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A soft yellow light seeped through Rinoa's closed eyelids. It waxed and waned, getting darker and brighter, as if someone were walking back and forth in front of it. She slowly became aware of the presence in her room and opened her eyes as she sat up, looking in the direction of the light. Her bathroom door was cracked, but the light was off. Angelo slept peacefully to her left in the desk chair, calm and quiescent. She must have been dreaming.
She lay back down, curling up on her side. She burrowed her head into her pillow, inhaling the fruity scent lingering from her shampoo as she closed her eyes.
Drip… drip… Her eyes shot open again. She looked back to the bathroom. The light was on. Had she imagined it being off? Drip… drip… it continued. Her brows furrowed with question. Was someone in there? Angelo slept still in her chair, apparently oblivious to any disturbance. Rinoa slowly slid the covers off herself, and grabbed her pinwheel from its resting spot on the desk. She stepped softly and deliberately, taking care not to make a sound. If someone had sneaked in, she would be the one to take them by surprise.
She approached the door and peered around it as she gradually pushed it open. She stood in the doorway looking at the tub. The shower curtain was drawn closed, but the silhouette of a person rested behind it. Drip… drip… it was coming from the tub. The shadow inside it did not move, simply rested against the back of the tub as if taking a relaxing bath. Rinoa gripped the pinwheel tightly, ready to swing it down on the trespasser if need be. She took two small steps toward the tub. The person still did not move. She gripped the curtain and paused, her eyes trained on the body, waiting for movement. Quickly, she threw open the curtain and raised the pinwheel offensively, prepared to attack before the intruder did.
Rinoa's eyes widened in shock and her weapon dropped to the ground, shattering as if it were made of glass, shards flying between her bare toes, cutting the ivory flesh. She didn't notice. She brought a hand to her mouth as she stared at the woman in the tub. It wasn't water that this woman rested in; it was blood. The woman's dark hair framed her face like wet tentacles and her eyes were open with the eerie glaze of death. Her lips were the pallor of her skin, which was almost blue from lack of blood. This woman was Rinoa.
Rinoa stared at her own dead body as she staggered away, taking painful steps backward as the remainders of her pinwheel dug into the skin of her feet. The edge of the bathroom door impeded her path, and she turned away ready to run out and down the hall for help when something stopped her. The mirror above the sink reflected an intruder. The apparition's hair was completely silver and her eyes an amber gold. Rinoa's insides turned to ice as she took an unsteady step forward, blood seeping from between her toes. She watched in horror as the being across from her reflected the moves and motions she made. Rinoa's eyes widened, the phantom's eyes widened. Rinoa brought a trembling hand to her face, the reflection brought a shaky claw up. As Rinoa stared at the image across from her, her throat caught. Her eyes narrowed in confusion and tears formed involuntarily as she looked down at her hands. They weren't the hands she knew, the hands that learned piano as a child, the hands that painted crappy model trains, the hands that pointed at shooting stars. They were demonic, almost beast-like claws, large and knobby, with blood-matted fur and black, sharp points for fingernails.
She looked back up at the mirror and realized that she was looking at herself. She was now Ultimecia. She had become the very embodiment of evil she and her friends had just risked everything to destroy. Her animalistic hands gripped the sink as she leaned closer to her reflection. She held her breath in fear as her former self that was the dark-haired Rinoa stood behind her, tears of blood running from her chestnut eyes, looking with pity upon the crying witch, as she brushed the silver hair out of Rinoa's face with one blood drenched hand.
Rinoa screamed as she shot up like a mousetrap in her bed. Angelo's ears stood at attention as she sat up, looking in the direction of the disturbance. Rinoa threw the covers off herself, examining her body for claws and purple markings and bloodied feet. Her hands shook as she held them out in the darkness, turning them over and over to check each side. She swallowed hard, the saliva moistening her parched throat, as she swung her legs over the side of her bed and burst into the bathroom. She turned the light on, fully expecting to see something that would shock her back into a coma. The tub was empty, the curtain pulled back, and the reflection in the mirror showed nothing but a terrified teenager, with normal, salty tears running down ashen cheeks.
Rinoa's brown eyes squinted shut as gentle sobs escaped her lips. She swiped roughly at the tears and drew in a deep breath. She peered out the bathroom door at the digital clock on the standard nightstand. 3:27 am. Her body ached and her lids weighed heavy. She had tossed and turned restlessly all night, the recent events playing over and over in her mind. She sighed loudly and turned the faucet on, splashing the harsh, cold water on her already wet face, and rinsing out her dry mouth. She looked back up at her reflection and used her forearms to dry herself off. She took one last calming breath and stepped out of the bathroom, shutting off the light. She was blind a moment as her pupils once again adjusted to the light change. She sensed the movement of Angelo, still watching her owner with keen curiosity. Rinoa felt her way back to the bed and pulled the covers high over her shoulders as she rolled onto her side. A few tears still managed to wriggle out, but she quickly batted them away. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to fall asleep. She lay awake until dawn.
. . . . . . . .
The sound of running water trickled into her dreams and roused Selphie from a booze-induced sleep. She sat upright in her bed, eyes not yet open, sniffed the air and stretched her arms out, reaching forward and hunching her back like a happy little cat, then she brought her clammy hands to her face and rubbed out the accumulated eye crust. As her eyes gradually opened and her vision came into focus, she realized she had company.
On her bed, with his head at her feet and his feet at her head, was her favorite cowboy, Irvine, in nothing but a too-tight pair of chicobo shorts and covered head to toe in what looked to be her favorite shade of lipstick, Dining with the Devil. The ruby red lines traced the outlines of his muscles, circled his nipples, and ran up to his head, which was hidden under his black cowboy hat. Selphie let out a small gasp of shock and brought her sheets up to her chest as she looked to her left.
On the floor lay what appeared to be Zell, one arm above his head, and one leg up on the bed. His hair had been completely violated, shaved on the sides with a thin strip running along the top, dyed a brownish red color. At various locations on his body were tiny white goose feathers, adhered to what looked like some kind of green slime, the same green slime which coated Quistis' once-flaxen hair from root to end.
Quistis sat slumped against the wall, half leaning on one of Selphie's favorite plush mog dolls. The admired and sophisticated former instructor's mouth hung slightly open, a light white crust making a trail from her mouth to her chin. Aside from her strange green-gelled hair, she had what looked like purple tiger stripes drawn on her face and limbs. Her boots, pants, and gloves were missing, leaving her with nothing but her trademark salmon vest and pink skirt, which had ridden up precariously in her sleep.
Selphie shook her heavy head and squinted as her surroundings seemed to be coated in gauzy glitter. She slowly crawled to the edge of the bed, doing her best not to awaken the slumbering man next to her. She gingerly stepped a foot down and padded over to the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar and the light still on. She pushed the door open, shrieked, and slammed it shut.
"Wha- huh- whassat?" Irvine sat up, his hat tumbling off his head, revealing a scarlet mouth and a squiggly diagonal line nearly dividing his face in two. He turned quickly toward the offending noise, knocking over some objects that had been resting underneath one of his striped legs. The objects: lipstick, markers, and a razor, fell onto the prostrate Zell, who snorted and sat up, arms reaching forward as if he were a zombie attempting to rise from the grave, yet lacking the core strength to do so in one fell swoop. Quistis groaned and halfheartedly shoved the innocent mog doll at her undead friend as she slowly fell to the floor and rolled onto her stomach.
Selphie slowly turned, taking tiny baby steps, and faced her guests. "Umm..." she began, her voice just a step below dog-whistle frequency. Her companions all looked at her, eyes glazed and reddened. Selphie finished her thought. "I think we might have done something bad."
A knock on the door caused all to jump in surprise, clutching their chests in unison. They stared at the door as if Ifrit had just bust in with maracas in his hands and a pineapple on his head. They sat unmoving until finally Zell spoke.
"S-Selphie… go-go answer the door." He grabbed the plush mog doll and held it in front of him as if it were a shield.
Selphie balked and looked at the door and back at her friends. "Why me?!" she whisper-screamed at them.
"It's your room! Wait…. Yeah, it's your room!" Zell countered after pausing to look around and double check. Selphie looked at her friends in silent defeat. She took a deep breath and heaved it out, then walked to the door like a cowboy walking into a saloon. She stood in front of the door a moment as her friends crawled onto the bed, huddling together out of sight of the door. The remnants of alcohol in their systems left them with a strange sense of fear and paranoia. Selphie started taking quick, short breaths, charging up her inner-strength before letting out one final breath, then she puffed her chest and pressed the open button on the panel. The door slid open, three distinct voices shouted in surprise, and she shut the door and jumped onto the bed with her friends, throwing the covers over top of them.
Unsure of what she had seen, her teammates welcomed her under the sheets, the four once-formidable heroes hiding from some unspeakable terror.
"Wha- what was it?" Irvine asked, shoulder drawn tight around himself.
Selphie's eyes flew wildly under the white sheets as she tried to understand just what was going on.
"It was Fujin and Raijin!"
"WHAT?!" the trio yelled at once.
"What are they doing here?" Quistis demanded irately, though more from her hangover than from true irritation at their presence.
"And what about Seifer?" Irvine added.
"Seifer," Zell growled.
"It was just them two," Selphie replied.
"Well, what did they want?" Quistis continued her line of inquiry.
"I don't know, I just saw them and shut the door."
"Why did you shut the door?"
"I was surprised," Selphie defended herself.
"Well, come on, we can't let them run around Garden. What if they brought Seifer in here?" Quistis reasoned as she threw the makeshift tent off of them. Zell stood on the bed and brought a shaking fist of fury upward. They stopped and looked at their friend, suddenly taking in the fact that he was covered in white feathers and sporting a strange new hairstyle, not to mention how each of them looked.
But there was no time to question what had gone on in Selphie's room last night, they needed to find the posse. The four stood in front of Selphie's door, determination written across their features. Selphie once again punched the open button and six people once again shrieked and the door slid shut.
"Whoa..." Zell started as they looked at each other. "I was not expecting them to be standing right there."
"That's it," Quistis threw her hands in the air and opened the door for the third time. Fujin and Raijin still stood in the doorframe, mouths agape at the four creatures in front of them. "We need to talk," Quistis proclaimed as Zell and Irvine grabbed the duo by their shirt collars and pulled them into the horrorshow that was Selphie's dorm room.
"Alright, start talking," Zell demanded at the still quiet Fujin and Raijin. The pair sat on Selphie's unruly bed while the terrible foursome stood over them, arms crossed and gazes intent.
The two shot each other confused, uneasy glances.
"What do you mean, ya know?" Raijin finally began.
"What do you mean what do I mean?" Zell leaned in angrily, voice deepening with threat. "Ya know."
"You told us to come here," Fujin offered further explanation.
The four then stopped and exchanged skeptical glances.
"What are you talking about? We didn't talk to you two," Irvine insisted, scratching at his red cheek.
"Sure ya did, we saw ya last night," Raijin said to unconvinced faces. "In the training center," he continued.
"Training center..." Quistis mused as she looked up at the ceiling, searching her aching brain for some kind of memory.
"Yeah, you guys came bustin' in to the secret area shouting all 'surprise!' and snapping pictures," Raijin continued, Fujin nodding in agreement.
"Pictures…" Selphie paused, looking up and scratching her head. She was suddenly aware that there was something in her hair. She poked at the object and her fingers followed it up to the top of her head where a boxy-feeling thing seemed to be attached. She pulled off the object and held a black digital camera in her hands, roughly tied to an old belt. She was also suddenly aware that her hands were coated in a sparkly silver powder.
"Yeah, yeah, then you guys went on about how you saw PuPu in the bushes and he had red eyes."
"PuPu..." Irvine scratched his chin as his eyes rolled upwards in thought. "Red… eyes..."
"Uh-huh. And then you guys started freaking out about getting out the training center and summoned Ifrit-"
"Ifrit..." Zell pressed a finger and thumb to his jaw and tilted his head.
"-and you had him bust down the training center walls."
"HUH?!" The four confounded comrades gasped.
"Ohhhhh nonono oh no!" Quistis brought her hands to the sides of her face, pacing in the small space of the room and inadvertently rubbing off some of the drawn on tiger stripes.
"What are we gonna dooooo?" Selphie shrieked, hands in a similar fashion against her own cheeks.
Zell stood, mouth yet agape as he stared at the muscled man in front of them.
Irvine stood with one arm crossed in front of him and the other resting on his cheek as his eyes moved back and forth, contemplating the dire truth of their actions.
"Yeah, umm, it's kinda a mess out there, ya know. Grats running everywhere."
"GRATS!" Selphie suddenly shrieked, hands raised up in shock. Her five house guests looked at her as they waited for an explanation for the outburst. Selphie turned slowly, taking tiny baby steps, and waddled to the bathroom door. She turned to face the others, and grabbed the handle of the bathroom door, opening it all the way, revealing a wriggling grat in the bathtub, then quickly shut the door again.
The shocked teenagers in her room all gaped at each other, eyes and mouths wide open.
"WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO?" Raijin proclaimed. "YA KNOW?!"
Selphie slowly looked down at the camera still in her hand. She looked up again, realizing the others had all come to the same realization that she had.
"Selphie," Quistis stepped in front of her friend and held out a waiting hand. "Give me the camera."
The six young men and women sat huddled around the tiny digital camera held in Quistis' hands and watched wordlessly as the entire previous night played out in full technicolor. When the time finally ran to the end, 2 hours and 11 minutes later, Quistis finally gave in to the urge she had been fighting since she first woke up, and puked in Selphie's PuPu trash can.
Selphie slowly stood, taking the camera from Quistis. She lay it on the floor and grabbed her nunchaku, hung on a hook next to her wardrobe. She held both powerful sticks together and brought it down hard on the camera, cracking it down the middle, then brought it down again until it was completely severed in two. Then she walked to her closet, pulled out a small gray lock box, put the remains of the camera inside, and shut it, wordlessly putting it at the bottom of her closet underneath piles of unfolded clothes. She held up the key for all to see, then walked to the window and threw them out.
"To the grave," she said in a deep and deliberate voice.
Silence filled the room as all mentally locked away the memories of the horrors they had seen on the little black camera.
"Anyway," Raijin continued, breaking the group from their disgusted reverie. "Now you see what we were talkin' about. You promised us you'd put in a good word with Cid, ya know."
"It's time," Fujin added, standing and crossing her arms.
"Okay, okay," Quistis held a hand up, pushing herself up with the other one. "We'll take you to talk to the headmaster." Fujin and Raijin let out a relieved breath and gave each other a reassuring nod. "But first… let us get cleaned up. Please."
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