"The hardest tumble a man can make is to fall over his own bluff." ~ Ambrose Bierce
Running to Stand Still
Singing Ha La La La De Day
Sweet the sin
But bitter the taste in my mouth
I see seven towers
But I only see onw way out
You got to cry without weeping
Talk without speaking
Scream without raising your voice (U2)
"That's bullshit."
"Xu." Squall's head snapped over in her direction, brows drawn. Though he did not appear startled by her discourteous manner, he was not at all impressed.
The woman merely shrugged. "Just calling it like it is." Her attention returned to the Esthar politician. "Forgive my candour, but why should we believe you when we have evidence to prove the contrary?"
Of their own will, her arms crossed in front of her petite frame. Steadily, her dark eyes held the older man within a searing gaze.
Waylon Murphy shifted in his reclining position. With a sigh, he sat up and bent his legs so that he could lean forward and address her directly. "I'd be interested in seeing some of that evidence, if you don't mind. As far as we can tell Galbadia has had world domination on its primary agenda for the past twenty-odd years."
"And Esthar hasn't?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Squall lift a hand to cut her off but she deliberately ignored him. Xu had taken a dislike to the defence minister the from very moment had walked through the door of Balamb's head office. He was callous, self-aggrandizing, and chauvinistic. She considered herself an excellent judge of character and if it were up to her, she would not have agreed to the meeting. But it wasn't and he was there, sitting before them as if he owned the place. There was no way she was going to further that impression by kowtowing.
"From the instant the war ended we've had Galbadia under strict supervision. There is no way Caraway's government could have planned such an attack with our forces breathing down its neck. Not to mention Esthar's," she added pointedly.
"Perhaps you need to question the loyalty of your forces. Our men have reason to believe Galbadia was responsible for the bombing yesterday." Believing the conversation over, he settled back in his chair, arms folded behind his head and legs stretched beneath the desk.
Her teeth clenched, grinded. "Our forces are fine. Have you ever given a thought to the idea that your—."
"Xu!" Squall's voice was louder this time. His eyes now held stern reproach. Sometimes he felt like he was running a day care instead of an international military corps. "Why don't you go make us all some coffee?"
The harshness in his gaze did not dissipate, though his words were pleasant enough. His meaning was plain, however, and she was not slow in picking it up. The raised-brow look she sent him warned him he was in for an earful once the Esthar minister left. He didn't doubt it. But right now all that mattered was smoothing over the wrinkles in Waylon Murphy's perfectly pressed uniform.
Chin high and features haughty Xu spun on her heel and sauntered toward the door. "Certainly, Commander Leonhart."
When he thought she had moved beyond hearing range, he turned toward the other man with an apologetic expression. "Please forgive my assistant." He shifted a glance at the open door before deciding it was safe enough to continue. "She's nothing more than a glamorised secretary and hardly represents the will of Balamb Garden."
At that, Murphy let out a hearty laugh. In one motion he was sitting up and bracing his elbows on his knees. "Not a problem, son." He chuckled again and offered Squall a conspiratorial wink. "We all have our troubles now and then. You've certainly got yourself a feisty one there."
The innuendo was as obvious as his attempt at camaraderie. He was selling hard. It was too bad Squall wasn't buying.
He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Yes, well, let's get back to business."
Glamorised secretary, Xu fumed as she shoved the filter back into the machine. A tiny muscle above her left eyelid began to twitch with violence. She punched at the button to start the coffee brewing with her fist. She would rather have thrown it across the room. Who the hell does he think he is?
Her fingers drummed on the small table as she willed her temper to remain under reasonable control. So help her, the second the Great Estharian Ass stepped out of the office she was going to show her darling commander exactly what she thought of that statement. Glamorised secretary, huh? Her nails drove half-moon-shaped trenches into her palms. How would he like to be delusional janitor?
It was that moment that Zell Dincht chose to enter the front office, his face a mask of panic.
"Hey, Xu, is Squall busy?" Nervous energy bounced off of him as he practically leaped over the floor to the inner door. "I really need to talk to him."
The conflagration in her eyes as she set her gaze upon him had him hopping back two full steps. If he didn't have a crisis on his hands he would have been out the door and running for cover. No one in their right mind wanted to deal with a pissed-off Xu. To him, she was terrifying enough when in a pleasant frame of mind.
"He's with a member of the Esthar government," she told him between gritted teeth. There was so much fury behind the words, Zell wondered her tongue didn't send off sparks.
"Will he be long? This is an emergency!"
Xu jerked a shoulder, marching to her desk and plonking down hard in her chair. "I wouldn't know. I'm just a glamorised secretary…" Her voice trailed off as an idea sifted through the rage in her brain. When it began to formalize, her lips curved in a genuine grin. Vengeance was truly a lovely notion.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come back later." She rested more comfortably in her seat and crossed her legs, playing her role to the hilt.
Inspiration struck and she leaned forward to glide open the top drawer. After a little rummaging she pulled out two coloured bottles and held them up in triumph. It was poetic, really, that she remembered them and had hung on to them for so long.
"What do you think, Dincht, I mean, Zell?" Xu displayed the bottles to him in one hand. "Passion pink or tropical splash?"
Bewildered by her sudden switch from seething to congenial, the young male could do nothing but gape. Not only was she actually smiling at him but she was asking his advice. The top administrator who had only ever bequeathed him with a cursory glance. And that was only if he got in her way.
"What do you mean?"
"Nail polish." She spoke with patience. "I just want to know what colour you think is better. Don't you think mine are a little too bare?" Waving her free hand in the air in front of his face, she wiggled her fingers for him to see.
Eyes wide, he began to back away. "Uh, I, er, I wouldn't know." His back slammed into the wall next to the elevator door. Frantic, his hand felt for the button to call the car. "I'll just, uh, come back later. When you're less busy. Yeah, that sounds good."
He nodded vigorously then almost fell to his knees in relief when the recognizable ping of the elevator hit his ears. "Thanks!"
After he had departed Xu continued to frown at her unpainted nails with the same solemnity she used when contemplating battle strategy. "Maybe I should just get a manicure."
When the telephone on her desk jangled she ignored it and reached back into the drawer for a nail file. The tips were much to jagged for her liking. She should be ashamed of herself for letting them get into such a state. Clucking her tongue she proceeded to round them off as best she could. It was despicable, really. The telephone continued to ring as she worked, not paying it a single thought.
"Are you going to answer that?" Squall stood in the doorway, one brow arched.
"What?" Xu looked up at him, a brilliant smile on her face. When his remained blank she clued in. "Oh, the telephone." She shrugged. "If you'd like."
The two exchanged steady glances before he backed down and turned back inside his office. "Thank you."
"Not a problem." When the receiver emitted another angry rattle she flicked the switch for the speaker so that she could continue her task. "Balamb Garden, Xu speaking."
"Hello." Even across the lines, she could pick up on the caller's hostility. "You sound pleased with yourself."
"Hey, girlfriend!" Dropping her nail file, she tucked her hair away from her face. Idly, she wondered what she'd look like with a pixie cut. "What's up?"
"Oh, not a lot. Just the usual, routine stuff going on here. I lost Seifer, but you know, it's no big deal. Everything is going just grand."
"What?" Quickly, she leaned across the desk to grab the receiver, turning off the speaker. All thoughts of aesthetics were immediately wiped from her mind. "How?"
"You know, Xu, I realize you were narked about the whole blind date thing, but a night with Garret, the Conceited SeeD, really doesn't justify the hell I've gone through during the past twenty-four hours." The woman's voice was deadpan.
"Quis, when was the last time you saw him? From what it sounded like last night, everything was fine." One-handed, she snatched a pen from the metal holder and started to write on a yellow-lined pad.
"I guess you could call it that." Quistis sighed, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I really don't know, Xu. When I woke up this morning he was gone. I think he might have escaped with Zone."
"Zone? Of former Timber Owl fame?"
"Right on the head. We spent the night at his place, I didn't think there was any harm in it." She shook her head and closed her eyes. "Mistake number twenty-six."
"Timber's closed off. He must still be in the vicinity."
"Most likely. I've got Watts here, think he knows more than he's letting on. Shouldn't be too hard to sway him." Craning her neck, she slid open the curtain to make sure her captive was indeed in the other room. There was no way she could afford to lose him as well.
"Damn, Quistis. I had no idea this was all going to go down." The other woman expressed, regret deepening her pitch.
Against her will, she found herself relenting a little. It was not exactly Xu's fault Timber was bombed. No one could have predicted the incident. Nonetheless, she needed someone to blame.
"I think something more complex is going on here than anyone could have anticipated. Even if I do manage to find him, the battle isn't going to be easy. Is there any way you could send back up?"
Silence stretched out over the line and when Xu did answer, Quistis could tell she was not any more thrilled with the current situation at Garden than she was.
"Hell, girl. I'd join you myself if the board stopped tracking my every move for a nanosecond. Bastards. There's nothing I'd love more than to drag that asshole back here on a leash."
Nodding, she released the curtain. "Don't I know it. Thanks anyway."
"Look, Quistis, we can always send a headhunting mission in later when things have calmed down. Why don't you hightail it? I can send the Rag to meet you in Dollet or something. The board can screw itself."
The idea had merit. More than that, it had fantasy potential. For crying out loud, she did not even have her Guardians with her. She would not be called a coward for backing out. It was the smart thing to do. Logical. It had Quistis Trepe written all over it.
Yet, just as she was about to concur with her friend, the SeeD in her rose up in protest. Could she really just leave him there? With all of this ferment simmering beneath the cracks? The answer was plain. She had a duty to fulfil, an obligation to the world, and to herself. In all her life she had yet to run away from a fight. She was not going to start now.
"No. No, I have to find out what's going on. Something is rising, I can feel it. Something bigger than a suicide bomb. I'm not leaving until I've figured out what it is."
"You know where I am." Xu's voice sounded resigned.
"That I do." Quistis let herself laugh. "Wanna trade?"
The other woman let out a groan. "Don't rub it in."
"You know you love your job."
"With all my soul."
Grinning, Quistis leaned against the table, twirling the cord with a finger. "Bleeding Heart."
"Ice Queen."
They both chuckled, enjoying the playful banter for a moment before returning to the real world.
"I'll call," promised Quistis
"I'll give Mr. Type A the heads up." Xu paused. "Be careful."
As soon as she had hung up the telephone, Quistis made her way back toward the living area of the cellar space. To be blunt, the place looked even worse by daylight. But none of that mattered now.
She stood outside the curtain and straightened her uniform, her eyes locked on Watts' hunched frame. He sat at the table, chomping on the better part of a sandwich and reading what appeared to be a comic book. The freckles on his forehead stood out in high relief as he widened his eyes at an exciting moment in the story. There was no way anyone could have mistaken the man for a plotting anarchist. But Quistis was not anyone.
Tired, weak, and hungry she was not willing to trust the fellow for a heartbeat. No matter how innocent and eager his nature. Enough was enough.
Sliding into the seat across from him, she reached over and pilfered the other half of his sandwich. Cheese and mayonnaise. Her stomach let out an appreciative rumble. Since the last thing she could remember eating was the burger she had picked up from the diner, half a cheese sandwich seemed like a banquet. The bread was dry and the mayo gave off an interesting odour but she spared such petty things little notice.
Only when she had polished it off and her stomach was appeased did she look Watts in the eye. He had glanced up from his reading when she'd snatched half his lunch. He now watched her with a mix of apprehension and interest.
"I think it's time you and I had a little chat," she informed him. "You are going to tell me everything you know about these 'Wolves of Renaissance'. And you are going to tell me now."
Seifer slouched against the wall, glaring dangerously ahead. Running a hand through his hair, he swore. Swore again when he returned both hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. Back up against the wall, he directed his next curse toward the man who lounged in a plastic chair on the other side of a round table.
"Revolution. You're fucking insane."
The lighting in the small room was muted, coming from a tiny oil lamp on the wall behind him. It was impossible to see the man's face clearly. A fact that pissed Seifer off. He liked to know what someone looked like before he fractured his skull. A glance at the Tank who guarded the door warned him not to attempt that pleasure anytime soon.
The man stamped out his cigarette in the opaque silver tray at his left. "How ordinary. Pity, I had hoped your mind would be of a higher calibre. Perhaps, I was mistaken."
His voice was bland, almost devoid of any verbal inflection whatsoever. It was a voice that would be impossible to trace, and equally impossible to forget.
"Yeah, well. I ain't too fond of you either." Yanking himself away from concrete, Seifer gestured violently. "Looks like you're not the only one who made a mistake."
"Does that mean you don't wish do join our group?" The man gracefully slid another cigarette out of the pack lying at his other side. He lifted it to his lips and the Tank stepped forward to provide a light. "It really would be a shame, you know."
"And why is that?" Seifer matched disdain with disdain.
"Well, I see it as really the better out of two choices." Leaning back in his chair, the man blew smoke in Seifer's direction. His tone was now conversational, open. "Life or death."
Cocking an eyebrow, Seifer crossed his arms. "So it's either join you and your socialist gang-bangers or die."
"I would never put it quite so crass but, if you like, yes. I knew you would catch on quickly."
The man was starting to do more than just piss him off. That damn impassive voice was getting to him. It was worse that Leonhart's.
"What if I don't like your options?"
The room was silent for a few pulses before the man broke out in dry, humourless laughter. "Oh, and I'm sure you find that quite amusing." All of a sudden, he was sitting upright, cigarette smashed into the ashtray and voice a dark, low calm. "What will it be, Mr. Almasy?"
