~

Irvine sipped a drink. "Well, it's not really magic...It's, like, manipulation."

"How so?" asked Selphie from across the lunch table.

"Hmm...Aren was right, it is complicated." He looked down at his glass. "Okay, here we go. You ever go swimming, and get water in your ears?"

"Sure," Selphie nodded. "You, kinda, can't stand up straight, right?"

Irvine pointed to his ear. "Right! Your hearing keeps your center of balance. So Aren can alter sound, and give a weird vertigo-effect thing too. Sorta like time-space magic."

"Wow, how does he do it?"

Irvine shrugged. "Dunno, kid. He never told me. He's pretty sensitive about the whole thing, too, I don't think you should bring it up with him."

"Oh, okay." She raised a hotdog from her plate, and took a bite.

"Hey," said Irvine. "Big day today, right?"

"Mm! Uh-huh! Today at three-thirty sharp. Do-or-die, for as much money as I can weasel out of your Garden."

"Yeah, well, Trabia deserves it. They've been fighting pretty hard to get things back together." He patted her lightly on the head. "And you deserve a little rest! Now, you've gotta promise me you'll take it easy once you get the cash."

Selphie crossed her heart. "Promise! And you'll be my guide to the Galbadia nightlife, of course."

"Of course!" He bowed classily. "Who else but myself could attain such an in-depth knowledge of the dance club?"

"Not many," she replied, "that's for sure." She leaned back in her chair, and paused a moment. "Hey, does Aren by any chance play music?"

Irvine laughed, and set his elbows on the round metal table. "Selphie, have I been detecting a sudden interest in a one Aren Bowes here?"

"Huh? No!" she chuckled back.

"I can tell these things, you know."

"No!"

"Very well then, yes. Aren is a musician. Why?"

She gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, I dunno, I just think I saw something on the radio the other day, and..."

"You saw something, on the radio?" Irvine pointed. "A little mixed up there, are we?"

"What? Oh! I dunno...no!"

"Lovestruck, perhaps?"

Selphie crossed her arms. "Come on, I said no!"

"Oh, you want him don't you?"

"Shut up!"

~

A tall, dark-skinned man in a tassel-trimmed suit sat behind a long oak desk. His eyes squinted, he rubbed his cleanly-shaven chin. "Miss Tilmitt," he said in a deep voice. "I know the situation requires attention, but I'm afraid Galbadia Garden cannot provide the resources inthe quantity you specify."

"But sir," said Selphie, standing beside a cushiony chair in the headmaster's spacious office. "Trabia needs Garden intervention! We have no protection, very little shelter, and we still need medical supplies! There's children there that..."

The headmaster stood, and cut her short. "I'm sorry, Miss Tilmitt. In fact, we are recovering from our own bout with Balamb Garden. The funding just isn't there."

"Isn't there any way you can help?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Tilmitt. Thank you for your consideration."

"But Trabia's dying!" Selphie cried.

"Miss Tilmitt, I bid you good day!"

A Garden supervisor, dressed in a wide-brimmed headpiece and long crimson robe, caught Selphie by the arm, and escorted her out of the giant office. Another enterd through the same door.

The tall headmaster pointed for the door to be closed. It was. "We need her out of here," he said sharply. "Immediately."

"Yes, headmaster," replied the supervisor.

"She's not a healthy influence. She'll only generate sympathy for Trabia. We can't waste our time on that burned-out Garden."

The headmaster's thin eyes grew thinner, and he slammed his fist against the table. "How long has she been here?"

"A few days, sir," replied the supervisor. "She arrived by train, directly from Trabia."

"This is bad," said the tall man, and he stepped away from the desk. "What if she's tried to access the database? You never know what might slip through! If she keeps snooping around for information on Trabia..."

He brought his hands to his face. "Delete her record of stay, and evict her immediately."

~