Restoring the Lion's Heart: Chapter 3
A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took a while to get up. While I mentioned I'd be away for a bit, I didn't plan for the hold up to take this long. Anyway this chapter has been broken down into two parts, so the next one should be up somewhat soon-ish. A big thank you to all readers and (especially) reviewers though!
Along with fixing up errors in the previous chapter I also completely revamped the first segment of chapter one: I went into much greater detail about 589's arrival in the new world and how they coped with the transition. You don't have to re-read if you're not bothered, but I highly encourage you to.
So without further ado, here is chapter 3!
No, no, no. In an orbit round about way those words rang incessantly through Zidane's head as he raced down the empty corrider of the vast dormitory. Rapid light steps resounded in the ghostly hall - his gait was precise, swift, and direct.
He expected the worst. He hoped his expections of the possible worst case scenario were just being blown out of proportion, but it was hard to presume anything as valid because he knew that his friend, Bartz, was both completely predictable and also, at times, not. As to avoid surprises it was just best to expect to worst out of him (mind the thief though, for his comrades would usually do the same for Zidane as well).
The thoughts and woes of the thief fueling his legs, he carried on, fast, rushed, driven - the words still ringing in his head like an internal alarm bell - racing onwards without breaking a sweat - right until he finally caught glimpse of what he presumed was his target.
"Bartz!"
The mime was at the very end of the corrider, just about ready to make a turn for the main roundabout hall and exit the official dormitory perimeters. However he heard Zidane, for his head perked up in attention and slowly turned to watch the thief race towards him in a blazing fury speed.
Zidane's worst intentions proved to be true.
Bartz was completely decked as Squall. The shirt, the pants, the jacket, even necklace, he literally wore everything he could steal off the dormant boy to make his impostor plan look convincing; and while the clothes proved to fit him well enough, they were a little visibly more loose on the mime – he did have a slightly more slender frame after all. The thief was a little surprised at Bartz's scrutinous attempts and attention to detail: he noticed that his hair, too, had undergone some treatment to have it as similar as possible to the coiffure Squall usually had. There was even something that vaguely resembled the iconic scar right between his eyes, in the exact location as it was on Squall's head (the thief hoped of course that wasn't an actual real wound Bartz opened up himself just for the sake of his crazy idea – said crazy idea which Zidane was not going to stand by and let happen). All in all, one could legitimately mistake Bartz for Squall Leonhart – at least from a distance you could.
Surprisingly the brunette made no attempt to step up his pace and move out – he actually stopped walking altogether and waited in place, waited for his friend to reach out to him.
"Bartz!" Zidane was savage when he tugged at Bartz's arm, anger blooming out freely. He wanted to make it very clear how he felt about the mime's plans. "What the hell are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing...?" Bartz offered dumbly, with shifty eyes.
Zidane rolled his in response, and forced out an aggravated sigh. "You can't be serious with it though? Do you really think you'll be able to pull off something this stupid? Masquerading as Squall? You're taking everyone here for complete mugs!"
"I don't have to listen to this," supposedly Bartz was hoping for a bit of comfort or change of heart from the thief – how and why was beyond Zidane – so he decided he'd be on his way again, making a turn on his heel ready to set off.
But the mime couldn't get far, as Zidane simply tugged on his arm harder, stopping him from escaping and keeping him in place. "Look Bartz, I understand your intentions but seriously, by the time you could be done with this we would have already found the ring."
"And we also probably won't! All I want is for Squall to pass his SeeD exam and to become a SeeD – that's it." The mime's look was intense. It was hard, strong, leaving no room for any doubt or any possible theory this was just an opportunity for the mime to goof off. He legitimately wasn't kidding around and felt very serious about his plan, however stupid Zidane may deem it be. "I just...I just want him to at least be ready when he wakes up. Becoming a SeeD is the first step to taking out that old hag of a witch, and I can't look for the ring while knowing Squall won't pass the test when I could've done something to prevent it."
"Forget what's happening around you! You know that we'll be able to sort it out anyway–"
"No! Unless we find the ring in literally less than ten minutes, then we don't know if we can! And that's just the problem!"
Zidane stared at his friend in astonishment. A frown soon followed, then knotted brows. "Aren't you usually the optimistic one who says anything is possible? Why are you suddenly so gung-ho about the 'what ifs'?"
Bartz kept his intense and fiery stare. "I wasn't – at least, up until I realized and saw the situation. I can't just leave it like that now, knowing about it." A short pause. "Look, this doesn't have to be done by myself - I want you to come along. We're partners, and we should stick together."
"How do you expect me to come along?"
"I don't know, we'll find a way."
"The fact that you even think I'm standing behind this dastardly stupid idea, is stupid in itself. Damn Bartz, I thought we were a team."
"We are! Which is why I'm saying we should do this! We'll still look for the ring, but right after we get Squall to pass his exam!"
The thief just stared at the mime in disbelief. The mime in turn, continued to stare at his friend – but with now pleading eyes.
"Wait a minute, isn't that one of the invaders from earlier…?" a voice announced, from a distance. While neither Bartz or Zidane could recognize the voice in itself, it didn't take much guessing for either of them to know who that person was from what they said: it was one of the guards from earlier, having not forgotten about their little game of chase.
"Ho crap," started Zidane. There was only mention of one of them, so apparently they didn't recognize Bartz. Well, good for him. Zidane was done with the boy for the time being. Quite frankly, their timing couldn't have been anymore perfect – if this wasn't an excuse handed on a silver platter for him to leave then nothing else was.
But Bartz was looking worried, if not, somewhat remorseful. "Wait, Zidane," he begun with, but the small blond wasn't having any of it. He had long let go of Bartz's arm and was he himself, ready to exit the corridor and start the chase with the guards again. Alone, this time.
"Whatever. Go do your poxy thing and have fun with it, while I go and save our actual Squall."
The thief didn't even let the mime get in another word before he raced off, guards of course following in tow. The mime however, just stood there, letting the words slowly sink in and feeling a little more dejected as the realization really started to hit him.
Maybe he really ought to second-guess this entire plan.
This was just not going well. Not going well at all. Everything was falling into a crumbling state and Zidane could not seem to evade the obstacles fast enough to stay free of any ordeals and hindrances. He felt abandonned, bleak and stuck in a pile of woes to deal with. First the tyraunnoraus that rolled in a very amicable welcome wagon, then the feud with the guards at the Balamb Garden entrance which, mind you, he was still trying to deal with, and then to top it all off he just lost his partner. Wonderful – the moment when he thought things might turn out for the better, yet another obstacle wedges its way into the ever long list of all things bad luck. Zidane was stuck raging between being confined in his hiding crevice to avoid detection from the guards (where he was, exactly, was in the parking lot of the Balamb Garden where he conveniently managed to squeeze himself in one of the spaces underneath a car, after much random running and leaping about in hopes of causing his chasers confusion. It really helped his case that the entire place was practically pitch black so the guards had a much harder time locating him - they were also significantly slower, the swift and agile thief had noticed) and what the hell compelled his idiot friend to do something so stupid, not to mention detrimental.
So maybe understanding why Bartz did what he did was a no brainer, but the way he was attempting to go about it on the other hand, Zidane just couldn't grasp. Risky, dumb, the adjectives could go on, but the worst part of it all was how Squall was in every single way Bartz's opposite – so how the hell Bartz was planning to pull that off incognito he really wasn't sure. But then again, that was probably the problem right there: Bartz almost never planned ahead, he usually always jumped right into things first hand without bothering to think of the consequences. That's just how Bartz was.
Not only was he mad at him for going with the plan, he was also essentially left to finish the mission to save their friend on his own. They were supposed to be partners, and yet there he was, grumbling and brooding all on his lonesome – just a few hours into their mission. Didn't Bartz care at all for their Squall? They were not the same person, so why he was so hell bent on helping that stranger Squall was just beyond him.
Zidane was in such a state of anger that he really was about ready to just leave Bartz to his 'heroic' antics and find the bastard ring himself, vengefully plotting that when he did find it, he would hurry off back to their world and leave the mime to rot alone in Balamb. "That would teach him," spat Zidane, mostly to himself.
Now his ideas sounded tremendous in his head, but then there was that threat again about not being able to leave the university at all. The guards had recognized him and apparently hadn't forgotten about their little spat earlier, much to Zidane's annoyance. Why can't they just chill and go sip on coke or something? Sheesh, I have enough problems on my plate as it is.
The coast was quiet however. Only silence tapped on his ears, faint footsteps having long ago disappeared from hearing range. Zidane still stayed cautious, as he peaked out of his hiding spot to make sure the guards were well off or at least tired of chasing him. It was deemed safe to walk out in public again, so he swiftly leaped out and started trotting away, trying to make an exit from the university.
Unlike a certain someone.
Bartz carried on walking blindly, trying to forget his little head to head with Zidane. The more and more he walked further down the circular hall, the more the conversion started to weigh on him and stir vague feelings of hesition and doubt. Something that Bartz really didn't do, whenever he had something he wanted to carry out.
Was he really doing the right thing? Could he really pull this off?
He didn't even know where he was going or where he was to go - in fact, upon reflection, there was very little that Bartz knew at all; about the place, about the possible people Squall knew, hell, even that lady from who he heard about SeeD exam - who was she? What was her role and how exactly did she even know about the SeeD assignments? She obviously must have been some sort of official, that much was certain, but the specifics were missing. His ignorance and eventual slipping could actually cause more harm than good, and the probability of that happening seemed far more likely than not.
Bartz was actually beginning to second guess this entire idea and whether or not he really ought to have listened to Zidane and just turn back now to find him.
Speaking of which, he honestly did feel bad. He felt a little selfish. Maybe it was selfish of him to take off like that without bothering to set terms with Zidane, who was profusely against the idea. And he had every reason to be. But at the same time Bartz was upset that Zidane couldn't see the implication this might cause were they to neglect Squall's exam and couldn't see that this mission was not just about their Squall, but about all the other Squalls in the dimensions - so in a sense, they had a sense of obligation to each and every one of them, just as much to their ever beloved friend. I know I'm right, I know I'm right, he chanted, trying to re-convince himself and regain the confidence he initially had.
"Oy, watch where you're going Squall!"
Bartz hadn't even noticed he had walked right into someone, the realization only dawning onto him once the poor victim of his careless wandering barked out - quite loudly, he might've added.
He found himself staring straight into the face of a young male, not much older looking or taller than Bartz. Sporting deep brown trimmed short hair, accompanied by an equal pair of glaring dark chocolate eyes and an angry pout, the young boy didn't make it a secret that he was marginally annoyed. Startled and confused, Bartz simply gaped his mouth, as if trying to say something, anything - but the angry brunette didn't let him out much further.
"Move! The prep for the exam is starting soon, and unlike you I actually care about it and would rather not miss it!"
What the...? Bartz was a little taken aback at the assumptions and rudeness of the stranger fellow - but 'little' was well enough and all it took for the now miffed mime to completely forget he was, in fact, not his impulsive self but instead Squall, and lash back out.
"You don't know jack! Who the hell do you think you are?"
Only a moment too late before Bartz realized what he had done. Oh crap, he internally cursed. Yes, this was just burdening proof of how silly it was of him to think he could get away with the master masquerade plan.
The other young fellow didn't retaliate however and only offered his large widening eyes, face vaguely expressing fear. It should be noted that the boy had also stepped back a little, seemingly cowering away from an expected blow that was to follow the lash Bartz had displayed.
But of course, none followed. Bartz tried to quickly set himself straight again and get back into character; unfortunately for him though his efforts proved to look a little uncertain, as his eyes darted from corner to corner in embarrassment and did every bit to avoid the boy's line of vision.
No one said anything for a good few seconds - and since Bartz wasn't looking at the other male, he couldn't even see if the boy was attempting to break the silence - but what did happen next and Bartz was not necessarily expecting was the faint steps of feet scuttling away. The boy had head off without another word.
Blink, blink. The mime didn't really know what to make of the reaction as he scratched the back of his head questioningly, but he did know one thing: his disguise was at least good enough for him to be mistaken for Squall. Sure, he wasn't nearly prepped enough to maybe face the (occasional) circumstance where he was to know or answer certain logistics of this academy, but the success of the disguise alone was motivation enough for him to carry on with the original plan, Zidane be damned.
I can do this! All I need is to inform myself as much as I can, then I should be good!
Documenting, yes. He would spend the next five minutes prepping himself of all that he possibly could. Hell maybe he could look through Squall's room and find any useful resources that could aid to the understanding of the academy, principles and so on and so forth. Even if it was just a little bit, at least he would be in a better position than him blindly going of.
Smirking proudly to himself for thinking through things for a change, he decided to continue down the circular hall but up again at the curve for north, where the dormitories nestled, to head back into Squall's room.
As Bartz was jogging off however, unbeknownst to him the boy he had startled just a few moments ago had stopped in his tracks a fair distance behind the mime just to eye him for a moment - only to later turn back round and head away to his destination, incoherently grumbling and mumbling in tow.
At the rate this was going, Zidane figured that he wasn't ever going to leave the university. It seemed like without Bartz, who he had appropriately coined for the occasion a breathing good luck charm, he was simply unable to get the guards to lose his tracks: when he had exited his hiding spot in the parking lot and unsuccessfully tried to find an exit there, he was yet again busted and got chased by the security mob right out of the parking area. And when he would manage to lose them again but in another department (the last time it was in some sort of a jungle training room with real life, breathing monsters inside. Zidane thought he saw that very same tyrannosaurus rex breed which greeted him a very special kind of good morning), the chase would only soon start yet again once he popped out of his hiding to attempt to find another exit. It was an endless cycle which refused to break, and had gone on long enough for Zidane's liking.
This time, however, after heading out of the training center and dodging the grabby hands of the guards, he carted in laps round the circular hallway – slick perspiration coating his skin, from all the running and acrobatics – and decided to try his luck in another department. He noticed that the new branch he was aiming for was just left of the dormitory as that was situated north of the building's first floor; so he frantically fumbled his way down the northwestern corridor that branched off from the ring like for all the other departments, in hopes of coming out triumphant this time round – or at the very least, finding another hiding spot, so he could stop and take a breather from all the incessant running.
As he entered the department it soon became clear to him that it was a cafeteria, and his assumptions from earlier (when he and Bartz were searching the vacant classrooms) proved to be correct: it was surely lunch hour, for the place was proper packed.
Jackpot. Already Zidane had a massive lead on the guards – bless his agility gift – so getting in and losing himself in the sea of starving students and teachers alike would prove to be an immediate relief in his favor. He bustled and wedged through the tight crowd, ignoring the yelps and accusations thrown his way as he quickly tried to make for some sort of cover before the guards too got into the cafeteria. He needed to be completely out of sight, stat.
Unfortunately it was becoming increasingly more and more difficult to move through such a crowd, as him diving deeper into the sea of beings only resulted in him getting into denser grounds. He was getting frantic - he had to hurry up - the guards were on his tail, he had to find anywhere to lay low and away enough from the persistent guards.
Zidane couldn't see form where he was stuck firm in the herd, but only a few moments followed up when the guards also reached the cafeteria and struggled to look overhead and amongst the crowd for any sign of the thief – who was not only small, but wedged well into the center of the hungry mob, clearly out of view from the entrance. The place was currently far too busy to make the search worthwhile, not to mention that the lunch break would be over in roughly an hour so it wouldn't be long before the invader would have to slip out of his temporary position. Instead of disturbing the peace and disrupting the people of their only break of the day, they decided, while going on standby, that they would simply opt for making a general announcement and take advantage of the many pairs of eyes at their disposal.
It was only when Zidane heard one of the voices of the guards speak up in a loud, bold manner, did he start to seriously get nervous. "Attention students of Balamb Garden! There is currently an intruder somewhere in this cafeteria, so if you notice him report to security immediately! He's blond, about one meter sixty-five, sports blue baggy pants and–"
"Sounds like Zell," someone cockily announced, loud enough for it to reach all ears currently standing (or sitting) in the cafeteria perimeters. "About time they decided to ban his ass for hogging up all the hot-dogs and for being an all around unwanted fruitcake."
Laughters were quick to follow suite.
"Hey! Shut up you jackass! Cuttin' up Squall's face ain't enough so now you gotta pick on someone else?"
"Pretty much, yeah. You gonna do something about that, chickenwuss?"
Woah, who is this douche. Zidane could only internally cringe at the aggressor publicly humiliating the Zell fellow, who the blonde had remembered from upstairs. It was hard to forget such a...boisterous voice. While Zidane's first impressions of him were not particularly endearing either, he wasn't about to spew hate like this rude chump was doing. A tinge of guilt almost poked at his heart.
As small of a quantity as the guilt was, it was enough to strike Zidane's morbid curiosity and attempt to peep over to see who the aggressor was, all the while being fully aware of where peeping from his hiding spots had gotten him all this time. But it wasn't possible anyway, given his height and inconvenient location.
The guards however made no attempt to stop the banter directly, but instead continued off from where they left. "This is serious! In addition to that description, one glaring feature of this creature is that he has a tail. If anyone notices someone matching such a description, please contact security immediately. Stall him, if you can."
It was hard for Zidane to make it out what with the many people drowning away all the finer noises, but after terminating their impromptu announcement the guards turned heel once more and were off again. All Zidane knew was if they were done and had left then their little lecture had thankfully amounted to literally nothing: there he was, still wedged in the middle of a crowd, right in front of someone (several someones even) to put two and two together and yet, no one had taken notice of him or cared enough to report him. This of course was naturally due to the attention having greatly shifted from the guards to the aggressor and the Zell person, who were seemingly about ready to engage in a fight – which Zidane couldn't even see, but was sure as hell feeling the sudden surge of jittering elbows and movements of excitement from too-close neighbors. Either that, or they were starving to the point their brains had problems functioning.
One thing was for sure though, he really needed out of this confined, suffocating herd that was now bustling. It was becoming unbearable, and toppled with his unfortunate height and his own transpiration, the air was quickly reaching unbreathable ranks – he couldn't be getting any oxygen out of it. It was at moments like these when Zidane wished he knew how to handle magic, you could literally do all sorts of cheats in these type of situations.
But Zidane didn't know magic and his only access to magic was off playing heroes, so he was essentially stuck with his instincts and street smarts. So, needing a little space for himself still, he hauled up as much of his force as he could muster and continued to shift more forcibly through the crowds until he would reach the very ends, where he hoped it would be a bit less dense (not that deciding to shift through a mob of people really required any street smarts, admittedly).
During his hunt for air he half consciously also started to think up of solutions to bypass the guards and exit Balamb...and while he wasn't aware of it yet, the answer to his woes was located right in that very same cafeteria as well.
To be Continued...