Chapter 3
Introducing Zell Dincht
One, two, three, kick -- one, two, three, punch -- block, block, three, punch -- double punch, kick, chop, right hook -- duck, crouch, wait, BOOYA!
I love the training center. It's combat for sport, for personal improvement. A place where I can go to let out some of my energy; and that's getting harder to do every day now that Squall's got me teaching the younger cadets. Heh -- you'd think that a combat instructor would be active the entire day. Not so. I'm stuck marking tests, writing assignments, composing lesson plans . . . . I've gained so much respect for Quisty in the past few months.
Don't get me wrong. I mostly like being an instructor. I teach a great bunch of kids; it's just that I miss my free time. I've always been kind of hyperactive, and my martial arts help me unwind. So does spending time with Kira, but . . .
When I was little, I couldn't sit still. In class I'd fidget, I'd babble, and I'd inevitably fall out of my chair. The kids would laugh at me, so my teachers thought I was doing it for attention. I tell you, I doubt if any other kid in Balamb spent more time in detention that I did, my first few years of school. Eventually they realized that I wasn't acting up on purpose, and they diagnosed me with some attention-hyperactivity disorder or another. They tried me on pills to slow me down, but that didn't work very well. I'd get moody and sullen, and I still couldn't pay attention in class. And then Dad died . . . Long story short, I tried to run away.
I didn't get very far. I think I sat at the train station for about four hours before I realized I didn't really want to leave Mom or Grandpa. They weren't the problem, I was. By leaving, I'd just be taking my troubles with me. So I went home, miserable -- at least until I walked in the door. It turns out that Thom, the old stationmaster, had called Mom to tell her where I was so she wouldn't get too worried. She'd figured me out and had a tray of hot dogs (even then, my favorite food), hot chocolate, and a warm hug waiting for me. Then she waited for me to start talking. Mom's always given me my space; she's cool that way.
We must have stayed up all night discussing feelings and family and being true to yourself -- stuff that had been bothering me deep down, though I'd never dared say it before. When you're thirteen years old, talking about feelings with your mom just isn't the cool thing to do. It was that night that Mom said she'd been looking into a new school, one that might be better suited for a kid like me -- Garden. I thought that was a pretty stupid name for a school, but the combat training sounded sort of cool. Grandpa offered to teach me martial arts if I'd give Garden a try it for a few weeks, with the understanding that I could go back to my old classes if I didn't like it there. He'd already taught me a bit, and at my age that offer sent tantalizing visions of myself as combat champion of the world dancing through my head.
During my entrance interview, I found out that Garden's headmaster was none other than Cid Kramer, my foster father of five years. I figured that was as good a sign as any that my going this school would turn out all right. I had no idea . . . . Grandpa's lessons had me well ahead of my combat class in no time. It felt so good to succeed for once in my life. The other cadets would actually come to me for help! I did fairly well in my other classes, too, learning tricks to help me concentrate. Every day after class I'd trek back to Balamb, then Grandpa and I'd work out on the Alcauld plains. When he got too sick to keep up with me I used to wheel him out. He'd call out instructions and advice as he sat in his wheelchair watching me. . . It was kind of hard to see him just sitting there when only a year or so earlier he'd been more agile than I was. Mom later said that his daily training sessions with me were what kept him going for so long.
Grandpa died during my second year at Garden, but not before he'd taught me to feel the rhythm of a battle. His lessons have kept me alive in more than one situation, so when he was gone I moved my daily workout to the training center and invited anyone who wanted to come. Some days, like today, I work alone; but others find me training with a dozen or so people who need combat help. I like to think that Grandpa would be proud of me for it.
So there I was in the middle of punching out Mikey, one of the training center's two T-Rexaurs, when Cid paged me over the loudspeaker. Just as I was about to land the finishing blow, Mr. Headmaster's voice blared out of nowhere, distracting me at the crucial moment. I missed completely and threw myself off balance, unable to dodge Mikey's tail as he swung it toward me. I rode the blow, but still ended up flying a good fifteen feet to land in the water. I'll be feeling that tomorrow. Of course, Cid chose that moment to page me again. He's got an incredible sense of timing.
"Would Zell Dincht please report to the Headmaster's office. SeeD Dincht, Headmaster's office."
"Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time," I muttered; hoisting my sore, dripping body onto the bank opposite the T-Rexaurs' play area. Mikey was in no condition to follow me anyway.
"Unfortunately for you, I think," a very familiar voice added, obviously trying to hold back laughter. A little giggle escapes pursed lips as the arm that went with the voice reached down to help me up.
I accepted the proffered hand and sprang to my feet, using the momentum to enfold my 'rescuer' in a warm hug.
"Hiya, Kira."
"Zell," my girlfriend grumbled, "now you've gone and gotten me all wet." But she hugged me back, so I knew she wasn't actually mad.
I flashed her a grin. "Terrible, aren't I?"
"Awful," she agreed with a small smile. "And I'm not the only one who will think so if you don't hurry to see the headmaster."
Cid, right. I'd completely forgotten about him when I saw Kira. She kinda has that effect on me sometimes . . . . I ran a hand over my face then flicked out my fingers in annoyance, little droplets of water flying off them to spatter in the dirt. I offered her an apologetic shrug.
"The Powers that Be call. Can I meet up with you in about half an hour at the cafeteria? Sorry about this," I added. I hated to duck out on her like that, but as a SeeD there was little I could do about it.
She gave me a little hug. "It's okay, Zell. Half an hour would be great. You'd better hurry if you want to get changed first."
Kira was right, as usual. But the dorms were halfway across Garden . . . .
"Nah, I don't think I will. It's sort of Cid's fault I'm soaked, his carpets can suffer for it." With a quick kiss I was jogging off backwards, waving the whole while. "See you in a bit!"
Her exasperated smile parted into a warning cry, but it was too late.
I hit the tree full force and went down just as the Headmaster called for
me a third time. Man am I gonna be late . . .
AN: Hmm . . . I'm not too fond of the first part of chapter, it feels sort of awkward, but it serves its purpose. The next one should be up soon, featuring an angry Quistis. Yay!