I hadn't notice it until now, this scratch on the otherwise unmarred black
metal of Seifer's Hyperion. It was only obvious when the other man had
taken the time to point it out. I had not idea as to why such a small mark
could worry Seifer so much. There were plenty of cuts on the flat of my own
gunblades, but they didn't affect anything.
"A MERCALE! I knew I was unlucky at times, but a MERCALE!?" the heavier man was pacing back and forth. I had to wonder if Seifer's boots or my carpet would be worn out first.
"Come on Squall, tell me something good!" Seifer pressed, "What are you thinking?"
"That you're gonna wear out my floor," my hard response came.
"Be serious Leonheart," He said, seeming near panic, but still he sat back down in the deep, soft chair that was the main piece of furniture in this cramped living room.
"It's just a scratch," I mumbled, annoyed.
"And what do you mean that you are cursed? What is a Mercale?"
The jaw of Seifer dropped, "A Mercale. It's simple. That scratch isn't a scratch!" Tossing a magnifying glass toward me, he directed me, the Head Master of the Esthar Garden for five years, to inspect the scratch.
True to what Almasy said, the scratch turned out to be the forger's mark, the mathematical symbol for infinity with the small name Mercale beside it.
"So? The forger's mark. They have a lot of skill to make it so small and still clear, yet still make it look like a scratch."
"You don't get it Leonheart! It's a Mercale!" Seifer mumbled.
"I still don't get your problem."
"Figures you wouldn't know. Any blade marked like that is cursed, and the person using it! Only way to lift the curse is to find Mercale. But he's been dead eons!"
"Will you calm down Seifer?" Standing, still thinking Seifer was crazy, I moved to the case that held the Lion Heart. Taking out the bluish blade, I slowly turned it to inspect it.
"What are you doing?" my SeeD Commander asked.
Returning to my seat, I hand Seifer one of my most treasured possessions. Pushing the magnifying glass across the table between us I smirk, "You can't be cursed. Or I'd be too."
Quickly he peered at the only scratch on the metal through the glass. I'm sure this will prove it to him. The same thing was on my blade, the Revolver, too. And everyone knows that the Hero of Balamb, the Balamb Lion, Shiva's lover, whatever you chose to call me, is not cursed. Seifer might be, but not by a name on a blade.
Much to my surprise, he started to pry away the dark leather binding of the handle, "What are you doing?"
"It points to the handle," he laughed and started to unwrap the good binding. That's it, this man as lost it.
Yet within a few moments, he has the leather out of the way, and is leaning to gaze at words carved into the wood that was used to make grip easier. Small, deeply engrained words read 'Closest to Hell you will find' and on the other side, 'An answer in the fiery lord.'
"What have you done!? Rebind that hilt!" I growled as he rushed over to the glass case my first gunblade, the Revolver, was held in.
"Checking this out." He mumbled, grabbing it when he'd opened the case. Swiftly he unwrapped the binding, "Say the same thing here." Now I watch my commander rush to his own, and repeat the ruining of the handle of his Hyperion.
"Will you stop running around like Selphie on a train?"
Seifer was laughing, humming the tune Selphie had made up for trains. Too much exposure to Ifrit must have fried his brain. Or our duel that had lead up to this little situation. That reminds me, I'm sweating, I should probably change out of this SeeD uniform and get into my normal leather outfit.
"Aren't you coming?" Seifer suddenly asked.
"What do you mean now?"
"Let's see. Can't call Quistus or Zell, they run Balamb, and Selphie and Irvine have Tiberia. Fujin and Raijin head up Galbidia with Nida. Maybe Kiros and Ward will watch this place while you're gone. You're dad would be glad to have time away from their watchful eye." Seifer counted options off on his fingers.
" 'We're Gone' Seifer, you're crazy if you think that we're not only leaving but putting my father's advisors in charge," the words came unbidden from my lips as I worked to replace the binding on the handle of the Lion Heart.
"Come on now love, you wouldn't let us remain cursed would you?" he pleaded, on his knees before me.
A while I considered pointing out my luck was fine, that I had work to do, that going anywhere with him might make people suspicious. Excuses all. I too was tired of the boring life of the Esthar Garden's Headmaster. This cramped living room was so annoying. Filling out papers and arranging missions for a village invaded by Grats was not enjoyable, 'specially since between my father and Seifer, I never went to anything more dangerous than a 50% off sale at some clothing store.
"When you propose a trip, never call me love. That is reserved for bed only."
Grinning, he leapt to his feet, "We'll find someone to take care of this place. Then we'll pack and be off to destroy this curse on us!"
"And where do you think we should start?" I could not believe this man, who minutes ago was panicking over a name carved in his blade.
"The Island Closest to Hell of course! It only makes sense," he smirked that little smirk of his.
"Fine. If you say so. Now get out of my sight."
The older man looks at me in shock. He hadn't expected to be thrown out, not so soon at least. Normally we'd have a more, intimate, spar before I kicked him out of my bed and rooms. Yet that whole curse scene and then the messing with my gunblade. Let's just say I wasn't really in the mood anymore. He sensed that and quickly disappeared through the door. As I put Lion Heart aside for now, I sat and took up the Revolver to fix it's hilt. Island Closest to Hell. Interesting choice. The fiery Lord would be Ifrit of course. Maybe this trip would be better than I thought.
"A MERCALE! I knew I was unlucky at times, but a MERCALE!?" the heavier man was pacing back and forth. I had to wonder if Seifer's boots or my carpet would be worn out first.
"Come on Squall, tell me something good!" Seifer pressed, "What are you thinking?"
"That you're gonna wear out my floor," my hard response came.
"Be serious Leonheart," He said, seeming near panic, but still he sat back down in the deep, soft chair that was the main piece of furniture in this cramped living room.
"It's just a scratch," I mumbled, annoyed.
"And what do you mean that you are cursed? What is a Mercale?"
The jaw of Seifer dropped, "A Mercale. It's simple. That scratch isn't a scratch!" Tossing a magnifying glass toward me, he directed me, the Head Master of the Esthar Garden for five years, to inspect the scratch.
True to what Almasy said, the scratch turned out to be the forger's mark, the mathematical symbol for infinity with the small name Mercale beside it.
"So? The forger's mark. They have a lot of skill to make it so small and still clear, yet still make it look like a scratch."
"You don't get it Leonheart! It's a Mercale!" Seifer mumbled.
"I still don't get your problem."
"Figures you wouldn't know. Any blade marked like that is cursed, and the person using it! Only way to lift the curse is to find Mercale. But he's been dead eons!"
"Will you calm down Seifer?" Standing, still thinking Seifer was crazy, I moved to the case that held the Lion Heart. Taking out the bluish blade, I slowly turned it to inspect it.
"What are you doing?" my SeeD Commander asked.
Returning to my seat, I hand Seifer one of my most treasured possessions. Pushing the magnifying glass across the table between us I smirk, "You can't be cursed. Or I'd be too."
Quickly he peered at the only scratch on the metal through the glass. I'm sure this will prove it to him. The same thing was on my blade, the Revolver, too. And everyone knows that the Hero of Balamb, the Balamb Lion, Shiva's lover, whatever you chose to call me, is not cursed. Seifer might be, but not by a name on a blade.
Much to my surprise, he started to pry away the dark leather binding of the handle, "What are you doing?"
"It points to the handle," he laughed and started to unwrap the good binding. That's it, this man as lost it.
Yet within a few moments, he has the leather out of the way, and is leaning to gaze at words carved into the wood that was used to make grip easier. Small, deeply engrained words read 'Closest to Hell you will find' and on the other side, 'An answer in the fiery lord.'
"What have you done!? Rebind that hilt!" I growled as he rushed over to the glass case my first gunblade, the Revolver, was held in.
"Checking this out." He mumbled, grabbing it when he'd opened the case. Swiftly he unwrapped the binding, "Say the same thing here." Now I watch my commander rush to his own, and repeat the ruining of the handle of his Hyperion.
"Will you stop running around like Selphie on a train?"
Seifer was laughing, humming the tune Selphie had made up for trains. Too much exposure to Ifrit must have fried his brain. Or our duel that had lead up to this little situation. That reminds me, I'm sweating, I should probably change out of this SeeD uniform and get into my normal leather outfit.
"Aren't you coming?" Seifer suddenly asked.
"What do you mean now?"
"Let's see. Can't call Quistus or Zell, they run Balamb, and Selphie and Irvine have Tiberia. Fujin and Raijin head up Galbidia with Nida. Maybe Kiros and Ward will watch this place while you're gone. You're dad would be glad to have time away from their watchful eye." Seifer counted options off on his fingers.
" 'We're Gone' Seifer, you're crazy if you think that we're not only leaving but putting my father's advisors in charge," the words came unbidden from my lips as I worked to replace the binding on the handle of the Lion Heart.
"Come on now love, you wouldn't let us remain cursed would you?" he pleaded, on his knees before me.
A while I considered pointing out my luck was fine, that I had work to do, that going anywhere with him might make people suspicious. Excuses all. I too was tired of the boring life of the Esthar Garden's Headmaster. This cramped living room was so annoying. Filling out papers and arranging missions for a village invaded by Grats was not enjoyable, 'specially since between my father and Seifer, I never went to anything more dangerous than a 50% off sale at some clothing store.
"When you propose a trip, never call me love. That is reserved for bed only."
Grinning, he leapt to his feet, "We'll find someone to take care of this place. Then we'll pack and be off to destroy this curse on us!"
"And where do you think we should start?" I could not believe this man, who minutes ago was panicking over a name carved in his blade.
"The Island Closest to Hell of course! It only makes sense," he smirked that little smirk of his.
"Fine. If you say so. Now get out of my sight."
The older man looks at me in shock. He hadn't expected to be thrown out, not so soon at least. Normally we'd have a more, intimate, spar before I kicked him out of my bed and rooms. Yet that whole curse scene and then the messing with my gunblade. Let's just say I wasn't really in the mood anymore. He sensed that and quickly disappeared through the door. As I put Lion Heart aside for now, I sat and took up the Revolver to fix it's hilt. Island Closest to Hell. Interesting choice. The fiery Lord would be Ifrit of course. Maybe this trip would be better than I thought.