[Little voice of reason: No they're not. You can't say that.]
Oh, yeah. That's what I meant. FFVIII and all related characters, weapons, etc. don't belong to me. Oops. Don't sue.
Chapter 4
Uncharacteristically Yours, Q. Trepe
I don't usually get angry. At least not visibly, not in a big way. I don't yell, kick, scream, fight -- well, okay, I do fight, but that's different. As a mercenary, I'm supposed to -- well, beat on people. It's my job. Considering; I don't really display intense emotion outside of work. For better or for worse, I earned my reputation as the Ice Queen. So you can imagine how mad I'd have to be to go storming into Cid's office. Cid's poor secretary gave me just one glance before busying herself shuffling papers at her desk. I didn't even acknowledge her, concentrating instead on ensuring that my every step would thunder throughout Garden. I don't take anger lightly.
Cid didn't even blink as I stomped into his office. I, Quistis Trepe, model student and Miss Composure herself, had barged in unannounced. Scowling furiously. Fists clenched. Seething! And he, the penultimate source of my troubles, smiled at me.
"Quistis. Have a seat. How can I help you?"
I declined the offered chair with a frown. Sometimes the upper hand in an argument was gained simply by being physically higher than your opponent. I turned my frown into a look of pure determination which I then focused, with every ounce of intensity I'd ever held, on my former foster father.
"Get rid of Seifer."
The wretched man grinned again. I think it was only in my mind that it twisted into a cruel smirk. "I'm afraid we can't do that, Quistis."
"Like hell. Get. Rid. Of. Seifer."
I hoped it wasn't just in my mind that he headmaster flinched at my tone of voice. I certainly wasn't imagining the steel in my gaze or the way my words lowered first to a whisper, then a hostile hiss.
Of course it wasn't enough to shake him. Headmaster Cid seems like a pushover, and in some ways he is. He's a kindly old fellow and tries to do what's right, but under that sweet grand fatherly image is a man of incredible strength and resourcefulness. A crafty old fox who will use any tool available to bring you around to his side. Unfortunately for me.
"I'm sorry, Quistis, that you're so upset about Seifer's return. I truly am, because it puts me in a difficult situation. The purpose of an instructor, as I'm sure you understand, is to teach students what they need to know to succeed after graduation. Cadet Almasy has yet to graduate; but his potential for success, if properly nurtured, is nothing short of extraordinary."
Of course I reacted to his final comment. That assessment of Seifer's skills was far too familiar -- I had written it when he first came under my wing as a student. I could feel my muscles tense as I sought to maintain the control that had always come so easily before. Seifer could not be taught; he refused to learn. I knew. I had tried for two excruciating years to cram lessons into his thick skull. I still can't help but sometimes think he failed on purpose, just so he could have another shot at making my life miserable. I breathed deeply before replying.
"Seifer's potential, such as it is, lies buried beneath the rubble of his past. His attitude alone is more than enough to thwart any fool who'd dare try to unearth the promise he showed when I wrote that review."
Cid leaned back in his chair with a slight sigh and crossed his arms over his ample stomach. "I am aware that Cadet Almasy's history is rather . . . speckled. However, the decision to readmit him has been made. Garden has been assured that Seifer will co-operate fully with all staff, or face immediate disciplinary measures."
"Meaning what, exactly?" I prompted, unimpressed by this revelation. That's all nice and friendly, but how much of this co-operation is euphemistic political pleasantry?
"Meaning that Seifer's been readmitted on the condition that he follow orders. He will soon turn twenty-one. Garden has granted him permission to remain for up to a year beyond his next birthday, or until his next SeeD exam, whichever comes first." Cid paused a moment, probably to let me absorb his words. "This is his last chance. If he fails, he's out. Seifer has agreed to these terms; in fact, he suggested them." Another pregnant pause as I clamped my jaw shut and simply tried to exude indignation from every pore, and then Cid cleared his throat. "He requested specifically to have you as an instructor."
Now that was unexpected, and quite unlike the Seifer I knew -- this one actually wanted to be in my class. For a moment I was tempted to feel flattered, in a twisted sort of a way, until I realized he was more likely out to exact a subtle revenge for my having failed him so many times.
"I'd say I'm sorry to disappoint him, but that would be a lie."
Cid looked saddened by my decision. He leaned forward in his chair and sighed, rubbing softly at his temples. He waited a long moment before speaking, in what I privately called his 'official' voice. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Instructor, but it was never a request. If you wish to continue teaching here at Balamb, you will educate cadet Almasy in Advanced Battle Technique; just as Instructors Dincht, Kinneas, and Tilmitt will be training him in their specialties."
That announcement froze my mind as effectively as one of Shiva's ice blasts. "You're making Zell teach Seifer?"
Cid nodded.
"Zell." -- nod -- "And Seifer." -- nod -- "Together." -- nod -- "In one room." -- nod -- "For an entire period." -- nod -- ". . . with all due respect, Sir, are you out of your mind?"
Nod.
I smirked as Cid's actions caught up to him, a slightly embarrassed look crossing his ruddy features. "You weren't entirely paying attention there, were you, Sir?"
He met my smirk with a wry grin of his own. "I'm afraid I allowed my brain to go on automatic. I'll be more careful around you in the future."
I sighed, my smile fading as I recalled the matter at hand. Always on task, like a good little SeeD, mocked a voice somewhere inside me. And I was. Good, dependable Quistis Trepe -- always does what's asked of her. And there I was again, trying to convince myself that teaching Seifer would be a challenged instead of a hardship; because it felt wrong to go against what was, at face value, a reasonable request. Something in me wouldn't let me refuse what it perceived as my duty, nonsensical as that perception may be.
Well, that and my teaching position appeared to be on the line.
"All right, I'll do it. But if Seifer isn't behaving as promised, I want out."
There was no getting out once I'd agreed, and we both knew it, but Cid allowed me my small victory. He didn't smile, instead thanking me softly with a look of tired gratitude. I realized then that I was probably the faculty member requiring the least convincing when it came to Seifer's return. He's going to have to tell Zell about his new student, and soon . . . I almost felt bad for the man sitting across from me, until I remembered the he would barely have to deal with 'cadet Almasy'.
Still . . . I rose from the seat I couldn't recall taking and turned to leave, only to bump into a dirty, disheveled, dripping wet Zell, squelching in sopping running shoes. I blinked in surprise.
"Zell, what happened to you?"
He shrugged, offering me a friendly grin. "Landed in the brook in the training center. Someone paged me while I was in the middle of fighting a T-Rexaur."
"Is that a . . . twig in your hair?"
Zell combed his finger through the dripping blond mess on his head --
not nearly so gravity-defying when it was wet -- and fished out a short
brown stick complete with leaves. He gazed at it sheepishly. "Guess so.
Prob'ly from when I ran into the
tree . . ."
I couldn't hold back a sad smile as I shook my head. "Looks like you're in for a rough day."
Ignoring Zell's quizzical looks, I turned back to Headmaster Cid, regarding him for a moment before speaking.
"Seifer," I said softly, "was exactly as surprised as I was when he found out I'd be his instructor."
Cid looked rather as I must have all those years ago, when he'd catch me with my hand in Matron's cookie jar. I faced the exit in time to catch his reflection in the polished metal door offering me a small salute that seemed to say, touché.
The hydraulic hiss of the door didn't quite mask Zell's words -- "What's that jerk Almasy got to do with anything?"
So help me, I was almost happy to be heading back to Seifer and my classroom.
Anywhere would be better than Headmaster Cid's office for the next little
while.
AN: So yeah, I'm back. This took far too long to get up, and I've got
no real excuse other than not being in the writer's mind for a sickening
amount of time. Don't kill me, or pelt me with tomatoes, or anything .
. . Though I guess the tomatoes would sort of be justified, as long as
they aren't canned or frozen.
Anyway, I won't make any promises as to when the next chapter will
be up, but I have been rather productive as of late. I've also got another
project on the go, but I doubt I'll post it until it's finished. Thanks
to those who've reviewed thus far; I'll try to get things moving at a more
reasonable pace from hereon in.
Oh, and about the title: Yes, that's actually what it's called. As
in, I'm keeping it that way. I like bad puns, and this is one.