Chapter Seven: White Flag
The next night he's over and over and under,
And after he's finished she lies there and wonders.
Just why does she need him and why does she stay here,
And then in the darkness she'll quietly save you.
They're complicated people living complicated lives,
And he complicates their problems telling complicated lies.
He tells he he's sorry, she tells him it's over,
He tells her he's sorry, she says over and over,
You never really know when the white flag is flown.
No one, no one, no one won the war.
Barenaked Ladies: The Flag (edit)
The next few days passed slowly, the calm before the storm in more ways than one.
The weather had turned, misty grey gloom that sank down between the hills down
to the beach and stayed. It was good weather for staying inside, away from the fog
and the ceaselessly bitching tourists. Quistis would later write in her journal, under
June sixth to eleventh, inclusive, three words in careful curling blue ink. Nothing
Much Happened.
This was, of course, a lie.
They worked out together on the beach, and sometimes it led to sex and sometimes
it didn't. Mostly it did, because if you read the right psychology books (which
Quistis did) fighting is just really sex standing up. Or sex is just fighting lying down.
It all depends on the perspective.
Seifer taped a bin liner over the hole in the wall.
Quistis surreptitiously liberated soap, towels and a flannel from the hotel bedroom
and bought a fresh jar of coffee. She stopped reaching out for her clothes in the
morning and no longer jumped out of bed immediately or talked about going home.
It was on the morning of the eighth of June that the subject first came up.
They had both just returned from another early morning training session on the
beach, tracking sand up the stairs and into the floor. Quistis had a large bruise
on the back of her hand, and she inspected it with interest. She gingerly picked
a book from Seifer's fishbox shelves and leafed carefully through it, weighing the
crumpled paperback in her hand and testing for more serious damage beneath
her skin.
Her hand felt fine.
Seifer wandered over from the other side of the flat and placed a mug of coffee
on the table without a word. "Don't bother. It's crap."
Quistis took the drink and looked down at the book's cover. It seemed to be
a kind of historical novel. "What?"
"The book. The battle scenes are bullshit. I could have out-manoeuvred the
entire Galbadian Army on a pushbike."
"You're modest, too."
"Yeah. I'm guessing that's just a flaw in the writing, though." He gave an ill-
concealed wince. "Damn. You don't pull any punches, do you?"
Quistis allowed herself a smile. "Fair's fair." In love and war…
Seifer tipped back on the chair and gave her a long look. "You're improving,
to say you didn't swordfight before."
"I'm flattered." Quistis said sarcastically. She worked her foot along to the
bottom of Seifer's chair leg, intending to kick the chair out from under him.
The chair leg held. She nudged it harder.
Seifer swayed on the chair and moved his weight forwards with a thump that
set its two front legs down with a bang onto the carpet. The right one, at least,
would have landed on the carpet, if her toes hadn't been in the way.
"Seifer. My foot."
"Hey, I'm sorry." He gave her a look that meant he knew damn well what she'd
been trying to do. Their verbal sparring at least hadn't changed.
"Seifer Almasy, apologising?"
"Don't get used to it." He picked up their mugs and dumped them in the sink
to fester with all the other unwashed plates, Seifer's method of dishwashing
being to stockpile as many as possible, then blitz the lot. It was a strategy that
would have worked better if he'd had more crockery and less vermin.
Quistis rose from her chair "There's other things I could get used to."
"Such as?"
She shrugged, reluctant to say more.
Seifer needed no more encouragement. He kissed her into the wall, which
showered plaster. Quistis crooked an arm to place a hand behind her head
as a pillow, raised the other hand and traced her fingers along his jaw. The
position was uncomfortable, raising knots in the muscles of her neck and
shoulders. She shifted, crushed against Seifer and the wall. He didn't look
like he was going to be moving soon.
Unless she made him.
Quistis uncurled her hand from behind her head, placed it on Seifer's shoulder
to hold him still and went to work on his ear, nipping the lobe gently. Her
other hand moved down.
"Hey, don't……nnn no, don't stop.."
There was a small noise coming from the flat. Quistis opened her eyes.
"Seifer, we're …..uhhhh….being watched."
"If it's that old lady from down the hall, ignore her. It's nothing she hasn't
seen before."
"It's not human."
Seifer turned. Quistis, regretfully, replaced her arm round his waist.
A large cockroach was seated on the dining table, looking at them. The word
'large' didn't really do it justice. It was the size of a small cat.
"Just ignore it."
"This is normal?"
"Yeah…" He ran his hand down her back, fingers slipping under the waistband
of her pants. Quistis stifled a moan. The cockroach was looking at her in a
judgemental kind of way. She could see porn movies in its eyes.
She disentangled his hands with regret and spun round again. "For you, maybe.
Your mattress is on the World's Most Wanted list, never mind you."
Hey. Was. I was on the world's most wanted list, okay."
Seifer sighed. He took his hands out of her trousers with regret, walked the two
steps over to the tiny sink, pulled out a can of Raid Instant Death from under the
sink and sprayed it at the cockroach, which was walking slowly across the laminate
table. It reached the edge and kept on going down the leg, the ninety-degree
change in angle not appearing to worry it one bit.
"Maybe we should go back to my hotel sometime." Quistis took aim and hit the
cockroach with her shoe, hard. It kept on walking. "Are these normal cockroaches?
They're kind of big."
Seifer stamped on the roach a few more times, picked it up and threw it out the
window. "Course."
They watched it scuttle off down the street.
"I've seen Snow Lions smaller."
Seifer gave a defensive one-shoulder shrug. "It's not that bad…"
"So how could it be worse? They probably ate your socks. Laundry is not a crime,
Seifer." Not that I do any, ever. The perks of being a SeeD…
"So who the fuck am I kidding? I never said it wasn't a shithole." Seifer glanced round
the room as if he was expecting a revenge attack by legions of roaches. He stamped
on the floor a few times, experimentally, and looked mildly aggravated that none appeared.
There was a fading falsetto shriek from the next room. "I know what you're doing
in there! Keep the noise down or I'll get you evicted!"
Seifer rolled his eyes. "Bitch. Like to see her try."
"Come to mine." Quistis straightened her top, strategically.
"And get chucked out by that bitch of a manager? No thanks."
"I've got a double bed." She glanced over at the curtain that divided the tiny room
in half. "Scratch that. I actually have a bed."
"Okay." Seifer sprayed Raid over the skirting boards, table, chairs, carpet and
Quistis, who coughed.
In between choking, she spat out "That took a lot of persuasion."
"I'm poor, I'm not stupid. Besides, this flat smells like ass.
It has things growing on it."
Quistis watched him spray the carpet and shook her head. "That's practically
genocide."
"Been there, done that, can't remember most of it." Seifer shut up, coughing.
"Damn, this tin says 'Carcinogen' on it. That's not good."
Evacuation, it turned out, was their only option.
Three days later…..
Quistis was lounging in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for Seifer to drop by. They
had what Quistis had tentatively named 'Operation; Dinner Date.' It should have
been technically impossible to lounge in a room with nothing but metal framed
upright chairs for seating, but she managed it anyway, biting at her nails and
corkscrewing strands of hair round her fingers.
This was a first and Quistis was obscurely nervous. Making out in the privacy of
her room or Seifer's horrible flat was okay, a dinner together was, well, public.
People might notice.
Memo: Pick table near door. Abort at first signs of trouble. Synchronise watches.
Enjoy responsibly.
Her train of thought was broken by the hotel's maid cleaning round her feet.
She was about eighteen, fresh out of school for the holidays with dark spiky
hair and bottle-top green eyes that peered out over the top of thick round
Health Service glasses.
"Pardon?"
The maid manoeuvred the vacuum closer to Quistis's legs. She picked them
up automatically so the hose could trace under her feet, and placed them down again.
"I said, your cousin's been round a lot.
Ohhh, you have no idea…
You must be very close."
Quistis had long ago mastered the art of not telling the truth without actually lying.
"Yeah. We, uh, used to spend a lot of time together as kids."
"Are you up visiting him, then?" said the maid, brightly.
"Yes."
"Have you got any brothers or sisters?"
"No."
"That's a shame. I have three brothers. Four sisters. Their names are Katie and Jimmy
and Karen and.."
Quistis tuned out and noticed a book resting on the neighbouring seat. Its red cover
stood out sharply against the pale blue velour seat. She picked it up casually, feeling
vaguely grateful it wasn't any kind of historical novel. The spine read, in shiny block
letters: The Survival Guide to Dating.
The urge to read something, anything, was like a drug. Any more and she'd have to ask
Seifer if she could borrow some of his, no matter how badly told or pornographic the
storytelling.
She turned to the first subheading. How to Tell If Your Date Is A Chainsaw Murderer
How could you find out if your date was a murderer?
Well, you could ask him. In Quistis' albeit limited experience it probably wouldn't do
any good, but it'd make him feel guilty, one of many bargaining chips in the firefight
that was their relationship so far. Anyway……
Murderer yes. Chainsaw no. I don't think you meet many guys whose weapon
of choice is a medium-sized boarding school/military academy.
And even if you do, it's no good for close range.
The girl had finished hovering.
"He's kind of sexy."
"What?" Your brother? Are we still talking about family here? If she asks about
mine she'll be sadly disappointed…guess I can always make something up…..
"Your cousin. He's kind of sexy."
Quistis stamped down her initial reaction. Hands off! Mine! and converted it to a
sweet smile. "No good, I'm afraid. He, uh, bats for the other team. If you get what
I mean."
The maid pouted and returned to her cleaning. "Figures. I'll tell you a joke. How
come men are like toilets? They're either vacant, engaged, or full of shit. Or gay."
She sighed, the kind of angsty farewell-cruel-world sigh only an adolescent could
manage.
Quistis considered the joke and mentally slotted Seifer into the third category.
"So, are you seeing someone?
Déjà vu. Does everyone in this damn hotel have noting better to do than
question me about my love life? I'll have to get Seifer to drop more fag-ash
on the carpet. That should keep them busy.
The girl cocked her head in a way she probably thought was winsome but on her,
looked more like she'd just contracted a severe middle ear infection. "It's all right.
You can tell me. I know you are. My aunt" she jerked her head at the desk
"doesn't know."
Hyne, how the hell had this piece of fluff found out? She needed to radically
rethink their strategies, if it came to that.
"I know you are."
What would I do in a mission situation?
This girl is in possession of critical information that must not be divulged.
She must die.
Quistis sighed and rubbed her forehead. This isn't a mission. This is real life.
Dammit.
I miss Garden. Everyone's too scared to ask me about my private life, or
they know me well enough to figure I haven't got one.
She gave in. "Yeah. I'm seeing someone."
"What's he like?" The girl switched the vacuum off at the wall and began coiling
the cord, a process that looked horribly fiddly but not complicated enough to stop
her talking, unfortunately.
Quistis shrugged. "Blond. Look, haven't you got cleaning somewhere that needs
doing?"
"You're so pretty. I bet you have heaps of men."
Well, no, because being flash frozen, threatened with castration and watching
me shoot someone in the chest does tend to cool down lots of relationships….
She hedged. "Not really."
"I'm sure you're only being modest." The girl sighed. "I can't get any dates. Well,
you know, I can never get the guys I like to date me. Do you think I'm too freckly?
No really? Is it the freckles?"
Quistis swallowed. The girl talk was making her palms begin to sweat, give it another
two minutes and she'd be able to surf out of the lobby. " No."
It's the voice. You sound like a budgie on helium. And you talk too much. You
remind me of someone…..
"You're fine."
Is she trying to come onto me?
"I have to introduce you to a friend of mine."
"Really!" The girl brightened, face red from the effort of coiling the vacuum cleaner
cord. She hoisted the vacuum up and shut it away in a small cupboard by the
reception that Quistis hadn't previously noticed. "A guy friend?"
"No. Her name's Selphie. I think you'd get on with her just fine." And Irvine would
eat you for dinner…
The girl smiled, thinking it was a compliment. It was, in a backhanded way.
Quistis respected Selphie more than most people, even more than most SeeDs.
They were all killers, the orphanage kids.
Some of them just hid it better than others.
The girl gave Quistis another dazzling smile that swung round the lobby like a
searchlight. She straightened, rubbing her back. "Hello, cousin man. You're
visiting a lot all of a sudden."
Seifer?
He was half way across the floor of the lobby, dressed in his usual beat-up old jeans
and T shirt. Quistis mentally swore.
Getting soft. Too much sun, sea, sand and.. okay, not going there
Anyway, too much.
Seifer gave Quistis a worried glance that seemed to say does she know?
She sent him back one that said no, of course not.
The girl jumped into the silence like a lemming from a cliff. "We were just saying
that you two must be really close."
"Uh, yeah. You could say that." He reached the chairs, went to put an arm round
Quistis' waist, stopped himself visibly and jammed it in the pocket of his jeans instead.
Quistis was angry at herself for anticipating, and missing, his little gestures. She didn't
need to feel wanted.
Really.
She changed the subject. "Yeah, we were. Crazy kids. Yeah. Come on, cousin.
I need to get my coat. You want to come up?"
She mugged frantically at Seifer, her back to the girl.
"Uh, yeah. Bye."
Seifer waited till they were out of sight before asking "What the hell was that all about?"
Quistis swallowed.
"She was looking at me funny."
"She wouldn't leave me alone." Quistis said. With a certain amount of gleeful malice
she added "And along the way, I might have implied……"
"What?"
"That you were, uh, batting for the other team."
"Thanks. Why?" The sarcasm in Seifer's voice would have made less sensitive things
than Quistis curl up and die.
"It seemed like a good idea." She considered for a few moments and added "I had
to come up with something."
"I'd really love to sit here and listen to you dig your grave while you explain just how
hard you had to try to keep her from my damn sexy self, but we should be going."
He checked his watch.
"Seifer, I might be digging my grave, but at least I only have one. If you ever got a coffin,
it'd need a revolving lid."
"Bitchy." He made for the exit.
"Clothes."
"What clothes? I don't have any of mine here."
"You do. You left them here. Look, you're legit this time. You're just visiting to take me
out for dinner. Nothing with the fire escape and the latched door, okay? So you have
to look smart."
"I am."
"Nothing with holes in is presentable, okay?"
"You've seen my flat. I have two pairs of jeans. Three T shirts. A jacket. A pair of
boots. My Trabian kit got eaten or rotten or shot or hacked up by monsters."
"We have to go shopping." Quistis said reluctantly.
"No. Over my dead body." He thought a minute and added. "Unless you're paying."
"That can be arranged. The dead thing, not the money thing"
"Let's go. Repeat after me. 'My clothes are not that bad..."
Your clothes are horrible. Stop trying to mind whammy me. She plucked at the
sleeve of his T shirt. "It's grey."
"So?"
"It's supposed to be black." Hyne. I sound like Edea….
"It's fine. Grey is the new black. Anyway, it could be worse. It could have been
white."
"Black is the new black, Seifer."
"At least I'm wearing clothes. I could go nude"
Quistis thought about pointing out the embarrassment factor but seceded against it.
Seifer was fundamentally hard to embarrass. She settled for encouragement while
betting that he tended to do exactly the opposite of what she demanded and was
not disappointed.
Come to think of it, maybe she was.
She glanced at her watch. "We have to go. It's twenty one hundred hours, and the
mission commences at twenty one-ten. "
"Trepe, was that a joke?"
"Maybe."
"We've got time." He closed in "Repeat after me. 'We've got time.'"
She smiled and said "My watch must be fast."
Things had reached first base and were rounding to second when Quistis pulled
Seifer away and held him at arm's length. A key fell out of her pocket and landed
on the floor with a clunk. Seifer bent, behind her, and picked it up. Quistis, her mouth
working at the speed of a startled hare, made a mental note to get the key off Seifer later.
"And the effect of chiaroscuro on these paintings is most remarkable..why sorry, Mrs.
Noble. I had no idea you were there. Is that the time. We must hurry. Bye!" She dragged
Seifer down the stairs.
"Do you think she saw anything?"
"Hopefully not. Or I'll have to kill her."
They tramped through the doorway of the Summer Plaice at half past nine. Seifer had
ended up insisting on waiting until it was dark, and Quistis had agreed with no reluctance
at all, because having your date executed over the entrees did tend to spoil a meal.
Apart from the logo, an obnoxious green cartoon fish smiling in a way that suggested
serious prescription drugs, the restaurant was indistinguishable from the many others
that lined the waterfront in the nicer part of town. Awning at front, check. Mildly affluent
diners, check. Pot plants, check. Slight aroma of fish and inept teenage waiters glowering
at customers, check.
Quistis approached the nearest waiter, a blond and freckled youth with a permanent
expression of slight worry and unusually large shoes.
"A table for two please. At the back." She gestured to the rear of the café.
The waiter raised his eyebrows. "You want a table near the kitchen? No one
wants a table near the kitchen." His tone was damning.
Seifer shrugged. "We do." Quistis watched his eyes search out the exit doors; one
on the left, one behind the pot plant to the right, entry behind, bathrooms in front.
It made her feel almost normal, that there was one other
person in the world that
chose places to eat by number of doors. Almost.
The waiter tried again. "We have lots of empty tables."
That was an understatement. The tables near the restaurant's large café style
veranda emblazoned with the Summer Plaice logo were almost all full, but the
back was near-empty.
Quistis sighed. Does he think we're blind? "The kitchen, please."
The waiter led the way over to a table. "Right. That's kind of weird."
Seifer grinned. "She's a food fetishist."
"I am not." Quistis dug a boot into his shins. It didn't work.
"She's a secret food fetishist."
The waiter gave her a surprised and mildly amused glance, set a couple of menus
in front of them and left.
Quistis lowered her glasses and stared at Seifer. She didn't say anything. She didn't
have to.
"What? I can't say it's 'cause we might want to get out real fast. He'll think we're
trying to stand them up."
Quistis set her bag on the floor, leaning it up against her chair to be sure she could
get to it in an emergency. The canvas was scratchy and hot against her leg. It was
really hot, even for the coast, humid and warm as if a storm was rolling in. The whole
back of the room was like a sauna.
"Don't say you hadn't thought of it."
Seifer tried to look innocent and failed. "You're paying, remember."
"I know." Bless Squall's expense account. She hadn't told Seifer that she was living
off
a generous credit card 'vacation allowance' set by Squall. There was a rock
hard
certainty in her head about what would
happen if she told him. At the very best he'd
just ask her for money, at the worst……
She changed the subject quickly. "What drinks do they do?"
"Don't ask me." Seifer picked up the menu, read it, turned it around and read it
again. "Not on here."
"I thought you'd know."
"What? I'm an alcoholic, not a…. whatever…Person. Who eats for money."
"Gourmet? Critic?"
"I'm always critical."
She sighed. "I noticed."
"Yeah? The guy in the glass house called. Someone's chucking rocks and he
thinks it's you."
"Very funny." Quistis looked round the bar for some kind of menu. There didn't
appear to be anything, though there was a large chalkboard over the bar. With
nothing else to do, she started deciphering the florid writing.
"PanGalactic Gargle Blaster? Hamster Death Gulp Shockers? Slow Comfortable
Screw In The Park?"
Seifer grinned. "I'll have what you're having."
"These are drinks?" Quistis wiped her glasses.
"Cocktails. There's a difference."
"Such as?"
"Shite names. And they cost more."
A second waiter came to take their drinks. Seifer ordered a beer, Quistis a soda water.
She glanced around. "Nice restaurant."
And it was. The furniture was real wood and the wide patio doors opened to
spill tables out onto the seats. There was a vase in the middle of the table with
some kind of weird flower in it. The carpet was thick and the same colour of
the flowers and most importantly, Quistis hadn't stuck to it at all as she walked in.
Seifer shrugged. "It's okay." He looked over his shoulder, surreptitiously, and
crossed his long legs under the table. His ankle brushed Quistis' shoe and he
began to move his leg up with a slightly evil grin.
Quistis gave him a 'now is not the place' look, smiled to defuse the hint and
trapped his ankle between her foot and the leg of her chair. Her voice was casual.
"It's got to be better than most places you go to. It beats the cafeteria hands
down in décor. Let's hope the food's as good."
"Face it, you're getting Garden withdrawal. I bet you order hotdogs."
"I'd rather eat the chair."
"Never figured out why Dincht liked that shite so much. Maybe that was." he waved
one hand above his head randomly." Why the hair."
"Why the hair what?"
Seifer shrugged. "Just, you know, why the hair."
"You always picked on him." Quistis commented disapprovingly.
"Survival of the fittest. You could've used it as an offensive weapon."
"Says you. What's with the fringe?"
Seifer reached up to his hair. "Habit? Shit, I don't know. At least I don't
go round looking like a frigging Chocobo."
Quistis sighed and prepared to slip back into her old habit of defending other
people to Seifer. "It suits him."
"That's really worrying. Don't tell me you find it attractive."
"Don't tell me you're feeling insecure. Besides, he's shorter than me, for Hyne's sake."
"I don't do insecure."
"I noticed."
"Neither do you."
Quistis was obscurely flattered.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Everyone's insecure. Some just hide it better
than others."
"You were never insecure." Seifer leaned back in his chair and Quistis let his foot go.
He regarded her with half-closed eyes, his voice slightly teasing. "Not even when you
were a kid."
Quistis thought I wish, thankful her outer façade still worked. She shrugged, and changed
the subject, staring out of the door and noticing a familiar figure.
"That priest guy's giving out leaflets again."
"Does anyone read those things?"
"It must work. Otherwise he wouldn't do it."
"I'm about as likely to get converted by a bumper sticker than I am by that shit."
"Seifer, you're just not a religious person."
He smirked. "Nah."
"It must be nice to believe in something." Quistis said half-enviously.
Seifer narrowed his eyes and stared at the priest guy like a sniper. "Everyone believes
in something."
"What do you believe in?"
"Getting through the day. That life really is as shitty as you think it is most of the time."
"That's not very optimistic."
"Can you blame me?" He shrugged. "Yeah, you probably can. Anyway, you believe
in something."
Quistis looked nonplussed. This was going to be interesting. "What? Tell me. I'm
intrigued. And you're probably wrong."
"Garden."
"Garden's just a thing." Quistis knew that the comment felt wrong even as she said it.
"Like you think that." Seifer said sarcastically. He picked up one of the cutlery knives
and stared juggling it from hand to hand, without looking. "It's like you really believe
that what you do's right. That you're somehow making the world a better place just by
being part of it, even when you're teaching morons."
"Morons." Quistis watched the knife carefully.
"Yeah." He shrugged.
Quistis slid her hand over his, flicking the knife away. It spun across the table and
almost turned over the water glasses. She raised an eyebrow.
"You know I'm right." Seifer retrieved the knife almost sheepishly.
"Apart from when you're wrong." Quistis responded automatically. She still hadn't got
used to thinking as Seifer as an ally, let alone whatever….whatever he was now. How
had he got to know her so well?
Quistis had never thought of herself as easy to read. It was worrying to suddenly find
someone who you regarded as insensitive as the common house brick being, well, so
accurate.
Seifer gave her a careful look. "I wasn't criticising."
"Makes a change." Quistis muttered. "I wasn't worried."
"Suuure you weren't." Seifer's used his most sarcastic tone of voice. "You always get
this little sort of wrinkle between your eyes when you're worried about something.
It's kind of cute."
"If you use that word to describe me again, I will personally disembowel you with the
cutlery." Quistis hissed.
Seifer laughed. "Right."
"Seriously." She picked up her own knife and waved it in front of her, only half-joking.
Seifer gave the knife a doubtful glance. "Sure. Look, I'm sorry." He flicked the flower
out of the glass vase, tucked it behind her ear as Quistis made a half-hearted swipe
at his wrist with the butter knife, and then completely ruined both apology and gesture
by adding" You know I'm right."
Quistis retrieved the flower from behind her ear. It prickled. It was a weird kind of
purple colour, spiky and probably poisonous, if Seifer's luck was running in its usual
direction. She was saved from having to verbally flay him by the sudden arrival of a
different waiter with their drinks.
Seifer stood up, almost pushing his chair back into the waiter's legs, and disappeared into the direction of what Quistis thought was the bathroom. Tactical retreat.
She turned the flower round in her hands thoughtfully and glanced up at the waiter.
The second waiter was not the most prepossessing creature. He certainly didn't match
the restaurant décor, which was mainly purple. There had been a half-hearted attempt
at evening dress, but the general air was of an undertaker with a bat nailed to his neck.
"Drinks."
"Thanks." Quistis said automatically. The waiter looked surprised and grinned. He
placed her soda in front of her as if it was made of china and slopped Seifer's beer
onto the table. As it was in a bottle, it took some doing.
He left without setting a glass beside the bottle.
Quistis could have told the waiter that he was wasting his time if he thought it was
going to make any difference. Seifer wasn't a glass person. He wasn't a restaurant
person. He was barely a fork person, come to that.
Quistis wasn't a restaurant person, either, but she faked it better.
The waiter returned to flap halfheartedly at the beer with a cloth.
He bent over the table, trying to peer surreptitiously down the neck of Quistis' dress.
"Would you like anything?"
Quistis crossed her arms over her top angrily. He wouldn't dare come within half a
mile of her when she was in combat gear.
No, but I'm going to need another server when I nail you to the ceiling.
Her tone of voice could have frozen their drinks. "No."
The waiter tried to brush her arm with the cloth. She ignored it. His body language
was semaphoring Can I flirt with you? to anybody watching, but no one who mattered
was.
It may be difficult with Seifer's hands around your throat, but sure. In your
dreams.
Thankfully Seifer still wasn't back. It was quite expensive to get blood out of
carpets.
The waiter bowed extravagantly, eyes fixed on her breasts, and left.
Quistis muttered "Asshole" under her breath at his retreating back.
She combed the flower between her fingers and then, for no reason that she could
have given, stuck it back behind her ear again and sent a prayer up to Hyne for
another waiter just as Seifer returned. She didn't want to have to get medieval on a
civilian's ass in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It would be messy.
Seifer gave her a hard look as he sat down. "Something the matter?"
"No." Quistis combed her hair back.
He glanced at the flower and shrugged. "About Garden…."
"It's okay."
"Garden, or you?"
"Both." She deliberately interpreted his comment as a licence to talk about her work.
"Lots of missions. We're making money. Good money. We've got new recruits and
Galbadia are finally off our backs."
"What're they doing about the GFs?"
Quistis twisted her mouth wryly. "We're only supposed to use them in emergencies.
With the memory loss and all. They gave us diaries"
"Talk about shutting the stable door." Seifer gave her a contemptuous look. He'd never
had much time for GF's, Quistis knew.
"They say it'll come back." she said doubtfully.
"In the wars, they said we were going to win."
"We did."
"No, you did. We lost. "
"Thanks for that."
"Don't mention it."
Quistis decided to mention a thought that had been preying on her mind since that
first day on the docks. "Maybe you should go back."
Seifer didn't say anything. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and
stuck one in his mouth. She wasn't sure whether he hadn't heard, or whether he was
just ignoring her. Seifer had a cat's ability to mishear commands, especially ones
beginning with 'Don't.'
Quistis shifted in her seat with a sigh, placed a manicured hand on his arm and loudly
repeated her comment.
Seifer glanced at her, irritably, and then his gaze slid off her and back to the sea.
"Maybe."
The unlit cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down with his words.
Quistis tried again. "At least you wouldn't have to watch your back all the time."
Seifer shrugged. "I'm thinking about it. Just don't expect me to talk about it yet."
Quistis recognised the tone and added a mental 'and not until Hell freezes over' to
his sentence. She sighed and sipped her drink with studied elegance.
The waiter chose that moment to drift over to their table, perhaps sensing the tension.
"Is everything all right?"
They both spoke shortly and in unison.
"Yes."
The waiter started to turn away and then stopped, turning back round. "Sir?"
His speech was addressed to Seifer but his eyes were fixed like limpets on Quistis'
breasts. They flicked up to her eyes and then down again. Quistis crossed her arms
pointedly and then began to tap her fingernails on the plastic table in a manner that
suggested imminent disembowelment.
"Get lost." Seifer snarled.
Quistis internally groaned. Without even looking at him, she could tell that his body
language had gone from semi-relaxed to angry.
She glanced up.
Dead right.
If Seifer really had been a dog, his fangs would be showing and his hackles up. He
crossed his arms on the table and gave the waiter a flat level stare.
The waiter swallowed.
"Uh, sir, this is a non-smoking restaurant. " He made the mistake of smirking down at
Seifer, and placing a hand on Quistis' chair.
Quistis casually raised her hand to the seat back and dug her nails in, without looking.
Her manner radiated Did I accidentally gore you? Oh, sorry.
The waiter let go with a muttered curse, red half-moon marks oozing from his palm.
Seifer grinned.
"Please stop smoking, sir." The last word was hissed with extreme reluctance.
"I'm. Not. Smoking."
"You have a cigarette."
"It's not lit." Seifer lowered his hand, which had just been in the process of raising a lighter
to the unlit fag-end.
Quistis groaned. Asking nicely, she knew from experience, was just never going to work.
Stuff the carrot, sometimes you just needed a really big stick.
"With respect, Sir, this is a non smoking restaurant and if you persist we will have to respectfully
ask you to take your business somewhere else."
"I'm not."
The waiter pointed at the cigarette. Seifer gave him the finger.
"Please…" The word was hissed with extreme reluctance.
"Bite me"
"I'd rather not…."
"You'd probably get diseases" Quistis muttered. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the
table again, but both the men were too busy glaring at each other to notice.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."
"You should be."
"What?"
"Afraid."
Quistis sighed, harder. The waiter gave Seifer a nervous look. Seifer glared back at him.
Why was she really bothering?
And that of course, was a stupid question. There were a few reasons why she should and
probably just as many why she shouldn't and right now, watching Seifer snarl at the waiter,
Quistis could think of more of the latter. She glanced round the restaurant, thanking Hyne
that they'd chosen a quiet, inconspicuous table near the back. Even so, people were watching.
In Quistis's mind, the equation 'People Watching plus Seifer' equalled Bad, shading to
Very Bad on occasion.
She scanned the faces. There was a young family in the corner trying very hard not to notice,
doing all they could to stop the kids' faces turning round to stare as if pulled by strings. An
older couple sat at the next table along. The man had a very upright bearing, probably some
kind of military officer or off-duty policeman. He sat next to a comfortable woman with dark
brown hair and the body of a cottage loaf.
The volume beside her increased.
The military man got up, dabbed his mouth neatly with a napkin (fabric, Quistis noted abstractly,
not a serviette, which was by definition paper) and pushed his chair in. His partner tugged at
his sleeve and then let him go with a frown, her mouth working furiously, though Quistis couldn't
hear a word over the argument starting to gather speed beside her.
Near the front of the restaurant, heads were starting to turn. A man in a white jacket she
assumed was the manager, or at least the boss, was glancing over with an irritated scowl,
obviously none too pleased with any of them.
The military man halted next to the waiter. Seifer's gaze immediately turned to him. It took a
couple more seconds for his attention shift to register with the waiter, who swung round.
Quistis knew by experience that it was very hard to have an argument when the other party
was facing the other way.
"Can I be of service?"
"Huh?"
"Allow me to introduce myself. Callahan. D Callahan, of the military police.." His voice was
quiet but clear with a classical Forces accent more used to shouting orders than whispering
across a room
Quistis noticed that he didn't say which military.
Interesting.
Worrying.
"Can I be of service?"
Seifer didn't say anything. He watched the man carefully, probably checking for hidden weapons.
The waiter, in contrast, puffed up like a courting pigeon.
"This man…."
"Was just leaving." Quistis broke in. Seifer glared at her. She mouthed.'police'.
The glare did not change.
She sighed.
The policeman gave them all a quizzical glare and said, shortly, "You were disturbing our meal."
The waiter glanced over at the manager's desk, looking slightly worried. Quistis sighed, harder.
Not many people think they're being an idiot at the same time as they're doing it, simply
because they're too busy being an idiot to notice how much of an idiot they are, in fact, being.
Very deep.
Quistis felt in her purse, crumpled out a couple of five gil notes and dumped them on the table.
Even in the most expensive restaurant, that should be enough for two drinks. She hooked her
bag out from behind the chair.
"We're leaving."
"We're not."
"We are."
Quistis grabbed Seifer by the arm, dragged him out of the restaurant and down the steps, onto
the boardwalk and safely along the seafront. He went, reluctantly. Quistis knew enough to
realise that if he'd been really adamant about staying, she wouldn't have budged him.
She hissed at him "Don't you know better than to draw attention to yourself in public?"
"And having an argument's out here's better?" Seifer spoke quietly, but the anger in his voice
hadn't changed.
"This isn't an argument. " Quistis folded her arms and leaned out over the sea wall. The rain
whipped at her face, warm and not unpleasant.
"Yet. I haven't had time to say anything."
Quistis half-turned to stare Seifer in the face. He raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Alright, I'll, tell you what would have happened."
Seifer shrugged. He reached for his cigarettes again and tried to strike his lighter in the
drizzle without success. "He was an asshole. Admit it…"
"Do you have NO survival instincts at all? I can take care of myself!" Quistis bristled.
"So can I."
"You've done such a great job. I can really tell." Sarcasm laced her words like acid.
"It's not like you were complaining or anything. Shit.."
Quistis broke in. "Is there anyone who doesn't want you dead?"
"Why do I get the feeling the number's just increased by one?"
More like two.. Quistis thought. Her, and the waiter, oh yes, probably the manager
and the policeman, too. Not bad, for all of ten minutes. "No idea. You would have
got into a fight. You might have been arrested. The ending the world thing might be
finished, but there's still the first-degree murders."
"So?"
"Don't you think maybe that's enough? Hello?" She smacked Seifer on top of the head,
not hard, and whipped her arms away as he tried to grab her wrist." The rumours
of your death have been greatly exaggerated? Plus I'll bet a thousand gil you've got
concealed weapons."
"Don't DO that." A repeat shrug. "So have you. "
"I'm allowed."
Quistis had a hard time thinking of her whip as a concealed weapon. It fit neatly into
the small rucksack on her back and it really wasn't all that concealed, not if you looked.
No one did. She'd almost got used to it.
Seifer gave himself a critical glance. "You can't see them. "
"Yes, that IS the point of concealed weapons." She threw up her hands. "You are.
So. Unbelievably. Dumb."
"So? You're screwing someone who's really dumb, what does that make you?"
"We are not lovers." Denial, Quistis thought. It was like the stages of terminally ill
patients, though at this rate it was going to be a minor miracle if she ever made it to Acceptance.
"Casual sex partners?" Seifer gave up trying to light his cigarette and threw the lighter
overarm out into the sea. The light shone on its plastic case for a second before it cleaved
the dark water with barely a splash and disappeared.
Quistis said indignantly "If you thought that was all it was."
"Do you want it to be?" Seifer scowled, He had an 'I can't-win expression plastered all over his face.
"Right now? Maybe. "
"Fuck you."
"I did. It was a mistake."
That was the point, they both realised, later, separately, where the conversation passed the
point of no return. The point at which the coming fight could have been defused by one
or the other saying. ' I didn't mean it'. Even 'I'm sorry.' Though it would have been a
long shot.
No one said anything.
There was only one way for the conversation to go after that, and that was down.
Seifer narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake." He turned his back
on Quistis and took a step down the street, away from her.
"Running away again?" she commented nastily.
Seifer swung back. "I Don't. Run Away."
Quistis smiled, slowly, pulling off her verbal gloves. "You could have fooled me."
"It wouldn't be hard."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Quistis felt anger rise in her. No one insulted her intelligence.
She slammed both hands down flat on the harbour wall and turned to face him, saw the
little flare of satisfaction in his eyes that he'd got a rise out of her before he hit back.
"You think you're such a great instructor. You can't even train your hair to behave."
She raised one hand to her head, realised what she was doing and dropped her hands to
her sides. One moved automatically to her rucksack and she stopped herself with a visible
effort. The fog was making her hair curl, no doubt. Damn the humid climate, damn the
waiter, damn him.
She snapped back "At least I face up to what I've done."
"At least I'm not a mercenary whore."
I can't believe he just said that.
Scratch that, I can believe he said it, I just can't believe he said it to me.
"Say that again." Quistis' voice was low and angry even to herself.
"You heard." He gave a slight smirk.
"At least I have a life. You're such an emotional fuckup I'm surprised you get up in the
morning."
Seifer scowled. He leant back along the sea wall in a deceptively relaxed posture that
belied his suddenly wary expression. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't know what the hell's going on inside your head half the time. And even
without all that shit you're an arrogant jerk who doesn't know when he's got it good.
You did all that stuff and now you're just sitting here in the sun. Do you have any idea of
how much damage you caused?"
She could almost see the walls slam up in Seifer's eyes.
"Trepe, you're like a fucking stuck record. Do you have any idea of how little I care?"
His voice was angry but not in the least bit penitent. It infuriated Quistis. "Bastard. We
had to sort out your mess."
"Don't confuse me with someone who gives a shit." Seifer shrugged.
"You disgust me."
"Fine. Go back to Garden. Go back to bloody Leonhart and tell him what a screwup
I am. I'm sure he'll think it's funny when they crucify me."
The idea lodged for maybe one second in Quistis' mind. She took a moment to
admire it before she blew it out of the
water. "I'll do it myself."
"You weren't saying that this morning." He flicked his cigarettes out of a pocket,
twisted them round, swore and put them away again, a sign that the argument was
making him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Seifer often smoked in
times of stress, but then he also smoked for relaxation as well. About the only time
she hadn't seen him lighting up was when they duelled.
"Maybe that was before I remembered just how much of a jerk you are."
You're just got your knickers in a twist' cause you're afraid everyone else'll
work out you're not quite the frigid ice bitch everyone says you are. Shit, you
let your walls down, Trepe. Where's your damn mask now? What are you
going to do?"
The look on Quistis' face changed from Expression No. Four (Slight Anger,
manifested only in the slight set of her jaw and steely unblinking stare) to
Expression No. Twelve (Acute Murderous Rage, characterised by a glare
that would have done any cobra proud and a slight clenching of the fists.).
Any normal person would have been several blocks away by now and accelerating.
Seifer didn't move.
Quistis fought down her natural urge to disembowel him and searched her mental
records for the topics that were virtually guaranteed to piss Seifer off the most.
Target: Almasy, Seifer.
Distance: One metre, closing.
Distinguishing features: Confidence. Fix target, aim, fire.
She arranged her features into a sweet smile and adjusted her glasses to peer over
their wire frames. "What makes you think you're so important to me anyway?
Maybe you're just a summer thing, so I didn't get bored."
Seifer scowled. "Come on. Like I'm going to believe that." But there was just that
sweet edge of uncertainty in his voice, just for a fleeting second.
Quistis latched on. "Like you said, it doesn't have to mean anything. You're not the
big shot you always thought you were. You're just a screwup, plain and simple.
What does it feel like, being a loser?"
"Fine. Fuck you. I thought you were just sleeping with me to get me back to
Garden, anyway."
"What?" Quistis was shocked. Shocked that she'd thought they'd want him, still,
shocked that he still didn't trust her that much, shocked that he thought she'd do
something like that. She wasn't Irvine.
"They say mercenaries do it for money."
"Where'd you get that idea from? Past experience? I am not sleeping with you to
get you back to Garden. They don't want you. I don't want you. No one wants you."
" I can't believe I bothered saving your life." Seifer shot a look at Quistis' head.
She lifted one hand to her hair, feeling the faint ridge of a scar bisecting the back
of her skull beneath the flyaway strands, damp with mist.
"I can't believe I bothered saving yours. It's not like you've done anything with it."
"I almost won."
Quistis' anger became incandescent. Not a good topic to choose, seeing as 'winning'
could reasonably have been defined as 'killing you and all your friends'. She hit back.
"That means you lost."
Her shot slid off Seifer's emotional armour. "Tell me something I don't know."
"I will. Okay, you can spend your whole life in prison and you STILL won't have
done half the time that any justice system in the world is going to land you with.
Even execution's too easy. Televised, painful execution."
"So you're not exactly a member of my fan club? Join the rest of the world."
"Televised, painful, SLOW execution."
"Afraid some of the blood on my hands is going to rub off on you, Trepe?
You're not so squeaky clean."
"I'm leaving, Almasy. I don't have to listen to this bullshit."
"Fine, Go back and bloody worship Squall. You always did like brunettes."
"I don't…" That hurt.
I didn't think anyone knew.
Must have slipped on the whole ice-queen thing there. Did they all laugh
at me behind my back? Did he?
"Come on. Half the Garden knew. You were all over him."
"You're just jealous."
"I wouldn't be jealous of that asshole if you paid me."
"Yeah. How could I have been so stupid? I don't see what you're jealous of,
after all. After all, Squall got the money and the job and the girl, oh yes, and
the family, didn't you know?"
She knew it was low.
She didn't care.
From the look on Seifer's face, he hadn't known.
"The president of Esthar is his dad. I don't see why you'd be jealous. He's rich,
handsome, talented, pretty much the youngest success story the Garden's ever
had, Rinoa and him are madly in love, he's found his long-lost family….I can't
see anything for you to be jealous of. What's your family like, Seifer?"
"Fuck you." He looked at her as though he'd never seen her before and never
wanted to again, swung round and started down the street, muttering something
she couldn't hear and was glad she hadn't.
"Running away?"
"Yeah, I'm going to go home and hug a six-pack. And, you know what? It'd be
warmer."
Quistis didn't have the energy to follow him, or even to throw a parting comment.
It was Seifer who left, as usual.
I hope you get run over by a bus full of little old ladies, Seifer Almasy.
Jerk Fuckwit. Arrogant selfserving amoral bastard.
Quistis stayed where she was for a while, radiating anger like the misty fog gathering
over the water. Eventually she walked back to her hotel room along the seafront,
wondering where to go. There really wasn't any point in returning to Seifer's as she
doubted he'd be there. Her hotel room was almost as featureless as her SeeD room,
but there wasn't even any work to do. She could go out, but then she didn't really
know where to go. So she hesitated half way along the boardwalk, her boots scuffing
to a stop on the flags.
There were a few other people around, mostly tourists hurrying to get home, loudly
indignant that the clouds had dared to rain on their parade.
She leant on the stormwall and stared out over the rainy, grey sea. It reminded her of
something and she realised it was the morning she'd first met Seifer. He seemed
to like looking out over the sea, although staring into the fog Quistis couldn't for the
life of her think why. It was featureless, grey, and boring.
She crossed her legs, ignoring the rain, and rested her elbows on the gritty wall.
She'd never been one for swimming when she was little, and had painstakingly traced
her fear back to some old movie they'd watched as kids. Edea had hurriedly switched
it off, but not before the opening credits rolled, by which time one unfortunate swimmer
had already been chomped in half.
Quistis had never been one for backing out, either. Being brave, in her black-and-white
childish world, meant that you did things you were scared of.
That summer, she swam every day. By the autumn she'd also realised that you didn't get
eaten or mysteriously disappeared if you went over your knees in the sea, even at night.
There was never any excuse for being scared.
In her memories the sea was never grey and misty, a prop in a bad horror film, but sparkling
and blue, warm as flat champagne, though logic told Quistis that it must have been winter at some point.
Memories.
Her memories.
It was like poking a sea anemone with a stick. One minute, she was happily remembering
without making the connection, and the next it was as if her brain had closed up shut.
Quistis shoved her hands up into her hair and swore internally, grasping at the cobweb-
thin strands of thought as they threatened to disappear.
Some film, some old film in bad technicolour. The water had been black like liquid oil.
Dammit.
I slept with him……and I enjoyed it….
Over the ocean, the mist was closing in, thick as the fog that obscured her thoughts.
Quistis irritably took her glasses off, polished them on her damp shirt and replaced
them on her nose. The tourists had fled, leaving her alone on the greying misty street.
The rain wasn't unpleasant on her skin, the kind of rain that crept up on you slowly,
waiting till you'd been out a good ten minutes to reveal that, yup, you really were
soaking wet. Real stalker rain. It was fairly pissing down.
Quistis looked around and a scent caught her nose. It was sharp, cutting through the
rain smell like a knife through melted butter. It smelt like the air freshener in her hotel
bathroom.
She squinted in the mist. It was damp enough that little halos of light were coalescing
around the neon sodium streetlights. Lights in the houses edging the thin concrete path
of the boardwalk strung traces into rows of fairy lights, welcoming and comforting.
There was one site, however, where the general air of sparkling well-ain't-I-cute
kitsch refused to shine. Like a broken tooth in a mouth full of pearly whites, a dark
shaggy square of pine trees bordered the houses a block ahead. In front of it a pale rectangle
of sign studded the pavement.
It suited her mood. Right now, Quistis needed some alone time.
Quistis walked over to the wood.
The sign, on closer inspection, revealed the trees to be the Spider Jerusalem Memorial
Copse, designed and planted by local eighth graders. A path led through the trees like a
drunken tequila worm, paved by used syringes and final demands.
She walked into the pines.
Inside the smell of cheap air-freshener scent was stronger, clearing out Quistis' sinuses
like a brick to the forebrain. Trailing branches brushed her arms, beading them with
drops that trickled down to her wrists and ran between her fingers like blood. The copse
was tiny. Four paths led to a rough square in the centre with a bench bordering each side
and a single street light in the centre. All of the benches were empty, and from the
square, looking round, Quistis could see street lights glittering through the thin wall of
trees like cheap Christmas decorations.
She found a seat and sat, crossing her legs out in front of her and listening to the creak
and sway of the trees. It didn't even occur to her to be scared. Quistis didn't particularly
like hurting people, but like everything else she tried, she was effortlessly good at it.
No one was coming to interrupt.
She didn't really want anyone to. Beg, yes. Interrupt, no.
She replayed snatches of their conversations in her head
He said……
..and then I said…….
……and then he said…..
and WHY DIDN'T I SAY THAT, dammit?
and WHY THE HELL DID I SAY THAT?
Spirit d'escalier was a wonderful thing, though Seifer would probably drink it. She'd
first heard the phrase on a foreign posting, Dollet, maybe. Briefly translated, it meant
'things you think about when you walk down a staircase that you should have been
thinking about on the way up.' It fitted this particular moment very well.
A fine mist drizzled on Quistis' skin.
At the front of her mind was the thought I should have known something like this
was going to happen
Behind that was her inner critic, screaming silently Why were you so stupid?
And behind that, slinking in the darkness of her head like a prizewinning ninja was
the vague thought It was good.
So much for wondering how the hell to explain away her boyfriend to anyone who cared.
So much for thinking maybe a future might happen, somehow, how she didn't' know.
So much
Too much.
Too much stuff. It was clearly never going to work. They had nothing in common
except for a fairly weird childhood.
CAN, OPEN. WORMS, EVERYWHERE, as Fuujin would have said. If Fujin had
anything resembling a sense of humour, or indeed any other personality traits apart
from single word sentences and very nearly unwavering loyalty, anyway…
She sighed and unfolded the paper from her bag, flicked through it. Newsprint crumpled
and smudged in the dusk, leaving long streaks on Quistis' pale hands and pissing her
off a treat.
After page upon grey page of headlines like she was ready to give up, flicking one last
casual glance over the letters page when a word jumped up and bit her with all the
force of a runaway piranha.
GARDEN..
"A large demonstration outside the gates of Balamb Garden today was terminated
when the academy prepared for takeoff.
A spokeswoman for the crowd, Renee Porelli (34) speaking for the so-called
'Children's Liberation Front.' declared 'Their training policies are totally unacceptable.
Gardens pretend to offer safety to orphans but they're nothing more then cheap
cannon fodder.' Examples cited included several training accidents involving field trips
and large animals in which young recruits have been killed or badly injured.
Commander Leonhart (20) was unavailable for comment, though an official
statement released later today denied all charges. Similar demonstrations have
been occurring in Trabia and Galbadia. Inside sources state that the organisation
has dispatched threatening letters and crank calls, tied up all the telephone lines
and ordered three thousand pizzas to Balamb headquarters
as a part of their protest against child indoctrination by the Gardens. The
investigation continues.'
There was a small, blurred photo next to it of Balamb's familiar Art Nouveau Frisbee
outline. The colours ran as she looked at it.
Children's Liberation Front? Please.
It was time to get back. She was going to have to phone, in the morning, find out
exactly what was going on.
It was all right if it was an emergency, wasn't it?
She stifled her inner snark, which was muttering that three thousand pizzas
wasn't really an emergency. Garden was probably grateful for the extra food.
It made a change from hotdogs, that was for sure. Unless they were poison
pizzas. Exploding pizzas. Ninja pizzas.
Quistis told her inner self to shut up, and not just because the thought of a ninja
pizza infiltrating Garden was making her forget who to be angry with, and why.
The streets were quiet and wet and empty. Quistis stalked along the tarmac like
a tiger through a kindergarten. If muggers had been around, they would have
quietly faded into the background, searching for easier prey.
They weren't - a blessing in disguise, at least for the muggers. She reached the
ornate, faux-eighteenth century façade of the hotel and searched in her bag for the
doorkey. The building's lights were off, the door securely locked.
Quistis unzipped her bag and searched for the hotel key. The ornately painted
and carved hotel sign creaked over her head. In the light of day it showed a
man with a handkerchief on a stick and an expression of acute constipation.
She couldn't feel the key anywhere.
This was a surprise. The hotel's keys were two pound lumps of heavy ornate
cast iron that could probably have been used as quite serviceable weapons. At
last she yielded to internal pressure, tipped her bag out on the pavement and sifted
through it with an expression of growing annoyance.
It wasn't there.
She was surprised to feel that she wasn't surprised at all. Part of her had expected
this. Why?
She groped for a recollection. The key had fallen out of her bag. Someone had
picked it up, but it wasn't her. She could feel the key slip through her fingers,
landing with a clunk on the floor, remembered seeing a familiar hand, larger than
hers and with a single pale scar bisecting the skin from knuckle to wrist, scoop
it up and place it in an equally large and unkempt trouser pocket.
Seifer.
This night just keeps on getting better and better.
Where was he? Maybe in some bar, getting dead drunk. Quistis didn't care if a
significant comma was inserted between the words.
No way was she returning to Seifer's not tonight. She'd rather sleep on the streets,
rather walk all night; at least when he came crawling back in the morning, she'd be
comfortably, safety asleep.
And from what she knew about Seifer, and the direction he'd been heading when
she'd last seen him, he probably wasn't at home at all. He'd probably gone straight
to the nearest bar, and if she'd decided not to go back to his flat, then trawling the
bars was a definite no-no.
She didn't have a cat in hell's chance of finding him then.
So, return to the stinky flat of Doom and wait it out, go bar-hopping, or sleep out.
There was a small stainless steel grille set into the wall close to the door, with a
red button. Quistis pressed it, hoping that it was a fourth way. She was tired, and
she wanted bed.
The voice that came from the loudspeaker might have been human "We are CLOSED.
Good night." The speaker slammed off with an emphatic I-really-can't-be-bothered
-and-damn-you-for-ever-waking-me-up click.
Quistis pressed it again, and when there was no answer, leaned on the buzzer.
This time when the mike switched on, she spoke into the grille just as loud as she could.
"Hello? It's Miss Smith. I've, uh, missed the curfew. And lost my key."
The voice, behind the static, was acid and sharp as a knife. "You are going to wake
up the other guests."
"I AM a guest!"
"If you were a guest, you'd have a key. If you do not have a key, you are not a guest."
Quistus sighed again. The logic of the insane, or the insomniac. Clearly if she was a
proper guest she'd have a way to get in, and if she couldn't get in then she wasn't
supposed to so she obviously couldn't be a guest. Q.E.D
She decided to use small words. "I had one. I lost it"
"Key, please."
"Okay, I didn't lose it. I still know exactly where it is."
The silence was accusing. Quistis tugged at the handle, but the door didn't open.
She added, conciliatorily. "I'll go and get it tomorrow."
Briefly, she considered launching a one-woman frontal assault on the hotel for a room
and then decided against it. She didn't have even a single rocket launcher, for starters.
"We have only one spare key. I can't let you have it in case of an emergency. It says
in the small print…"
"Please." One of the attributes of a great negotiator, Quistis knew, was knowing
when to beg.
"Did you know the rules of this hotel permit only one occupant per paid room?
This is a respectable establisment."
"I know." Save the lecture. And anyway, it won't be happening again.
"We expect you to keep to that rule."
Quistis felt that this was unfair. Okay, rules were rules, but it was eleven at night,
and she was a captive audience. "Look, if this is about me and…"
"I don't appreciate being taken for a fool, Miss Smith." Icicles hung from the syllables.
"I see your point. I've had a bad night."
"I can hear.." This time the tone of voice suggested all kinds of reasons for Quistis
having a bad night. She could almost feel her cheeks go red.
"Please. I'll have it back tomorrow."
Silence.
"Look, he's not my cousin, if it makes it any better?"
"You'll have it back first thing tomorrow. At nine. AM."
Quistis sighed. "Yes. I promise. I'm tired."
Seifer wasn't going to like this at all.
Good.
In response to html crits and suggestions, if anybody out there was the l33t skillz
to html format my docs for me, you're welcome to work your magic in return for
advance previews of SDTC and virtual cookies. In my defence, everything looks
okay in Word, and now I'm just going to shut up as you've all heard enough bitching
about my computer to last you several years. Anyway, this chapter was a bitch to write.
I finished it a day ago and I'm still not very happy with it. The next one is good, though,
and so's the two after that, which I've partly written. I just like the fun bits.
References: The Spider Jerusalem Memorial Park is in homage to the comic
Transmetropolitan by Warren Ellis and Darick Robertson which has now finished.
Spider's very like my Seifer, only with even more anger issues and considerably more
skill in words' the only man who could ever wake up from a hangover having had all
his tattoos removed' RIP. Spirit d' Escalier is a real French phrase, and means pretty
much what I said it does.
Reviews: Altol (WOW! You still go down in my book as the only fanfic writer I've
read who's had the guts to write a scene where the main character can't get it up, though
Kudos. I salute you. Does that mean that you're planning F&I smut then?) Amber Tinted
( thanks. You can tell it's not a porn movie as they're not wearing fake moustaches.),
Ghost140(They slept together. I never said ANYTHING about love…), Kit Spooner
( thanks a lot. See above, if you're offering. I know that there's problems, but I really
don't know how to fix them. I have enough problems with the writing.) Mana Angel
(Thanks for a really thoughful review. Sleeping with the enemy..sex IS only the beginning.),
nynaeve88 (Oh, God.That kind of stuff makes me cringe.I'm certainly not writing it.
Also my sis is my beta and I don't want to make her vomit on my keyboard.) Rast
(I'm impressed*sends caffeine pills* Fanfiction is my drug of choice, am currently
obsessionally reading The Sith Academy's Star Wars stuff. (siubhan.com) It's addictive,
I tell you. I'd give you a list of all the webcomics/sites/ff authors that I love, but it would
take too long) seatbelts ( Thanks for the holiday wishes, d00d. I don't have any strong
beliefs, though I'm kind of a lapsed Methodist who goes to church for the carols. Or
rather, I believe in lots of things, many of them impossible), sulou (Come on board.
Have a cookie.:D ) superviolinist (Heh.Ta. The 'Sex! Sex! Before she changes her
mind!' bit is actually my sister's from her beta/crit/MST of SDTC before I post. I
love my sister very much, and it made me laugh) and Technoelfie (thanks a lot.
Happy New Year to you all.
This chapter was brought to you by the Freud-tastic film Peter Pan and The Spider
Jerusalem Trouser Conversation.
kate ( there's no foot in this sock but there's candy, and sometimes it's filled with small toys(small toys!)