A huge thank you to Noacat, the goddess of reviews. You've encouraged me
so much, and this chapter is dedicated to you. May your dreams be filled
with a handsome gunblader in tight pants.
Sadly, I still do not own FF8.
LEGACY Chapter eight: Through the eye of the storm
Storm sighed.
He really didn't blame them, he supposed. He knew, when he first came to this time, that his initial welcome was going to be less then warm. He realized that, with a last name like Almasy, the heroes of this age were going to treat him like he was the next evil Sorceress's knight. It was ironic, really. That they were all ready to jump on him, accuse him, and condemn him, when the Soulless One was standing right in their midst.
Or, at least, the future Soulless One.
He sighed again. It was all very sordid.
"What's your problem, Almasy?" Zell Dincht spat from the corner of the room. Storm glanced at him and sneered.
"My problem is your head, Chicken Wuss. Does having the hairstyle of a chocobo attract the ladies in this time?"
"SHUT UP! You want a fist in your mouth, punk?"
"Zell," Quistis warned in her stern teacher voice. Zell backed off, red faced, and stalked to the other side of the room to box the air.
What's the matter, Zell? Swatting flies? Storm chuckled. Seifer was right; it was a lot of fun to antagonize the hotheaded martial artist. Not that he hated him. On the contrary, Zell was probably the one he respected the most.
Zell Dincht. The Tempest, they called him in his time. A warrior whose skill was matched only by his fighting spirit. He would grow even more powerful, Storm thought, smirking as he watched Zell go through his routine. He would mature, and that legendary temper of his would terrorize the SeeD of Balamb Garden daily. Storm's grin faltered at the thought, and he turned away. He envied Dincht his carefree spirit, one that he himself never had the chance to experience. And he pitied the boy who would have to rise up and take control of Garden and SeeD, after the former Commander so callously abandoned them. He pitied the man who would be stabbed to death, in the back, by someone he once considered his best friend.
As for the others, well, they had been gone before his time, although all were revered as heroes. In what had once been Trabia, in a frozen valley where none dared to enter now for rumors of restless ghosts, there were tales of a huge, snow-covered cemetery. He had never seen it, but Seifer told him of a memorial that stood in the very center, dedicated to all the brave souls who had perished in the Second Sorceress War. And atop the memorial was the statue of a weary cowboy, his rifle hanging at his side, his face turned towards the eastern sky. The most famous story of the Trabian graveyard spoke of a small, mournful ghost who could sometimes be seen on moonless nights, hugging the statue and crying.
Then, there was Quistis Trepe. Headmaster Trepe, actually, just before Garden fell for the final time. The few books he had read of Balamb Garden mentioned her, briefly, but Seifer, who would tell grand, exaggerated stories of the days he knew the "Orphanage Gang," rarely did. In fact, he only spoke of her when Storm pressed him, becoming angry, irritable, and evasive when he mentioned her at all. Storm would never confess, but he had found a picture of Quistis in Seifer's quarters once, yellowed with age and hidden in the pages of an old book. He stopped asking about Headmaster Trepe after that, and Seifer never spoke of her again.
Seifer. Storm winced at the thought and clenched his fist, feeling the edges of the metal cross dig into his palm. Seifer was probably dead, along with the rest of their small resistance force. The Soulless One had been after them for years now, nursing a personal vendetta from the days the world knew him as Squall Leonhart. He was a relentless, nightmarish demon, and the resistance force was terrified of him. Even Seifer refused to challenge him, after a savage encounter that left him half dead, one armed, and blind in one eye.
And now, Seifer was gone, and the Soulless one was here, in this time. For him. The last of the resistance.
I can't fail. Even against Leonhart, I have to stay and finish what I came to do. Seifer is counting on me.
Even so, the enormity of his task was almost overwhelming.
The doors opened with a hiss, and Rinoa entered the room, followed closely by Squall. Everyone in the group, save him, snapped to attention.
I bet you're not feeling so hot now, are you, Mr. Big Commander? How do you explain this one to the lemmings? 'Well, gang, the good news is we found the raging, homicidal maniac who killed those scientists the other night. The bad news is, well, hey it's me!'
He narrowed his eyes, giving the Commander a malicious smirk. Just because he had been sent through time to save the world, didn't mean he had to like the people in it.
And Leonhart has much to answer for.
"Almasy!"
He jerked upright. Squall was striding towards him with a cold, murderous look in his eyes, one that went beyond mere dislike and contempt. For a split second, Storm felt terror squeeze his heart, as he saw the Soulless One mirrored in the thunderous eyes of Squall Leonhart.
The Commander's gloved hand shot out, and for a moment, Storm thought Squall was going to hit him. But, Leonhart only grabbed the collar of his ragged shirt and dragged him away from the window, into the center of the room. Storm opened his mouth to protest, but was thrown rather painfully to the floor. The air whooshed from his lungs, and his biting comment turned into a breathless gasp.
"Start talking," Squall demanded, looking like an angry wolf ready to pounce should he make any sudden moves. Storm gulped oxygen into his starved lungs and decided to remain on the floor as the Commander circled him, almost daring him to try to get up. "I want to know why you're here, Storm. I want to know what you're hiding from us."
"I can't tell you," Storm panted, cursing Squall for bringing this up much earlier than anticipated. "You're not supposed to know these things. If I told you, it might affect future events—"
"The hell it will!" Squall exploded, reaching down and dragging him to his feet. "I was just attacked by myself a few minutes ago, and it scared the shit out of me! Hyne, how am I supposed to take this? I will not wait around for this supposed future to happen when I could be doing something to prevent it."
"You can't prevent it!" Storm snarled, on the verge of losing his temper himself. "Because you're the catalyst that sends everything to hell in the first place!" Squall released him and took a step back, and Storm pressed his advantage, hurling the words at him like stones. "Yeah, you, Mr. Big Shot Commander! If it wasn't for your weakness, the Sorceress War wouldn't have happened! You're the one who betrays Rinoa, you're the one who turns her against the world—!" Storm clamped his mouth shut, silently cursing himself for spilling far too much information.
Squall was pale now, and Storm was mentally bashing his head against the wall. Hyne, Storm, what the hell are you doing? What is Leonhart going to do, now that you've let that juicy bit of info slide? Stupid stupid stupid!
"Squall..." Quistis began, and that seemed to snap the young commander out of his trance. He took a deep breath and gave Storm a look that said this is far from over, before turning away.
"Recent events have made it...dangerous...for us to stay here," he informed the rest of the group in a flat, monotone voice. Storm caught the wince that went around the room, as Squall's companions tried to adjust to his sudden change from best friend to Garden Commander. "In light of the current situation, I believe it is best to return to Garden. We'll be leaving as soon as the Ragnorock is ready to fly again, sometime tomorrow evening from what the mechanics tell me."
"Do you think that's best, Squall?" Irving asked softly from the corner. Squall didn't even look at him.
"The President will be safe." Squall dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "There is no reason to remain in Esther. We've given our warning, and there is nothing more for us to do."
Right. You know the Soulless One isn't after the President, don't you, Leonhart? You think Rinoa will be safer in that pretty little Garden of yours. You forget, he knows Garden and SeeD just as well as you.
Still, he allowed, out of all the places in Gaia, Garden is probably where I'd go as well. At least there, we have a chance of standing against him. Hyne, this is going to get bloody before everything is over. I hope these chumps are up to it.
He caught Squall Leonhart's chilling gaze and sighed inwardly, knowing the battle between them wasn't over.
That night, Storm lounged in his room, sharpening Hyperion and listening to Zell and Irving argue over which was better, Poker or Triple Triad. The girls were in the adjoining room; Storm could occasionally make out Selphie's cheerful voice or Quistis' calm, serious one. The Commander had disappeared to who knew where, and had probably taken his sorceress with him.
Yawning, the weary gunblader gave his weapon a final swipe and slid it back in its sheath. The argument between Zell and the cowboy was getting rather heated, Irving's amused, sarcastic coolness only fanning Zell's belligerence. Storm rolled his eyes, biting back a sneering remark. How did these people ever defeat Ultimecia? When he was growing up, there hadn't been time for silly games...
"Fine, let's get a second opinion on this!" Zell snapped, whirling around in his chair. "Yo! Almasy!" he barked, startling the boy, who almost dropped his sword, "which is better for attracting girls; poker or Triple Triad?"
"Huh?" Storm blinked at him, momentarily confused. Chicken Wuss was asking his opinion for something? I must be hearing things. But no, Zell sighed and repeated the question, in a voice completely devoid of mockery.
Caught off guard, both at the question and the seriousness of it, Storm forgot to be snide. The last thing he expected was to be addressed like he was just part of the gang. "Uh...I don't know," he stammered, leaning Hyperion against the wall. "I've never played poker or Triple Triad, so I couldn't tell you."
"Oh." Zell sat back and frowned. "That's too bad. Wanna learn?" He stood and dug in the pockets of his huge shorts, pulling out a battered deck of cards. "I have an extra deck, if you wanna play. It ain't as good as Squall's, but I can certainly beat the pants of stupid cowboys who think poker is better."
Irving gave him a smirking, dignified look. "Poker is a game for gentlemen, so I wouldn't expect you to get it at all."
"Like you're a gentleman!"
"Women think so, yes."
"Really? Why don't we ask Selphie's opinion on that one?"
"How do you play the stupid game, already?" Storm interrupted, just to get them to shut up. Or, perhaps, deep down in his hardened soul, he was a little curious, after all. In any case, Zell ceased squabbling with his cowboy teammate and pulled a chair over to the window.
Triple Triad was fairly easy, once you had gotten the hang of all those little numbers in the corners. After that, it was a simple game of strategy, provided your opponent's cards weren't insanely more powerful than your own. As Zell, after letting Storm win the first few rounds, demonstrated quite effectively.
"Dammit, how many Bombs do you have in that deck?" Storm exploded after another massacre, where his little Bugbites and Geezers were just way out of their league. Zell chuckled and scooped up his "training deck," where it disappeared into his pockets again. His player's deck went into a handsome black box with a tiny silver lock, before it joined the other cards in the bottom of his shorts.
"You think my deck is tough? You should see Squall's. He's got some one- of-a-kind cards that collectors would give their eyeteeth for. Damn, he has a nice deck." Zell looked wistful, and Irving's deep chuckle came from the corner table.
"See, kid? You don't see gamblers drooling over another man's deck."
"Shut up! You're one to talk, Mr. my-tongue-hangs-out-around-pretty- women."
Storm sneered. "Huh. I didn't think Mr. Big Shot Commander would lower himself to playing cards," he said in a condescending voice. "Guess there's more to him than an arrogant mouth and a big sword."
"There's a lot you don't know about him," Irving stated calmly. "He's just as human as the rest of us."
"Yeah, you shouldn't believe everything Seifer told you about Squall, ya know," Zell added rather indignantly. "They were mortal enemies. Of course Seifer would've painted him in the worst possible light."
"Oh, I'm sorry. My mistake, of course." Storm stood up, trying to keep the angry words inside, but the festering wound, fed by bitterness and hate, had opened again, and the poison leaked right out of his mouth. "You'll have to excuse me, but after seeing what Leonhart did in my time, I don't have such a warm and fuzzy memory of him like the rest of you. And yeah, Seifer wasn't very fond of him, but he did raise me when another would've let me die. So don't either of you get all self righteous on me now, cause I've seen things that would make you both sick. I—" He broke off, taking deep breaths, trying to quell the burning rage and bitterness eating him up inside. Seifer had warned him of this; letting his emotions get the better of him. Your temper has always been horrible, kid. Don't blow this just because of what you feel. A warrior always has control of himself.
An awkward silence followed Storm's little outburst, broken only by the soft tap on the adjoining door.
"Guys?" came Selphie's voice, and a moment later the short brunette poked her head in without an invitation. "Hey! You guys wanna come join us? We have movies and pizza," she sang temptingly.
"All right!" Zell whooped, leaping out of his chair. Selphie had to flatten herself against the doorframe to avoid being creamed as he barreled past. Irving rose and stretched in a more nonchalant manner, and sauntered out the door.
"I suppose the movie isn't from the adult store down the street," he drawled, and was rewarded with a slap and a huffy "pervert!" from the brunette. Storm watched them leave, and for a moment, felt a familiar pang deep in his belly, before ruthlessly shutting it out. He wasn't jealous. He didn't need to be a part of their little cliché. Let them have their fun while they could; he had more important things to—
"Oi! Storm! What are you waiting for, silly? Get in here before Zelly- Pig and baka Irving eat all the food!"
"What?" For the second time that night, Storm was thrown completely off guard. "You serious?"
Selphie rolled her eyes good-naturedly and beckoned him in. Storm hesitated only a moment. Then, almost shyly, he ran his hands through his hair and walked across the threshold to join the group.
Sorry for the late post. I wanted to do a chapter from Storm's P.O.V. to figure out what he thought of the gang. Another huge huge thank you to Noacat, and everyone else who took the time to review. It's a big encouragement, and I SO appreciate it. Well, this little kitsune is off to bed, to dream of handsome gunbladers in tight pants. (Or no pants at all.) Whoops, did I think that outloud?
Arigato! Silverkitsune
Sadly, I still do not own FF8.
LEGACY Chapter eight: Through the eye of the storm
Storm sighed.
He really didn't blame them, he supposed. He knew, when he first came to this time, that his initial welcome was going to be less then warm. He realized that, with a last name like Almasy, the heroes of this age were going to treat him like he was the next evil Sorceress's knight. It was ironic, really. That they were all ready to jump on him, accuse him, and condemn him, when the Soulless One was standing right in their midst.
Or, at least, the future Soulless One.
He sighed again. It was all very sordid.
"What's your problem, Almasy?" Zell Dincht spat from the corner of the room. Storm glanced at him and sneered.
"My problem is your head, Chicken Wuss. Does having the hairstyle of a chocobo attract the ladies in this time?"
"SHUT UP! You want a fist in your mouth, punk?"
"Zell," Quistis warned in her stern teacher voice. Zell backed off, red faced, and stalked to the other side of the room to box the air.
What's the matter, Zell? Swatting flies? Storm chuckled. Seifer was right; it was a lot of fun to antagonize the hotheaded martial artist. Not that he hated him. On the contrary, Zell was probably the one he respected the most.
Zell Dincht. The Tempest, they called him in his time. A warrior whose skill was matched only by his fighting spirit. He would grow even more powerful, Storm thought, smirking as he watched Zell go through his routine. He would mature, and that legendary temper of his would terrorize the SeeD of Balamb Garden daily. Storm's grin faltered at the thought, and he turned away. He envied Dincht his carefree spirit, one that he himself never had the chance to experience. And he pitied the boy who would have to rise up and take control of Garden and SeeD, after the former Commander so callously abandoned them. He pitied the man who would be stabbed to death, in the back, by someone he once considered his best friend.
As for the others, well, they had been gone before his time, although all were revered as heroes. In what had once been Trabia, in a frozen valley where none dared to enter now for rumors of restless ghosts, there were tales of a huge, snow-covered cemetery. He had never seen it, but Seifer told him of a memorial that stood in the very center, dedicated to all the brave souls who had perished in the Second Sorceress War. And atop the memorial was the statue of a weary cowboy, his rifle hanging at his side, his face turned towards the eastern sky. The most famous story of the Trabian graveyard spoke of a small, mournful ghost who could sometimes be seen on moonless nights, hugging the statue and crying.
Then, there was Quistis Trepe. Headmaster Trepe, actually, just before Garden fell for the final time. The few books he had read of Balamb Garden mentioned her, briefly, but Seifer, who would tell grand, exaggerated stories of the days he knew the "Orphanage Gang," rarely did. In fact, he only spoke of her when Storm pressed him, becoming angry, irritable, and evasive when he mentioned her at all. Storm would never confess, but he had found a picture of Quistis in Seifer's quarters once, yellowed with age and hidden in the pages of an old book. He stopped asking about Headmaster Trepe after that, and Seifer never spoke of her again.
Seifer. Storm winced at the thought and clenched his fist, feeling the edges of the metal cross dig into his palm. Seifer was probably dead, along with the rest of their small resistance force. The Soulless One had been after them for years now, nursing a personal vendetta from the days the world knew him as Squall Leonhart. He was a relentless, nightmarish demon, and the resistance force was terrified of him. Even Seifer refused to challenge him, after a savage encounter that left him half dead, one armed, and blind in one eye.
And now, Seifer was gone, and the Soulless one was here, in this time. For him. The last of the resistance.
I can't fail. Even against Leonhart, I have to stay and finish what I came to do. Seifer is counting on me.
Even so, the enormity of his task was almost overwhelming.
The doors opened with a hiss, and Rinoa entered the room, followed closely by Squall. Everyone in the group, save him, snapped to attention.
I bet you're not feeling so hot now, are you, Mr. Big Commander? How do you explain this one to the lemmings? 'Well, gang, the good news is we found the raging, homicidal maniac who killed those scientists the other night. The bad news is, well, hey it's me!'
He narrowed his eyes, giving the Commander a malicious smirk. Just because he had been sent through time to save the world, didn't mean he had to like the people in it.
And Leonhart has much to answer for.
"Almasy!"
He jerked upright. Squall was striding towards him with a cold, murderous look in his eyes, one that went beyond mere dislike and contempt. For a split second, Storm felt terror squeeze his heart, as he saw the Soulless One mirrored in the thunderous eyes of Squall Leonhart.
The Commander's gloved hand shot out, and for a moment, Storm thought Squall was going to hit him. But, Leonhart only grabbed the collar of his ragged shirt and dragged him away from the window, into the center of the room. Storm opened his mouth to protest, but was thrown rather painfully to the floor. The air whooshed from his lungs, and his biting comment turned into a breathless gasp.
"Start talking," Squall demanded, looking like an angry wolf ready to pounce should he make any sudden moves. Storm gulped oxygen into his starved lungs and decided to remain on the floor as the Commander circled him, almost daring him to try to get up. "I want to know why you're here, Storm. I want to know what you're hiding from us."
"I can't tell you," Storm panted, cursing Squall for bringing this up much earlier than anticipated. "You're not supposed to know these things. If I told you, it might affect future events—"
"The hell it will!" Squall exploded, reaching down and dragging him to his feet. "I was just attacked by myself a few minutes ago, and it scared the shit out of me! Hyne, how am I supposed to take this? I will not wait around for this supposed future to happen when I could be doing something to prevent it."
"You can't prevent it!" Storm snarled, on the verge of losing his temper himself. "Because you're the catalyst that sends everything to hell in the first place!" Squall released him and took a step back, and Storm pressed his advantage, hurling the words at him like stones. "Yeah, you, Mr. Big Shot Commander! If it wasn't for your weakness, the Sorceress War wouldn't have happened! You're the one who betrays Rinoa, you're the one who turns her against the world—!" Storm clamped his mouth shut, silently cursing himself for spilling far too much information.
Squall was pale now, and Storm was mentally bashing his head against the wall. Hyne, Storm, what the hell are you doing? What is Leonhart going to do, now that you've let that juicy bit of info slide? Stupid stupid stupid!
"Squall..." Quistis began, and that seemed to snap the young commander out of his trance. He took a deep breath and gave Storm a look that said this is far from over, before turning away.
"Recent events have made it...dangerous...for us to stay here," he informed the rest of the group in a flat, monotone voice. Storm caught the wince that went around the room, as Squall's companions tried to adjust to his sudden change from best friend to Garden Commander. "In light of the current situation, I believe it is best to return to Garden. We'll be leaving as soon as the Ragnorock is ready to fly again, sometime tomorrow evening from what the mechanics tell me."
"Do you think that's best, Squall?" Irving asked softly from the corner. Squall didn't even look at him.
"The President will be safe." Squall dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "There is no reason to remain in Esther. We've given our warning, and there is nothing more for us to do."
Right. You know the Soulless One isn't after the President, don't you, Leonhart? You think Rinoa will be safer in that pretty little Garden of yours. You forget, he knows Garden and SeeD just as well as you.
Still, he allowed, out of all the places in Gaia, Garden is probably where I'd go as well. At least there, we have a chance of standing against him. Hyne, this is going to get bloody before everything is over. I hope these chumps are up to it.
He caught Squall Leonhart's chilling gaze and sighed inwardly, knowing the battle between them wasn't over.
That night, Storm lounged in his room, sharpening Hyperion and listening to Zell and Irving argue over which was better, Poker or Triple Triad. The girls were in the adjoining room; Storm could occasionally make out Selphie's cheerful voice or Quistis' calm, serious one. The Commander had disappeared to who knew where, and had probably taken his sorceress with him.
Yawning, the weary gunblader gave his weapon a final swipe and slid it back in its sheath. The argument between Zell and the cowboy was getting rather heated, Irving's amused, sarcastic coolness only fanning Zell's belligerence. Storm rolled his eyes, biting back a sneering remark. How did these people ever defeat Ultimecia? When he was growing up, there hadn't been time for silly games...
"Fine, let's get a second opinion on this!" Zell snapped, whirling around in his chair. "Yo! Almasy!" he barked, startling the boy, who almost dropped his sword, "which is better for attracting girls; poker or Triple Triad?"
"Huh?" Storm blinked at him, momentarily confused. Chicken Wuss was asking his opinion for something? I must be hearing things. But no, Zell sighed and repeated the question, in a voice completely devoid of mockery.
Caught off guard, both at the question and the seriousness of it, Storm forgot to be snide. The last thing he expected was to be addressed like he was just part of the gang. "Uh...I don't know," he stammered, leaning Hyperion against the wall. "I've never played poker or Triple Triad, so I couldn't tell you."
"Oh." Zell sat back and frowned. "That's too bad. Wanna learn?" He stood and dug in the pockets of his huge shorts, pulling out a battered deck of cards. "I have an extra deck, if you wanna play. It ain't as good as Squall's, but I can certainly beat the pants of stupid cowboys who think poker is better."
Irving gave him a smirking, dignified look. "Poker is a game for gentlemen, so I wouldn't expect you to get it at all."
"Like you're a gentleman!"
"Women think so, yes."
"Really? Why don't we ask Selphie's opinion on that one?"
"How do you play the stupid game, already?" Storm interrupted, just to get them to shut up. Or, perhaps, deep down in his hardened soul, he was a little curious, after all. In any case, Zell ceased squabbling with his cowboy teammate and pulled a chair over to the window.
Triple Triad was fairly easy, once you had gotten the hang of all those little numbers in the corners. After that, it was a simple game of strategy, provided your opponent's cards weren't insanely more powerful than your own. As Zell, after letting Storm win the first few rounds, demonstrated quite effectively.
"Dammit, how many Bombs do you have in that deck?" Storm exploded after another massacre, where his little Bugbites and Geezers were just way out of their league. Zell chuckled and scooped up his "training deck," where it disappeared into his pockets again. His player's deck went into a handsome black box with a tiny silver lock, before it joined the other cards in the bottom of his shorts.
"You think my deck is tough? You should see Squall's. He's got some one- of-a-kind cards that collectors would give their eyeteeth for. Damn, he has a nice deck." Zell looked wistful, and Irving's deep chuckle came from the corner table.
"See, kid? You don't see gamblers drooling over another man's deck."
"Shut up! You're one to talk, Mr. my-tongue-hangs-out-around-pretty- women."
Storm sneered. "Huh. I didn't think Mr. Big Shot Commander would lower himself to playing cards," he said in a condescending voice. "Guess there's more to him than an arrogant mouth and a big sword."
"There's a lot you don't know about him," Irving stated calmly. "He's just as human as the rest of us."
"Yeah, you shouldn't believe everything Seifer told you about Squall, ya know," Zell added rather indignantly. "They were mortal enemies. Of course Seifer would've painted him in the worst possible light."
"Oh, I'm sorry. My mistake, of course." Storm stood up, trying to keep the angry words inside, but the festering wound, fed by bitterness and hate, had opened again, and the poison leaked right out of his mouth. "You'll have to excuse me, but after seeing what Leonhart did in my time, I don't have such a warm and fuzzy memory of him like the rest of you. And yeah, Seifer wasn't very fond of him, but he did raise me when another would've let me die. So don't either of you get all self righteous on me now, cause I've seen things that would make you both sick. I—" He broke off, taking deep breaths, trying to quell the burning rage and bitterness eating him up inside. Seifer had warned him of this; letting his emotions get the better of him. Your temper has always been horrible, kid. Don't blow this just because of what you feel. A warrior always has control of himself.
An awkward silence followed Storm's little outburst, broken only by the soft tap on the adjoining door.
"Guys?" came Selphie's voice, and a moment later the short brunette poked her head in without an invitation. "Hey! You guys wanna come join us? We have movies and pizza," she sang temptingly.
"All right!" Zell whooped, leaping out of his chair. Selphie had to flatten herself against the doorframe to avoid being creamed as he barreled past. Irving rose and stretched in a more nonchalant manner, and sauntered out the door.
"I suppose the movie isn't from the adult store down the street," he drawled, and was rewarded with a slap and a huffy "pervert!" from the brunette. Storm watched them leave, and for a moment, felt a familiar pang deep in his belly, before ruthlessly shutting it out. He wasn't jealous. He didn't need to be a part of their little cliché. Let them have their fun while they could; he had more important things to—
"Oi! Storm! What are you waiting for, silly? Get in here before Zelly- Pig and baka Irving eat all the food!"
"What?" For the second time that night, Storm was thrown completely off guard. "You serious?"
Selphie rolled her eyes good-naturedly and beckoned him in. Storm hesitated only a moment. Then, almost shyly, he ran his hands through his hair and walked across the threshold to join the group.
Sorry for the late post. I wanted to do a chapter from Storm's P.O.V. to figure out what he thought of the gang. Another huge huge thank you to Noacat, and everyone else who took the time to review. It's a big encouragement, and I SO appreciate it. Well, this little kitsune is off to bed, to dream of handsome gunbladers in tight pants. (Or no pants at all.) Whoops, did I think that outloud?
Arigato! Silverkitsune