The lightning flashed, brilliantly illuminating the skyline of Galbadia City, renamed since the coup that ousted the Deling family from power. Rain poured down angrily, in sheets, like nature itself had come to cleanse the city of its sins. It pooled on the streets below, sending man and beast scattering for cover.
As people on the streets below ducked inside shops, under awnings, covered themselves with newspapers – took any action possible, in short, to avoid the torrential downpour, one man had totally distanced himself from the rain. His footsteps pounded over their heads, as he ran from rooftop to rooftop, pressing himself ever harder in pursuit of his quarry.
All Seifer could see was the vague, stoop-shouldered outline of the thing he'd steadily pursued across the rooftops for nearly twenty minutes now. It moved quickly, unflaggingly, never allowing Seifer a chance to rest or catch his breath. Not that he needed to rest – he'd thrown himself into the hunt, and only the death of hunter or hunted would satisfy him.
The chase neared the edge of yet another rooftop, and Seifer smiled grimly. This time, his prey had no avenue of escape, not unless it fell to the street below. The next building rose high into the sky, its rooftop inaccessible. Man or beast, this thing had terrorized the Galbadian slums for the better part of six months, eluding police and even the military before they condescended to contact SeeD. And now Seifer had the thing cornered.
A flash of lightning, and the shape before Seifer had vanished. He rushed to the edge of the building and looked down to the street. Nothing.
He looked up, and saw a shadow turning lazy, ascending circles in the sky.
"Shit," he muttered. "It flies."
Without giving himself time to think, Seifer backed up a few steps and took a running leap, hurling himself across the gap between buildings. With a crash, he shattered the window of an apartment several floors below, much to the surprise of the woman inhabiting it.
"Stairs!" he yelled, shouting his command before she could think to scream.
"Wha... what?" she stammered.
"Stairs!" he repeated, losing patience, and time.
"Out the door, to the right."
In a flash, he vanished, thundering down the hall and up the stairs. Floor after floor passed beneath him, but he never allowed himself to flag, despite the fact that he'd kept himself running for well over thirty minutes now.
He reached the rain-swept rooftop only to find it empty, with no sign of his quarry. Drawing his gunblade, he carefully started to scan the area, looking for signs of anything amiss. Despite the brilliant neon signs of the Galbadian night, his only true illumination came from the occasional flash of lightning.
The trail had gone cold. If the creature had landed on the rooftop, the rain had already washed away any trace of it. The thing could have flown off into the night, leaving Seifer with no way to pursue it.
But this creature hadn't fled. Seifer knew it – something deep in his stomach told him the hunter did not intend to walk away from its hunting ground. The thing had intelligence, combined with a fierce predatory instinct and the cunning to ambush the unwary. Seifer had walked into its trap. He smiled again, and adjusted his grip on Hyperion.
Lightning flashed again, close this time, and for a moment, Seifer could see the entire rooftop in perfect clarity. All appeared normal with the exception of one incongruous detail: a gargoyle, perched on the edge of the building.
This, by itself, he didn't consider unusual. In their governmental love of excess, the Deling regime had overspent wherever possible, making even tenement buildings ornate, elaborate, beautifully decorated works of artifice. No, the presence of the gargoyle itself fell within the realm of plausibility.
This gargoyle, however, faced inward – looking onto the roof of the building, instead of overlooking the street below.
Moving between flashes of lightning, he crossed the roof, holding his gunblade at the ready. Still, the creature didn't move. In one quick move, Seifer pounced on the gargoyle, swinging Hyperion in a long arc of silver. The blow should have decapitated the thing, but at the last second, the creature broke its stationary pose and raised one arm, causing the blade to bite deep into its forearm. Seifer gritted his teeth and wrenched the blade free, leaping backwards as the gargoyle came to life.
A long, screeching howl pierced the night as the creature flew at Seifer. Close to the gargoyle for the first time, Seifer could see its wicked claws, slashing, fighting their way ever closer to him. As it leapt for him, Seifer whirled aside, bringing his blade down again. It caught the wing of the gargoyle, cutting into the bone.
The creature howled again as it turned, pounding towards Seifer on all fours. It came at him low and fast, impossibly so, leaping upwards at the last moment like a dog springing for his face. As the thing's mouth opened, Seifer brought the butt of Hyperion smashing down, directly into its mawful of razor-sharp teeth. A wild claw from the gargoyle sent Hyperion flying out of Seifer's hand.
"Damn it!" he swore as he heard the gunblade land and go clattering to the edge of the roof.
Seifer dropped to the ground and rolled away, narrowly dodging a claw that came crashing onto the rooftop, smashing through the concrete. Seifer scrambled to his feet and ran for Hyperion.
Another screech as the creature freed its claw, and Seifer heard the flapping of wings. For the second time in a space of minutes, he dove to the ground, as the gargoyle flew past his head, its grasping talons clutching at empty air.
It wheeled around and landed in front of him, blocking his path to his gunblade. The gargoyle extended its wings to their full length, raised its arms, and howled. As it adjusted its leg for this threat display, it unwittingly gave itself an advantage, knocking Hyperion over the roof of the building.
"You're gonna pay for that," Seifer snarled, lunging at the creature. He tackled the creature around its waist, and, they tumbled to the ground, rolling to the brink of the roof and beyond, over the edge of the building, falling after the gunblade.
The gargoyle flailed in vain as Seifer clutched onto it, trying to keep its claws away from his face. Wings uselessly buffeted the air as they fell four stories, first slamming hard onto a pitched roof, causing Seifer to cry out in pain, then rolling to a lower, flat roof.
As they hit the ground, Seifer released the gargoyle, rolling clear of it, then kicking his way back to his feet. He spied Hyperion and ran for the blade, able, after long years of practice, to kick it right up into his hand. Instantly, he rejoined the battle, bringing the gunblade to bear once more.
He caught the creature off-guard this time, and the blade sliced into the thing's side. It roared once more, this time from pain and surprise. Seifer pulled the trigger, the devastating effect proving what made the gunblade such a lethal weapon.
The gargoyle writhed, enough so to free itself from the blade. In desperation, it turned its back on Seifer and ran, bounding to the edge of the building. Seifer followed close behind, trying to prevent the creature from fleeing. As it spread its wings, he slashed outward, slicing the thick membrane that stretched between the thing's wing bones. Nevertheless, it leapt over the roof of the building and started to glide.
Seifer clipped Hyperion to its spot on his belt and took his second running leap of the night, throwing himself into the void after the gargoyle. He had only a second to regret his action, as the distance to the street below loomed impossibly long. If he miscalculated, he had a fifteen- – maybe twenty- – story fall ahead of him, with nothing but hard cement at the end.
The gargoyle's torn wing prevented it from gliding with any measure of skill, and it only took one clap of thunder until Seifer crashed into the thing from above, landing on it in a tackle that sent them tumbling towards the pavement. Seifer worked frantically to control the struggling monster, to check its wild clawing and to keep it underneath him to cushion the fall.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. He closed his eyes and tried to push the panicking gargoyle from his mind, muttering quickly in the language of magic, well aware that he only had one chance at casting the spell. As he finished, he opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. He couldn't tell if he'd cast it correctly or not. Even if he had, the spell might not work – he'd never heard of anyone using it to survive a twenty-story drop.
As the ground came rushing up to meet them, the gargoyle's struggling intensified. Its wings buffeted Seifer in the face as he tried to push them away. Then, without warning, the creature stopped moving, silenced with a bone-jarring crash as the two rolled apart.
As he opened his eyes, Seifer started laughing, quietly at first, and then like a raving madman, the rain almost choking him as it ran down his throat. They'd hit ground. The gargoyle had died on impact. Seifer found himself floating six inches above the pavement – the result of his magic spell.
The rain felt good on his face. Seifer stood up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder, and walked over to the body of the gargoyle, which had already started to turn soft. He could see the flesh starting to run off the skeleton in small rivers. As he watched, the dead gargoyle dissolved into goo and ran down the street, swallowed into the sewers.
He walked a block to the next intersection, ignoring the stairs from passerby – obviously unused to mercenaries and dissolving gargoyles falling from the sky. At the intersection, he hailed a taxi and ordered it to take him to the train station.
As he got out of the cab and paid the fare, he turned to walk away.
"Umm... sir?" said the taxi driver.
"Yes?" Seifer asked, turning, ready to board the train and return to Garden.
"Before you go in there, you might want to stop... hovering."
Seifer ordered the SeeD train car attached to the next train bound for Esthar and boarded, immediately stripping in order to wring out his wet clothes. He'd already fallen asleep by the time the train started to move. Once the train arrived in Esthar, another short ride would carry him back to Garden.
* *
Seifer walked briskly up the front steps of Esthar Garden, the new building glistening in the mid-morning sun. Just inside the door, Seifer cast his eyes on the Balamb Memorial, attend by an honor guard of Seifer's highest-ranking security troops.
The Memorial itself consisted of a single black monolith, a sheet of solid marble that seemed to rise out of the very foundations of Esthar Garden and stretch into the sky. It stood perhaps five stories tall and had no decoration on it, except for the yin-and-yang SeeD insignia, in black-and-white marble. The walls on either side of the monolith had inscriptions on them, the names of those who died in the attack on Balamb Garden, or those left behind.
Seifer had insisted on posting the honor guard, and Squall had agreed, feeling that the Memorial should take precedence as the heart of Esthar Garden.
Seifer lingered at the Memorial, ostensibly reviewing his troops, but in reality, his eyes sought out a name upon the wall. Just one person, out of so many, but Seifer could never forgive himself her capture.
Fujin.
He'd played it over in his mind so many times. The way she broke away from the rest of the group to distract The Storm, sacrificing herself for the rest of them. And then Quistis and Zell had just teamed up on Seifer, dragging him aboard the ship.
He'd didn't even get a chance to save her.
"Some Knight I am," he muttered.
"Sir?" one of the honor guard ventured.
"What?" Seifer snapped back, irritated at the interruption, at the violation of his memory, at the thought of his failure. "Maintain your discipline."
"Sir," the guard replied, snapping to attention as Seifer stalked past him and down the main corridor.
Seifer continued on his way, moving towards his quarters, massaging a stiffening shoulder and a wounded ego as he went. He approached the door and scanned his ID card, the door sliding noiselessly open before him. Seifer, no stranger to carnage on the battlefield, could not have adequately prepared himself for the scene that greeted him inside his room.
"What the hell is this?" he shouted.
Zell, sitting on the floor amidst a pile of electronic parts, smiled sheepishly. Around him lay the remains of Seifer's stereo, reduced to its original components and beyond.
"Well, uh," Zell said, starting to explain. Nervously, he reached up to run a hand through his hair. He stopped halfway through the motion, realizing he still had some sort of circuit board in his hand. As Zell started to stand, one precariously balanced pile gave way, shifting its mass entirely, and overtaking another pile.
"No!" Zell exclaimed. "I had those two perfectly sorted!"
"Zell, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?" Seifer said, still in the doorway.
"Umm... Well, see," Zell tried to take a step towards Seifer, not realizing one foot had caught itself beneath another pile of electronics. Snagged, he moved forward, dragging the equipment with him. "I was going to listen to some music while I waited for you. But then I noticed that the little drawer that accepts discs seemed to stick. So, I thought, as a special surprise to you, I'd fix it. So I started taking the stereo apart, and, I guess I got a little carried away."
Seifer shook his head and smiled. As an consequence of dating Zell, he'd had to accept several things, included on that list: hot dogs, the Pupurun series of books and videos, and the inevitable "surprise." No doubt Zell would fix the stereo, and have it working in better-than-original condition. Eventually.
"Okay," Seifer shrugged, wincing suddenly at the pain in his shoulder. "You fix this. I'm going to shower and call Quistis to debrief the mission."
Zell's eyes glinted as he opened his mouth. Seifer cut him off.
"Spare me the debriefing humor. As long as my stereo is in seventeen thousand pieces, you have work to do."
* *
"Damn it!" Quistis swore, pounding her fist on the table. The glassware rattled ominously, prompting her to reach for it, offering a stabilizing hand. She shoved her chair away from the table and stormed to the windows, which looked out over Esthar Garden. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
Squall, from his seat at the table, watched her, unmoved. He delicately reached out and took a sip from his orange juice, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin while Quistis continued to stare out the window.
"It's not fair, Squall," she fumed. "It's just not right!"
Still, not reacting, Squall polished off the remains of his breakfast: a ham-and-cheese omelet, which he'd carefully cut into slices and placed between pieces of toast.
Quistis stormed back to the table and sat down, picking up her knife, and spreading jam over her toast vengefully. In amongst the dishes and accoutrements of breakfast stood the focus of Quistis' fury: a game of Triple Triad – their fourth so far, with Squall, again, as the victor.
"Your days are numbered, Leonhart," she muttered, between bites. "I'll figure out your secret, and when I do..." she held up a slice of toast and nodded meaningfully.
Squall merely raised an eyebrow and continued chewing. As they finished their meal, he pressed a button on the table marked "call." Seemingly, out of nowhere, two junior cadets working kitchen duty appeared and quickly cleared the table leaving Quistis and Squall alone once more.
"The business of the day," she said.
Squall rose, smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform, and looked out over the Garden. Esthar Garden, like Balamb, consisted of a central spire from which everything radiated outward. Squall's massive, multi-story office occupied the top three floors of the central spire. The entire office featured heavily mirrored windows, allowing Squall to watch the Garden at his leisure, while preventing anyone from spying on him. Quistis and Squall now sat in the top floor of his office that, for lack of purpose, he had designated for those rare occasions when he slept or ate. More typically, the room saw use for Squall's visitors, as in this morning, since Quistis had persuaded Squall into taking a working breakfast.
"Functionally, we're doing as well as can be expected," Quistis said, folding her hands in her lap. "Our losses from the attack at Balamb have set us back, but we're working to repair them. Most classes have long since exceeded capacity, but we haven't seen any appreciable difference from this. Instructors and students have been... crystallized by the attack, unified. Attendance is better than ever, detention is down, academic scores are exceptional. Current SeeDs are pushing themselves harder than ever, taking the existing exams. SeeD has never, at any point in its history, had so many members of such high rank."
"And you attribute this to Mallis' attack?" Squall asked, without turning to face her.
"Yes. Everyone wants to be a part of the team that reclaims Garden. Every one of us is aware of our loss, we feel it every time we see that monolith, and we all want to go back and recapture what we lost that day... Assuming, of course, that it's your plan that we do so..." Quistis' let her voice trail off at the end. She didn't know how to deal with the topic of the attack on Garden – she barely knew how she felt about it, let alone how Squall felt, and he, most certainly, had no intention of giving away any clues.
"So the education is progressing smoothly," he said. A statement, not a question.
"Yes. Thanks to Xu and Fujin's last-minute retrieval of the data core, we still have the entire contents of the Garden Network. Nothing was lost there. We couldn't save the textbooks, of course, but since their contents are all on the Network, the actual loss is an inconvenience. What we did lose was access to Cid's library in the lower levels of Balamb Garden. None of that was ever preserved on the Network, and much of it was potentially valuable. However, I've spent a good deal of my free time transcribing the contents..."
"Transcribing?" Squall turned this time.
Quistis tapped a finger to her temple. "Perfect photographic memory, remember? It doesn't matter if I actually read the page, I just had to see the page. All I have to do from there is write down what's in my head. It's a slow process, but it's better than nothing."
"What sort of results do you think Cid's library will yield?"
"Honestly, there's no telling. I can't tell until I've been through it all. The last time I went through Cid's library – well, you know about that -- I found out he was in league with Ultimecia and had been manipulating us since the orphanage. Potentially, it could be very valuable. I started digging through there when I was thirteen and I managed to teach myself blue magic as a result."
Squall nodded, having witnessed, firsthand, what powerful spells Quistis had taught herself.
"Keep at it, then, but don't wear yourself out. What's our mission status?"
"We're still running missions as per usual, but we're shorthanded. With the loss of life at Balamb Garden, we just don't have as many free SeeDs to dedicate to missions, and with the classrooms packed as they are, we're loathe to dedicate any Instructors to missions. Everyone is willing to go, it's just a question of who we can spare. If we had any outside help, it would be a different matter."
"We can't do that," Squall snapped. Since General Mallis' betrayal at Balamb Garden, Squall had established an adamant rule for Esthar Garden: no outside personnel, except where he judged it necessary. So far, he had not seen fit to hire anyone outside of Garden. Some members of SeeD, used to having cafeteria workers, janitors, healthcare professionals, et al, had balked at the idea of doing their own dirty work, but Squall had presented them with an ultimatum – do the work, or leave Garden.
"I know, I know," Quistis replied, putting up her hands. "I was just saying, it would be different if we weren't so shorthanded."
"We could move up the field exam; give us a new crop of SeeDs that way."
"I say we move up the field exam and step up the difficulty."
Squall stopped from his survey of the Garden and stared at Quistis.
"That's right. Inform all the cadets that in light of the overwhelming difficulties presented with facing General Mallis, we will only be accepting the best and brightest candidates, and that you've received new intelligence that moves up your timetable, making the field exam necessary at an earlier date. Then we see who rises to the challenge."
"Aren't you concerned that we'll leave ourselves even more shorthanded?"
"Not at all. Every cadet out there dreams of being the one who brings home Mallis' head to you. You'll see astounding results, and get a group of fresh SeeDs who already outrank most of their seniors."
"Fair enough," Squall nodded. "We're currently looking for a mission to base our field exam around, correct?"
"Yes. Nothing's presented itself so far."
Squall issued a half-laugh, a short, sharp sound. "Makes you wonder how Cid kept this ship afloat for so long, doesn't it?"
"Well, being insane and megalomaniacal probably had something to do with it," Quistis replied. Then, after a long beat, "And still..."
Squall's eyebrow went up again, her prompt to continue, the only such cue she would receive – Quistis knew Squall too well for that. Today she'd caught Squall in one of his rare "talkative" moods – a relative standard at best – and she knew that she had to press to keep the conversation alive.
"And still, I can't reconcile what I read in those journals with the Cid we knew. I mean, he was our Headmaster. He was the one who raised us."
Squall's eyes flashed.
"He was never on our side. No matter what we thought, no matter how warm he seemed, no matter how close we were – or thought we were to him – he was always the enemy. He was pulling the strings from the minute we arrived at the orphanage, to the instant General Mallis killed him. Never forget that. Cid gave his own wife to Ultimecia. Cid tried to double-cross Ultimecia for his own gain. Cid went so far as to arrange for an assassin to botch an attempt on his own life. He was never on our side, except by coincidence."
Squall stood there, immobile, fearsome in his wrath, his anger resonant in his voice. Cid's betrayal had hurt him, considerably, and Quistis could tell. She, who knew Squall best, could tell how deep this wound ran. She wanted to reach out to him.
"Squall, I—"
The phone in her pocket rang.
"Hold on," she said, reaching for it. "Yes, Seifer?" she asked, glimpsing the number as she flipped it open.
"Hey, Quistis," he replied. "Did I catch you at I bad time?"
"I'm going over the Garden's status with Squall," she answered. "Why?"
"Good thing I caught you, then. Who knows what you two crazy kids will do with all that space to roll around in? And that great big table on the top floor? Perish the thought."
"Okay, Seifer, are you just calling to harass me? Can I get back to work?" she pressed.
"Actually, it's business, blondie. I just got back from the Galbadia mission. I need a debrief, and someone to patch me up. Zell's busy right now, since he destroyed my stereo, and I thought you might be up to the task."
Quistis sighed, mentally, and turned to Squall. "Squall, Seifer needs to debrief the Galbadia mission."
"Go ahead," Squall replied. "We're done here."
"Okay," Quistis said, turning her attention back to the phone. "Be there in a few."
* *
Irvine paused at the door, shot his cuffs – more for effect than necessity – and knocked gently but briskly on the door, three times. The knock wasn't technically necessary, since he practically lived there, and had his own keycard, in fact, but it seemed like the polite thing to do.
No response. Odd. Irvine knocked again.
Still no answer.
Irvine knocked a third time.
Nothing.
He removed his keycard from his pocket and let himself in, almost drowning in the absolute darkness inside.
"Close the door," came her voice, emerging from somewhere within that darkness. It didn't sound like her, had none of her customary vitality or spark, none of the life that defined her. The shell of Selphie Tilmitt.
He stood in the doorway, not ready to move until his sniper's eyes adjusted. From beside him came the voice of a blues singer, low and throaty, singing about love, pain and death. Just what Selphie needed to hear.
Irvine's eyes started to make out the details of the room, Selphie, sitting directly across from him. He brought his arm from behind him to show her the surprise.
"Look Sel, I brought you flowers."
"Great," she said, a monotone. "You can just... throw them somewhere. On the bed or something."
"No," he replied, keeping his tone light, "I think maybe they need a little water."
"Whatever," she shrugged.
As Irvine moved to find something to put the flowers, he noticed the bottle next to Selphie.
"Selphie, have you been drinking?"
"Yeah," shrug.
"Today?" he pushed.
"Yeah," another shrug.
"Don't you think it's kind of early for that? I mean, it's not even noon yet."
Through the darkness he could see her cold jade eyes fix on him. "Obviously I haven't been drinking enough, because I'm still sober."
"Okay," he replied, putting his hands up, "I think we have a little problem."
She slowly stood up, walking towards him. True to her word, she gave no hint of inebriation. She looked at Irvine at spoke coolly.
"I live at Trabia Garden. That gets blown up. I live at Balamb Garden. That gets invaded. And you 'think we have a little problem?' And then on top of that, all of the junior cadets placed in my specific care get killed? Yeah, we've got a problem."
"Look, Selphie--" he started, putting his hands on her shoulders.
"Don't!" she snapped, pushing his hands away.
"Okay, okay," he said. "I can see where this would be the biggest deal in the world to you. I understand that. I'm not trying to change that. But two things. First of all: you can't destroy yourself over it. Talk to Quistis – she's the one with the specialty in psychological operations. Second: You're not going to take it out on me."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry. You're right. I don't want to fight with you, Irvy."
"What do you want to do?" he asked. "Do you want to get some lunch?"
"No lunch," she replied, shaking her head. "No people."
"Tell you what," he said, straightening his hat. "You stay here, and I'll go raid the cafeteria. I'll fix us a nice lunch, and we'll eat here. Sound good?"
Selphie nodded distantly, slinking back to her chair. Irvine could do nothing but hope that her supply of alcohol had already reached the bottom.
* *
"Damn, Seifer!" Quistis swore as she looked at his shoulder, still sore from his rooftop fall. "You're lucky you didn't shatter your shoulder!"
"I've told him to be careful, but does he ever listen to me?" Zell asked rhetorically, still sitting amidst a circle of electronics, the stereo partially reconstructed.
"Thanks, kids. I'll remember that the next time I'm falling through the sky attached to an angry gargoyle," Seifer shot back, eyes closed as Quistis poked and prodded at his wounded shoulder.
"And you say it melted and left no trace?" she asked.
"Dissolved into a pudding more vile than Zell's famous hot dog soup. I've never seen anything like it."
"Hey!" Zell shot out. "Hot dog soup was a brilliant idea! And it didn't taste that bad!"
Seifer shook his head slowly, a pained expression on his face.
"It's a new one by me," Quistis said, ignoring Zell's outburst. Then, standing up: "Okay, clean bill of health. Just don't go hurling yourself off rooftops in the future. Good way to get yourself killed."
"Yeah," Seifer said, rotating his arm slowly. "Tell that to the gargoyle." He crossed the room and delicately pulled a shirt over his head. "So tell us about this breakfast with Squall. How are you doing with your resolution?"
"My resolution?" Quistis immediately felt a blush creeping its way up her face.
"Aww, Quistis, no!" Seifer exclaimed, kicking the wall with his heel. "You were doing so well!"
"But Seifer..." she said, spreading out both arms before her.
"Here we go," Zell said, speaking around a mouthful of screws.
"Hush, you!" Quistis whispered, only half-joking.
"Let me guess what your rebuttal is," Seifer jumped in. "You've been in love with Squall for as long as you've known him. That amount of time comprises well over the majority of your life. You can't remember a time when you wouldn't do anything for him. And it's impossible to just give that up. Was that what you were going to say?"
"That was the gist of it, yes," she answered. "Only my way sounded better. But the resolution stands. No more waiting around for Squall to notice me. That's in the past. This morning was a working breakfast, and I happened to suffer a... moment of weakness. A temporary relapse. That's all it was. It's not like I jumped off a building or anything stupid like that."
"Well," Seifer said, looking grave, "if that's all it was."
"Promise," Quistis crossed her heart as she said it. "So are you satisfied? Am I allowed to go free now?"
"What?" Seifer said, grinning. "You have a pressing engagement somewhere else?"
"No, but I need to file your mission report so Xu can request final payment from the Galbadian government."
"Fine, fine," Seifer waved her away. "Condemn me to solitude."
"Hey!" Zell shouted, for the second time. "What am I, chopped liver?"
"No," Quistis said, pausing in the doorway. "You know the old saying, 'you are what you eat,' right?"
"Yeah?" Zell asked, cautious.
"Well, what do they put in those hot dogs you're so fond of?" She closed the door behind her, but it opened a second later as Zell shouted down the hall.
"They're made of skeletal meat, you know!"
Quistis waved over her shoulder, smiling to herself.
* *
"Well, Ms. Heartily, I don't have to tell you what a coup this is, bringing you on board and all."
"I'm very grateful you were able to find a place for me," Rinoa replied. "I'm looking forward to working for Esthar's diplomatic corps."
"Well, there hasn't been much use for us over the last few decades, but we're expanding now. We owe a great deal to one of your friends, in fact."
With that admission the elevator door opened and Ambassador Shackelton stepped off. Rinoa clutched her attaché case a little tighter and pursued him further into the embassy.
"Oh?" she asked. "Who was that?"
"Quistis Trepe. Cid Kramer posted her with us for some months. She did a great deal of work in helping us to open Esthar to the outside world. We're deeply indebted to her, so to have another representative from Balamb Garden is just..." And then, realizing his gaffe. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot about... the attack."
"It's... okay," Rinoa said. "And I should dispel any notions up front. I'm not from any Garden, as such. I just happened to live there. I'm no Quistis Trepe. I'm not even a SeeD. My only real qualification is growing up in my father's household and the fact that I'm eager to prove myself. But if you give me a shot, you won't be disappointed."
Shackelton smiled, smoothing the front of his suit over his slight potbelly. "I'm sure I won't. President Loire spoke very highly of you in recommending you for this posting. If he says you're right for the job, I'm inclined to believe him. Now come along, my dear, and I'll show you to your office."
Rinoa's office had, to her delight, its own set of windows looking out over the embassy grounds and the uniformed guards standing below.
"Now of course, you have your own phone, with two lines," Shackelton said. "There's also a secure line down the hall. It's a little pricey, but don't worry about that, naturally. Here's your safe," he showed her a picture mounted on the wall with a safe concealed behind it. "And everything else is self-explanatory. Any questions?"
"No," she said.
"Wonderful. Well, I'll let you settle in. Thanks again for coming to join us."
"Thank you, sir."
He left the room and Rinoa set her attaché case on the desk to start unpacking her office supplies.
* *
Bugs woke him up today, as they always do, crawling-biting inside his brain. Itchy. Itchy down his back, too. Red behind his eye, so the world looks like blood. Nothing looks right anymore.
His hands don't look like his hands, don't feel like his hands. He can't feel them when they pound pound pound on the walls or bend at the bars. That made the blue coat men run.
Blood, at least, he remembers. He can taste it copper-rich inside his mouth.
He wants to taste blood again. He wants to taste hers.