Fall

"Eww, you're gross!" Rinoa stuck out her tongue like a five year-old and went back to her drink, "Ohh, eeewww …"

Ellone smirked, "Suffer in silence."

Irvine found them bickering this way as he strode into Pete's with a worried pace, "God, what're you two doing here?" He demanded as he reached the two stools occupied by the ladies he was looking for.

Rinoa turned her back to him still muttering, "Ugh … ew, you disgust me."

Ellone, however, gave him a completely different reception, "Irvy! What's up? Want to join us? Come on, ya know ya wanna … two is a couple, three is a party!" She grasped his wrist and tugged on his arm to beckon him over to a stool.

Rinoa was still mumbling contemptuously, "Sick and twisted dickheads."

Irvine stood his ground against the invitations, "Ellone, I think you've drank enough to knock out a boxer, and I'm not talking about the lightweights. I should drive you both home … God, what were you thinking? Why is my sister here? Why … what could have possibly possessed you to think it would be a good idea to get her drunk?"

"Rinoa is a big girl, Irvine … she came here out of her own will and she sat down on this stool next to me willingly. She also ordered her first drink all on her own." Ellone scoffed at the obviously over-protective brother. He gave her a glare, not buying any of her stories.

"Yeah, Irvy, I'm a perfectly capable human … I can take care of myself, thank you very much." Rinoa wheeled around awkwardly on her barstool, "I'm a responsible adult."

"Yes, very responsible!" He snapped viciously at his sister, "I can tell by the flush in your cheeks and your obvious lack of dexterity skills." He wiped his face with his hands in a sign of absolute exasperation, "Love of God, sweet Mary and Joseph. Ok, party's over, off the stools, outside. Now."

He motioned the bartender over and asked, "How much is their bill?"

"Pff, stopped couting. Something like a hundred bucks." This was obviously Pete himself. A big, burly man balding and sporting a gray goatee. "Give me a hundred and ten and we'll call it square."

Irvine groaned and looked at his sister, "We don't have a hundred dollars! Do you remember how come we don't have that money? Do you, sweetie, do you?"

Rinoa shook her head and shrugged. Ellone threw her purse at Irvine. At least, she was aiming at Irvine, it wounded up two feet to his left. He picked up her handbag and groped around for her wallet, which he found, opened and took out six twenties. He put the empty wallet back and gave Pete the money, "Keep the change, they probably drank more than you think they did."

"Hey, that's my money … you skank." Ellone muttered irritably, loud enough for Irvine to hear and ignore.

"Ok, now out!" The cowboy hissed at both women. They solemnly rose and stumbled their way out of the bar, clinging onto each other's arms for support. When they got out into the bright afternoon, they blinked back painfully the sunrays that were suddenly infiltrating their eyes, their pupils pulsating back and forth from big to small.

"Lordy!" Rinoa exclaimed hysterically, shielding her eyes from the searing light.

"Yeah, I know …" Irvine retorted sarcastically, his pity for them at an all-time low, "That's what happens when you hang around dark pubs all freaking afternoon." He guided them through the parking lot grudgingly, "When you get drunk off your asses."

Ellone turned furiously to face him, "I swear to drunk I'm not God!" She yelled, believing every word of her incomprehensible sentence. To prove her point, she slammed her fist on the hood of a green Cadillac, setting off the car alarm.

The trio stood, looking at each other. Rinoa was the first to react. She turned back towards the bar, "Hey, where the hell do you think you're going?" Irvine demanded, grabbing a hold of her arm.

Her answer was intelligently formed and surprisingly very sensible, though blisteringly obnoxious over the incessant honking of the vehicle's security system, "If I can still tell when she's being a dumbass that means I'm not drunk enough."

After some banter, a few onslaughts and more squabbling, the girls all managed to get into the backseat of the black Lexus. Irvine shut their door, swore a long slew of curses and disbelievingly rubbed the back of his neck. He got into the driver's seat, and in an almost lovingly father-tone, asked, "Does everyone have their seatbelts on?"

Ellone squirmed with the belt, unable to presently locate the buckle. Rinoa, who was only a tad more keen than her friend, informed irritably, "You're probably sitting on it."

"Are you calling me fat?" Ellone gawked in incredulity and hurt.

"I'm just saying your fat ass must be on the damn buckle!"

"Ok, that's more than enough!" Irvine's roar came from the front of the car, "Christ, grow up! Alright, has Ellone been secured to the seat, can we go now? Eh?" Silence was his only response.

WITH ELLONE PASSED out on Rinoa's couch, Irvine searched his sister's apartment for a way to make coffee. She had broken her pot and so he resolved to placing the coffee mugs straight under the machine and to switch cups when they were full, "Rinoa, when is the problem with the money going to be solved?"

Rinoa shrugged and sleepily rested her head in her arms on her kitchen table. Irvine wanted a straight answer, much to her dismay, "So … The Syndicate is officially bankrupt until your little boyfriend decides to give us the money back, is that it?"

Once again, the shrug. "Could you, I don't know, call him, do whatever you have to do so we could at least get a portion of it back until he feels up to giving all of it back?" He was patient, or at least, he was trying to be but his soothing façade was ready to crack.

"Do you know how hard it is to talk to him again?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with sorrow, with regret and pain.

Irvine left the coffee machine and went to sit down next to his sister. He patted her arm and let her go on, "He wants answers I can't give him." If Squall was so curious, then maybe he had cared once upon a time. And so what was this entire struggle for? How long had she suffered since having betrayed him? But he cared no longer.

Life is filled with irony.

"Why can't you give him the answers, Rinoa?" Irvine asked heavily, seriously, "Why can't you tell him what he deserves to know?"

"Because …" She answered weakly, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. She shut them, unleashing them but hiding them with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Is it because you're still denying yourself of what you did?" Her brother continued his merciless interrogation, "What did you do, Rinoa? How many secrets are you keeping from him? When you said good-bye to Squall Leonhart, who else did you bury?" Face it, Rinoa, tell me … I want to hear it for myself. He wished, prayed. Tell me it's all lies.

There was a muffled gasp from Rinoa and Irvine sighed, "Tell me, Rin."

She transformed to a mute, refused to speak. Irvine spoke up gently, "Rinoa, my mother recently got murdered. Though this may be a time of celebration for you, she died for a reason, and it's partly my fault. You know why she died?" No answer, only choked sobs, "They were looking for your past. They found it. Everything about Squall and you, every … single thing. I think you should call your father and ask him for enough money to get out of here. I think you should explain everything to him, I think you should explain everything to Squall and then I think you should disappear. Ok?"

"What?" She was trembling, refusing to process the mortifying confessions.

"You're father knows, I don't know about Squall … but someone who would go through that trouble to find you a weakness has to have more ideas going through his mind. Maybe their minds, we don't even know who they are, we could only guess. Are you listening to me?" Irvine grabbed her chin in his hand and looked into her frightened, panicked eyes, "This isn't high school anymore, Rinoa. Quistis isn't just threatening to kill you anymore, she really will do it and I have a feeling she's not alone. The stakes are high, leave Deling city before a war breaks out. Trepe, Diabolos, Almasy, Dincht, Lynch, DeGracia, your father, they all want this city … and you're getting in the way."

"Good. I'm not leaving." She quavered, "Prize goes to the one who kills me first."

THE DISTURBING CONVERSATION with Rinoa had shaken him. The girl wanted to die and the only one who could unmake that was Squall Leonhart. What were the chances that he would go through that trouble? She had left him there to die, and the only thing he wanted were answers.

Hope dangling on a string, Irvine dialed a number he wished he needed not dial in the sanctity of his automobile. He was going seek help from one person who he hoped had some mercy remaining in the shallow of his soul, "Hello?"

"Hi … James." Irvine greeted stiffly.

"Irvine, hello."

"Listen, I … apologize for hanging up so curtly last time … I was just … shocked by the news." Weighted with grievance of his mother's death, he managed to overlook that, "In any case, I've come to ask you a huge favor on your part."

There was a lingering silence and then, "Go on."

"Rinoa is like my sister, she is my sister. Unless you've been playing a deaf ear to the word on the street, she's been the target of a few conspiracies. DeGracia, Trepe, Almasy, Diabolos and maybe even Lynch probably think she's easiest to eliminate due to The Syndicate's dependence on and lack of alliances. The Wakasenshi are small players, not enough to win a huge turf war like the one that's about to break loose." Irvine paused and resumed his proposition, "Plus, Trepe's never liked her anyway. I figure it like this: I need to get Rinoa out of Deling."

"Well, that's nice. And so why are you calling me for? Asking me if I approve?" Caraway's tone was slightly resentful with sarcasm.

"I wouldn't be wasting my time doing that." His answer was brisk and honest, "I would've already dragged her onto a plane, kicking and screaming. But Squall Leonhart recently swiped our entire bank account. We have no money."

"What a bright asshole."

"Uhm … yeah, I guess you can call him that. In any case, you are her father. You can't keep her alive, but you can help her exist." Ellone's theory was leaving his mark on him, "The other part of the favor would be helping me find Squall Leonhart."

There was a never-ending pause where Irvine's nerves seem to be constantly grinded by sandpaper. Finally, his stepfather came down with a decisive tone, "She is my daughter, thank you for reminding me. I'll find Squall Leonhart. I'll also find her. She's been hiding from me long enough, I've been avoiding her long enough. I think it's time we had a talk, anyhow."

"Thank you, James." Irvine was grateful, but uneasy at the same time. How many more times would Rinoa have to be betrayed like this?

"Sure."

NOW AVOIDING HER father would not only become a convenience, but a necessity. Never would she ever be able to look that man in the face again. No big loss, all the more reason to never speak to him again. Ellone was dealt with as soon as she awoke from her elongated pose on the couch. Rinoa had made time to dry her tears after Irvine left her with his last pleads to be rational.

Ellone had met a strong confrontation, a tougher conflict than the splitting headache she suffered at her wake, "Oh no, what have I done now?"

"What the hell could possibly have possessed you to tell Irvine everything I had told you not to tell anyone?" She had sworn to herself to keep it civil, to be calm and cool. She knew, as soon as she hit hysterics, she would begin to bawl and never see the end of it.

"What?"

"Why did you tell Irvine about-" Rinoa stopped herself short. She was on the verge of saying 'Arielle'. Was this self-pity she felt right now? No, she felt pathetic. Never in her entire life had she felt so stupid. How many people can say they've honestly taken the time to name their unborn-yet-already-dead child? "Why did you tell him about the abortion?" She found herself choking on the words.

Ellone's eyes tried to focus but failed. She remained silent, searching her mind for the truth. Why the hell had she told him? As she thoroughly thought, she couldn't find a reason that Rinoa would justify to be a good one. Finally, she spoke softly, "Because I loved him and I thought that telling him that would … maybe make him appreciate our relationship more. And I thought wrong, because look at us now."

Rinoa remained shell-shocked. Her 'best-friend' had betrayed her for such a selfish reason, "Well … did you tell your brother? Did you think it would make him appreciate your sibling-relationship better since he would never fuck you so problems like this would never surface?"

Ellone blinked; stunned by the red-hot bullet Rinoa had just fired her way. Rinoa asked her question again, "Well, did you?"

"No. I didn't tell my brother." It wasn't a lie. It was just a mistake that she had forgotten to put the emphasis on the 'I'. How many times would Rinoa have to be shielded from a truth that would later surface like a bloated, dead corpse?

"Oh, well there's that at least." The sarcasm betrayed her calm tone.

HE WAS A powerful man with a certain expertise; this was child's play. Of course it was, the city was his playground. His minions and his cronies would dig up any information when he needed it and it was as simple as that.

So, he was nothing less than grim with satisfaction at the ease at which he landed upon his, dare he call him, son-in-law's doorstep. Son-in-law? They had never been married. He was ready to jeopardize his entire stock market portfolio at the unlikelihood that they had even considered wedlock. The baby had been an accident. Obviously. She would have aborted in either cases, isn't that right?

Caraway pat his jacket pocket to make sure his handgun was still there. "Ready to play Russian roulette, Leonhart?" He thought dismally. He had actually trusted this boy. "And if he betrayed me, all that would be left to do is kill him." Simple as that, why make life more complicated? Why? Because his daughter loved this man. Apparently. And that is why James Caraway was ready to make his life infinitely more complex.

It's a secret, and don't tell a soul, but James Caraway had little or no intention of killing Squall Leonhart that night. He had to remind himself that as he knocked at the door of his son-in-law's contemporary apartment. He heard the heavy footsteps getting nearer.

Without even considering the peephole (and it wouldhave been a capital idea if he had), Squall swung open the door open and came face to face with his worst nightmare. An angry father-in-law with a gun. But he didn't have much time to contemplate it and recognize it's true depth (a visit from the Grim-Reaper) since the barrel of the weapon slammed down onto his temple.

Caraway took little time in shoveling Squall's body into the apartment and shutting the door behind him, "Hello, Squall."

Squall groaned, temporarily handicapped by the blow. His head lolled on the carpet, blood trickling from his new wound. James cleared his throat and fiddled with his gun like a child with a new toy, "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything." A meow answered him and he turned to see a cat curiously perching over the couch to see what the commotion was about, "Cute. A cat, eh? Are you lonely, boy?"

The younger man thought it was a rhetorical question and that he shouldn't bother answering it. Silence was the wrong answer. Caraway kicked him in the ribs summoning another anguished cry. Squall clutched his abdomen and growled out contemptuously, "No, I appreciated the solitude now that I compare it to this."

James laughed, almost malicious with intent, "Yes, I can imagine." There was a short pause where Squall recovered piteously to a sitting position against the wall, "Squall, I have to be honest with you. The time I tested you, when I asked you if you were ready to play dodge ball … I actually meant, are you ready to play dodge-the-bullet. And unfortunately for you my friend, the silent crosshairs of the sniper have fallen upon you."

Squall only stared, unsure of what Caraway wanted to hear. "Tell me, you're not a very bright boy, are you?" Please let that one be rhetorical. "Unless you were feeling suicidal. Is that why you handed me the tape? The tape containing every single one of your vices knowing that my daughter, my child, my own damn girl was the victim. Or maybe you were actually honest with me - did you listen to the tape or not?"

Lying was futile now, anyway. "I listened to the tape."

"So, I suppose you're telling me that you're an idiot?"

"Yes, yes, I am."

"Oh, ok … well, now that that's out of the way." Caraway gestured as he spoke, the gun dangerously waving around, "Defend your actions before the jury that is me, Leonhart, cross your heart and hope to die. Tell me your entire story from chapter one and pray to whatever God you think will have mercy on you because I sure as hell won't."

"I didn't know about the kid." What was that supposed to be? An excuse? Judgment day doesn't care for excuses.

"Oh, well that makes an entirety of a difference." James snapped sarcastically, "Here's the way I understand it. My daughter fell in love with an asshole, that asshole knocked her up, hurt her, and fucked her up further. Is that basically what happened?"

"That is … basically what happened." Squall raised his hand to signal he had more to say, "But the only difference, is that the asshole didn't know he was hurting her, and that the asshole might have actually been in love with her too, a fact that the father obviously forgot to consider before knocking the said asshole to the ground."

"You deserve to die." Caraway hissed lethally, "Don't try to sway me with the 'I loved her too' because I don't buy fairytales anymore."

Squall grinned in disbelief, shook his head and raised his open palms in surrender, "You want my story? I'll give you my side of it because I'm still working on finding out her version. I'll be honest, I don't care about the turf wars, I don't give a shit about Trepe, I don't give a shit about Almasy, I don't give a shit about you. This entire city and its criminal empires can go to hell. Christ, after I'm done here, put me on a boat in FH, make me a stockboy in Balamb, fuck, I don't give a shit, but right now, I just want to know where I went wrong because I remember being a pretty damn happy guy back when I was with your daughter and I swear I didn't see any of it coming."

"Oh, cry me a river." Caraway was true to his word: he had no mercy, "Were you deaf? Were you blind? That's not my damn problem."

"What is it that you want?" Squall was desperate, confused, just wanting this conversation to end. He needed to call Rinoa. Needed to give her Lynch's card. Needed his damn answers. Needed to apologize.

Caraway was shaken by the younger man's question. What was it that he wanted? He accepted no apology, believed no story. Revenge. But how? He couldn't kill the boy, Rinoa needed him. Yes, a hard-to-swallow pill. Rinoa may still love this boy. I don't want to hurt her anymore, Julia. I want to be a good father.

"I want you to make it up to her." The request was firmly stated, "There's only one platinum-haired moron in Deling city that could have possibly pulled off the stunt of my wife's murder and my daughter's uncovered past. His name is Nicolas. I've employed him once or twice. He's a friend of Cain Almasy. I have a feeling Seifer and Quistis are behind this entire mess, which wouldn't be a surprise at all. My daughter has two alternatives before her at the moment. Either she shoots herself, or she lets the killers get her first. Make sure neither happens."

"How do I do that?"

"Resume your old job. Be her loyal puppy once again." The words were stained with bitter irony, "The hell if I know. Set the pieces of the chessboard to her favor then get her out of this city alive. I'll do my part. You do yours and who knows, maybe one day the overwhelming desire to string you up by your ass will subsidize and we'll be able to meet for more pleasant business."

"I can't wait."

Caraway administered him a snide look and replied as he walked back out the door, "I'm sure you can."

Alone once more. I'm sure you can.

"I'm sure you can."

"Yeah, I really can." He had answered her proudly, "Those guys are weaklings. Actually, I can probably take on two or three at a time." Squall was referring to the wrestlers on television. Pitiful excuses for entertainment. He had been a soldier once. He knew how to fight. Those two-hundred pounders on TV fought like wusses.

"Sure, Squall, sure. How's that wrist coming along?" Rinoa teased, cuddling with him on the sofa. She reached over to his other side, rapped her knuckles on the bandage and poked it.

"It would be a lot better if you stopped touching it every thirty seconds."

She laughed and grinned at him, "It feels funny, I can't help it."

He sighed and rolled his eyes, "No, you're hallucinating, it doesn't feel any different from the other one."

"Yeah it really does. Look, it's all limp …" To emphasize her point she picked it up again and flopped it around as if it were a dead fish, "How did you sprain it again?" There was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she asked the question for the fiftieth time.

"I tripped in a dark alley and to break my fall I put out my arms forward and I fell on my hand wrong." His voice was monotonous, only having recounted the very same story too many times to keep track.

"You're a little liar." She knew his story was valid since she had heard him fall herself and had seen his pain-constricted face when they met back at the parking lot (they had been on one of the turf rounds) but she just enjoyed making his life difficult, "What were you really doing?"

She bounced off the couch before he could get a hold of her, "Your untruthful, dirty little innuendoes are really starting to piss me off, Rinoa." Squall glared and rose from his seat to follow her. Now, slightly more nervous, she stuck out her tongue and darted for the bedroom where he dashed after her, "Come back here!"

"Never!" She jumped onto the bed and stood a few feet higher than him, prepared to make another scurry for the doorway. When he leaped after her, she clambered off and took shelter near the wardrobe, "Wow, you're a lot slower now that you're a degenerate." Once again, her tongue hung out of her mouth in a gesture to peeve him off some more.

He groaned, knowing it was pointless to try and win this one - she felt exuberant and hyper tonight so there was really no use chasing her around and arguing with her. It would only make her more energetic and aggravating. He flipped onto his back and leaned his head and shoulders onto the bed's headboard.

"That's pathetic! You're being no fun at all." She accused sourly, wearing the adorable pouting look that fit her so well.

"I'm tired, Rinoa." Squall replied and closed his eyes as if to suggest naptime.

"Tired, eh?"

"Very … very …" He failed to continue his sentence because she had climbed atop him and pressed her lips to his. She pulled apart and awaited his response with a certain contentment, "Well, tired is an overstatement." Squall opened his eyes and masked a serious look, "I'm not … you know, THAT tired. I'm still capable of some physical activity, know what I mean?"

She did. Rinoa leaned in and whispered on his neck, "My poor, poor, impaired little handyman. What ever shall I do to make it up to you?" She kissed his Adam's apple, then his chin, then his lips. Once again, her tongue wasn't in her mouth anymore but he didn't mind so much.

Squall leaned his head on the wall and sighed. "In how many ways is it possible to miss someone?" He groaned and gently banged the back of his skull onto the wall continuously, making soft thumping noises, attempting fruitlessly to sleek the lust that sunk his aching heart further into melancholy.


Author's Pointless Rambles: Well, back again for another edition of Devil's Playground. [presses play and a cheering crowd is heard from the speakers behind her] Thank you, thank you all, you're too kind. So, instead of getting a job like a normal person would, I decided to go for 'Idiot of the Year' and sign up for cooking classes, be the editor-in-chief of the school's yearly literary magazine, join the school newspaper, possibly audition for the position of MC for a talent-night evening and possibly join the local gym to get all buff and sexy (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

Nonetheless, I will continue to work on this fic - I never start something I don't finish. Actually, I'm eventually thinking of re-vamping Devil's Playground entirely and making it into a novel that would be my very own creation. Of course that would mean more than just 'changing the names' for I would be tweaking with the personalities and some of the story flow. This fic is far from perfect so, you know ... the more I'll work at it, the more it'll improve (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

So this week, whether or not this chapter had any effect on you, I urge you to perform your readerly duties and submit a review. It takes only a short second and a half to say 'I liked it' or 'Needs improvement' or just simply, 'Fuck you'. So please, tell me what you thought for your support is the infinite energy that pumps me up to write more. Encourage the writers and please leave a review (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

a) Good

b) Fair

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d) Poor