Broken Mirror
act one - shatter
V - of eden
This isn't Burger King. You can't have it your way.
-- Oz
If you listen to the poets, they'll tell you that a big, bad event in someone's life changes them. If you lose the woman you love or your legs, you suddenly find a kind of beauty inside yourself. That's what they say, the poets. Truth is, you don't. After a big, bad event, you only become more of the person you already were.
-- Oz
***
Quistis Trepe.
The new incarnation of his sorceress, embodiment of his dreams, and catalyst for the formation of a better world. Beautiful, chosen, and ultimate heir to something more important than a throne. The power for revolution - or was that restoration? Ability granted at the dawn of tie to fulfill the crusade for a perfect world, embodied in a perfect being. Faithful, wise, enchanting, and the only companion - the only purpose - that one could ever need.
And it was Quistis Trepe.
How fucked up was that?
It wasn't like she wasn't pretty - hell, her loser fanclub had provided some entertainment for his posse on more than one occasion. And she did fill out that pink vest thing pretty well - though far from he pale exotic that his Mistress had been. But Seifer would be damned if she wasn't the most foolish, ignorant cow he'd ever met. Wandering around trying to "bond" with the students and pissing him off at any available opportunity just to be that bitch Leonhart's love slave. Pathetic drooling bitch of a puppydog followed stupid femmy leather-boy around all the time.
The teacher looked pathetic, draped in her four-poster bed like a rotting vegetable. That ever-so perfect blonde hair had turned a darker, uglier shade draped over off-white pillows. The palace staff who'd found themselves in the midst of an army brought them. Smart of them.
What had his Sorceress seen in her, to consider her of all people worthy? There was no way in hell that Her Royal Highness Ice-Queen Trepe would back up Seifer with the power he wanted, in the role that was proper. The mistress that the world needed just as much as it needed a Knight. Just the way things were, that. And that bitch would sooner play her little punk-ass headgames with all the poor little kiddy students than play any relevant role in society. He saw how she got off al making them all dependent on her - sickening, that a Sorceress would take such pleasure from something so petty.
Edea had been off guard. He should have been on it, but he faltered. An unforgivable mistake, but a Knight did penance as was required. Perhaps...
Perhaps his Sorceress hadn't been able to find someone else in time. Perhaps she'd just needed a shall .. why else would 'Trepe-Teacher" be comatose right now?
His Sorceress hadn't known what to do, so she'd taken the obvious rout and left things to her Knight. Of course. Of course!
The air in the room was as stagnant as the faded luxury of antique furniture and a husk of a woman. And it was going to stay that way. Why turn on the lights, let in the sunshine, or coax a breeze to enter? Quistis Trepe was unworthy - Mistress Edea had seen that. She'd put the beauty to sleep so that he could pick a suitable replacement. Someone free of the taint of Squall Leonhart, that passion for self-indulgence and useless apathy that plagued humanity.
And, straitening himself after brushing back the immobile woman's flaxen hair, Seifer had an idea. Only smart little boys make it into the gunblade program, you know.
The light brightened and, reflected, brought a glimmer to blue eyes as the White Knight entered tastefully lit hallways. Everything was going to be perfect.
And perfect is forever.
***
It was mid-afternoon when Seifer called her. Mid-afternoon when Fujin's heart collapsed in a pathetic pile of goo out of relief. Mid-afternoon when the students were finally organized into rudimentary squadrons. Mid-afternoon when she was able to stop standing with that usual ramrod posture and retreat to Martine's office and a comfortably decadent armchair for the news.
It was mid-afternoon, and the living was easy.
But the living is never easy. So that was probably just denial.
Seifer had taken the city without a hitch - although she still didn't know what the bloody game he was playing. He was fine, he said. Repeatedly, though she'd at least had the self-control to only ask once.
Everything was okay. Yup. Just keep repeating that and it might end up true. The albino felt like a self-help tape, Raijin, or possibly an unholy combination of the two. Bloody hell, she could see it now. Next up in the Garden gossip mill - the decline and fall of Fujin Asher. Once a dedicated enforcer, now resorting to new-age meditation and healing mantras to soothe her poor, aching heart of the rigors of true love.
... even when he'd been up half the night killing people he looked damn sexy. Maybe even more so. Eyes half lidded, hair kind of mussed in a way that would be inexcusable for her but managed to make him look kind of adorable and if he knew a word of what she was thinking he'd gut her.
So she stopped thinking it. Pointlessness.
A sunbeam wandered in through windows which had been recently freed of thick brocade. There would have been dust motes in any other room to occupy here eye, but Martine had been scrupulously clean. Upon further inspection it seemed that few clouds a few clouds were scattered here and there to disturb the stereotypical cheeriness of it all. Just as well, all in all. The sky can't fool the wind, and for every silver lining there's a dark cloud.
So he wanted to see her in person tomorrow. The knight had seemed almost disappointed in his triumph, trademark grin missing a little something. Was it the death? He'd never been one to mope about like that but the blonde had been so different lately. Maybe something about his new sorceress was upsetting. Possibly both. He was uncharacteristically off balance, though, if the commander read him right. And she always read him right. Shit. The worst thing was that it all came back to those damned Sorceresses. The silver haired soldier was bloody tired of them. A pain in the ass - reminding her of what she'd never be with all that mysticism bullshit. At least until her trip to the city the pale commander could nurse fantasies of the new 'mistress' being some sixty-year old hag.
There were creases of palest pink where the woman had been leaning on an oaken desk. Scars of time that never hurt, never deform, never heal, and serve as cruel reminder or badge of endurance. Dammit, she had to stop being some useless brooding loser like Squall Leonhart and...
"Commander, I have two young men here who demanded to see the leader of the Garden."
A student mercenary's voice intruded on her inner monologue. Good.
"Headmas... " the leader of the two trailed off, jaw possibly more frozen than usual. It pained her to admit it, but the man was probably as good as she was in that department. The other, shorter entrant looked as if he'd been caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Or maybe like a fish. Yes - a weak, helpless, slobbering, too-stupid-to-outwit-Raijin fish.
Which was pretty damn bad, for even a barnyard fowl. Seifer would owe her for weeks if the security camera was on...
Or at least the Seifer she hoped to see tomorrow would.
"Welcome to my Garden," said the spider to the flies. It was decided in that moment that she'd have to use full sentences more often - any anxiety about doing so conveniently forgotten for pride's sake. Making chicken-wuss' eyes bug out like that was worth it.
***
"We gotta keep moving - those Seifer guys look mega pissed off. You think we should go to your Garden and meet up with Zell?"
Irvine, surprisingly, nodded. He'd been kinda spaced out for a while, but that wasn't really surprising. You know - with the whole assassination thing last night and all. Sweet of him to burst in and help her, even if she coulda froze all of those losers in their tracks. But hey - when a cute guy like Irvine Kinneas decides to play knight in shining armor who's going to complain?
Poor guy. Prolly all upset about how the whole killing thing turned out. Not his fault, though - he'd done his job, right? So she'd have to cheer him up!
And if anyone could cheer a guy up while soaked in blood and hiding from half of an angry mob, it was Selphie Tilmitt Self-proclaimed SeeD morale officer du jour and all around great company.
'Sides, then she didn't have to mull over how much this whole situation sucked and get all depressed. Or be all broody like Squally 'cause her friends weren't around. Who likes a girl like that? Not people looking for kids to adopt- that's for damn sure. No wonder she didn't get taken as a kid.
"Soooo... let's go shopping first!"
Clinging to his arm like a limpet wasn't a bad start - everyone like a good friendly pseudo-hug, right? Right! And her plan was sooooo gonna work.
" ... hunh?' he was cute when he was flustered.
"There's blood all over my dress - and that's hyper-conspicuous! We gotta get us some disguise type stuff to get past all those loser Seifer follower people," keeping up a screen of sunny chatter, Selphie started to steer the young man away from the street corner where they had been standing.
"Ummm... okay. I guess we won't be able to go anywhere if they stop us."
"Exactly! Damn, Irvy.. this is gonna be so cool! Premium weapon and clothing merchandise form the best stores on the continent," Selphie prouced a cheerful wink while tightening her hold, " and you can bet that there'll be some 'unclaimed' merchandise with all the looting from that riot. Booyaka!"
When you're learning about Guardian Forces, there's something they tell you. Well, not all of 'you', but the 'you' that signifies all the magical fighting types. The others just need a few basic heals and some junction skills - no big. But when a large percentage of your mind is going to be taken up by an alien thingamabeing, you've gotta take precautions. Keep a part of yourself separate from that, so that they can't take your personality and shoot it all to weirdness. 'Cause with whacked stuff like that in your skull, you have to keep control. Keep separate.
"Sure. I can take us to the main strip, before we leave."
Keep it happy.
Keep yourself happy.
"Great! You are soo gonna love the coat I want to find for you. Gawd, I saw it when we were at the weapons store and.."
Selphie Tilmitt was a damn good magic user.
And when she lead her prize away, it was from a smoking crater full of dead bodies. Used to be Carroway manor, but hey, what's a girl to do when there's evidence to be covered up? The pigeons were already starting to land and pick at things, and she was a bit tired from summoning down Siren, but it would be all good. It didn't smell that bad, after all.
Couldn't have any evidence of Seed involvement. Nononooooo... the profs at Trabia didn't raise any fools.
It was a beautiful day, wasn't it? Selphie started to giggle. It was kinda cool, finally getting to use all those boring lessons.
***
It was midnight in the Garden.
Zell, being Zell, was running about punching air and loudly observing obvious facts to the chagrin of the rest of the class.
"Geeze, Squall...we gotta get the hell outta here!"
Squall, being Squall, was slouched and brooding. You too can swim to never-never land - just think depressing thoughts.
"... whatever."
Sometimes being imprisoned can be a scarring experience. Any nation, any time, any place, there is bound to be a trapped mass of coagulated humanity ready to assimilate or kill. Being incarcerated in the former Galbadia Garden Disciplinary Room was hardly the same thing. There was a fridge in the corner, and somebody had left behind a potted plant - though why on earth the disciplinary committee would need a potted plant was beyond him. They obviously weren't all that disciplined.
There were only chairs to sleep on - unless one preferred the steel grating that passed for a floor. But what did Squall Leonhart care for that? He had more important things on his mind.
The darkness of midnight in the Garden suited him - even if their accommodations denied the birthright of any stars to pierce near blackness. Darkness is the bogeyman - black-winged angel to still the howl of a thousand beings coexisting in untraceable silicon webs.
Alone. Safe.
"Aren't you worried about Rinoa? And that Fujin chick is one crazy..."
Zell wasn't suited to silence. His footsteps echoed to shatter delicate glass.
Rinoa? No.. no I'm not. I can't afford that.
"Our contract is up."
Their contract was up. Squall shouldn't have let himself be compromised by an amateur - the black-clad youth could see that now. No wonder he'd missed Kinneas' instability. At least the only thing this whole mess was screwing over was his pride.
.... whatever. Water certainly cannot be trapped forever, even if it takes a lifetime for it to wear away at its captor. But if he waited long enough an opportunity would have to come up to sabotage things. Break out into those practical marble halls and make a break for Balamb. The last thing the lion needed was to be in the custody of one of Seifer's people. He didn't even want to know what she had been threatening them with this afternoon with those stilted syllables seemingly engineered to frustrate.
Probably were, too. An effective technique - had one of the profs recommended it? Unlikely. The uniforms, the drills - they liked to keep people the same in Garden.
The soldier didn't realize that he often carried it out himself, in the form of a too-familiar phrase.
"Yeeesh. I just thought you guys mighta had somethin' goin' on and..."
What do these people keep expecting of me? I'm supposed to be 'feeling' something, apparently. I'm supposed to be experiencing some miracle or other that they think will make me 'right'. What I need is for them to leave me alone.
Not to mention exactly why he should care. Though that was the leather-bound fighter's query to most of the world. Life was made up of things to be done because without doing anything a guy goes stagnant. Missions for the sake of the mission. Not for any reason. Never, ever that. Things don't have reasons - especially people.
Leonhart accepted that.
"We didn't."
Do they think I should ramble on uselessly and run about like that moron from my dream?
"... oh. But aren't you just the littlest bit.."
"No."
I'm good at what I do. What else could they want?
Why am I supposed to want it?
People hurt people.
I don't get it.
"Ummm.. alright, " Zell, pausing, eventually deflated. Patience would be easier in silence -though the bouncy blonde looked somewhat disappointed. If he'd been able to read emotions nearly as well as the average mudpuddle, Squall might even have recognized a little bit of pity.
I don't get it at all.
But the refrigerator was making a whirring sort of noise to permeate the white and silver chamber. Ignoring it was easier than tuning out his would-be best friend - a status the lion also had trouble grasping.
And they don't get me.
"Daaaaamn... shit, I am so hungry... I can't believe we got suckered into walking right into her office. And now we're stuck here with no food and... " Zell continued in his cavalcade of claustrophobic whining.
This is stupid.
Responding, the rustle of matted white fur indicated a shrug from the scarred youth, "What's done is done."
They had new objectives.
***
It takes a very sophisticated breed of madman to manipulate his delusions to circumstance. Only a cunning man can call upon such a weapon. Because people fear what they don't expect, and though one might expect insanity in a madman, one would never expect a bout of cold calculating intelligence. A brilliant facade. So forget the Zantetsuken Reverse or the Cross Sword. What kept Seifer Almasy in power was madness, a flash of cunning here and there, and a shitload of charisma. An unholy trinity if there ever was one, all prepped and ready for the devil himself.
The rational side had invited his old friend here tonight. If illusions hadn't been more valuable to the Knight than the tattered remains of what might have been a productive life, he would have known that that was the side she loved. In any case, it knew that she would back him up. And she really was kind of good looking.
But maybe madness is just another word for optimism. The clinical reaction of someone exposed for too long to reality and survival and other crazed things. Productive life, meaning mercenary work, was a bitch. Goddamn Gardens pimped you for all you were worth while they sucked your soul dry with the killing - draining nations to fill the pockets of whatever fucked-up species NORG was. They had turned so many like him into nothing but honorless degenerates. People like Squall Leonhart. People without dreams.
Hands whitened slightly as he gripped the arm of the chair. It was surrounded by veils, as she'd liked it. He'd been keeping it this way despite the fact it was kind of pansyish - whatever his Mistress wanted, his Mistress would have.
"Are you finished?"
".... yes, sir, " the beleaguered communications tech whose name Seifer had absolutely no reason to bother to learn was skulking about. Making arrangements and the like. The sort of femmy, pansy work that the Knight wouldn't touch with Hyperion. He was seated on the Sorceress' throne, keeping the soon to be filled pedestal occupied. The Knight didn't trust his "loyal commanders" farther than their ashes would spread.
"Everything's ready, then?"
"...sir."
"A fucking yes or no would facilitate communication here, dipshit. If this is fucked up because of you it's your ass that is going to be the pyre tonight, do understand me?"
"Yes, sir!" the tech stiffened, relaxing once more when it appeared that his commander was not in a killing mood, " Found some of the good stuff in the old President's cellars, sir. Rounded up some chefs, too."
"Good. Anything concerning my Sorceress is to be the best. "
The best.
Just like he was always meant to be.
Seifer Almasy never failed, and he bloody well wasn't about to start now.
***
Relief and anxiety had been dancing in the depths of her stomach all the way there. A precious little tango - or perhaps a waltz. Something classy and bound to be disrupting. The commander knew, of course, that the whole thing was moronic. Yet it isn't often that one has such a violent coupling to deal with - especially if one is Fujin Asher. Make no mistake, though - there are no butterflies for soldiers. Unless some of leaden clockwork had deigned to grace her with their razor wings.
He'd sent a car. He never would have sent a car before. She could ride. Something was wrong, and suspicion blindsided a devoted heart with all the grace of a half-tonne truck.
It only got worse when the pale woman was lead to the chamber he wished to meet her in.
It was too perfect.
She was underdressed and something was wrong and it was too perfect and oh dear Hyne...
"Do you like it?" a voice purred from behind. Seifer. Yes, that was Seifer.
"Why..." Fujin blinked, then managed to breath. If her lungs took in any air, she didn't notice.
A shock to the system. Too long in the sun. A short circuit in the brain. Some kind of tumor? A hallucination? She'd read in Military Psych class about...
"You can sit down, you know," snow-white trenchcoat drifted towards her, guiding her to a chair. A mahogany chair. A very expensive, antique mahogany chair. In front of a very expensive, very antique mahogany table. With a creme tablecloth. And plates.
If it wasn't for the rest of the room Fujin would have thought he'd simply called a dinner meeting with whatever furniture was laying around Delling's quarters. The knight was like that. Impulsive and disorganized.
So why the room looked like something out of one of her romance novels she had no idea.
The room was airy, in a humid sort of way. Darkness has a pleasant way of shrinking things to fit. Strewn about were veils and shrouds with a dozen ivory candles to light their way. Light not quite the languid honey it should have been crept through such barriers and up the walls, to falter at the death of stone. Ending a beginning of one of the most amazing vistas the woman had ever seen - Delling City all lit up in the perfect purple cotton-candy twilight. The whole affair was matched in cream colored table setting, cream colored silverware, and a delicate burst of white roses in the center. Silver-lined. Everything was silver-lined, to glimmer so within the light.
Bloody hell.
"Is something wrong?" Seifer had taken a seat as well, the woman as pale as her surroundings suddenly registered. And he was using that voice he'd always pulled on Rinoa and the other random skirts. All fire and snake oil, tom cat ready to hunt down the mouse and melt her down in a cloud of smoke an expensive perfume.
Seifer liked to own things. If it hadn't been damn sexy, it would have annoyed the hell out of her. But the Knight was just a bundle of contradictions today, now wasn't he?
Shit, Fujin. Get a hold of yourself.
"NOTHING," she couldn't help but relapse, sinking into one of those chairs that's never quite soft enough for comfort, and not so hard as to make one want to leave. And that was good, since she could have stayed that way forever.
"WHY, " the albino, framed in platinum, continued, " WHY.... MEET. CONTROL, YOURS."
"Of course I do. That's not why we're here," the man motioned to some shadow in the background just a bit too slowly and gracefully for things to be business. All with that shit-eating grin of him.
"Why are we here, then? You didn't come back to Garden because of the assassination, I assume, " Fujin breathed. Bloody romance novels had mushed her brain into gelatin.
Or maybe that was the way Seifer was staring at her.
Or maybe that was because this was an unholy alliance about every erotic thought she'd had for four years.
Or maybe that was because, unlike the object of her affections, she'd never demanded that dreams come true.
"You're not talking in phrases, " it was more a question that a statement.
He couldn't have known of her necessity, now could he? Better to play it cool before the rest of her faculties went to hell. Dammit, she was not some bitch in heat... " You're not swearing."
Though the man was taken aback for half a second, she couldn't read the reasoning behind his eyes. That, in and of itself, should have disturbed her. But everything... everything... it dulled her wits like it always had. Like she'd always fought.
Perfect. It's perfect.
"No, I suppose I'm not."
Maybe the Sorceress' curse is gone. Maybe he's seen what happened...
Maybe...
I knew he would.
The silence would have been uncomfortable - the way it is sometimes for people other than Fujin Asher. But Seifer, it seemed, had thought ahead. The soft strains of some old time song wafted their way through the already heady atmosphere - an old tune from the war era. It was too pretty to be of this time.
Maybe he loves me.
But he couldn't.
But he wouldn't.
But maybe he does.
Why would he do this? Why else?
"So?"
Maybemaybemaybemaybe...
Maybe we could be together. Maybe it would be like old times... but better.
Hyne, he's beautiful.
Damn I'm weak and I don't care and maybe...
"I want you."
Servants born from liquid shadow had poured two glasses of champagne. An excellent vintage.
But Fujin Asher was already drunk and barely breathing, exercising underused muscles to smile beatifically and finally realizing the high her beloved got from the fantasy.
Maybe... yes.
"I want you to be the Sorceress."
The Sorceress.
Candle light sparkled in amber depths as a crystal decanter was offered. But an eye had widened, the world stopped, and the wind was frozen in place most unnaturally. The maelstrom had choked on her won breath.
"You're not thirsty? That's alright. Quistis Trepe was brought in comatose yesterday - the heir to Edea. But she's not worth. We both know that. If we kill her with you beside she wont' know how to transfer the power to someone else."
Heir. To the Sorceress.
Maybe...
He wasn't swearing in front of her.
He wouldn't swear in front of her.
"And who else could take Edea's place but you, Fujin? We've known each other for years. Look , I know it isn't what you were expecting, but we can do this. You know what has to be done. You've been here since the beginning, not like that... unpleasant and uncooperative Trepe. Between the two of us we could take the whole world, Fujin. Take the whole world and make sure that wars and killing and all the horridness that happened to us doesn't happen to anyone ever again. We could make dreams reality. As insane as it sounds... we could fix everything. "
He wouldn't...
Maybe...
He wants the Sorceress.
"So what do you say? Are we a team? "
That grin again - and a glass of poison ambrosia once more offered.
"Shall we drink to it, Sorceress? "
He wants the Sorceress
The music was soothing, in it's own way. A little emotional, a little grandiose, but quite fitting given the decor. As such, Seifer Almasy could be forgiven for missing the signs. It's easy not to hear the sound of one heart breaking.
But I thought.... he hasn't changed.
How could he do this to...
Soldiers don't count.
He wants the Sorceress.
"Are you alright? Maybe you should lie down..."
Hearts break every day - that's sure as hell not anything new to history repeating. But people don't think about what strikes the killing blow. And even if, by some miracle of compassion, they do bother to look for the murder weapon, they don't always find it. Don't know where to look. Because one can't recognize the weapon if one does not know it's characteristics, and people don't take the pedigree of a hope released with countless evils seriously.
Hope is a double edged sword.
How could he?
... enough.
"NO!"
***
No is a word that cuts like a knife, grazing past the vulgar and overestimated heart to hit a raw nerve. And if there ever was an anesthetic for the ages it was anger. Fast, free, and effective against any twist of dagger or sword.
A gloved fist clenched, crushing proffered crystal . It couldn't hope to pierce the leather, though rivulets of alcohol fell to mar cerulean cloth below. Funny, how the cotton of a shirt could match two eyes almost exactly - darkened and blurring.
"What did you say?" Seifer grated. Cats purr, and wolves growl. A creature as headstrong as the wolf cannot deny it's true nature forever.
Goddamit... I made things perfect... and what do I get?
"I said no. No more mind games. No more bullshit. No more dragging me and Raijin around by a goddamn leash. No more lying to myself. Because there's no Seifer to do that for."
The music had stopped by now - servants fleeing at the buildup of power it didn't take a trained warrior to sense. The candles had been extinguished, leaving Edea's veils to be torn by the same killing wind in near darkness. It was bright enough for their purposes, though. The combatants had risen somewhat shakily while white roses burnt.
" What about the posse? All those years - every fucking thing we went through together. I thought that you, of all people, would stand by me. Traitorous bitch."
Unworthy... unworthy traitorous bitch. He should have bloody known.
Everyone leaves
Everyone
A Sorceress wouldn't... so I was wrong.
Sometimes people don't know what breaks hearts, but sometimes hearts don't know that they're broken.
"The Seifer I knew is the one who left. He came back - but it was you that returned. I should have seen that. The Seifer I knew was an honorable man."
The Knights hair was being blown back, hearing disrupted by the rasping brush of air. The corresponding blaze had spread to his table, making it more than a little uncomfortably hot. For her, that is. He couldn't bloody care less.
"Bitch. To think that I thought you were worthy, " Seifer lost his smirk then - for the first and possibly most important time, "Leave. Get out. Leave me that Garden and fucking disappear. Rot in hell, for all I care. Just GO!"
They always leave...
"You're mad.. and the Garden is mine."
"Guards!"
She wasn't worthy - and they would take her away.
Leave. They always leave. Nobody cares for the world like I do. Nobody loves me, loves that...
I'm going to fix it.
The entrance of a dozen burly men was almost unheard when, cornered like a rat, Fujin Asher elected to jump out of the window.
***
Shiiiiiiit. His muscles were gonna bloody atrophy in here. And Squall was so not helping.
"Duuuude... we gotta escape! "
The martial artist would said he was worried about that Rinoa chick, but he was adverse at the moment to getting his ass chewed out again. Well, not really chewed out, but anybody who knew Squall Leonhart know how he operated. The dude just sat there, doing that hugely creepy quiet thing, and you'd wait and wait and wait for him to blow up like any normal human being, but he'd just look at you and stare and stare and stare and...
Ugh.
Like Balamb water-torture. Hella creepy.
But even if Squall wasn't gonna be reasonable despite his constant reminders of how horribly, horribly confining this was - Zell hadn't slept all night - the martial artist was getting the hell out of here. Shit, that creepy Fujin chick was prolly bringing Seifer in right now to bust their asses and....
Dude. Not a good thought. Poor Ma had always told him to ignore bullies - she was kinda naive that way. Dincht knew enough to run the hell away if it was somebody as screwed up as Seifer.
"Alright, I'm gonna break down the door," Zell resolved. His buddy Squall raised an eyebrow. A single eyebrow. How the hell did he do that? It was kinda cool, actually. It was things like tha which had always made him kinda like they guy, weird-ass as he was.
"No, I'm gonna . I should be able to do this. Just watch me. I can't take this anymore, man..." the fighter started moving back and forth on the balls of his feet - warm-up after such a disgustingly still evening.
Squall blinked. Fine, then. He could just be that way. Momma would've never let him get away with such a bad attitude, but maybe he really was hung up on that Rinoa chick.
Right. So he was supposed to be able to do this. Grandpa had been able to do it. And what was a little steel door between a man and his freedom? Ugh - there weren't even any windows in this stupid place.
"Dincht genes, don't fail me now."
Time for the windup - shift weight for maximum impact. Find the weakest part of a non-solid object, feel the burst of air past one clenched fist and meet with...
Air? Warm stuff?
What the...
"Augh!"
Zell Dincht, choosing one of the most unfortunate moments in history to punch an inanimate object, had flown through the an entrance which had opened at just that moment. Hard. Strait into a warm body which stood between himself and the wall.
He hadn't quite processed that yet.
"I'm glad you're happy to see me, chicken-wuss, but gettin' off me might be good for your heath, ya know?"
When his brain did catch up to his body - truly a rare occurrence, Zell found himself staring up at Raijin Kasim. A Raijin Kasim backed by a dozen red-suited senior students, no less. A Raijin Kasim who looked very, very large, and at the moment moment very, very cranky.
"I need to talk to ya, prettyboy," Raijin made
a large and motion in Squall's direction once Zell had pulled away sputtering.
"Your boyfriend can come too, if he wants.
But I need to talk to ya . An' I'd suggest ya don't try anythin',
cause I've got ya surrounded and all, ya know?" "
Squall nodded and followed, not bothering to sustain eye contact with the large man or Zell. His sometimes friend, perturbed, followed behind muttering death threats.
"Hella goddamn.."
"Are we to see Fujin, then?"
Raijin's suddenly found the floor immeasurably interesting.
"No. Jus' move."
***
She didn't feel the tiny shards of glass at their conception when they pierced their mother's skin, nor did she register the spiderweb of lines forming to match her eyes. There was no gasp of pain, no accustomed sensation, no blandly agonizing torture when a light blue tunic was shredded. Time didn't slow down. Her eyepatch didn't fly away, forcing her to deal with the ramifications of more public deformity, though it was flipped above her ruined socket. A meaningful, cathartic epiphany due to mental and physical trauma did not occur. Touching events of emotional import were not flashed back to, and the woman did not by any means scream in panic. It was silent, in fact. Surreal in it's own way. But the fugitive didn't think of that, either.
She wasn't thinking at all.
Why think?
Fujin was flying.
Not really flying. Not really. The rational, soldierly, practical side of her tried to assert it's usual iron grip remind her that she was, in fact, headed for a rather painful collision with the pavement of Delling Square.
But the wind was rushing by her, and pain had vanished in under the tender ministrations of velocity. Wings would only have caged it, and for once Fujin didn't want control. The world had melted into blue and silver and cloud and wind and everything that she was. Gentle breezes had bred with something greater, an entity beyond Pandemona, a state that made her feel utterly and completely...
Was this what home felt like?
The feeling passed almost before it started, pushed aside by the nagging voice of an overactive frontal lobe. Pandemona wouldn't let her forget long enough to die.
"FLOAT!"
Drifting now, the woman's tresses were once more gently tousled by errant air currents instead of whipped back and abused. The tattered remains of a cerulean tunic settled upon their mistress, and the air below became gelatinous. Tamed.
Home had left her without even allowing the pleasure of definition. Maybe it really had been, then. But it didn't matter, the albino rationalized. Soldiers don't possess homes or loves. They do, however, have responsibilities and skills. These included the salvation of a throng of untested children and her best friend, as well as the ability to inflict the familiar steroid rush of Haste upon herself. Adrenaline and a peculiar sort of high pinpointed the senses.
The mission was clear, and that was all a soldier needed to know. Fujin was to reach Garden and assume command before the enemy general could occupy it. The opposing target was irrelevant. Emotions irrelevant. Life irrelevant. Death irrelevant.
...just keep moving just keep moving just keep working just keep moving just keep thinking...
They never told us about it in GForce 101.
The best goddamn stat charm of all.
Fujin hit the ground running.
***
They always, always left him.
Fuck.
Fuck her. Fuck everyone. Fuck a world that didn't believe in happy endings.
Always leaving. Always.
Unworthy bitch.
The roses were ash, but the breeze had died enough to keep the room clean. his trench coat was still pure white.
"Sir, are you..."
"Shut the fuck up. I want a detail sent to take over command of Galbadia Garden as of yesterday. Allocate as many men as possible. A detachment is to be diverted to hunt that woman down."
"... force, sir?"
"They're soldiers - what the hell do you expect? I don't care to keep reminding you of the obvious. Nobody under twelve dies at Garden, and Raijin Kasim is to be brought to me. I don't give a shit if the older ones resist out of some screwed up loyalty to that bitch - resistance is to be eliminated"
"And... errr... herself, sir?"
"..... Drill Prison. Maximum Security. If she escapes a second time... make it understood that I will not be so lenient."
"Yes sir."
" I fail to see exactly how you could fuck this
up with the kind of manpower we have - but if you need me I'll be visiting
Miss Heartilly. We need to secure a source of magical power
before our operation can continue, and you bitches couldn't cultivate something
like this if the idea bit you in the ass."