Disclaimer: I don't own any Square characters or game landmarks.... unfortunately.
Another update! Yeaaaah! I'm so happy I was able to finish this one. I had some trouble with this chapter and restarted it about three times. I finally came up with a final decision. Sorry for any mistakes or blemishes. Thanks to all my reviewers! (Especially IttanMomen who wrote most of the reviews!)
Chapter 2: The Other Side
Summer months dragged on. Spring had been a better season for the job, but simple miscalculations had pulled the operation into hotter days. The languorous afternoons were coming to an end, though, as autumn took the front seat. Colors blew the wind into a whipping stream of dull yellows and bright reds. Green drained into faint, crunching browns, while trees shivered in nakedness. The sun seemed to grow larger in the sky, becoming the great molten orb that drained its essence onto distant hills in the evenings.
Red wasn't only the color of leaves at this time. Far south of the equator, where winter threatened to strike earlier, liquid crimson dripped from gloved fingertips. It fell into a larger puddle of the liquid, where ringlets grew and spread after each slow drop. The blood thickly smoothed out over a cement path before it stopped at a fallen body. The man lay face down, his features unrecognizable by cause of his own wounds. Above him stood the dominator, a casual, uninterested expression strewn across his face. He pulled a stiff, towel-like cloth from his back pocket. On its ivory material he rubbed off both his hands before tending to his long gunblade laying some feet away. He then threw the cloth on the dead corpse, red as the rest of the scene.
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Night settled onto the southern land, crisp and free of straining clouds. Stars winked devilishly from above, as if sharing some celestial secret. The moon was only a sliver, but it cast enough light to fill the air with a transparent film of pale blue. Below on the ground lay a quiet town, slumbering through the dark hours. Here, through the deserted streets, walked a shadowy figure. His gate was firm yet light, barely kept from a jog. But the pace was silent as not a single leaf or twig crunched beneath his shoes. The town went oblivious to the man, sleeping through his passing.
Eventually, the figure was brought to the farthest side north of the town. Here was placed a station by a pier, as vacant as the town. Only a single soul, besides that of the man, was present. It was a station employee, still up in the wee hours of morning. He was rather plump and sat in his private window office with a newspaper covering his face. The shadowy man wasn't sure if the employee was actually reading or asleep, but either way....
There was a loud knock from the other side of the window and the stoutly man was rudely shaken from his half-daze. He pulled down the newspaper to see a young man on the other side. The worker blinked his eyes casually to clear his vision. This time the younger man's features were more defined. He had brown hair roughly placed atop his head. It might have been long enough to reach to his chin, but most it was obediently pulled behind his ears. Some of the bangs hung loose, covering one eye. The other visible one was a vibrant blue and eerily unnerved the worker. Across his face was a long, freshly healed scar, going from the bottom of his forehead, across his nose, to right under his left eye. His clothes were blacker than the outside night and it was hard to tell where his long coat ended and the pants began.
"Can I help ya?" asked the man behind the register.
"I need a train to Timber," stated the dark man firmly.
The plump man chuckled heartily to himself before it died out suddenly. "I'm sorry, mister, but do you see any train?"
The brunette was not moved one bit. His eyes burned into the other's. "I need the train," he stated again.
This time the employee did not laugh. His cheeky face dropped and his tiny eyes became threatening. He leaned towards the window speaker as far as he could before squashing his nose against it. "Lemme try this without spelling it out: There. Is. No. Train."
Again, the brunette did not advert his stern glare. "You'll give me the ticket if I have to-"
"Sir," cut off the round man. "This is a pier. We have boats and boats alone. Unless that's what you meant, than I'd be glad to help ya. Let alone its one in the morning and nobody's gonna get up to ferry your sorry ass up to Timber!" He raised his paper back to shroud his face from the man outside. It was only a second before he heard a metallic click and pulled down the paper again. He was a bit alarmed to see a pistol of some sort pressed and aimed through the glass.
"Now," said the man quietly as he pulled out his wallet and ID, "You'll give me the ticket."
The stout worker was taken aback slightly, but composed himself soon enough. A smug smile spread across this greasy face. "This is bullet proof glass, sir. Take your issues elsewhere."
"Maybe, but I don't think the door will be hard to get through," said the darkly dressed man with a swift glance to the screen door in the back of the room. He offered his ID again through the window sill's opening.
This time the worker appeared permanently panicked. His previous confidence seemed to have fled straight through the screen door and over the ocean. He complied submissively and took the ID while eyeing the held gun suspiciously. He quickly scanned the identification and as his eyes traveled over the word SeeD', he gave a light gasp.
"Ohhh," he exaggerated as if seeking revelation, "Thaaaat train. Well, Mr. Squall, is it? You most certainly must be more specific," he finish with utmost politeness. He reached into his stained beige shirt and pulled out a chain with at least ten keys on it. He fingered through several before coming across one that looked nearly identical to the rest. Then, leaning under the desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a single piece of paper. "Here you are sir," he added with a greasy grin, "And have a nice trip."
Squall accepted the ticket brutally, nearly ripping it from the worker's fat fingers. He shoved the gun into a holster hidden cleverly among the many folds of clothing. Without a word of gratitude, he continued his brisk walk deeper into the small station.
At the end of a dark hallway, lay a door slightly ajar. Nobody would have paid it any heed unless it was searched for. Through this door, Squall slipped past and down a long, pitch stairway. Towards the bottom some wall lights had been lit. They were a murky and sickly yellow, only illuminating the path enough to see ahead three feet. Once at the bottom, though, there was a brightly lit room with a similar window station as before. This one was also accommodated by a man, but he was no doubt asleep.
Squall knocked on the glass irritable, having long enough dealt with tired, cranky men. Surprisingly, this one rose his head with more curiosity than anger. He looked to the brunette outside expectantly and without question. Squall slid the ticket under the window and the man tore it in half without actually looking at it.
"Just is time sir," the man yawned. "We were about to depart in five minutes."
"Take off with an empty train?" asked Squall skeptically.
"The train's not empty sir, and there are people in Timber waiting for their ride." "Right," drawled Squall half to himself before he walked through another door.
Past the final door lay the actual train station. It was a huge underground place, but was sealed off at all walls. It must've been some sixty or seventy feet under the town and the ocean was dominate this deep down. The train was long, round, and sat on a single-railed track that disappeared down twisting tube. The tube itself was about thirty feet high and made of framed glass. Outside the water moved, lit by the moonlight only from where the pier began out into the sea. The odd rippled patterns the water makes in light could only be seen on the outskirts of the station, where the metal plank ended and the tube began.
Squall seemed unconcerned about his surroundings, for he had been in the under water stations many times throughout his career. His pace remained constant until he opened the manual door and stepped into one of the cars. The train's interior was that of first class and higher. Seats sat a comfortable distance from each other and were padded with thick, leather coverings. There was a carpet as well, richly colored and decorated jade green. Squall sat down next to a window.
It seemed that as soon as the brunette had sunk into the luxury, the train's speaker came on. It was an actual person rather than the repetitive voice of a happy recording.
"Yeah, we'll be taking off shortly," it spoke as if in mid-sentence. "I know there's only a few of you this morning, but please remain in your seats. The trip will take a total of about... uh, one and a half hours, so sit back and enjoy. Complimentary drinks will be of service if you press..." the voice continued, but Squall was past listening. Instead, he folded his hands comfortably on his lap and lied his head back against the built-in pillow. He vaguely wondered who else took the train, but his thoughts soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
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Timber would have been a good place to continue, but he was on vacation. Breaks were not to be taken lightly, and Squall would think twice if he should ever take them for granted.
The train had delayed slightly on the trip, taking a short detour, and it was about four thirty when it pulled into the Timber Station. Squall had been off the train for about an hour and was currently searching the city for an Inn. There were many throughout this touristy place, but it was not the flashy, thirty story building Squall was in search for. Instead, he opened the door to a cramped, nearly hidden hotel that looked the size of someone's house.
Inside the place was a small kitchen desk accommodated by a elderly woman. She sat with her head resting in a hand while concentrating hard at a magazine crossword below her. "G'morning, Squall," she piped without looking up. She reached beneath the desk and pulled out a rusty looking key strung on an old red ribbon.
"Morning," replied Squall as he took the offered key. There wasn't a hint of his usual rudeness as he talked, merely exhaustion.
"Takin' off later today?" inquired the woman when she finally looked up. "Oh," she gasped, "just look at you: about ready to drop dead!" She scurried up from her chair and approached Squall with that motherly look on her wrinkled features.
"I'm fine," protested the younger one. He hurried to take off his black coat and began to walk up the short staircase, but the woman stopped him.
"No you're not," she pulled back on his arm to get up the stairs first. "I'll make up your bed, then I'll set the bath...."
Squall was about to say something again, but the elder had already disappeared through the bedroom door. He couldn't suppress the small smile of amusement he gave towards this old woman with the thin white hair and a height to about only his waist.
Timber was a common place to stop and rest during his missions for the past six years, so he had become accustomed to staying here. Eventually, the Innkeeper had taken a strong liking to him and managed to tend to all of Squall's needs (including those that he had refused to accept). She really was a cute old woman, in dire need of a dog or a thousand cats to keep her busy, but Squall was her replacement for a grandchild, and if it wasn't him she was focused on, it was her crosswords.
"There you go," she cooed from the top of the stairs. "Your bath is warm and waiting for you."
"Thanks, Grams," he called. It was a name he had for her since his first visit. It had intentionally been used with sarcasm, but over time, he meant it as a true relation.
At the top of the stairs was a single bedroom. It wasn't very large, but had enough space to be relaxed and comfortable. The bathroom was connected to the bedroom and was also quite small. It was large enough for only a deep tub and a place to stand.
The old woman waited beside the bathroom door, smiling sweetly towards Squall. "I'll wash your coat and clothes for you, then I'll set out something for you to sleep in."
"Alright." Squall knew it was no use trying to refuse her. She made statements rather than offers. He pulled off his holster and placed it beside his bed. From there he took off his black t-shirt and entered the bathroom. His lithe torso was firmly built and well muscled, but slender enough to send the elderly woman yammering:
"Oh, deary, when was the last you ate? I've seen street poles thicker than you! Did you be sure to eat your proteins and vitamins? You're a growing young man in need of good foods, and this is how you turn out?" she snatched the shirt from his hands. "You finish here with your bath and I'll make you something to eat! My, my kids these days..."
"Grams..." he began, but she had already gone down the stairs.
()()()()()()()
The bath was the most incredible thing Squall had felt in months. The luke warm water was heaven compared to the quick showers of pelting ice he was used to. He sank deep into the enveloping heat and sighed heavily. His knotted muscles finally began to unfold and relax. Bath oils had been added and soaked through his dried flesh and his only regret would be the sweet scent that would linger on him until the next day. But the smell was comforting, for it was the same oils that Grams had always used. It sent Squall's mind into a kind of trance as he was finally in his only true comfort zone. He cleansed his skin and hair with the same scented soaps and shampoos before leaning back and enjoying the rest of the bath. He was nodding on the brink of consciousness when he heard a knock on the bathroom door.
"Hurry or your soup'll get cold," called the voice.
The brunette sighed, knowing if he didn't comply soon, the old woman would come in and take him out herself. It was an accomplish enough that Squall managed to convince her that he was quite capable of washing himself. She had overcome the hurt of being told this years ago, but that never stopped her from occasionally barging in when he spent over an hour soaking.
Squall dried off and wrapped the pink towel around his waist before he opened the door. Grams wasn't there, but a pair of loose boxers and a sleeveless shirt (which he had left at the house some years ago for such occasions) were neatly folded on the bed. He swiftly slipped into the attire before he heard footsteps on the stairs. In came the old woman with a tray stacked high with foods.
"Its almost five in the morning..." mentioned Squall with a glance at the large bowl of minestrone, tall glass of milk, plate of five bacon strips, and side dish of cut fruits. He wasn't really complaining and he had to admit that he was quite famished.
"Yes, and this'll be your breakfast," she handed him the tray. "I'll go get your orange juice."
Squall sat down on the bed with the food and wasted not a moment before helping himself.
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After the meal had been finish, Grams took the plates and insisted on tucking' Squall in. She finally gave up after the long, annoying whines he made. Instead, she went down the stairs to wash the dishes and returned just in case.
By the time she made it to the room, the boy was fast asleep with nearly his whole self buried under covers and pillows. Grams smiled sadly. Six years ago was the first time she had been introduced to Squall. He was only seventeen and Garden had already been sending him on deadly missions. Back then, this house used to be a hotel... back then she wouldn't have thought some strange kid could grow on her so much. But this was now her grandson... or at least she would have liked to think so. The boy was an orphan, for that was usually what Garden collected. Squall had never really known what it was like to have parents, so Grams was the closest he had. She pondered: he did have a sister, she recalled him telling her. Hyne only knew where she was now. Oh well, time might tell. With one last glance at Squall, the elderly woman left the room.
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A/N: Well, second chapter complete. Tell me how you liked it. I know Squall was a little weird' in this one, but I just couldn't resist having him be a spoiled child. R&R purdy please!!!!