"Cards are war, in disguise of a sport." ~ Charles Lamb

Into the Fire

 
I'm reunited
Into the fire
I am the spark
Into the fire
I yearn for comfort
Open the doors that lead on into eden
Don't want no cheap disguise
I follow the signs marked back to the beginning
No more compromise (Sarah McLachlan)

Shaggy and sinister brows lowered over equally dark but emaciated eyes. The skin beneath the intimidating glare was sallow and equally withered. Pockmarks scattered over shapeless cheeks and blotted a nose that had been broken well over one too many times. The lower portion of the face was speckled with coarse hair that must have been irritating, as the skin beneath the whiskers was blotched with red. Every now and then, an abrasive hand covered with more hair and even darker blotches would reach up to rub at the tender area between gnawed lips and stark chin.

Quistis barely blinked an eye when the man's stomach muscles contracted beneath heavy tartan flannel, causing a nauseating burst to rupture from bowels and diaphragm simultaneously. Her pale hand remained steady as it swiftly shuffled the well-worn deck of cards with the nonchalance of any experienced player. Gaze direct and slightly bored she laid the stack on the knotted bar table in front of her. With a curve in her smooth brow, imperceptible to the casual observer, and a mocking smile toying with her lips, she inclined her head toward her challenger.

"Gentlemen first."

The man shifted his bulk and the chair let out a moan to show its displeasure. He scratched at his stubble as if in contemplation. "What are the rules?"

"Rules?" Quistis glanced around the table to share the joke with the small crowd that had gathered amidst the smoke and pungent alcohol. The Timber Pub was a place one called on for one reason only: to get drunk fast. Hence, it was also an excellent place for a fast hand to make some many. She had been able to scam many of the regulars out of their loose change already. Some were more gullible than others.

Her eyes alighted with amusement. "This is a bar, not a schoolyard. What do we need rules for?" There was a smattering of chuckles from the congested audience.

"Look, lady," he grunted, slamming his fist on the table. Her neat pile scattered over the wood and his beer glass jiggled. He had lost three rounds to this smug female and he was determined not to lose any more. "I don't know what yer tryin' to pull but I ain't fallin' fer yer shady deals. We're gonna do this up front or we ain't gonna do it at all." One beefy arm lifted to wipe his nose. "How do I know dem cards of yers ain't marked?"

Her expression remained placid as she swiftly collected the strewn deck in one hand and raised it in offering. "Why don't we switch, then? It makes no difference to me."

His beady eyes narrowed even further so that she could barely see his pupils. Suspicious of her proposal but not detecting any foul play in her logic, he reached into the back pocket of his coveralls and pulled out his own tattered deck.

Inwardly, he congratulated himself on his ingenious plan. This strange woman appeared to have more rare cards in her grasp than he had seen in his long lifetime of gambling. Over the years, his own stash had been greatly depleted by numerous losses. There was no way she could beat him using his collection. The lady was not as smart as she looked. He couldn't resist a little grin. It was beginning to look like Lady Luck was back on his side.

"All right. I'll take you up on yer deal. But we still gotta have rules." His tone narrowly concealed his delight.

Quistis sighed at his fixation and waved a hand. "If you insist. How's this," she shuffled his cards with a one-hand cut, keeping her eyes on him. "Random, Same/Plus, Sudden Death. And what were the stakes again?"

"Double or nothin'," he spat out as he roughly handled her prized cards. She figured she deserved an award for not ripping them out of his grubby hands. He kept his eyes on the cards in front of him as he sloppily rearranged the order. "Remember?"

"Of course," her reply was smooth. A large contrast to his gruff and flustered demeanour. Her cool brow only served to frustrate him further. "And to prove my integrity." She held up the stack of cards to the man on her right. "I'll have him select them for me."

"Oh yeah? Well, me too." He thrust them toward Seifer who stood next to Quistis' chair, with arms crossed and expression drawn. "Just to show I'm a good sport." At that comment, the laughter became raucous and several men called out jeering remarks. A few were silenced with a glare.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer counted out five cards from each deck and dealt them to the respective players. The idiocy in the room was astounding. So palpable it was practically buzzing in his ears. He doubted the combined I.Q. of the room was much above three hundred. And that was including Quistis and himself.

The man's grin spread wider when he got a look at his hand. Not bad at all. He decided he was in for a windfall.

Quistis hardly glanced at her cards before placing them in front of her on the table. "Shall we begin?"

He glanced up and smiled in what he must have thought to be a genteel fashion. "Why don't you draw first? I'll give ya a handicap."

Willing to play along, she selected almost at random and slid it onto the game board. It was of poor calibre, a low rank monster card, and his cheeks began to ache from grinning so much.

He felt a twinge of guilt for pulling one over on her like this. After all, the match was largely unfair. But when he thought of how many packs of cigarettes he could get with his winnings he quickly squelched all thoughts heading in that direction. She knew the risk. He shoved a card next to the other on the board and flipped hers over.

"Sorry, honey." Now he could afford to be polite. "Better luck next time."

The patrons of the bar fell into a hush. Several caught their breath and waited in anticipation of her next move. She would have trouble defeating a high card like that.

Quistis had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at such an obvious move. The man was too pathetic for words. She could only pray he was a better player while sober. No one played his or her highest card at the start of a round. Not even Zell.

She placed her next card on the opposite end of the board, taking on a defensive mode. He immediately followed up with another high card, flipping hers over once again. Seifer snorted quietly at the man's eagerness. He was no high-ranking player but even he could see the large holes the brash man was leaving wide open.

Pursing her lips, she tapped a nail against a card on the table. Her eyes studied the board, moved down to the cards, up to her opponent's face, then back at the board. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek and wrinkled her nose. Emitting a tiny humming sound, she lifted the card under her hand as if to place it on a square. But she subsequently changed her mind and put it back down.

The tension increased triple fold. As did the amount of searing smoke. Yet, she noticed none of it. Not even as the latter caused her eyes to moisten. She was having way too much fun.

After a few moments of mental debate, she selected another card and put it on the board, defeating his by one value. She allowed a jubilant smile to form on her lips and she met her rival's gaze.

He was not the least bit concerned by this fresh development. In fact, he was pleased the match would not be won so easily. There was nothing like a challenge to get the blood pumping. He creased his wrinkled brow before turning her third card over to up the score one more time for his side. Back to his comfort zone.

Growing bored with the game, Quistis decided it was about time to end it and get out of there. Her feet still pained her from walking in from the desert and she was looking forward to a hot shower and a well-earned rest at the hotel. A rest that would be even better than she had planned ~ based on the winnings she had accumulated thus far.

Whatever else she raked in could go toward some new shoes.

On a long sigh, she lifted a fourth card and placed it in between his on the board, managing to flip over all placed cards but one. She looked up and shrugged a shoulder. "Your move."

The congregated crowd broke out. Some in hefty whoops and others in unrestrained guffaws. Even more stood in pure disbelief, jaws dropped and flabbergasted cries pouring out of their open mouths. A move like that had not been seen among their ranks for quite some time.

Her opponent was equally dumbfounded. His eyes went wide and he stared at the board in a mixture of awe and horror. He hadn't seen it coming. How did she do that with such low-end cards? Something did not seem to fit.

"Free lesson," Quistis smirked. "Don't ever go double or nothing unless you know your opponent better than yourself."

Any chance at further game play was lost however. The man's buddies jostled the table to get a better view of the laid out cards. The severe bumping tipped the table and cards were strewn out over the floor underneath. Elbows jabbing and wide bellies protruding.

Quistis found herself knocked out of her chair due to the sudden onslaught of heavy male bodies. She decided take her resources and run before total chaos erupted in the corner of the bar.

Hoping to go unnoticed, she bent and collected what she could of her own cards from the floor. She was grateful for the foresight that had told her to leave most of them at Garden. Seifer appeared at her side as she straightened and she met his glance. "Ready to go?"

"More than."

Together they headed for the exit, moving as quickly as they could without drawing attention. He had his hand outstretched to push open the door. And they would have made it out without mishap if it were not for the bouncer getting in the way.

Seifer raised his eyebrows and looked up. He cursed violently. The man must have been at least seven feet tall and he carried a threatening iron truncheon. Damn the woman and her ego.

In unison, they turned around to judge their odds with the mobilized crowd versus the cosh-carrier. Quistis' former opponent lurched out of the fray with a wild glint in his eyes. He rolled his flannel sleeves up on his arms and clenched both meaty hands.

"Free lesson," he ground out. "Don't bet against the house unless you want to lose."

So, Quistis thought to herself, maybe I could have stood to know my challenger a little better as well.

The temperature of the room was just above freezing, a fact that was not aided by the un-insulated concrete of the walls. Yet those who met there once a week without fail were not bothered by the cold anymore than they were by the dingy lighting of a small gas lamp that took up space on the single piece of furniture. For their purposes, they could not afford windows or electricity. Nor could they chance moving anything larger than a makeshift table into the basement room.

The elite group had a cautious enrolment of ten. The leader strictly prohibited further recruitment with except with his explicit assessment and approval. Moreover, nothing discussed at each meeting was to go beyond the planked and padlocked door. Punishable by death. And if a government authority ever questioned a member directly, he was fully prepared to curtail any leak. Suicide was strongly encouraged. The rules of the group were not to be observed lightly, as dictated by the leader and the manifesto all were required to sign. When one is discussing the overthrow of the world, he cannot risk word getting out.

That night all ten members were present but this came as no surprise. If one did not show, he was believed to be dead. Even if he wasn't he would be within a few hours. Enrolment was for life and attendance was mandatory.

A man of impressive size monitored the door. Built like a tank his presence was enough to deter the more slender formed members from disobedience. He was the leader's bodyguard and the mechanical specialist. There was not a vehicle he could not hotwire, nor a safe he could not crack. A skull he could not fracture. Despite his exterior, however, the Tank was not the most fearsome of the group.

Among the ranks was one woman. Frail and petite in appearance she scarcely looked like a prominent member of a well-organized, militant, anarchist faction. With her pale blond hair, china-doll skin, and cornflower blue eyes she looked more like a cheerleader than a radical. But she was the leader's most trusted adherent and all members had been taught to approach her with the utmost respect. She was the weapons specialist and had great influence over their position in the group. She was not to be underestimated.

She opened the proceedings that evening. Her wispy voice called the meeting to order and requested reports from each person in the room. She tilted her head and listened as each spoke up in turn. Her brow furrowed when the information was less than positive, eyes cool and jaw set. When something pleased her, she would nod her head ever so slightly and drum a set of pink fingernails on the table. Such a simple action of recognition would cause the speaking member's shoulders to straighten with pride.

All but one. The tall man who chose to stand in the corner, where the light of the flickering lamp only touched half his face. Few knew his real name, even the leader only referred to him by an alias. He was the sniper, the trained assassin. His frame was slight, built for moving in and out of the shadows, slipping in and out where he chose. None noticed his presence in a room unless he desired it so. Among his fellow members, there was a distinct fear of his ruthlessness, his unequivocal lack of any form of conscience. He knew this and approved of it. His position was secured that way. There would be no kowtowing from his region of the room.

When the reports were given and the secretary had copied every articulation into the minutes with his precise script, the woman stepped back from the table and allowed the leader to take the floor.

His eyes were covered by thick sunglasses, as they always were. And his head was cleanly shaven. Just another area of protection. His hands were gloved in black leather and he clasped them behind his back as he addressed the assembled group. When he spoke his voice was a deep baritone that resounded to the tall man in the back of the room, more than likely also masked as a form of precaution.

"Tonight." He uttered the word with such force all nine listeners were put instantly on edge. "Tonight we determine the fate of the world."

Out of breath and limbs exhausted from running, Quistis stopped her rapid escape in front of the Timber Hotel. She glanced down the narrow, curving street. When she did not see her trackers, she closed her eyes and bent to rest her hands on her knees.

This had been one of the longest days of her life. Almost longer than the day she fought Ultimecia and endured time compression. Certainly more aggravating. Comeuppance, she vowed. Best friend or not, Xu was going to pay dearly.

When the buzzing in her head began to dissipate, she detected the steady rhythm of applause. The headache returned in full force and she waited a few more beats before regarding her charge.

The mocking twist of Seifer's features caused her stomach muscles to clench and it took all of her remaining energy to force down the urge to degenerate him permanently from this world and beyond. Icily, she stared back at him and crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the cobblestone walk. She wondered if he would be so cocky if she were to send a ray-bomb his way.

"Are you done?" Frost practically crystallized from her words.

Seifer tried to bite back his laughter but gave up when he didn't see the point. "Oh, no, duchess. You deserve much more than a round of applause. What you did in there was nothing short of brilliant. If only the Trepies could see you now."

"Shut up, Almasy." Quistis snapped then immediately regretted it when she saw his lips quiver in amusement. She told herself he was a pawn, a mere criminal, lowborn and deserving of her pity. Lichen like him was not worth the wrath that gurgled in her blood. "It got us out of there, didn't it?"

"Sure it did," he said agreeably but his eyes still twinkled. "Of course that little stunt you pulled is going to make it pretty damn hard for you to show your face around here for a long time." He shook his head and grinned, white teeth shining in the moon's glow. "Seducing a poor, defenceless bouncer like that, wrapping him all up in knots and then running away. Never figured you for a tease, Trepe."

His laughter rose in pitch as her face heated to a shade of crimson that was noticeable even in the shadowed light. He took it for embarrassment and could not resist egging her on one more step. "You oughtta be ashamed of yourself."

At that all her mental restraints gave way. All her training in decorum abandoned her under the wave of rage that engulfed her system. She leapt forward with her whip at the ready. Her vision was clouded and the release of the dam on her emotions prevented her from calculating her opponent for the second time that night.

Seifer saw her coming. He managed to snatch the golden tail of her weapon in his hand before it snapped against his face to gave him another scar. The whip sliced into his gloveless hand and he made a small sound of pain as it connected. But he did not release his hold.

Surprised, Quistis could not stop him from jerking her forward against his broader form. Not for the first time she was made aware how much stronger he was than she, especially given her unjunctioned state. She knew just as well as he did that if he wanted to, he could kill her right now and escape. But as she glanced into his eyes, she saw no promise of violence there, only scorn and amusement. Quistis tore herself away from his grip and tugged on her weapon until he released that as well.

"It's lucky you are I'm not junctioned," she told him, breath coming out in tiny gasps. Her gaze remained steady on his, as emotionless as she could muster. She refused to show him how weak she had felt under his show of power. She was in charge, dammit.

Seifer raised his brows in acknowledgement. "If you say so."

Her eyes widened and she almost prepared to launch another attack at his display of disrespect until she saw his mouth twitch with humour. He was making fun of her, she realized. And she had played right into his hands. God, she was worse than Zell Dincht. There was nothing a bully loved more than a volatile target. The humiliation of that lowered her self-esteem a few more pegs.

"Look, Almasy." She let out a sigh and replaced her weapon. "We don't have time for this. Let's just check in at the hotel and get some sleep. I managed to get enough out of those perverts to buy us a decent room for the night. Then tomorrow we can check the train schedule for transportation to Balamb."

Her voice took on a bitter edge with those last words and her eyes heated. She realized her rage at Seifer was probably only misplaced anger that would be more constructively pelted toward her honourable commanding officer when she returned to Garden. Not to mention Xu for getting her involved in this mess from the beginning.

Willing to go along with her intimation of a truce, Seifer nodded. "Sounds good." He fell into step beside her as the walked the rest of the way to the hotel entrance.

Wanting to avoid her temper, he had withstood the itch to ask Quistis what she had been told over the pay phone at the bar by the Garden representative.

When they had arrived in Timber after traipsing through the desert, they had found the mobile bulk of Balamb Garden conspicuously absent from its position on the Shenand Hill. Quistis had gone eerily quiet. She had headed into the city without a word, marching toward the pub and the long distance pay telephone outside. From what he had gathered from his one-sided perspective on the conversation, Garden would not be returning to Timber for some time. Which required them to take the train to Balamb City. His handler had been most unimpressed with this news and he had been reluctant to bring it up with her.

At the entrance to the hotel, right away Seifer noticed something was wrong. The entrance was sealed off with black and yellow tape and posted on the glass door was a sign etched with scrawled black felt. He heard a muffled groan next to him as Quistis' gaze zeroed in on the words of the sign.

The basic gist of it was that the hotel was closed due to emergency circumstances and the staff was very sorry for any inconveniences. Seifer had to read it through twice to make sure he wasn't just going blind.

Emotions running on high-speed, Quistis flung herself onto the top step leading up to the hotel. She did not move from that position for a few minutes. Just continued to sit with her feet on the lower stair, her arms resting on her knees, and her eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing. Her face took on a peculiar expression and Seifer made sure he stood far enough away to deflect any sudden move she might make. He had never seen her like this before and wasn't at all sure how to react.

Running a hand through his hair, he observed her sullen frame. "Uh, Trepe? Are you planning on sitting there all night? Because I know for a fact it's going to get frickin' cold and…"

His words trailed off when she tipped her head back on the cement and laughed. Her eyes closed and her face lit up with mirth, she let the sensation roll out of her, releasing all the pressure of the day in one final burst. For some reason she could not stop it. Her situation was not remotely funny yet the laughter continued to bubble up from her diaphragm and out into the chilled night air, unchecked. Her lungs practically heaved with it. When it the waves of hysteria began to subside, she lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle the rest of her giggles. She looked up and saw Seifer gaping at her as if she had morphed into a Jellyeye. This, of course, only increased her desire to laugh.

But this time she restricted her hilarity to a few snickers, hidden behind a gloved hand. She rose to her feet in one motion and stood on the bottom step, observing the man in front of her. His jaw had closed but he was still staring at her with an expression of sheer bewilderment.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked her, with a trace of irritation.

She realized he assumed she had been laughing at him and the knowledge made her smile and shake her head. Quistis leaned over to pat his cheek in reassurance. "Nothing, I'm fine. How's crashing at the train station sound?"

Annoyed with her patronizing attitude he gripped the wrist against his cheek. Aggravation flashed in her eyes at his touch and he was instantly relieved to see that the old Quistis he understood was still alive. He was about to reply in his typical smart-ass manner when the sound of footsteps distracted him.

"Hey!" called out an unfamiliar voice. "Are you Seifer Almasy?"

Quistis rolled her eyes and ordered her spent body back into battle mode. All she wanted was to find a spot to curl up and sleep for about a hundred hours. She was beginning to doubt she would ever get that chance again.