act one - shatter
VII - refugee
You know, every day I get out of bed and drag myself to the next cup of coffee. I take a sip and the caffeine kicks in. I can focus my eyes again. My brain starts to order the day. I'm up, I'm alive. I'm ready to rock. But the time is coming when I wake up and decide that I'm not getting out of bed. Not for coffee, or food or sex. If it comes to me, fine. If it won't, fine. No more expectations. The longer I live, the less I know. I should know more. I should know the coffee's killing me. You're suspicious of your suspicions? I'm jealous. I'm so jealous. You still have the heart to have doubts. Me? ... I got to do this. This is my job. This is the deal. This is the law. This is my day. I have no doubts or suspicions about it. Heart has nothing to do with it anymore. It's all in the caffeine.
-- Homicide: Life on the Streets
***
The next morning, Fujin was back in control. Back at the top. Back in the game. Ready for the proverbial action. In full-blown defensive combat posture under the camouflage of ambient irrelevancies, muzzling a silent heart.
She was good at silence.
Not the normal, ordinary, everyday silence of the garden at dawn. Never that. For such a creature wasn't really silence at all, but the parasitic whisper of white noise masquerading as quiet. Lulling one's senses to sleep with the promise of inactivity, and seducing the listener into the illusion of an absence of noise. Nay, Fujin's sort of silence was the ostentatious kind. The kind that really said something - a break from words to get the point across the day's cacophony.
Of course, the fighter didn't think of it that way.
Excess words were pointless. Unprofessional.
Just like...
Unsuitable. Emotional. Scars over pale flesh burning, scalding still like half-cooled embers. A deep enough pain to torture, shallow and constant enough to ignore. An itch, a passion, an anger, a loss - searing nerve endings with the greatest of care to travel up her spine and to a section of the nervous system she's thought exorcised long ago.
Weak.
Her fault?
No more. She might have one eye, but Fujin wasn't blind enough to keep down that particularly self-destructive path anymore.
Screw Seifer Almasy.
It was a nice though, the sort of thought that one savors past it's prime just for the memories of how wonderful it was when it was new. Of course, she'd been running those particular words through her head for a good while, now... but this was a different kind of game entirely. Almost appropriate, that one solution should burn in hell with another. This was the real Seifer - hers had been some kind of weak, unprofessional construct born of a few too many furtive nights holed up with romance novels. And this was a real course of action, something befitting a soldier. Not just some half-assed dream.
Screw dreams too.
It didn't take long to wrestle herself out of a once immaculate armchair - posh upholstery flush with unprecedented use.
It didn't take long to struggle on a pair of well-worn boots, and the great sable coat of office.
She didn't bother to look in the mirror.
With a quick swig of stale water left on Martine's no-longer desk, Fujin silently thanked Hyne for the former Headmaster's impressive stash of painkillers. It's always the perfect ones that turn out to be druggies or neurotics or whores. But no matter - good old self-medication had come to save the day. The last thing the soldier needed now was to blow her image by having to requisition something to dull war's love-bites. And they needed her to be beyond that, she needed herself to be beyond that....
Idiocy. Soldiers shouldn't have to think about image.
The albino turned, opening her door unto the harsh light of pre-dawn fourescent security beams.
Hers.
This place would survive if it killed her and every other goddamn orphan in it. Bright red paint and incomprehensible engines, the greatest fortification in the world, and a group disenfranchised enough to give Seifer what he was looking for. Oh, how they would have lusted for him - something to burn away the numbness bred into them. A man to be their hero, be everything they dreamed of, with the shit to make them just that tiny bit less resigned that would lead to full-fledged revolution. He knew how to do that - to make people feel things that they'd lost, for causes they never should have found. Charis-fucking-matic. She knew that feeling better than her own skin.
Bah.
Individual scratches merged, blotting themselves into a sort of throbbing blanket pain. Probably the asprin. Weak enough for her to walk out smiling. Well, smiling for Fujin, that is. A half-second's flash of upturned lips carefully timed to miss any oncoming observers.
Hers. His perfect toy. Charisma falls to the soldier, just like any mundane enemy.
If she did say so herself, it was the greatest Fuck You of modern times.
Now to fight fire with fire.
***
Fuck her.
Not literally, of course. That had been proven beneath him. But Seifer was a man of understanding, superior education, and a connoisseur's appreciation of the benefits inherent in good old fashioned revenge.
Rinoa was hotter anyway. Rinoa loved him. Rinoa knew how to appreciate him. And Rinoa wasn't a one-eyed psychotic.
"Rinoa."
All in all, most definitely better sorceress material. If Edea had wanted Fujin, she would have picked the cripple freak.
"Seifer?" he'd strolled into her room as he usually entered most any chamber - with a mission. And when the girl greeted him he could see her fear without bothering to look. But with her it was something different than terror or resignation or soldierly stolidness. Frailty. Something that Bitch would never, ever possess.
Knightly Honor Entails the Protection of the Frail.
"Rinoa... would you like me to show you around the palace? I have something to ask of you, but I can understand if you don't feel up to going out," Seifer smiled down at his Sorceress - his fate-born angel. So lost looking without the nearest honorless pansy to cling to like a limpet. Almost lost in the sumptuous confection of a room that he had placed her in, and looking about desperately for the wrong kind of man to save her.
Misguided little girl. She needed someone like him.
"No.. that's alright, thank you. My father and I were never close. I'd like to walk around a bit, " the smile she gave was borne of tear-reddened cheeks. The knight didn't have to be a genius to figure out that she was lying - a sorceress is too virtuous for deception. But damned if he was going to rehash the death of that bitch Squall. Good riddance. And her father.... she wouldn't understand. Better to spare her feelings.
"You were lucky to have one," the sun blinded a more ambitious fire for a moment, glinting through large bay windows. The place really was nice, in a girly sort of way - decked out in the blues and greens that Delling has passionately advocated in defiance of his nation's native red. A sorceress shouldn't have to see red. To stoop to lingering with such mundane substances as the blood of the world would be undignified. And Rinoa Heartilly had dragged him one too many times to embarrassingly femme outdoor Timber cafes for him not to know how much she loved the sun.
"Was I? That man was no father at all," fuck... she didn't need to explain, looking all forlorn like that. Shit - it wasn't as if they were strangers. Daddy dearest was certainly no mystery, Seifer having heard this speech a few thousand times more than once..
The power of his mistress would temper that.
" Why am I still here Seifer?" still clothed in that ratty blue slip thing, she gestured for him to settle on the cream afghan beside her. It was a feather bed - excellent quality. The knight saw no reason not to comply.
"Hmm?" an blonde eyebrow raised of it's own accord.
Heartilly was staring at the floor.
"Do you... do you still care for... is that why... "
"Of course I do! That hasn't changed, Rinoa. I know our breakup was rough, but.... we never hated each other, did we? I hope you understand that I'm just trying to protect you. I don't feel right about this everything that's happened after Edea passed on, but there was nothing else to do, I hope you... "
Without a Sorceress to guide him he'd been on his own, bereft of proper instruction. But Rinoa would help with that. He could already tell - had always been able to tell - when he'd smiled that certain way and they'd lean towards him. Wanting. Always wanting. At every bar or stakeout or kiddie Garden kegger.
A small portion if his mind pondered the miracle that he had yet to contract some sort of venereal disease. The conscious bit put it down to luck and worthiness, when it bothered with the idea at all.
"What do you mean? Seifer - all you've taken on now that you're not under Edea's control... it's amazing. If you need anyone to talk to..." an alabaster arm slid around his shoulder. He'd known that Rinoa still loved him.
Under Edea's control? Whatever made her happy.
"I wish I could say that my motives were so pure, in staying with you," and finally the two were back in step, playing the same old game. He'd grin at her, she'd laugh at him for teasing. He'd flirt with her the way that always got him what he wanted, and she'd titter right back. Just like old times, when first love had been only love and summer should rightfully last forever.
Or at least he assumed that the last bit had been how she felt. Seifer understood Sorceresses, not women.
"You can tell me, Seifer, " his once and future mistress made eye contact , " We used to be so close. And you've been so kind... "
Well then. This was going to be goddamn easy. How could he have possibly doubted it? Fujin, Almasy now knew, was nothing but some kind of deviant freak.
'Cause after a whole night of mutual moaning and wailing about irrelevant bastards Rinoa'd done it . Managed to resurrect the most searing sort of flame with pent-up treacle to burn.
Sir Seifer Almasy was back in fucking form.
***
Some day your prince will come. That's what they say, in the old wives' tales. Some day your prince will come and sweep you off your feet and carry you away to his shining castle in the sky. One a white horse, maybe, with riches and retainers and a kingdom all his own.
Sephie had never liked fairy stories, having been a tomboy to the core. Her preferences had run to cops and robbers, fire trucks, and rather unorthodox games of full-contact soccer.
Sadly, that wasn't exactly helping.
Bang bang. You're dead. Better luck next time, Squally - the game was really fun. Maybe I'll be cop then!
The walls were closing in on her far more easily than those of a cramped dorm room had managed. She could smell... them on the sheets, and grime cloaked whatever vision of morning placidity might have made itself known through the window. All night she'd been up, and the sun had come as something of a shock given the steadiness of darkness and his breath surrounding her. False wind, and thought of blood cleansing the pavement.
Death had never bothered her, until....
She had to get out of there.
And so, in the dead of morning, one Selphie Timlett crept out of a cheap Delling motel none the worse for wear. None of her beloved explosions, no bill that she hadn't paid out of concern for her one-time lover. No.. nothing. Entirely uncharacteristic of her. Yet going back was out of the question given that he'd...
He'd been a good guy. She didn't want to be alone. It had been fun. She....
What had he done? This wasn't like the other death that were on their hands - this was Squall. A different crime. A real crime. ? The others hadn't been crimes, you know. All the soldiers they'd taken out... they was different. This one wasn't the same. Just.. just because. Poor Squall, eyes half closed while the blood ran down his cheeks and whatever tears the poor guy might have stored up under all that attitude...
Not pausing to contemplate the object blocking her way down the sidewalk, Selphie nonchalantly kicked a dismembered head out of the way. Good thing she'd got those chunky boots last midwinter. Washing stuff like that out of her nylons would be majorly gross.
The road ahead was paved with the bodies of dead loyalist soldiers. Seifer's troops took a creepy kind of pride in the mess, and the hordes couldn't be bothered with flesh while they picked keychains out of the gutter. They hadn't taken the boy's clothes, though, out of some strange sense of propriety. So it would be alright just this once to violate the precepts of fashion to pass herself off as one of their traitor brethren. Better that than SEED, in this place. Poor people. They probably knew even less about what was going on than she did, and SEEDS spelled trouble even when their members weren't wanted for assassination.
Greeeeat - no explosions and a hell of a one night stand to think over. Just great.
You can do this, Selph. You're a big girl. You can keep it together. See all those smashed-up cars and fallen trees? The bullet holes dotting unkempt tenements and glass all over the street from would-be windows? You've gotta move past them. Get away from 'em. 'Cause outside this city there's a place where the earth is unmarred.
At least it's wasn't raining.
Corpses had never bothered the summoner, regardless of their specific patron horseman of the apocalypse. Regret put people off, and was certainly not part of the modus operandi. Things would get better. They would.
Likely the reason that Selphie made no pretense
of looking back.
***
The view, a brunette-maned lion supposed, was pretty. As views go, that is. Though he really wasn't sure what was so special about them in the first place, given that the only real requirement for something to be a view is for one to be high enough in the air to take a nastily fatal fall. A state which Squall had a touch too much experience with.
Still, the salt was calming and steady beat of the ocean more so. Better here than inside, with the buzz of fluorescence or yet another whiny Galbadia student to subdue. The railing was cold enough to leave an impression on leather-clad arms, though hardly a shock to the system. Seagulls wouldn't dare to venture this far out. And it was, in the sun-tipped spire of Galbadia Garden's bridge observation deck, a perfect sort of solitary. Surrounded by the machinations of nature and war, the beast was safe within the confines of understandable and analyzed creatures.
With Squall's luck, Dincht would be out here any minute to ruin the numbing chill which had crept it's way up his nose with some coffee-flavored sludge. Zell always did early morning the same - with far too much caffienated sugar. Or sugared caffiene Or whatever that weird chocolate puff stuff was.
Leaning on steel bars, the mercenary cast his eyes to the ocean. He should be going back to Balamb. He couldn't go back to Balamb. He should be getting orders. He wasn't sure from who. Not dying had been good enough for the past few days, and he wasn't about to get out of the garden in the middle of the Western Ocean, but this was ridiculous...
A paradox, to be sure.
The salt irritated his scar. Forgotten pain seeping into too-pale temples.
Lost in the depths of his own half-closed eyes, the lion almost didn't hear steel meet steel when a pair of boots made it's way toward him.
"Why?"
Fujin. Ah. Squall didn't bother to look back - and her newfound voice was irrelevant. The 'Commander' still didn't make any sense.
Not that anyone ever really did to this particular beast.
"Why what?" the morning breeze swallowed placid words, tousling chestnut bangs in an attempt to hide the rising sun.
"Why stay?"
... he didn't have to answer that.
"Why do you stay?" when she brought herself to his side, hands clasped behind her back in a distinctly military posture, the mercenary bothered to turn his head.
"That's none of your business," her eyes narrowed. Served her right, asking questions like that. He might not know Fujin Asher, but he did know when someone had asked a pointless question. What did the why have to do with anything?
Squall shrugged her away, preferring to return to the faux contemplation of light on water. It was beautiful, but he didn't really care all that much. "Exactly."
"This place is mine."
Apparently hoping for her to go away had been wishing for too much. He'd come back soon, do his job.. what more could she want? The last thing Squall needed was yet another moron trying to be his 'friend' or some idiocy when...
"....Whatever."
This wasn't worth arguing about. At least it wasn't Dincht, right?
"... I'm not a people person."
The albino grated out, just on the fringes of his level of space - meaning, of course, that she was a good three feet away. Stopped the ocean winds just for them, it seemed. Or at least toned them down a bit, calling in whatever bizarre favor the commander had with her namesake.
"...So?"
In a strange way, this was almost reminding the former assassin of that time with Quistis in the 'secret spot' back at Garden. Squall hadn't known what the hell she wanted either. If anything was less comprehensible than men, it was women. Now she was going to ask him for something he couldn't possibly give her, and halfway didn't understand, and then she'd act like Rinoa and get mad at him for 'being insensitive', and Squall would be stuck for the rest of the day apologizing for a ridiculous situation and...
"Lead them."
The sun had passed the horizon, now, and the backs of twin green eyes burned with it's impression. The east - dominion of Seifer Almasy and....
What!?!
"What?" though far from unrestrained, Leonhart was a bit surprised at the tone of his own voice. Vocal cords almost could have passed themselves off as those of that yelpy moron from his dreams. Eyebrows may or may not have arched. Idiot. Now what in Hyne's name was she going on about...
"They'll like you. They always liked you - pissed the hell out of Seifer," now she was leaning beside him, in a gesture that was obviously as uncomfortable for her as it was for him. Or at least the lion thought so.
" Lead them. With me. "
......
Why couldn't they just leave him alone? . He did his job. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing worse. And now the associate of his longtime enemy had the insane notion that he would just up and...
" They hate me, because I'm not here to make them feel all special and inspired. Raijin can't handle it - you know he can't. They'll want to do what you say, and want to keep me from kicking their asses. It would work."
Insane. Right. Not as an idea, but as assumption that he would care enough to do it. Squall Leonhart had worked all of his life to be a mercenary - just as had been outlined from the outset of his memory. Not some kind of bleeding-heart, moronic, gunblade-toting charity.
"...I..."
Perhaps he'd underestimated her. While the mercenary's vocal cords stalled for time the albino didn't appear to be effected.
" You can help me," Fujin backed away, almost.. smiling? "You will help me. Or I'll turn around and drop you off and Seifer will hunt you down like a dog. Choose your poison."
... whatever.
"... I can't."
She should know better.
The sky was clouding over.
"IDIOT."
But the thunder was distinctly unnatural, as wind has very little to do with lightning.
The Commander screaming was a bit more normal, Squall guessed.
If the waves had had anything to lap at, they might have worn down what lay on the palisade. Unfortunately, however, anger is intangible and there was naught that Leonhart could to do staunch an enraged one-eyed stare. And so he took refuge with uncomfortable silence, that most hospitable of friends, until even he took it upon himself to cast the lion out.
"Why?"
He had a right to know. To know what drove her to this, and find something similar. It must be nice, having that kind of a purpose. Understanding things so completely within one context, knowing...
"Why what?"
"Why stay? "
Ah. He might have hit a nerve with that. Just a simple request for information - but it made her all tounge-tied, didn't it? The tables were turned now. Perhaps the mercenary wouldn't have to go through this foolishness again.
And here the green-eyed prodigy had been thinking that she was nothing like him.
"... Because there's no place else to go."
Thunder wore itself down to a a small, almost pathetic remnant of it's former bluster.
Funny, how the truth can be that way in the face of the most glorious of lies.
Squall Leonhart, for all the throngs at his back, had no one. No place to go. None of them did except for the Gardens, and the mercenary had always tread lightly to avoid the fall that would accompany such acknowledgment.
A long way down, that drop. The ocean was somewhere to go. A place to fall and fall forever, without depth or the will to reject. The only knowledge one would need there would be the water in one's own lungs, and the death of sleep. Nothing to figure out, just the all-telling whisper of the tides.
Why did they keep asking him?
"... I'm not trained for this. I can't command you and I never wanted to command anyone and think you should expect..."
What did they hope to get out of it? To use him? Why didn't they just pay him? Wasn't that the point?
"...RAGE."
Suddenly, pushed back over the railing by a much slighter weight, Leonhart was somewhat closer to his unblemished sea.
"Listen - I don't need you to tell me what to do, prettyboy," that was when she grabbed the front of his jacket, warm breath scalding it's way across wind-chilled flesh " I don't give a rat's ass about how badass you want to look. I never liked you , and I don't intend to start liking you now. What I need is for you to get the hell out there and do whatever it is you do that makes people like Dincht want to lick your boots. You need this to be about you? Grow up. Get a fucking clue. If you don't stop pouting like a little girl they're gonna mutiny, this Garden's ICBM fodder, and we're all re-incarnated as mumba-chow. And if you can't see past your scar then I suggest you get back to Galbadia and deal with your own kind."
Forcing him away with a staccato little push to the side, the albino made her exit. She didn't sound angry. Words tumbled out in an even rhythm, with sort of volume that one might use to order a cup of coffee. No drive, no passion, no anger - possessed by the devil of rationality.
Focussed, it could cut glass.
Fujin didn't stay to survey the damage.
"Squall! Want some coffee, pal? "
***
It was a pretty room. A nice, airy sort of place.
Seifer had always known what she wanted, even if she didn't.
And Rinoa Heartilly, Daddy's Unofficial Princess, had always craved what she could never have.
Bad boys, killers, and men of the gun. The ones that Daddy would send half a garrison after to prevent such travesties as the holding of her hand. Those darling male accessories that made her a Strong, Independent Woman who Did Not Need Her Father.
"I know it sounds crazy..."
But Seifer wasn't like father.. or Squall.
Poor, poor Squall...
"I don't know what to say, Seifer," it was insane, she knew. As insane as the deaths of two unreachable man within the span of a week, or her own role in an assassination attempt of all things. A serious one, that was. One that... killed.
Rinoa had never wanted to kill. Squall, Daddy, they were supposed to...
But she could. And she would. If she wanted to. She could.
"Do.. do you remember why you formed the Forest Owls?"
If she wanted to, she could right now. Just like Seifer and Squall and the lot of them. Rinoa Heartilly stood for what was right, and if they thought that she was incapable...
"To free Timber from Galbadia, of course! No one deserves to have their freedom taken away by..."
Seifer had his hands on her shoulder - a soothing gesture. The Knight had held her just like this, in those beautiful little cafes that she'd just known he secretly enjoyed visiting. Because they were so quaint, weren't they? Just the two of them and the sunshine - no daddy, no chains, no unreachable heart. Only a very touchable flame.
"Military force," Seifer finished for her, " Nobody deserves to have anything stolen by that. Listen , Rinoa.. you know my past. You know about the Orphans of the Estharian War. You worked with them. Nobody deserves that..."
Daddy didn't want me to go. Dearest Daddy - conqueror. I wanted to hurt that man. I wanted to...
The sheets - the sheets were warm now. As soft as her old ones at home, or the top of the line replacements obtained for the Timber Owl headquarters.
And now he's dead.
"I still don't understand."
I was supposed to prove to him - to Squall, to all of them...
I couldn't reach Daddy. Gave up on that man years ago. But Squall... I could have reached Squall eventually , in that shell where I just knew a loving, caring person lay. I know I could have. We would have been perfect for each other. I could have saved him, transformed him, and it would have been....
"War. War ruined our world. War and greed and lust and the death of honor. Think of the old stories - where Hyne would ride the winds with her knight to watch over her children. Her dominion gave the world peace, " the blonde wasn't looking at her, she knew. Wished he would - there was nothing more annoying that not being seen by the people suppose to be paying due attention. Almost kind of rude. But Seifer had a knack for making the uncivil extremely sexy, and underneath it all she knew that he was just a dreamer.
Just like her. Rebels.
No more dreams about Squall now. Or my father.
But...
"Hyne ruled the world, and there were no orphans or bloody deaths," her ex boyfriend was starting again. Same gossamer trenchcoat, same clipped and bleached tresses, same trancelike ramblings. He was so endearing when he got this way, when he was the real Seifer. It was almost enough tomake her grin a bit - jolting well-exercized muscles - though of course he didn't notice.
" No suffering in conflict after conflict after pointless conflict. None of that. Who was there to fight, with only Hyne in control? And if there world were to be under the hand of one just, good government - think about it! There'd be no war. There'd be no death-factory Gardens. There'd be no families broken apart by meaningless, degenerate lust for power. And there'd be no orphans. Don't' you see? The Sorceress' job is to protect the world with the power she has been gifted with, and a Knight's job is to protect her. To make things right. Can't you understand, Rinoa?"
"I..." Rinoa made a successful conquest of eye contact, and he dazzled her with that old shit-eating grin.
Daddy would hate this. They both would.
"Together, we can do more than the Timber Owls ever could. We can fix it. All of it. If not us, who else?" a leather-clad hand left her right shoulder to grasp an lightly tanned chin. It maneuvered her deeper into his line of sight.
But they're not here now.
"Seifer, I...." her breath reflected from his skin.
"We can't shirk the duty that we were born for," and the puppetmaster was murmuring now, whispering in a hypnotic sort of seduction. The most valuable, pedigreed of breeds, that. "It wouldn't be right."
But....
I can save the world. I can. I can make things better. I have to do the right thing.
They can't control me. I'm strong enough on my own. I'm strong enough for anything.
I said I'd show them.
"I'll tell you how to do things, what to say... it won't be hard. I'll help you. You'll only have to appear in charge to them. You can be their hero, Rinoa - I'll take care of all the distasteful bloodshed. The people need a leader if they're to survive this world of ours. They need to you make things better. And I know you can do it. "
This is so... so....
Unreal?
I loved him....
I loved all of them....
"Be the Sorceress, Rinoa. You're our only hope."
And this one... this one...
I deserve...
This one loves me back.
***
The office, he assumed, hadn't been Fujin's long. It was too decorated - the sanctum of an administrator or a leader, not the hell-sent Commander. Besides, the old Disciplinary Room had always been a huge mess.
The albino looked like she had been waiting for him. Having her feet on the desk probably wasn't good for the wood.
"Fine," the lion managed to spit out, almost chagrined at the actions his lack of direction had forced him into. Standing infront of her he felt like a little kid taken to Matron's office to..
Matron?
Who?
... Whatever.
Leonhart wasn't about to let Asher intimidate him.
"Hmmm?" almost a purr, that - a voice once more accustomed to speech made the play almost seamlessly. Now Fujin was just toying with him.
"Fine," surely she wasn't that dense, and Squall wasn't about to rail against his own apathy to the point that her would just blurt it out. Asher of all people should be able to read something into one word.
His shirt really needed to go into the laundry. Was there a laundry here? There must be, given the utilitarian atmosphere given to the...
"Fine."
Good. Now he could go find that washing machine.
"Wait. You didn't answer my question," the wind called after him, voice still carefully modulated. Not that it seemed anything more than natural to the lion when it called him back from the edge twixt frivolous carpeting and impersonal tile.
".. no, I don't suppose I did."
Typical. This always happened. Answers to questions that didn't need to be asked. Squall was surrounded by idiots.
"Well?" but if anyone was is the mood to take blood from a stone, it was his pale counterpart. Fellow Commander. Whatever - titles don't matter.
"Because there's no place else to go," with the ghost of a smile, Squall parroted her own philosophy back.
And lo, the conception of a new breed of silence as per the endless parade of natural evolution. One whose sight was unseen at this moment in a thousand different realties. Not the tortuous gap of the uncomfortable, or the deathly frost between wounded souls. Hardly a variant on the quiet of those who would speak without words, or the judgment of that which may never be heard. Not even the stagnancy known as boredom. Just a plain, meaningless bit of atmosphere. No noise but the fans and voices to wary to come farther down the hallway. Unease had been exorcised along with the need to speak, making it more of a home than a scourge on the emotions.
Because soldiers don't need to talk things to death, do they?
For a few scant moments, they just were.
"So where do we run?" the pale Commander bothered to consult, rising from a preparatory sloth.
"... Esthar? " the lion shrugged a bit, seeing no need to shift his position in return. It was a relief to see her sensible enough to nod.
"Sanctuary."
***
Sephie wasn't there.
She should be there. But she wasn't. She was his friend. She wouldn't leave him.
Why wasn't Sephie there? Matron said that she was a good person, so Matron wouldn't take her away.
... Had they taken Sephie away just like Matron?
They'd pay. Their fault.
Grumbling slightly in the face of what mid afternoon sun broke through dirt-encrusted windows, Irvine Kinneas slowly blinked himself awake. The sheets below him were still damp for the last night's exertions, and the imprint of Sephie's body made itself known when a hand strayed to the other side of the mattress. A few muscles voiced their displeasure - due more to traipsing about the city for half of the day before than anything else. Hyne knew his hair was a nightmare what with this place's disturbing lack of shampoo. Thank goodness he carried that hat around. Irvine wasn't about to let himself be seen in public like this and there was nary a can of hairspray to be found for miles.
It should be warmer. Warmth under the duvet was a given, but it wasn't a .. heavy warmth.
He supposed that he was just used to waking up next to someone.
The knocking at the door wasn't a very nice alarm clock.
"Come in?" the assassin beckoned, attempting to reach for the rifle by the nightstand and preserve his modesty at the same time.
That didn't quite work out when three burly soldiers burt in and kicked him bodily - and butt-naked - out of his nice comfy bed. Lethargy is never conducive to the swift procurement of firearms, and the addition of wind and light threw the gunman out of equilibrium.
Between that and the lack of another warm body - Sephie was his friend, and he was the one who always left first - the universe was officially out of joint.
The handcuffs came out a second later. They made him cold too. But the soldiers gave him his coat so he was warmer then.
"We were informed that somebody brought a firearm in here last night," one goateed Galbadian hefted Irvine's rifle, while the other ransacked what little there was in a rusty-hinged closet.
"No uniform, sir. He's not one of us. "
"Right, then. That's an illegal weapon, mate - Knight's orders. You're coming with us."
This morning really wasn't going well.
"And for Hyne's sake put some friggin' pants on!"
He'd have to wait for Matron to give him some sign as to what to do. Sephie would either come back, or he'd save her. And then things would be alright.
But maybe first he'd find his chaps.
***
Tanking up on a peculiar potion of coffee, caramel, and sugar had given Zell a kickass energy rush that morning. And damned if his day wasn't getting better. First that big freak Raijin tell him that Squall's gonna be co-leader or something - thank Hyne, 'cause being dragged around by the balls at the whim of Fujin "Anger Management Problems" Asher was exactly his idea of a good time. The Zell meets Squall in a totally random hallway after tromping around this really way to cold place for like an hour. And then he'd come up with the most ass kicking, action getting, That Bastard Seifer Almasy Screwing-Over completely awesome plan ever.
"Squall, man - I heard! Congrats - this is so hella cool! So I'm thinking we turn this baby around and..." Squall was doing that staring off into space thing, which meant that he was trying to ignore Zell. Again. Guess again, baby - you're gonna listen this time.
"No."
See? Zell had seen that coming. Squall hadn't even stopped walking. Kinda bad manners, if you asked Zell, but he knew that his pseudo-friend had issues and stuff.
At least the steel grating on the floors made it easy to jump into Squall's way. With a flourish of arms and requisite enthusiasm, the martial artist made his case.
"But Squaaaall, we could blow Galbadia all to hell! Problems solved! Yeah, baby..." Zell petered off as he was wont to do when saccarine-fuelled thoughts sped ahead of his words.
" No," this time it wasn't just rejection, it was the brushoff. Leonhart calmly pushed his erstwhile companion away.
Yeeesh. What was up with that? Even Squall had to see what had to be done, right? " 'cause it was the right thing to do!
"I don't get you, Squall. That's hella rough. We gotta help those people back there!" Dincht gave it his best angry yell, but his fire had never been the sort that could immolate pure ice. The leather-clad commander didn't even bother to stop. Dismissing Zell from afar, huh? No matter what happened, you could count on ol' Squall not to change one bit.
"We're mercenaries, Zell. Seifer's the one who wants to save the world."
***
Cid Kramer had the best of the best. The most talented students for his garden, and an influentially miracle-working wife. Not to mention enough wealth from mercenary revenues to live out his life in luxury, and quite possibly the most strategically powerful military position in the world. Food, clothing, decor - his surroundings encompassed the height of of Balamb luxury and Estharian upper-middle class. This extended quite logically, of course, to his equipment. Military or otherwise, Cid was taking no unnecessary chances with his charges.
He was saving them, you see.
"The proposition, Headmaster Kramer, is very simple. You give me Balamb Garden. I don't fucking blow it into scrap metal."
No matter in any case. As possessor of the best of the best, he had the very sharpest of high-definition telescreen displays over which to converse with terrorists, despots, customers, and former students.
Never thought he'd have to go for this combination of two out of four.
"And if I don't like this plan?" the desk was almost twenty years old - a veritable antique, given the rampant property destruction of the Estharian war. Blue sky, blue uniforms, and a man struggling mightily to grant his own eyes the same passivity. The hallmarks of a relatively aged Balamb.
As his unofficial aide de campe, Xu Miyagashima was observant enough to realize that the man was fighting a losing battle. Headmaster Cid had never had any head for realistic lying.
"You don't think I have the balls for it, do you?"
But then, neither had Seifer Almasy. The fresh-pressed white clothing and veiled backdrop to some kind of throne room... please. He had a flair for the dramatic, she'd give him that, but the man would never be SeeD material.
Though he might soon be their commander, she supposed.
"We will not give into terrorist..." seeing a slightly panicked Kramer sweat slightly in the sun's light, Xu took pity upon his rather rotund form a turned up the air conditioning. Calming, it was. The closest feeling one had to a constant here. And it wouldn't do for Cid to make a fool of himself here when it could get out to potential customers. SeeD had a reputation to maintain which didn't include small tubby men in glasses. An public relations dream and it's twin profit margin which went perpetually unnoticed by their leader.
Cid had no head for business either.
"I certainly had enough for you late wife. Guess she needed someone with a fucking spine to be her Knight, hmmm? Someone who knows how to use a sword," Almasy smirked just like always, goading Cid just as much as ever.
"Sir, they're arming several WASP-659s at their primary launch base..." true enough. The readout spread below her fingertips could not possibly lie, with the amount of radar surveillance they paid for. Money well spent, though the outcome of this little charade didn't really matter.
Hmph. The Headmaster seemed quite worked up. Xu supposed, shifting back and for on heeled soles, that she was grateful to him. But he didn't seem to grasp exactly how little anyone here cared about this little transference of power but him. When had it mattered to SeeD before who they were fighting as long as the orphans made enough money to look out for themselves?
The poor man was far too idealistic.
"That was not my wife," myopic vision distorted further by a flushed squint, Cid took to barking at the television. Xu would have to take action.
"Sir!"
Despite her personal feelings concerning Almasy, it was obvious that with Edea's invisible hand gone this place needed a real leader to unite the students. Squall would likely have been more open to healthy capitalist activity while Almasy was liable to lead them off on some half-profitable crusade - but temporary inadequate leadership was better than complete corporate collapse. Xu had a business to run here, and the student body needed to feel inspired if they were to turn any sort of healthy collective profit. For their own good.
"I always had trouble believing she'd marry a pansy fuck like you."
.... she's forgotten how abrasive the man could be.
"This conversation is over."
Cid, of course, was livid.
"Is it? " the Knight drawled.
A flicker catching the corner of her eyes, the aide temporarily turned her attention back to the black and citron display before. The flow of information refusing to co-operate in her calling of his bluff...
No.
NO.
He wouldn't. This couldn't' be...
"Sir! Missiles have been launched! Arrival at Trabia garden estimated at thirty seconds..."
"WHAT!?!"
The redness wasn't just for the Knight's amusement anymore.
Shitshitshitshit... she should have expected something like this from someone as unstable as Almasy. Such a waste of resources, that he should stoop to....
"Awwwww... a quarter of your army's gone, Cid," was that sick fuck laughing? Targets were one thing - bought and paid for external collateral damage - but to annihilate their own was unthinkable!
" Guess that fucks up your profit margins for this quarter. Balamb. Now."
She could see it now. Material losses in the billion gil range. An entire class of future operatives and kindred souls wiped out in...
Five.
There was no point in trying to warn them.
Four.
They probably already knew, if they had someone competent on the sensors.
Three.
And if they didn't.. ignorance is bliss.
Two.
A waste. Such a waste. But people die all the time. Nothing to be upset about.
One.
Balamb could do naught but watch a lime-green sequence destroy themselves. Patterns of light bearing far too much meaning invested within glass. The silicon prophet never lied.
Zero.
And it was with all the answers pre-calculated, hope mechanically dissected, that the countdown destroyed both northern Garden and it's founder.
And an amber dot disappeared from the readout.
"Yes. Balamb... it's yours. Just don't destroy it. Please. "
Edea, those far-off protégés... casualties on his hands. A cross to bear that destroyed a countenance which had strained for pride. It hadn't been hard to figure out what he would say. Creator and destroyer and all-around ignorant Headmaster - so predictable in his old age.
" Don't worry Cid. There'll be more orphans for you to collar before this is over. I guarantee it."
***
Author's note: *sigh* I suppose I should apologize to all of the Rinoa fans now. I tried to get her at least somewhat IC, but my personal preferences tend to skew the narrative a bit. Honestly, if it weren't absolutely necessary to the story I would have just left well enough alone and had her stay in the hands of those who like her enough to write her well.
Mwah ^_^. A long time, I know.. it took Mess the better part of a month to get the whole college routine down, which kinda delayed most everything of the fandom persuation she had going on. Hopefully this is still IC - if not consistent with the game, then at least with the characterizations of the BM alteriverse. It's been a long time ^_^. But if t'is that messed up there's always rewrites.
Not terribly action-packed either. More of a lead-up chapter then anything - an entity kind of inevitable. Always the most annoying to write - events that need to happen for things to make sense, but aren't the really juicy dramatic bits. This, of course, wasn't helped by the fact that I cut two scenes off of the end due to length *grimace*
Yeah - I know the paralells are getting blatant now. Half the point, dont'cha know ^_^. One of the major themes of the game was Squall as direct opposite/foil to Seifer, and I continue on my quest to not pull AU completely out of my ass.
And yes, UC, I did spellcheck *grin*
*is proud of self*
Ah well. Next chapter is funfun reaction time. Hopefully
out before 2001 ^_^; *hides*