A Word from the Author: Gasp...has it really been THREE weeks since I last
updated? Gosh, I'm SO sorry, but I've been really busy lately, coping with
a lot of tests and studying like hell I didn't have much time for writing.
Well, now I'm back with another chapter! Hope you enjoy it and forgive me
for deserting TIAL for so long. See ya at the bottom of this page when
you're done (vanishes in a cloud of mystical-smelling smoke)
(Note: This chapter takes place a day before the previous.)
Chapter Twelve: Stab in the Back
"For the last time, NO!" Laguna snapped impatiently, rising to his feet and clenching his feet in annoyance. He slammed it down onto the tabletop between himself and the Galbadian envoy who observed his display of anger with an inscrutable expression and the faint, slightly patronizing smile of a parent watching a child have a temple tantrum.
"Are you certain, President Loire?" he asked in a steady, courteous tone after Laguna had calmed down somewhat. "Surely you can see the benefits of an alliance with Galbadia President Deling has so graciously offered you. You should be honored to join forces with such a prestigious nation."
Laguna looked at the man, as though he was something that had just been scraped off his shoe. "And work against my own family? I don't think so, somehow."
The envoy flashed a smile that was dazzling in its charm and honesty. Laguna didn't buy it one bit, especially upon hearing the Galbadian's next words. "Ah, but President Loire, your duty comes first to your country, not your family. I believe that is written down somewhere in the inauguration speech?" The smile on his face twisted into a subtle sneer of mockery that made Laguna long to see his fist planted in the man's nose, but he held himself back. If the president of Esthar was reported to have punched one of Galbadia's ambassador in the face, Edigier Deling, known for his pride and arrogance, would declare war on Esthar before Laguna could even blink twice. The man knew this, and knew that Laguna knew, and beneath the fake smile there was an underlying triumph.
Half an hour earlier the slender, greasy-haired man had arrived at the palace and requested an audience with President Loire, a request that Laguna couldn't very well ignore. The envoy had been escorted to Laguna's office under heavy guard, unfazed despite the seven high-power laser guns pointed at his head and torso, every one of them capable of frying him like a slab of bacon in a frying pan on top of a blazing fire. He had introduced himself as Gerald Marling, the President of Galbadia's personal secretary, and that he had Very Important Business to discuss and would Laguna please listen while he talked. Laguna had dismissed the guards and let Gerald speak, for about tem minutes. During the whole time, Laguna had grown steadily redder and increasingly pissed off, but restraining himself with a rare amount of will-power like a volcano trying not to erupt. After all, this was delicate political business. One always had to tread carefully in this area. He kept repeating it to himself like a mantra and was just feeling that throbbing vein in his forehead starting to go down when, Gerald, in that cheerful, slick, insulting way of his, out of the blue, just casually suggested breaking the Gaian Treaty.
To say that Laguna was shocked was a gross understatement. He was scandalized, stunned, and for a full ten seconds his mind ripped free from his skull and started orbiting the moon at top speed, while back on Gaia his mouth fell open and stayed that way. Taking this is a sign of submission, the ambassador continued talking (of all the guys Laguna had met in his whole life, this was the one that loved to hear himself talk the most, and he compared him unfavorably to Ward) while Laguna remained gaping like the moron he had used to be, his mind racing.
No wonder, because the Treaty had been signed right after the second Sorceress War, by all the leaders of the major governments in the world, including himself. By signing the document, each and every one had sworn never to go into war for personal gain again, and Cid Kramer, retired headmaster of Balamb Garden, had made a grand speech about how the treaty symbolized 'a beginning of a golden age of peace and serenity while we rebuild the pieces of ourselves lost in the traumatic war.'
Gerald was asking him a question, but he didn't hear, his ears filled with buzzing, as though a hundred Bite Bugs were invading his office. Galbadia had betrayed his trust, Squall's trust, everyone's trust. Without their co- operation, the Treaty was so much waste paper. And Avine, Avine, who had gone missing just days ago...suspicions bloomed thick in his mind, and his eyes narrowed, suddenly hard and exceedingly unfriendly.
Gerald saw the change in the president, and knew then this was a lost cause. But he was bound by Edigier's explicit orders, and in truth he did not really have anything against Laguna, other than the fact that the other man controlled a city full of technologically advanced ships and weapons that meant potential harm towards his homeland. So he kept talking, persuading, until Laguna had pounded his fist against the desk, a very clear message telling him to shut up.
Laguna gazed at him, his expression full of anger and disbelief. "Tell Edigier to butt out of my business. I, for one, want nothing to do with Galbadia, and my city is far better off without the presence of those hulking-headed bigots."
Gerald felt his lips tighten at the obvious dismissal and barely veiled insult. "Very well, President, have it your way." Stiffly, gathering up his papers and stuffing them into a black briefcase, he rose and bowed, a curt, cold bow . Laguna pressed a button on his desk, and a moment later the door opened, admitting the seven armored guards who had accompanied him here. Gerald began walking away, and then paused and said over his shoulder, "Are you sure you won't reconsider, President? Galbadia makes a good friend."
Both men heard the unvoiced threat hanging in the air, though the words went unvoiced. Laguna's eyes were hard as flint as he replied, "With friends like that, who needs enemies?"
Gerald's demeanor, if possible, became even frostier. He bowed again, somehow managing to convey scorn and contempt in his body actions rather than respect. "Then I shall respect your wishes, President," he said through his teeth, his tone suggesting that the thoughts going through his head right then were far from what he had just said. "But don't say I didn't warn you." For a small, fleeting second he sounded almost regretful, and the feeling that the regret was genuine only struck Laguna as more ominous. Then Gerald was swaggering away, flanked at both sides by his faithful retinue of guards. The door closed behind them and he was alone.
Wearily Laguna rose to his feet and stretched. The long hours of sitting in a hard, high-backed chair had taken its toll on his tired body. Long gone were the days he had explored with his friends, traveling the world as a journalist, recently spat from the jaws of war and glad for a rest. He had been a young man in his early twenties, eager to dare the world and take on every challenge tossed his way. Now he was sixty-one years of age, and his trusty machine gun had been packed away, though occasionally he still opened the case to run his fingers lovingly over it, remembering the days of adventure and danger he had led. How far away those times seemed now. Even the memory of Raine had mellowed like old wine, and now when he thought of her it was with a faint, wistful ache and sweet joy, rather than the sharp pain of fresh sorrow and guilt that had plagued him for years after she had died.
Ward was dead too. That memory was still new, and sometimes Laguna's eyes would blur with tears for a second or two as he thought of his army buddy. The three of them, he, Kiros and Ward, had often gone and pulled off more missions than he could count together, often with daring, idiotic strategies usually devised by himself. Ward had passed away just last year at the age of sixty-nine, as Laguna still missed his silent, reassuring company at his side. At Ward's funeral, a small, solemn affair, attended by a small group of officers including Kiros and himself, Laguna distinctly remembered standing beside Kiros and staring at the grave for a long, long time before they had been able to drag their eyes away, unable to believe that Ward was leaving without them, that the bear-like man with a soft heart that belied his scarred visage was dead and would never share a drink with them again, that one day he had just had been there, silent as always but larger than life, was gone the next and he would be gone forever.
At least he still had Kiros and his family. Laguna smiled a little as he thought of Squall, who had taken Raine's surname and continuing to keep it even after he had learnt that Laguna was his father. Squall had gradually, grudgingly, come to accept the truth about his parentage, and though sometimes cold and aloof, Laguna, in his own way, had also accepted that that was an unchangeable part of Squall Leonheart and there was no way that he could hope for anything better. And then there was Arne, his grandchild, so like his father that Laguna's heart swelled with pride every time he looked at Arne. Arne adored his grandfather, though he ceased with public displays of affection after he became thirteen, and a few days ago he had phoned to say that he was arriving at Esthar next week with the family to 'take a break from the boss'.
An electronic buzz from a little gadget installed next to his desk brought Laguna's mind screeching back from the present. He jabbed at a key on the computer in front of him and a new window popped up, showing an image transmitted from a high resolution security camera perched in an inconspicuous place above the door that was connected to his computer. A picture formed, blurry at first, but slowly sharpening to show a thin, freckle-faced teenage boy in a scruffy-looking shirt and jeans standing outside. He held a tray and a cup in his hands, tapping his foot impatiently and whistling a little ditty that the sound sensor picked Laguna desperately needed a cup, sweet and black and strong, after his verbal battle with the Galbadian envoy. Strange and ironic that he, by birth a Galbadian and once a Galbadian soldier in the army who had fought against Estharian troops, would end up bad-mouthing a Galbadian and all Galbadians in general and, to boot, the president of the very city he had once attacked, following orders given to him by his commander blindly. If anyone had informed him he was to be a very important person someday thirty years ago, he would have laughed and told that person that he was drunk.
Now, he could only reflect on its strangeness.
He pressed the intercom button and said clearly into it, "Come in, Jeremy." At the same time he jabbed at the button that opened the door. The boy stepped in carefully, holding the tray gingerly. "Fresh-brewed, sir, straight from the pot," he said with a sunny smile that lit up his whole face. He had one of those honest, guileless faces that made people trust and take to him immediately, and an open, engaging smile that caused people to smile back. He wasn't particularly good looking, being scrawny and somewhat homely, with an overlarge nose and straggly black hair, but there was a natural charisma about him that attracted friends like fleas. He had come here a year ago seeking a job, and Laguna had made him the 'messenger boy', meaning that he often ran to and fro between the offices delivering memos and the like, and their coffee when they asked for it.
Jeremy set down the tray gently, putting it down on a small side table to Laguna's left. He flashed his mega-watt smile at the President. "Will there be anything else you require, sir?" he asked, his voice cracking at odd moments, having hit the strains of puberty a few months back.
Laguna smiled back. "No, that's all, Jeremy. Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir." As Laguna lifted the cup from the tray, Jeremy quickly added, "Careful, sir. It's scalding hot."
The President sipped at the black liquid. It rejuvenated his worn system, and he felt like an empty battery plugged to an electrical outlet. Jeremy did not move. He was staring at Laguna with an odd, tight, intense expression. "Do you need a paper towel, sir?" he asked, his tones strained, for some reason or other. "In case you spill."
Laguna stared at his messenger boy, wondering what was wrong with Jeremy. He seemed unusually jumpy and edgy all of a sudden. "Are you unwell? You don't look good." It was true that the teenager was sweating heavily, with heavy bags beneath his eyes.
Jeremy shook his head. "Just fine, sir," he croaked. He turned and had just reached the door when Laguna felt the first indications that all was not well.
He dropped the cup, gagging as sudden nausea twisted his stomach inside out. Black liquid splashed across his desk, soaking up several documents on the surface and his computer, which gave an odd fizz and went dark. Some spilled onto his skin, burning the flesh, but it was nothing compared to the greater pain he was feeling now. It was as though somebody had stuck a knife into his intestines and was twisting it around again and again. His heart thudded madly in his ribcage, and in desperation he called, "Jeremy! Don't go! Help me!" His dimming eyesight saw the boy, standing still and frozen in front of the door, his face slightly averted so that Laguna could not see his face. Hyne, don't tell me the boy's gone into shock, Laguna thought, as he fell face first into the computer, smelling the sickly sweet aroma of the coffee, still strong on the air.
Then Jeremy's strong hands were on his shoulders, and Laguna felt a flare of hope. It was getting harder to breathe; he struggled to find air enough to feed his oxygen-starved body. He gazed into Jeremy's hazel eyes, seeking reassurance. "Get help," he whispered, barely enough strength left to say anything else.
Jeremy leaned forward and whispered something into his President's ear, softly, almost comfortingly. The President's face contorted in agony; his body shook spasmodically one final time, then fell limp. Jeremy released the body and let Laguna fall lifelessly on his desk. For a few seconds Jeremy stared at the corpse, eyes blank, unseeing, then he wiped up the mess systematically, tossing the wet towel into the disposal tube when he was done. Then he ran out of the still open door, screaming.
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The guards were alerted at once, and Doctor Haivar Pendragon, who had replaced Dr. Odin as Head of the Science Department after his death, arrived at the scene almost instantly. He was disappointed to hear from Jeremy that he had cleared up the coffer 'as a reflex action' before he had come for help. The second highest-ranking government official was sent for at once, a balding, fox-eyed man named Skeiz Mardon, who was the current vice-president. He surveyed the scene and ordered a full investigation immediately. Jeremy was released from custody after an hour of interrogation and the unfortunate maid who had made the coffee was held for questioning.
Wearily, Jeremy made his way back home, a shabby apartment which was all he could afford in high-class Esthar. He flopped on the bed and pulled off his scuffed trainers, but he did not sleep, just kept his eyes glued to the ceiling and the myriad cracks spread across it. His eyes flicked to his chrono now and then, but otherwise he was quite still.
When his cell phone rang, vibrating against his skin, he did not start, just pulled it out and answered the phone. It was a good model, and the line was free of any static, so the man's voice came through loud and clear.
"Have you done what I asked, son?" the man asked.
Jeremy smiled, his lips curving, and suddenly the image of the good boy, the honest boy, he had worked so hard to maintain was gone, and the difference between the two faces of the boy was eerily frightening. This Jeremy's eyes were filled with malice, his smile full of arrogance and satisfaction at a job well done. He stretched out his legs and threw them over the side of the bed. "Of course I have, father. When have I ever failed you?"
The man laughed. "You have a lot of me in you, Jeremy. You know what to do afterwards?"
"I'll fly back to Deling City tomorrow," he promised, swinging his feet to and fro jubilantly. He suddenly started laughing; the laughter of an insane psychopath. "You should have seen his face, father!" he choked out, tears of mirth running down from the corner of his eyes to mix with the spittle bubbling out of his mouth.
"Do you know what I told him before he died? So my betrayal would be the last thing on his mind and deny him a peaceful rest. I told him, 'With friends like me, there's no way a guy will ever need enemies. Sleep tight, president.'" He laughed again, almost hysterical.
"Yes. Very amusing, son. Good job, and goodbye." His father disconnected and Jeremy fell back onto the bed, still laughing loud and long, his sadistic nature at last bursting free out of the bars he had placed around it to fool everyone else, including Laguna, and he'd paid dearly. Still giggling, showing no indication of ever stopping, Jeremy picked up a pen knife from his dresser, his blade stained as though with rust.
"One more," he hissed elatedly, and the blade bit deep into the flesh, red blood coloring his skin scarlet, adding one more scar to the other thin white lines that decorated his skin like a child's scrawling drawings. He raised his arm to his mouth and licked at the wound savagely, biting at it and tearing the small wound open wider.
"One more death to damn my soul," he shouted, and burst out laughing again, laughing until he was exhausted and finally falling asleep, his mouth still red with blood, the knife clutched tightly in one hand, cradling it against him like it was his dearest child.
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Meanwhile, in Galbadia, Deling City...
The man clicked his cell phone shut, glancing at the President of Galbadia, who watched him closely through half-lidded eyes. He was impeccably dressed as usual, settled comfortably into an armchair, his fingers folded together. He said lazily, "Well, don't keep us in suspense, Angus. Was Jeremy successful?"
Feder nodded, smirking. "My son's insanity does have its uses sometimes," he said with paternal pride, as though merely discussing his son's achievements in school with another parent.
"And Skeiz has what he wants. And we have what we want. Such is the fun of power and bribery, Angus," Edigier Deling mused, staring into space. Feder just waited patiently, used to Edigier's occasional ramblings.
"Come, for we have much things to accomplish, Angus," Edigier said suddenly, standing up. "The murder of the Galbadian traitor was but the first step in a long chain of events. Such a pity that he could have forgotten his own roots, Angus. And he was so talented too. I hate waste, but it was necessary. Cut off the diseased parts, and the body is whole again. Is that not so, Angus?"
The two men departed, not knowing, or caring that twenty-four hours later the grandson of Laguna Loire would be crying out in agony over the loss of his grandfather...
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Author's Ending Note: And so the plot thickens. I know I promised more Sephiroth goodness, and it will be up next chapter, so don't be mad at me. I just felt it would be ideal to show how Laguna died just to prolong the story. Yeah, and Laguna's well and truly dead. No resurrections or ghostly visits or sudden recoveries or anything. And, as the author, I feel I should warn you that more canon characters than Laguna and Ward will die in this story, sadly. Anyway, Seph's practical exam will really and truly be up next time I post, so remember to check your e-mail or regularly!
Travithian Axile signing out
Thanks to:
Hikari-SephyObsesser: It's nothing personal against Laguna and Squall. I really like them, honest.
Noacat: Oh dear, loads of people seem to be mourning over Laguna's death. And thank you for the compliment about Seifer! I was thinking that he was a little too remorseful to be realistic, though.
Dark Feruil: In answer to your question, yes. After all, Sephiroth still hasn't passed his field exam. (hint, hint)
Zero-no-uta: No Sephiroth here, sorry!
(Note: This chapter takes place a day before the previous.)
Chapter Twelve: Stab in the Back
"For the last time, NO!" Laguna snapped impatiently, rising to his feet and clenching his feet in annoyance. He slammed it down onto the tabletop between himself and the Galbadian envoy who observed his display of anger with an inscrutable expression and the faint, slightly patronizing smile of a parent watching a child have a temple tantrum.
"Are you certain, President Loire?" he asked in a steady, courteous tone after Laguna had calmed down somewhat. "Surely you can see the benefits of an alliance with Galbadia President Deling has so graciously offered you. You should be honored to join forces with such a prestigious nation."
Laguna looked at the man, as though he was something that had just been scraped off his shoe. "And work against my own family? I don't think so, somehow."
The envoy flashed a smile that was dazzling in its charm and honesty. Laguna didn't buy it one bit, especially upon hearing the Galbadian's next words. "Ah, but President Loire, your duty comes first to your country, not your family. I believe that is written down somewhere in the inauguration speech?" The smile on his face twisted into a subtle sneer of mockery that made Laguna long to see his fist planted in the man's nose, but he held himself back. If the president of Esthar was reported to have punched one of Galbadia's ambassador in the face, Edigier Deling, known for his pride and arrogance, would declare war on Esthar before Laguna could even blink twice. The man knew this, and knew that Laguna knew, and beneath the fake smile there was an underlying triumph.
Half an hour earlier the slender, greasy-haired man had arrived at the palace and requested an audience with President Loire, a request that Laguna couldn't very well ignore. The envoy had been escorted to Laguna's office under heavy guard, unfazed despite the seven high-power laser guns pointed at his head and torso, every one of them capable of frying him like a slab of bacon in a frying pan on top of a blazing fire. He had introduced himself as Gerald Marling, the President of Galbadia's personal secretary, and that he had Very Important Business to discuss and would Laguna please listen while he talked. Laguna had dismissed the guards and let Gerald speak, for about tem minutes. During the whole time, Laguna had grown steadily redder and increasingly pissed off, but restraining himself with a rare amount of will-power like a volcano trying not to erupt. After all, this was delicate political business. One always had to tread carefully in this area. He kept repeating it to himself like a mantra and was just feeling that throbbing vein in his forehead starting to go down when, Gerald, in that cheerful, slick, insulting way of his, out of the blue, just casually suggested breaking the Gaian Treaty.
To say that Laguna was shocked was a gross understatement. He was scandalized, stunned, and for a full ten seconds his mind ripped free from his skull and started orbiting the moon at top speed, while back on Gaia his mouth fell open and stayed that way. Taking this is a sign of submission, the ambassador continued talking (of all the guys Laguna had met in his whole life, this was the one that loved to hear himself talk the most, and he compared him unfavorably to Ward) while Laguna remained gaping like the moron he had used to be, his mind racing.
No wonder, because the Treaty had been signed right after the second Sorceress War, by all the leaders of the major governments in the world, including himself. By signing the document, each and every one had sworn never to go into war for personal gain again, and Cid Kramer, retired headmaster of Balamb Garden, had made a grand speech about how the treaty symbolized 'a beginning of a golden age of peace and serenity while we rebuild the pieces of ourselves lost in the traumatic war.'
Gerald was asking him a question, but he didn't hear, his ears filled with buzzing, as though a hundred Bite Bugs were invading his office. Galbadia had betrayed his trust, Squall's trust, everyone's trust. Without their co- operation, the Treaty was so much waste paper. And Avine, Avine, who had gone missing just days ago...suspicions bloomed thick in his mind, and his eyes narrowed, suddenly hard and exceedingly unfriendly.
Gerald saw the change in the president, and knew then this was a lost cause. But he was bound by Edigier's explicit orders, and in truth he did not really have anything against Laguna, other than the fact that the other man controlled a city full of technologically advanced ships and weapons that meant potential harm towards his homeland. So he kept talking, persuading, until Laguna had pounded his fist against the desk, a very clear message telling him to shut up.
Laguna gazed at him, his expression full of anger and disbelief. "Tell Edigier to butt out of my business. I, for one, want nothing to do with Galbadia, and my city is far better off without the presence of those hulking-headed bigots."
Gerald felt his lips tighten at the obvious dismissal and barely veiled insult. "Very well, President, have it your way." Stiffly, gathering up his papers and stuffing them into a black briefcase, he rose and bowed, a curt, cold bow . Laguna pressed a button on his desk, and a moment later the door opened, admitting the seven armored guards who had accompanied him here. Gerald began walking away, and then paused and said over his shoulder, "Are you sure you won't reconsider, President? Galbadia makes a good friend."
Both men heard the unvoiced threat hanging in the air, though the words went unvoiced. Laguna's eyes were hard as flint as he replied, "With friends like that, who needs enemies?"
Gerald's demeanor, if possible, became even frostier. He bowed again, somehow managing to convey scorn and contempt in his body actions rather than respect. "Then I shall respect your wishes, President," he said through his teeth, his tone suggesting that the thoughts going through his head right then were far from what he had just said. "But don't say I didn't warn you." For a small, fleeting second he sounded almost regretful, and the feeling that the regret was genuine only struck Laguna as more ominous. Then Gerald was swaggering away, flanked at both sides by his faithful retinue of guards. The door closed behind them and he was alone.
Wearily Laguna rose to his feet and stretched. The long hours of sitting in a hard, high-backed chair had taken its toll on his tired body. Long gone were the days he had explored with his friends, traveling the world as a journalist, recently spat from the jaws of war and glad for a rest. He had been a young man in his early twenties, eager to dare the world and take on every challenge tossed his way. Now he was sixty-one years of age, and his trusty machine gun had been packed away, though occasionally he still opened the case to run his fingers lovingly over it, remembering the days of adventure and danger he had led. How far away those times seemed now. Even the memory of Raine had mellowed like old wine, and now when he thought of her it was with a faint, wistful ache and sweet joy, rather than the sharp pain of fresh sorrow and guilt that had plagued him for years after she had died.
Ward was dead too. That memory was still new, and sometimes Laguna's eyes would blur with tears for a second or two as he thought of his army buddy. The three of them, he, Kiros and Ward, had often gone and pulled off more missions than he could count together, often with daring, idiotic strategies usually devised by himself. Ward had passed away just last year at the age of sixty-nine, as Laguna still missed his silent, reassuring company at his side. At Ward's funeral, a small, solemn affair, attended by a small group of officers including Kiros and himself, Laguna distinctly remembered standing beside Kiros and staring at the grave for a long, long time before they had been able to drag their eyes away, unable to believe that Ward was leaving without them, that the bear-like man with a soft heart that belied his scarred visage was dead and would never share a drink with them again, that one day he had just had been there, silent as always but larger than life, was gone the next and he would be gone forever.
At least he still had Kiros and his family. Laguna smiled a little as he thought of Squall, who had taken Raine's surname and continuing to keep it even after he had learnt that Laguna was his father. Squall had gradually, grudgingly, come to accept the truth about his parentage, and though sometimes cold and aloof, Laguna, in his own way, had also accepted that that was an unchangeable part of Squall Leonheart and there was no way that he could hope for anything better. And then there was Arne, his grandchild, so like his father that Laguna's heart swelled with pride every time he looked at Arne. Arne adored his grandfather, though he ceased with public displays of affection after he became thirteen, and a few days ago he had phoned to say that he was arriving at Esthar next week with the family to 'take a break from the boss'.
An electronic buzz from a little gadget installed next to his desk brought Laguna's mind screeching back from the present. He jabbed at a key on the computer in front of him and a new window popped up, showing an image transmitted from a high resolution security camera perched in an inconspicuous place above the door that was connected to his computer. A picture formed, blurry at first, but slowly sharpening to show a thin, freckle-faced teenage boy in a scruffy-looking shirt and jeans standing outside. He held a tray and a cup in his hands, tapping his foot impatiently and whistling a little ditty that the sound sensor picked Laguna desperately needed a cup, sweet and black and strong, after his verbal battle with the Galbadian envoy. Strange and ironic that he, by birth a Galbadian and once a Galbadian soldier in the army who had fought against Estharian troops, would end up bad-mouthing a Galbadian and all Galbadians in general and, to boot, the president of the very city he had once attacked, following orders given to him by his commander blindly. If anyone had informed him he was to be a very important person someday thirty years ago, he would have laughed and told that person that he was drunk.
Now, he could only reflect on its strangeness.
He pressed the intercom button and said clearly into it, "Come in, Jeremy." At the same time he jabbed at the button that opened the door. The boy stepped in carefully, holding the tray gingerly. "Fresh-brewed, sir, straight from the pot," he said with a sunny smile that lit up his whole face. He had one of those honest, guileless faces that made people trust and take to him immediately, and an open, engaging smile that caused people to smile back. He wasn't particularly good looking, being scrawny and somewhat homely, with an overlarge nose and straggly black hair, but there was a natural charisma about him that attracted friends like fleas. He had come here a year ago seeking a job, and Laguna had made him the 'messenger boy', meaning that he often ran to and fro between the offices delivering memos and the like, and their coffee when they asked for it.
Jeremy set down the tray gently, putting it down on a small side table to Laguna's left. He flashed his mega-watt smile at the President. "Will there be anything else you require, sir?" he asked, his voice cracking at odd moments, having hit the strains of puberty a few months back.
Laguna smiled back. "No, that's all, Jeremy. Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir." As Laguna lifted the cup from the tray, Jeremy quickly added, "Careful, sir. It's scalding hot."
The President sipped at the black liquid. It rejuvenated his worn system, and he felt like an empty battery plugged to an electrical outlet. Jeremy did not move. He was staring at Laguna with an odd, tight, intense expression. "Do you need a paper towel, sir?" he asked, his tones strained, for some reason or other. "In case you spill."
Laguna stared at his messenger boy, wondering what was wrong with Jeremy. He seemed unusually jumpy and edgy all of a sudden. "Are you unwell? You don't look good." It was true that the teenager was sweating heavily, with heavy bags beneath his eyes.
Jeremy shook his head. "Just fine, sir," he croaked. He turned and had just reached the door when Laguna felt the first indications that all was not well.
He dropped the cup, gagging as sudden nausea twisted his stomach inside out. Black liquid splashed across his desk, soaking up several documents on the surface and his computer, which gave an odd fizz and went dark. Some spilled onto his skin, burning the flesh, but it was nothing compared to the greater pain he was feeling now. It was as though somebody had stuck a knife into his intestines and was twisting it around again and again. His heart thudded madly in his ribcage, and in desperation he called, "Jeremy! Don't go! Help me!" His dimming eyesight saw the boy, standing still and frozen in front of the door, his face slightly averted so that Laguna could not see his face. Hyne, don't tell me the boy's gone into shock, Laguna thought, as he fell face first into the computer, smelling the sickly sweet aroma of the coffee, still strong on the air.
Then Jeremy's strong hands were on his shoulders, and Laguna felt a flare of hope. It was getting harder to breathe; he struggled to find air enough to feed his oxygen-starved body. He gazed into Jeremy's hazel eyes, seeking reassurance. "Get help," he whispered, barely enough strength left to say anything else.
Jeremy leaned forward and whispered something into his President's ear, softly, almost comfortingly. The President's face contorted in agony; his body shook spasmodically one final time, then fell limp. Jeremy released the body and let Laguna fall lifelessly on his desk. For a few seconds Jeremy stared at the corpse, eyes blank, unseeing, then he wiped up the mess systematically, tossing the wet towel into the disposal tube when he was done. Then he ran out of the still open door, screaming.
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The guards were alerted at once, and Doctor Haivar Pendragon, who had replaced Dr. Odin as Head of the Science Department after his death, arrived at the scene almost instantly. He was disappointed to hear from Jeremy that he had cleared up the coffer 'as a reflex action' before he had come for help. The second highest-ranking government official was sent for at once, a balding, fox-eyed man named Skeiz Mardon, who was the current vice-president. He surveyed the scene and ordered a full investigation immediately. Jeremy was released from custody after an hour of interrogation and the unfortunate maid who had made the coffee was held for questioning.
Wearily, Jeremy made his way back home, a shabby apartment which was all he could afford in high-class Esthar. He flopped on the bed and pulled off his scuffed trainers, but he did not sleep, just kept his eyes glued to the ceiling and the myriad cracks spread across it. His eyes flicked to his chrono now and then, but otherwise he was quite still.
When his cell phone rang, vibrating against his skin, he did not start, just pulled it out and answered the phone. It was a good model, and the line was free of any static, so the man's voice came through loud and clear.
"Have you done what I asked, son?" the man asked.
Jeremy smiled, his lips curving, and suddenly the image of the good boy, the honest boy, he had worked so hard to maintain was gone, and the difference between the two faces of the boy was eerily frightening. This Jeremy's eyes were filled with malice, his smile full of arrogance and satisfaction at a job well done. He stretched out his legs and threw them over the side of the bed. "Of course I have, father. When have I ever failed you?"
The man laughed. "You have a lot of me in you, Jeremy. You know what to do afterwards?"
"I'll fly back to Deling City tomorrow," he promised, swinging his feet to and fro jubilantly. He suddenly started laughing; the laughter of an insane psychopath. "You should have seen his face, father!" he choked out, tears of mirth running down from the corner of his eyes to mix with the spittle bubbling out of his mouth.
"Do you know what I told him before he died? So my betrayal would be the last thing on his mind and deny him a peaceful rest. I told him, 'With friends like me, there's no way a guy will ever need enemies. Sleep tight, president.'" He laughed again, almost hysterical.
"Yes. Very amusing, son. Good job, and goodbye." His father disconnected and Jeremy fell back onto the bed, still laughing loud and long, his sadistic nature at last bursting free out of the bars he had placed around it to fool everyone else, including Laguna, and he'd paid dearly. Still giggling, showing no indication of ever stopping, Jeremy picked up a pen knife from his dresser, his blade stained as though with rust.
"One more," he hissed elatedly, and the blade bit deep into the flesh, red blood coloring his skin scarlet, adding one more scar to the other thin white lines that decorated his skin like a child's scrawling drawings. He raised his arm to his mouth and licked at the wound savagely, biting at it and tearing the small wound open wider.
"One more death to damn my soul," he shouted, and burst out laughing again, laughing until he was exhausted and finally falling asleep, his mouth still red with blood, the knife clutched tightly in one hand, cradling it against him like it was his dearest child.
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Meanwhile, in Galbadia, Deling City...
The man clicked his cell phone shut, glancing at the President of Galbadia, who watched him closely through half-lidded eyes. He was impeccably dressed as usual, settled comfortably into an armchair, his fingers folded together. He said lazily, "Well, don't keep us in suspense, Angus. Was Jeremy successful?"
Feder nodded, smirking. "My son's insanity does have its uses sometimes," he said with paternal pride, as though merely discussing his son's achievements in school with another parent.
"And Skeiz has what he wants. And we have what we want. Such is the fun of power and bribery, Angus," Edigier Deling mused, staring into space. Feder just waited patiently, used to Edigier's occasional ramblings.
"Come, for we have much things to accomplish, Angus," Edigier said suddenly, standing up. "The murder of the Galbadian traitor was but the first step in a long chain of events. Such a pity that he could have forgotten his own roots, Angus. And he was so talented too. I hate waste, but it was necessary. Cut off the diseased parts, and the body is whole again. Is that not so, Angus?"
The two men departed, not knowing, or caring that twenty-four hours later the grandson of Laguna Loire would be crying out in agony over the loss of his grandfather...
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Author's Ending Note: And so the plot thickens. I know I promised more Sephiroth goodness, and it will be up next chapter, so don't be mad at me. I just felt it would be ideal to show how Laguna died just to prolong the story. Yeah, and Laguna's well and truly dead. No resurrections or ghostly visits or sudden recoveries or anything. And, as the author, I feel I should warn you that more canon characters than Laguna and Ward will die in this story, sadly. Anyway, Seph's practical exam will really and truly be up next time I post, so remember to check your e-mail or regularly!
Travithian Axile signing out
Thanks to:
Hikari-SephyObsesser: It's nothing personal against Laguna and Squall. I really like them, honest.
Noacat: Oh dear, loads of people seem to be mourning over Laguna's death. And thank you for the compliment about Seifer! I was thinking that he was a little too remorseful to be realistic, though.
Dark Feruil: In answer to your question, yes. After all, Sephiroth still hasn't passed his field exam. (hint, hint)
Zero-no-uta: No Sephiroth here, sorry!
