A/N: *sweat drop* Ahhh I'm so sorry for the delay. Major apologies. I must thank everyone for the reviews, though, you guys are absolutely wonderful.
Disclaimer: Gotta love Squaresoft. And you didn't hear it from me, but this fic is sort of based off of a novel, which is somewhat exaggerated. But you didn't hear it from me. *disappears*
The Scorpion's Bite
Chapter Three: Momentum
By ArashiKishu
"I now know the depths I reach are limitless" (Reptile, Nine Inch Nails)
He was seventeen then. Young, vivacious, and highly indifferent to anyone who dared to challenge him.
Like his father, he supposed, but he hated his father and perhaps for that very same reason.
His father, well respected among his colleagues, had been graced with a certain poised mind-set that had succeeded in raising him to the top of social designation. Well-spoken and extremely persuasive, he was an asset to the world of business.
In spite of his devotion to the corporations, he was never meant to be a family man. As a father, he fed his son with grating amounts of political and social convictions, conditioning him to think little of those who were inferior and envy those more educated than him.
Other than that, the boy had received nothing from his father save for material possessions, and he had come to wonder whether that was a sign of affection or merely just a means to ensure the rapid growth of commercial enterprise.
His mother, frustrated by the man's obvious lack of compassion, had left a few years before without so much as a note. But his father hadn't cared, and neither had he.
A broken family, it seemed, was less proficient than one that had never even existed.
But none of that mattered anymore, for the boy had become a man and his father was dead. He had died a year ago, killed by those very same convictions.
…Foolish was son for even allowing himself to remember.
"Sir," a voice came from the doorway of his office. He jerked his head to the side, and the woman before him tilted her head slightly.
"I'm sorry,' she began, fiddling with the ends of her white, knee length coat. "Perhaps I should have-"
Grunting with frustration, he cut her off. "What is it?" he asked, clearly annoyed.
"Results, sir." She dared to walk into the room, before continuing. "Things seem to be moving along quite well." The woman nervously handed him the clipboard, and he all but grabbed the thing. As he flipped through the pages, jaw set in obvious concentration, the girl stood back, flustered.
Seldom was a girl this pretty, with soft, wavy curls that rested at her shoulders, silvery emerald eyes, and velvety light skin. Beauty that did not go all together unnoticed by the person sitting before her.
Fear was the word to describe her intellection of the man, but also admiration. He was dangerous in the way he spoke, and dangerous in the way he carried himself. It was as if he existed in a whole other world, completely unphased by those living in the current.
Apparently satisfied, he set the board on the desk and drummed his fingers over the stack of papers fastened by the metal clamp. When he looked back at the woman, she seemed to be waiting for a reply. "Well, go on then," he belittled her.
Only slightly disappointed, she turned around and left his office, closing the door behind her, but not before muttering a quick, yet still polite, "yes, sir."
He glanced at the data again. Words on paper, he admonished, preferring to see it for himself. Rising from the chair, he opened the door to meet the familiar and refreshing sounds of progress, reverberating against the high walls.
He allowed a hint of a smile to grace his features, an eerie curve at the corner of the lips that others found by far disturbing. The possibilities were endless, and he would be the bringer of them all.
Yes, things did seem to be going well.
………
Quistis had rented a compact automobile from a local Rent-A-Drive near the hotel; those things were literally all over the place in Dollet. The cars were in much better condition than the ones used for missions at Balamb, she noted, and with only a small amount of difficulty, she had managed to find her way to the appropriate address, and was completely taken aback. It was-
"An antique bookstore," she deadpanned. You have got to be kidding me...
Quistis checked the address again, before glancing back at building with a doubtful glare. Granted, she had seen stranger things before..but a bookstore?
In all honesty though, she didn't really have a clue of what to expect, so with that in mind, she entered the shop, hearing the familiar jingling of bells as the door closed behind her.
Quistis was immediately greeted with the strong yet relatively pleasant smell of old books.
Admittedly, she had spent a lot of time in the library at Garden. While other cadets had found the place quite useful for less..innocent matters, Quistis had discovered somewhere peaceful, and for the most part (her admirers seemed to have took great interest in hiding around the corners of bookshelves), devoid of the people she knew.
The bookstore was completely old-fashioned, which seemed to correlate with the appearance of the rest of the city. Quistis had only been in the country for a few days, and already she was noticing the distinct, yet welcoming organization of Dollet.
"Good evening!" a voice called from behind the bookshelves.
Unsure of herself, "Uh, good evening..." she replied, lowering her head to scan the rows of books for the owner of the voice.
When she found him, he was busily dusting off the shelves with an old dishtowel. Looking up from his task, he wiped his forehead with the cloth and repositioned his glasses. He was obviously the keeper of the store, given his dedication to keeping the place tidy.
"Hello, ma'am. What can I do for you?" He was stout, in the charming sort of way, which sort of reminded her of Cid.
"I'm not sure exactly... I think I'm looking for someone."
She let her eyes wander around the little shop, novels catching her glance every so often, their titles not really registering.
"Oh?" The shopkeeper peered at the woman, brows creased in thought. Out of the corner of his eye, something shiny and metal caught his attention, Save-the-Queen, securely fastened around her waist. "Oh!" he exclaimed, causing Quistis to take a step back. "You must be looking for Mr. Hayes!"
Somewhat relieved, "Yes, could you tell me where to find him?"
………
Seeing Seifer was apparently the last thing she had expected, and rightfully so.
"Surprise, surprise..." he grinned, leaning forward in order to stand up. "Well this certainly is a very small world..." he commented, with his singularly sneering sardonicism.
Stepping around Quistis in a circle, he surveyed his erstwhile instructor, who seemed a little bothered by Seifer's physical proximity. Stopping, he shot a fairly accusing glance towards the third subject present in the room. "Care to explain what the hell she's doing here?"
"Why don't we all have a seat..." Victor began, gesturing towards the chairs positioned around the bar table. He took a seat himself, and Quistis sighed, pushing around Seifer to do the same.
Seifer, of coarse, wasn't one to follow the crowd, so instead he leaned his back against the wall and crossed him arms. "Seriously, what is she doing here?" he repeated, eyes intent on Quistis.
"She has a name, you know," Quistis replied restively, tilting her head towards Seifer, but not quite looking at him. "Or have you forgotten?"
"Tried to," he shrugged. It was true. Maybe not her in particular, but Seifer didn't really care to remember anyone or anything from that part of his life. As far as he was concerned, the past could go to hell.
Quistis pressed her lips together. She didn't have a response to that, nor could she think of one. It wasn't as if she had given Seifer a lot of consideration over the past year, either. Back at Garden, they certainly weren't what one would call friends; they merely associated on a teacher - student level.
Granted, directly after the war, she had presumed that Seifer would undoubtedly return to Garden, and once again attempt a shot at passing the exam. However, that idea had clearly never happened, and as a result, Balamb Garden had been swept with rumors regarding the infamous rebel. And though the rumors didn't always appertain to the realm of fatality, more than a few Garden cadets had wild imaginations.
Quistis had chosen to ignore the rumors; she wasn't one for gossip, anyway. Seifer was capable of taking care of himself. She knew that.
"Anyhow…" Victor interjected, desisting their little…reverie, if one could call it that. "Look, I realize you two probably have a lot to…catch up on..? But first, I'd like to explain to you, Quistis, why exactly you're here."
Seifer shifted his weight, annoyed. Her presence was bothersome, to say the least. She still wore that damned clip in her hair, he noticed, the same clip that he had, too many a time, actually considered destroying.
"Alright…" she said slowly, willing him to continue, though her thoughts seemed more focused on Seifer. Why, of all places, did he have to be here?
"Well, this is sort of a meeting place, a headquarters, if you will." Gesturing around him, he went on, "Of coarse, we're not very official, as you can probably tell."
No arguing there, Quistis thought.
"But, since the club had been out of business for years, the place is pretty much under wraps," the man explained.
"And why would you need to keep it a secret?" she raised an eyebrow, skeptical of the whole situation.
"You've heard of the Forest Owls, correct?" Victor asked.
"Of coarse," Quistis replied, not sure of what exactly that had to do with anything.
"Well, groups such as that are created for the safety of the citizens. Similar to the Forest Owls, we employ members who will actively search for any discrepancies within the system."
"But..." Quistis shook her head, confused. If he was referring to the previous circumstances…
The entire Gabaldian government had been overwhelmingly corrupt; that was why Rinoa had helped to form the rebellion against his command. Deling was wreaking havoc in his very own country; threatening those who refused to follow and sending them to a prison that he himself ordered to be created.
Did that mean Dollet was corrupt, as well?
"Don't worry, nothing is wrong with the Dollet government---at least not yet, anyway," he corrected. "That's what we're trying to prevent from happening, a situation where the country is in trouble. Because if it happened once," Victor shrugged, "it could easily happen again."
Leaning forward, Quistis gently rested her chin in her clasped hands. "Exactly how do you prevent it, then?"
"Well, there's no failsafe method," he reasoned. "But," the older man continued, "if you strengthen the country as a whole..it lessens the likelihood of something happening. Do you see what I'm saying?"
Quistis indicated her understanding with a slight inclination of the head. "So I take it the organization's not affiliated with the Dollet government?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, but we do receive various Intel from any of the three Gardens, as well as small organizations. We work together, you could say, correlating and investigating any information we see as a possible threat to not just Dollet, but all of the regions."
Quistis seemed to chew over this for a moment before responding. "So…I'd be working with Seifer, then?"
"What, don't think you can handle it, Trepe?" Though, Seifer wasn't exactly looking forward to associating with Quistis, either. The comment was obviously meant to unnerve her, something he specialized in when it came to Quistis Trepe.
"Don't be ridiculous," she drawled, before returning her attention to the only other man present in the room.
Victor positioned himself upright and once again advanced behind the counter located near the back of the tavern. Quistis' eyes followed his motion as he searched for a suitable taste, and pulled out a bottle of copper colored fluid from one of the shelves. Absently, he shook the container to get rid of the sediment at the bottom. Grabbing a glass from the side, he twisted off the cap and filled the glass a little.
"One question," she paused before continuing, "Why did you contact me?"
Victor smiled, releasing a small chuckle over the rim of his glass. "Would you believe me if I said that Cid and I are old friends?"