Chapter VII – Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts
A/N: Sorry to my few readers for the late update. It's been a really bad two and a half weeks. Started a new job (I don't handle change well) right after my dog passed away so I'm not in the best state of mind at the moment. In fact I'm really struggling.
Senhorita Caroline - Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're liking the story so far.
The backstage manager was pacing all around by his chair
"There's something funny going on," he said, "I can just feel it in the air."
He went to get the hanging judge but the hanging judge was drunk
As a leading actor hurried by in the costume of a monk
There was no actor anywhere better than the Jack of Hearts
"Damn Chicken-Wuss, you weren't lying!" Seifer said brightly as he and Zell stood in the lobby of the White Centra Bay resort hotel.
Zell bristled for a moment and then his posture softened. "Yeah, it's pretty nice ain't it!" he beamed. He wanted to be irritated, but some part of him simply wouldn't allow it in a place like this. They had just arrived by boat – Zell and Seifer and Quistis. She was just catching up to them now, having taken a minute longer to get ready that morning and another minute longer to square away her baggage which was now being taken up to her room by the porter. Neither Zell nor Seifer had seen her yet today, and now she walked up in a pair of platform sandals, a bright red skirt which hung to just below her knees, and a ribbed white tank top. Her blonde hair hung straight and flat to just above her shoulders. She'd gotten a haircut she was rather proud of before they boarded the ship from Balamb town, but had hidden it thus far with a bun and wide-brimmed hat. This morning though, she decided, she would unveil it. To whom? She didn't know. Maybe to Zell and Seifer who she knew she would see probably before any of the others. Maybe to a waiter or bartender she had imagined to be swarthy and tall and long and lean. For now though she was content simply to know that she looked good. Very good.
"Instructor!" Seifer said in a sing-song voice, drawing out the third syllable and adding a touch of vibrato. "You look beautiful, honey," he kissed her on the cheek.
"Thanks," she giggled.
"Uh, yeah," Zell blushed, having noticed for his part that Quistis possessed a certain kind of uncommon pheromonal magnetism. "You look really nice." He recalled an article he had once read about some men having an instinctive sense of when a woman was most fertile, and wondered if maybe that were at play now. Nonetheless, he had a comfortable platonic dynamic with Quistis – one which he didn't intend to attempt to change. But he was still a man. He shifted uncomfortably and adjusted his cargo shorts.
"Thanks, Zell," she smiled, failing to register on any level that there might be anything but innocent intentions or impulses behind Zell's comment. "Are the others here yet?"
"I don't know," Zell said, "I guess let's ask the front desk when we check in," he shrugged.
"Sounds like as good a plan as any," Quistis responded, and made for the front desk with Zell and Seifer close behind. The clack of Seifer's cane against the tile floor was loud in the peacefulness of the hotel lobby. Whatever odd moment had been occurring a moment before was gone, and there was only comfortable friendship between them now. Mostly because Zell's male gaze had passed from Quistis to the receptionist who was a handsome redhead in a form-fitting white blouse.
'We need to get him laid this week,' Seifer was thinking to himself, sighing internally having noticed the flush in Zell's cheeks and the stiffening in his posture when Quistis had walked up looking like a shiny new diamond, and now the glances that he was he was stealing of the receptionist. It was too bad Zell didn't like boys, Seifer thought somewhat longingly.
"Checking in?" the handsome redhead asked with that forced smile that service workers have to give.
"Yes, Trepe," Quistis smiled back. "And there should also be rooms ready for Almasy and Dincht."
The receptionist's fingers went blazing over the keyboard – she was clearly a trained typist. "Yes, your rooms are ready." She took a trio of plastic keycards from a cubby hole under the counter and swiped them through a device beside the monitor, typing a bit between each swipe. Then she tucked each one into its own paper sleeve and wrote something on the front and back. She set the filled sleeves down on the counter and said "Please enjoy your stay!" On each sleeve on the side facing up was a name – Trepe, Almasy, and Dincht. "Your room numbers are on the other side of the sleeve," she added.
"Wonderful," Quistis replied and took the key that had her name. "Oh, and hey," she added, "do you have recent check-ins for Leonhart or Kinneas?"
"Hmm," the receptionist pursed her lips, and typed some more. "Wait, you're…" she paused. "Oh my gosh, I thought your names sounded familiar," her forehead creased as her eyebrows drew up in surprise.
Quistis raised one long pale finger to her lips, the corners of her mouth curling upward.
"Of course," the receptionist looked serious. "But don't worry. This is a very exclusive resort, as I'm sure you know. No one will be bothering you."
"Sure," Quistis nodded.
"I for one wouldn't mind if they did," Seifer turned his chin up. "I'm in desperate need of some action."
"Wait, which one are you?" the receptionist asked. "You're not Squall Leonhart…" she cocked her head. "Zell?"
"I'M Zell!" Zell spoke up, thumping himself on the chest. "He's Seifer Almasy!" he added. Surely she would remember that Zell had saved the world and that Seifer had been the bad guy when he did it.
"Oh," the receptionist blushed. "I thought Zell Dincht would be… taller I guess."
The color drained from Zell's face. Quistis suppressed a laugh. Seifer didn't – he laughed openly, so much that he almost fell over.
"I'm plenty tall!" Zell shook. "Tall enough to save the world from this jerkoff!" he turned to Seifer who was now fumbling with his cane, blind with tears.
"Zell, Zell, Zell," Seifer was wiping his eyes. Quistis bit her knuckles now to stop from joining in. "I'm not competition for the affections of the pretty receptionist," Seifer went on.
"Competition!?" Zell spat.
"Yes, now shut up," Seifer responded. "Listen," he turned to the receptionist, "my friend Zell hasn't had a date in possibly years now. He fancies you. I'm gay, so you can forget about a date with me. But would you consider one with him? Really how could you resist – look at that jawline!"
Seifer reached out and playfully caressed Zell under the cheek while fluttering his eyelashes at the receptionist before Zell swatted his hand angrily away. The hard blue metal knuckle of Ehrgeiz met the back of Seifer's hand with a sharp crack.
"Ow! That hurt, you shit!" Seifer scolded.
For a moment Zell stood fuming, but then the receptionist blushed and whispered, "Okay, I'll go…" and instead he was dumbstruck. "Get the fuck outta here…" Zell whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.
"How does eight o'clock tonight sound?" Seifer smirked, leaning with his elbow on the counter. He had already forgiven Zell for the bruise that would undoubtedly be left on the back of his hand.
"Um, well…" the receptionist looked down, trying to hide her ever more reddening cheeks. "I don't get off until eighty thirty. What… what about, like, nine? Meet here?" Zell couldn't speak and instead only nodded in stunned silence.
"He'll be here," Seifer promised, grabbed his key as well as Zell's, then turned and lay a hand richly on Zell's shoulder. "Come on Chicken-Wuss, we have, oh…" he glanced down at his watch as he shepherded Zell towards the elevators where one was waiting, "three hours to get you looking pretty for your date. The money some people would pay for a wingman like me," he mused aloud as the elevator doors closed behind them.
Quistis, who had been watching the pair's departure attentively, flicked her gaze now back to the receptionist. "You're not going to stand him up are you?"
"No!" the receptionist said, trying to look professional. Then she smiled sheepishly. "He's… kinda cute, actually."
"Right, so about those check-ins for Leonhart or Kinneas?" Quistis remembered. Things had gotten a little bit derailed there for a minute.
"Oh! Yeah, let me check," the receptionist replied, and typed some more. "No, sorry. Nothing yet."
"That's alright, when they do show up will you ask them to meet me at, uhm…" she paused, and then looked behind her, then off to the right opposite the elevators where breakfast was served in the mornings. Not what she was looking for. "What's the best restaurant at the resort that's the least amount of hassle?"
"Uhm, well…" the receptionist thought, "There's Dorsia but they're booked up on reservations for the entirety of your stay."
Quistis blinked. "Must be really nice then?"
"It's, ehhh," the receptionist shrugged. "The food is weird. Steamed Gyhsal salad with Geezard aioli, Mezmerize tartare, Cactaur cheese. It's gimmicky, like they're trying to be as out there and weird as possible. The clientele falls for it though, seems like rich people will pay for things just because they're expensive and sound exotic. I mean…" her eyes got wide as she realized her mistake.
"It's alright," Quistis laughed. "You're not wrong. I'm not rich anyway." That wasn't strictly true. Quistis was paid very well by Garden. But there was a difference between having money and being rich – in her mind anyway.
"Sure," the receptionist breathed a sigh of relief. "So yeah, Dorsia is out. Maybe…" she thought for a moment and then her face brightened. "Monjuni's!"
"Monjuni's?" Quistis sounded interested.
"It's right next to the hotel, super easy. And there's always at least a table or two," she explained.
"I hope that's not a bad omen," Quistis noted.
"No, not at all. It's just flown under the radar," the receptionist defended her suggestion.
"Okay, I trust you. What kind of food?" Quistis asked.
"North Galbadian. The head chef was kind of a big deal in Deling City before he came here, if I'm not mistaken," the receptionist said.
"Alright. When the others get here, pass me a message," Quistis requested. "Tell them dinner is on me, at Monjuni's, at eight. And tell Seifer too, if you see him again."
"Sure, no problem," the receptionist smiled.
"Oh, and good luck," Quistis added.
"Good luck… What for?" the receptionist was puzzled.
"Uhm… not for you, exactly," she giggled. "Consider it a good luck for Zell."
The receptionist was left blushing again as Quistis walked away to the elevator.
About an hour later, the Ragnarok touched down a couple kilometers east of the border of the resort town. A sleek black Garden car rolled off its unfurled boarding ramp.
"Where to now, Headmaster?" the driver asked from the front seat.
"I don't know man, I've never been here before," Squall answered from the back.
"We're goin' into the resort town, right? 'Less somebody had other plans…" Irvine piped up.
"That's okay sir. Where would you like me to go?" the driver came back.
"I don't know the way," Squall said again.
"No problem sir. Which direction?" the driver smiled.
"I DON'T KN-" Squall started to snap but Selphie grabbed his arm.
"That way!" Selphie pointed forward, where the low skyline of the resort town waited.
"Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am," the driver answered and put the car in gear. They rolled toward the resort town and the driver was quiet for awhile.
"So why are we gettin' the VIP treatment and not the commanders?" Irvine asked.
Squall scoffed low in his throat. "Don't even bring Zell and Quistis up to me right now. I'm not happy with them."
"Understandable," Irvine held his chin and cocked his head in acknowledgement.
"What about Seifer though?" Selphie chimed in. Squall was deadpan. Selphie turned a hand up, shook her head and rolled her eyes before dropping it into her lap, and didn't ask again.
"You could have at least picked up Rinoa though!" Irvine said. "Nevermind, I'm sorry," he added before Squall had a chance to get mad. Outwardly, anyway.
Then the driver spoke up again. They were in the resort town now – which looked somewhat like Balamb but much more expensive. "Which way to the hotel, Headmaster?"
"I don't know which way the hotel is," Squall answered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"No problem sir. Can you direct me to where it might be located?" the driver smiled.
"No, because I don't know where it is," Squall rose his voice.
"Of course sir. Can you tell me which turns to take?" the driver continued.
"Stop the car," Squall said.
"Excuse me? I-"
"Stop the car!" Squall repeated, and the car came to a screeching halt in front of the hotel. It was a tall building – the tallest in town by far – and across the front on the street side were emblazoned the words "White Centra Bay Resort Hotel."
"Right here," Squall said flatly, and opened his door to get out. Irvine got out the opposite side, and Selphie followed him having sat in the middle. They retrieved their bags from the car and then it and the annoying driver were off back to the Ragnarok which would return to Garden until it was time to leave again.
"Hyne fuck," Squall remarked after the car had pulled off.
"Who WAS that driver?" Selphie asked.
"I don't know," Squall shook his head, "we just hired him recently. Think his name is Biggs."
"Biggs?" Irvine asked. "I've heard that name before.
"Eh, doesn't matter," Squall waved it off and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. Selphie and Irvine followed him into the lobby and up to the front desk where the same redhead in the same fitted white blouse was waiting. Squall gave her a discrete once-over with his eyes as he approached.
"Checking in?" she asked.
"Leonhart," Squall answered. "And Kinneas," he added, gesturing to his companions.
"Oh! Mr. Squall," the receptionist looked excited and Squall drew back a little bit with eyebrows raised. "I have a message!" she continued. "Ms. Trepe would like you to join her for dinner at Monjuni's, her treat."
"Uh, thank you," Squall turned to Irvine and Selphie, then back to the receptionist. "All three of us?"
"Yes sir, and also your friend Seifer, if anyone sees him," she answered.
Squall's expression turned not quite sour but more blank and unreadable, or at least he hoped. "He's not my friend," he said.
"Ah, um… Sorry," the receptionist swallowed.
"Don't worry about it one bit," Irvine said and shuffled in closer to the chest-high desk. He leaned over it on one elbow in almost the exact same spot as Seifer had done an hour earlier. "You're doing a great job you know," Irvine gave her a folksy smile. Then "OW!" as Selphie kicked him in his Achilles tendon for flirting.
"Are you ok?" the receptionist asked, and leaned over the desk herself to observe Irvine who had collapsed into a sitting heap and was massaging his smarting ankle.
"He's fine!" Selphie said brightly.
"Right," the receptionist said, unconvinced, and turned her attention to the computer where she started to prepare the trio's key cards.
"So wait," Selphie started. The silence – Squall was moping and Irvine was still quietly groping his Achilles – had given her some space to think. "The three of us, Quistis, and Seifer. That leaves Rinoa and Zell. What gives?"
"Rinoa," the receptionist looked up and to the left. "Rinoa Leonhart? The ambassador? There's a second room under Leonhart, that must be her. Is… is she your wife?" she looked to Squall.
Squall was facing the other way, staring out the side door where the indoor breakfast dining area turned into the dining patio which turned into the beach. He took a deep, visible breath. Selphie and Irvine were both frantically shaking their heads, and silently signaling "NO." Squall turned around and they both stopped and tried to look innocent. Selphie kicked absently at the carpet and Irvine pretended to be fascinated with the architecture.
"Uhm… she's invited too was my understanding. I'll be passing the same message to her," the receptionist half-stammered.
"So that leaves Zell," Selphie looked confused.
"Hmm…" the receptionist thought it over whether she should say much more. "Zell has another engagement," she said.
"Great," Squall said, disinterested. "Can I go to my room?" Squall replied.
"Yes sir, sorry," she said, and gestured to the three paper sleeves laying on the counter. "You're good to go, all of you."
"Thanks," Squall said flatly, collected his key, and went to the elevator.
Irvine frowned at the receptionist. "Sorry," he said.
"Wait, what other engagement?" Selphie asked.
"Uh…" the receptionist was cornered.
"What?" Selphie laughed. "Why are you acting so funny? It's not like you're… going on a date with him or something."
There was an awkward silence, and then Irvine burst into laughter. "Atta boy, Zell! Get you some, son!"
"IRVY!" Selphie was outraged.
"What? What? I'm just… I'm happy for him!" Irvine was still laughing.
"Let's go!" Selphie huffed, and grabbed Irvine by the hand, and they were off.
The receptionist took a deep breath. There was still one of these nutcases to go.
Rinoa came around a half-hour later, via the small airport at the outskirts of the resort town, and a taxi besides. She came in already dressed the part – high heeled sandals that made her seem much taller than she actually was, a two piece bathing suit covered only partially by a thin white ankle-length skirt and a lacy poncho. Her raven hair was tied into a high messy ponytail. She had changed into this getup at the airport after landing. She wouldn't have flown this way – she wasn't insane – but she had imagined a few different times arriving at the hotel and turning heads. Maybe one or two heads in particular.
"Checking in?" the receptionist asked with a smile.
"Yes, thank you. Leonhart," Rinoa answered.
"Rinoa!" the receptionist yelled, louder than she intended. She was a little embarrassed after the fact. She had been excited for this moment since she realized who would be checking in to the second Leonhart room.
"Yeah!" Rinoa laughed. "How did you know my name?"
"You're the Timber ambassador to Galbadia, right? I'm from Timber. We all appreciate the work you're doing… But anyway, Ms. Trepe left a message for you. She would like you to join her and the others at Monjuni's for dinner at eight!" the receptionist explained.
"Oh, wow," Rinoa was touched. "Thank you. I've been passionate about helping the people of Timber since… Well, since I was a kid I guess. Anyway, if you see Quistis again tell her I'll be there. But for right now can I get into my room?" She was a little disappointed the scene she had imagined her walk-in to be hadn't come to pass. That was ok – there was still the restaurant.
"Of course!" the receptionist slapped herself mentally, and prepared Rinoa's key card.
"Thank you," Rinoa said. "Oh and where is this… Monjuni's?"
"Out the front door, to the right. It's one building over," the receptionist explained. "You probably saw it on the way in."
"Oh, yeah. Kind of a small place?" Rinoa asked.
"Not too big, but not tiny," the receptionist answered.
"Mhm," Rinoa said, and took her key. "What's your name?"
"Isis," the receptionist answered.
"Thank you Isis, and remember to vote," Rinoa smiled, and turned toward the hallway where her first floor room waited.
"Always!" Isis called after her. Timber elections were coming up, and if the incumbent didn't win there was a distinct possibility the ambassador to Galbadia would be looking for a new job shortly after inauguration day.
To Be Continued...