13
CHAPTER 13 – ENTER: THE SHARPSHOOTER
The boy darted out the wooden door. He raced down the small flight of stone steps, breaking onto the ivy-covered trail leading out of the grounds. Fresh pollen from the great flower garden met his nose, its sweet scent a bitter reminder of what he would be leaving behind. He knew nothing of the outside world; he had no idea where he would start his search once he'd made it to the mainland. It was surely no place for a child on his own, but that no longer mattered to him. He'd wallowed in his loneliness for long enough. For that familiar comfort, he would travel any distance.
I'll find you, Sis… no matter what…
He stumbled forward as fast as his little legs could manage, his tiny shoes rustling through the weeds poking up from the cracked walkway. Just as he was halfway to the front gate, he ground to a halt. A tall figure suddenly emerged from behind the stone annex to the left; he stepped out onto the path, his stare fixed to the flower garden trailing into the distance. The boy's eyes bulged as he saw the two swords the man held in either hand. One looked as if it had come straight out of a knight's tale that had been read to him, the other a wicked, curved scimitar. Both were stained crimson, glistening in the sunlight.
The man's clothes were torn and ragged, their limp tatters blowing in the faint breeze. As he turned his head, the terror was complete. His deathly pale face was a horrible wreck, bruised, beaten, and scarred. The boy reeled back. He'd been reminded not to talk to strangers numerous times. But then, even if he never had, the fear he felt urged him to stay away all the same. He stood still as a statue as the man looked him up and down. Finally, the stranger's taut lips curled into a faint smile.
"Still looking for her, aren't you?"
The boy's eyes widened even more. His mouth fell open. Countless questions flew through his mind at once. Who was he? Why was he here? How did he know where he was going? Was he the one who'd taken Sis away? Why were his swords covered in blood? Whose blood was it? And would he be next?
"W-what-" he stammered, his legs quivering.
The man took a step forward, his foot crinkling on the twisted ivy. Scared beyond comprehension, the boy spun around and bolted back to the house, screaming his lungs out all the way.
"Help! Someone! Anyone! Help me!"
He dared not look back over his shoulder. His heart pounded in his small chest, feeling as though it might explode at any moment. He'd nearly reached the steps when a shroud of swirling black mist sprung up right in front of him. He skidded to a stop immediately. His feet became entangled in the ivy, sending him toppling backwards onto his rear. The dark portal thickened, rapidly growing in size, until a second, equally horrifying figure emerged from it.
The hunched woman shuffled forward, snarling in rage. She clutched at her bloodied torso; the seeping fluid spilled down her stomach, and melded with her tattered scarlet dress. The otherworldly yellow glow of her eyes stared directly into his own. He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream for help, so terrified he was. Boxed in on both sides, helpless to flee, his vision faded to black as the woman took another step towards him.
"Stay away!"
Squall's eyes shot open to the blinding glare of the morning sun. He groaned as he quickly shielded them with his arm. The light did nothing to cleanse the eerie nightmare from his retinas.
As if these damn Laguna dreams weren't bad enough…
His heart pounding frantically, he closed his eyes again, allowing the sunlight's warmth to embrace him. The panic soon dissipated as it had in the infirmary. Clearly, the sorceress' appearance must have perturbed Squall more severely than he'd thought. The nightmare notwithstanding, his sleep on the grassy patch had been surprisingly sound. Given all he'd been through in the last day however, he likely would have slept like a log regardless. Nothing could have prepared him for such a grueling ordeal. Being saddled with the burden of leadership through it all only made matters worse. He desperately hoped that the Galbadia Garden headmaster had already sent word to Balamb; the sooner their extraction came, the better.
"Lovely day fer a snooze, ain't it?"
The twangy, easygoing voice snapped Squall from his musings. He peeked open his eyes. A tall silhouette loomed over him, eclipsing the sun's glare. The young man's sharp facial features and blue eyes slowly came into focus. A black cowboy hat sat atop his disheveled light brown hair. He wore a khaki longcoat with a pair of brown leather chaps. A bullet belt lined with shotgun shells circled his waist.
"Thing is, yer kinda snoozin' on my turf."
Squall scowled in annoyance. He sat up and reached for his gunblade lying on the grass next to him.
"Whatever," he grunted, shifting himself along. "Didn't realize this part of the lawn was reserved."
"S'all right," the cowboy grinned as he lowered himself.
He kicked up his right knee and brought his forearm down to rest atop. He wiped away the bangs of hair trailing down either side of his face; the rest was tied up in a ponytail.
"Hafta say, I got a lil' excited when I saw that puppy lyin' next to ya. Thought it was the world's biggest six-shooter fer a sec."
"Sorry to disappoint," Squall replied. He hurriedly clipped the sheath back to his entwined belts. "I'll be going now."
"What's the rush? I didn't say ya had to up and leave. 'Sides, ya got good taste, even if swords ain't my personal cuppa tea."
"I came here to be alone."
He was coming to resent the man's carefree attitude ever more by the second. With the previous day's events and Seifer's execution still weighing on his mind, he had little patience for such laxness.
"Join the club," the cowboy responded, not seeming to notice the contradiction. "I know better than anyone what it's like to be a loner. Waitin' in the shadows while the world keeps movin' on all 'round ya."
Squall turned his head back, his curiosity suddenly piqued. The young man had drawn a double barreled shotgun from his left side. His fingerless black gloves clutched the grip reverently as the polished chrome barrel shimmered in the sunlight.
"It's the nature o' the sharpshooter," he spoke. His eyes washed over the firearm as if in a trance. "Comes with the territory an' all. We hone our instincts fer years. We learn to live with the loneliness. To love the thrill o' the anticipation. The pressure o' the moment, that instant o' tension just before the trigger's pulled, to hafta focus your whole bein' into a single bullet… it's a rough life out in the field, an' every man faces it alone."
Maybe there's more to this guy than I thought?
"But, 'cha know, it's got its perks," he shot Squall a cheeky grin. "The ladies love the suave, mysterious types, am I right?"
Never mind.
"Hate to break it to you, but the thing about being a loner is it doesn't work with two people."
"Alright, mister moody," he replied. He pulled back his longcoat, and stowed the shotgun in the leather holster at his side. "Man, a mopey attitude like that really takes me back…"
The sharpshooter trailed off as Squall swept his eyes across the Monterosa Plateau. To his right, a cobbled pathway trailed out of the Garden grounds; it snaked along a small stretch of open land to the forest where he'd collapsed. A chain of hills flanked the trees on either side, leading north to the great lake between the Gotland and Malgo peninsulas. They were meager compared to the Gaulg mountains, but served to stoke his nostalgia all the same.
He craned his neck back to the Garden. Its massive scarlet body extended across campus for the better part of a mile in each direction. While not as tall as Balamb Garden, it was no less grand, and perhaps even wider. The halo above resembled a perfectly circular, golden headdress; there was no cross-shaped crest nor silver flourishes jutting out from the center. A mere three days away, and he was already homesick. He longed to return to his familiar daily routine, if such a thing were even possible anymore. Seifer's tragic end aside, the sorceress' appearance changed everything.
"Say, where ya from, anyway?"
He turned back to the cowboy. His steely blue eyes stared Squall down from beneath the brim of his hat. The easygoing smirk was gone.
"What does it matter to you?" he responded defiantly.
"Jus' curious. Yer definitely not from 'round these parts. Livin' here woulda whipped that attitude right outta ya. So, c'mon, what's yer story?"
Squall's reluctance went beyond his general dislike of the nosey young man. The blame for the incident in Timber might have been laid at Seifer's feet officially, but it did nothing to wipe away his group's association with the Owls. Galbadia Garden's alliance with the military remained cause for concern; it would only take one loudmouthed student to go flapping their lips to the wrong person for them to end up in hot water yet again. After a moment's consideration, he realized that simply saying he was a foreign student was not necessarily an admission of guilt. He could just as easily pass himself off as an exchange student, or otherwise on assignment.
"If you must know, I'm from Balamb Garden."
"Ah, that so?" the sharpshooter tipped his hat. His grin reappeared. "So, you with those three that jus' showed up this mornin'?"
Squall instantly sat up straight.
"What? From Balamb?"
"I take it that's a no?" he frowned. "I passed 'em comin' into the main hall 'bout an hour ago. Two guys an' a chick. Pretty weird lookin', if ya ask me."
"What do you mean, 'weird looking'? How so?"
"Well, the head o' the pack looked pretty normal, jus' some guy in a SeeD uniform. But the two with him… one was this really tall, tanned, muscly guy, showin' off his pecs. The other was this freaky lookin' girl with silver hair an' an eye-patch. Real choosy 'bout her words from what I caught."
Squall leapt to his feet; there was no mistaking those descriptions. He turned on a dime, and bolted back towards the entrance. Had they been sent to extract them?
"Hey!" the cowboy hollered after him. "Ya didn't tell me yer name!"
"Wouldn't you like to know?!" Squall called back.
He sprinted by the stone fountain, and passed through the turnstiles. The main atrium was nowhere near the dimensions of Balamb Garden's, nor did it take up the entire central structure, but rather acted as a spacious antechamber branching off in four directions. The left and right-hand halls wrapped around the Garden's circumference, while the corridor straight ahead stretched ever deeper into the academy's center. The open space between the four intersecting walkways was dotted with benches and trimmed foliage. Sunlight streamed through the glass domed ceiling above. Squall's anger the previous night must have been intense for him not to remember any of it.
The general atmosphere in the air was far more austere. Swarms of students milled about, their uniforms charcoal with red flourishes on the sleeves and collars. Despite their number, both on the ground floor and upper balcony, the noise level was remarkably low. It was a welcome change of pace for Squall, for whom the hustle and bustle of Balamb Garden's atrium could be overbearing at times. He tore across the divide, blowing by the central directory. He had no idea where to begin his search, but figured they would be easy to pick out against the student body clad in black.
Why were they the ones sent? Has anyone told them about Seifer yet?
He scoured the unfamiliar halls for nearly 20 minutes, his journey leading him by the cafeteria, gymnasium, outdoor tennis courts, and grand auditorium. He came up empty handed each time. If nothing else, the amount of backtracking helped him to familiarize himself with the winding, metallic labyrinth; few corridors featured any distinguishing characteristics to mark the way. It was enough to make him feel a touch of sympathy for Selphie.
Finally, he turned the right corner. A streak of blue popped into sight against the stream of black uniforms. She stood beside the hall's restroom entrance, her short silver hair practically blending in with the wall's chrome plating. Her lone functional eye swiveled to Squall as he approached.
"Fujin!" he greeted her. "I heard you and Raijin were here. Did you come to take us back to Balamb?"
"Negative," she spoke bluntly.
"Then what are you here for?"
"Orders."
Why did I think this was going to go any differently?
"Hey, long time no see, y'know?"
He turned his eyes to the restroom. Raijin emerged from the men's side, tightening the thick red rope around his baggy black trousers.
"What are you two doing here?" Squall asked. "Fujin says you're not here to extract us."
"Nah, sorry," the muscled man shook his head. "We didn't even know you was here, y'know? We're jus' droppin' off orders to this place's headmaster. From what he said, sounds like it's got somethin' to do with you."
"With us? What kind of orders?"
"You're askin' the wrong guy. We're jus' the poor saps that got sent to deliver 'em, y'know? Came all the way by boat, up an' around Long Horn Island up north. Whole trip took more than 14 hours."
"Punishment," Fujin added.
"Yeah, this's what we get for coverin' for Seifer, y'know? Speakin' o' which, you heard anythin' about him? He took off a couple days ago, an' we've been askin' around ever since. They've been keepin' us in the dark the whole time."
A lump caught in Squall's throat. Surely the administration had their reasons for keeping the truth from them. Indeed, it might very well have been the reason they'd been sent on this assignment, away from the Garden. They would doubtless be crushed to learn of their friend's death. And yet, to leave them oblivious seemed a far crueler fate. As much as it would hurt them to hear, they deserved to know.
"You didn't hear this from me, but Seifer… was captured by Galbadia. Word came in last night that he was executed for attacking the president."
"What?!" Raijin bellowed, drawing the attention of every cadet in the hall.
"Lies!" Fujin stomped her foot.
"Yeah, no way! Seifer'd never let himself go out like a punk! He's better than that."
"I'm sorry," Squall tried to calm them. "But that's what we heard. He attacked the president. So, it's only to be-"
"Hey, you two!"
The voice came from down the hall. Squall's eyes flitted about the corridor, until he spotted a SeeD uniform amid the mob of cadets. The young man's brown hair was casually combed to one side.
Why does he look familiar?
"What's with all the racket?" he chastised them. "Let's get going. The trip back isn't going to be any shorter."
"Excuse me, sir?" Squall addressed him as the crowd began to disperse. He performed the SeeD salute. "Squall Leonhart, gunblade specialist, first class."
"Leonhart?" he muttered. His eyes lit up as they landed on Squall's forehead. "Oh, I remember you! From the exam, right? You were on the team we shared the vessel with."
So, that's it.
"Aaron Writ, dragoon, first class," he returned the salute. "So, you must be with the squad Headmaster Martine mentioned."
"About that… Raijin said the orders you were sent to deliver pertain to me and my squadmates. What kind of orders are they? Is the administration going to send someone to evacuate us soon?"
"I don't know the details," Aaron replied. "All he said is that it's a joint operation between Balamb and Galbadia, and apparently your squad is going to be the one carrying it out."
"Joint operation?" Squall repeated, utterly perplexed. "But why us? We're still under contract for our current mission. I'm sure Headmaster Cid is aware of this."
"I told you, I don't have the answers. But if that's what the orders say, then we have to abide by them. For now, you'll just have to stay put until the briefing. Feel free to ask Headmaster Martine anything you want when you meet with him. Whatever the case, best of luck. Fujin, Raijin, let's go."
Aaron motioned for them to follow behind. He pivoted and traipsed on down the corridor.
"Soon as we get the chance, we're comin' back here and findin' Seifer," Raijin swore. "He's not dead. No way."
"Impossible," Fujin affirmed.
The two started after their superior officer. They followed him to the end of the hall, soon disappearing around the corner. Squall remained standing by his lonesome, left to wonder just how they could remain so loyal to their leader. Even were it only from two select people, Seifer had commanded great respect indeed. It again reminded him of Laguna, and the bonds he'd shared with his teammates, right up until the end.
For all the good it did either of them. Every man faces death by himself. Why should life be any different?
Wooden sticks clacked together. Steel scraped against ice. The practicing team on the hockey rink swiped, skated, and passed the puck with utmost skill. Aside from functioning as an intermediary between SeeD and the nation's military, Galbadia Garden's secondary claim to greatness was owed to its athletics program. Year after year, the student body were a force to be reckoned with at the annual Garden Sports Summit.
With the stands vacant, Quistis was at leisure to watch the off-season training from wherever she pleased. The arena's chill washed over her. It barely elicited a shiver; arm warmers and gloves aside, her proficiency with ice spellcraft had helped her build up a resistance to the cold. And yet, there was nothing that could warm the frigid chill on her soul.
The news of Seifer's fate had been a devastating blow. She could barely believe the report when Martine had read it to her. The boy had been a reckless fool and a fantastical dreamer, scorning every effort she'd made to support him. She'd recognized his antics for what they really were: a hurt soul lashing out. No matter his faults, he'd always shown great potential. Perhaps he could have made something of himself had he not been so brash, and quick to take matters into his own hands.
Or maybe if I'd been just a little quicker myself…
It was difficult to convince herself that it hadn't been her fault on some level. Perhaps Squall, too, felt responsible for not being able to stop him; the unbecoming rage with which he'd stormed out of the infirmary was proof enough. Rivals though they'd been, there had been an unmistakable rapport between them, something that went beyond words, and served to bring the best out of each other in training. They were two of a kind, in a class all their own.
"Mind if I join you?"
She turned her head to meet Rinoa's solemn stare. Her eyes were red and puffy; it must have been a sleepless night. For what discomfort Quistis felt, it couldn't possibly hold a candle to her sorrows.
"Of course," she motioned to the seat beside her. The girl lowered herself, tugging her duster sweater around her for warmth. "How are you holding up?"
"A little better, I guess," she muttered. "I'm just trying not to think about it. It still doesn't seem real… any of it. It's like the whole world just went crazy all at once."
"No one could have predicted what happened yesterday," Quistis agreed. "It'll be okay, though. The headmaster assured me he'd get in touch with Balamb Garden right away. You'll be safe once we arrive back home."
"It's not me I'm worried about. Zone, Watts, and the rest of the guys… I can't believe I just left them behind. I hope they're getting along somehow."
"Your friend by the station was a real life saver," Quistis remembered. "I hope I can repay him someday."
"He likes dirty magazines," Rinoa hinted.
"I'll… keep that in mind," she smiled awkwardly. That the girl could make such quips gave her hope.
"I'm… also worried about Squall," she admitted. Her words were barely audible over the clacking hockey sticks.
"You and me both," Quistis sighed. "I know he doesn't handle pressure very well. He's easily overstimulated. Whenever it gets to be too much, he ends up going into his own little world. And when it all boils over… well, you saw how he was last night. But I've never seen him pass out like that before."
"I think… maybe I pushed him too far," Rinoa murmured.
"Zell and Selphie said the same thing happened before they even got to Timber. Whatever the reason, it has nothing to do with you."
"But I couldn't have been helping. He told me how terrible my plans were, how I was just using him and the others without considering how they felt. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being unfair, and taking them for granted. I… I really want to make it up to him somehow."
Quistis knew nothing of the group's activities prior to her arrival. Whatever the details, Rinoa's desire to cheer him up was clearly misplaced. She recalled her own attempt to approach him at the ball, when he'd been in the throes of one of his episodes; in hindsight, perhaps Rinoa herself had been at least partially responsible for his foul mood. It would be best if he were left to cool down on his own. Any meddling would only be liable to reignite the fire. She opened her mouth to explain, when the academy's four-tone chime came over the loudspeakers.
"Attention, please," the PA crackled to life. "Will the SeeD party from Balamb Garden, as well as cadet Irvine Kinneas please assemble in the headmaster's office? Repeat…"
"Is our ride here?" Rinoa wondered. She rose to her feet, and stepped into the aisle.
"We can only hope," Quistis said. "Follow me."
The two ascended the steps to the exit. Quistis navigated the winding halls with ease, falling back on muscle memory from her training seminar two years prior. Like Balamb Garden, the headmaster's office sat on the top floor. It was accessible only by a private elevator at the heart of the academy, requiring a special keycard to operate. Only those students expressly summoned were permitted to pick one up from the nearby security station. For Quistis, there was no need; she'd been provided one last night along with her teammates' room keys.
After several minutes spent traversing the packed corridors, they arrived at their destination. Zell and Selphie waited beside the red, cylindrical metal doors.
"Good to see you both found your way here," Quistis said.
"That's what the directory's for!" Selphie smiled. "Lesson learned from Balamb!"
"Any idea where Squall is?" Rinoa asked.
"Comin' in at six-o'-clock, looks like," Zell pointed behind her.
Quistis pivoted around. Their man of the hour approached from further down the hall. He trudged at a leisurely pace, his head hung with his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Best not to say anything until we know what the situation is," she spoke in a hushed tone.
"Sure thing," Zell agreed. "So, you think evac is finally here?"
"You wish," Squall said as he strode up. "We've got new orders, just dropped off this morning from Balamb. Some kind of joint op."
"Joint op?" Quistis repeated. She recalled Xu's mention of such an assignment, as the topic of the emergency meeting two nights ago.
"Let's head up. The sooner we know what we're doing, the better."
Quistis stepped forward in agreement. She swiped the keycard through the reader to the side. The curved metal doors opened to a glass lift not unlike Balamb Garden's own. The five piled aboard, Squall jamming the door-close button as soon as the tail of Rinoa's duster sweater cleared the frame. They rose up the shaft in silence, the floor indicator climbing higher until the lift slowed at the fifteenth floor.
The doors opened with a chime. A stretch of red carpet extended forward across an ornately decorated hall, its color scheme noticeably drearier than Headmaster Cid's. There stood no towering glass window, but four smaller ones on either side of the room. An impressive amount of plaques lined the walls, each signed or engraved. An elegant mahogany desk sat at the end of the carpet, with a large padded throne just behind. A lone man was seated beneath the banners of SeeD and Galbadia hanging over his head; both were tethered to a miniature of the Garden's floating halo on the ceiling. He looked up from the file on his desk as they entered, shut the portfolio, and rose.
Headmaster Martine was a wrinkled, middle-aged man with thinning blonde hair. A flashy dresser for as long as Quistis had known him, he wore a striking navy blue robe with gold linings; it was every bit as sharp on him as his burgundy suit the night before. The aides that had been standing guard were gone, leaving him and the five of them alone in the dimly lit hall. She saluted in tandem with the three other SeeDs. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Rinoa awkwardly falling into formation with them.
"At ease," he commanded.
The group lowered their arms as the lift behind them whirred back down to the bottom floor. Martine rounded his desk with the file in hand.
"Good day to you all. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I only wish it were under less trying circumstances. We do not have very much time, so I will be as brief and direct as possible. At Headmaster Cid's request, you have been conscripted to carry out a very important and delicate operation. Trepe, I presume you are the commanding officer? Here are the official orders delivered from Balamb Garden. Please keep them safe."
"Yes, sir."
She held out her hands to graciously accept the portfolio. Though Squall had been the appointed leader of his squad for their assignment in Timber, it was still she who held the highest rank among them. She took the file from Martine's hand, and promptly flipped open the cover. Line upon line of horizontal black bars met her eyes; more than half the text on the first page had been redacted.
"This will be no ordinary operation," he continued as she scanned over what she could make out. "It is one that many in the upper echelons of the Galbadian military, myself included, have been in talks about for some time. The situation has grown dire. We are left with no other course of action. For the future of Galbadia, and indeed the world, we entrust this great responsibility to you."
Quistis' blood froze as she reached the meat of the documentation. She did a double take at what she was reading. It was unthinkable, impossible even, least of all in the manner prescribed.
"The… the orders say 'by means of a sniper'," she spoke, a nervous quiver taking hold of her voice. "We do not have a specialist in that field among us."
"Indeed. It is for that reason Headmaster Cid and I have arranged for one of our own sharpshooters to accompany you. And, here he comes, fashionably late as usual."
Quistis turned around with the others as the elevator whizzed back up. The chime rang out again as the doors parted. A tall man in a longcoat stepped out. He wore a dark cowboy hat atop his wavy brown hair, and a set of leather chaps trailing down to his black boots.
"Son of a bitch," she heard Squall faintly mutter from down the line.
"Got somethin' fer me, chief?" the sharpshooter asked the headmaster in a twangy, carefree tone.
He briefly swept his eyes across the five of them. A smirk came over his face as they landed on Squall.
"Hey, chuckles. Miss me?"
"Ahem!" Martine forcefully cleared his throat. "I present to you Irvine Kinneas, the pride of Galbadia Garden's sharpshooter division. And might I add, he would be better still if he didn't know he was the best."
"Aw, shucks chief," he feigned modesty with a hat tip.
Quistis did not know what to make of the young man's laissez-faire demeanor. Regardless, she trusted he was the right one for the job; Martine's vote of confidence spoke loudly enough.
"Quistis Trepe," she took the initiative. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kinneas. I look forward to working with you."
"Rinoa Heartilly," the girl in blue followed up. "Likewise."
"I'm Selphie! Nice to meet'cha!"
"Zell Dincht. Good to have you aboard!"
"… Squall."
Irvine did not respond right away; the cocky smirk from before abruptly faded from his lips. His eyes shifted once more across the five of them, from Squall, to Zell, Rinoa, Quistis, and finally Selphie. His attention seemed to stay focused on her for significantly longer.
"Nice… nice to meet y'all," he finally spoke. He removed his hat from his head, and bowed to them.
"So, what do we need a sniper for?" Zell asked as he turned back to Martine.
"Take a guess," Squall replied.
"You know what I mean! Who are we takin' out?"
"According to the documents," Quistis gulped, taking a deep breath in through her nose. "We're to assassinate… the sorceress."
A deathly silence fell over the hall. Rinoa, Zell, and Selphie's eyes went wide. Squall hung his head. Irvine merely looked on with curiosity; were there any trace of fear about him, his face betrayed none of it.
"Correct," Martine confirmed. "I'm sure you are all aware of the sorceress' appointment as the president's ambassador. I can assure you, there will be no peace talks to be had with the nations of the world, only threats. Even now, the very mention of a sorceress is still enough to strike fear into the hearts of many. Several of my contacts close to the president have witnessed her powers firsthand. They say it is unlike anything they have ever seen."
They're not wrong…
"She is an uncontrollable force of nature that must be dealt with at once. And so, the fate of the world lies in your hands. That goes doubly for you, Kinneas."
"Don't worry 'bout me, chief," Irvine grinned. He raised his index finger and thumb in the shape of a pistol. "I never miss my target. So, what am I bringin'?"
"Our contact in Deling City will supply you with a rifle. The details will be explained to you when you arrive tomorrow afternoon. Your train tickets are enclosed in the rear of the portfolio, along with the address. Failure is not an option. That is all. Dismissed!"
On command, the newly formed group of six saluted the headmaster, and turned back to the elevator. Quistis perused the documents as she stepped aboard. She reached the back, finding their contact's name and address scrawled on a piece of paper. Six pre-paid ticket stubs were clipped to the parchment, due out of West Academy Station at 0700 the next morning.
"I don't freakin' believe this!" Zell exclaimed as the doors slid shut. "We ask for evac, and they dump this on us?!"
"It's certainly not what I'd hoped for," Quistis agreed. When the commandant had mentioned a joint operation with Galbadia Garden, she never would have imagined herself among those charged with carrying it out.
"Guess we were just in the right place at the right time," Selphie sighed as the lift slowed. They exited back out onto the ground floor. "Maybe it's fate?"
"Gotta say, I'm thinkin' it might jus' be, too," the sly newcomer quipped from the rear. The flirtatious advance was not lost on Quistis.
"At any rate, our train leaves at 0700 tomorrow morning," she cut in. "We're headed to Deling City. There, we'll meet up with General Caraway at his residence."
"Excuse me?!"
Rinoa's sudden outburst ripped through the hall. Quistis swiveled back to her. She looked utterly horrified.
"Is something wrong?" she gently asked.
"Well, yeah," the girl lowered her eyes. "It's just… working with someone that high up in the army… especially since I'm… you know…"
She said nothing more. Her eyes remained downcast. In a flash of intuition, Quistis understood her hesitance; her history was not something to be so casually discussed in the presence of their newly assigned comrade.
"I understand, but the general has a mutual enemy with us in the sorceress. We're going to need all the help we can get to see this mission through. So, for the time being, just try to grin and bear it."
"Easier said than done."
"Whatever," Squall brushed the matter aside. "Let's just make sure we're all ready to go by morning. I guess I'm sleeping in the infirmary?"
"Actually, Squall," Rinoa piped up again.
She rummaged through a small pouch under the tail end of her outfit. She withdrew her room key, and held it out to him.
"You can have my room… please. Selphie, Quistis, would it be okay if I bunk with one of you for the night?"
"Sure thing!" the former lit up, the latter left to ponder just where her motivations truly lay.
"Y'know ladies, Mr. Kinneas' room's got plenty o' vacancy," Irvine teased. "No reservation required."
Martine, just what have you saddled me with this time?!