A/N: OOOOOO…sooooooo sorry about my lack of knowledge regarding character names, I was neeevvver really sure how to spell Almsay, haha, reoccurring problem here! Sorry about …ugh…everything! I am all depressive so it might me a noticeably solemn chapter, not horribly solemn because I cannot write that well!
Please review, its what keeps me going!
disclaimer: I don't own final fantasy, if I did I would buy up the worlds stock of jam and start up a black market where I could make billions!!!! MUAHAHAHAHAH, I have strange aspirations
Seifer turned, loosing balance on his left foot and stepped hastily to prevent the falling of his now cumbersome body. He blinked twice, trying to clear the haze that had overturned his 20/20 vision but failed to wipe the gloss away. It became obvious that the cider had been very strong. His pupils continued to slowly drift, meandering between focus and blurs, until he finally found himself able to hold a stare at the man, suddenly lit by the fire.
It was then he found it all harder to believe. The man, sleeping, head upon the table scattering chocolate locks about the brown wood, had nary made a move when he had entered. His face was turned to the door, smooth features making no haste in movement, scar identifying the owner instantly. For an inebriated man Seifer noticed several things, namely that Squall looked much to happy, breathing even, clothes neat and tidy, clean shaven, to be running from the media and blame. He had left Quistis alone to face the world, face the smash campaign generated by Rinoa's wake, retirement to the country, mental problems. And yet he appeared to be having an oddly peaceful sleep.
Feeling compelled to ruin it Seifer stomped awkwardly towards the table where an outstretched arm and head lay flowing innocently in and out of breath. Moment passed, Seifer found himself staring down at his enemy…contemplating.
He had run too.
Days became a week and slowly time evolved the intertwined surrounding of the room, the woman contained within hallowed walls at the center of the ever unfolding drama. She sat solemnly, getting on with life in a low, laborious fashion, letting the world continue to run while she made her minute steps into the world.
So far she had been visited by one; Michael who seemed to revel in the comfort he bestowed in her very alone frame. Daily visits, sometime more then once a day, were her form of contact with the world she chose not to openly communicate with yet. She was not a massive hermit, taking her empty day time to wonder mindlessly about the shops or do accounting work for the club, but instead shied from engaging in conversation. She was still trying to understand all of what had occurred.
At the moment she was pouring a strong glass of black tea into a mug, unwitting of the confused man waiting to knock upon her door from the hall way. He stood, frame maladjusted in the light, turning to and fro, bouncing uneasily in the barren hallway. He was contemplating the nature of the situation.
He had kissed the woman, she had let him kiss her, then a mere acquaintance gets injured and she plays the role of guardian, not even bothering to talk to him in the least. But there was more; the woman had fought terribly with the man she was looking after, and then became a recluse as soon as he left. Worst of all, in all of this mayhem she had forgotten all about Nex, and all he knew was that an odd array of circumstances had amounted to a forgotten date and a staff member who had magically changed jobs.
Hand shakily moved to the wooden door, waiting before it began to rap a melancholy vibration that echoed down the hall and penetrated the wood where it permeated through on the other side. He waited, anticipant of the face about to appear.
As if to spite his muffled knock and hope, nothing but a voice emerged from the room, a meek call for identification shook through the door. He almost had to strain to hear the voice's off tone through the separating nature of the wood.
He turned his head, black hair gently falling into place, cupping intimidating jet black eyes, he coughed then spoke, "Nex." His answer was curt, and she welcomed it with the brilliance of one who had been fed so much mental sugar in the past few days it was making her vomit.
The woman put down the warming mug of tea and cautiously approached the door. She hadn't seen Nex since that night. She felt horribly inept at her lack of thought to his state of mind. He had loaned her money to furnish and paint her apartment, free of interest, and she had simply forgotten he existed. She half grumbled, even if he was a bad kisser he didn't deserve that.
The door seemed to take ages to open from the other side, setting forth a new plague of doubt in the club owner's mind. When the knob was slowly turned, door pulled shakily inward, he was half surprised to actually see the one he sought standing before him. Her face was withered with thought and slight hints of betrayal flecked her somber smile, a mere façade of what true happiness should be. Her body was loosely covered in a gray sweat suit, reflecting upon a face made to look much sicker then should ever be implied by a color.
Despite all which she held, she welcomed the man in with much allegiance to her disillusioned mind, and in an almost apologetic manner offered him the mug of tea she had originally poured for herself. He gently refused it and simply took a seat on the couch where he was directed, silently beckoning her to talk, her lithe form not sprouting forth a word since the offering. He decided to start the discussion himself after she firmly sat before him on a facing chair.
"How are you," he half mumbled, weak words for an ordinarily strong man escaped barely open lips. The words were barren as they stood, in all reality representing a much deeper meaning, hidden within vowels and beats were a longing to understand the girl. He twitched his hand nervously about his kneecap and then slowly settled down, staring sympathetically at the girl.
Quistis moved slightly in the chair, unaware of what was making her so uneasy. She opened her mouth, "I'm, I have no idea." A slight pause almost made the man speak again but she quickly started her speech again, "I'm sorry, that I didn't call, or anything. I guess I was more attached then I thought. So I think its probably best that I just work my debt off and leave."
"I don't think that's really necessary," he half smiled, he had been all too knowing of what was to be said, "An anonymous patron has fronted all the money you owed the club." He looked up, aware she was staring, quite awed at the generosity.
"Was it you," she spoke in a very certain tone, trying to be less emotional then she felt.
"No, actually, somebody from your past, they said they were an acquaintance. They also said I couldn't speak a wisp of their name to you, because they feel you don't owe them anything," he spouted it all in a quite memorized tone, as if he was reading a cue card.
For a moment Quistis felt ashamed she had mis-proportioned Nex's liking to her in such a way, but she felt slight relief to know she wasn't fantastically hurting him nor scarring him for life with the news she was leaving. After a few minutes of contemplative silence she looked up into his eyes to speak again, "Thanks so much. Even if you can't tell me who owes me, or rather now..." She let out a gentle laugh, "Could I ask you but one more favor?"
"Depends," he found himself smiling at the weird reoccurrence of this situation, it had happened with the job, the apartment, and now whatever task she willed him to he knew he would feel compelled to fulfill. He really couldn't find a way to say no to her.
"Could you not mention I'm leaving to Michael? I've been such a bother to him, last thing I need to make him do is back up my stuff," randomly this brought up the thought of the good friend she had made, and a slight longing to stay here in comfort.
"You don't need to pack up everything," this met a slightly confused face when spoken, he quickly explained, "Your anonymous donor said they wanted you to have a safe place, so they rented it for you on a lease, you have it legally for the next three years."
An astonished look wiped the girl's face, mass confusion replaced slightly miscalculated guessing and she began to seriously wonder how insane her mysterious, and seriously in debt, contributor was.
After standing there, much to the bewilderment of the staff of the inn, for minutes on end, Seifer (or rather the vague poisons coursing through his tired veins) decided that it was time to speak to his rival. Rather then what was to be expected of two drunk men, he had plotted within the distant caverns of his mind that he was going to speak, violence not totally uninhibited.
He took slow steps, only a few meek dragging ones, and took a seat opposite the sleeping figure. He felt like crap, he was as bad as him, as what he had interpreted as to be as lowly as they came. They had both abandoned her, left her alone to face the world.
As if cued by the mental notation of his incompetence Squall raised his head, slowly, obviously he had too been drinking the cider. Despite his drunkenness, he was frightened at the easily recognizable face before him. No, it was not the vengeance which the face contained, anger and sorrowful wit which could lash out at any second. For once it was something else, it wasn't the anger but the calmness in his eyes. Seifer had not once embodied calmness in his cold eyes…not until now.
Notes (yessss I realize I should only have notes on one end, hush!) anyways, sorry about the belated nature of this whole story, I'm just getting used to a whole new niche, so its all coming back slowly. Er…please review! Its worth masses to me! Ooo…WAIT!
[Insert naked Zell dancing about for no reason at all]
HURRAY!! Sorry I had to expose you all to that! I felt compelled (it came from review…)