Chapter Five: Any Other Summer
She is standing by the water
As her smile begins to curl
In this or any another summer
She is something altogether different
Never just an ordinary girl.
Counting Crows: Hard Candy
The pictures (or rather, mini-comic) for this chapter is up at:
blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images dot habits1
dot jpg and blackthorn dot keenspace dot com slash images
dot habits dot jpg. Sorry for the odd link, but the html is
fucking up. Again.
Note: I have now reloaded this. It should*crosses fingers,
touches wood* be okay. I think.
In response to queries, SDTC updates are fortnightly, Friday
evenings or Sat mornings GMT. This is because I have no
TV and apparently no life either. :D. God, writing's fun.
It was a beautiful day.
The sun rose, slowly, like it enjoyed it. It shone on an
empty beach, on streets just as deserted except for stray
dogs and dropped Coke cans.
It shone on two figures, strolling down the main street.
They were arguing, which was nothing new.
"I'd hate to see your lungs."
"Just because you don't have any habits apart from
working. "
"Bad habits. I don't have any bad habits. You, on
the other hand…"
"Yeah, I know. I smoke, I drink. I fight. I try to end
the world and commit breaches of the peace on a
regular basis. You…you heard everyone's got a
dark side?"
Quistis nodded cautiously to indicate this might well
be so.
"You've got Perfect Quistis and Oh-Hyne-I-Just-Wasted
One-Sheet-Of-Paper Quistis."
Quistis internally combusted. "Whereas you have
Horrible Seifer and Complete Bastard Seifer."
"I'm not that bad."
She conceded. "Maybe." Though thousands of
angry dead people might beg to differ. "Okay,
Horrible Seifer and 'Rules? What rules?' Seifer.
There is nothing wrong with keeping to the rules.
Especially the ones about not attempting hostile
takeovers of other countries."
"They're more like guidelines….and good," Seifer said,
"is boring."
"Don't knock it until you've tried it."
They continued on, conversation floating down the
dusty streets. A few doors were already open, shopkeepers
scrubbing their front steps and erecting displays full of
sunglasses and beach towels. Quistis stepped over a
fallen stand of paper windmills, and flicked it back upright.
The first tourists were starting to emerge from their air
conditioned and carpeted wombs, groping tiredly for bacon,
coffee and orange juice in the pavement cafes. Seifer gave
any who got in his way the condescending glare of someone
who knew what real adventure felt like; wet, cold and
miserable. They usually moved, and fast.
Quistis couldn't blame them. Seifer looked hungover and
walked like someone who knew that everyone else was
going to get out of his way.
They made their way to the boardwalk without incident
and were almost at the beach when a figure barred their
way. It was tall, ascetic and dressed in the black robes of
one of the more extreme Hynish cults.
It grated "Do you believe in Hyne?" and held out a leaflet,
hopefully.
Seifer snarled and shoulderbarged past the priest. "Yeah,
we say our prayers ever day. Twice on Sundays. Now will
you get the hell out of our way?"
A watery gaze turned hopefully to Quistis. "What's your
relationship with Hyne?"
Quistis stared. "Well, you know, it's more like an arrangement.
I don't ask for anything that's not easily fulfilled by
chance, money or my own hard work, and she doesn't
smite me."
"And yours, young man?"
"I don't kiss on the first date." Seifer snarked back.
"Come on."
"It's never too late to contemplate your immortal soul!"
the preacher yelled at their departing backs.
"Would you like to see yours?"
"Seifer!"
"Hyne, Quistis don't you know better than to talk
to those weirdos?"
"You started it!"
"You….let's just not get into this again."
"Do you know that is possibly the most adult thing
you have said since I met you?"
"Nnn. Feeling full of the holy spirit already. Must.
.go..save..orphans…drowning baptists…Moomba
scouts trapped down ..mine…"
"Don't make me laugh."
"Yeah. Moomba Scouts are evil. I'd leave them there."
They stepped down onto the beach, heading north.
The sand was a pale holiday-brochure yellow. It
clashed with the sky, which was vividly blue.
Over the dunes it seemed huge.
Seifer stopped at a protected spot in the centre of
the dunes, shaded from the sight of early morning
dog walkers and late night stoner teens. He dragged
a shallow ring in the sand with his foot which almost
immediately began to fill with sand again. Quistis put
her bag down and picked out the two sticks they'd
selected. She weighted them thoughtfully, slashing
them through the air like twin swords. Makeshift
weapons, they felt unbalanced and over-light in
her hands; just a couple of plain two-foot long
branches planed and scoured silver by the sea.
They were almost exactly the same length as
gunblades. Quistis threw one to Seifer and was
slightly disappointed when he caught it left handed
and without looking.
Holding hers loosely, she limbered up, stretching
with the same carefully rehearsed elegance as her
fighting moves. Seifer stretched a few times, flicking
his stick from hand to hand, and took up a stance on
the opposite side of the circle. Quistis assumed a
defensive pose, feet side on and stick held ready.
Her hair whipped in the fresh early morning breeze,
tangled already to knots.
The ground they had chosen was not the best, a far cry
from the meticulously fair practice grounds at Garden.
The dunes were treacherous footing, uneven and studded
with stones and clumps of tough marramgrass. Both their
feet sank up to the ankles in sand.
Quistis ignored it. Seifer shook it away from his boots
like a plague with a few whispered curses before gesturing
for her to attack. It was the same casual invitation as
he used in most of his fights, delivered with an
identical supercilious smirk.
Quistis smiled in return and saluted him. "En garde."
Seifer returned the salute, making a mockery of the
smooth motions and unrolling the gesture into a swipe.
"You're so going to lose."
"Want to bet on it?" She feinted to the side. Hyne, it
had been years since she'd trained with a sword.
"Money?" Seifer smirked at her, halfway through a
series of feints Quistis recognised as those he used
for testing his enemies. After all, she'd seen then often
enough.
Quistis followed his movements with her stick and
swore softly as her eyes hit the rising sun. "I'd like to
wager something both of us actually have."
He alternated between watching the tip of her stick and
her eyes with absolute concentration, a slight frown
throwing the scar crossing his face into relief. "Yeah,
yeah."
Quistis didn't reply, saving her breath. She slid effortlessly
out from under his next slash and out of the spotlighting
sunlight, dropping her shoulder and slipping away
from the blade.
Damn, she was out of practice. It had been so long since
she'd fought with anything other than a whip or gun.
Seifer was casually good at swordfighting in the kind
of way that meant you didn't have to think about what
you were doing, but it was obvious that he hadn't been
training formally for a while. This might have helped
if Quistis had actually trained with a gunblade or any
kind of sword in the last six months. Worse, he didn't
fight mechanically or in any kind of taught and predictive
pattern.
If Seifer fought against Squall now, he would lose.
Squall was very good, as good as Seifer, and he trained
like a demon on the days when he wasn't wrangling
paperwork.
Now that's one fight I'd like to be in on.
Quistis' eyes tracked Seifer's moves, waiting for an
opening, trying to decipher some kind of pattern to his
movements that she could predict. He wasn't trying yet,
taking his usual one-handed attacking pose. Testing her.
Quistis had never yet failed a test.
She fought with intense relentless concentration.
Their duel continued, the rattle and clash of sticks
seeming to give way to the glide and crash of metal
on metal as the clumsy movements of too light-too
short weapons began not to matter and they both grew
more used to the fake blades, more drawn into the duel.
So far it was a draw. Seifer's bruising enthusiasm Quistis
put down to revenge.
She managed a good couple of blows across his ribs that
made him swear and double up but somehow still keep
hold of his weapon, and pursued her advantage, diving in
for a poised overarm slash which snapped his stick in two.
Seifer twisted and grabbed her sword hand's wrist in a
move that would probably have taken his hand off if the
sticks they were using had any kind of edge, wrenched it
behind her back, sat on her spine and laid the snapped off
edge of his stick along her throat with a mercurial grin.
It prickled.
Quistis ate sand.
"Get off!"
"Give up?" She could hear the smile in his voice, though
she couldn't see much of anything from behind a curtain
of hair.
"You must…..." Her voice was muffled, behind sand and
anger. She gritted her teeth, pissed off to the max. This wasn't fair.
"What?"
"Be joking." Quistis arched her back enough to kick him
on the back of the head, hard, with both feet and all the
leverage she could manage. Seifer swore and released her.
Quistis snatched his stick off him, grabbed hers up from
the dune where it had fallen and kicked him as hard as she
could in the stomach. It knocked Seifer flat in the sand.
She brought both of the makeshift weapons arcing up to
poke him in the ribs.
"You were saying?"
Winning felt good.
It always did.
They were both messy, sweating and tired. Quistis could
feel the itching rash on the back of her neck that meant
she was going to be sunburned some time soon, but she
didn't care.
However, she should have remembered from past
experience that you could put Seifer through a meat
grinder and what was left would still be trying to hack
you off at the knees and you better not turn your back
on it. He just plain didn't know when to stop.
Her victory was short-lived.
Seifer kicked her in the ankles. Quistis' legs scythed
out from under her and she fell heavily in the sand,
breath escaping from her in a pained whoosh. Both
sticks flew from her hands. She swore internally and
grabbed for anything she could catch. Her fingers
scraped through Seifer's hair and slid off without
catching a grip. She had better luck with a fistful of
faded T shirt, which tore, all elegant balanced poise gone.
They traded punches and kicks, arms locked, each
refusing to give up. There was no one much around,
which was just as well. Quistis fought in silence but
Seifer threw insults like grenades, when he had the
breath.
The fight had turned into something with less finesse.
Most of their blows missed anyway, it was hard to
keep your balance on the shifting dunes.
In the end, it was more or less equal. Seifer might
have had the advantage in height and weight but
Quistis had the best part of a year's training on him
and a cast-iron determination not to give up.
They fought over the dunes and up and down the
beach, all around the sand and fell still fighting
down the sea-side of the nearest dune. Some time
after the beginning of the fight they both wound
up sprawled out, exhausted, on the packed wet
sand left by the retreating ocean.
Quistis' hair looked like strange seaweed on the
tideline.
Seifer swore and emptied pebbles from his jeans
pocket. He unlaced his boots, shook sand and tiny
shells out of them and left them off, absently brushing
sand from between his toes and then putting his feet
right back on the beach again.
A seagull called mocking laughter from above.
Seifer shot a secret studied glance at Quistis as she
shook sand out of her hair and spat it from her mouth.
Her chest heaved. She looked a mess, clothes covered
in dust, and he was aware that he must look almost as
bad, if not worse. There were smudges of dirt on the
bridge of her nose and cheekbones. With her face dirty
and her blond hair snarled up she looked a completely
different person from the polished and professional
soldier he'd known at Garden.
It had been..fun.
"Truce? You know I'd beat you anyway." He hunkered
down by the high tide mark, cupping a handful of salt
water to rinse his face. It stung in his eyes and in a small
cut on his face from the sticks or the knifelike grass that
grew all over the dunes.
The next moment he was on his face in the surf, spitting
seawater. Time seemed to have folded. Quistis was trying
her best to make his body do the same, on a mission to make
him the first human pretzel.
"Hyne, Quis, get off." His words choked out as the tide
came in and filled his face with seawater, stinging froth
in his eyes and nose. A rock in the sand pressed into his
cheekbone and that and the wake of a powerboat out on
an early morning run into the bay made him think screw
this for a game of soldiers. Enpretzeled. It should be a word.
Seifer's tolerance level, never very high, nosedived,
crashed, and burned.
"Quistis, get off. I'm fucking warning you." His tone
was, behind the sand, grudgingly approving. Her hand
was at eye height, tendons standing out sharply, the
only bit of her he could see. It felt like she was kneeling
on his back. She probably was.
Damn it, she must have caught bad habits from him.
Since when had perfect Quistis started to fight dirty?
"Get off."
No response.
Seifer waited until Quistis put one foot to the sand
to balance her weight, grabbed her ankle, simultaneously
sat up and pulled at the same time.
It wasn't really fair, but then that was tough shit.
Quistis landed in the surf two metres away.
Seifer gave her an evil grin and she said a word he hadn't
known she knew. There was salt water dripping from her
hair, which was laced with seaweed like a bargain
basement mermaid, if Quistis would ever have consented
to be cheap.
She wrung it out and Seifer admired her from a distance.
There were bruises on her arms and he felt vaguely guilty.
There wasn't many situations that made him feel awkward,
but when the choice was 'hit a girl hard or let her kick your
ass', well, he'd never liked losing. He could have gone for
the 'amused tolerance' attitude, but Quistis punched hard.
To be honest, there were bruises on his arms too.
"Don't think you're clever. I would have kicked your butt
with my whip." She moved like she ached. Seifer knew
how she felt. There was sweat in his hair. The air was hot,
humid, and almost unbearably close.
There was a little trickle of sea water running down
Quistis' back, just at the part where her top didn't quite
meet her shorts.
Seifer watched it with his eyes, sliding his gaze off to
stare at the sky as Quistis waded out of the surf and onto
the shore. She gave him a shove as she passed, not hard,
but it caught him off balance. He fell flat on his back in
the sand and Quistis landed on top of him, her head on
his chest, driving the breath from his lungs and pressing
his shoulderblades back into the sand. She was warm
and heavy and smelled better than the beach.
"Shit, I'm tired."
"I know the feeling. Me, too."
They both lay there for a minute, getting their breath
back. Seifer stretched and unconsciously replaced his
hand on his chest. Quistis' head was in the way, so he
placed his arm round her shoulders, possessively,
without thinking of anything. She brought her hand
up to rest on his, small and calloused and paler
against his skin. Her breath stirred the soft hairs on
his arm and raised dust from both their clothes.
Quistis enjoyed the sun and let her mind drift. It was
nice, comfortable, lazy, just lying there in the sand,
letting her clothes dry out, with Seifer's arm
familiar around her.
With Seifer's arm…
Hang on..
Oh…damn.
She couldn't stop her body from tensing involuntarily.
Seifer looked down at her, eyes half-closed, and then
they widened. She noticed abstractly, that his eyelashes
were very dark against his blond hair. He needed to shave.
In the tense silence, something almost happened.
It was like having a whole new possibility shown to
her that she'd never before considered. As if she'd
been trying to do something for hours, trying different
ways to make it fit, and someone had come along and
said 'hold it this side up'..
Hyne.
Seifer stared at her for a second as if she'd grown three
heads. He jumped up fast, as if her body burned.
Quistis' head bounced off the sand. She got up, slowly,
and thought: He feels it too.
There was an awkward silence. Quistis began to groom
her hair back into some kind of order. Seifer retrieved
his boots from the strand and pulled them roughly on.
The silence between them solidified into an almost
physical barrier.
Seifer grudgingly broke it. He flopped down on the
beach a few metres away and watched her like she
might explode. "You've got better."
"Thanks. You haven't."
He shrugged. "Can't practise. Good fight."
Quistis sat down again, feeling pulled muscles, bruises.
She watched the sea and brushed sand from her clothes.
When she spoke, she didn't realise she'd said the words
out loud. "I've got sand in my pants."
Seifer laughed, watched Quistis' face redden into a blush
and laughed harder. "Didn't it remind you of when we were
little? I swear we used to fight with sticks like that. Used to
fight with everything."
Quistis frowned. The fight had rung a bell in the temple
of her mind, but it wasn't anything to do with the orphanage.
"No. Don't you remember when we first joined and they
wouldn't let us have proper swords? Just wooden stuff to
practice with. The training guy, he used to say: 'There are
only three things you need to remember to be a soldier..one,
don't get killed, two, give it to the enemy good and hard
and three, obey orders.'"
"Hey, two out of three isn't bad."
"Smartass. Don't say that like it's a good thing."
"It was just a statement. You're too damn literal for your
own good. And since when did you start to fight dirty,
anyway?"
"Since I realised who I was up against."
" Right." Seifer sat up and ducked his head between his
knees, running dirty hands through his bristle-cut hair
in a vain attempt to dislodge sand. He looked at his watch.
"You know, it's almost eleven. Want some breakfast?"
Quistis shrugged. "Sounds good. I need to go and get my
stuff. It's up in the dunes somewhere."
Seifer blinked and looked around like he'd never seen the
beach before in his life. "Good point. Just where the fuck
are we anyway? Hyne, we must have fought for ages." He
winced. "I need more practise."
"We could do this again, sometimes.." Quistis said tentatively
. She rubbed at her glasses with a thumb and then polished
them on her shorts. One of the earpieces was slightly bent.
Seifer shrugged. "Why not? You're here for what, three
weeks?"
Quistis avoided commenting on possible future options.
" I guess."
"I'll beat you any time." Seifer levered himself off the
sand and held out a hand, absently. Quistis ignored it.
"Excuse me. I thought it was a draw."
She brushed sand off the seat of her shorts.
Seifer grinned, nastily. "You thought wrong, then"
"So you're saying that I won?"
"Piss off, Trepe. The day I admit you can beat me.."
"Will be the day you start being right."
Seifer growled. "I really need to train more."
"Haven't you done anything?"
He shrugged as they both started up the dunes to
retrieve Quistis' bag. "A bit. Pest extermination.
Nothing larger than," he held out a hand at shoulder height.
"…..so big. Don't tell me, you've been battling
rigging Ruby Dragons every single day. I bet Leonhart
can take six on at once, one handed, armed with nothing
but a pencil and a wire coathanger. And he doesn't even
boast. I think he talked to me more during the wars than
he ever did at Garden. "
Quistis smiled. "It's always the quiet ones, trust me.
I'm one of the quiet ones." She picked up her bags,
rifling through them to check her stuff.
"It's never the quiet ones. You're just an exception.
I bet you don't even tell people who you are to get a
good table in restaurants."
"I don't have time to go to restaurants.""
"You don't have time to do anything. You wouldn't do
anything even if you had time."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
Seifer shut up. They were walking back along the dunes,
collecting a few funny looks from dog walkers. Quistis
couldn't blame them. Seifer's T shirt was ripped at the
hem, and her spectacles hung askew on her nose.
She cursed whatever gods had seen fit to give her less
than perfect vision and piled her hair up as she walked,
reached for her watch from the bag and slipped it on. A
thought struck her, gently.
"What happened to your necklace?"
Seifer shrugged, expressively. "I sold it. Ages ago, before
I even saw you in Trabia. It got in the way. Jewelry shines.
It makes noises. It didn't mean anything, before you ask.
I just wore it because I liked it."
"Oh."
"Don't your glasses get in the way? You should wear
contacts." He scratched the scar between his eyes
irritably.
Quistis suppressed a shiver. Honestly. Half of the time
she assumed Seifer was as insensitive as a brick and
then he'd come out with something so close to what
she had been thinking it was creepy. It made her wonder,
sometimes, just how alike they really were.
"Not really."
She squashed the thought. The day she admitted she had
anything in common with Seifer Almasy was the day..
well, it would be a day to remember, than was for sure.
They reached the boardwalk. The dunes stretched on
for miles behind them, people just starting to unroll
towels, beach umbrellas and windbreaks on the beach.
Seifer felt in his pocket for cigarettes and lighter,
cupped them in his hands against the wind and lit up.
The early-morning breeze carried the smoke away
behind them in an almost horizontal line, and made
Quistis cough.
He didn't take any notice.
She coughed again, pointedly, gave up and changed
sides so she was walking closer to the shops.
Seifer was watching the daytrippers. "Look at them.
They've got more crap just for a day on the beach
than I own." He pointed to a family busily erecting
a striped piece of canvas on poles. "What's that for?"
Quistis shaded her eyes with one hand and leaned
across him. Quistis Trepe, the Portable Encyclopaedia.
"Windbreak. Haven't you seen them before?"
Seifer shook his head. "Damn, if it's that windy,
what's the point of being on the beach in the first
place?"
Quistis shrugged, and then noticed something.
"Where are we going?"
"You want breakfast? I've got food at my place.
It's not far."
Quistis thought about pointing out that she got
breakfast free with her room at the hotel, but she'd
be damned if she was taking Seifer in there. She
was just on the point of refusing, anyway, when he
added, watching her closely "I've got coffee."
Quistis surrendered. "Go on then."
Hynedammit. But she needed coffee. Medically
needed coffee. It wasn't good to have people know
about your weaknesses. She seemed to remember
Seifer drinking coffee too, or at least she'd never
imagine there was a stimulant he hadn't tried. If
it could screw up your body or mess with her head,
she was willing to bet that Seifer had done it.
The strongest stimulant Quistis had dabbled in was
caffeine pills: invaluable for those late night pre-exam
study sessions. And then only in moderation. She
preferred her caffeine in liquid form. "What kind
of coffee?"
"Dunno. It's freeze dried stuff. Looks like someone
ate gravel and then got real sick."
"Brand?"
Seifer shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm not trying to
poison you."
Quistis rested her palm on her forehead. She
considered trying to tell Seifer about Java and
Colombian, about cafietieres and bean grinders
and china mugs and cold milk, and the minor
miracle that was one really good, really perfect cup
of coffee, but as always she had a nasty feeling
that it was going to go in one ear and out the other.
And they were nearly at the pile of wood he currently
called home, or any number of four letter words,
knowing Seifer's descriptive powers. "No."
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Seifer's house didn't look any better in broad daylight.
The only difference was a small and battered car
parked near the second flight of stairs.
Quistis pointed. "That's yours?"
"Like I could afford a car. It's the old woman's that
lives in the other flat. I think I scare her." He finished
the cigarette and spat it into a clump of nettles
growing in the scraggly vacant lot next door.
"Don't tell me you're not flattered." Quistis followed
Seifer up the steps. "I feel sorry for her."
"I feel sorry for your husband. If you get one."
"I feel sorry for you. Oh wait, I don't."
"You want coffee or not?"
What a stupid question. "I always want coffee."
"I forgot. You're the world's original caffeine addict.
And you say I'm bad." Seifer grinned and kicked the
door shut, pulling his packet of Lucky Strikes from
his jeans pocket. Quistis hit him, not gently, and he
bent over, coughing. "If you're not very nice, I won't
make you a drink."
"I'll make it myself."
"Like you know where it is. Hyne, I didn't take that
as an invitation to go through my cupboards."
Quistis glanced up from rifling through the fishbox
cabinet standing beside the tiny fridge. "Seifer, you
have one. One cupboard. Singular, not plural."
"Yeah, yeah."
She ignored him on her Epic Quest For Coffee. In fact,
she didn't even need to look for it, the jar was right there
on the top, but its contents seemed to have welded itself
together.
Quistis prodded at it with a spoon, carefully, like it might
explode, and then resorted to chipping flakes off the lump
with a knife. She emptied a mug full of cigarette butts
and poured herself a cup. Usually she would never have
considered using dirty crockery, but desperate situations
called for desperate remedies. She hadn't had a drink
for at least four hours. Things were reaching crisis point.
She looked round for Seifer, so she could refuse to
make him one, but he was hunting through his pockets,
a cigarette held loosely between his teeth.
"Damn. Quistis, seen my lighter?"
"Wouldn't tell you if I had"
"Look, I need nicotine. You wouldn't like me when
I can't smoke."
"I don't like you anyway." Quistis sat down on the
floor, cradling her coffee. Two seconds later she gave
the carpet a distasteful glance and got up to perch on
the flat's only chair. It creaked, dangerously, and
bent in the middle. "Didn't you just have your lighter?"
Seifer flicked the flint a few times with a dirty fingernail.
"It's run out. My spare one went in the river yesterday.
Fuck. I'm going to the shop. You all right here?"
"Is there any chance the stuff in the fridge has
developed sentient life?"
"Probably not."
"Then I'm fine." The coffee was steaming up her
glasses. Quistis industriously polished them on
her T shirt.
Seifer gave her a long, hard look and stalked out,
slamming the door behind him. Quistis heard his
footsteps slamming down the metal steps outside,
and then silence.
Right.
She knelt down, gingerly, feeling the rubber soles
of her shoes tug at the sticky disgusting carpet, and
tugged cautiously at the nearest pile of books
There weren't a lot of them, but there were enough to
make her wonder exactly what Seifer was doing with
them. Call her nosy, and yeah, suspicious, but if he was
reading 'The Idiot's Guide To Evil' of 'How To Raise
An Army in Ten Easy Steps' or even, say, a perfectly
ordinary text about making homemade bombs out of a
coffee can of nails and flour and household fertiliser she
was going to feel damn well vindicated. Vindicated
and pissed off or else angry and disappointed, like
knowing an alcoholic that had just fallen off the wagon.
Quistis tugged the nearest text to her and pushed her
glasses up her nose with one finger.
It wasn't a book, but rather a thin journal that looked
horribly technical. It practically made Quistis's
knowledge-starved brain salivate.
Finally. Something to think about.
She read the first three pages without stopping,
flicked through to the illustrations, turned the journal
upside down, scowling, and then flipped it right way up
as she paged slowly through the rest of the article.
A small frown gradually appeared between her eyes,
under the glasses.
One paragraph in particular caught her attention. The
page had been bookmarked with a scrap of cigarette
paper reading 'uck S trikes'. It slowly floated to the
carpet between Quistis' pristine trainers, where it stuck.
" the relationship of a Sorceress and her Knight is of
particular interest. ..
Scan.
….all seem to involve a psychological bond of unusual
intensity.
Scan.
………possible that such individuals would suffer
severe mental disturbance
Damn.
Psychological disturbances? What the hell's that
supposed to mean?
From the tone of the article it could be anything from
wandering round wearing your underpants on the outside
and fighting crime to screaming fruit loops certifiable
insanity.
In contrast Seifer so far had seemed almost scarily
normal. For a given value of normal, anyway, though
she knew Seifer well enough by now to realise that if
there really was something seriously wrong he'd never
admit it.
Quistis flicked through the rest of the books, blowing
fag-ash and grime off the covers. Wilted scraps of
newspaper and cardboard marked a few pages, and
a quick glance at the inside front liners showed that
nearly all were overdue. There were all kinds of books,
a few more crumpled paper journals, paperback and
hardbacks and one big old leather tome with studs
embossing the cover. All reference books, all mentioning
the sorceresses, all worrying.
Quistis flicked through the first one, gave up and
rested her fist on her chin, scowling at nothing.
She didn't know when exactly it had happened,
but it was becoming harder and harder to actually
believe that she was going to turn Seifer in. It wasn't
going to make things any better, and the truce
between the Gardens was an awkward thing at best.
The wars were fading slightly from everyone's memory,
accelerated in some cases by GFs and more immediate
problems. Yesterday's news, bleeding from a damp
newspaper left in a puddle.
Balamb couldn't afford a rerun, financially or politically.
She didn't need graphs or six colours of highlighters
to realise that.
Despite the books, she didn't have the heart to do it.
Didn't they say let sleeping dogs lie?
She ran through questions in her mind.
Was Seifer a danger to Garden? If no one noticed him-
and that was a big if-probably not. She didn't think
he was going to try anything on his own.
Was everyone going to blame her or Garden if he
went postal and screwed up again? Was he going
to go postal and screw up again?
There was the noise of footsteps scrunching across
the vacant lot next to the shop and boots clanking
up the stairs.
Speak of the devil.
Seifer fought the door open and dropped a carrier bag
on the floor.
Quistis decided, unwisely, to go in for the kill. "Seifer,
what is with you and the sorceresses?"
"What the fuck are you going through my stuff for?"
The scowl between Seifer's eyes deepened, outlining the scar.
"Don't try to change the subject."
"I asked. You. A. Question." He slammed the door shut
as a full stop.
Quistis refused to feel guilty. "So did I!"
"Since when have SeeD cared about what I prop my
table up with?" He kicked the pile of books out from
under the table, watching them fan drunkenly across
the floor as the table sagged towards the floor.
Quistis caught a sliding mug in one hand. "I can't
remember the actual words… Oh, yeah. 'I'll be Edea's
bloodhound and hunt down every one of your kind?' It's
not over, Seifer. It's never over. Why are you reading all
this stuff?"
You're not the only person who wants to know what the hell
went down during the wars, you know." There was something
behind the anger, this time, embarrassment, maybe, or shame,
though Quistis wouldn't have bet on either.
She shrugged. "I don't. Enlighten me."
"Look, I told you, I just want to be forgotten. You'd think
being dead'd make you leave me the hell alone."
Quistis tucked her legs underneath her, trying to keep most
of her clothes from touching the floor. "I talked to Edea."
He froze for a second. "So what?"
"So I told you she's not right."
Seifer slid down the wall, ending up in an untidy sprawl
with his back to the wall. He stubbed his cigarette out on
the carpet, which hissed and smoked. "I'm as sane as I ever
was. What's the matter with her?"
"Define 'as sane as you ever were.' That is not a reassurance.
As sane as when?"
He slouched. "Whenever."
"You're not being helpful."
"Wouldn't want to break a habit of a lifetime."
Quistis sighed and decided to speak bluntly. Seifer
understood blunt. "Edea's retired. Cid's with her. She
gets weird visions and dreams and sometimes she goes
places and she can't ever remember getting there. It
worries me. You?"
"Nope. No people in my head. No little blue pixies telling
me to kill them all. No sorceress voices. No weird phobias
or anything. But I dunno. I'm getting this weird sense of
something." He folded his arms on his knees and stared
malevolently at her over the top of his elbows.
"What? Don't you remember anything? It won't help you
in court."
"Anger. That's it, I'm absolutely fucking furious. Trepe, I
just don't work you out. Since I saw you in that damn forest
you've done nothing but ask me what I thought about the wars.
Well, so what? Maybe what I think doesn't matter anymore.
I lost, remember. I'm dead. That's it. Over. Do you want me
to say I'm sorry? That I can't stop thinking about what I did?
Well here's a news flash for you, I don't even remember half
of it and the half I do remember is only because you won't
bloody let me forget. Running away didn't work so I stopped.
I'm just trying not existing. You're all 'Oh, I'm not pressing
charges, you should be so grateful' and then you're almost damn
normal and then you go and say something like that? I
shouldn't have even thought you were, hell, I don't know,
regular. I thought I had a chance. Fine. Just go running back
to Squall and tell him I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I
just don't care. " He reached for another cigarette, lit up and
watched the reflection of the flame in her glasses.
"I'm not."
"Normal?"
"Right, but no. I'm not going to report you. I'm not going
to tell Garden you're here. Don't ask me why. I might
change my mind."
He watched her, expressionless. The only movement in the
room was the smoke of his cigarette floating up towards the
ceiling. "Don't expect me to thank you."
"I wasn't."
"Good."
But maybe you should think about going back yourself."
"You're shitting me."
"And you're bothered enough about the wars to get a whole
load of books and do some serious research. There's something.
Quit that whole 'I don't have a problem' attitude. It's not fooling anyone."
Seifer sat and smoked in silence.
"I don't know what it is and I'm not even bothering to ask
because I know you won't tell me. Just something to think
about. Carefully. This is all I'm going to say. The wars
are over. Just leave it at that, now let us never speak of
this again."
The noises of the street drifted into the quiet room, the
hum of air conditioning, the growl of cars, the howls
of small children denied that last candyfloss and the noise
of more normal conversations.
Seifer swiped the mug from Quistis' knee and flicked
cigarette ash into it. He hooked the carrier bag closer with
his boot and rifled through it, pulling out another disposable
lighter, this one red, a newspaper and some squashed bread.
Without moving, he threw the bread at the kitchen worksurface,
tossed the paper to Quistis and rested his elbows on his
knees again, sucking in deep drags from the cigarette and
staring meditatively at the floor.
Quistis didn't say anything, leafing through the papers.
The anti-Garden debate in the letters column was becoming
more heated, there was a pork roast to celebrate some little
girl getting a new kidney, and the beach had banned dog-
walking.
When she looked up, Seifer had picked the empty carrier bag
up from the floor and was reading the back. He turned it
to her.
"I'm pissed off and tired and I really feel like shooting
something. Want to come?"
Quistis held a hand out for the bag. On closer inspection
it featured an advert for the same shooting range she'd
visited earlier in the week.
"Okay."
"I'm not making you."
"You couldn't."
"You cheated."
"Didn't you always tell me fighting dirty wasn't a
bad thing?"
"I wasn't criticising."
They bickered out of the door and down the street.
After an afternoon of sanctioned virtual murder, Seifer
was in a slightly better mood.
Quistis noted carefully that he was still a damn good
shot, and filed the knowledge away in her mind for further
reference. She'd spent the time shooting carefully aligned
holes into the heart, head, and, in at least one case, groin
of the paper targets.
As a stress release, it worked wonders.
Quistis was all worn out as they wandered back down the
road to Seifer's flat. The sun was setting, and she felt tired,
yet happy.
Amazing what a little target practice could do.
Seifer also looked in a better mood than before. This abruptly
changed as he noticed the large crowd occupying the
vacant lot next to his house.
"Shit, it's like there was a damn car crash or something."
He shouldered past the people.
Quistis carefully checked out the expressions on the faces
of the group, feeling her hand drift towards a non-existent
whip. There was always the faint chance that the crowd
was a mob in the best, flaming-torches and pitchfork-
carrying sense, but she didn't think so. There was liquor
in abundance, but it wasn't the hard aggressive drinking
of people psyching themselves up to do an anticipated
but dangerous job. There appeared to be a street party
going on.
She pushed through the crowds after Seifer.
He was standing no, leaning, against the peeling corner
of the building with his hands in is pockets, silhouetted
against the blaze. The fire cast shadows across his face
and made his eyes look very green as he turned to face her.
Apparently someone had through it would be a good idea
to build a bonfire in the vacant lot next to the house.
The fire was huge and stank of petrol, mingling with the
scent of hash and woodsmoke and sweat.
Somewhere in the crowd someone was playing a guitar,
badly.
Although his flat was in imminent danger of combustion,
Seifer didn't appear bothered.
Quistis reached him. The fire was raging and she could
feel the heat in the roots of her hair and on her face. It hit
hard, like a blow. "Your stuff could catch on fire."
"There's not much I'm bothered about." He watched the
smoke, absently. It reminded Quistis that Seifer had
always favoured Fire variants.
In front of him, a small child toasted marshmallows,
oblivious of the heat.
Seifer stared into the fire without saying anything, like
it held the answer to the meaning of life. It was a few
minutes before he turned to her and said. "Want to go
upstairs, get a cool beer?"
"I don't drink."
"I'll have a beer. You can have…whatever shit people
who don't drink have." He threw the keys up in the air
and caught them behind his back.
The keys reminded Quistis that she should be getting
back to her hotel room. It was getting late.
Her lonely, boring hotel room.
She shrugged. "Might as well."
They climbed above the crowd and Quistis watched
their heads as Seifer wrestled with the keys. There
were all kinds of people, musicians strumming guitars
with more enthusiasm than talent, bored teens throwing
things into the fire and watching them explode and vendors
hawking snacks and small flashing things on sticks.
The room smelled of woodsmoke and ash, which was
an improvement on socks and mould.
Seifer shoved open the window and grabbed a beer from
the cooler. "What'd you want?"
Quistis wasn't in the mood for coffee, for once. "What
have you got?"
"Beer."
"Apart from beer."
"Milk….oh wait, it went off. Water." He twisted a tap.
"And……water."
The water from the tap was sluggish and brown. Quistis
was on the verge of passing and heading back to the
Traveller's Rest when Seifer triumphantly produced a
carton of warm orange juice from the back of one of
his fishbox cabinets. "Orange okay?"
"I guess."
Quistis swung her legs over the sill and sat down.
Seifer handed her the carton of orange and settled
beside her with a beer.
The squash was a strange and unnatural shade of well,
orange. Bright, bright orange. It tasted like plastic.
Quistis was faintly worried by this. She shook the carton
questioningly at Seifer. "It isn't ..toxic?"
He gave her am amused grin. "Come on. I'm not
trying to poison you."
" Everything's a poison. " Quistis spoke absently.
"Including water. If you drink, say fifteen pints."
Seifer gave her a strange look. "I'll keep that in mind."
He shifted uncomfortably on the sill, sending a slate
cascading off the tiled porch roof to land on the ground
below. Miraculously, no one noticed.
Having too much fun, Quistis guessed.
Despite the sun and the night and the fire and the general
air of hedonism, she felt uncharacteristically depressed.
She rested her palm on her hand and stared out over
the crowd, feeling like she hadn't been invited. She
could go down, but she'd probably still feel like a
gatecrasher. Doomed to watch, as always, with that one
little voice observing everything and making sarcastic
little observations in the privacy of her brain. Aloof.
Alone.
Well, there was always Seifer, but he wasn't being
very good company sitting silently beside her and
smoking his lungs out.
Her spectacles wouldn't straighten and this was obscurely
annoying. Quistis twisted them in her hands.
Seifer hiked one leg up onto the sill beside her and sat
hugging his knee. "All right, Trepe?"
"Yes."
"Bollocks." Seifer reached a hand out for her spectacles,
capturing them in between Quistis's next swig of fake
orange juice, and bent them carefully back into shape. He
handed them back to her without a word. "We can go
down if you want."
"I'm okay."
The sun was setting, spectacularly orange and red. It lit
the houses and the faces of the revellers below with a
gruesome red tint that did nothing to help Quistis's
increasingly morbid mood. It looked like blood.
She wondered how many of the people partying below
her would have survived their first year as a SeeD and
then unsuccessfully tried to banish the thought.
It wouldn't go.
She wondered if Seifer was thinking the same thing. He
was scowling absently at the sunset, and occasionally
his right hand would come up to scratch his scar.
If you added it up, how many people had SeeD killed?
Was it more than the people below them? Less? Was that
better, or worse? How many people had the man sitting
behind her right now added to that total?
The metallic taste of the orange was bitter as blood.
Did it matter?
She asked the question anyway, realising that they'd both
been sitting in silence for some time. "How many people
did you kill?"
"Do lawyers count?"
"Yes. Accountants don't, however. Seriously."
He shrugged" Five. Six, if you count the asshole that
mugged me in Marduk." The smoke from his cigarette
drifted up between them like a wall. Quistis had a sudden
feeling that she was standing on the edge of a very high
precipice, but she asked the question anyway.
"Doesn't it bother you?"
Seifer shrugged again, obviously uncomfortable with the
direction her questioning was taking, They were huddled
together, watching the sparks from the burning pyre float
up into the air, and she could feel the muscles of his arm
move against her as he shifted. "Yeah. Sometimes. But
shit happens. How many people died because of you?"
"That's different. On a military operation, we go in, take
out the bad guys and make the world a better place. We
don't murder. ."
Quistis wished it was that straightforward.
SeeD was about the best mercenary company out there,
and each mission was rigorously checked before cadets
were dispatched. She wouldn't have stayed with Garden
if it had been anything else. But, sometimes…there had
been cases, though less than she could count with the fingers
of one full hand, where they'd been deceived. Innocent
people had died, or they'd had to sacrifice a few to save
many.
Quistis hoped that she was never in that kind of situation
and added "Mostly."
They both ducked as a huge insect bumbled in out of
the dark, heading for the bare lightbulb with a happy
suicidal drone.
"Is it? Sure, that's what you'd like to think. But, fuck it,
what you do right now isn't so much different from what
I was doing back then. I mean, you've got to piss people
off a lot for them to pay someone to take you out, and
you don't do that by being a fucking singing nun. People
I got, they just pissed off some rich guy. People you get,
they pissed off a whole country."
The comment stung her. " Since when did you grow a
conscience?"
"I'm not saying it's not the right thing to do.
"So what are you saying?" Seifer was arguing morals
against her and he wasn't wrong? History was being made.
Seifer shook his head, barely visible in the gathering dusk
except for the glowing ash that tipped his cigarette.
"Bullshit. Just forget it, right?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth.."
"I'm just saying you're not that much different from me.
Look, what do you think would have happened if I hadn't
been there? You were there in the square. How the hell can
you think that one of you wouldn't have gone with her. What
about Leonhart? What about that Galbadian cowboy? Zell,
he never had the brains of a canary. What about you?"
"Not voluntarily."
He laughed, a half bitter, half humorous sound. "You
wouldn't have had much choice. Believe me. "
"Let's talk about something else." Far below, some kids
were letting off fireworks, happily noisy. Quistis wiped
the glass clean with her shirt and poured herself some
more orange juice.
"Sure." Seifer hooked his legs back over the sill, crossed
the room and flipped the cooler open, a dark shadow in
a greying twilight room He waved a can at her. "Want another beer?"
"Not even tempted."
"Oh, I'm not bothered. More for me."
Someone had turned a radio on and music mingled with the
crackle of flames and conversation. The fire was beginning
to die down, but the party was still going strong.
Seifer coughed and kicked his empty beer can off the
roof, followed by the glowing cigarette butt. There
was an annoyed shout from below. "Want to go down
yet?"
"Not really. I think I see that religious nut handing out
leaflets." Quistis poked her head out over the veranda.
It was hard to see in the dusk, figures blending into black
leaping shadows against the flames, but there seemed to
be a vague Brownian motion around one particular silhouette.
"As long as it makes him happy. It's just so irrational."
"Don't tell me you've got religion.?"
"Doesn't make sense."
"Right. I never got those commandments bollocks. Isn't one
of them 'thou shalt not kill?'"
Quistis smiled, slightly. "I believe so."
Seifer gave her his familiar shit-eating grin "Not buying,
thanks."
They watched the glowing sparks of the fire go swirling past
the window. It was hot, even with the constant hum of the
now-working air conditioner. The little drifts of ash looked
like feathers.
Quistis reached out and caught one in her palm. It crumbled
to nothing as she closed her fist slightly to hold it, leaving
nothing but a dark smudge on her fair skin to show where
it had been.
References:
Wow. Lots of reviews. Thanks d00ds. My ego has been well
massaged. On a slightly less gloaty note; I'm now twenty two.
God, that's old.
I always assumed I'd grow out of fanstuff.
I haven't, obviously. This is slightly worrying.
The beach fight was loosely inspired by Crouching Tiger,
Hidden Dragon. Quistis is a lot like Jen, though of course
she has no comb. The quote about the things you need to
be a soldier is nicked from Terry Pratchett's Monstrous
Regiment, a brilliant satire on life, gender roles and what
it means to have people shooting at you for a living. The
Moomba Scouts are borrowed from Altol. I hope that's
okay, d00d.
Reviews:
Acacia3 (flattered!) Amber Tinted (guest appearances
are coming up.) breaker-one (the Princess Bride rocks!)
Auronzlah (glad you like it) Dalpal (as promised. Heh.
Just wait.) DBZ Fanfiction Queen (although neither of
them will admit it, the duel was of course a draw) Fantasy
Wolf (I got the bullet quote from somewhere else, but
I changed it round a bit. I can't remember where, and
this is what gets me into trouble) Ghost 140 (good luck
with your football.-but England won the rugby! Who
needs all that padding? Not us!) nynaeve77 (Neil Gaiman
is cool. Seifer's bookshelf closely reflects mine, though
I admit that I have a great loathing for Laurell K Hamilton.
I got the quote from a magazine review cause it made
me crack up) ManaAngel (I update fortnightly. And
my smut does not require eyeforks, I promise you.)
Mitsuki Hoshiko (what is that magazine? Seifer is
indeed a pervert. He's also a mass murderer, an
alcoholic and a terminal nicotine addict. What exactly
was your point?:D. Oh yeah, I got the Poe album for
my birthday. Tis good.) Quistis88 (I have no idea
about the html. This one is fine. I blame the demons
in my hard drive) seatbelts (hey d00ds.You crack me
up. What are you on and where can I get some?)
superviolinist (thanks:D I find that deeply ironic, but
more on that some other time.) and The Finely Tuned
Fiend (The humor's mature? Well, there's no breast jokes,
I think.Yet.)
kate
(link of the week is felaxx. com, my latest obsession.
Her webcomic Reman Mythology and its short sidestory
Exile From Kiirs are both really good. They have evil
munchkins and everything. Short people kick butt!)
