i apologize.
this whole me-getting-internet ordeal has been a horrible nightmare. this story is actually close to finished, and i've finally decided to just post it from work. it's ri-damn-diculous to make the few people who are actually still interested in this wait for my internet provider to pull its head out of its ... yeah.
i simply want to apologize for taking so long with this. it's not my fault, as if that matters. it still sucks. hopefully i can get the next chapter up by the end of the week or so.
thanks for all the comments and for waiting while i was indisposed.
enjoy.
Chapter Nineteen
dreams and wishes
"La-la-la-aa-aa," sang Selphie, in the Ragnarok's cockpit. "Why you so quiet, Irvy?"
Irvy smiled out the window. I know something you don't. Two things, in fact. But if he let that slip - even just a little - Selphie would be on him like snow on the Trabian ground. And Selphie Tilmitt was relentless.
"Just thinking," Irvine said finally. "It'll be nice to get back to Balamb and relax for a while."
Selphie gave a gasp of mock horror. "No relaxing for you, young man! You promised to help me with the Festival!"
Shit.
He had forgotten all about the Festival.
Just what I need - more competition for Selphie's attention. Irvine drummed his fingers on the dashboard in an absent rhythm. I need to get her alone for a little bit - at least to talk to her about Trabia - damn, to talk to her about anything! And this won't help at all.
Selphie was chattering on about her ideas; Irvine forced himself to focus. You're whinin' like a baby, Kinneas, he told himself. Grow up and learn some responsibility.
" ...what do you think?" Pause. "...Vin?"
He shot Selphie a sheepish smile. "Sorry, babe, I didn't catch that."
"You seem distracted," Selphie said softly, her eyes still straight ahead.
"A little. I'm sorry, babe. Run that past me again and we'll figure something out."
Selphie, however, showed no desire to repeat herself. "What's on your mind?" she asked, biting her lip as she aimed the ship through a particularly tricky batch of turbulence over the ocean.
Irvine shrugged. "Nothing to trouble you with, darlin'. Don't worry."
"Vin..." Selphie slowed the ship down to look at him. "I ...I know I talk a lot," she said, giggling nervously. "But you know you can always talk to me, right? If there's something on your mind - you just tell me to shut up, okay?"
Irvine laughed. "Easier said than done, sweetheart."
Selphie stuck out her tongue and flipped the Ragnarok upside down.
Irvine, unprepared, slouched half out of his seat; he grabbed the armrests with a death-grip, cursing loudly, pulling himself back into his seat as she righted the ship, and trying desperately to look more angry than amused. That was a pretty good move.
"Hmph," Selphie said smugly. "Don't insult the driver."
"Point taken," he said, as he fastened his seatbelt. "Crazy woman drivers."
"HEY!" Selphie shot him a glare. "Women are NOT crazy drivers."
"Oh, so it's just you?"
Another glare, playful this time. "Don't you make me flip this ship again."
They returned to Balamb without any further incidents; Irvine gathered up their luggage as Selphie shut down the ship's controls and activated all the security locks. They came in through the parking garage, Irvine laughing as Selphie berated him for carrying both duffel bags.
" - but it's not like I'm a little girl, I can -"
Irvine drew himself up to his full height; looking down his nose, he retorted, "You are most certainly a little girl."
"Shut up!" Selphie poked him playfully. "So I'm short. I can still carry my bag, Vin, you don't have to..."
Irvine rolled his eyes and tightened his grip. "The thanks I get for being a gentleman."
"Cowboys can't be gentlemen," Selphie teased.
"Yes they can," Irvine insisted. "Cowboys can be perfectly polite and kind and chivalrous. If they want to."
They entered the front lobby -
"Selphie!" The cry went up from a group of students gathered around one of the benches. "Thank goodness you're back - we need to get these forms in - they all need your signature..." Voices clamored over each other as a group of students gathered around a table stood excitedly.
Three girls in SeeD uniforms appeared out of nowhere and latched themselves to Selphie's arm. "You have to see the decorations we picked," one of them exclaimed, "and we got them on discount because it's a fundraiser."
"Ooh, did you get the blue set?" Selphie asked, her eyes lighting up, always contagious with enthusiasm.
"No, but even better," the girl said, dragging Selphie away. "Come and look - we need your signature, since the account's in your name."
"We haven't been able to order anything," the other girl scolded. "And we only have a couple days!"
Selphie paused to meet Irvine's eyes. "Irvy - um, look, I'll let you know when I'm done with this, okay?" And she vanished.
Irvine stood in the front lobby, slightly disconcerted. He should have felt grateful to be excused from the squealing girl-fest that was Festival Preparation - but, somehow, he felt a little left out ...
"Nice suitcase, Kinneas."
He spun around to catch Squall's smirking face - ah, yes, he was still death-gripping both duffels: one navy, one bright yellow with flowers. Pink flowers.
"Yeah, I thought I needed something to brighten my wardrobe," he said with a responding smirk, and straightened his hat. "How are things?"
Squall rolled his eyes. "Wonderful."
Irvine, trying to hold back a smile, couldn't help but ask: "Have you been working on the -"
"Festival," Squall grunted. "Hell."
"You sound as pleased as Fujin," Irvine teased.
Squall's thin lips spread in a rare smile. "You just wait, Kinneas, I'm sure you'll get roped in too." He shrugged. "Girls." Then, with a second thought, he pointed a finger; "And yours is in charge of the damn thing."
Irvine snorted. "So like ... I should go hide now, huh?"
Squall smirked. "Maybe. Zell likes it," he offered.
"Heh." Irvine picked up the duffels again and headed for the dorms. "I'll be under the bed, but don't tell anyone."
Squall rolled his eyes again and left.
Irvine trudged happily up to Dormitory Row; he paused in front of Selphie and Quistis's room, rapping on the door with a knuckle. No luck - Selphie was still lost in Festival-Land, and Quistis was either out or still on her mission; which also meant out, but indefinitely. Irvine debated leaving the suitcase in front of the door, but decided against it; and so the yellow bag with the pink flowers ended up on his floor, sitting awkwardly beside the couch as if it knew it didn't really belong.
Irvine laughed at it as he walked past to unpack his things and take a quick shower - he felt all gummy from the morning's travels. Hot water was always the most pleasant feeling in the world; a younger Irvine, wildly angry at his foster family, had threatened to lock himself in the shower and go crazy. Older Irvine, while he knew this wasn't the good idea it had been at twelve, relished the thought of an endless source of hot water. Heat and steam. Fresh scent, rushing water. Sunshine and citrus.
Selphie in the shower. Dangerous train of thought.
He considered the historical agency. Could they find anything? He'd have to remember to check his mail; he didn't want anything big arriving that would give it away. He wanted to hand it to Selphie himself, to watch her open it up in front of him. Hopefully it would be worth it. Even if it turned out as a bust - they had to get something, right?
Or at least, for what he paid, they'd better come up with a fact or two.
Irvine wondered briefly and idly if all six of them could find their pasts that way. Was it that easy? Well, that charge on your bill says it ain't that easy, cowboy. He chuckled. And Squall and Rinoa - well, they knew most of their histories. Rinoa had never really had a reason to forget. And Squall's history had been shoved on him during the course of their travels. Squall, inside his father's head, calling his own dad a goon: priceless.
He got out of the shower, dried off, threw on his favorite outfit. His stomach was complaining loudly that it was empty and shouldn't he be doing something about it? Irvine glanced at the clock - dinnertime. Where was Selphie?
Irvine had always felt a little left out of the loop with most of Selphie's chattering, energy-driven committee friends. The boundless dedication to things like Garden Festivals and Class Picnics was something he didn't quite understand; but it was good that some people did, because most of their events turned out rather well. Irvine was much too laid-back to be part of the crazy planning-team that put the things together. Despite Selphie's urgings that "you'd be just perfect for it, now come on, pleeeeease" - Irvine tried to stay out of things that involved being horribly kind to a large group of people. Unless it was a large group of women; but even that was a nerve-wracking sort of fun, an agonizing enjoyment that you weren't really sure was worth it. He just didn't have the energy to keep up the charade; tact he had in bundles, but it only gets you so far before you want to club someone over the head with your tact and walk out.
And this time Selphie had left him out. Irvine felt like ... well, he felt like he should have felt grateful but - he didn't. He had spent the last week caught up in one of Selphie's save-the-world projects; he wanted a chance to breathe, honestly. But here was the chance, and he was already loathing it.
Two secrets, weighing on his mind. And Selphie, gone. As if she cared more about her Festival than...
Don't finish that thought, Kinneas.
Irvine glanced at the clock again. It was time to eat; and Selphie or no Selphie his poor stomach was going to turn itself inside-out and begin digesting if he didn't hurry. He locked his door (sticking his tongue out at the bright yellow duffel and its pink flowers; the bag managed a small leer as the door closed) and headed down to the cafeteria.
A loud voice told him where to look, as if the turned heads weren't already enough; Zell was crowing triumphantly over a tray full of hot dogs. The blond martial-artist leaned forward to give all three of the cafeteria workers a big kiss on the cheek (which made them all blush) and then headed for a nearby table. Irvine approached him, grinning. Zell was shameless - incapable of being embarrassed - in fact, he was probably the most embarrassing out of all of them, but in a good way. Zell Dincht didn't think twice about making a fuss and bother over a simple dinner - he let you know how he felt about those hot dogs, yes sir. No confusion about that one. In fact, he and Rinoa had bonded quickly during the long journey - they both wore their hearts out on their sleeve. That and they both threw really good temper tantrums.
"Planning on sharing?" Irvine asked; Zell looked up, mouth full, and nearly choked.
"Mmmph," he said around the hot-dog, apparently meaning "no, go get your own, jerk."
"Oh really? Thanks, man," Irvine said with a grin, and reached out for a hot dog. Zell, still stuffing face, blocked his grab and slid the tray away, mumbling something about having worked hard for his pay.
Irvine and Zell ate a pleasant dinner, chatting (when Zell took breaks to breathe) about being an Instructor at Balamb and how much work the classes were on the other end. Neither cadet had ever really paid much attention to school, so neither of them had ever really noticed how much work teachers had to put in to stay one step ahead of the game. Zell was wacky enough already; Irvine guessed he'd keep his students on their toes, and make them enjoy it besides. Zell rolled his eyes and confessed to a couple of sleepless nights when he couldn't come up with appropriate quizzes. Irvine snorted.
"You thinking of becoming an Instructor?" Zell asked between bites.
"I don't know," Irvine admitted. "It'll depend." On Balamb. On my mood. Whether or not it rains that day. How much sleep I get. Selphie. Trabia. The rest of you guys.
Zell shrugged. "It's fun. I don't wanna say it's easy - cause damn, it's not easy - but it's rewarding. I'm the only one teaching here, now," he said, chomping down on the next victim. "It was more fun with everyone here. But you start to connect with your students, really. It's like - I know what you're going through, guys. And that really makes it cool."
The next couple days were in the same vein. Selphie appeared in random whirlwinds, usually hidden behind groups of committee members or stacks of catalogues; she gave her usual greetings and then vanished into the world of Festival Planning. Irvine relaxed, talked with Squall and Rinoa. Wandered. He went to Zell's class once and was - embarrassingly enough - asked to give a demonstration of his expert aim.
"You suck," he muttered to Zell, after the sixth time the students had made him shoot the apple off of the top of Headmaster Cid's car.
"It'll teach you never to crash my class again," Zell replied with a grin as the students approached with a seventh apple.
"You invited me," Irvine stated, raising the gun to his eye, "and I hate you."
The day before the Festival, a full-size envelope appeared in Irvine's mailbox.
He stared at it for a while, not really knowing what to do. It was surprisingly heavy; Irvine grasped its creamy white surface, slightly amazed at its thickness. He took it into his room, closing the door carefully behind him, and slid one careful finger under the flap of the envelope. Just as carefully, he tipped the envelope until the pages - pages? - inside had partially emerged. On the top was a cover letter, which he carefully removed.
Dear Mr Kinneas,
My name is Raeba, and I have been assigned as your personal case worker for this request. As I'm sure you can see, we have found plenty of information for the names you have included on your search - information that I am excited to share with you. Included in this packet are photocopies of all legal documentation we were able to find for Sophia R. Miora and the Tilmitt family, including birth certificates and the like. This letter will be filling you in with the smaller details I have been able to uncover regarding the family's history.
His jaw dropped. They had found something - a good deal of something. All that existed of Selphie's history - of her real parents - was now resting on his bed, cautiously emerging from that pristine white envelope as if it were nervous, anxious, self-conscious. Selphie's family history was peeking out from behind the creamy wall, looking at him for assurance.
Just as carefully, Irvine tucked the letter - without finishing it - back into the envelope, folding the flap back down over it. He placed the letter reverently against his pillow - it could rest for a while, he thought anxiously - and took off in search of Selphie.
The cowboy found her, of course, in the first place he could think to look - the empty classroom that had been invaded by the Festival Committee. They were having some sort of meeting, arguing violently about something; all Irvine could hear were three voices invariably shouting colors back and forth at one another. He positioned himself in the doorway and gestured for Selphie to come out.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him, but then flew about the room, taking stock of the situation. "I'm busy," she mouthed at him, trying frantically to calm her three committee members down. He gestured again, more urgently. I can't wait. She shook her head, smiling apologetically, and finally resorting to her tried-and-true method of stopping arguments: she started to shout louder than anyone in the room. Much louder. The three noisy students shut up and looked at her with admiration.
Once normal conversation had resumed, Irvine shifted again to catch her eye; she looked up, and again he gestured for her to come out briefly.
"I'm almost done," she mouthed. "I can't leave until this is done;" with dramatic pointing at three or four catalogs. "I'll be out in a sec," she mouthed finally, and turned her gaze back to the meeting.
Irvine nodded understandingly, stepped around the corner, and swore. It would figure. Selphie's in a meeting, and probably will be all day. And she didn't even ask me for help on this one at all - it's like she's forgotten about me. I wonder if I did something wrong? She hasn't even come to pick up her suitcase.
He leaned against the wall, determined to wait for her, impatience taking over. This is more important than the Festival, right? He started tapping his feet for amusement, listening to the sounds echo through the empty halls. A class let out; bright cadets filtered through the halls. Irvine continued to lean against the wall and think dark thoughts.
Selphie's head poked out, grinning. "Thank Hyne you're here," she said, breathless, "I'm about to hit my Limit and annihilate the room. I could use someone who's on my side - and has a couple brain cells to spare," she muttered under her breath, tossing a glance over her shoulder.
"Er," Irvine said. No, he hadn't come to help - hadn't come to offer support, morale, or even a shoulder to lean on. Guilt leapt up and settled around his shoulders. He firmly shook it off, thinking: This is much more important. Right?
"I was hoping you could come with me for a few minutes," he finished lamely.
Selphie blinked, her face falling slightly as she realized that Irvine hadn't come to offer a hand. "You know I can't leave, Vin," she said softly. "The Festival's tomorrow, and we're not done yet."
Irvine bit his lip; every nerve in his body was screaming at him to drag her away and give her the envelope. "You don't even have a couple of minutes?"
Selphie's eyes closed momentarily. I'm so tired, she thought. These idiots are exhausting - I'd get more done working by myself - and no one else seems to care. Irvine certainly doesn't. Gathering together her courage, she opened her eyes and gave him a brilliant smile. "Not right now, Irvy. But the dance is tomorrow, and then it'll all be over."
Irvine saw the lie in her eyes and blinked -
There was a click in the room behind her and a loud stream of cursing burst out. Selphie's eyes bulged and, with one last squeeze of Irvine's hands, she ducked back into the room.
Irvine stood there, lost in dangerous thought. Finally, reluctantly, he decided on a course of action; the cowboy turned and walked away, heading towards the dormitories.
"So everything's set except the arrangements?" Rinoa asked. She and Selphie were finally done with a long day of planning. The young sorceress wondered briefly how her spritely friend put up with it all - she was about to go crazy. It had been nice to get involved, though; but wow, these things were a lot of work ...
"Yeah," Selphie chirped, still brimming with energy. "The preliminary sketches are in my room. I'll show you now. We don't have to decide until tomorrow, you know, when the set-up crew gets here. But I totally can't figure it out." She paused to grab the doorhandle, precariously balancing her armful. "I wanted to ask Irvine, too, but I can't seem to find him."
"You don't lock your door?" Rinoa asked as Selphie pushed her way in; the smaller girl's arms were full of catalogs and notes.
"Nope!" Selphie gave her a grin as she threw her stack down on the table. "Quistis always does. I always forget," she said sheepishly. "I forget my keys, that is. And, you know, if anyone wants to steal my old set of nunchucks, they're welcome to it," she continued sarcastically. "There's not a lot in here that's worth money. And all of Quistis's stuff is locked up in her bedroom."
"The bedrooms have their own locks?" Rinoa, intrigued, headed back to look around. "Holy Hyne," she gasped, "my little guest's single is tiny compared to this place! Look at your bloody bathroom!"
"Yeah," Selphie sang out. "The perks of being a SeeD! And an Instructor! And, uh, living with Quistis. She knows the right people. She knows everybody."
"Gee," Rinoa wondered out loud as she entered Selphie's bedroom. "Wonder if she knows anyone who could get me a better room?"
Selphie sighed. Her day had been so long, and she was hyped up on energy; but it was the energy of stress, not the pleasant energy she usually filled herself to the brim with. All she wanted to do was collapse - rest her head on Irvine's shoulder and have him tell her that everything about the Festival would work out, that everything would be okay. But Irvine was nowhere to be found. And she tried to tell herself that she wasn't upset about it.
Selphie had just found the correct folder when she heard Rinoa call: "Hey Seff, who's writing you love notes?"
"Huh?" Selphie stood up, heading for her bedroom. "Oh, it's all the guys in love with - oh," she finished suddenly, a little puff of air expelled from her lungs by surprise.
A creamy white envelope was sitting on her bed; paper-clipped to the top of it was a smaller envelope, with Selphie written across it in Irvine's bold script.
"Oh," Selphie repeated dumbly, looking at the pair of envelopes with more than a little fear. Is Irvine mad at me? Well, I guess he has a right to be. But if he's ...if we're ...but then what's in the big envelope?
"Ooh, open it," Rinoa ordered. "I'm fanatically nosy."
"It's from Irvine," Selphie confessed, slowly coming to sit on the bed beside her dark-haired friend, still warily regarding the envelopes as if they were going to bite her, or explode, or shrivel up into crumpled paper.
"Even better," Rinoa said giddily; then she noticed the chagrin in Selphie's eyes and asked a little more gently: "What's wrong?"
"I'm afraid," Selphie said softly. "I wonder if Irvine's mad at me. I've been so busy - and he was trying to talk to me today - and I - I guess I kind of blew him off." She closed her eyes, fighting the tears of panic. "What if he..."
"Well," Rinoa said resolutely, "you can't do anything about it now. You'll have to read the letter and then decide. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with that."
"Yeah right," Selphie said weakly.
Rinoa put an arm around her friend. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked. "I can leave, if you want to be ... alone."
Selphie sniffled. "Let's see what it says."
She reached down, detaching the smaller envelope and opening it with shaking hands. A plain piece of Garden stationary fell into her lap; she picked it up, her hands still quivering, her nervous vision unprepared.
Selphie,
If you're reading this letter, I assume nobody's come and swiped this packet off your bed. I want to tell you a secret; I've been wanting to tell you for days, but you haven't been around, so this letter'll have to do. If you open your locket right now - the one from your parents - you'll see a name engraved inside, the same name I found when we were in Trabia. It's your mother's name. The information inside the packet is from a genealogy company who researched your family. Hopefully it can fill in some of the blanks in your past - I know there are more than a few. I wanted to give it to you myself, but you didn't seem to have time; so feel free to look at it at your leisure, or whatever.
Irvine
Selphie dropped the paper as she brought both hands up to her mouth, trying to hold back the giant sobs that were escaping, choking her, choking her with grief and guilt and wonderment and amazement.
"What is it?" Rinoa threw her arms around her friend. "Is he breaking up with you? Is he leaving? Oh, good Hyne, Selphie, don't cry, what's going on..."
"It's -" Selphie swallowed a sob, her shoulders shuddering. "Oh, Rin, he went and looked up - here, just read ..."
Selphie Tilmitt burst into tears.
It was the worst feeling in the world. Not only had she been a real jerk - so busy, pre-occupied with her other things, leaving Irvine out because she figured he wouldn't be interested in choosing the Festival Theme Colors and such; and here he had gone, behind her back, and done this - the sweetest, most precious thing anyone had ever done for her - while she was busy being a real jerk and choosing Theme Colors. How could she ever have -? This was horrible. A horrible state of affairs. How could she take this gift from him, when she knew she had been so much less than a good friend?
He really didn't seem to care about me - or the Festival - or anything - and I just pretended that everything was okay - and then he - oh, dear ...
Why wasn't he here, right now, giving her the memories himself like he always promised he would? Why wasn't it him holding her hand, not Rinoa? What had she done that was so horrible?
"Wow, Selphie," Rinoa breathed. "I don't believe it."
Selphie looked down, her hand instinctively reaching up to clasp the two lockets around her neck. Resting in her lap was a white envelope which, apparently, held the key to her past - who she really was. A key that Irvine had tried to give her himself, but...
Irvy ...why aren't you here?
"Rinoa," she began gently, not really knowing what to stay. "Will ...will you read it with me?" I don't think I have the strength to do it alone.
"Of course," Rinoa said, hugging Selphie again. "Here, let's open it."
Rinoa reached forward, gently sliding the pages out of the larger envelope. "Here's the cover letter," she offered gently. "Let's read it." She put her arm around Selphie's quivering shoulders, murmuring to herself as the two girls scanned the letter.
Dear Mr Kinneas,
My name is Raeba, and I have been assigned as your personal case worker for this request. As I'm sure you can see, we have found plenty of information for the names you have included on your search - information that I am excited to share with you. Included in this packet are photocopies of all legal documentation we were able to find for Sophia R. Miora and the Tilmitt family, including birth certificates and the like. This letter will be filling you in with the smaller details I have been able to uncover regarding the family's history.
Sophia Rebeca Miora was born 12 May '54 in the city of Xanna in Western Trabia. Her parents were Bale Miora and Sophia Kirseth; apparently naming the eldest daughter 'Sophia' was a tradition in the family. What I want to do first is tell you a little about her parents, and then I'll talk about her own family. I've included copies of all the relevant birth certificates in the attached literature.
Selphie's eyes had dried from wonderment. Eagerly, clasping Rinoa's hand as if it were a lifeline, she continued.
The Miora name, in fact, was quite easy to follow; the Miora family ran a well-established shipping company of sorts in the earlier years. They were famous for the quality of their ships and the speed of their sailing; their shipments always got in on time. Though the business had turned more into administration than the actual sailing, Sophia's father was one of the last of the line to run his own ships. It was on one of his delivery trips that he met the elder Sophia. Not much is known about the Kirseth family; more inquiries can be made using the request form I've included in your information packet.
"Meaning you have to pay for them," Rinoa added sarcastically.
"Oh no," Selphie said suddenly, "how much do you think Irvine paid for this?"
"Shut up and read," Rinoa said cheerfully. "We'll figure it out later."
Sophia Miora grew up to be a very energetic woman. Her name is included in much of the charity work done in Northern Trabia during the famous drought of '73. She was quite an activist, always staying involved in community events as well; she held some sort of role on the Town Council. When she was 24 she met Garreth Tilmitt, a shop-owner up north. They were married in '80 and moved to Jessamine, where the famous Tilmitt General Store ran its successful business.
Garreth and Sophia had three children: Sophia, called Selphie, in '82; Claide, in '84; and Beatrice, in '85.
Selphie dropped the page.
"I have a brother," she whispered to no one in particular. "I have a brother and a sister."
Her eyes glazed over. How could I have forgotten a brother and a sister? she asked the darkness. How do I forget my family? Can a Guardian Force really do that much - wipe out the entire memory of my existence? My own flesh and blood?
Rinoa bent down to pick up the paper and replace it in Selphie's now trembling grasp.
In '85, shortly after the birth of their third child, the Sorceress Wars broke out. Adel's wrath reached far and wide, as we all know. A botched operation in Northern Trabia left a plethora of troops who took it upon themselves to raze the towns. In a large town such as Jessamine, a successful store like Tilmitt's General was an obvious target for goods and supplies. The troops attacked Jessamine at night; both Garreth and Sophia Tilmitt were listed among the casualties. Their three children were sent to various orphanages by the survivors of Jessamine, who could not afford to keep the children after the destruction of their town. I've included all the paperwork I could find on the three Tilmitt children, since you also requested information on that name.
Sophia - who appears as Selphie on most records - Tilmitt enrolled in Trabia Garden at the age of thirteen; she graduated from Balamb Garden with honors at the age of seventeen. Miss Selphie was a leading figure in the recent Sorceress Conflict; information about her activities are available on public record.
"Heh, I'm famous," Selphie said weakly, trying to gather the courage to read the next two paragraphs. Sophia, she thought, her mind whirling. My name's really Sophia. Selphie's a nickname.
Fia.
Mum and dad called me Fia.
They knew.
"Ooh, look," Rinoa said, "your brother's a SeeD as well!"
Selphie's jaw dropped.
Claide Tilmitt entered Galbadia Garden at the age of thirteen and is currently a SeeD cadet specializing in computers and the crossbow. Beatrice, fourteen years old, lives with a family in Timber and is attending a specialized academy for a career in acoustical engineering at the television station. Contact information for the two can be obtained by filling out and submitting the form included in your packet.
That appears to be all the information available at this time. If you would like to have me follow up on any of the information I've found for you, we have a special offer; you can read about the deal in the attached page in your packet ...
There was a long, awkward pause.
"Shit," whispered Rinoa, who rarely swore.
"Shit indeed," Selphie echoed; and she swore less than Rinoa.
There was another long pause, and then Selphie dropped the paper again and threw herself into Rinoa's arms, and cried: the horribly thick tears that result from a perfect mixture of sadness and joy. Everything was culminating - the life she had lived without her memories, the memories of her mother and father and brother and sister, her real name, her family. Selphie cried and cried, as if her life were suddenly an empty hole, and she were trying to fill it up with her tears. Everything suddenly felt empty - she had forgotten a family, a family of five, everyone's faces, as she had forgotten her time at the orphanage with the first friends she had ever had. Her life, originally filled with cheer and laughter and the occasional explosion, suddenly seemed drab, colorless even, empty, forgotten, all empty...
Everything was so empty. But even in the rush of this void, there was only one thing Selphie wanted: one pair of arms she wanted to feel holding her tight, one voice she wanted to hear more than anything...
The sobs subsided as quickly as they had come, and Rinoa tentatively watched (thinking that perhaps her friend had choked?) as an incredulous look of wonderment passed over Selphie's face.
"Irvine," Selphie whispered; and then she was gone, so fast that Rinoa blinked, and blinked again, convinced that her friend had vanished into thin air.