Chapter 14
An ornate free standing clock strikes ten. The SeeDs have been sitting in Carraway's tastefully furnished drawing room for almost an hour. Selphie sits on the piano bench in one corner, talking Rinoa, who's sitting cross-legged on the carpet, through a visualization exercise. The others have long stopped talking. Quistis, Zell and Squall sit on the two rose-colored couches. Irvine lounges behind a decorative desk, resting his crossed ankles on its surface.
The striking clock interrupts Rinoa's concentration and she stands up and paces the room. Selphie leans back against the closed piano. "What's taking so long?"
Rinoa shakes her head. "He always does this! It's so discourteous…making people wait." She crosses to the door. I'll be back, everyone just…wait here." (Yeah, what else are they going to do?) Rinoa remembers her father occasionally keeping his visitors waiting for up to twenty minutes. She suspected as she got older that he did it to give himself a psychological advantage in negotiations with his colleagues. But why he would keep his subordinates shut up in his living room for an hour is beyond her. "Squall," she says turning to him. "Don't leave me in this house, okay? Do you need me to explain?" She half-hopes he'll say yes. Squall shakes his head, and looks up from his floor face.
"You should know by now, just tell us what to do and we do it." Rinoa sighs.
"Okay then. Thanks." She leaves the room.
Irvine: Three beautiful women and a chance to use my increasingly rare training. What more could a man ask for? Or so I thought when we left Galbaldia Garden. Neither Selphie, nor Rinoa took to me right away, and making a pass at Quistis would probably be akin to, say, picnicking on railroad tracks.
The truth is, the sharpshooting I base my reputation on is rarely called for. I'm a combat specialist, not a sniper. My weapon of choice in day-to-day training is called a "plasma pistol", though it's shaped more like a "plasma rifle". Rather than solid material, which an HS shield blocks, it uses a mix of hydrogen and nitrogen to fire ionized gas. The result is not as effective as a bullet against an unshielded body, but it lets the user stay outside the heat of the mêlée. I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't enjoy getting my hands dirty. I can do basic casting as well; I'm a versatile fighter.
Sharpshooting began as a hobby, and ended with me as the national distance shooting championships at age sixteen. After that, I became a top dog on campus, and my reputation as a ladies man spread on the shoulder of my new nickname, the "best shooter in the garden" (and, in fact, the country). Girls were all over me for about a year after that. They love the misunderstood loner persona. I never got serious with any of them, partially because monogamy is not in my DNA, and partially because none of them could really keep up with me.
I mean, I have big plans. I'm going to be an agent, specifically, an assassin for the Galbaldian government. Though I didn't expect my first break to be a mission with the objective of assassinating a high-ranking representative of the Galbaldian government, I was still delighted when Marty asked me to do it. Go to Deling City, rumored to be a wild party town, take out some creepy sorcery using chick, and come back to garden a hero, with the head of the Galbaldian military as a reference.
I didn't expect lots of things though: first off, avatars. Since I'd be working with the SeeD program, they "generously" offered to match me up with an avatar. I guess Marty wanted to keep on Cid's good side or something; he made me accept. So I go through a 30 minute interview, take some psyche tests involving ink blots and making up stories based on pictures, take a physical, and tell the interviewer all about my training and career plans. The a gang of freelance researchers asks me to take another series of tests, this time involving remembering words, pictures, tunes, and movements. "We need to test your kinesthetic memory as well as your visual and aural recall…" I remember them telling me, performed a series of upper body gestures standing from memory, standing on one leg.
Two weeks later, I was junctioned with Bahamut. It was creepy at first, having him give me ideas that I knew weren't coming from me, but after he gave me hints to a question on a physics test, I started to like him. According to the three-inch binder I got with him, Bahamut's independent form is a blue dragon. I named him after a blue dragon in a Centurian myth where Bahamut, the Blue dragon, and Azar, the ruby dragon are continuously fighting. As punishment, Hyne turns them into islands. Bahamut becomes the island closest to hell, Azar, the island closest to heaven. Today, the islands are a breeding ground for dragons.
I digress. My point is that the mission was not at all what I had expected. Sitting in a pompous, ultra-conservative war-mongrel general's living room for an hour was definitely not what I expected, and I was pretty pissed when Carraway finally came in. He was all gussied up in full uniform with pins and badges on his jacket. He took a page out of Marty's book with his shoes – dated combat books. His coloring was a lot like Rinoa's; his graying hair looks like it might have been jet-black like hers, about a century ago, and his eyes are brown, but he has a square jaw and strong build. Rinoa's face is heart-shaped, and she's skinny.
He came alone, with no apology for keeping us waiting. Squall asked where Rinoa was as soon as we'd all made introductions. He leaned on the back of a couch and told us,
"She has not had the type of training that you have and may become a burden. It's best that she stay out of this operation." Awkward silence.
"So…you're Rinoa's father?" Selphie asked conversationally.
"I can't remember the last time she called me that."
"So the father's a top military officer and the daughter's a member of an anti-government faction? That's pretty bad." said Zell, sounding impressed.
"Yes, indeed. It's a serious dilemma. But it doesn't concern you, it's our problem. Besides, we have more important things to worry about."
Squall looked like he was going to say something, but he just shook his head in silent disagreement. Apparently it was his problem. He said,
"Garden's directive and Rinoa's orders have the same value to us. Once our mission is accomplished here, we're working for Rinoa, as per our contract. I don't know what your situation is, but please don't interfere when the time comes."
"And if I do?" I was starting to understand Rinoa's instructions not to leave her in the house. Squall looked pissed (or as much so as Squall ever does, meaning he uncrosses his arms and speaks louder),
"We're all SeeDs here. We'll act accordingly." I decided to step in.
"Hey hey hey, fellas. We're here to knock off the sorceress, right? Let's get down to business."
Rinoa makes her way through the familiar house mechanically to keep memories of living there at bay: out of the drawing room, left, into the front foyer, left, up the stairs, right, down the hall to her room, second door on the left. The door is open; it always has been since she broke the outside lock with a screwdriver and a hair pin four summers ago.
Nothing had been changed; Rinoa doubted her father had even gone inside in the past two years. The overhead lamp flickers to life. The cloudy blue wallpaper is still up, and her cream colored carpet. The curtains are drawn over her two windows, and her futon still lay underneath with the sheets crumpled at the bottom, and the blue quilt thrown hastily over them. Her desk still has homework from sophomore year spread on its surface.
Rinoa reaches for the phone of her desk, realizes she's forgotten Shiro's number, which she used to be able to dial in her sleep, and has to rifle through her drawers until she finds her dusty address book with a glittery fairy on the cover.
Kenji, Shiro's 25-year-old brother answers the phone. Born in Esthar, he still has traces of an Estharian accent. Rinoa asks for Shiro.
"He will be home on Saturday, he is visiting friends in Dollet. Would you like his cell phone number?"
"That's fine, thanks Kenji. Tell your mom I said 'hi'."
Rinoa hangs up. She flips through her address book, the fairy shedding pieces of glitter in her lap, looking for somewhere to stay. She tries Laurel, Kendra. The phone rings five times before she picks up, sounding sleepy,
"'Lo?"
"Kemy, its Rinoa. I'm sorry to call so late, I just got into town."
"Rina! God it's been forever. You remember how Shiro and you and me used to spend the summers together? Oh hey, thanks for all those letters you sent me…"
"I'm sorry! I've been so busy. I have so much to tell you, I just need a place to stay for a few days."
"Hey, say no more. But aren't you going to stay with your dad?"
"I would, but it's been two years; I think I've forgotten how to survive his company."
Kemy laughs, "You sound just the same. I'm going back to bed, but there's a key in the plant. Wake me up when you get here, alright?"
"Sure, thanks Kemy."
(I'll say goodbye to everyone first, then I'll pack…). Rinoa closes the door behind her and crosses the hall to the top of the foyer stairs. The open door to her father's study, usually closed, catches her eye. Rinoa peers inside. The overhead light is off, but a reading lamp on the old oak desk illuminates a circle of papers and glints off of something shiny. Rinoa peers down the hall and then steals into the room.
Her first thought is that the bracelet on her father's desk must have belonged to her mother. Anya never wore jewelry, and it didn't look like anything Rinoa would wear. It was a gold bangle studded with colorful crystals. Surrounding it on the desk were what seemed to be the product of a brainstorming session. There are several crumpled sheets of notebook paper, printed sheets of statistics and lists of names, and phone numbers on yellow post-it notes. At the top of the pile is a crudely drawn sketch of the arc dividing downtown Deling city from the northern districts. Across from it in green pencil is a picture of the carousel – a platform on top of city hall that displays holographic light shows on Saturday nights and holidays.
A booklet is rolled up and stuffed through the center of the bracelet. Rinoa pulls it out and examines the cover, which shows a short, balding Estharian man with a huge, red and white collar. He's smiling aimiably, and holding up a closed fist in the foreground of the picture. On his wrist is the same, gold bangle. In block letters over his head,
Dr. Odine's Direct Magic Repression Bangle.
Practical products for the modern day sorceress.
Rinoa's eyes widen and she quickly flips to the first page of the booklet.
Modern day sorcery can be as much a curse as a blessing. Because of the social prejudice sometimes associated with the use of direct magic, it can be helpful for a direct magic user to temporarily repress their access to magical energy, especially while learning to control her powers.
Now, your direct magic can be turned on and off like a light switch, without conspicuous equipment or inconvenient pills and shots…
Rinoa quickly rolls the booklet back up and stuffs it into the bracelet, then tiptoes downstairs.
The drawing room is empty, as is the front foyer. Rinoa is about to check the living room when she hears the front door open and close, and muffled conversation from the entrance hall.
"And all this is going to happen tomorrow night?" Selphie's voice.
"Yes, you all arrived just in time. I was expecting a group of Galbaldian students; it's very odd that Martine would make such a significant change at the last minute." Her father sounds tired. "I suppose he thought professional mercenaries would be better suited than military students for such an operation."
"Irvine's a military student." Zell, or Squall? No, Zell. The general ignores him.
"The guestrooms are to your right. I've already had your luggage moved. I hope you'll find them comfortable. By the way, my daughter Rinoa came with you, did she say if she was going to bed?"
Rinoa emerges from the living room.
"I just came to say goodbye."
"You can say goodbye tomorrow morning, right now we should all get some sleep."
"I'll be across town tomorrow morning. I'm staying with Kemy."
"We'll discuss this later." The general dismisses the SeeDs with a wave.
Rinoa turns towards the stairs. "I'm going to pack, general, and then I'm staying with Kemy. Not here." She starts up the stairs. She could call in the morning and tell the SeeDs goodbye over the phone, though it wouldn't be the same. A hand catches her shoulder.
"It's almost midnight. You'll sleep here." She shrugs her shoulder away angrily.
"I don't need you telling me what to do! I've been taking care of myself for years!"
"I'm tired, and I am not in the mood for this discussion right now! As long as you're underage, I am responsible for your safety. I don't want you crossing town alone this late at night."
Rinoa shakes her head and lets out an exasperated breath. This argument is going nowhere. She turns and climbs the stairs back to her room. (How dare he! Send me off to a strange city for twelve years and then have the nerve to try to act like my father? Yeah, right. I'll sneak out the backdoor.)
Rinoa kicks her baseboard in frustration. (This is why I stayed in Timber!) She falls onto her futon, still fuming, but exhausted, and screams into the pillow. (Go to hell, you fucking right-wing war hawk. Goddammit…) Rinoa notices remotely that she's crying again, the pillowcase is wet. (Seifer's dead…)
A/N: moster shields – kudos to dune