Author's note: third part and finally we're in Timber with Rinoa! Lots of headcanon in here too, I hope you don't mind.
III. LA RÉSISTANCE
In Timber, she finally discovers life.
For the first time, she knows what light of the day means. In that city - she won't call it Deling City anymore, because she despises Vinzer Deling with every fibre of her being - there was only dark, and the clouds surrounding the city made everything even more suffocating. She has never truly known light there, never woke up to the sun kissing her face good morning. Or maybe, she feels like this now, because she knows what freedom means, which is ironic because Timber is everything but free, and the slow, coiled tension of insurrection and independence still crawls through the city's streets and over the city's roofs. But there is light, and sun spreading over her skin when she gets out to go to work at the pub - only during the day, kiddo! - and sometimes there are squalls on the sea and the clouds look so different, so breathtaking, so utterly amazing. Everything feels new, in Timber, everything feels hers, and there's a different, resolute spring in her step. She will do good, here. She will make a difference, in this city made of light, the green of the forest, the whistles of the trains entering the stations, and the tight alleyways that seem meant for conspiracies and low whispers.
She enters the pub, as she does every day that she doesn't have to hide from the soldiers that man - she won't call him father anymore, because she is disgusted by what he did to this city, to her mother's city - keeps sending to Timber hoping to bring her back to the gilded cage he built for his butterfly with broken wings. She was a chrysalis, back then, but now she feels like a full-grown butterfly, with wings as colorful as the drinks at the Aphorora Pub. She can defend herself, because Vulpe has been treating her like her own child, feeding her hearty meals and teaching her how to throw punches when needed, and Miss DiMarco always has a room for her, at the hotel, and a secret passage to send her to a small hideout every time a bunch of new soldiers shows up in the city, eager to gain the General's approval, and the pub's owner gives her a job to keep her occupied as they wait for the Owls to be back. Her wings may still be a little fragile, and sometimes they're a tad bit sore because she is not used to flying on her own so much, but they're getting stronger. She feels like she'll soon be able to spread them fully, and their flutter will change something, will change everything.
The pub's owner ruffles her hair, good morning, kiddo, as his wife slides a plate with muffins and a glass of milk with a drop of coffee. Rinoa watches with interest as the woman presses her index finger against the glass, to measure how much coffee her young, revolutionary pupil can have. You can have a finger width of coffee, she said the first day, and it's been a chubby finger of coffee every day, always pressed against the glass, leaving a distinctive trail on the condensation of her breakfast. Thanks, Vulpe, she says, splitting her muffin in half, inhaling the warm, rich scent of the wild fruit cream that spills out of the pastry. It tastes of summer and it's so, so good. Almost home.
She is using her pinkie to catch a drip of cream on her lower lip when Vulpe's boys come running in, knocking down a chair in their eagerness.
The Owls are still around! The Owls are back in town!
There he is, the guy who gave her issue after issue of Anarchist Monthly, enticing her curiosity so much, and then dropping from the face of the earth. He is still dressed as in that city, when he ran around thrusting incriminating flyers into the hands of willing bystanders. She is so glad that he's back and alive, and relief fills her to the brink, threatening to spill out through frankly inappropriate tears, because she was so scared he was in D-District Prison, rotting the rest of his life away for sharing the truth. It's the first time she sees his face, since he always kept it half-hidden in that city; and she realizes how truly young he is - probably a few years older than she is, and pain breaks her heart anew when she realizes that this means he was just a little boy when he was forced to watch as his father was killed by dictator Deling himself. She stands on the sideline, still eating her breakfast in silence, as Vulpe and her husband welcome flyer guy and his friend with warm hugs and giant cups of coffee that don't need to be measured with Vulpe's chubby finger. She listens as the guys recount how they had to flee Timber along with the editorial staff of Anarchist Monthly, how they couldn't bust into the vortex to free those who couldn't escape fast enough. At that moment, she can't be silent anymore; and she is still using her pinkie to clean her lips from the wild fruit cream as she blurts out asking, what's the vortex?
Everyone turns to look at her; Vulpe is watching like she forgot she was there, having breakfast before starting to work; Vulpe's husband is looking almost alarmed, as if he's imagining the mischief she could be up to after hearing the rebels' story; flyer guy's friend is looking at her with sharp dark eyes, and then grimaces, holding his stomach; flyer guy looks at her with a confused expression before recognition dawns on him. You, he breathes, and he leans to whisper something into his friend's ear. They both watch her carefully for a few minutes, as Vulpe leans in too, and she can imagine what she's saying, and the three of them keep whispering to each other in a manner she finds kind of rude and particularly annoying, and she almost blurts out hey, I'm right here, you know, when they both nod to Vulpe and her husband and move to come sit next to her.
What are you doing here, asks flyer guy, and she starts excitedly recounting the way he opened her eyes, the way she left her home to come to Timber and do something, do anything to help. They just have to ask, really, she came here just for this, and she adds that she is so, so unbelievably happy to see flyer guy is ok, because she was so scared and she didn't realize how scared she was until he walked in here and she saw he was ok, and both guys' gaze softens when hot tears of relief wet her reddening cheeks. She must look so young, so naive, so impulsive to their eyes. Flyer guy looks at grimace guy and says, maybe we can trust her, and she jumps on her feet, almost bursting with anticipation, when grimace guy stops her by raising his right hand. You told us you are the General's daughter. You need to prove you can be trusted.
It is ok, even though she has to admit she is a little hurt. My codename is Vanguard, says flyer guy, and when she tilts her head, curious about his name, he gives a little chuckle, adding, always on the front line. Giving out flyers and stuff like that, he adds, and she chuckles too, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Please to meet you again, Vanguard, she says with a warm smile, and acceptance is warm around her when he asks how she liked the reading recommendations he gave her. Before she can launch into another long tale about whatever changed in the way she looked at things, grimace guy gives her a serious look. Reading is not enough around here, missy. She straightens up, turning serious too, and simply tells. I know. I know what my father did to this city. I want to make amends. For my sake, and for my mother's memory, too.
The mention of her mother's death fills her eyes with tears, and the serious, untrusting gaze on grimace guy's face softens, once again. A girl who speaks like that cannot be insincere; and those tears of relief at his comrade's obvious wellbeing cannot be faked. Well, my codename is Nightwatcher, simply says grimace guy, and another stony expression of pain crosses his face. And the Vortex is D-District prison.
She will grasp this opportunity to prove herself and make the most out of it.
On a Friday night, the night before a wedding in town, they are sitting on a low wall in the small plaza in front of the pub, and she is kicking her legs in front of her, warming her hands against the cup of hot spiced wine that grimace guy got her. They are still grimace guy and flyer guy, to her, even though she properly calls them Nightwatcher and Vanguard to their faces. She feels they have a kind of friendship based on guarded trust, shared pain, and a warm, albeit slow acceptance into a tight-knit group of misfits who all share something tragic that makes them love this city even more. This city made of light, green like the forest, full of train whistles and tight alleyways has become her home. She knows every shortcut to avoid Galbadian soldiers, she knows the code language everyone uses in town, she knows the codenames of Resistance fighters, and she has made herself useful a couple of times, sharing whatever she knows from that city to help her comrades, and she has cried many, many tears of hot rage while listening to the stories of those who got sent to the Vortex, never to come back again, and she has shared the joyful relief of Vulpe, Miss DiMarco, grimace guy and flyer guy whenever someone who was thought lost has come back into town. She knows every crack in the sidewalks, she knows every shop secretly saving groceries for rebels in hiding, and she knows everyone and loves everyone and helps everyone.
She is still wearing a flower necklace she was gifted by the bride, as it's tradition in Timber for brides to gift flowers to unmarried girls as a good omen, and a song comes along from the pub's open doors, wrapping around them in cheerful melodies and boisterous sing-alongs from slightly intoxicated guests. Soon enough, Miss DiMarco will come looking for her so they can go back to the hotel and go to bed, but the night is warm and fragrant, an amazing, early-summer, starry night, and she'd like to stay here a little longer, to enjoy the cheerfulness and the way Timber has found the way to be bright and joyous despite everything. She can see Miss DiMarco on the other side of the plaza, nodding enthusiastically to something Vulpe is saying, so she jumps a little when grimace guy stands up and stops right in front of her. She looks inquiringly into his eyes, observing his careful smile - the telltale sign of his stomach injury flaring up for the tension - and wonders why he's so tense. Flyer guy downs his drink, sets the empty cup on the low wall, and stands up too.
You need a codename, too, says grimace guy, and she feels her eyes widening so much that she may as well be a cartoon character with its eyes popping out of their sockets in disbelief.
We think Princess would be ok, says flyer guy, and she dries her tears, awkwardly, because this is so not how she planned to receive this honor. But she has been wanting this for months, now, the acceptance of her being one of them, finally, not the sideline occasional helper. The real deal. She has imagined this moment a thousand times, lying safely in Miss DiMarco's spare bed, eating Vulpe's warm muffins, drying glasses in the pub as a conspirational briefing happened in a corner, around a table full of rainbow-colored drinks.
She is now Princess, and she loves it. She is proud of it.
Grimace guy and flyer guy look at each other, and nod. Grimace guy extends his right hand, his fist closed. My real name is Zone, he says, and she is still reeling from the shock of this revelation when flyer guy extends his right hand too, touching his fist to Zone's. Real name's Watts, he says, and they are no more flyer guy and grimace guy, or Vanguard and Nightwatcher; they are Zone and Watts, her friends, the guys who slowly became her protectors, over the past months, the guys who are her big brothers.
She gulps down her spiced wine, feeling it burn down her throat, settling into her stomach like fire. Slightly trembling, she extends her right hand and closes her fist, touching her comrades', her brothers', her fellow resistance fighters' fists. Her voice is firm, even though soaked with his tears, and their fists are steading her hand. My name is Rinoa, she starts, and from now on my codename is Princess.
She watches as the guys simultaneously open their fists, and she imitates them, as they guide her in silence through the Owls' pact. In unison, they grab each other's right wrist, and when Rinoa closes her finger around Watts' wrist, completing the triangle of core values of the Forest Owls - Freedom, Justice, Truth - she feels her heart bursting with pride.
They are Vanguard, Nightwatcher, and Princess, now.
Watts, Zone, and Rinoa.
And together, they will free Timber.
Author's note: check the FFVIII Ultimania translations on "The Lifestream": I got the details about Galbadia (the 10 clear days in Deling) and Timber on that site.
As usual, checked with Grammarly so feel free to point out mistakes.
Next week: a plan is concocted and Rinoa meets someone.