FINAL FANTASY VIII: BRIDGES
by Corvus
PART SEVEN
A thick blanket of mist had risen from the Alcauld Plains in the darkest hours of the night, muting the blazing pink and orange of dawn into a subtle wash. The romantic within Irvine Kinneas couldn't think of a more beautiful time of day. The pragmatist within Irvine Kinneas complained that it should be illegal to have to be up at this hour. He stood on the broad flagstones of the southern exterior courtyard, just outside the main entrance to Balamb Garden, wreathed in that early morning fog and waiting for the rest of his team to arrive.
(Gettin' soft, cowboy,) he chided himself. Stifling a yawn, he mentally reviewed the mission he had been given in the middle of the night. He and one other -- unspecified -- SeeD would observe three graduate candidates as they worked to recover the kidnapped daughter of a wealthy Dollet family. Miracle of miracles, one of the three cadets was his own protegé, Lydia Moraine. When Irvine had first observed the cadet on the firing range, he immediately had felt he'd discovered a rough diamond. With care and precision he had cut and polished that jewel into a shining work of art. Lydia had proven a capable and diligent student, and now it was time to put his work with her to the test. (She'll prob'ly try to impress me,) Irvine thought ruefully. There were times when being handsome and charming were a real pain in the neck.
Irvine laughed, the sound as muted as the slowly growing colors of the dawn. Since the war he'd done his best to get over himself; the swagger just hadn't worked as intended. Still, so many people had commented on his looks over the years that he had to believe there was something to it. Oddly, his "mutation", as Selphie had put it, had been the thing that put a gap between himself and the diminutive dynamo. She didn't know who he was anymore, she claimed, and it was creeping her out. As if shrugging off an unwanted cloak, Irvine rolled his shoulders. (Past is past. We prob'ly woulda killed each other anyway.)
He drew a deep breath of the chilled, moist air to clear his head. The second cadet on the team was a swordswoman named Irene Forrester. There was nothing wrong with Irene's sword work, but she was notoriously fond of handling every problem by summoning her Guardian Force, Shiva. This mission would force her to restrain that impulse. (Leave it to Squall,) the sharpshooter thought with another chuckle, (to just throw the girl in the pool and tell her to swim.)
The final cadet was a young man rumored to be Forrester's boyfriend, a short-blade fighter named Alan Halverstadt. Halverstadt's attack-focused, whirlwind-like fighting style, utilizing twin wakizashi, was full of holes a careful and patient enemy could exploit. That impetuous nature coupled with Irene getting in danger could spell trouble. Irvine would have to have a talk with the young man on the way to Dollet. This mission called for stealth, patience and uncanny timing, not a blasting assault. (Figures the boy'd have Pandemona for a GF.)
He could handle the cadets just fine, Irvine told himself optimistically. He'd trained Lydia himself and he had faith in his fellow Instructors' work with Irene and Alan. No cadet got far without learning to put professionalism first, with perhaps a good swift kick in the pants from a superior. No, the real problem would be his partner in observation. There was only one reason he wouldn't have been told who it was -- so he couldn't object until it was too late. "Aw, dammit," he muttered as he reached an inevitable conclusion. "Selphie ain't cut out for a mission like this. The hell they thinkin'?"
There wasn't any bad blood between the sharpshooter cowboy and the irresistable force of good cheer. At least, not from his end of things. Irvine still cared about Selphie as a very dear friend, almost a sister. That was the point -- he knew Selphie well enough to know this wasn't her kind of mission. Somebody was trying to be clever, he decided, and it wasn't funny. He adjusted his trademark Stetson and rolled his shoulders again. (Did I piss somebody off?) he wondered.
Almost as if someone was listening and had decided to answer, steady footfalls approached out of the mist. (Too heavy to be Selphie,) he reasoned. (Halverstadt, maybe.) "Ho, g'mornin'," he called out. "Get some breakfast?"
The voice that came back to him was most definitely not Alan Halverstadt's clipped, rapid Trabian rattle. The lyrical flow belonged to only one region on the planet, and there was only one man with that particular timbre that Irvine had ever met. "Yeah, figured I'd get there nice and early, ya know?"
(Desert sun burn my eyes,) Irvine cursed roundly, (what the hell is *he* doin' here?) "Long time no see, Raijin."
The big man's shape solidified out of the fog and he stopped, leaning slightly on a heavy pugil-stick he held in one massive fist, one end on the flagstones. He was dressed in a SeeD uniform, pants tucked into black boots and bloused out, short-sleeved jacket open over bared muscular chest.
(Aw, hell, I'm gonna hafta put Squall out of his misery when I get back. He musta fried his brain!)
"Yeah," Raijin replied finally. "You here for the Dollet mission?"
Irvine nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Raijin from under the brim of his hat. "That's right. Not to be offensive or nothin', but would you mind explainin' to me what's goin' on here?" He listened carefully as Raijin told the story of his return from Galbadia with Fujin, and his reinstatement into SeeD.
"This is kinda a test for me, ya know?" Raijin concluded. "So I'm not gonna screw it up."
(You damn well better not,) Irvine allowed himself in his own head. Aloud he drawled, "Ooookay." It was too late to fight... and, he had to admit, he was curious. Irvine Kinneas had never been one to shy from a gamble, and life had just challenged him to a match. (Might as well play it and see what happens. I've had worse odds.) "You won't get any hassle from me. If you don't mind me askin', though... Do you know what you're doin'?"
"I got the mission profile last night, same as you. You an' me are gonna hang back as support, unless the cadets screw somethin' up. Didn't tell me nothin' about the cadets, though."
(Okay, then,) Irvine thought, (I'm obviously in charge here.) "That's about the size of it. And I figure you know how to handle yourself since you had a command in the War. I don't think we'll have too much trouble in Dollet." He was silent for a moment, thinking. Something wasn't -- oh. "'Course, you might not wanna run around in a SeeD uniform, that could give us away."
Raijin looked down at himself and sighed. "This is all I got. Got a temporary SeeD pay grade of eight, though, and two months' back pay in an account. I figure I'll buy some new stuff first thing when we get there. I'd get it in Balamb but it's a little too early for shops to be open, ya know?"
(Damn. It'll be a risk, getting him into a shop... Oh well. Nothing to do about it now.) Irvine couldn't think of anything else to add, so he remained silent, listening to the faint chirping of morning birds. It wasn't long until more footsteps approached, a trio if his guess wasn't off. Sure enough, Cadets Halverstadt, Forrester and Moraine, all dressed in casual clothing and carrying dark gray hardcases stripped of any identifying symbols, approached and saluted in unison. Irvine returned the gesture and adjusted his hat. "Y'all ready?"
"Ready as can be, sir," Lydia said with a mischievous grin.
Irvine suppressed a groan and nodded. "Cadets, this is SeeD LaFleur," he informed the trio, hoping to Hyne he remembered Raijin's real name correctly. "These three lucky ducks are Lydia Forrester," he told Raijin, pointing to the grinning brunette, "Irene Forrester," he continued with a nod to the blue-eyed blonde in the center, "and Alan Halverstadt," he finished with a wave in the direction of the brown-eyed young man on the other end. "Let's not stand around jawin', we got us a boat to catch."
A SeeD truck was waiting on the road outside the south gate. The cadets piled in without a care in the world, all three of them excited about the mission. Irvine wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Yes, it helped that they weren't afraid, but he would have been happier if they displayed a bit more caution. Sometimes apprehension was a good thing. Raijin, in contrast, was completely silent. It was obvious there was a lot on his mind. (He'll have to put it aside,) Irvine mused. (That's just how it goes.)
At the Balamb docks they boarded a small civilian transport for the passage across the ocean to Dollet. Lydia had finally managed to engage Raijin in conversation and Irene dozed off in her seat. Now was as good a time as any for that little chat. "Hey, Alan," he said to get the cadet's attention. "Come topside with me, I gotta ask ya somethin'." He led the way out of the cabin and took a deep breath of the salt air, a sharp, tangy contrast to the atmosphere around the Garden. He could handle this. No problem.
--------------------
The thinning mist allowed the sun to paint the beginnings of a blazing sheen on the crimson hull of the Ragnarok. (Nothing like natural melodrama to add to a Field Exam send-off,) Squall joked to himself. Assembling before him on the tarmac were the three cadet squads and four SeeD observers tapped to execute this mission. Of their own accord, perhaps in their own sense of adding to the formality of the event, the SeeDs stood interspersed with the cadet squads. Jake Cosby, Latitia Farelle, Amber Reyes, and Herman McNair, called "Shock" by his friends, stood at attention with ease. Among them, the nine cadets blinked, shuffled their feet, coughed and fidgeted.
"Well," Squall began, "looks like the gang's all here." At his words the cadets forced themselves to be quiet. "As you're all well aware, this is it. The big one. Your Field Exam. Pass, and you will graduate to become full-fledged SeeDs. Fail, and you'll spend another year being kicked around by Instructors." Some of the cadets laughed. Good enough. "I've taken the liberty of delivering your briefing myself this morning, so pay attention.
"Your destination is southeastern Esthar, between Tears' Point and Lunar Gate. Your mission is simple -- clear the area of the monsters that have been threatening the villages in that area. A large portion of your final grade will be determined by your speed, efficiency and thoroughness in this sweep. You do not have an established time limit, but I don't think I need to tell you that taking forever won't graduate you.
"Because of the broad area of this mission, cooperation and coordination between squads will be vital. You will also be graded on how well you function as a larger unit, not just in your individual groups. Your observers will be contributing to your efforts, but the more they have to do, the lower your grades will be.
"This group, you nine cadets, are looking to be the biggest, best graduating class Balamb Garden has ever had. Go out there and make SeeD and yourselves proud. That is all." Squall saluted the assembled group and strode away before any of the cadets could react. Only when he was sure they couldn't see his face did he allow himself to smile. That was more than he would have said in an entire week, not so long ago.
Irvine and Raijin were gone with their team to Dollet. Behind him, the air thrummed with the roar of the dragonship's engines as it lifted from the ground, carrying the participants in the main Exam to their destiny. Overnight, there had been some odd developments with Fujin. One full day was complete, the first day of what Squall was beginning to feel was an important new cycle of events. Now that he thought about it, this same sensation had lurked in the back of his mind that day over two years ago when he had struck off for the Fire Cavern with Quistis Trepe in his wake. He had ignored it then, just like he'd ignored most of the rest of the world... But now, now he was paying attention.
He turned as he passed through the entrance back into the Garden to watch the Ragnarok power away into the morning sky. Much had changed since that fateful day, but some things were still the same.
Still smiling, SeeD Commander Squall Leonhart turned away from the vista and reentered his home.
by Corvus
PART SEVEN
A thick blanket of mist had risen from the Alcauld Plains in the darkest hours of the night, muting the blazing pink and orange of dawn into a subtle wash. The romantic within Irvine Kinneas couldn't think of a more beautiful time of day. The pragmatist within Irvine Kinneas complained that it should be illegal to have to be up at this hour. He stood on the broad flagstones of the southern exterior courtyard, just outside the main entrance to Balamb Garden, wreathed in that early morning fog and waiting for the rest of his team to arrive.
(Gettin' soft, cowboy,) he chided himself. Stifling a yawn, he mentally reviewed the mission he had been given in the middle of the night. He and one other -- unspecified -- SeeD would observe three graduate candidates as they worked to recover the kidnapped daughter of a wealthy Dollet family. Miracle of miracles, one of the three cadets was his own protegé, Lydia Moraine. When Irvine had first observed the cadet on the firing range, he immediately had felt he'd discovered a rough diamond. With care and precision he had cut and polished that jewel into a shining work of art. Lydia had proven a capable and diligent student, and now it was time to put his work with her to the test. (She'll prob'ly try to impress me,) Irvine thought ruefully. There were times when being handsome and charming were a real pain in the neck.
Irvine laughed, the sound as muted as the slowly growing colors of the dawn. Since the war he'd done his best to get over himself; the swagger just hadn't worked as intended. Still, so many people had commented on his looks over the years that he had to believe there was something to it. Oddly, his "mutation", as Selphie had put it, had been the thing that put a gap between himself and the diminutive dynamo. She didn't know who he was anymore, she claimed, and it was creeping her out. As if shrugging off an unwanted cloak, Irvine rolled his shoulders. (Past is past. We prob'ly woulda killed each other anyway.)
He drew a deep breath of the chilled, moist air to clear his head. The second cadet on the team was a swordswoman named Irene Forrester. There was nothing wrong with Irene's sword work, but she was notoriously fond of handling every problem by summoning her Guardian Force, Shiva. This mission would force her to restrain that impulse. (Leave it to Squall,) the sharpshooter thought with another chuckle, (to just throw the girl in the pool and tell her to swim.)
The final cadet was a young man rumored to be Forrester's boyfriend, a short-blade fighter named Alan Halverstadt. Halverstadt's attack-focused, whirlwind-like fighting style, utilizing twin wakizashi, was full of holes a careful and patient enemy could exploit. That impetuous nature coupled with Irene getting in danger could spell trouble. Irvine would have to have a talk with the young man on the way to Dollet. This mission called for stealth, patience and uncanny timing, not a blasting assault. (Figures the boy'd have Pandemona for a GF.)
He could handle the cadets just fine, Irvine told himself optimistically. He'd trained Lydia himself and he had faith in his fellow Instructors' work with Irene and Alan. No cadet got far without learning to put professionalism first, with perhaps a good swift kick in the pants from a superior. No, the real problem would be his partner in observation. There was only one reason he wouldn't have been told who it was -- so he couldn't object until it was too late. "Aw, dammit," he muttered as he reached an inevitable conclusion. "Selphie ain't cut out for a mission like this. The hell they thinkin'?"
There wasn't any bad blood between the sharpshooter cowboy and the irresistable force of good cheer. At least, not from his end of things. Irvine still cared about Selphie as a very dear friend, almost a sister. That was the point -- he knew Selphie well enough to know this wasn't her kind of mission. Somebody was trying to be clever, he decided, and it wasn't funny. He adjusted his trademark Stetson and rolled his shoulders again. (Did I piss somebody off?) he wondered.
Almost as if someone was listening and had decided to answer, steady footfalls approached out of the mist. (Too heavy to be Selphie,) he reasoned. (Halverstadt, maybe.) "Ho, g'mornin'," he called out. "Get some breakfast?"
The voice that came back to him was most definitely not Alan Halverstadt's clipped, rapid Trabian rattle. The lyrical flow belonged to only one region on the planet, and there was only one man with that particular timbre that Irvine had ever met. "Yeah, figured I'd get there nice and early, ya know?"
(Desert sun burn my eyes,) Irvine cursed roundly, (what the hell is *he* doin' here?) "Long time no see, Raijin."
The big man's shape solidified out of the fog and he stopped, leaning slightly on a heavy pugil-stick he held in one massive fist, one end on the flagstones. He was dressed in a SeeD uniform, pants tucked into black boots and bloused out, short-sleeved jacket open over bared muscular chest.
(Aw, hell, I'm gonna hafta put Squall out of his misery when I get back. He musta fried his brain!)
"Yeah," Raijin replied finally. "You here for the Dollet mission?"
Irvine nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Raijin from under the brim of his hat. "That's right. Not to be offensive or nothin', but would you mind explainin' to me what's goin' on here?" He listened carefully as Raijin told the story of his return from Galbadia with Fujin, and his reinstatement into SeeD.
"This is kinda a test for me, ya know?" Raijin concluded. "So I'm not gonna screw it up."
(You damn well better not,) Irvine allowed himself in his own head. Aloud he drawled, "Ooookay." It was too late to fight... and, he had to admit, he was curious. Irvine Kinneas had never been one to shy from a gamble, and life had just challenged him to a match. (Might as well play it and see what happens. I've had worse odds.) "You won't get any hassle from me. If you don't mind me askin', though... Do you know what you're doin'?"
"I got the mission profile last night, same as you. You an' me are gonna hang back as support, unless the cadets screw somethin' up. Didn't tell me nothin' about the cadets, though."
(Okay, then,) Irvine thought, (I'm obviously in charge here.) "That's about the size of it. And I figure you know how to handle yourself since you had a command in the War. I don't think we'll have too much trouble in Dollet." He was silent for a moment, thinking. Something wasn't -- oh. "'Course, you might not wanna run around in a SeeD uniform, that could give us away."
Raijin looked down at himself and sighed. "This is all I got. Got a temporary SeeD pay grade of eight, though, and two months' back pay in an account. I figure I'll buy some new stuff first thing when we get there. I'd get it in Balamb but it's a little too early for shops to be open, ya know?"
(Damn. It'll be a risk, getting him into a shop... Oh well. Nothing to do about it now.) Irvine couldn't think of anything else to add, so he remained silent, listening to the faint chirping of morning birds. It wasn't long until more footsteps approached, a trio if his guess wasn't off. Sure enough, Cadets Halverstadt, Forrester and Moraine, all dressed in casual clothing and carrying dark gray hardcases stripped of any identifying symbols, approached and saluted in unison. Irvine returned the gesture and adjusted his hat. "Y'all ready?"
"Ready as can be, sir," Lydia said with a mischievous grin.
Irvine suppressed a groan and nodded. "Cadets, this is SeeD LaFleur," he informed the trio, hoping to Hyne he remembered Raijin's real name correctly. "These three lucky ducks are Lydia Forrester," he told Raijin, pointing to the grinning brunette, "Irene Forrester," he continued with a nod to the blue-eyed blonde in the center, "and Alan Halverstadt," he finished with a wave in the direction of the brown-eyed young man on the other end. "Let's not stand around jawin', we got us a boat to catch."
A SeeD truck was waiting on the road outside the south gate. The cadets piled in without a care in the world, all three of them excited about the mission. Irvine wasn't sure if this was good or bad. Yes, it helped that they weren't afraid, but he would have been happier if they displayed a bit more caution. Sometimes apprehension was a good thing. Raijin, in contrast, was completely silent. It was obvious there was a lot on his mind. (He'll have to put it aside,) Irvine mused. (That's just how it goes.)
At the Balamb docks they boarded a small civilian transport for the passage across the ocean to Dollet. Lydia had finally managed to engage Raijin in conversation and Irene dozed off in her seat. Now was as good a time as any for that little chat. "Hey, Alan," he said to get the cadet's attention. "Come topside with me, I gotta ask ya somethin'." He led the way out of the cabin and took a deep breath of the salt air, a sharp, tangy contrast to the atmosphere around the Garden. He could handle this. No problem.
--------------------
The thinning mist allowed the sun to paint the beginnings of a blazing sheen on the crimson hull of the Ragnarok. (Nothing like natural melodrama to add to a Field Exam send-off,) Squall joked to himself. Assembling before him on the tarmac were the three cadet squads and four SeeD observers tapped to execute this mission. Of their own accord, perhaps in their own sense of adding to the formality of the event, the SeeDs stood interspersed with the cadet squads. Jake Cosby, Latitia Farelle, Amber Reyes, and Herman McNair, called "Shock" by his friends, stood at attention with ease. Among them, the nine cadets blinked, shuffled their feet, coughed and fidgeted.
"Well," Squall began, "looks like the gang's all here." At his words the cadets forced themselves to be quiet. "As you're all well aware, this is it. The big one. Your Field Exam. Pass, and you will graduate to become full-fledged SeeDs. Fail, and you'll spend another year being kicked around by Instructors." Some of the cadets laughed. Good enough. "I've taken the liberty of delivering your briefing myself this morning, so pay attention.
"Your destination is southeastern Esthar, between Tears' Point and Lunar Gate. Your mission is simple -- clear the area of the monsters that have been threatening the villages in that area. A large portion of your final grade will be determined by your speed, efficiency and thoroughness in this sweep. You do not have an established time limit, but I don't think I need to tell you that taking forever won't graduate you.
"Because of the broad area of this mission, cooperation and coordination between squads will be vital. You will also be graded on how well you function as a larger unit, not just in your individual groups. Your observers will be contributing to your efforts, but the more they have to do, the lower your grades will be.
"This group, you nine cadets, are looking to be the biggest, best graduating class Balamb Garden has ever had. Go out there and make SeeD and yourselves proud. That is all." Squall saluted the assembled group and strode away before any of the cadets could react. Only when he was sure they couldn't see his face did he allow himself to smile. That was more than he would have said in an entire week, not so long ago.
Irvine and Raijin were gone with their team to Dollet. Behind him, the air thrummed with the roar of the dragonship's engines as it lifted from the ground, carrying the participants in the main Exam to their destiny. Overnight, there had been some odd developments with Fujin. One full day was complete, the first day of what Squall was beginning to feel was an important new cycle of events. Now that he thought about it, this same sensation had lurked in the back of his mind that day over two years ago when he had struck off for the Fire Cavern with Quistis Trepe in his wake. He had ignored it then, just like he'd ignored most of the rest of the world... But now, now he was paying attention.
He turned as he passed through the entrance back into the Garden to watch the Ragnarok power away into the morning sky. Much had changed since that fateful day, but some things were still the same.
Still smiling, SeeD Commander Squall Leonhart turned away from the vista and reentered his home.