Chapter Nine: Excursion

He didn't belong here.

Not anymore, if he ever did to begin with. Didn't deserve to be near Sora's light, and unlikely that he would last long against Roxas' assaults.

If Roxas ever really existed. He had his doubts about that, sometimes, in the dark of the night. The other voice, the one that had been in his head when they had arrived here – it was gone. He hadn't needed it. Why did Sora?

Sora could take care of himself now. He'd grown and proven that he'd moved beyond what protection Riku could offer at his side. And Kairi – Kairi had more forces looking out for her than just two teenage boys.

And he realized, as he watched Sora sleep, curled up next to Kairi on one of the lower bunks, that he was jealous. A little. Just a bit. Sora didn't need him anymore, not really. He wasn't useful here.

He would get out. Leave.

So he grabbed his stuffed mouse, and he knelt at the large white door, working the lock carefully for the last time. He needed someone with him, at least. Not everyone could survive on their own. It would remind him of a purpose at least.

He'd make a place in the world where Sora's magic kingdom could truly exist. Where a mouse could be king, and where ducks wore no pants. And where mutated dog hippos could love bipedal cows.

Greater things lay beyond this door. He would be far more helpful to Sora on the other side. Someday, he'd take them both home, and there would be no need for fighting or elixirs or voices in their heads.

Just Sora and Riku and Kairi on a beach somewhere, lying in the sand without a care in the world. There they could dream of whatever they wanted, and the nightmares would fade. Nothing in the shadows to fear, and no glowing eyes that brought pain.

He would save them all, and it all started with one large white door.

There was a grin as the door swung softly open. A silent celebration of success. A confused grip on a shirt.

"Riku?"

Eyes widened a moment as the realization that Sora wasn't quite asleep anymore landed.

"Riku, where are you going?"

This was the moment. He'd sort of hoped that he'd miss it; that Sora would find out that he was gone when…he was already gone. That he'd have Kairi there, and Kairi would make everything better. They'd forget about him, and he'd work hard, and prepare the world for them and then…and then they'd be happy together again. Yes.

Nothing made Sora sad. He would get over Riku leaving, and he would be happy. And then he would find Riku, and he would be happy! That was the way it worked!

"Go back to sleep, Sora."

A frown crossed his face, his grip a little more firm. "Where are you going, Riku?"

Riku sigh, putting on a serious face. "Sora, I have to leave now. You have to help me do this, and close the door afterwards. Me on one side, you on the other."

"I don't understand. Why?" Sora wasn't getting it. To Riku it was so clear. Why wasn't he getting it?

"There's something I have to do. I can't do it here." Sora's frown was deepening. He wasn't supposed to frown. That sort of thing was never supposed to touch his face. It didn't belong.

Riku couldn't take it. He pulled himself clear of Sora's grip, and beyond the door, and pushed it closed.

Sora was fighting him. The door wasn't closing.

He could see half of Sora's face, determined and pushing right back. "I'm sorry Sora. Take care of her."

And with a final shove, the door shut, the lock clicking back into place. Without him, it would take Sora a good deal longer to break free. He never was very good at opening doors on his own.

Riku sighed again, letting his head rest against the white sterile walls of the corridor for a moment, wondering what he'd do now. Couldn't get caught by them, then he'd only end up back in the room. Not much use there.

So first order was to leave the immediate premise and find sanctuary. Matron was sanctuary.

He would find Matron.

So he navigated the pitiful maze that constituted the base laboratory, clutching the plush mouse to his chest with nothing but that thought in mind. Get out of the building. Get to Matron. Get out of the building. Get to Matron.

It helped him forget the look of betrayal on Sora's face.

What look of betrayal? No one had betrayed Sora.

Sora was happy. Happy. Happy.

Why didn't Sora know that he was happy?

Maybe Matron would know. She knew a lot of things.

But she wasn't there when he arrived at her office.

Riku felt exhaustion seeping into his body. The drive that had been with him when he'd made his decision to leave, gone. The chemicals they had been using…they had less effect on him these days, even though he liked to keep up the appearance when they were near – saved him from them trying something new; worse – but that didn't mean they didn't affect him at all.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have exerted himself quite as much as he had avoiding people on his way here…the increased heart rate had made his body more susceptible, and he was going to pay for it now.

He settled for curling up under her desk, falling into an uneasy sleep. The mouse was his lifeline; it would lead him back to Sora someday.

Until then, Matron would know what to do.

…

The garage was big. Giant. In fact, it was really more like a hangar than a garage.

Sure, it had cars and trucks and smelt of oil and grease…but if the glimpse of propellers beyond the massive doors at the end was any indication, this garage was also home to airships as well.

Cloud found his pulse quickening as he stood somewhat awkwardly near the entrance. He was excited.

"Cid!" Leon bellowed over the sound of steel being tinkered and tampered, "Highwind! Get out here!"

And there was the sound of cursing, and metal falling. A dull thunk. More cursing. A wrench went flying through the air near Cloud's ear, crashing into the wall with an angry clash only to skitter away under an old brown tow truck. Leon hadn't flinched.

Cloud wondered vaguely if this was normal behaviour to expect from the man.

"What the bloody hell are you wailing about now?" A disgruntled blond man in his early thirties trudged out from around a navy blue Hudson Hornet, another wrench brandished in hand almost like a weapon. Almost. "Some of us have fucking jobs to do, ya damn prettyboy."

"Cloud, Cid," Leon said dryly, with a bland gesture, "Cid, Cloud."

"What're you looking at, kid?" The man muttered as he pulled out a cigarette, cupping a hand to light it. "Like you never seen a real man before. Spent too long with those pansy-assed special forces."

"Kid's new, Cid. Be civil. And you shouldn't be smoking in the garage; hasn't Shera warned you about that?" The scarred solider crossed his arms and shot the man a disapproving glare.

"Don't have time for fucking 'get-to-know-you' shit, Miss Manners, and that woman ain't here. What the Hell you want?"

"We're going out tonight; need a car." Cid snatched the papers Leon had produced from wherever he had stored them. "Just for dinner, nothing flashy."

"I don't give a damn where you're going on your date, but I swear, if you fuckers even think of getting 'friendly' in one of my cars –" Date? That wrench came awfully close to the brunet's face. It wasn't…it was just getting out. He needed it…didn't he? Cloud shot Leon a glare the other man ignored.

"No one's going to defile your vehicle, Highwind, just give me the keys. We talked about this before." Cloud was slightly amused to see Leon's façade fracture a little. The man was irritated. Annoyed. Miffed. Definitely a trace of pent up frustration.

Cloud wondered suspiciously if Leon had been thinking of last night. Had he pictured Cloud beneath him on the back seat? Moaning, gasping, the perfect puppet? Was that what this was about? He couldn't help the simmering anger that appeared as he stood next to the scarred man.

"Yeah, about a lot of things. Like how you're giving my fucking machines away to untrained rookies."

"Strife is hardly untrained with motorcycles." Leon replied, still matching Cid's glare with is own, "And I already have clearance for it."

"I'm being issued a bike?" To say Cloud was surprised was an understatement. Shocked, a little wary…but pleased. Very pleased. Maybe he had misjudged the other man.

"So the runt has a voice." The older blond was scrutinizing him now, flicking his cigarette away to crush under a boot. "He's the one the little princess likes, ain't he. So fond of him she felt the fucking need to plaster my workspace with his spiky ass. You look different."

Cloud slowly turned to follow where the older man had jabbed a finger, not really wanting to see, but knowing by now that his body wouldn't agree.

And there they were, in amongst sketches and blueprints tacked sloppily to the wall: smiling, waving, taunting. Messy drawings of a man with jagged yellow hair and the smudge of a blue uniform.

The one that disturbed him the most, however, had to be the one with Leon blob, complete with shaggy hair and scar holding Cloud blob. Not the fact that it was anything particularly lewd -- those seemed to be pushed to the side and poorly covered – but the fact that it had been framed and hung quite precisely upon the wall for all to see.

Cid must have noticed his stare, because the man turned away muttering something about Shera and encouraging people, only with far more cursing and slightly less tact.

The brunet seemed unfazed. "Look, give me the keys, show him the bike, and let us get out of your way."

"Yeah, yeah, you can take Doc. Just finished his repairs, and he needs a test drive anyhow."

"If we get stranded out there –"

"Mater and I'll just have to come tow ya' back, then won't we. You think I'd leave my damn cars rotting on a roadside? It's a fucking Hudson Hornet. Good car." Cid jerked his head in indication to Cloud. Indicating what, the once-blond wasn't quite sure, but he would assume it meant to follow the muttering man. "Thinks he's all high and fucking mighty, with his 'my daddy's the President; my girlfriend's the leader; Leon not Squall; give me a car.'"

He swore he heard Leon growl as he caught the keys chucked at him from the irritable blond man, but by then Cloud and Cid were disappearing deeper into the maze of machines and he really couldn't be certain.

When he was certain that the brunet couldn't hear them, he gave into his urge and invaded Leon's privacy.

It wasn't like he'd hear it from the man himself.

"Girlfriend?"

Cid shot him a look over his shoulder that seemed to convey the horrendously confusing messages of both 'why the hell are you talking to me?' and 'pull up a chair, I've got a feast' Cloud did his best to look as harmless as possible and shrugged.

"Don't you even know who signs your damn pay checks?" He snorted. "You really think a group of messed up fuckers like them 'special forces' would be openly backed by the government?"

Well…

"Secret unit, filled to the brim with crackpots and used as mercenary hires. And his fucking girl's the one with the strings. Met her out in Timber, and she's been our problem ever since." Cid pulled short suddenly, staring at the sleek curves of a dark bike to his left. "It's new. Only just designed it a couple month's back."

He stored that information away for later, turning to look to the side. "It's a beautiful machine."

It really was. Cloud wanted to touch it. Wanted to reach out and run his hands along the cool metal and feel the weight beneath him. Feel the vibrations of the motor and the sensation of speed against his flesh. In fact, he'd far rather stay right here and inspect it deeper than go out on the town with the man waiting for him.

He wondered what Leon would say to that.

"I like you, Kid. Not yammering away or pulling unnecessary shit all the time. Heard you did pretty well your first time out."

It took the younger man an effort to respond this time, his eyes still following the details of the creature before him. Because it was a creature, or at least, more so than a machine, in any regard. It spoke to him. He wanted it.

"I did what I had to. Nothing else to do."

And Cid was watching him. Watching him, watching the living shadow that was this bike. Watching the not-machine that was almost certainly watching back.

"It's yours."

"What?" He couldn't be serious. No one would give something like this to him. He'd expected an older model; a Hardy Daytona or something shoved away in the back ready to fossilize on a pedestal in some museum. He had been quite certain that the only way he'd get to touch the thing would be in passing or a good old fashioned stealthy break-in after hours.

"I said it's fucking yours. Better than some prancing Nancy-boy who can't hold his liquor."

The keys chucked at his head were swiped from the air in a fluid motion, and Cid nodded approvingly before walking away. Well, score.

"I expect you to do your own god-damn maintenance. And if you ever crash it, I'll fucking castrate you with a wrench." He called over his shoulder.

Cloud winced involuntarily, pocketing the keys as he made his way back to where Leon waited with crossed arms and a fearsome glower. It seemed like somehow, in a strange perverse way, he'd made a new friend.

And now he had all the time in the world to admire his new beast.

The scowling brunet didn't say anything, just turned around and strode out the door with a purpose. He beckoned with a hand as he passed into the afternoon light. Cloud didn't much like being beckoned anywhere, but he had just been given the keys to something beautiful. He felt trusted. So he caught up with the other man regardless.

"If we're leaving, you left the car behind." He said dryly as he kept pace with Leon.

"You need to change."

Now frankly, Cloud saw nothing wrong with wearing the same clothes he had worn yesterday. They hadn't gotten overly dirty in his…encounter with the General, and he really didn't see the benefit in exchanging one uniform for another when the one he wore was still intact. But he didn't argue with Leon's logic, and accompanied him dutifully to the barracks.

Now, even in his hazy thoughts, he knew the barracks here were unlike any other. Not in the design, or the arrangement – most barracks had simple, inexpensive beds and a place for storage for each soldier. Many had communal showers attached to said barracks. A decent number had a separate room attached to said barracks for higher ranking officers - this particular one did too; just left of the door, next to the showers.

What was rather unconventional was not the design or the things, but the inhabitants. He was quite certain that it was against regulations for him to have a bunk next to Selphie. Or in clear view of Tifa's. That had to be wrong somehow. Yes, he and Vincent had the two bunks closest to the door, but that hardly fell under ordinary procedure. But then, this unit was anything but ordinary.

Cloud really had no inclination to fraternize with the women he shared the space with, though. He supposed that was one of the reasons no one cared. The last thing he needed was to be involved with someone more messed up than he already was.

As he tried to make a line for his locker, he felt a firm grip on the scruff of his neck, pulling him back to the officer's door. The tug made him tense; coiled. And the hand was gone, disappearing with Leon beyond the doorframe.

He unconsciously patted the keys in his pocket and relaxed. It was a good day.

A good day.

Leon's room wasn't elaborate; nowhere near the blond's muttered and disgruntled comparisons. It was barely large enough for a standard issue bed frame and small desk. There was a folded chair stowed between the desk and the wall, and a laptop closed neatly under a cheap desk lamp.

He had the same pillow as Cloud, he noted, a small feeling of satisfaction filling him. The girls had all brought in their own touches, making their spaces more comfortable and 'lived-in'. It seemed Squall hadn't bothered.

The other man had gone to the wall, sliding open a panel to reveal what passed as his closet space. Mounted high at the back were the two strangest weapons the blond had ever seen.

Both looked like a mutilated cross between a sword and an unfortunate revolver. One was standard steel with an engraved lion that matched Leon's bike, the other had small white wings extending from the stock, surrounding the sides of the magazine. The blade was shining an eerie bluish light even in the shadow of the closet. It was a neat trick.

Leon must have noticed his fascination, because there was a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. "Gunblades."

Of course. Gunblades. Why hadn't he thought of such a thing? Cloud was hoping the man who named the chunks of metal had been shot. Or fired. But shot would have been more humane.

"Revolver and Lionheart."

"You ever use them?" He honestly wanted to see how they worked. The base of the blades looked too weak to stand up to much pressure, especially with the added strain of the recoil of a firearm. Maybe the magazine was just for decoration? The thing looked like it would break under the conditions of any serious fight.

"Not anymore." Leon took a moment then to look at Cloud properly, sizing him up before riffling through his hangers. He found a dark blue turtleneck tossed at his head along with a pair of pants. Leather pants.

"You're joking." He gave the pants a tug, not noticing much give. What was wrong with standard cargos, anyhow?

"You can't wear a uniform out there, and you don't have a store of civilian clothing in your locker. This is all I have that will fit you. Deal with it." Leon had pulled off his shirt, tossing it on the bed as he looked for himself.

"And this is supposed to fit me." Great, and they'd have matching pants now too.

"They'll fit. Now stop complaining and change."

Leon's back was crisscrossed with white scars, and – despite how proper and refined he looked in a tux – here he looked very much a soldier. Somehow Cloud couldn't help but think the man looked larger, more imposing without his shirt. As if one more wall was torn down between a fanged beast and a rare steak. It made him wonder if he really was stronger than this man.

And then he realized that he had just as many scars of his own. And he had pinned the brunet in under three seconds. And held him against his will quite easily…

About that…

Cloud found he had zoned out when he caught sight of Leon smirking at him. When had he turned around?

"What?"

He was too close in this box-like room. Like he unconsciously wanted to state his territory by making the blond the one to back away. Well hell with that. If he was going to have to wear the man's ridiculous clothes, he wasn't going to lose face any more face than he had to.

Why was Cloud staring? The other expected an answer.

There was a nice scar that wrapped around his left hip, and another – a large jagged mark – through his shoulder. Through. It matched one on his back. Cloud wondered how he had survived.

"Looks like it hurt." He resisted rolling his own shoulder where a smaller, more precise scar told a similar phantom story.

Leon glanced down. "Mind-numbing cold. It was a gift from Matron, a long time ago."

"Matron did that?"

"I tried to kill her. She took offence." He replied bluntly.

"I wonder why."

He snorted softly.

"It's going to take us awhile to get there, and we need to stop somewhere first. We should head out." Leon paused, and seemed to debate with himself a moment. "Are you alright?"

That was a good question. There were a lot of things that were bothering him quite a bit. A list, in fact, each waiting to be called on quite impatiently. But Cloud knew that some things were none of his business, particularly when it involved other's private and personal life. He also knew that his stoic companion really didn't seem equipped to deal with anyone's issues other than his own – and Cloud really wasn't equipped to share them.

But Leon was trying, which Cloud knew was hard - for both of them.

What he settled for was an apology, because that was bothering him slightly more than the mysteries. He hadn't meant to do that. Not to Leon; not to Zack. Zack was…dead. He'd never see him again. Ever.

Sometimes remembering was worse than not knowing at all.

Whatever history he had with Sephiroth…whatever triggered that memory…he'd never make that mistake again. He'd just have to be more careful from now on.

"About last night…I'm sorry. I forgot…a lot of things."

Leon was silent a moment, watching him. "…we'll talk about it later."

And that was it.

…

The women were squishy. Short and squishy – there really was no other was to describe it.

There were four of them, tucked away in the far reaches of the base near a dense forest Cloud hadn't even thought existed. They wore old fashioned peasant-like dresses with conical hats held to their heads with some sort of scarf. Well, three of them were, in pink and green and blue respectively.

The fourth was wearing some sort of blanket tied about her neck like a cape. It was blue with a pinkish red bow, for the record. It was the sort of look that only designers could pull off in society for all their eccentricities, looking ridiculous even on paper.

According to Leon, that's what they were. Designers.

What he needed designers for was beyond him, but Leon assured him that they would need his measurements for future assignments, and it was best to get it dealt with as soon as possible.

And he nudged the blond towards them, each old woman grinning excitedly, clutching some tool of destruction or another.

Which in reality were only a few measuring tapes and some pens to take notes, but he had a sneaking suspicion that their goal that day was no less sinister for the deceptive innocence of their instruments.

They stripped him down quite gleefully, commenting on 'how slim' he was, and 'how magnificent' he'd look. About how they had the most wonderful idea! Well, four wonderful ideas, but they would sort that out and no Merriweather, it would not be blue!

He quite hoped that 'it' would be blue. The other suggestions had sounded an awful lot like pink and purple. Somehow he couldn't quite picture his masculinity being comfortable in a pink suit.

Leon wouldn't say a word about what was going on, and Cloud spent most of the ordeal glaring at him from across the room.

…when he wasn't glaring at the squishy women for what he was convinced were intentional inappropriate touches. He was such a pretty boy, they cackled gleefully.

Old women were terrifying.

When they had each measured him at least twice, and the one in green – Fauna? – looked like she was moving in to begin again, Leon stepped in to intervene.

My knight, Cloud thought dryly, it only took him an hour and a half.

…

The restaurant they stepped into was small and unassuming; more of a café than a restaurant, but more of a restaurant than a café.

That is to say, while it looked like a café, with its small circular tables and friendly atmosphere, he couldn't think of many cafes that required reservations, semi-formal attire and full wine lists.

There was a wooden sign swinging cheerfully outside the door, boasting the silhouette of a rat wearing a small chef's hat and clutching a large wooden spoon. They passed the doorway too quickly for Cloud to be sure, but he was quite certain he caught the name 'Ratatouille'.

He wasn't left long to think about that though, as a gangly red-haired man was skating up to them with a grin on his face.

"Mr. Loire!" There was definitely excitement in his tone, Cloud noted with interest, though he was slightly distracted by the weak attempt at a goatee on the boy's face. The man's voice dropped to not quite a whisper. "When they said to make the reservation for Leonhart I just knew it was you!"

He coughed, raising himself up from his slouch in an attempt to look respectable. His voice, lowered several notches . "Good evening, Sir. How may I be of service?"

"Our seats, if you don't mind, Linguini." Cloud was surprised to hear a soft…fondness? No, that wasn't the right word…indulgence, perhaps in Leon's voice. The same sort of tone he used when he told Yuffie to shut up, or Selphie to put away her trains.

"Oh. Oh, yes!" He skated a few feet away, menus in hand. "Over here, over here."

There weren't that many tables in the place; about sixteen, maybe twenty. Most were filled. Each couple they passed seemed to pause though, shooting furtive glances at Leon, but more often at him. Leon they stared at unabashed because he studiously ignored everyone in the room. Cloud….well Cloud, he stared back. Made it more difficult to look like you weren't really trying to look.

He'd never been out in public with Leon before, and found himself wondering if this was something to expect everywhere. And then wondering if he actually expected to be out in public with Leon again.

"I thought you might want some privacy, like usual; you and your guest." Linguini rolled to a stop at one of the small tables farthest from the door. Cloud raised an eyebrow at Leon, who was clearly still trying to ignore the world. He found it mildly entertaining that 'private' still had a full view of the door and all of the other patrons. Then again, there didn't seem to be much cover at all, and this was dimly lit off in a corner…he supposed this was as private as it got.

And the other tables were still shooting them looks, whispering softly to their dinner mates.

"What's going on, Leon?" Cloud folded his arms after they had both sat and the red-haired Linguini had skated away.

"I don't know what you're talking about. We're here for dinner." He was busy studying the wine list before him.

"Then why are they staring, Squall Loire?" the blond retorted.

Leon had twitched then, his eyes sharply meeting the blond's.

"Here you are." The waiter had returned with two goblets of water, setting them down with a wink.

…And remained standing there, a little nervously now, his fingers drumming along the round tray he held before him like a shield.

"What is it, Linguini?" Leon was looking at him pointedly.

"Uh, well…we both…well, we-both-thought-that-your-second-guest-was-Miss-Heartily-because-you're-never-here-without-her." Linguini was hunched behind his tray, eyes clenched shut as though he expected Leon to take grave offence to his babbled sentence.

Leon blinked.

Leon sighed.

Leon handed Linguini his wine list.

"You can tell Colette that Cloud is a colleague of mine. Pinot Noir, and we'll have whatever Monsieur Ego pairs with that."

"Oh, uh…I'll just ask him then; he really is happy that you appreciate his taste. A good choice. Always a good choice. I'll just…I'll just leave now." He whipped Cloud's menu from his hands and tucked it under his arm as he bowed in an elegant sweep. "You're very pretty, Miss, I hope you enjoy our fare."

Cloud spluttered as the red-head glided away once more, very nearly getting to his feet if it weren't for Leon's vice-like grip on his hand.

"Relax. Not in public."

"He just –"

The brunet held up the flat side of a knife, gesturing to the blond-black streaked tufts with the other hand.

There was a pink sparkly bow in his hair. And some glitter. When had –

"You didn't say anything? Couldn't have even hinted that those grannies had done something to my head?" The other man was smirking. "You think this is funny; people thinking I'm a girl."

"A little."

Cloud shot him a glare before bending over, ruffling his hair in an attempt to dislodge some of the flakes.

"Leave it; you'll only confuse him now."

"Good. Aside from that, I hardly look like a woman."

"Not all women are as…endowed as Miss Lockheart. And besides, your face isn't all that unpleasant to look at."

"Thanks for that." Cloud replied dryly.

Leon crossed his arms, leaving back in his chair. "What are you going to do when they call on you to play roles other than that of the General's consort? You're in SeeD now; it's not always a tux and uniform."

"I don't see you wearing lace and ribbons." He was feeling more than a little surly. It was like Leon was actually trying to convince him that being a woman wasn't so bad. It would explain a few things…

"I have a reputation and a place beyond the military. That's one function I can't be used for."

"What, and I don't? Is that it?" Cloud shot, keeping his voice low. "It's alright for Strife to be labelled a woman because no one knows him. No one can tell the difference."

"Can they? We have a new assignment." Leon was watching him closely. "Can you handle it?"

Of course they had a new assignment. It was a joke to think that Leon had dragged him here to get away from the base; it was always business. He was beginning to realize that he would never be able to get away from orders. So he nodded, giving a non-committal sound as he toyed with his water. This was his life now. If he couldn't handle this, he wouldn't have many other options.

"The others are unavailable that night; it's just you and I."

"Just say it, Leon. You're not good at trying to lessen the blow." He felt a small bit of satisfaction at the look on the brunet's face then. He wasn't an idiot. There was only one place this was going.

"We're going to a formal ball. One invite, no support." He paused, thanking the waiter for the decanter of red wine, waiting patiently for him to leave again. It seemed there was only the one waiter.

"And that means…" He knew what it meant. He knew, and yet he still needed Leon to say it aloud… for his sanity, perhaps.

"Squall Loire dates women. You're in a dress."

So that was it. It still seemed a bit surreal, a bit not-quite-right to hear the words, but they were said, and that made them solid. Leon had no reason to lie about it.

"A few hours, nothing more. You can change out in the car. You'll be silent, a few dances when we have to; knowing the host, a dinner as well. Nothing difficult."

Cloud drained his wine in one shot to the bemusement of Leon. "Fine. Squall Loire also has a stick up his—"

"Dinner is served!" The plates clattered as they settled under the watchful eye of the grinning red-head. "For the Sir, and for the Miss, a lighter dish that the esteemed Ego says is magnificent with your choice of dri…oh…did you want more? I'll bring you another litre."

There was a woman glaring out the circular window leading to the kitchen. Though he couldn't see her hands, he could swear she was tapping a large wooden spoon against one hand in warning.