tripping another man, catching the other man's gut with his elbow in a savage jab. It was when one jumped on Seifer from behind, however, that the momentum started to turn. Seifer staggered back, and another man took the opportunity to shove his fist into his side.
Quistis blinked, as if coming awake.
She lunged forward, driving her shoulder into the man's side and sending him into the bar with a crash, knocking several glasses over, but more closed in. She nearly fell forward with the momentum, but Seifer's hand closed around her arm, jerking her back. His back was pressed against hers, heat and sweat from his body pouring into her own. There were too many men, at least thirty, and this too limited a space-
They exchanged a glance. Things were not looking up.
She saw him reach for Hyperion, then felt herself being lifted bodily up, darkness rising, and then-
Nothing.
…
…
…
Zell opened one eye, then the other. His hand, which, thank Hyne, seemed to be intact, was still closed around the barrel of Serabin's gun, and there was now a new hole in the roof of the training center.
Cerberus was snarling at Serabin.
Serabin was looking at Zell as if he was insane.
The older cadet blinked. "Are you insane?" shouted the Garden operator. "That…that thing is an unaccounted for beast in the sanctuary, and was running around Garden, scaring the-"
"That thing is a dog!" replied Zell. "Quistis' dog. And he's harmless."
Boy, he certainly wouldn't have said that earlier that morning. Amazing the difference a few plates of hot dogs made.
"Harmless?" echoed Serabin, still staring at the snarling animal. "How can something with that many teeth be harmless?"
"It's practically a puppy."
"A puppy? How would you know?" snapped Serabin, looking haughty.
"He's got a lot of energy? I dunno." Zell shrugged. "Well, I hear you can always check their teeth to see how old they are." Or maybe that was horses…
"Are you insane?"
"No, but he probably is." Replied Zell, gesturing at the enraged animal in front of him. "I wouldn't point that at him if I were you."
Slowly, Serabin lowered the barrel. "This thing is Quistis'?"
Zell nodded.
"Well, tell Quistis she's going to have to register this…creature with Cid. And put a collar on him or something. He looks like a Snow Lion gone wrong, not a pet."
"Will do!" said Zell, grinning as he saluted. "C'mon boy." The dog, amazingly, followed Zell's command and the pair exited-
Serabin sighed, glaring first at the exit and then at the new hole in the training center roof, which would have to be repaired immediately. "I'm getting too old for this."
…
…
…
"Dog, you're a heart attack happening about every five minutes," Zell told the animal in front of him, who wagged his massive tail in response. Zell was fairly sure that tail, in full wagging throttle, could level a city or two.
Reaching behind him, Zell pulled out a long, pink silk ribbon, one that was about an inch and a half thick and belonged to Arya. She wouldn't miss it.
At least, hopefully she wouldn't.
She was none too happy the time that he'd stolen her silk scarf to use as an emergency knee brace after he'd crashed his t-board in the Quad, or the time he'd 'borrowed' her book collection as a skating ramp, or the time she'd unconsciously 'lent' him her supply of computer chips as throwing stars-
Hell, he didn't know why she put up with him sometimes.
The newly named 'Cerberus' seemed relatively happy to sit in a pile of skin and teeth and claws next to Zell, panting as he gazed around the Quad. Two long, dangling strings of drool roughly the size of limp white pencils swung from the dog's massive jaws. Frankly, it looked like the dog had swallowed a runner.
"Put a collar on him or something," Zell muttered, mimicking Serabin. He held the ribbon out, and, examining it, wound the ribbon across the dog's massive neck. The dog panted, seemingly unbothered by the contact or the ribbon. Zell attempted a sloppy tie around the neck, double-knotting the ribbon till it hung sloppily but firmly. The dog sniffed at it a minute, then looked back up at Zell, still panting and unimpressed with his new decoration.
It looked ridiculous. It was like putting a party hat on a T-Rexaur. Several cadets gave them second and third glances.
Zell couldn't stop laughing.
…
…
…
She opened her eyes to pain. Pain and the pungent scent of rotten banana and coffee grinds.
Darkness…darkness and a single point of light humming overhead.
She tried to move, but felt resistance in every corner of her body. Her lip was wet, and her forehead was throbbing…the air was chilling her skin and there was something on top of her. She shoved, gasping for breath. The air was hot, stale, and she couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't move. She struggled again, choking on the air, the feeling of helplessness threatening to overcome her-
"Ow! Shit!"
She stilled the shoving motion of her hand, noticing that the movable object was warm…and breathing. She tensed up. "Seifer?" she asked, cautiously.
"Yeah." Came the answer. Her vision cleared, focusing onto red brick, cement, a collection of aluminum trash cans…and Seifer Almasy, sprawled out underneath her. She was practically straddling him, head pressed intimately against his chest and his leg wedged between both of hers. They were also, she took note, sprawled in a sea of garbage. It seemed that they'd been thrown unceremoniously out the back door after their impromptu bar fight, and had tumbled into the garbage cans. Disgusted, she peeled a soaked wrapper from her exposed arm- her careful plait in her hair was now shredded, and stunk of beer and spiced nuts. Coughing, Quistis raised her head, trying to clear her nose of the reeking odor of garbage. She took a deep breath- up here, the air smelled of dust, rotting wood and old limes. It was making her dizzy.
"How'd we get in here?" she asked, extremely aware of the way her hands were pressed up against him, firm muscle taut against her palms beneath his sweater. The side of her face was throbbing- there would be a bruise later.
"I wasn't exactly paying attention when they clubbed me over the head," he snapped, as he pulled a half-eaten sandwich off his shoulder. "Out with the trash. Fucking wonderful."
Quistis steeled her jaw. She was a SeeD, she had been in worse situations than this…
…but she had never felt as powerless before as she had ten minutes ago, caught in a drunken mob.
In one minute, the foundation of her existence as a soldier had been pulled beneath her, manifested in the groping hands of a drunken mob. Before, she'd always been able to predict the moves of her enemy…but not this one. They'd…she'd…she was so angry…furious….their hands had been everywhere, on her ass, on her…she'd been frightened, dazed, immobilized, and it infuriated her all the further- those damned memories floating up with every yank and dart of their hands.
"Quistis-" Seifer was sitting up, a look of almost-pity pinching his features.
She clenched her jaw. "Don't patronize me." If she could have, she'd have raised her chin. "I could have taken care of-"
"Yeah, sure you could have."
He was mocking her. She would have kicked him, if her feet weren't plunged into a pile of refuse. "You can't handle everything on your own, you know." He continued.
"This from you." She spat, going rigid.
A pause. "Touché."
Silence ticked by between them, the exact amount impossible to measure in the dark.
"Sorry."
They said it in unison, both begrudgingly, the words as difficult to spit out as any love confession.
He smiled. She couldn't see it, but she could feel it in the air, in the way it lifted a little around her and made the strangling feeling in her throat lift just a little. She felt all right, here, with Seifer, as if his arrogance and bull-headedness could keep everything at bay. If she was knee-deep in shit, at least it was here, with him. It must have been the way Rinoa, felt, once.
What was she thinking?
A pause. "What do you suggest we do now?" He was asking her opinion? Had he hit his head?
"Do you have Hyperion with you?"
A sigh. "No, the fucking mob took it."
Seifer's face was covered with blood on the right side, probably from the bottle broken on his head. His eyes were guarded, seemingly untroubled, the bright jade hardened and holding the lights in defensive points. He looked terrible.
It was her medic training that made her care, she told herself.
And yet, she'd seen a glance of what his life must have been like in the last two years. Running, constantly being recognized and hated, and fighting just to stay alive. She'd never seen anyone fight that way before, like each hit only doubled his rage and his resolve to live. Their hatred was probably all he'd ever felt these past years, and that had become his driving emotion- his fuel for life. And she was finding that she was starting to care what drove him…too much. She reached up, curling her sweater over her fist and pressing the supple wool to his forehead, softly sponging away the blood that trickled down.
Jumping slightly at the contact, his eyes focused on her. Quistis' face was bruised and slightly swollen, flushing blue from the ruptured capillaries trickling down her pretty cheek. Her eyes were troubled, distant, as if scrambling for her bearings in the dark closet. He'd turned in the noisy bar, only to see her kicking and yelling like a crazy woman, eyes lit with panic as they grabbed her hair and forced her head back, her sweater sleeve ripped and sloping down her arm. He'd never seen Trepe panicked before, and to see her there, thrashing and afraid, the same woman who had faced off against him without breaking a sweat-
He'd wanted to kill them-
Without thinking, he reached up and gently, gently, cupped her swollen cheek, running the pad of his thumb across the edge of her eye to find a slight amount of moisture there beneath the lashes. Was she crying? Impossible. Quisty had cried at the orphanage, sobbed when things broke or when people were mean. SeeD Quistis had never cried, at least not that he could tell. Somewhere between childhood and womanhood, Quistis Trepe seemed to have lost all of her tears.
He wondered, not for the first time, where and how she had spent all of them.
Quistis looked at Seifer with a mix of shock and bewilderment, and he was looking back at her with a similar look on his face. Just as quickly, however, he dropped his hand. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them, and Quistis, seeming to come awake, got to her feet, dusting off her pants. Seifer followed suit.
The cool air whipped at her hair, and when he looked at her, she seemed more composed, more…distant. She checked her watch, and sighed. "We've missed the train."
Seifer stretched, each snap of his spine a refreshing release of tension. "There are other trains."
She was looking at him, giving him an incommunicable glance. "What other trains?"
He shrugged. "Just…trains. But they won't be coming along for an hour yet," he replied.
She peered at him, studying the crimson spatter of dried blood that surrounded the cut on the side of his head. His cheek was bruised, and she was sure there were more injuries that his clothes were hiding. "You look terrible."
"Gee, thanks. You look like a walking ad for an ice pack yourself." He paused and sniffed the arm of his sweater. "And we both stink."
She opened her mouth to reply when suddenly, a figure sprung from a clump of nearby bushes, causing them both to jump. He stumbled clumsily onto the sidewalk, muttering to himself. The short, squat little man, obviously very drunk, brandished a very familiar silver sword in his hands. "Gimme all yer gil!" he shouted, teetering to one side. "Ah'm uh, shoresheresh knife!" He made an unsteady pose in the alley, trying to look menacing but succeeding only in looking more foolish.
Quistis folded her arms and looked amused. Seifer just scowled.
"Lookee me! I got mashic pewers an shord shkills! Treeeeeemble before-"
A punch sent the man sprawling backwards, sword flying. Seifer caught the tumbling blade by the handle and slipped the sword into the loop on his belt before pulling the trench coat over it.
Both Seifer and Quistis stepped over the now unconscious drunk as if nothing at all had just occurred.
He glanced over at her. "You hungry?"
She yawned. "I could eat something, I suppose." As Seifer's smile, she scowled. "NOT chocobo wings."
"I know a place."
They walked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts and the spread of stars above them.
"Out of what can only be described as morbid curiosity, Seifer, where are we going this time?"
"Relax." replied Seifer, turning the corner. "I can guarantee that this place doesn't have any poles."
The young blonde looked unconvinced. "Then what's it called?"
Seifer rubbed his head where the blood had dried. "I don't remember. It's been a while. I think it's the Horny Panda or something." He turned around to see Quistis starting to walk in the opposite direction. "Hey come on, I was kidding!"
Lunging, he grabbed her hand, and dragged her back. "Come on. Hyne. It's this placed owned by a guy I've known for awhile. He's crazy, but the food's really good."
"We don't have any money," she stated. Her bag was gone, although it had contained little more than a transmitter. The transmitter could be disconnected from the com system. It was the principal of the thing, she supposed.
"He wouldn't take it anyway."
"How do you know him?" Quistis was extremely conscious of the fact that Seifer hadn't released her hand. Seifer, meanwhile, was fighting an internal battle. Let go of her hand? But he'd already held it longer than propriety required….letting go now would mean admitting it meant more than it did. Although, on the other hand, not letting it go could make it seem like more than it was. Disgusted with himself, Seifer decided to stop thinking like a damned woman and just hold her hand, since it was what he wanted to do anyway.
He shrugged. "Back in my old Garden days, I used to sneak out past curfew all the time. I suppose you could say that Old Man Chu and I just sorta…ran into each other. Either that or the old fucker was following me," he muttered. "Either explanation is possible."
The pair walked in silence for a while, considering the stars and the warmth of the other's hand with an uneasy comfort.
Old man Chu's place was a small little brick square nestled in the very heart of the city, a dimly lit place with crepe lanterns and black shutters. Small bamboo shoots were lined up along the windowsill.
"The Crazy Bamboo." Read Quistis aloud. "What kind of a name is that?"
"I dunno. What kind of a name is Quistis?"
"Ha ha." She glanced in the window. "Is it open?"
"It's always open." Still gripping her hand, Seifer opened the door and stepped through, pulling her up the stairs after him. The old man kept his place open well into the evening, and being a nocturnal person himself, Seifer had stumbled upon it many years ago. The guy really was crazy, but that didn't bother Seifer. In fact, he found psychosis to be more interesting than most other personality traits, and strangely more predictable. Sane people were always subject to change. Insane people remained fairly consistent.
"Hey, Chu?"
The restaurant was set up simply, a dusky, elegant atmosphere with soft paper lamps and knee-high oiled wood tables. Small woven mats decorated the floor, and a large iron horse rearing back on his haunches regarded the pair with a wild, gaping expression.
Quistis peered over Seifer's shoulder. "It doesn't look as if anyone's here."
"SHINDEEEEEEEE!"
Suddenly, a blur burst from the fake emerald confinements of a fake potted plant and flew at Seifer, sending him sprawling through a thin paper screen and tumbling into a rack of dishes.
"Seifer!" Quistis looked through the now shattered screen to see Seifer getting to his feet, a little man in a red robe no taller than Selphie brandishing a cane staff, and advancing on Seifer with it. Seifer glanced over at her, putting a hand up. "It's okay, Quis. This is Chu."
"That's Chu? The man who's trying to kill you?" echoed Quistis, standing with her hands on her hips as the two men crashed into another rack of dishes. She noticed that Seifer didn't try to draw Hyperion, however, so instead of interfering, she stood in the doorway and folded her arms, leaning against the paneling.
She sighed. Could this night get any more bizarre?
Probably.
Seifer ducked as the old man swiped at him with the staff. The old man was surprisingly nimble for a man of his apparent age, and the wooden pole crashed into an ancient-looking dish, sending the pieces crumbling to the floor.
"Kisama wo te no nai de korosu yo!" Shouted the old man, circling Seifer around one of the mahogany tables and still wielding the bamboo stick like a machete.
Seifer just shook his head, smiling. "Come on, Chu. Is that any way to treat an old friend?" The ex-knight was forced to duck as the staff once again whirred above his head, smashing into a large antique plate.
Quistis watched the exchange, dumfounded. This was an old friend? What, then, did Seifer consider an enemy?
Seifer backed into the wall, grasping an antique katana and whirling, ducking as the old man threw an array of saucers through the air- each smashed into the wall behind him with enough force to stick. Quistis let out a yell and ducked as one saucer missed her ear by a hair's width.
Seifer whirled, quickly drawing another antique sword from the wall and, bracing his foot against the painted plaster, pushed off, over a table and behind the old man. The man turned as well, dropping the bamboo cane and drawing two knives from his waistband. Quistis put a hand over her eyes.
Silence.
Peeking out between her fingers, she could see Seifer holding out the two swords, each blade resting against either side of the mysterious man's neck. The man, however, held his two knives up towards Seifer's throat as well, the metal just nicking the skin. Both men were short of breath.
Suddenly, each man dropped their weapon, and broke into laughter. Quistis stared, open-mouthed, as the old man grinned and embraced Seifer in a hearty hug, clapping his back.
"Baka wakamono! Hisashiburi da ne?"he shouted, jovially.
Seifer just grinned and pulled back. "You haven't changed at all, you old bastard."
Chu winked. "Ganbatta yo. Omae wa?"
The young man shook his head. "Hontou ni wa…"
The wound in Seifer's head had reopened, and the old man was sporting the beginnings of a very nasty black eye. Quistis was still staring open-mouthed at the peculiar scene before her when the old man glanced over at her, his slanted obsidian eyes observing her as keenly as a rat.
"Kono onna no kata wa dare ka?"he asked.
Seifer gestured towards her, bowing a little. "Quistis."
The old man approached, taking the flustered young woman's hand and brushing it respectfully with his lips, giving her a wink. He reminded her of the man back in Tromedia, old and cunning. "Kirei naa! Omae no?"
The earned a full-fledged laugh from the young man. "Heh. Hontou ni wa."
Quistis smiled uneasily, unsure of what the two found so amusing. Although she had taken some courses in other languages and dialects, she could make out only about fifteen percent of what he and the old man were saying, not nearly enough to get even a vague idea of what they were talking about. It was irritating.
Old man Chu released Quistis' hand and stepped back, bowing quickly. "You go! Sit down! I make something. And take off shoes! This is not barn! Seifer, you know better."
Muttering, the old man disappeared into what Quistis guessed was the kitchen, and the banging pots and pans started up almost immediately.
Seifer stretched, yawned, and plopped onto one of the small crimson pillows that lined the rich wood tables after both he and Quistis had removed their shoes. The wound on his forehead was dripping blood down the side of his face, soaking into the black of his turtleneck.
Quistis joined him, reluctantly, still glancing at the kitchen with a suspicious gleam in her eye. "Who is he?"
"An old friend."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Do all your old friends try to kill you?"
He shrugged. "You'd be surprised."
She had no response for that. None that would make light of the situation, anyway. "How did you meet him?"
"A few years…we have sort of a history together."
"I guessed as much from your welcome." She settled her chin on her fist, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye. As a trained field medic, his wounds were really beginning to get on her nerves. Grasping a lukewarm, rolled towel from one of the bowls on the table, she leaned over and pressed one of the soft terry cloths to his forehead. He jerked back, hissing.
"Ow! Hyne, woman!" He glared at her.
She glared back. "Just hold still. Why do you men insist on sitting and bleeding? Does it expand your egos?" She inched forward, once again pressing the cloth to his forehead.
"Hyne, why don't you rub my fucking face off, Mom?" he snapped. But he sat and endured her ministrations.
"Stop being such a baby," she snapped, but she was suppressing a smile. In the hearts of all grown men, she was convinced there lurked a little boy still afraid of the sting of antiseptic.
Quistis reached for the bowl, rinsing the blood soaked cloth in a class of water before applying it back to his forehead, grabbing his cheek to tilt his head towards her. "I don't have any potions with me, Seifer, and casting is impossible for me right now."
He flinched, and she chuckled. "Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?" she asked, wryly.
"Would you?" His eyes met hers, and she could feel her cheeks getting warm. It should be illegal for a man's eyes to be so pretty, she thought, and lowered her hands, turning away.
He was still looking at her. "Here. Keep pressure on the cut." She muttered, turning away just as the old man walked into the room with a tray full of steaming food. A bowl filled with rice, bowls of hot soup, and several plates of other strange-looking dishes made Quistis' stomach rumble. The old man winked at the two as he set down the food, then scurried off to the kitchen again.
"Is it poisoned?" she muttered to Seifer as the banging in the kitchen resumed. A swear of cusses followed another crash of dishes.
"Could be," he replied, lifting a pair of chopsticks and lifting a large bite of noodles to his lips. "Wouldn't put it past the sneaky old bastard."
Quistis examined the two wooden sticks in front of her, glancing over at Seifer as he easily used the utensils to lift another bite to his mouth. Well, if Seifer was eating, why not? She was too hungry to care. She had been involved in a bar fight, dumped in garbage, and spent the day in the slums. Poisoning seemed to take a distant second.
Copying the crude placement of Seifer's hands, she lifted the stick shovel towards her plate, trying to grasp a piece of seaweed-rolled rice with crab meat tucked in the center. The sticks slipped, sending the piece of food rolling across the table. Seifer glanced over at her. "Need help?"
She shot him a dirty look. "No, I'm doing just fine, thank you. Don't they have forks here?" she muttered.
Chuckling, Seifer turned back to a bowl of soup. Quistis frowned, and repositioned her grip. She wasn't used to being the one unfamiliar with protocol, and she certainly didn't enjoy being unfamiliar in front of Seifer.
Seifer Almasy was unfamiliar territory all by himself.
Seifer watched with amusement as another piece of sushi rolled across the table. He followed the trail of spilled rice across the countertop to see Quistis once again glaring at the sticks. "Here," he said, reaching over and grasping her hand, readjusting her fingers between his own. Was she blushing again? He closed her fingers somewhat awkwardly, sandwiching the piece of food between the two sticks and watching her raise it towards her lips, her cheeks still tinted pink. It would have been charming…if not for the nasty bruise that flushed up the side of her cheek, the vicious swelling in her eye, and the sloping sleeves of her sweater, ripped open to reveal bruises in the shape of finger marks on her skin. Still, she seemed collected now, more together than the frail creature that had shivered in the dark of the club alley and thrashed like a wounded animal in the thick of the mob. He didn't delude himself that it was the fight that had set her off kilter. Quistis was a top SeeD- she had seen much worse then a drunken bar brawl. No, she had been afraid, and he knew it went beyond the push and pull of the crowd around her.
Now, however, she was chewing with her cheeks stuffed with sushi, smiling a little as she swallowed. "It's good." She had a piece of rice on her lip. It was distracting.
Chu joined them then, squatting down onto one of the mats across from them. "How is everything?" he asked, a pleasant smile on his face and in a language Quistis could understand.
The pair nodded, their mouths full.
"Ah! Good. You eat more!" Chu reached over, grabbing a bowl of rice and gracefully lifting bite after bite to his lips in a scooping motion. "And here is potion. You put on cuts!" The old man set a small vial on the table. "Also, you stink." The old man sprayed some sort of aerosol over them, and soon the garbage smell was somewhat masked in a heavy pine scent.
Satisfied, the old man set the spray down. "So Seifer, you are back at Garden now, yes?"
Seifer nodded, reluctantly.
"Good place for you!" exclaimed the old man, digging back into his bowl. "Yes, very important…back at Garden…" His voice trailed off meditatively, and both Seifer and Quistis were left to wonder what thoughtful note lingered in the wake of his words.
"Tch," muttered Seifer, digging into a bowl of noodles once more. "Chu here thinks he can see the future."
Chu just chuckled, pouring the tea. "I do not see future, exactly- more like possibilities. You might say is a trait that runs in my family. For example, I predict Seifer will leave table soon." He winked again at Quistis, a gesture that slightly entranced and unnerved her simultaneously. There was more to this man than a restaurant and a strange penchant for killing the young ex-knight next to her, she thought. Still, she found herself developing a vague liking to the old man, against her better judgment.
"Senile bunch of mumbo jumbo shit if you ask-ow! Whad da hewl wud dat for!" Chu's hand had shot out, smacking Seifer directly in the nose.
Seifer stood up, swearing to himself as he held his nose. Blood seeped out between his fingers, and he cast Chu a dangerous look, stomping into the kitchen to get a towel for his face.
"All your talk of what you know nothing!" Chu broke into laughter. "See? Prediction right!" he shouted back. He turned back to Quistis, chuckling. "A puppy, that one. All bark and no bite."
Quistis shook her head. 'Puppy' was not quite the word she would use to describe her old student. "You seem to have quite an extensive history together, Mr. Chu," she observed.
"You might say," replied the old man, handing her a small porcelain cup. "Seifer ran into me long time ago, still a little boy with big dream. He and I had big run-in, but now, you might say I 'owe him one'." The old man chuckled, a far away look in his eye. "He set me free, how you say, although on young Seifer's part it was pure accident."
Quistis frowned.
Chu continued. "Now Seifer, alas, is young man, with no dreams. Amazing, the cycle of pride, ne? Like life. Like a heartbeat. Strange cycle." The old man took a thoughtful sip of his tea.
Quistis wasn't sure what to make of the new conversation topic. She took a sip of the tea offered, and instantly, her chest filled with a warm flush, the liquid clearing her senses. What was in it?
"You and Seifer…yours is also a long history, is it not, Ms. Trepe?"
The young woman nodded. "You might say that."
"You grew up together?"
Quistis frowned. "Did Seifer tell you that?"
The restaurant owner just smiled. "Seifer says more than realizes, I think."
"Yes, we grew up together, at an orphanage. Our paths have…crossed since then, several times." Replied Quistis. More like collided. Never mind that the encounters had rarely been pleasant. Someone like Chu probably knew the details of the second sorceress war as well as she herself did. The old man seemed full of knowledge, both apparent and secret.
Chu nodded. "Yes. And will cross again. All you children…what they call you, Liberi Fatali…your path cross like star's light…" The gleam in his eye was unnerving, and gazing into his black gaze, Quistis could almost believe the man's far-fetched claim of clairvoyance for an instant, as if his knowledge spanned generations past and future. For an instant, Quistis was not sure if she was staring into human eyes at all.
Realizing she was rudely staring, she looked down. This Chu was a fascinating individual. Unnerving, but fascinating.
"What is this called?" she asked, setting down her cup after another long sip.
The old man grinned again. "Sake," he replied, refilling her cup. "Is like tea. You want more?"
"Yes, please," replied Quistis. There was an unmistakable twinkle in Chu's eyes as he poured her another cup.
Silence descended between the two, neither uncomfortable nor comfortable. It was simply thoughtful- two people considering each other.
"You know, Miss. Trepe, world is full of cycles. Life, pride…power…as many cycles as there are forces in the world. Cycles can improve, or they can become worse. Each cycle dependant on those around it, each cycle changed by the alterations in its conduits. In this sense, cycles can be changed. Future can be changed."
She frowned. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chu, but I'm afraid I don't follow what you're saying."
"You will."
She frowned.
His eyes sparkled, suddenly. "You are an interesting woman, Ms. Trepe. Yours will be interesting future." Quistis stared at him, dumbfounded, as Chu held up his cup as if toasting her, and she stared at the shine of light on the smooth, painted porcelain. A glimmer wavered in his eye, the dark almond sheen glistening crimson for a moment, and instantly, recognition coursed through her veins. The curved, almost sinister cut of his smile, the ancient crimson glow of his eyes-
"Odin?" she whispered, swaying in her seat.
The old man simply smiled and winked, pouring another cup of tea just as Seifer walked in. Quistis frowned, looking back down at her plate and studying the smooth, polished sheen of the table. The light seemed to waver on it.
What the hell was in this tea?
The three stayed up for the next few hours, discussing old times spent in Balamb. The potion numbed her wounds, and she could feel the swelling receding. Quistis found herself actually relaxing, whether from the warm tea or the company. It was a happy warmth that filled the room…one that the two young soldiers had not felt in far too long. Even Quistis' strange epiphanies about the old man vanished in light of another cup of the strange brew.
After awhile, however, both became conscious of the time. "Thanks for everything, Chu." Said Seifer, standing. "We've got to get going, though."
"Ah, no, Seifer, it is I who thank you." Said Chu, bowing. "It is lovely to meet you, Quistis. You think about what I said, yes?"
She nodded, smiling dazedly as she exited. Seifer rolled his eyes and helped her down the stairs. The girl had drunk far too much sake.
Chu turned back to Seifer, punching him in the arm as Seifer's hand rested on the door. "Baka! Hoshi wa te ni korobanai. Hoshi wo toraete ne?" He gestured at the young woman through the screen door.
Seifer just shook his head, smiling a little. "You're a meddling old bastard, Chu." He said, as the screen door slammed shut behind him.
"You think about it," called Chu after him, watching as the two young people disappeared from view. His eyes glinted crimson in the moonlight, and for a brief instant, the man in the doorway seemed to transcend the neon lights and dark alleyways around him.
He chuckled. The 'cycle' was already under way. The screen door banged shut behind him.
…
…
"Niveus. The white knight." She said quietly, gesturing up at a cluster of stars farther south.
The two walked along the beach, arms folded to keep out the cold. The ocean curdled under the moonlight, each wave capped with a sparkle of light from the stars.
"What?"
"Niveus." Repeated Quistis, gesturing with her fingertips along an arc with a few stars along a gently sloping diagonal. "And Xenus, his sword." She closed her eyes, getting a fleeting vision of being stretched out on a plaid picnic blanket, watching the stars, Matron and Seifer and Ellone beside her. She, Ellone, and Seifer were the night owls among the children, and Matron would sometimes take them outside for stargazing. Seifer was subdued during those times, not troubled, not angry…she'd enjoyed those times immensely.
Seifer followed her random gesture in the sky. "If you say so," he replied.
He doesn't remember…She tottered a little, nearly tripping over a piece of driftwood. "It's too dark out here."
He grinned. "No, you just had too much sake."
She glowered at him. "Well, it isn't as if either of you told me it was alcoholic until after I'd already had about four cups," she grumbled.
"Killed the bug up your ass, didn't it?"
She glared at him. It had killed her coordination as well.
"Oh come on, you had fun."
"I suppose, under the circumstances, I was mildly entertained." Quistis frowned as she glanced at her watch. "It's almost three in the morning." She sighed. "We've probably missed the train again."
"There'll be another one."
Quistis stopped, hands on hips. "Where are you getting all these trains from, anyway?"
"Supply trains," replied Seifer. "They're constantly winding from AmmuCorp all over the place. I always caught one of those back to Garden when I used to sneak out."
Quistis resumed walking. "Seifer Almasy, man of mystery," she mused, smiling. Seifer glanced over at her, noticing the slight chatter of her teeth. Small wonder, with her sweater nearly torn to shreds and sloping around her arms, baring her skin to the wind. He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. Instantly, she opened her mouth to protest, just as he knew she would, but he put up his hand.
"If you go into hypothermia, I'll have to carry you back. Think of it as practicality, not chivalry." He said, smiling. He had learned to persuade Quistis where it worked- reason, not sentiment.
"Fine, but don't start opening doors for me…I might have a heart attack." She muttered, only increasing his grin. "Where do you plan on catching this train?"
He pointed up the beach. "Though that park, along the beach. It comes by randomly, so be ready to run."
"You can't mean we're going train chasing!" she exclaimed.
"Don't think of it as train chasing…think of it as 'making our own transportation'."
"Oh, right, just like dying is really only relocating to basement property." She replied bitterly. "All in the interpretation, right?"
He laughed out loud at that one. "Oh, come on, Trepe, where's your sense of adventure?"
"I didn't drink that much sake," she grumbled.
"What a shame," he mused.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, Seifer looking thoughtfully out to sea and Quistis staring at the path ahead. They came to the park shortly after, and Quistis dropped down into a swing on a rusted swing set, tucking her feet under her while the rest of the trench coat spilled off the sides onto the grass. The empty swings clattered together, the ring of the chains eerie in the dark as that pair listened for the far off sound of a train. The wind was cold and hollow, whispering and howling through the grass and rusted metal.
It was a place that promoted remembering, and the memories themselves were less than warm.
"I blamed myself." She said, after a time, almost too quietly for him to hear.
He turned to look at her, the wind blowing his short blonde hair down onto his forehead. "What?"
She looked ahead, not sure why she was bringing it up but knowing that she had to. "That day on the train…to Timber. Before it all started. When you left. I…blamed myself. If I had been a better Instructor…I wouldn't have lost you."
He narrowed his eyes. "Nobody lost me but me, Trepe."
She shook her head. "I just couldn't help thinking…what if I had done something different? What if-"
"I'd have pushed you away harder. What the hell good is 'what if' Trepe? I made my own decisions, just like you made yours."
Quistis was silent, gripping the chains of the swings as she stared into the distance. "But, what if-"
Seifer glowered down at her. "Don't you think I wondered 'what if' every day for the last two years? Do you think if I could go back and do it differently now, I would? I wasted the last two years of my life on 'what if', and I'm probably just wasting my time here, but the hell else is there?"
"Where did you go?" she asked, quietly. "What did you do?"
He sighed, dropping into one of the swings beside her and resting his hands in his lap. "Everywhere. Nowhere." He muttered. "Did odd jobs. Slept on the ground. Screwed everything that offered. Tried to die, mostly." He looked at her.
"I never wished you that, even in your worst moments." She said quietly.
"You should have."
Why do you have to make this so hard, Quistis, he asked himself, glaring at her in the moonlight. Why the hell do you still believe in me, after all this time? Things would be so much easier…I could give up, finally…if you didn't believe in me…
He gripped the chains of the swing in an almost white-knuckle grip. "You're like Chu, aren't you? You think things happen for a reason and all that bullshit."
"Not exactly. I think there are reasons for the way things happen. Cause and effect." She replied.
He scoffed. "What, like a butterfly beats its wings and some guy's heart stops?"
"Something like that, although not nearly as random." Replied Quistis. "As a soldier…I think you have to believe that."
"Why?" It almost sounded like a challenge.
"Because if things were predestined, it wouldn't do any good to fight, would it?" Chu's words came back to her. Changing cycles….
He shrugged.
She looked curiously at him. "What do you think?"
"Who knows? People make decisions and shit happens. Maybe some people are meant to be heroes, and some people are meant to be failures." He tilted his head back, glaring up at the spread of stars, a stern expression on his face. For a moment, he could have been that young boy again, stargazing.
Quistis didn't have to guess which one Seifer considered himself.
"That sounds remarkably like fate," she replied.
Seifer shrugged. "Call it what you want. Like I said. People make decisions. If people really could go back and change what they did, the future would probably just figure out a new way of doing the exact same fucking thing anyway."
Quistis shook her head. "I don't believe in destiny. If there was really any such thing as destiny, then people theoretically wouldn't have the will to fight."
He chuckled, bitterly. "But that's hope, isn't it, Trepe? It gives people the illusion that they can change what's already set in motion. It gives them the will to fight, it doesn't validate their fighting. It doesn't make anybody a fucking hero. It just makes them a fool with delusions of grandeur."
She frowned. "Then why fight, Seifer?"
He shrugged. "Something to do."
Neither of them believed him.
It was strange, sitting here discussing philosophy with Seifer Almasy. It was a situation she certainly wouldn't have predicted years ago, when he sat in the back of her classroom making paper airplanes and falling asleep. Then again, perhaps things changed. She studied his profile in the moonlight.
And maybe, she thought, so do people.
"Do you think about the future, Seifer?" she asked.
His gaze never wavered from the stars. "Not anymore."
She pulled the lapels of the trench coat more securely around her. It smelled like Seifer, warm and male and a bit disconcerting in the way it made her senses react. It was a foreign feeling. "What was it like, when you did?"
He turned to look down at her, eyes defensive and his expression curious as to why she'd asked the question. Really, she didn't know herself. "I dunno. Probably screwing a lot of women and going out in a blaze of glory. Something stupid fucked up thing like that." His expression softened just slightly. "What about you, Trepe?"
"It's silly." She said, shaking her head. "You'll laugh."
"I won't." He said, looking solemn.
A pause. He was finally speaking with her; it was only fair she did the same. Plus, there was the fact that she was half-drunk and too removed to care. "All right." She agreed. "I don't know. I guess I always saw the 'future' as having my license back and having a house on the ocean someday for summer leaves. One with a back porch, and a dog that could sit at my feet at night."
"Looks like you already have the dog." He pointed out.
She laughed a little like that. "Yes, I suppose so. Not quite the dog I was expecting."
He was still looking at her, gaze intent. "What, no knight in shining armor in this future of yours?" he asked. "I always figured you for a romantic, Trepe."
Her smiled faded. "No."
"Why not?" He wasn't sure why it mattered, but it did.
No knight in shining armor was coming to save her….
No knight ever would…
She blinked. Her eyes met his. "Because it's silly to think that way," she replied tonelessly.
"Why?" he asked.
She looked away, and didn't respond. Her hands gripped the chain links of the swing tightly.
"Quistis."
He grabbed the chain of her swing suddenly, hauling her closer to him. Their sides touched, and she looked up at him, not exactly sure what she was expecting to find. His eyes were narrowed, just slightly, the green orbs intent and focused.
"Why is it silly to think that way?" he asked, softly, just inches from her.
A train whistle sounded in the distance, causing both to jump to attention. Without another word, Seifer grabbed her hand and pulled her up before he broke into a sprint, running through the empty playground with her behind him as the sound steadily approached. She stumbled unsteadily behind him, trying to gain her bearings as they raced along.
"Come on, Trepe!" he shouted, looking behind him, an almost gleefully boyish look on his face. "We've got a train to catch!"
…
…
"What an adorable dog!" exclaimed Arya, kneeling down to rub Cerberus underneath the chin.
Zell just rolled his eyes. Leave it to Arya to call a dog like that adorable. "Yeah, he sure is." He said, sitting down on his bed to remove his boots. Arya had gotten back from the mission around midnight, and had stopped by to say hello before she went to bed. So far though, the dog had gotten more attention than he had.
"Stay the night?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow and offering her the infamous Dincht grin that usually got him…well nothing, really. But it didn't hurt to use all of one's…one…asset.
She gave him a scrutinizing glare. "I don't like that look in your eye, Zell Dincht."
"Aw, come on, babe! To sleep!" he insisted, patting the spot beside him, still grinning.
Arya smiled. "All right. Let me go get my things from my room and I'll sneak back if I can, okay? Serabin's been a real stickler about curfew lately. I swear, the man doesn't sleep, he just roams the halls…"
"You have no idea." Agreed Zell.
Arya stooped down, giving him a quick kiss before she patted Cerberus and walked out the door, hitting the red button. Just as the door commenced closing, her eyes widened. "Zell Dinct! That had better not be my ribbo-"
Too late. The door had locked behind her.
Zell cringed. Arya was far too observant for his own good.
Suddenly, a lumbering object hopped onto the bed beside him, nearly knocking him off. Cerberus yawned, spattering drool all over Zell's pillow, then contentedly laid his massive head down on it.
Zell frowned. "Oh no, you're not sleeping here, dog." Shoving, he attempted to push the dog off the mattress-
And wound up on the floor himself.
Several more tries only yielded the same results, and finally, Zell gave up, taking the small sliver of mattress and blanket that the canine lummox wasn't taking up. Arya never returned, whether due to Serabin or the fact that he'd robbed her closet again, and Zell Dinct wound up spending the night with a 175 lb, dark-haired companion that snored and had breath like a waste treatment facility.
It was an improvement on some of his dates before Arya…however, a lumbering mongrel with dog breath was hardly an improvement from the lovely dark-haired girl that normally shared the small SeeD's mattress with him.
This day was a 24 hour train wreck, decided Zell, grasping his covers tightly to his chest as he rolled over and went to sleep.
…
…
"This is insane!" shouted Quistis, doing her best to keep up with Seifer and keep track of the train as it thundered past him. "You're insane!"
Seifer didn't hear her or chose to ignore her, however, and turned back to gesture back at a red car that was approaching far too fast. "This one!" he shouted. The thunder of the wheels was making it difficult to think, and Hyne, she was beginning to hate trains. The wheels were cranking along below, and she knew slipping would be like falling head first into a meat grinder, and why, oh why, did she drink so much sake-
Before she could protest Seifer's cabin choice, however, he saw the red car pass, too fast, and Seifer take a nearly suicidal leap aboard. Without thinking, she lunged. Her coordination was off, timing was off-
Not enough momentum. She was going to fall-
Something grabbed her and she tumbled forward, crashing against the side of the car. She opened her eyes to see Seifer grinning up at her, still breathing hard underneath her.
Seifer panted. "Never knew you liked to be on top, Trepe."
"Seifer Almasy," she shouted, pummeling him in the chest, "Of all the stupid things-"
He rolled to his feet from under her, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Fun, wasn't it?"
She glared at him, spitting hair out of her mouth. "NO!"
He got to his feet, walking over to the edge of the car and settling down on the edge, dangling his feet off of the side. He was chuckling, patting the area next to him. "Come on, Trepe, live a little!"
She approached the side of the car, looking uneasily at the spinning ground below. "Your version of living is too close to death for my liking. This train had better go to Garden."
"Oh, it does. And you know what the best part is?"
"I'm afraid to ask," replied Quistis dryly, gripping the side rail of the car door tightly, the metal cold against her hand.
His smile never wavered. "We still have to get off."
Grumbling, she sat down beside him, still gripping the door. "So help me Hyne, Seifer Almasy, if I die on this damned train I will come back to haunt you every waking moment of the rest of your life."
"Even in the shower?"
Quistis rolled her eyes in response. "I said I'd haunt you, not myself."
"Har har."
"Is your mind always in the gutter?" she snapped.
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
She glared at him in response, still maintaining her death grip on the boxcar's handle.
"Let go, Trepe," he insisted, chuckling. "Just enjoy the view."
Still concentrating on her balance and the earth whirling past her underneath her feet, she managed to glance up for a moment, and caught her breath at the beauty. The ocean stretched out in front of them with starlight spilled across it, and the grasses in the now open fields outside Balamb seemed to whisper in the wind.
Here, sitting next to Seifer under a traveling moon, it was like gazing out at the orphanage sky again, this time with slightly tainted eyes. And if they had not been children even then, they were certainly less so now. Seifer gazed at the stars like an old man at nearly twenty-one, harboring more regrets in his young years than most old men could have gathered in a lifetime.
She saw a faint glimmer in his eyes and watched as the wind tousled his hair like stalks of golden wheat, the bullion wisps streaked with moonlight. She glanced at him, and for once, did not see the glaring scar that marked all that was bad in him or the self-defensive smirk held up like a shield to repel others.
Just Seifer.
His eyes were like an emerald mercury in the shadows of twilight, a swimming, unstable jewel that glittered in the dark. His lips were turned up in the faintest of a smile, and she knew he was remembering something, some far away sunlight tucked deep within the dark of his memories. He should smile like that more often. It was a real smile, not the smirk he put up to mask himself from the world. It must have been how he had smiled before everything, before the orphanage and before the war, how he had smiled at a family that loved him, or at memories that had been pleasant and warm.
His eyes were half closed, arms folded across his knees bent at the edge of the train, and his feet braced on the rail. Both of them unguarded, she was free to look past him, to delve behind the scars and actually read his posture rather than his markings. Seifer Almasy's scars had always preceded him, but now, to look at him, he seemed only a man, not the monster or a rebel she had once constructed in her mind.
She pushed herself back from the edge of the boxcar, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning against the cold metal side of the car, the feeling of exhaustion overtaking her. Sighing, she lifted the edge of the jacket up enough so that her wrist pressed against the cool metal of the train, easing the burning in her arm that was the result of her panicked casting attempt.
Her eyes slid almost shut, the light, elusive feeling of an almost-calm settling over her like a piece of tissue paper. The light, familiarly disturbed sleep of a mercenary. Seifer would wake her when the train neared Garden, and would do so with more warning than with which he'd boarded the train this time. Either that, or she'd choke the life out of him in keeping with the years she'd already lost off of hers aboard the rusting vessel.
What a day.
She settled her head down, her cheek cupped in her fist as her eyes shut the rest of the way. The train rumbled beneath her, soothing like a heartbeat, and her last coherent thoughts were of Chu's words to her.
If life balanced on the oscillation of a single heartbeat…
These past few beats of her own had cost her dearly, she feared.
…
…
…
Seifer's thoughts, contrary to Quistis' belief, were not far away from the red boxcar. Quite close, in fact.
He knew what it felt like to lose one's purpose, to feel the tether snap of intention burst like an artery and sail up in the wind like a lost kite, dripping life at a staggering pace. He had watched hope sail up like a balloon, and wished it gone forever. Now, suddenly, by some miracle of Hyne knew what, he found the string returned to him, some ethereal kite pulling him towards something…towards sunlight, towards the promise of what might be happiness amidst all the chaos of his young life, of what exactly he didn't have a fucking clue. But it didn't feel like dread anymore, whatever it was. Some purpose was waiting for him, but the kite string still held no kite. He couldn't place it…not yet.
Not quite a new lease on life, but someday was a start.
He sighed, taking hold of the rail as the train banked around another curve and making sure that Trepe didn't roll out.
What a long day. Looking back on it made little to no sense. They'd found out virtually nothing about the children, and yet, he was more suspicious than ever. It didn't make sense. And the IGCS…well, it was almost as if someone knew they were coming…but that was impossible. The mission briefing was compiled at the last second, and the operative was dispatched a day early. It didn't make sense that anyone were expecting them, unless there was an inside informant.
But that, too, seemed impossible. B. Garden traced all its communications. It would have a record of any and all communications wired to the IGCS system, and any inside leaks would quickly be discovered. Unless the systems themselves were corrupt, which was also impractical. IGCS was a self-contained system, with all software generated within and pertinent to the communications systems itself. It was an independently functioning medium between Garden transmitting systems. Unless Galbadia or Trabia had tricked the switch, or had inside informants…
There were too many possibilities. It would take forever to sort through them, and by that time, who knew what those responsible could accomplish.
Seifer sighed. He was too tired to be trying to sort through this coherently. The wind was getting even colder, and he found himself shivering a little. He backed up further into the train car, folding up his legs underneath his chin. The blood on the side of his head was completely dry, and his sweater stank of beer and the stale scent of bar. His belly was almost painfully full from Chu's place.
Just like old times. And yet, far from them.
He gazed over at Quistis, who was plastered against the side of the rickety boxcar, eyes shut and supposedly asleep. He couldn't be sure, though. As an upper-level SeeD, Quistis had completed all advanced training, which included staying awake for 72 hours at a time and retaining at least sixty percent of her functions as a capable soldier. Still, she looked exhausted. The bruises and cuts were nothing a few more potion infusements wouldn't clear up, but for now, she looked pretty banged up.
She'd be fine. Trepe was a survivor. Even when he'd hated her the most, he'd granted her that.
He'd granted her so little over the years…
He thought back to Quistis' reluctant admittance of her plans for the future. He'd been surprised that she'd even spoken them- two years past he was hard pressed to find a conversation with Ms. Trepe that hadn't involved the words 'detention' or 'Squall'. Quistis was not all the same girl she had been as a child- knowing her now was knowing a completely different person. It was…an interesting process getting to know Quistis Trepe, to say the least. Not an easy one, but maybe one worth the effort. He hadn't decided yet.
Beneath all those layers, Quistis was weak. Weak, because she needed others. He had always known that. She had so many things she pretended to be- so many charades she supported from day to day. At her core, she was uncertain, lonely, and tired of being both. Years ago, he would have hated her for that- exploited her. But now, he found himself just as tired, and wondering if Quistis' pretended strength wasn't still strength in some strange way.
True, years ago, he would have scoffed at her dreams- a house on the ocean with a porch swing and a slobbering mongrel was simple-minded and at the bottom rung of the ambition ladder, not at all the ambition he would have chalked her up for. And yet, those things had a certain quiet appeal to them now, after everything he'd been through. He stared out of the moving train, and let himself try on the dreams of Quistis Trepe.
They fit surprisingly well.
A house, one with creaking floor boards to fix and a roof to re-shingle. A truck with all the payments made and a dog to hang its head out the window on the passenger side with the window rolled down. A back porch that caught the salt spray of the ocean and squeaked a little on well-used hinges.
He glanced at the woman across from him, who was now sound asleep, and wondered again at the absence of a knight in her white ocean castle. He tried on that mantle, for a moment, trying to fit himself into the mold as someone's husband and protector, but the thought was strange, stifling. It was as frightening as it was foreign.
He had never been the knight in shining armor that seemed to fit Squall so well. His suit had always been tarnished, awkward. His sword had never been raised for anything but his own vain glory.
He was an unfit knight. He always had been.
He sighed. What the hell. It was only dreaming. He'd think all this fairy tale shit tonight, and discard it in the morning. Hope held too long was like eating fire. It was a taste whose warmth didn't last, even if the burns did.
Just for tonight then. Then he'd let it go.
He stared back out at the landscape, sorting through the futures in his head, sorting them out like sample color tiles on a blank white wall.
A backyard, with a garden. A screen door that banged shut, but didn't slam. Maybe a couple trees, and a pantry with no damned TV dinners in it.
No corn fields for miles around.
And maybe even a pretty girl to dream with him by the ocean.
One that would stay.