"After all, to make a beautiful omelette, you have to break an egg." ~ Spanish Proverb.

 
Under Pressure
 
Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor
These are the days it never rains but it pours
People on streets - people on streets
It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming let me out
Pray tomorrow - gets me higher (Queen & David Bowie)
 

Puttering around her small but immaculate kitchen Mrs. Banagher began to prepare lunch for the two hungry boys that would be trooping home within the hour. Although she was predominantly left alone in the house most days, as her husband was kept hopping in the pub he owned and managed, she managed to ward off the loneliness by keeping herself occupied in the culinary arts. She was known throughout Timber for her skills with a basting pan and was often called upon to make on dish or another for various events and get-togethers. But her family always came first.

Her husband was a modern man in most respects and did not expect her to have a four course meal ready by the time he staggered in the door at night. And if he ever had, she would have quickly changed that line of thinking with the back of her hand. Cooking relaxed her. It was a cathartic experience. She had complete control over how much seasoning to add, or how long a to stir a rue. If a new recipe went well than it was by her efforts alone. The outcome could be predicted and judged. It was a stark contrast to the volatility of life in modern day Timber. The Banagher clan had not been left out of the most recent turmoil.

She sighed as she lifted a skillet from the top cupboard, reached underneath for the oil. Though she had promised herself not to fret any further, her thoughts drifted toward her daughter. She had done her best to raise her into a bright young woman. Disciplined, educated, and loved her as much as any mother possibly could. More. Just like a complex recipe she had followed a deliberate and careful tread, deviating when necessary, but sticking to the essential ingredients. Raising a daughter had been an adventure but one she had accepted with gratitude. She had not expected to be perfect, but they had weathered each tempest together. Now, after seventeen years, she could not think where she had gone so completely wrong.

Selecting the best looking egg from the carton, she was about to crack it over the pan when she detected a firm knocking at the front door. She frowned and glanced at the stove clock in distraction. Pressing a hand to her oversized apron and the other to the wisps of hair falling over her forehead, she made her way across the room. The sight that met her eyes was not an expected one.

Attired in a wrinkled uniform, blond hair pulled away from her pale face in a loose ponytail that left tendrils dangling, the woman on her stoop looked plain worn out. But her posture was straight and her eyes were alert. Despite all outward appearances, Mrs. Banagher instinctively knew her visitor had a pressing reason for being there.

"Hello," Quistis greeted the woman and smiled out of politeness. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. My name is Quistis Trepe, I'm a SeeD with Balamb Garden. I've been told you have information regarding the resistance faction going by the name of-."

"Bah! I'm wanting nothing to do with that. You can tell your superiors this house is free and clear of any such nonsense. We want only to be left in peace." Annoyed, she would have shut the door had Quistis not stepped forward and in the way.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mrs. Banagher. It'll make my job a lot easier." Deciding to switch tactics, Quistis gestured to the teenage boy cowering behind her. "You see, they've kidnapped a, er, um," she searched for an appropriate epithet. "A citizen of Balamb. And Watts told me you might be able to help out."

"He did, did he?" The older woman narrowed her eyes and looked over Quistis' shoulder at the lad shamefacedly staring at the ground. "Well, I don't know all he said, but I doubt I can be much use. I lost my daughter to that, that cult of theirs. I was against the entire thing from the start. What Timber needs is collectivisation, not a bunch of hot-headed rebels setting fires and starting wars."

"Wars?" Darting a glance at Watts, Quistis raised her brows. The more she heard about this group, the less she liked it. "With all due respect, ma'am, I may not be from the area, but I plan on doing my very best to get to the bottom of this. Whatever information you could provide would be helpful, I'm sure. Right now, I know next to nothing." Shrugging her shoulders helplessly, she left herself open.

A light appeared in the woman's eyes and her face stretched into a soft smile. "I remember you now. You're a friend of that Rinoa-girl's, aren't you? Can't believe it took me so long to work it out. I never forget a face. Come on in, love. Take a seat here at the table. You look like you could use a hot cup of tea paired with a long nap."

"Yes, thank you." Smiling in relief, Quistis entered the home. She was immediately caught by the simple domesticity that seeped into every corner of the room. Prickles of nostalgia jabbed at her insides. Something sweet and wonderful was baking in the oven.

"You might come in as well, ye hooligan. Don't bother hiding your face, I've seen it plain enough. What would your mother think now?" Tutting, the mistress of the abode ushered the reluctant man inside. "It makes me blood boil to speak of it. The poor woman, in her grave, while you run around like a mad cockatrice, thinking nothing can touch you. A more hot-headed pack I've never seen, the whole lot."

The two took their places at the wooden table. The surface was already laid out for lunch, a cheery pot of blossoms in the centre. Without realizing it, Quistis relaxed into the checked padding of the chair and watched her hostess bustle around the counter.

"Really, there's no need to go to any trouble. I just wanted to ask you a few questions." Worrying the inside of her cheek, Quistis looked apologetic.

"It's no trouble at all. Not for the woman who's torn this yob away from the ruffians they call freedom fighters these days." Though she smiled, Quistis detected the bitterness in the woman's words. "Though how you went about separating him from his partner in foolishness is beyond even my knowing. The two are lucky to be alive if you ask me." She carried a small pot over to the table before going back for the cups and a brightly patterned tin. Once done, Mrs. Banagher sat herself in the seat next to her female guest. "We'll just wait for that to mash while we chat. My own tyrants will be barging in soon enough but I've plenty of time to spare for some intelligent company."

Unsure of where to begin now that the conversation had swivelled in her direction, Quistis toyed with the edge of the blue-and-white cotton tablecloth. Watts had not been able to tell her much, despite his previous avowal of a specialization in espionage. But she was certain after her swift interrogation that he had been telling her the truth. Her rapid-fire questions had not given him a chance to come up with an ulterior story. He sincerely did not know where Seifer was located. Which meant one of two things. Either the prisoner had left of his own accord, taking Zone with him, or he had been taken himself, as a result of some plot Watts had not been let in on. An odd occurrence indeed. As far as she could tell the two Timberians were of sole mind. Yet, as the station was shut down and the gates were closed, Quistis had no clue as to where Seifer thought he could run. She didn't think he was obtuse enough to think he could get far given the current circumstances. Unless he knew of a secret tunnel, he was as stuck as she. Hence, she was leaning toward some kind of scheme within the Wolves. It was her only real lead.

Feeling two pairs of eyes resting expectantly upon her, Quistis raised her head and tried to sort through her thoughts for the best way to broach an apparently sensitive subject. Watts had assured her that if anyone knew what to do, it would be Mrs. Banagher, the former leader of the Forest Foxes back before the war. "I take it you don't agree with Athair's plans."

"Athair?" Mrs. Banagher snorted. "He's barely in long-pants. And he's not even a native. I don't agree and I've made my thoughts clear to the rest of the town. For all the good that did."

"You've met him then?" Quistis pressed, leaning forward. This was the first solid clue she'd had and she grasped for the line with both hands. "Where is he from?"

Shaking her head, the woman reached over to remove the lid of the tin. "That I haven't but I've heard enough from my daughter and this one to draw my own conclusions. Read his articles in the circulars that go round as well. Pure rubbish. Have a biscuit. I made them fresh this morning." She nudged the tin forward and began to turn over cups.

The aroma of home-made pastry was too much for Quistis to resist. Her stomach growled approvingly as she took her first delicate bite. Soft and chewy, it was a panacea to her empty belly. The half sandwich she'd pilfered that morning had done nothing to appease her tortured appetite. She took another bite and nearly sighed. If she wasn't careful, she'd gobble the entire batch.

Her hostess smiled beamed and nodded. "Good, good. Have another. My boys are spoiled quite enough." Passing out saucers and offering cream, she spoke with a touch a pride.

"I'd like to see some of those articles, if you have them handy."

"Sure and I put the last in the drawer with the rest of the propaganda. For that's all it is," declared Mrs. Banagher, taking a sip of her tea. "Reckon I could fill a scrapbook with the bloody waste of it. Don't see how they'll do you much good, though. Just talk of change and promises of an independent future. Bah! As if we citizens haven't been working for that these twenty years. As if the blood lost means nothing."

"That's not true!" Shaking, Watts abruptly stood. His face flushed and his hands clenched. "It does mean something. But this is the only way we can accomplish their dreams. Our dreams. Don't you see? Everything Athair's saying is about making the battles of the past worth while. If we give up now, they've won. And-and-and I won't! Ever!"

Stunned by his outburst, Quistis looked to the other woman who regarded the male with pursed lips and raised brows. "Nor will I. This is a fight worth dying for and that's a fact. But I won't join ranks alongside a leader too cowardly to show his face. I won't have children die blindly for a cause just because some organization passed out a few flyers." Her features softened and she set down her cup. "Can you honestly tell me, lad, your faceless leader cares for this land as much as you and I?"

There was no sound for a few heavy beats as Watts considered her question. Everything he had believed in was closing around him. The woman had been surrogate mother, teacher, and general to him for as long as he could recall. It had shocked him, at first when she had refused to join the Wolves. He had been unable to contain himself with excitement after he and Zone had received news of the new faction. They both had been so sure they would win this time. Galbadia was in the middle of a dire crisis. A united front was certain to knock the state flat on its arse. But Mrs. Banagher had scoffed at their enthusiasm, said the last thing Timber needed was bunch of marauding superheroes led by a foreign alliance. And that had been that.

"I-I don't know." Defeated, he fell back into his chair.

"I know, son, I know." On a sigh, the woman turned to the other occupant. She lifted the teapot to refill Quistis' cup. "Now, why don't you have another biscuit and tell me the real reason you're here?"

Accepting the hospitality and nibbling on the edge of her third pastry, Quistis prepared to disclose the entire muddled tale.

Irvine's smile was smooth and his tone congenial as he patted his friend's shoulder. "Don't you worry about a thing, buddy." He looked over at the bench whereupon the source of the other man's woes sat waiting impatiently. "I can handle them, no problem. Practically already taken care of. Women are my specialty." He winked and dropped his hand.

"Thanks, Irvine. The sooner you get 'em out of here, the better. I can already see my rank doing a crash landing." Vibrating in agitation, Zell clenched and unclenched his hands. "Man, if Squall or Cid were to find out…" His voice trailed off, as if the possibilities were too terrorizing to speak aloud.

"Like I said, it's as good as accomplished. Just watch the ole Kinneas charm in action." With a backward wave, Irvine sauntered toward the fountain. A wide smile spread across his expressive features in welcome.

"I hope so," muttered Zell. He slumped against the wall across from the directory where he had a good view of the open corridor. Prayed with all he had that Irvine was right and it would soon be just a bad memory. The girls would leave, disappointed but accepting, and he could go on as if he had never signed a petition in his life.

From his vantage point he watched the other man tip his hat in greeting. He was too far to hear what was being said but he saw the two girls exchange glances then start to giggle. For the first time he was able to fully appreciate his comrade's seemingly natural skills of flirtation. He figured he owed the guy one for all the dark thoughts he'd directed his way. When the blonde twirled a lock of hair around her finger and shifted over so Irvine could sit down, Zell relaxed enough to smile. He ran a hand over his face and let out the tension in a whoosh of air. Irvine was a guy one could count on.

"I'm Ginny and this is my friend Isobel," the blonde with the peaches-and-cream complexion introduced. "We're members of the CAIBSEC, put in charge of the Balamb chapter just last week."

"Isn't that exciting?" the redhead on the other side of the bench bubbled, crinkling her blue eyes. "I've always wanted to travel."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you did." Resting one arm on the back of the bench, Irvine turned his lanky frame so that he could face both at the same time. "We don't get many ladies of your nature round these parts this time of year."

"And what nature would that be, Mr. Kinneas?" Ginny titled her head and widened her already huge brown eyes.

Irvine's grin grew bold. He'd pegged them right away and played his cards to suit. "Why, you both are lovelier than the most delicate of angels. A fella could lose his head around a mere glimpse of one of you, let alone two at once. I'd have to be the luckiest man alive for Hyne to bless me with your presence for one heartbeat." He let their giggles settle over him before continuing. His head dropped onto his open palm and he dimpled at them, sighing dreamily. "I'm willin' to bet your hearts are just as sweet as your faces. Like the first hints of sunlight on a cloudy morn."

"Really, Mr. Kinneas?" About ready to sigh herself, Isobel leaned forward. "That's the prettiest thing anyone's ever said to me." The tiniest intimation of an accent broke through as she spoke.

"Now that's gotta be a lie. I'm sure you girls have droves of men beating down your door back home. If not then there's definitely something wrong with them. Where did y'all say you were from?"

"Will you help us?" Ignoring the question, Ginny touched a hand to his sleeve. "We want to make a good impression on the committee but we haven't had much luck yet. No one seems to want to listen." Her eyes filled with desolation and cast downward to her lap. "We'd hate to be sent home so soon."

"Sure. I'm always up for helpin' out the underdog." Straightening his shoulders, Irvine gestured dramatically. "That's the very reason I became SeeD. To assist the underprivileged in their time of need. I'm as friendly as they come." His expression grew solemn and lowered his hand from where he had placed it against his heart. "Why don't you tell me what this group of yours is all about?"

"Oh, wow! That's so awful nice of you. I had no idea there were people like you and Mr. Dincht still left in this world. Did you, Bel?" The female's ponytail flicked in his face when she turned to address her friend.

"Nu-uh." Without pause, the red-head thrust out a clipboard and her awe-filled gaze became one of professional formality. "Sign here, if you please."

Chuckling, Irvine took the petition and tipped back his hat to peruse the writing. "What do we have here? I ain't signing my life away or anything, eh?"

"Don't be silly." Ginny giggled again but this time he caught the forced nature of the sound. One brow raised he glanced up, whereupon both girls shot him twin dazzling smiles.

"Now let's see…" Looking back down at the page before him and tapping the little pen that dangled off a string, Irvine debated his next plan of action. His cavalier demeanour diminished when he spotted Zell's scrawled signature at the top of the list. He moved slightly away and relaxed his back against the bench, propping a foot on the opposite knee. "What does CAIBSEC stand for?"

"Commission Against the Inhumane Breeding and Slaying of Endangered Creatures," the girls said in unison. Both brows raised this time Irvine was about to drawl out a reply when Ginny cut him off.

"We're out to stop the Gardens from their cruel treatment of the planet's natural species. There are chapters in every state and we have ties to a party in Deling running for office in the next election. But Isobel and I were entrusted with the most important mission of all."

"That's right." Isobel nodded, eyes narrowed. "We're here to shut down Balamb Garden completely unless it agrees to comply with our demands and stop using sentient beings as training tools.

Irvine goggled. "Shut down Balamb?" His foot fell to the floor and he could do nothing but stare, suave veneer all but gone. "Ladies, you've got to be kidding. It's-it's just not going to happen."

"Oh yeah? Show 'im Gin."

Reaching over the blonde lifted up the top page to display the collected signatures. "So far we've had over two hundred people respond positively. We met with the mayor this morning and he was fully supportive of our alternative program."

Flummoxed, Irvine did not know what to make of the whole thing. Was this a con or were they actually legitimate. His eyes darted from one female to the next as he cast about for a rebuttal. It was crazy.

"Don't ya think we could work out like a more cooperative agreement? I mean, shutting down…" He tugged at his collar. "Sounds a bit drastic."

"We don't think so and obviously neither do these people. There is no place for people like you in this world. Hyne does not treat blasphemy lightly. The torture must be stopped and it must be stopped now!" Irvine began to sweat. He now had two very incensed glaring at him with electricity crackling in the depths of their pupils. "So, it's up to you. You can either beg forgiveness and join our mission or face the demons of eternal damnation and continue with your heartless slaughter." Now not only did he have enraged women breathing down his neck, but the weight of his immortal soul.

Dang his guilty conscience.

Teapot emptied and cups rinsing in the soap filled sink, Mrs. Banagher sat back in her chair. "So you're pretty sure this charge of yours is with Zone at the group's headquarters."

"Yes. That's the logical conclusion. Whether he went willingly or unwillingly is irrelevant." Stomach full of cake and the cheese and pepper omelette her host had served for lunch, Quistis rested her elbows on the table. Now that she had caffeine happily buzzing through her system she could approach the frustrating matter with greater breadth and serenity.

"And you need to return him to your control as soon as possible."

Quistis nodded. "Garden cannot allow word to get out of his disappearance at this time. The repercussions would be…unthinkable."

"As I say, I don't know much about their whereabouts or future plans. Just what my daughter chooses to report in her posts." The woman closed her eyes to sort through the information. For a few moments all was quiet except for the frequent fidgeting of Watts at Quistis's right. Abruptly, she lifted her heavy lids and zeroed her stare in on Quistis. "How far are you willing to go?"

Realizing the gravity of what she was asking Quistis kept her response just as succinct. "All the way."

"Glad to hear it." All of a sudden, the woman whooped and leaned across the table to squeeze the younger female's hand. The laugh lines on her face wrinkled in delight. "I've been rarin' for a good fight these odd months. This is just the excuse I been looking for. Now, Watts here, he knows where they'd take him. If I get him to lead me there 'twould be no trouble getting inside. The tricky part'll be getting out again." Mrs. Banagher grinned and squeezed harder before releasing her hand and leaping up. "Oh, it will be grand like, it will. Just as if it were old times."

Caught up in the other woman's enthusiasm Quistis couldn't help but smile and rise similarly, although with considerably more composure. "Thank you so much for your help, but I could not possibly impose any further. If you could show me the articles and perhaps some of your daughters emails, that would be more than enough."

"You're not thinking I'll just sit back when there's a battle to be had, now are you?" Hands on hips Mrs. Banagher stared her down. Though she was shorter than the SeeD, she still managed to appear imposing against the backdrop of a homey kitchen and merry yellow curtains. "Ask the lad, and he'll tell you. If there's something worth doing, it's worth doing full out. I'm not just doing this for you, but for my home, for Timber. I've been wanting to get to the bottom of these 'Wolves' since the first one set foot on our soil. The people of the town shouldn't be focussed on one man, but on the unity the land gives us. It's ours. Not Athair's and certainly not the Galbadians'. I'm going to be in the front lines when we take it back."

"And so am I." Inspired by her firm stance, Watts stood up as well. He pounded a fist into his open hand. "You're right. This is our country. I'll-I'll tell you everything I know." His eyes glittered with a resolve that made Quistis do a double-take. She tried to match the determined young man beside her with the nervous boy she'd met on the White SeeD ship half a year ago. Found they could not be reconciled.

She watched as the two, young man and middle-aged woman shared silent vows. Suddenly, it smacked into her, like a blast of air-conditioning on a humid day. The passion these people had for their home was astounding. At first she had not been able to fathom the idea of it. But now she realized, on a startling current of homesickness, that she would do the same was Balamb in danger. The island was her home, her refuge. The blue waters and the green forests. The rugged mountains and the quaint streets. The weathered fishermen coming in after a day's labour, the children zipping around on their t-boards. She would fight for its freedom. No matter what the cost.

However she felt she should still make another attempt to put off the woman. This was SeeD business, after all. But the mistress of the house once more spurned her feeble excuses with a shake of her head.

"I'll hear none of it. It better not be on account of my age your turning away my assistance."

"Of course not. That never occurred to me. But--."

"But nothing. Besides they'd suspect you the minute you rapped on the door." Picking up her apron from where she'd placed it on the table, she re-tied it around her waist and moved to the sink. "Now sit back down while Watts helps me with the dishes and we'll discuss our plans. I wonder if my husband still has that surveillance equipment." She grinned to herself as she dunked her hands under water and gazed out the window. "There's a fine thought. I hope my boys didn't trouble you too much during dinner."

Quistis looked skyward then gave up and returned to her seat. There was no point in arguing further. She did not have the heart. In truth, she was grateful. Balamb would not be sending any crews her way unless she could prove urgent need. Her mission was a Garden-sponsored one. Which meant the institution was paying in full. The less salaries on pay-roll the better as far as the board was concerned.

"Not at all," she said pleasantly. "They were quite well-behaved for most children their age."

"Ah, well, wait until bedtime. That's when the real fun begins." Mrs. Banagher turned her head to wink. "They seemed quite taken with you."

"You're kidding." Quistis shook her head. ""I've never been very good with young ones. I felt completely out of my element." She offered a self-deprecating laugh.

"Then you don't give yourself enough credit. Believe me, if they were a few years older, they'd have been arm-wrestling at the table for the chance to sit next to you."

Laughing again, Quistis decided not to comment. She couldn't remember ever having such a sincere, innocent conversation with an older woman. Open and friendly, Mrs. Banagher represented more than a useful ally. She had welcomed her into her home with great hospitality. Forced her to eat as much of her home-cooking as she could manage, listened to her tale like an equal, trusted her with her children, and offered her a room for as long as she remained in the area. And now, she was giving her companionship. Camaraderie. Warmth. Funny how after all this time it was here Quistis would find the mother she had always wanted.

"Thank you." It came out quietly, and with more heart than she had intended.

The woman turned from instructing Watts on how to properly dry off a cup and smiled. In her eyes Quistis saw compassion and understanding. Her soul yearned.

"Your welcome, me darling. Now let's see about fetching those missives."

"So, how did it go?"

Giving one last wave to the girls as they walked down the hall and toward the front gate of the academy, Irvine turned on his heel and began to stroll away. "Just like I said it would. Not a hitch."

"Really?" Suspicious, Zell followed him when he turned left away from the front foyer. "Then how come I heard you say you'd meet them tomorrow?" He stopped as a new idea dawned on him. His mouth slid open. "You picked 'em up, didn't you? You asked them out. The Psycho Twins. Are you insane?"

Irvine stopped, swung around, his hat riding low on his head. "I didn't ask them out, all right? Just forget about it."

"You are such a liar." Running to catch up, Zell continued to speak with incredulity. "Geeze. I can't believe you sometimes. Have you no control? Sure they look cute and all, but man, they're like, like really scary, freaky, psychotic demons inside. Didn't you hear them? They're nuts! They get a guy's head all mess up so he doesn't know what he's doing and then WHAM! They hit you where it hurts. Like trying to get me kicked out. They're evil, dude. Eeevvvviiiiilllllll."

"Enough Zell." The other man headed down the entry to the cafeteria. He was hungry. He had skipped breakfast and couldn't think on an empty stomach. Besides, he had heard through the Garden gossip grind there was a special on mashed potatoes today. "I'm not going out with either of them. Cool your jets." Entering the refectory, he picked up the spicy aroma of chilli.

"Why the heck are you meeting them, then?"

Mumbling under his breath Irvine headed toward a table near the back. As rapidly as it had come, his appetite had disappeared. The man's incessant exclamations were giving him a headache.

"What was that?"

Falling into an empty chair, Irvine slumped over the table and bowed his head.

"What?" Zell plonked down opposite.

"I said, I'm taking them up to Cid." Irate, he glared, then coughed and looked away, moving his shoulders up and down.

For the second time in less than five minutes, Zell's jaw hung to his toes. Scraping it off the glass tabletop, he gasped loudly, drawing the attention of several cadets at a nearby table. Seeing it was just Zell, whose antics were a regular fixture, they only paused a few seconds before returning to their own business. "You, what? I thought you said it was taken care of!"

"It is. You don't have to worry about anything. It's all on my head."

"You bet it is! Geeze." Shaking his head, he slouched. "What happened?" Although he already had a fairly good idea. So much for the man who understood all women. The ultimate lady-killer. More like Mr. Soft Touch. "I knew I should have gone to Squall."

"And had your rank lowered?" Irvine titled his hat to view him appraisingly.

Zell drooped further. "Guess your right." He narrowed his eyes and pouted. "Stupid girls."

"Word." On a sigh, Irvine lifted an arm, dropped it helplessly. For the first time in his life, he was about ready to admit defeat.

"That's it." Zell pounded his fist against his knee and sat up straight. "From now on, I ain't trusting a thing that comes out of a girl's mouth. The next time I see one, I'm gonna--."

"Hi guys!" A familiar face popped up next to the table.

"Aaaah!" Zell leapt out of his sitting position and took up a defensive stance, fists ready.

Selphie cocked her head and gave him a weird look. Not that his normal behaviour was any less strange. But he was eyeing her like she was some kind of evil sorceress.

"Jeepers, what's up with him? I was just saying hi." When the other man only shrugged in reply her copper brows climbed high on her head and her eyes went wide. "What's going on? Why're you sitting all the way back here?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Zell countered, crossing his arms defensively. "I didn't do anything."

"Who said you did?" Standing on her toes, she peered up into his face and searched his expression. "Are you on hotdog withdrawal or something, Zell? You look pale."

At the mention of the food item, his face blanched. His belly turned over and gurgled. In reaction, his lip curled and his nose wrinkled. When his knees buckled he was forced to sit back down. "I think I'm gonna ralph."

"Hotdogs, hotdogs, hotdogs," sang Selphie, dancing along. She had known she'd have him with that. Ever since the gala five months ago the teen had become instantly nauseous at the mere mention of the word. She had delighted him torturing him from the moment she had discovered his gastronomical issues on.

Irvine sunk lower in his chair and covered his eyes with his hat. Their childish games were doing nothing for his raging temples.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Wieners and ketchup, and buns and relish, and pickles, and onions, and mustard."

"Shut up!" Throwing back his chair so that it echoed against the floor, Zell glowered at her. Stunned, she quieted her singing. "I can't take it anymore! I'm moving to Centra. I'm going to change my name to Dances With Toramas and I'm going to join up with a tribe of cannibals and wear a loin cloth. I'm going to sleep outside and smoke mantis weed. And I'm never going to look at another woman or hotdog again!"

Amused, Irvine glanced up at Zell with one unhidden eye. "Isn't that a little extreme?"

"A life without her annoying voice?" Frustrated beyond control, Zell gestured at Selphie with a thumb. "Sounds like, like heaven." When she only smiled innocently at his hate-filled glare, he emitted a low growl and stomped away, arms swinging tightly at his sides.

"The guy's got serious issues," remarked Selphie before taking up his spot. "Oh! Guess what, Irvy! I met two new girls when I was coming back to Garden with Rinoa. They were super-nice. We're gonna go shopping with them tomorrow. One of 'em is named Ginny, isn't that the cutest? I'm sure you'd like her. Seems like your type. I can put in a good word for you, if you like."

Maybe, just maybe, thought Irvine, Zell had the right idea after all. Compared to his life, the Centrian desert suddenly wasn't sounding so bad.