Two: Roads
It was long after midnight when Quistis finally returned to her dark-shrouded dormitory, the unmoving black still permeated by the occasional flicker of moonlight through a gap in the clouds. Her dorm was a typically nondescript instructor's room; a single dorm whose only distinguishing feature was the single bed tucked in the far corner and a dresser wedged in the opposite side. Knowing she only had a matter of hours before she had to prepare for classes and registration, she quickly changed into her bed clothes and washed, wanting to preserve time. As she was rearranging her SeeD instructor's uniform in the dresser, she heard the indignant whine of a domestic cat behind her. Turning around in the direction of the sound, she felt a fuzzy head start rubbing her shin, the cat seemingly making up for the attention it had been deprived of earlier with a newly-found rigour.
"I suppose you want me to feed you, right?" she frowned, reaching down and scratching behind the cat's ears. The gesture was greeted with the warm, low rumble of a purr. Quistis considered herself a cat lover primarily because she appreciated them on many different levels—they weren't just the companions that some might suggest, but offered love and devotion beyond a human's. Unlike humans, cats didn't let you down or desert you when you most needed them; they were always willing to do their best to make you feel better, even if that only involved curling up in your lap. Quistis spooned the chunks of jelly-covered cat food into an uninteresting grey ceramic bowl, and the cat's head was already digging into the bowl before she had set it down. Typical cat behaviour, she told herself with an inward smile.
After the lights were switched off and the cat tucked away in its basket in the kitchenette, most likely sleeping off its latest meal, Quistis sat down on the edge of her bed, looking out through the blind. Her obscured view showed only a darkened sea, with the silvery reflection of moonlight flickering darkly on the ripples of sea. Not wanting to mull over matters too long, she threw the quilt aside and slipped into bed – she'd already done far too much thinking for one night, mostly over matters she wasn't likely to resolve any time soon.
As much as she wanted to concentrate on sleep, however, she still found her mind wandering back to the Festival which had just passed. It confused her; someone as egotistical and self-important as Seifer wouldn't usually be known for caring about the feelings of others, in fact, he was infamous for ignoring the feelings of others in favour of indulging in his own pretentious fantasies. Which made it all the stranger that he'd appeared to go out of his way to help her, actually trying to console her and make her feel better. And Seifer was no cat, that was for sure – there was no way he'd curl up in your lap to make you feel more reassured. That thought made Quistis smile slightly, at another of her private jokes.
But still—there was Squall. She knew he didn't think of her the same way she thought of him, even if she was trying to banish those fascinations from her mind. That was always the trouble with her; she was too afraid to tell someone what she really thought about them, maybe for fear of rejection or that she'd misread the signs, which seemed an idiotic way to be when she considered how obvious signs were. This, understandably, meant that she kept thinking intently about it to the point of misery, where she figured she'd never be able to do anything about it. She wasn't sure why it upset her, but she knew she had an obsessive personality and with it a tendency to concentrate on one thing for too long.
Stop thinking, she informed herself, and squeezed her eyes shut, curling up under the covers to keep warm. Sleep was not only what she needed, but it was a place of solace where her mind was no longer occupied with things it shouldn't be occupied with.
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Morning came relatively early to the Balamb continent, now that the northern hemisphere was in the humid grip of a lengthy summer heatwave, and the first rays of the sun frequently crept in through an orange sunrise usually reserved for pastel paintings. Obviously, morning often came too early to some members of the Garden; there were the typically sulky students who always piped up with some crap about it being too early or that they didn't sleep too well, but this was usually entirely due to the long, drink-addled nights out that had passed before. What the instructors' excuses were was anyone's guess—it wasn't like they had to pay for their coffee.
For a practicing mercenary like Squall Leonhart, however, sleep was a triviality which so-called "normal" people pretended they needed just so they could seem more human and fit in with the crowd. As a military trained SeeD, you were usually taught the ideal that sleep was a necessity, a battery-recharging period which was needed rather than wanted and one which should be taken whenever one had the chance. He only used it because he felt he had to, like someone was pressuring him into doing it so he would stay sane. He didn't eschew sleep because he thought it made him cool, like other pre-pubescent slackers in the Garden's lower years did, he just didn't sleep so well a lot of the time and felt like he didn't need to the rest of it.
He, like the instructors of the Garden, was bestowed with a spacious single room, fitted with all the luxuries that the Garden consortium wanted to gift to a single person. Funny, that, Squall mused without the smile that many used, as his dormitory was occupied by two people. And this was very much a good thing in his mind.
Watching the golden haze on the horizon, Squall's mind drifted to the time when they first met. That festival, he newly inaugurated into the folds of SeeD, she merely there to seek the company and better mercies of the Headmaster, somehow seemed like a move on fate's chessboard. It was one of life's "What if?" moments which he tried not to mull over too much, as the other scenario involved him not meeting Rinoa and therefore probably being alone in his current situation. Not having to face that truth, he thought, looking out toward the glistening water in the nearby Balamb harbour, was a very good thing indeed.
Trains of thought tend not to last too long, and this one in question ground to a halt when Squall felt a hand touch him gently on the shoulder – not an insistent one, but a gentle gesture of concern. He'd forgotten that Rinoa wasn't bound by nature to the same rules and regulations that he was, and her schedule certainly didn't involve sleep as a distraction. He turned to face her, knowing she would be dragging the bedsheet behind her to cover her modesty, and frowned at the sleep-fogged look which she wore on regarding him.
"You know, you don't have to rise before the sun does anymore," she said, furiously racking her brows to bring herself back to reality. Squall took her free hand, which she was using to rub her eyes.
"I am a member of SeeD, remember?" he replied. "You know, just because Ultimecia's out of the frame, doesn't mean I'm not a member. We haven't accomplished everything we set out to do; there's the small matter of the war between Galbadia and the other nations."
"Yeah, that's like Zell stealing ice cream from the cafeteria in comparison." She seemed slightly indignant. "Like, we're together now, aren't we?"
"I'm assuming "together" means a romantic pairing."
"So that means you don't have to spend all day practicing your "I don't need anyone" routine. You don't have to devote your life to working, or your own livelihood."
"Everyone thinks about themselves, Rinoa," Squall reprimanded, looking out over the sea. "Just because I didn't have any friends when I was younger, and I do now, it doesn't mean I can just stop thinking of my own welfare."
"I thought the idea of love was that you care more about the other person than yourself?"
"True," Squall conceded. "But if you aren't here, I can't worry about what you're doing. If I'm on a mission, and some guy is about to separate my head from my body, I do need to think about my own problems."
A gloomy silence settled over the dorm, permeated occasionally by the calls of a passing seagull drifting along the thermals. "Come on," Rinoa said, almost ready to drag Squall away by the hand. "There's still a couple of hours left until first class. You're not in Timber yet."
"Believe me, if I didn't have to do this mission, I—"
"Would? Squall, I know you better than you'd like to admit. And I know you'd taken this mission before they'd actually finished the briefing, because that's a Squallism." That was how she'd tagged his behavioural tendencies. "When you go off into a fantasy world, that's a Squallism. When you tell someone to go talk to a wall, because you don't need their problems, that's a Squallism. When you—"
"Okay, that's enough," Squall relented, following her obediently into the room. "It's kinda like a joke that's been done too many times."
"It is a joke that's been done too many times," she agreed. "Seems like it's the only way I get through to you – you know, when I annoy you."
It had taken him three dances the previous night to reveal that he was being despatched to Timber the following morning, for reasons she wasn't allowed to know (obviously, the classic excuse – "you're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know.") Rinoa found all the privacy and secrets overbearing – she was soon to be a member of SeeD herself, so why wasn't she allowed to know what her boyfriend was doing? It wasn't like she was an informant from an opposing government or anything, so what was the problem? Didn't they trust her?
Squall, meanwhile, assumed his frames of mind were easy to decode. He'd spent most of his childhood years fending for himself, and he knew how to carry out all the elementary tasks every human needed, whether it was cleaning, learning or cooking (even if the latter involved throwing something in the oven, and standing well back with fingers crossed.) It wasn't like he could just change immediately for someone else's sake – he'd vowed before that he would never change, not for anyone, so even though he appreciated the differences inherent in his and Rinoa's characters, he couldn't just re-adapt. He was an independent person, and in being proud of his uniqueness, he wanted to stay the person he'd cultivated over the years he'd spent in B-Garden. Difficult times, he knew, were just around the corner.
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Hey! They gave me my old room back!
Seifer took pleasure in the most trivial of pursuits and endowments, so having his dorm back on a temporary basis was a highlight in an otherwise dull week he was going to endure. Seifer was far removed from those who wallowed in self-pity, and he often avoided such tendencies as much as possible, placing an emphasis on the good things in his life. It was emphatically his style to appreciate the good things in every element of life; not only that, but to point these things out to others who had pessimistic and downbeat outlooks.
His dorm was nestled in a far corner of the east wing of Balamb Garden, a corridor lined with sections of skylight to make the aspect of the dormitory section lighter and more open. Whether that had something to do with positive outlooks and optimism certainly wasn't something Seifer knew, seeing as he'd had nothing to do with its construction. His dorm was the one in the far corner, EB-101, which was one of the smaller rooms in the wing but suited Seifer just fine. Hell, he had enough room for a bed, dresser, extra-curricular material—what else did he need?
"AWAKE, ALREADY?" a voice demanded from down the hallway. Fujin, a SeeD student who you'd have been forgiven for thinking had discovered the gift of eternal middle-age, strode intently down the corridor, evidently visiting the Garden to see her companion and knowing where he could be found. Fujin always seemed as if she belonged in a child-soldier camp, mostly due to all her monosyllabic grunting and unrelenting bravery, but also in minuscule detail in her walking and movements. Somehow, it all seemed cultured and precise, and it was easier to assume this from looking than to put it into words.
"Hey, I'm always awake," Seifer replied, throwing his arms out wide with a grin. It was hard to determine whether this particular grin was honest or sarcastic, or a little of both. "You know, you should leave that frown in the restroom. Makes you look old." Question answered; it was the latter of the two characteristics.
"FLATTERED," Fujin said, and without the trademark smile one would have expected to accompany that it was hard to tell if her tongue was planted in her cheek. "GRANDFATHER." It seemed it was everyone's duty to give their friends a nudge and a knowing wink; maybe as the old people said, the sun had got to their heads.
"You know how to make a guy feel wanted," Seifer laughed appreciatively. "Come on, I'm so hungry I could eat ya. Or maybe your brother, 'cause he's got more meat to offer. " He snaked an arm round her shoulders, although this did very little to ease Fujin's militaristic tension – not that that was the intention, of course.
"CAFETERIA?"
"You know where it's at."
"ZELL," she announced, punching the button to call the elevator. "HOTDOGS, GONE. PUNISH."
"You got it," Seifer replied, driving a fist into the air as they stepped into the glass cylinder. "You know, if I'm gonna be staying here for a few days I think we oughta get the Disciplinary Committee back in action. Whaddaya say?" The response it elicited? Certainly what he wanted, even if he wasn't expecting such a comic trifling to be taken into consideration.
"AFFIRMATIVE."
Seifer found himself frowning in amusement as the second floor hallway began rising upward out of sight. Somehow, although he'd never in his life thought to take another person's advice into consideration, what Quistis had said over the beverages he'd managed to acquire at no cost to his personal finance was not only astute, but an accurate observation. He'd always thought of himself as a figure to be appreciated, seeing as his fantasising often involved him fitting into roles which demanded respect, but somehow he'd managed to incur this from people he hadn't trodden on on his way to glory.
Fujin and Raijin looked up to Seifer, perhaps more as a partner in crime than a family relative, and they not only appreciated him as a wildly enthusiastic personality but would do anything to remain in his company. As someone might have mentioned in passing, they were so loyal, they'd follow their leader into the gates of hell – and if the incidents in Lunatic Pandora were anything to vouch on, they probably had already proved that.
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There was no topic of discussion on the matter—it truly was a beautiful day in Balamb Garden, the kind of beautiful which is enviously mentioned by students in the depths of winter when considering Galbadia's warm climate and temperate weather conditions. The kind of beautiful which, when wandering around in short-sleeved T-shirts or sitting on the benches eating snacks and lunch, somehow made the daily routine of work and training almost enjoyable. The kind of beautiful which everyone appreciates, even those who prefer it when it's a dark night coloured with black clouds and deluges of rain.
Such pleasure in the dazzlingly blue summer sky was shared by most students, with the notable exceptions sulking in corners or dormitories cultivating their hatred. Zell almost considered himself an exception from this category, seeing as he preferred to spend his time engaging in strenuous physical activity, but at times he too needed his privacy. There were some times he didn't want to share his entire life with other people, and he was currently stuck in the tunnel of one with no discernible way out.
He crouched down beside the red-wood bookcase, the stack of hardcover spines seeming to leer down on him like an immense skyscraper. If he had to be honest, and bear his soul to someone, his soul-purging would certainly involve the strange emotions he was feeling at the time of speaking—mostly, how un-Zell-like they were. Why he didn't want to share his misery with anyone was probably the thing bothering him the most—like others who shared facets of his personality, he preferred to divulge his troubles to an understanding second party. This was currently not the case.
"Um… Zell… Are you going to choose a book now? I have to go through library rules with a class for first period." Zell frowned and closed his eyes. Mina, the library girl with the pigtail, had been hovering behind him intermittently, often asking him if he'd enjoyed the last Ruby Dragon comic he'd read or asking what he knew of the next issue of Silver Bullet. He wasn't sure if she liked them, even, but at least she was showing interest.
Jeez, it's HER! What do I say…C'mon, man, think of something interesting. There it was, he'd unwittingly uncovered part of his worries—he had someone, not something, on his mind. It was one worry among many.
"Yeah… sorry." He immediately frowned again—for a first line, it wasn't very remarkable. He wasn't sure she was impressed, but considering he couldn't even see her, he'd have to go by her voice.
"That's okay," she responded, seemingly unfazed by his clumsily delivered line. If this was Fate's idea of a screenplay or a novel, the writer obviously wasn't going to win any awards for their work.
"Like… how long is it until next period? I've kind of lost track of time."
"Oh, about ten seconds or so."
"Crap." As he leapt up from his haunches, he felt an impact on the back of his head, accompanied by a throbbing ache. Unlike his adoptive mother, Zell didn't have eyes in the back of his head, and so hadn't seen Mina leaning over him to see the book he had taken from the lower shelf.
"Oh man, I'm sorry!" he protested, his hand instantly losing interest in the pulp magazine it was holding and dropping it to the floor. "I never look where I'm going. Story of my life."
"No, I'm sorry," she said. "Should have waited for you to get up first." For the next few seconds, there was something of an awkward silence.
"We can stay here and apologise until the chocobos come home, but… it's not good conversation, is it?" Both chuckled quietly, doing little to hide the tension between them. Quite why there was friction between the two in conversation was something neither knew, but it was clearly an example of hidden feelings that neither wanted to admit to.
"I suppose I should go," Zell began, unsure what the next words out of his mouth would be. "I've… got to do some training in the centre. Maybe I should stop spending my time here reading."
"Hey, reading's good for you. That's what the teachers always tell you." Zell smiled warmly at that, as the material he was indulging in was far from educational—his hidden shame involving badly drawn, wide-eyed caricatures clashing in ever more preposterous circumstances.
"Well, I gotta shoot," he said, as he heard the bustling of younger-year students through the corridor, laughing and chattering in excited squeals and giggles. Immediately, both Zell and Mina had the same idea—to kneel down and retrieve the cast-aside graphic novel, splayed on the floor with pages crumpled and spread out on the green carpet. Their heads connected with a barely audible thud which neither heard but both definitely felt.
"Damn man, not again!" Zell protested, burying his head in both his hands. Now he felt stupid and embarrassed—he'd really cocked this opportunity up, without actually saying that much. He was sure he appeared stupid every time he opened his mouth in the company of a girl, but now he'd managed to achieve that distinction without saying something particularly stupid or unflattering. That's gotta be a world first, he thought while nursing his head.
"I'd better go," Mina broke in, rubbing her forehead. "The period'll end before I get round to teaching. By the way, what did you think of Combat King April?"
"I dunno," Zell replied, shrugging. "I don't think I read through it that much." It seemed to an observer that neither seemed to care about the other's lack of composure, but both were bothered about their own.
"What about Silver Bullet: Issue Zero? I reserved that one especially for you—I knew you liked it."
"Ah," Zell said, laughing almost uneasily. "That's a different story." And to the surprise of neither, the uncomfortable silence resumed, where neither could think of anything intellectual or even humorous to say. They had chosen the wrong time to break their conversation, too; by now practically the entire waiting class was hanging on their every word, ready in the wings to create unsubstantiated rumours about Library Girl's new friend.
They looked at each other for a few more seconds, then both laughed quietly at a joke the other students seemed to be debating about.
"Well… Bye," Mina ended almost apprehensively, and with a slight flick of the wrist which seemed to be a wave, she disappeared into the crowd of students, ushering them toward the front desk. Zell, now alone again with his thoughts, found himself pacing slowly past the front desk, staring intently at the green carpet below him. What was all that?
Although he wasn't much of a romantic, he often formulated smart lines and jokes in case he ever found himself talking to a member of the opposite sex who he felt an attraction to. But without the possibility of creating a handbook, his unreliable memory let him down when he most needed it, ensuring he forgot anything immediately memorable when he wanted to use it. Still, at least his thoughts were becoming a little more positive.
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Whoever had designed the classrooms in Balamb Garden clearly didn't have a fondness for minimalism. The fact that the Garden was a conversion of a disused Centra shelter aside, the rooms were enormous areas of hardwood sparsely decorated with a few study panels and a large electronic projector at the front of the class. It seemed to be a spin on the dojos often seen in ninja castles, but this was just an assumption based on visual appearance.
Seifer, like many of the misbehaving children in a class usually do, sat near the back of the classroom, his spacious study area's double seat occupied by himself and his thick black boots. With the disciplinary committee's other two members on the rollcall of another instructor's register, Seifer wasn't interested in making concessions to coax the favour of his colleagues, and was perfectly happy to put his feet up, in the most literal sense possible.
But as for his teacher, dear old Instructor Trepe; well, she seemed as if she was thinking of something else on this particular morning. He had tried to make her think less about her issues, but as she seemed intent on drifting off into her own fantasy world, Squall-style, it seemed like a mission failed. Not that he cared or anything—to be brutally honest, although he made an attempt, he really wasn't that interested. Her life, her problems, he thought as he poked the power button for his mounted computer.
"Seifer Almasy." In some ways, it felt uncomfortable that Cid had decided to place him back on the register for the time being, but given Seifer's own proclivities in the past, he could understand why he wasn't to be trusted. Even so, Quistis' mention of his name felt slightly out-of-place.
"Yes, Instructor," Seifer responded without moving his gaze.
"Would you do me the honour of staying behind after registration? I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you."
"Oh, certainly," Seifer replied with more than a hint of satirical mockery in his voice. "So long as you keep those Trepies of yours on leads." Around the class, murmurs of dissent sounded between students. Not to worry; as he wasn't staying long, writing himself into other students' bad books wasn't going to be something for the short-lived New Disciplinary Committee to take into account.
The rest of the five-minute period passed with little clamour, as the other students called out impassively as their names were read out, seemingly waiting to get outside in the thick heat of the summer. In fact, they were so preoccupied by the preparations they'd made for the gaps between lessons and training that they were practically queuing up by the door before the bell had even rung. By the time it did, however, Seifer was hauling himself up from his almost recumbent position, wondering why Quistis would have anything to say to a part-timer like himself.
"So, Instructor Trepe," Seifer began. "What can you do for me?"
"I'm not really sure how to say this," she began, "but… Thank you."
Seifer, for all his mock bravado, suddenly found himself short on words. "You mean… for the Festival last night?"
"Yeah. You know, even though it probably seemed like nothing to you, that's what I needed someone to tell me." Seifer seemed as if he was shifting around to get out of his current situation—Quistis had almost expected him to throw his head back and laugh, but here he was, a lost little boy with nothing to say.
"Also…" Quistis said, her voice trailing off as she turned her watchful eye to the register in her hand, "…Cid would like to speak to you about some important matters. Involving SeeD, you know."
"Got it," Seifer said, stock still.
"And one last thing," Quistis continued, reaching for a ring binder on her cluttered desk. "I'm heading off. I have an assignment, so I'm going to be gone for the next few days. Just thought you'd like to know." And with that, Quistis strode out of the classroom, leaving Seifer, who was still rooted to the spot, alone with his confusion. The only sound which echoed off the whitewashed walls was the throb of the electric door closing.
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The cafeteria. The previous night, it had been a dimly-lit hiding place where one phlegmatic student had chosen to hide his woes, cradled by the wash of the ocean outside. Now, though, it had returned to the bustling hive of activity it always was, a blanket of chatter resounding around the room.
And the very person who found himself occupying that unenviable role was present, sitting in almost the same position as he had been the previous night, though not distant in a world of his own creation. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with a more humanistic need—the need to feed. Hotdogs were the word – more than just a buzzword, an almost legendary name which was spoken in hushed, awed tones.
The cafeteria lady's hotdogs had built up an incredible head of steam over the past few months, due in part to the frenzied exchanges between students in Garden Square, but Zell considered them to be almost a religious experience. He had a feeling that maybe he was only making a big deal out of them because there was little excitement in his life, as, you know, you have to latch onto something.
But today was not just another day, but a different one. Zell almost found his sudden disinterest in the hotdogs disturbing, but then again, so were his moods and sudden tenacities. But here he was, watching Irvine tearing chunks out of one without any sign of jealousy. Irvine paused in mid-bite, instantly noticing Zell's lack of contact with the real world, and lowered his breakfast.
"C'mon man," Irvine said, affectionately punching him in the shoulder. "So many hotdogs, so little time. If you don't get one, I might have to eat 'em all myself, and you wouldn't want that, would ya?"
"Don't worry about me, man," Zell said, clasping both hands round the back of his head. "I'm not that hungry. Help yourself."
Irvine appeared almost shocked. "I think I forgot my hearing aid this morning. Did you just say you don't want a hot dog?"
Zell's response was almost aggravated. "Look, hotdogs aren't my life, you know. I do have other things on my mind too."
Irvine cocked an eyebrow. "So you're human after all. What you thinking about?"
"Don't really want to say. It's kinda personal."
"C'mon, try me." Irvine had devoured the previous hotdog in between speaking, and was now fully focused on the brawler sitting across the table. "If it's any consolation, I won't go talking about it to anyone."
"Well… there's this girl."
"Ah!" Irvine leapt up as if he'd been stung. "Yeah, now we're in my line of thinking. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."
"I don't think you know her," Zell said. "You might have gone out with every girl in Garden – once – but this one's a little different. She probably wouldn't give in to you so easily."
"Mina," Irvine said, taking a mouthful from a bottle of mineral water.
"Damn, was it that obvious?"
"Pretty much," Irvine replied, fiddling with the cap on the bottle. "Like, ever since I first came here you've been giving her the eye. Selphie's getting quite annoyed about it, actually, 'cause she thinks you're never going to say anything."
"Yeah?" Zell seemed genuinely surprised.
"Look, it's like this." Irvine spread both his hands out on the table, as if he was playing cards. "A woman is like a violin. You have to learn how it works before you can use it."
"You can't play a violin."
"It's an analogy," Irvine replied, shrugging. "Like, once you know how to play their game, you'll be able to do it with any girl you like. Trust me, I've been there."
"Right…" Somehow, even if Irvine thought himself a ladies' man, this advice didn't seem particularly useful, seeing as Mina didn't have strings and he didn't have a bow to play them.
"Look, it's the classic I'm-there-if-you-need-me line now. You ever want to know about women, you come to me." He started spinning the bottle around. "Just remember, men and women are from different planets. Even if you think you know where you're going, you sometimes can't see the path for the trees. So just be careful, right?"
"Yeah," Zell nodded. "Well… see you around." As he was walking past the Disciplinary Committee, he thought to himself. Even though I've just talked to the guy who seems to know everything about women, I don't feel any the wiser. He figured he should head back to the library, but doing that needed courage, courage he didn't have right now. Maybe I'll stop off at the Quad first, he thought.
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Squall stood ramrod-straight in Cid's office, marching rhythms rolling around inside his head as he saluted the Headmaster. Though the morning was only a few hours old, he felt as if he hadn't slept since the morning before that. Maybe his martial training scheme was taking a toll on him after all.
"At ease, Squall," Cid said as he looked up from the prints he was holding. Squall immediately relaxed; since Cid treated him more as a family member than a mercenary, and addressing him by name seemed more appropriate than by rank or last name.
"So, back on a mission the night after we finish celebrating the last one. You up for this?"
"Of course, sir," Squall replied, nodding slightly. "SeeD is my life for the next few years. I'll do anything I can to make this all run smoothly."
"Excellent," Cid responded, nodding back. "I don't hear that often from my students, and when I do, it's more like, 'Yeah, I'll do anything for SeeD, whatever…'"
Squall didn't smile, and Cid didn't expect him to. "Well, I suppose I should stop clowning around and give you your briefing." Squall immediately noticed that the overhead projector wasn't being used; this probably negated any possibility of the mission being a search-and-destroy.
"Now as you know, with Edea unwilling to lead the Galbadian nations, they are about to enter the process of appointing a new leader. How long this will take we don't know, but we do know that General Caraway has been appointed as the stand-in leader of the country."
"Rinoa's father," Squall said almost as an instinctive response.
"He's not going to take the post permanently, in case you were wondering," Cid continued. "He hasn't got the credentials, and he's military anyway. I guess they're looking for someone with more experience. Anyway, as I mentioned lat time, we'd like you to go to Timber."
"What's the idea?" Squall wasn't fitting the pieces of the jigsaw together.
"General Caraway has stated that he will turn over control of the city to the mayor there. He's relinquishing Galbadia's control of the city. But there's one condition."
Squall could see it coming. "No more SeeD, right?"
"Very good," Cid said, with a nod. "Yes, he's asking us to sever our ties with the city and its resistance factions. If the city's going to be in the people's hands, chances are they won't need our assistance anyway, but I guess he just wants to be sure."
"So you want me to oversee the signing of the peace treaty," Squall said, as the puzzle began falling into place without his mind's help.
"Not just that," Cid continued. "We need you to accompany our ambassador, so that she can sign the treaty herself. We're expecting minimal resistance, but we like to err on the safe side of caution, as you already know."
"Who's our ambassador?" Squall's question was answered when the double doors of Cid's office swung open, sweeping aside to make room for the entrant – Quistis. As her eyes met with Squall's, the final part of the puzzle was slotted in. Somehow, their superiors had thought it better that they weren't told of the other's presence on the mission.
"She's the ambassador?" Squall inquired quizzically. Although he was talking to Cid, the question was addressed to Quistis.
"Of course," Cid replied. "She's my highest-ranking Instructor now, and therefore my liaison with other countries. Looks like you two will be with each other for a little longer."
"Yes, we will, won't we?" Quistis mused, her eyes not moving.
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The preparations for the mission had already been made, a convenience which meant that Squall and Quistis could depart immediately. And so it was that they found themselves heading through the vast main hall, alive with the sounds of footsteps, conversation and running water, heading through the main gate in what seemed like a re-run of the Fire Cavern training assignment many weeks ago.
"You ready for this?" Squall asked, seeming to resign himself to conversation.
"As Zell would say, 'I'm psyched up, baby!'" Quistis chuckled at her impression, and even Squall managed a hint of a smile.
"Wait!" The shout echoed through the main hall, and like almost everyone did when they heard a sudden noise, Squall and Quistis both stopped and turned to face the commotion. It was Rinoa, bounding down the stairs, hair flying in all directions, seemingly desperate to stop Squall from taking off so quickly.
When she reached him, she practically leapt into his arms. "You okay?" Squall asked, brushing a strand of her hair aside. Quistis, the familiar feeling beginning to arise in her gut, thought it a good time to make her exit, and slowly began a pace to the front gate.
"Did you think you were going to leave without saying goodbye?" Normally, Rinoa would have said this with a grin plastered across her face, but this time it seemed as if she was actually reprimanding him.
"…No. Of course not," Squall assured her. Before she said anything, she pressed her lips against his, in an almost forced show of emotion. It seemed to him as if she was doing this to assure everyone watching that there were no conflicts between them. She held them there for as long as humanly possible, before pulling away, slightly breathless.
"What was—"
"See you around," Rinoa cut in, and as quickly as she had arrived, she ran off toward the elevator. Squall, lost in his bafflement, noticed that everyone who was watching had begun to divert their attention, and he arched his brow in confusion. What was that?
Quistis didn't slow her pace down, even when she saw Squall stride up beside her. "So," she said tartly, "what was that all about?"
"It's none of your—"
"Business." Quistis' chuckle now became a full laugh, rocking back and forth with genuine amusement. "You know, even as Garden Commander, you haven't changed a bit."
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Oy. Done at last. Bit longer than I was expecting, but never mind. You're not complaining, are you?
I'm thinking there's a little too much introspection in this at the moment, so from the next chapter, expect this to be more dialogue-driven. I think you probably know enough about the characters now, so no more long paragraphs.
And… yeah. That be all from me. As usual, if you want to tell me anything, just click the button, or you can email me if you want to be more personal. Till next time…