Hey! I'm alive! *ducks flying objects* Sorry this update took so long... even I'm mad at me ;_;. Between attending Shoujocon on Saturday (and spending way too much money, but hey, isn't that what conventions are for? ;) and vacationing down at Wildwood (the beach... gotta work on my tan ;) I had no time to write OR post. But I'm here now, so all is forgiven, right? Right? *brandishes evil mutant daisy weedkiller* Thought so. ^^ And this part is nice and long, too.
Reviews, reviews, reviews! Or else I'll torture you even more! Mwahahaha...
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~Hourglass~
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10:35 AM
(She said)
The last, piercing whistle of the departing train hangs a moment longer in the air before fading away to the soft chirp of a Thrustaevis. I stretch languidly, content to leave the planning to another for a change. I'm always the one in charge- it's nice to be able to lean on someone else's strength.
I can feel the tension in his body as I rest against him. He's worried about something. I should react to that, I should be worried too, but only the ever-present sense of urgency reminds me that I'm heading into a combat situation. I can't seem to focus on the details; it's like the whole situation is blurred- hidden behind clinging fog, resting at the bottom of a shallow pool, distorted, only the outline clear.
But then, why shouldn't it be that way? Battles are always chaotic. It's the first thing they tell you in Basic Strategy and they keep drumming it into you all the way thought AP BatStrat. It's a cliché but that doesn't make it any less true. The best-laid plans in the world fall apart the instant the first shot is fired. Every side is going to make mistakes, they tell you. The side that makes the least mistakes, that thinks best on their feet, that does the best job of exploiting the other's mistakes, that side is usually the victor. A good Strategos is a flexible Strategos.
That was one of the things Headmaster Cid said. I wasn't flexible enough.
He sighs, long, drawn-out, consciously letting something go. Fear, hatred, passion, all are useless in battle. It was a lesson Seifer could never seem to learn. Always so hotheaded, impulsive, reckless. Looking at him now, studying the calm, planned, hard lines of his face, I think perhaps he finally has. For the first time before a battle I see him using his head and not his emotions.
A cold, sharp glint in his eyes that brings Squall involuntarily to mind.
A slow, satisfied smile that curves slowly across my lips.
An image of fire and ice streaking past my mind's eye, so fast it leaves only an afterimage, the two bleeding into each other, white-cold and red-hot tempering each other in the blackness of nothing.
It's happening. It took six years, two scars, memory loss and the brainwashing of our Matron to bring it about, but it's finally happening.
The gang is reuniting.
The group is working _together_.
I have a sudden feeling of invincibility.
The smile doesn't fade.
It feels good.
10:36 AM
(He said)
My breath escapes invisibly into the hazy air. I stare idly at the water, turned slightly murky by the last remnants of morning fog the sun has yet to burn off, and focus as best as I can on their relative calmness. It's never been easy for me. I've always been impulsive, hotheaded, passionate... the list goes on. I never saw a problem with it, never heeded teacher's warnings, never saw the need to change until one day, in the heat of the moment, I broke out of Garden, ran to Timber, and there, in the sudden chill atmosphere of the TV station, fell before Ultimecia. Unjunctioned, unaware and unprepared, I succumbed to her promises and was unmade.
Never again, I swore. Because of that, I will never be worthy of the angel by my side; but I will be as worthy as I can.
Speaking of whom... I glance at her belt, where her old chain whip hangs neatly coiled. As an Instructor it was all she needed, and as a blue mage her weapon need be nothing stellar. She was as good a fighter physically as any SeeD, I understood, but in the upcoming battles she would need every advantage she could get. I remember fighting her in Galbadia Garden, when she still wielded this whip; I remember countering the blows she dealt with Save the Queen on Lunatic Pandora. Only during the latter fight had she done me any injury.
I take a moment more to stare at the ocean and clear my thoughts. Then I turn to her. "Ne, Quisty, want to take a stroll into town? We should stop by the potion store and the junk shop's not a bad idea either."
She peers up at me, eyes alight with reflected sun, as if she's staring into my soul. It frightens me, what she may see, what she may think. Even discarding Ultimecia, I am not a good man. I was born to be a mercenary, and not all of my past actions have been moral or right. It scares me, that I might taint her, pull her down from her place in heaven into the fire reserved for me. My head tells me that she too is a mercenary, has been a full SeeD for three years; that, despite being an Instructor, she has gone on missions; that some of those missions were more concerned with the color of our employer's gil than the moral high ground. But my heart can't forget the way her eyes looked at five, wide and happy and full of trust; can't forget her lilting laughter at each new discovery in a rich and vibrant world. I can't forget the innocence she once possessed, or stop my jealous guardianship over whatever shreds remain after all the time and blood and death.
I don't want her to become what I did. Lonely, and bitter, and disillusioned.
"Um..." her tentative whisper escapes into the sea breeze, stripped of sound before it has gone two paces from her lips. "I, well..." her voice dies.
I squeeze her waist, trying to reassure her, but I refrain from putting words in her mouth. Whatever she says has to be hers alone.
"I wanted to ask you," she finally managed to get out. "Se..." she stared at me for a second, then took a deep breath and asked point-blank "Why me?"
That took me aback. Wait a second, I thought we'd been through this already...
Some of the sudden blankness must have shown on my face, because she was already waving a hand dismissively, her powers of articulation apparently recovering. "Not that," she said impatiently. "I mean- Timber- Matron- I get all that, that's not it. I mean... well... you." Her voice seemed to be losing its coherency again. "Why- you- me- you know?"
Oh... I stared out at the ocean. "D'you remember, when we were kids-" I shrugged, a little embarrassed. "To be honest, it started out as kind of a joke," I admitted. "Irvine was always chasing Selphie, and you couldn't pry Squall away from Ellone with a flamethrower and a three-foot girder. I could never stand being left behind, and you were the only remaining girl."
"Then how come I didn't know?" she queried. "I would have thought you'd make it obvious. Squall and Irvy certainly did."
"They did," I agreed. "And I meant to. But it didn't quite work out the way I planned. Actually, once I really started looking at you- once I stopped thinking of you as Bossy Quisty and tried to figure out what I liked about you- well, not only did decide you weren't so bad after all, I thought you were just about the coolest thing since gunblade oil." I could feel my cheeks heating with the admission. "We were already seven or eight by then- that's old enough... it was just a crush, really. You don't find true love as an insecure eight-year-old bully. I thought if I told anyone they'd only laugh at me, or ridicule me. Then someone offered to adopt you.
"Frankly I wasn't sure whether to be upset or ecstatic. After all, you were supposed to make me feel less vulnerable, not more, but at the same time it hurt. It was right after that that Ellie left again. Squall and I ended up developing two completely different attitudes to cover two identical sets of conflicting emotions. It was really inevitable that we begin to fight. And when I realized, one day, that when I was fighting I had managed to completely forget you were even alive- it became addicting. The adrenaline rush, the tunnel vision, even the blood. I couldn't understand why I couldn't get you out of my head, but I couldn't stop trying.
"I knew what the GFs would do to me, Quistis. I didn't care. When I took my first junction all I remember feeling is this overwhelming sense of relief. I just couldn't stand to remember anything. It got to be so all-consuming that I could only truly feel whole in the heat of battle. Then I had no past, and the present was entirely devoted to ensuring I had a future.
"When I walked into Advanced GFs on the first day of class, I didn't recognize you. You should have meant nothing to me. But you did. More than a teenage-male reaction of 'Oh, you're hot'. Something else entirely. It took me a while to realize because I was fighting it every step of the way. I had spent a decade trying to forget you. I thought I'd never see you again." I tighten my hold around her, anchoring myself to her physical reality. "It was like a miracle." A miracle that I got a second chance. A miracle that you're really here, with me, your emotions munificent instead of murderous.
"I understand." Her eyes are soft and warm. They smile at me.
I used to believe there was no such things as miracles.
She shifts against me, moving to rise, and I realize I've lost myself in her eyes. Quistis smiles gently, moves her arm to brush mine, twines our fingers together. "Come on," she says. "Let's go."
Hand in hand, we move up the cobblestone road to our future.
10:38 AM
(She said)
The door of the potion shop /ding!/s as I push it open. The man behind the counter stands, a well-worn look of welcome creasing his face. "Come in," he greets amiably. "How may I help you today?"
I offer him a slight nod and bend to check the remedies rack. Last week's demonstration in class was Doomtrain, and I'd used up a lot of anitdotes and eyedrops curing his bad status effects.
Seifer, on the other hand, leans idly against the counter and speaks directly to the clerk. Flashing the potions rack a deliberately dismissive glance, he informs the man, "I'd like to see your range of second-level supplies."
I straighten from my crouch, an elixir dangling forgotten from my fingers. I try not to make it obvious that I'm staring in surprise and confusion. The clerk doesn't attempt to conceal it. "Sir, I'm afraid that what you see-"
"Really," Seifer cut him off. He was still relaxed, giving the shopkeeper a friendly look. "That's odd. I was *sure* Zell said I could get them here..."
The shopkeeper's entire demeanor changed, going from cordial neutrality to merry camaraderie. "You're friends of Zell's?"
Seifer raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, we grew up together."
The other man beamed effusively. "Well, and why didn't you say so?" he said expansively, a slight Galbadian drawl tingeing his tone with warmth. "In that case, take a look." He thumbed a button out of sight. The potions case, mounted on the far wall, swivelled around abruptly, revealing /another/ shelf laden with second-level restorative draughts.
It took me a second to overcome my first reaction, which was to gape in shock. Once I did, I shot both the formerly hidden case and the newly revealed Potions Master a deeply suspicious glance. The higher-level potions wouldn't be much in demand among civilians in a small town like Balamb. They didn't generally encounter the type of monsters who could inflict that kind of damage, and if they did magic was the preferred healing agent. These type of potions were intended for heavy-duty use while under a magic-dampening field. The man probably had criminal connections. And would it kill him to wash his hair once in a while? I shake my head slightly in disgust, but join Seifer by the rack.
"What do you think?" he slips an arm around my waist. "Hi-Potions+, Remedies+ or some of each?"
I do my best to quell a sudden lightheadedness that I attributed to the slightly thinner air of Balamb. "Some of each, definitely." I hoped that had been a rhetorical question. Or else he *really* hadn't been paying attention in class.
"Right." He winked at me and snagged several vials from the shelf. Belatedly I replaced the weaker elixir and watched Seifer pay, wondering what had triggered his playful mood. Not that I really had to ask. It was a cover for something, some emotion, some pre-battle condition. I traditionally reacted by becoming more uptight, he by wisecracking incessantly.
"C'mon," he beckoned me, handing over half the vials as we left the store. "Next stop, junk shop."
10:39 AM
(He said)
As we make tracks through Balamb I study Quistis carefully, mentally cataloguing her supply of spells and items. What I see isn't promising. I'd known they started out underequipped, but this was ridiculous! What good would a few Thunder spells do against a sorceress? How could a half-dozen Potions even begin to heal the damage she inflicts? And not a single protective spell. No Shells or Reflects, nothing to counter the magic at her command. And if they somehow manage to get her *really* mad, and she starts flinging Death spells- forget it. The very thought makes me shiver involuntarily and draw her closer. No Life spells either, only a few Phoenix Downs, and with those if you don't get to the victim quickly- not like Ultimecia would give them time, get her mad and she just blasts you, three KOs later and there's no one left to bring you back...
Don't think about it.
Instead I rifle quickly through my mental inventory. I haven't used any of the Death spells I took from my old stockpile, and thank Hyne I decided to be cautious and bring them. Give her those- can Quezacotl even junction to Elem-D?- maybe find a Pet Shop- some Lifes, thirty or so Curagas, a dozen Regens and all the protective magic I can spare... good think I taught Alexander Cover...
[Overprotective, aren't we?] he quipped. [She survived /last/ time...]
[/Last/ time she wasn't /in/ the first battle,] I snapped back. [Squall was, and if Ultimecia wasn't pissed off enough she couldn't aim straight, he'd be dead! Even so he was damn lucky I had enough Full-Lifes and Curagas to patch him up! They're completely unprepared- first-level magic, nothing protective, not enough curative magic to heal a Grat and their junctions are a joke! I won't let Ultimecia slaughter her because she hasn't got enough Reflects!]
[Calm down,] Alexander advised dispassionately. [You are much more prepared this time. Nothing will happen to your woman. If you worry too much, she will only become suspicious and less likely to listen.] He gave the mental equivalent of a decisive nod. [Now pay attention. You've arrived.]
I turn my gaze outward with a start, realizing that, yes, it is indeed the tooled wooden sign of a scrap/remodel shop swinging in the breeze before me. Quistis is peering up questioningly; how long was I standing here worrying? Instantly I manufacture a reassuring smile and put it on. Alexander has the right of it. Keeping my emotions firmly in check, I pull the door open and usher her inside.
The cool, darkened interior of the shop is calming. I take a deep breath, separating from the saturated air the familiar scents of oil, grease, tallow and molten metal. I've been in a hundred such shops through my life, collecting the parts which ultimately became Hyperion. I pat the weapon fondly, tracing a fingertip over one of the screws holding the handle. I had found that on the beach when I was five, one of the few childhood memories that never left me. It was the item that had started me on the collection, that and a tattered old copy of Weapons Monthly that had described the rare and difficult weapon called a gunblade.
"Welcome! Who needs to remodel?"
The inquiry of the Weapons Master recalls me to the present, and I motion for Quistis to lay her weapon on the table. To his credit, the shopkeeper doesn't even blink as she does, but he can't resist flicking her a look that quite plainly says [You're a SeeD and you're walking around with *this*?] Then he recalls his professionalism and hauls out a stack of upgrade lists, slapping them on the counter with an audible /thump/.
Quisty starts flipping through Slaying Tail parts lists but I arrow straight for Save the Queen. Malboro Tentacles, Sharp Spikes, Energy Crystals... okay. I start digging through my items pouch. Thankfully it was in the pocket of my trenchcoat right before I jumped times. As they hit the table, both Quisty and the shopkeeper stop what they're doing to watch as I sort through rare items, carelessly shoving aside Hypno Crowns and Holy Wars to dig out the required parts. I finished my impromptu show by pulling out the remodel cost of 800 gil. Galbadia was a very prosperous nation, and I don't feel guilty using this money because, technically, it was never looted. One, two... aaaand... smirk! Right on cue. I've always had a flair for the dramatic, if I do say so myself, and I feel better already. Quistis could sweep the floor with her jaw and the shopkeeper was regarding me with a look of deep respect.
"Seifer," Quistis asked disbelievingly as the remodeler snatched up her old whip and the new parts and scurried away, "Where did you *get* all that stuff?"
Winning bad-boy smile. "Internet?"
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Some humor, some introspection... I rather like the mix.
On a slightly less happy note, I'm noticing that I have less writing time now that it's summer. I used to do most of this in school (for those who have never tried writing during History or Math class, I definitely recomend it. Excellent for introspection.) Plus I have six summer reading books, AP European History homework, and seven college essays to write, making Lyaka a swamped lil' author. ^^;;; The point of this litany of grievances is that posts may be a little farther apart until school starts up again, at which point I will again be free to goof off all I like. ^^v
Of course, lots and lots of reviews have been known to change my mind... just a thought. (I'm not hinting anything... no, really!)
Lyaka ^^
Reviews, reviews, reviews! Or else I'll torture you even more! Mwahahaha...
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~Hourglass~
---------------
10:35 AM
(She said)
The last, piercing whistle of the departing train hangs a moment longer in the air before fading away to the soft chirp of a Thrustaevis. I stretch languidly, content to leave the planning to another for a change. I'm always the one in charge- it's nice to be able to lean on someone else's strength.
I can feel the tension in his body as I rest against him. He's worried about something. I should react to that, I should be worried too, but only the ever-present sense of urgency reminds me that I'm heading into a combat situation. I can't seem to focus on the details; it's like the whole situation is blurred- hidden behind clinging fog, resting at the bottom of a shallow pool, distorted, only the outline clear.
But then, why shouldn't it be that way? Battles are always chaotic. It's the first thing they tell you in Basic Strategy and they keep drumming it into you all the way thought AP BatStrat. It's a cliché but that doesn't make it any less true. The best-laid plans in the world fall apart the instant the first shot is fired. Every side is going to make mistakes, they tell you. The side that makes the least mistakes, that thinks best on their feet, that does the best job of exploiting the other's mistakes, that side is usually the victor. A good Strategos is a flexible Strategos.
That was one of the things Headmaster Cid said. I wasn't flexible enough.
He sighs, long, drawn-out, consciously letting something go. Fear, hatred, passion, all are useless in battle. It was a lesson Seifer could never seem to learn. Always so hotheaded, impulsive, reckless. Looking at him now, studying the calm, planned, hard lines of his face, I think perhaps he finally has. For the first time before a battle I see him using his head and not his emotions.
A cold, sharp glint in his eyes that brings Squall involuntarily to mind.
A slow, satisfied smile that curves slowly across my lips.
An image of fire and ice streaking past my mind's eye, so fast it leaves only an afterimage, the two bleeding into each other, white-cold and red-hot tempering each other in the blackness of nothing.
It's happening. It took six years, two scars, memory loss and the brainwashing of our Matron to bring it about, but it's finally happening.
The gang is reuniting.
The group is working _together_.
I have a sudden feeling of invincibility.
The smile doesn't fade.
It feels good.
10:36 AM
(He said)
My breath escapes invisibly into the hazy air. I stare idly at the water, turned slightly murky by the last remnants of morning fog the sun has yet to burn off, and focus as best as I can on their relative calmness. It's never been easy for me. I've always been impulsive, hotheaded, passionate... the list goes on. I never saw a problem with it, never heeded teacher's warnings, never saw the need to change until one day, in the heat of the moment, I broke out of Garden, ran to Timber, and there, in the sudden chill atmosphere of the TV station, fell before Ultimecia. Unjunctioned, unaware and unprepared, I succumbed to her promises and was unmade.
Never again, I swore. Because of that, I will never be worthy of the angel by my side; but I will be as worthy as I can.
Speaking of whom... I glance at her belt, where her old chain whip hangs neatly coiled. As an Instructor it was all she needed, and as a blue mage her weapon need be nothing stellar. She was as good a fighter physically as any SeeD, I understood, but in the upcoming battles she would need every advantage she could get. I remember fighting her in Galbadia Garden, when she still wielded this whip; I remember countering the blows she dealt with Save the Queen on Lunatic Pandora. Only during the latter fight had she done me any injury.
I take a moment more to stare at the ocean and clear my thoughts. Then I turn to her. "Ne, Quisty, want to take a stroll into town? We should stop by the potion store and the junk shop's not a bad idea either."
She peers up at me, eyes alight with reflected sun, as if she's staring into my soul. It frightens me, what she may see, what she may think. Even discarding Ultimecia, I am not a good man. I was born to be a mercenary, and not all of my past actions have been moral or right. It scares me, that I might taint her, pull her down from her place in heaven into the fire reserved for me. My head tells me that she too is a mercenary, has been a full SeeD for three years; that, despite being an Instructor, she has gone on missions; that some of those missions were more concerned with the color of our employer's gil than the moral high ground. But my heart can't forget the way her eyes looked at five, wide and happy and full of trust; can't forget her lilting laughter at each new discovery in a rich and vibrant world. I can't forget the innocence she once possessed, or stop my jealous guardianship over whatever shreds remain after all the time and blood and death.
I don't want her to become what I did. Lonely, and bitter, and disillusioned.
"Um..." her tentative whisper escapes into the sea breeze, stripped of sound before it has gone two paces from her lips. "I, well..." her voice dies.
I squeeze her waist, trying to reassure her, but I refrain from putting words in her mouth. Whatever she says has to be hers alone.
"I wanted to ask you," she finally managed to get out. "Se..." she stared at me for a second, then took a deep breath and asked point-blank "Why me?"
That took me aback. Wait a second, I thought we'd been through this already...
Some of the sudden blankness must have shown on my face, because she was already waving a hand dismissively, her powers of articulation apparently recovering. "Not that," she said impatiently. "I mean- Timber- Matron- I get all that, that's not it. I mean... well... you." Her voice seemed to be losing its coherency again. "Why- you- me- you know?"
Oh... I stared out at the ocean. "D'you remember, when we were kids-" I shrugged, a little embarrassed. "To be honest, it started out as kind of a joke," I admitted. "Irvine was always chasing Selphie, and you couldn't pry Squall away from Ellone with a flamethrower and a three-foot girder. I could never stand being left behind, and you were the only remaining girl."
"Then how come I didn't know?" she queried. "I would have thought you'd make it obvious. Squall and Irvy certainly did."
"They did," I agreed. "And I meant to. But it didn't quite work out the way I planned. Actually, once I really started looking at you- once I stopped thinking of you as Bossy Quisty and tried to figure out what I liked about you- well, not only did decide you weren't so bad after all, I thought you were just about the coolest thing since gunblade oil." I could feel my cheeks heating with the admission. "We were already seven or eight by then- that's old enough... it was just a crush, really. You don't find true love as an insecure eight-year-old bully. I thought if I told anyone they'd only laugh at me, or ridicule me. Then someone offered to adopt you.
"Frankly I wasn't sure whether to be upset or ecstatic. After all, you were supposed to make me feel less vulnerable, not more, but at the same time it hurt. It was right after that that Ellie left again. Squall and I ended up developing two completely different attitudes to cover two identical sets of conflicting emotions. It was really inevitable that we begin to fight. And when I realized, one day, that when I was fighting I had managed to completely forget you were even alive- it became addicting. The adrenaline rush, the tunnel vision, even the blood. I couldn't understand why I couldn't get you out of my head, but I couldn't stop trying.
"I knew what the GFs would do to me, Quistis. I didn't care. When I took my first junction all I remember feeling is this overwhelming sense of relief. I just couldn't stand to remember anything. It got to be so all-consuming that I could only truly feel whole in the heat of battle. Then I had no past, and the present was entirely devoted to ensuring I had a future.
"When I walked into Advanced GFs on the first day of class, I didn't recognize you. You should have meant nothing to me. But you did. More than a teenage-male reaction of 'Oh, you're hot'. Something else entirely. It took me a while to realize because I was fighting it every step of the way. I had spent a decade trying to forget you. I thought I'd never see you again." I tighten my hold around her, anchoring myself to her physical reality. "It was like a miracle." A miracle that I got a second chance. A miracle that you're really here, with me, your emotions munificent instead of murderous.
"I understand." Her eyes are soft and warm. They smile at me.
I used to believe there was no such things as miracles.
She shifts against me, moving to rise, and I realize I've lost myself in her eyes. Quistis smiles gently, moves her arm to brush mine, twines our fingers together. "Come on," she says. "Let's go."
Hand in hand, we move up the cobblestone road to our future.
10:38 AM
(She said)
The door of the potion shop /ding!/s as I push it open. The man behind the counter stands, a well-worn look of welcome creasing his face. "Come in," he greets amiably. "How may I help you today?"
I offer him a slight nod and bend to check the remedies rack. Last week's demonstration in class was Doomtrain, and I'd used up a lot of anitdotes and eyedrops curing his bad status effects.
Seifer, on the other hand, leans idly against the counter and speaks directly to the clerk. Flashing the potions rack a deliberately dismissive glance, he informs the man, "I'd like to see your range of second-level supplies."
I straighten from my crouch, an elixir dangling forgotten from my fingers. I try not to make it obvious that I'm staring in surprise and confusion. The clerk doesn't attempt to conceal it. "Sir, I'm afraid that what you see-"
"Really," Seifer cut him off. He was still relaxed, giving the shopkeeper a friendly look. "That's odd. I was *sure* Zell said I could get them here..."
The shopkeeper's entire demeanor changed, going from cordial neutrality to merry camaraderie. "You're friends of Zell's?"
Seifer raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, we grew up together."
The other man beamed effusively. "Well, and why didn't you say so?" he said expansively, a slight Galbadian drawl tingeing his tone with warmth. "In that case, take a look." He thumbed a button out of sight. The potions case, mounted on the far wall, swivelled around abruptly, revealing /another/ shelf laden with second-level restorative draughts.
It took me a second to overcome my first reaction, which was to gape in shock. Once I did, I shot both the formerly hidden case and the newly revealed Potions Master a deeply suspicious glance. The higher-level potions wouldn't be much in demand among civilians in a small town like Balamb. They didn't generally encounter the type of monsters who could inflict that kind of damage, and if they did magic was the preferred healing agent. These type of potions were intended for heavy-duty use while under a magic-dampening field. The man probably had criminal connections. And would it kill him to wash his hair once in a while? I shake my head slightly in disgust, but join Seifer by the rack.
"What do you think?" he slips an arm around my waist. "Hi-Potions+, Remedies+ or some of each?"
I do my best to quell a sudden lightheadedness that I attributed to the slightly thinner air of Balamb. "Some of each, definitely." I hoped that had been a rhetorical question. Or else he *really* hadn't been paying attention in class.
"Right." He winked at me and snagged several vials from the shelf. Belatedly I replaced the weaker elixir and watched Seifer pay, wondering what had triggered his playful mood. Not that I really had to ask. It was a cover for something, some emotion, some pre-battle condition. I traditionally reacted by becoming more uptight, he by wisecracking incessantly.
"C'mon," he beckoned me, handing over half the vials as we left the store. "Next stop, junk shop."
10:39 AM
(He said)
As we make tracks through Balamb I study Quistis carefully, mentally cataloguing her supply of spells and items. What I see isn't promising. I'd known they started out underequipped, but this was ridiculous! What good would a few Thunder spells do against a sorceress? How could a half-dozen Potions even begin to heal the damage she inflicts? And not a single protective spell. No Shells or Reflects, nothing to counter the magic at her command. And if they somehow manage to get her *really* mad, and she starts flinging Death spells- forget it. The very thought makes me shiver involuntarily and draw her closer. No Life spells either, only a few Phoenix Downs, and with those if you don't get to the victim quickly- not like Ultimecia would give them time, get her mad and she just blasts you, three KOs later and there's no one left to bring you back...
Don't think about it.
Instead I rifle quickly through my mental inventory. I haven't used any of the Death spells I took from my old stockpile, and thank Hyne I decided to be cautious and bring them. Give her those- can Quezacotl even junction to Elem-D?- maybe find a Pet Shop- some Lifes, thirty or so Curagas, a dozen Regens and all the protective magic I can spare... good think I taught Alexander Cover...
[Overprotective, aren't we?] he quipped. [She survived /last/ time...]
[/Last/ time she wasn't /in/ the first battle,] I snapped back. [Squall was, and if Ultimecia wasn't pissed off enough she couldn't aim straight, he'd be dead! Even so he was damn lucky I had enough Full-Lifes and Curagas to patch him up! They're completely unprepared- first-level magic, nothing protective, not enough curative magic to heal a Grat and their junctions are a joke! I won't let Ultimecia slaughter her because she hasn't got enough Reflects!]
[Calm down,] Alexander advised dispassionately. [You are much more prepared this time. Nothing will happen to your woman. If you worry too much, she will only become suspicious and less likely to listen.] He gave the mental equivalent of a decisive nod. [Now pay attention. You've arrived.]
I turn my gaze outward with a start, realizing that, yes, it is indeed the tooled wooden sign of a scrap/remodel shop swinging in the breeze before me. Quistis is peering up questioningly; how long was I standing here worrying? Instantly I manufacture a reassuring smile and put it on. Alexander has the right of it. Keeping my emotions firmly in check, I pull the door open and usher her inside.
The cool, darkened interior of the shop is calming. I take a deep breath, separating from the saturated air the familiar scents of oil, grease, tallow and molten metal. I've been in a hundred such shops through my life, collecting the parts which ultimately became Hyperion. I pat the weapon fondly, tracing a fingertip over one of the screws holding the handle. I had found that on the beach when I was five, one of the few childhood memories that never left me. It was the item that had started me on the collection, that and a tattered old copy of Weapons Monthly that had described the rare and difficult weapon called a gunblade.
"Welcome! Who needs to remodel?"
The inquiry of the Weapons Master recalls me to the present, and I motion for Quistis to lay her weapon on the table. To his credit, the shopkeeper doesn't even blink as she does, but he can't resist flicking her a look that quite plainly says [You're a SeeD and you're walking around with *this*?] Then he recalls his professionalism and hauls out a stack of upgrade lists, slapping them on the counter with an audible /thump/.
Quisty starts flipping through Slaying Tail parts lists but I arrow straight for Save the Queen. Malboro Tentacles, Sharp Spikes, Energy Crystals... okay. I start digging through my items pouch. Thankfully it was in the pocket of my trenchcoat right before I jumped times. As they hit the table, both Quisty and the shopkeeper stop what they're doing to watch as I sort through rare items, carelessly shoving aside Hypno Crowns and Holy Wars to dig out the required parts. I finished my impromptu show by pulling out the remodel cost of 800 gil. Galbadia was a very prosperous nation, and I don't feel guilty using this money because, technically, it was never looted. One, two... aaaand... smirk! Right on cue. I've always had a flair for the dramatic, if I do say so myself, and I feel better already. Quistis could sweep the floor with her jaw and the shopkeeper was regarding me with a look of deep respect.
"Seifer," Quistis asked disbelievingly as the remodeler snatched up her old whip and the new parts and scurried away, "Where did you *get* all that stuff?"
Winning bad-boy smile. "Internet?"
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Some humor, some introspection... I rather like the mix.
On a slightly less happy note, I'm noticing that I have less writing time now that it's summer. I used to do most of this in school (for those who have never tried writing during History or Math class, I definitely recomend it. Excellent for introspection.) Plus I have six summer reading books, AP European History homework, and seven college essays to write, making Lyaka a swamped lil' author. ^^;;; The point of this litany of grievances is that posts may be a little farther apart until school starts up again, at which point I will again be free to goof off all I like. ^^v
Of course, lots and lots of reviews have been known to change my mind... just a thought. (I'm not hinting anything... no, really!)
Lyaka ^^