(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
Oh, wow. I'm enthused; I got review by one of my favorite authors. I won't say who, though, I refuse to be a story plug, but they are on my fav stories list.
. . . The muse has left me, on this chapter. I'm afraid it's even WORSE than the last one. Gah . . . I must warn you, minor character death . . .
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I sat in the infirmary. No one was watching me. It was safe to slump over, to let my back bend. Safe to abandon posture, safe to abandon everything. But I didn't.
Squall was in the corner, arms crossed. He was wearing his gunblade. An unnecessary precaution, really, but anyone with a weapon feels more secure than anyone without one. It felt nice to know I wasn't the only one with a bit of a security blanket issue with my weapon.
Zell paced. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. The desk, across the floor tiles, the wall . . . and back. And forth.
Selphie was crying on the pitiful excuse for a couch, her head on Irvine's shoulder. Irvine held her shamelessly, letting her wear his hat. A small comfort, but she seemed not to mind as she sobbed into his collarbone. He murmured comforting noises into her ear.
I was in a chair. Rigid. Calm. I wished it weren't just the shock setting in.
I know, SeeDs don't suffer from shock. That state your body goes in after a battle, because it's confused and tired. But I'm not a normal SeeD . . . and shock goes away, once you use up the last of your adrenaline.
I had failed once more, hadn't I? My mind numbly tried to wrap itself around the implications of this.
Yes, why yes I had.
Laguna was there too. I should mention him. He leaned against Doctor Kadowaki's desk, thinking.
It was . . . sad. Not the actual Death part, Caraway wasn't dead quite yet. The truly sad part was, we weren't mourning Caraway. At least, I wasn't, if you could call what I was doing mourning.
You could say the mourning was for Rinoa. But that wouldn't be quite right. It was more that . . . we were mourning for the fact that Rinoa had never actually had what the rest of us envied her the most.
A father.
Rinoa both had and hadn't had one. She had rejected it from choice. I, I who was rejected from birth, would give almost anything for that. Almost? What wouldn't I give? I'd give all I owned.
That was just me . . . Selphie and Zell as well, most likely. Irvine . . . he'd be curious, but Squall?
Squall . . .Squall could probably care less. I'd bet quite a bit that if Squall met his parents, he'd cut off their heads for deserting him. Either that, or he'd give them a stony expression, tell them in certain terms that he had no idea who the hell they were, and walk off stormily.
Yes, Squall would certainly approach the situation . . . uniquely.
Rinoa was inside the sickroom alone. But for her father, of course. I looked up. They had less than an hour, by Kadowaki's opinion, to make up their differences. It hadn't Been phrased that way, but it had been implied.
Hyne. I looked down at my hands, folded neatly in my lap. I couldn't help but wonder what a maelstrom was doing in my stomach. Hyne. If she knew she had . . . if she had . . . if she were in Rinoa's place, what would she do?
What would one SAY in a situation like that?
Zell was still pacing.
I straightened. I didn't realize it for a while, but I was talking. Slowly, and monotonously, and so quietly I couldn't hear myself. But I was talking. "I am Quistis Trepe. I do not slouch. I am the deity of rigidity. And I do not cry. I am Quistis Trepe. I do not slouch. I-"
I think Squall might have heard me, he looked at me strangely. Or perhaps it was because I didn't look like I was mourning. Appearance was everything. But I didn't think faking a mourning scene was . . . right.
"He's . . . dead."
I looked up. Rinoa stood in the doorway. Her face was red and puffy, her hair slightly unkempt. She was still Rinoa, but . . . there was a look on her face, that after all we had all been through together, I had never seen before. Like . . . she had to live without something vital to her.
I had never mourned anybody. Not really. How did it feel?
Rinoa stood there for a good solid minute. And we let her. We didn't know what to do. Squall moved towards her, I don't know what he was planning to do, but the movement . . . it must have made her snap.
At me.
She came at me, all nails and openhanded slaps. All of her training and skill forgotten in her fury. I vaguely wondered whether I was capable of such passion that I forgot everything. Didn't reflect on that too long; I steeled my self for the attack, but made no move to defend myself.
Whatever I got, I deserved. It was all my fault this pain was in Rinoa, my fault we were in this room at all. If I had done my mission right . . . If I hadn't screwed up . . .
Zell grabbed the Rinoa by the arm as she passed. "C'mon . . . Rin . . ." He held back the struggling girl with effort. "Help me out here, guys." He muttered.
Squall stepped forward and locked his arms around her waist, from behind. He stood fast as she lashed out at me.
"You . . . you bitch . . ." She slumped forward, exhausted by her brief struggle. Her bangs fell over her face. Helpless. I would have preferred her to hysterically shriek and relentlessly bash me. But she wasn't; she was calm. She knew what she was saying.
"Bitch . . ." she gasped, sobbed, and took in a wavering breath. "You . . . killed him . . . you might as well have shot him yourself . . . you might as well have . . . you might have actually killed him . . . you might have killed him . . . picked up the gun . . . bang bang he's dead . . ."
No one tried to stop her. No one stopped her from continuing.
Did they . . . believe her? Did they let her speak because they thought I was the one who had killed Caraway? Did they not stop her because they thought her words were true?
She told me to rot in hell. That if I was too good to fight her, then was I too good to be her friend? She said I was cruel. She said I felt no remorse, did I?
But . . . I did feel remorse . . . I do . . .
She eventually collapsed into Squalls arms. I stood there, not sure if she'd go on. Not sure if I should wait and see.
One by one, the others left. And I ended up standing there, alone, still waiting
Rinoa was right. I had killed Caraway. Indirectly, of course, I hadn't been the one to shoot him . . . but I had killed him.
With my incompetence. With my inability. With my . . . I . . .
Did I deserve to live? I had always held that those who killed without purpose deserved to die. There was no purpose in the General's death. Did I deserve to die?
. . . Did I deserve to live?
I stood. Abandoned. No one was there. I wasn't harmed. I sat down on the ground. I curled up, into a ball. Look at yourself, Quistis Trepe. Look what you have become.
I look. I see myself, perfectly whole and unharmed, crumpled in a heap. No wounds, no physical damage.
Just discarded. Left behind.
I didn't deserve to live, and that went hand and hand with deserving to die.
I looked out the window. I would die tonight. I would make sure of it.
I manage to come up with a startling irony . . . A tragic hero, am I . . . flawed, unwanted . . . heading to her death by her own hand.
My own hand . . . my . . . suicide?
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. laguna .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
Something was wrong with Quistis.
Yeah, she had issues.
No one could just stand there while someone poured out all their rage and anger onto them. She was calm, and showed . . . nothing. Harshness I might have expected, maybe something a bit louder, but . . . she had done nothing.
She had stood there. Everyone had left the infirmary, but she had remained there, with a vague wave of farewell to each as they went. She was still standing there when I had left. I'd taken a look at her, and decided to wait for her outside the door.
Someone might need to tell her that those words weren't meant.
It was as if she had been . . . and still was . . . cataloging every thing Rinoa was saying. Wasn't a very good start with my son's fiancée.
No one had stopped Rinoa, really. They knew she was just venting. Just venting her grief. I knew it. But I think I was the only one who could see that . . .
. . . That this little fact had escaped Quistis. Quistis hadn't known. She was probably taking the words to heart.
Yeah, my legs were getting tired. I yawned. How long would I have to wait? Was she just standing there still? I peeked in.
She was gone.
The window was open, letting in a slight drizzle. Nothing heavy, just a few drops.
. . . why would she sneak out on a night like . . ?
Oh.
Shit.
I swore a few times, telling myself to do a couple of anatomically impossible things involving a camel and a few choice organs. But hey, let's not get detailed.
Quistis Trepe was going to kill herself.
I might have left by the doors, but I really think I went out the window. Either way, after a bit, I was running in the rain. Who in their right mind would kill themselves?!
In their right mind . . ?
Quistis had issues. If anything, she was the most stable person I had ever met. Why the heck would she kill herself? Very uncool thing to do. You'd be dead, and everyone would be miserable.
My thoughts on this this weren't too organized. Hey, I'm not a very organized guy. But I did agree with myself on the fact that if I was too late and she was dead or otherwise, I wouldn't . . . well, I didn't really think of consequences, I just knew it'd be bad. Death is a bad thing.
I didn't stop and think that I might be wrong, that Quistis had just gone for a walk or something, and that I might be making an idiot of myself running around the fields after dark. I didn't stop, period. I was hopelessly slewing around in the rain hoping she'd fall into my path.
Okay, so I was kinda hoping it'd storm. A big, dramatic one, instead of this puny drizzle; you know, the whole 'dark, stormy night' deal . . . well . . . not that it'd be night, because it was sunset. Kinda dark, stained glass red. Not that dark out, obviously.
I probably have run faster than that in some point of my life, but I couldn't at the time remember one because my lungs were complaining really loud. I had spent about fifteen minutes running around in the fields north of Balamb with no sign of Quistis.
Damn.
Why the heck had she done this? Had she really believed Rinoa that much? Man, I had a serious feeling the Quistis had MAJOR issues.
I'm not a believer in fortune, luck, or Hyne. I hadn't prayed in forever, but I guess I should put a bit more faith in all those deities, because the second I started praying to whoever would listen, I heard something.
I stopped, and my ears strained. A distant peal of thunder cracked in the distance. Well, I had asked for dramatic . . .
I had found her.
She had slit both her writs with the edge of her whip' blade. Her arms were outstretched, her blood pouring away from her in a steady stream, washing away with the rain. On her back, her knees bent limply, she stared at the sky, blinking slightly against the rain.
I'd feared the worst when I saw her, but her arms were still furiously pumping out blood.
I didn't pause. I cast Curaga on her-twice-and the light sparked around her. She shifted as her wounds closed.
They wouldn't leave a scar, not with the speed I'd healed them.
I don't think it was possible for her not to notice that. She sat up- weakly, but hey, blood loss takes a while to heal, even with magic-and blinked blearily in my direction. "Who's there?" Her voice slurred slightly, and I could barely make it out in the increasing rainfall.
I admit, I toyed with the idea of not saying anything and leaving, you know, playing mysterious savior and all. But then again, I thought she might just reinflict herself and die anyway.
Ack. Well, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance . . . "What the hell are you doing?!" . . . baffle them with something else.
"La . . . Laguna Loire?" She muttered her question softly. I really don't know why, but I was pissed. Not really at anything or one in particular, I was just . . . pissed. Yeah.
I stomped over and tried to haul her to her feet. She tried to get up dazedly, but she ended up falling back limply. Oh, Hyne, she had really messed herself up.
Damn. I picked her up and swore, if a bit more mildly in respect for Quistis. Oh, great.
Sure. NOW the thunderstorm decides to roll in. Just when I really don't need theatrics. Of course, I really didn't need to be hauling a half - dead chick around either. Not to mention, I was on a VERY FLAT field-no, a thunderstorm wasn't the best thing after all.
With Quistis being a deadweight, the pace I had to set made Garden an hour's trek away. I looked wildly through the rain. Shelter. We needed shelter. Weren't there caves northeast of here?
"I . . . can walk . . ." Quistis feebly attempted to get me to drop her. I didn't even have to struggle, she was so weak. She had done this to herself, the proud and icy Quistis Trepe? Like I'd let her walk.
"Sorry, Quistis, but if I put you down you might do something stupid, like lemming off that cliff, or shoot yourself, or something equally idiotic." Never mind that I'd done both of those at one point . . . but they were accidents! I was seriously drunk during that last one!
I ignored her complaints. Yeah, there were caves to the north. Yeah, this cliff probably had one in it. I headed towards a promising spot.
"Garden's . . . the . . . other way . . ." Quistis slurred.
"Yeah. A long way the other way. We just need to get dry. Shelter through the storm." I was brilliant. Hail me and my really good plan.
Well, seriously, it was a good plan. Until we got to the actual cave.
I set Quistis down, and as I got up, I hit my head on the ceiling. And the cave decided to fall in over our heads.
Rockslide. Ouch.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
If you had any hopes of Rinoa having a wonderful reunion with he daddy . . . well, I don't like Rinoa. I won't bash, but I really don't like Rinoa.
Lemon wise, I've come to a conclusion. I will have a lemon . . . BUT . . . It'll be its own chapter, so you can skip right over it if you want. But, this won't come until MUCH, MUCH later. And I still don't know how to work Italics.
Tell me how to use italics, and I shall respect you muchly. Very muchly.
". . . Well aren't you a waste of two billion years of evolution." -Sayeesa (me)
Oh, wow. I'm enthused; I got review by one of my favorite authors. I won't say who, though, I refuse to be a story plug, but they are on my fav stories list.
. . . The muse has left me, on this chapter. I'm afraid it's even WORSE than the last one. Gah . . . I must warn you, minor character death . . .
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. quistis .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
I sat in the infirmary. No one was watching me. It was safe to slump over, to let my back bend. Safe to abandon posture, safe to abandon everything. But I didn't.
Squall was in the corner, arms crossed. He was wearing his gunblade. An unnecessary precaution, really, but anyone with a weapon feels more secure than anyone without one. It felt nice to know I wasn't the only one with a bit of a security blanket issue with my weapon.
Zell paced. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. The desk, across the floor tiles, the wall . . . and back. And forth.
Selphie was crying on the pitiful excuse for a couch, her head on Irvine's shoulder. Irvine held her shamelessly, letting her wear his hat. A small comfort, but she seemed not to mind as she sobbed into his collarbone. He murmured comforting noises into her ear.
I was in a chair. Rigid. Calm. I wished it weren't just the shock setting in.
I know, SeeDs don't suffer from shock. That state your body goes in after a battle, because it's confused and tired. But I'm not a normal SeeD . . . and shock goes away, once you use up the last of your adrenaline.
I had failed once more, hadn't I? My mind numbly tried to wrap itself around the implications of this.
Yes, why yes I had.
Laguna was there too. I should mention him. He leaned against Doctor Kadowaki's desk, thinking.
It was . . . sad. Not the actual Death part, Caraway wasn't dead quite yet. The truly sad part was, we weren't mourning Caraway. At least, I wasn't, if you could call what I was doing mourning.
You could say the mourning was for Rinoa. But that wouldn't be quite right. It was more that . . . we were mourning for the fact that Rinoa had never actually had what the rest of us envied her the most.
A father.
Rinoa both had and hadn't had one. She had rejected it from choice. I, I who was rejected from birth, would give almost anything for that. Almost? What wouldn't I give? I'd give all I owned.
That was just me . . . Selphie and Zell as well, most likely. Irvine . . . he'd be curious, but Squall?
Squall . . .Squall could probably care less. I'd bet quite a bit that if Squall met his parents, he'd cut off their heads for deserting him. Either that, or he'd give them a stony expression, tell them in certain terms that he had no idea who the hell they were, and walk off stormily.
Yes, Squall would certainly approach the situation . . . uniquely.
Rinoa was inside the sickroom alone. But for her father, of course. I looked up. They had less than an hour, by Kadowaki's opinion, to make up their differences. It hadn't Been phrased that way, but it had been implied.
Hyne. I looked down at my hands, folded neatly in my lap. I couldn't help but wonder what a maelstrom was doing in my stomach. Hyne. If she knew she had . . . if she had . . . if she were in Rinoa's place, what would she do?
What would one SAY in a situation like that?
Zell was still pacing.
I straightened. I didn't realize it for a while, but I was talking. Slowly, and monotonously, and so quietly I couldn't hear myself. But I was talking. "I am Quistis Trepe. I do not slouch. I am the deity of rigidity. And I do not cry. I am Quistis Trepe. I do not slouch. I-"
I think Squall might have heard me, he looked at me strangely. Or perhaps it was because I didn't look like I was mourning. Appearance was everything. But I didn't think faking a mourning scene was . . . right.
"He's . . . dead."
I looked up. Rinoa stood in the doorway. Her face was red and puffy, her hair slightly unkempt. She was still Rinoa, but . . . there was a look on her face, that after all we had all been through together, I had never seen before. Like . . . she had to live without something vital to her.
I had never mourned anybody. Not really. How did it feel?
Rinoa stood there for a good solid minute. And we let her. We didn't know what to do. Squall moved towards her, I don't know what he was planning to do, but the movement . . . it must have made her snap.
At me.
She came at me, all nails and openhanded slaps. All of her training and skill forgotten in her fury. I vaguely wondered whether I was capable of such passion that I forgot everything. Didn't reflect on that too long; I steeled my self for the attack, but made no move to defend myself.
Whatever I got, I deserved. It was all my fault this pain was in Rinoa, my fault we were in this room at all. If I had done my mission right . . . If I hadn't screwed up . . .
Zell grabbed the Rinoa by the arm as she passed. "C'mon . . . Rin . . ." He held back the struggling girl with effort. "Help me out here, guys." He muttered.
Squall stepped forward and locked his arms around her waist, from behind. He stood fast as she lashed out at me.
"You . . . you bitch . . ." She slumped forward, exhausted by her brief struggle. Her bangs fell over her face. Helpless. I would have preferred her to hysterically shriek and relentlessly bash me. But she wasn't; she was calm. She knew what she was saying.
"Bitch . . ." she gasped, sobbed, and took in a wavering breath. "You . . . killed him . . . you might as well have shot him yourself . . . you might as well have . . . you might have actually killed him . . . you might have killed him . . . picked up the gun . . . bang bang he's dead . . ."
No one tried to stop her. No one stopped her from continuing.
Did they . . . believe her? Did they let her speak because they thought I was the one who had killed Caraway? Did they not stop her because they thought her words were true?
She told me to rot in hell. That if I was too good to fight her, then was I too good to be her friend? She said I was cruel. She said I felt no remorse, did I?
But . . . I did feel remorse . . . I do . . .
She eventually collapsed into Squalls arms. I stood there, not sure if she'd go on. Not sure if I should wait and see.
One by one, the others left. And I ended up standing there, alone, still waiting
Rinoa was right. I had killed Caraway. Indirectly, of course, I hadn't been the one to shoot him . . . but I had killed him.
With my incompetence. With my inability. With my . . . I . . .
Did I deserve to live? I had always held that those who killed without purpose deserved to die. There was no purpose in the General's death. Did I deserve to die?
. . . Did I deserve to live?
I stood. Abandoned. No one was there. I wasn't harmed. I sat down on the ground. I curled up, into a ball. Look at yourself, Quistis Trepe. Look what you have become.
I look. I see myself, perfectly whole and unharmed, crumpled in a heap. No wounds, no physical damage.
Just discarded. Left behind.
I didn't deserve to live, and that went hand and hand with deserving to die.
I looked out the window. I would die tonight. I would make sure of it.
I manage to come up with a startling irony . . . A tragic hero, am I . . . flawed, unwanted . . . heading to her death by her own hand.
My own hand . . . my . . . suicide?
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. laguna .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
Something was wrong with Quistis.
Yeah, she had issues.
No one could just stand there while someone poured out all their rage and anger onto them. She was calm, and showed . . . nothing. Harshness I might have expected, maybe something a bit louder, but . . . she had done nothing.
She had stood there. Everyone had left the infirmary, but she had remained there, with a vague wave of farewell to each as they went. She was still standing there when I had left. I'd taken a look at her, and decided to wait for her outside the door.
Someone might need to tell her that those words weren't meant.
It was as if she had been . . . and still was . . . cataloging every thing Rinoa was saying. Wasn't a very good start with my son's fiancée.
No one had stopped Rinoa, really. They knew she was just venting. Just venting her grief. I knew it. But I think I was the only one who could see that . . .
. . . That this little fact had escaped Quistis. Quistis hadn't known. She was probably taking the words to heart.
Yeah, my legs were getting tired. I yawned. How long would I have to wait? Was she just standing there still? I peeked in.
She was gone.
The window was open, letting in a slight drizzle. Nothing heavy, just a few drops.
. . . why would she sneak out on a night like . . ?
Oh.
Shit.
I swore a few times, telling myself to do a couple of anatomically impossible things involving a camel and a few choice organs. But hey, let's not get detailed.
Quistis Trepe was going to kill herself.
I might have left by the doors, but I really think I went out the window. Either way, after a bit, I was running in the rain. Who in their right mind would kill themselves?!
In their right mind . . ?
Quistis had issues. If anything, she was the most stable person I had ever met. Why the heck would she kill herself? Very uncool thing to do. You'd be dead, and everyone would be miserable.
My thoughts on this this weren't too organized. Hey, I'm not a very organized guy. But I did agree with myself on the fact that if I was too late and she was dead or otherwise, I wouldn't . . . well, I didn't really think of consequences, I just knew it'd be bad. Death is a bad thing.
I didn't stop and think that I might be wrong, that Quistis had just gone for a walk or something, and that I might be making an idiot of myself running around the fields after dark. I didn't stop, period. I was hopelessly slewing around in the rain hoping she'd fall into my path.
Okay, so I was kinda hoping it'd storm. A big, dramatic one, instead of this puny drizzle; you know, the whole 'dark, stormy night' deal . . . well . . . not that it'd be night, because it was sunset. Kinda dark, stained glass red. Not that dark out, obviously.
I probably have run faster than that in some point of my life, but I couldn't at the time remember one because my lungs were complaining really loud. I had spent about fifteen minutes running around in the fields north of Balamb with no sign of Quistis.
Damn.
Why the heck had she done this? Had she really believed Rinoa that much? Man, I had a serious feeling the Quistis had MAJOR issues.
I'm not a believer in fortune, luck, or Hyne. I hadn't prayed in forever, but I guess I should put a bit more faith in all those deities, because the second I started praying to whoever would listen, I heard something.
I stopped, and my ears strained. A distant peal of thunder cracked in the distance. Well, I had asked for dramatic . . .
I had found her.
She had slit both her writs with the edge of her whip' blade. Her arms were outstretched, her blood pouring away from her in a steady stream, washing away with the rain. On her back, her knees bent limply, she stared at the sky, blinking slightly against the rain.
I'd feared the worst when I saw her, but her arms were still furiously pumping out blood.
I didn't pause. I cast Curaga on her-twice-and the light sparked around her. She shifted as her wounds closed.
They wouldn't leave a scar, not with the speed I'd healed them.
I don't think it was possible for her not to notice that. She sat up- weakly, but hey, blood loss takes a while to heal, even with magic-and blinked blearily in my direction. "Who's there?" Her voice slurred slightly, and I could barely make it out in the increasing rainfall.
I admit, I toyed with the idea of not saying anything and leaving, you know, playing mysterious savior and all. But then again, I thought she might just reinflict herself and die anyway.
Ack. Well, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance . . . "What the hell are you doing?!" . . . baffle them with something else.
"La . . . Laguna Loire?" She muttered her question softly. I really don't know why, but I was pissed. Not really at anything or one in particular, I was just . . . pissed. Yeah.
I stomped over and tried to haul her to her feet. She tried to get up dazedly, but she ended up falling back limply. Oh, Hyne, she had really messed herself up.
Damn. I picked her up and swore, if a bit more mildly in respect for Quistis. Oh, great.
Sure. NOW the thunderstorm decides to roll in. Just when I really don't need theatrics. Of course, I really didn't need to be hauling a half - dead chick around either. Not to mention, I was on a VERY FLAT field-no, a thunderstorm wasn't the best thing after all.
With Quistis being a deadweight, the pace I had to set made Garden an hour's trek away. I looked wildly through the rain. Shelter. We needed shelter. Weren't there caves northeast of here?
"I . . . can walk . . ." Quistis feebly attempted to get me to drop her. I didn't even have to struggle, she was so weak. She had done this to herself, the proud and icy Quistis Trepe? Like I'd let her walk.
"Sorry, Quistis, but if I put you down you might do something stupid, like lemming off that cliff, or shoot yourself, or something equally idiotic." Never mind that I'd done both of those at one point . . . but they were accidents! I was seriously drunk during that last one!
I ignored her complaints. Yeah, there were caves to the north. Yeah, this cliff probably had one in it. I headed towards a promising spot.
"Garden's . . . the . . . other way . . ." Quistis slurred.
"Yeah. A long way the other way. We just need to get dry. Shelter through the storm." I was brilliant. Hail me and my really good plan.
Well, seriously, it was a good plan. Until we got to the actual cave.
I set Quistis down, and as I got up, I hit my head on the ceiling. And the cave decided to fall in over our heads.
Rockslide. Ouch.
(¯`'·.¸(¯`'·. .author's note. .·'´¯)¸.·'´¯)
If you had any hopes of Rinoa having a wonderful reunion with he daddy . . . well, I don't like Rinoa. I won't bash, but I really don't like Rinoa.
Lemon wise, I've come to a conclusion. I will have a lemon . . . BUT . . . It'll be its own chapter, so you can skip right over it if you want. But, this won't come until MUCH, MUCH later. And I still don't know how to work Italics.
Tell me how to use italics, and I shall respect you muchly. Very muchly.
". . . Well aren't you a waste of two billion years of evolution." -Sayeesa (me)