The FF VIII Fanfic
PuPu's Saga :

“Un homme et une jeune fille sur une plage”

by Jeremy Chapter ( jeremy_chapter@yahoo.com)
"Such a little man could not have made so big a depression."
-Norman Thomas
Synopsis: Explores the esoteric alien side-quest in FF8, picking up just where the
game ends. A tale of love, mystery, deception, betrayals, murders, and the SeeDs
greatest challenge yet – to stop a war threatening the end of all Terra!
PuPu's Saga :

“Un homme et une jeune fille sur une plage” 
by Jeremy Chapter ( jeremy_chapter@yahoo.com)
“I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.”
-Tennyson, Alfred Lord
Ulysses 18
Dramatis Persona Hominis
Laguna
Raine
Kiros
Ward
Ellone
Cid
Edea
Quistis
Zell
Irvine
Selphie
Squall
Rinoa
Match
Mina Charleston
Merali
Pearl
Sujie
Jay, Sergeant
Zen, Ph. D. & J. D.
Seifer
Fuujin
Raijin
Jeremy Chapter
Rishi
Lily Furgle
Cary Kay
Darby LeBard
Arienne
Eris
Faeyre
Caraway, General
Dr. Odine
Dr. Kadowaki
Julia
Author's Extended Foreword:
“I think they love not Art
Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart
That small and sickly eyes may glare or gloat.”
-Wilde, Oscar
De Profundis
Disclaimer to save my own ass: Every element belongs to Squaresoft, Inc., not to me, unless I
made it up. The trademark for the name Jeremy Chapter and the copyright for the work
PuPu’s Saga  : “Un homme et une jeune fille sur une plage”  belong to me. No part or whole
of this work may be reproduced for commercial purposes without my explicit documented
permission.
If you would like to put PuPu’s Saga  : “Un homme et une jeune fille sur une plage”  up on
your website, feel free to copy and paste from whatever url you are engaging this story, or ask me
to email it to you as html-ized email attachments, three settings at a time. In either case, please
inform me prior to taking the story so that I may give you my written consent to use it and that I
may be mindful to send you the new installment chapters as I finish them.
This fanfiction picks up right where the game ends. If it interferes chronologically with any
other fanfic, just treat the celebration at the beginning of the story as some other party that
Balamb Garden throws after Squall goes through Time Compression again to kill some other
sorceress named Ultimecia during which Rinoa kisses Squall one more time because they both
see another shooting star, and during which Laguna, Ward, Kiros, and Ellone all just happen to
be in Winhill visiting Raine's grave a second time. If you know already who Laguna’s son is, then
Setting 2 is not essential to the plot and can be skipped. This fanfic has many allusions to Final
Fantasy VIII and IX, some of which are pretty profound. Those who have not explored the world
of Final Fantasy VIII as thoroughly as others might miss some subtle clues while those who have
explored the world too thoroughly can guess half the plot out right. Stuff that I made up wasn’t
meant to be corny, corny as they may be. The reading may be slow until the tempo picks up in
Setting 11 or so. Skipping straightway to Setting 11 would pass over many of the hints about the
game or foreshadowing elements about plot twists to come. Sometimes I get caught up with
grandiloquence and neglect the beauty of terseness. Please bear with me through Settings 13
and 18 in particular. Volume I (or “Division 1”) closes with Setting 26. By the time you’ve gotten
to Volumes II and III, the story will have picked up so much momentum that the rest of the story
(up to Setting 65) will fly by.
I have never and still don’t promise the perfect story, but I’m warning you how big a
commitment you have to make to finish this perdurable behemoth. Maybe I’m talking to myself
here. The story focuses mainly on Squall, his regular groups (minus Rinoa), and some new
characters like Mina, Merali, and Match. I tried to keep the number of Settings focused on
characters from the older generation to a minimum. Dante, Jay, Lily, Jeremy, Pearl, and Sujie
are other additions I’ve taken the liberty to make. As much I wanted to exclude Seifer and his
posse altogether, I could not possibly. He has so much to offer as a character.
My saga is a prequel to Raine Ishida’s “Hope” (nanaki_17@hotmail.com) and though people
cannot copyright ideas these days, only expressions, I have no problem with respectfully
attributing even un-copyrightable intellectual property to their rightful owners. Here are my
current acknowledgments and to the best of my knowledge, their current email addresses: The
idea of Mina belongs to the aforementioned Raine Ishida. The idea of Titanus belongs to Dark
Horse (duke_macbeth@juno.com). The idea of Stella, Laura, and Shojora belong to Kate Lorraine
(lorraine_kate@hotmail.com). The idea of Lunar belongs to Barrett Machain
(b_machain@hotmail.com). The idea of Eris belongs to Blackrose (lenoirrose@softhome.net).
I realized that the length of this 3-Volume, 65-Setting, 520-plus-single-spaced-page epic
novel would deter most fans from picking it up, and strain from that small number even fewer who
would ever finish reading it. In order to boost the interest and preserve the incentive to keep
reading, I’ve begged the assistance of some very talented artists to whom I shall give due and
grateful credit for their pieces for each chapter. I’ve also tried to infuse a little humor into each
Setting through the characters. Please excuse me if what they say is not what you would have
liked to hear. I had read all the stories of Seifer being a menace to society or Seifer’s sudden
change of heart that I could bear. I couldn’t accept straight off any over maudlin, too-perfect
romances between Squall and Rinoa. I was horrified by the possibility that Cid was capable of
domineering over Squall after he had just saved the world. I hadn’t seen too many people use
GFs as more than just weapons of war in their stories (the exception being Kate Lorraine’s “The
Claiming of Shiva” in which she incorporates lines like, “Oh, [Shiva] wanted this one. This one,
she had to make her own.”). I never did find Rinoa’s new sorceress powers all that entertaining.
I thought Ultimecia’s return or the repeat of the Lunar Cry were exhausted and unoriginal. I felt
Squaresoft left a lot of things ambiguous and in want of explanation. I was mad at all the fanfics
that are left incomplete and leave the reader hanging. I hope not to fix all of this, but to present
before you something new, if you give me the chance. The four years of my life I planned on
sacrificing to complete this saga is the price of evading hypocrisy. It’s not about the fame. It’s not
about the glory. And it’s definitely not about the glamour of fanfiction writing – there is no such
glamour in empty coffee pots, disheveled hair, and burning the midnight oil as far as I’m aware.
It’s about truth.
Be warned that my writing does not exude the elegance or delectability of Kate Lorraine's.
My style has neither the refinement nor delicacy of DJ Johnston's; neither the magnitude nor the
endurance of Marcus’; neither the sentimentality nor the poignancy of Arian's; neither the temerity
nor the intrepidity of Darren Shier's; neither the gravity nor flourish of Larathia's; neither the
maturity nor efficiency of Malice Shaw's. I do not elevate the language as the epic tradition
behooves like XmagicalX does. Instead, I elevate the voice. The prose I promise is whimsical
and sprightly. I plan to give you an exploration of the people and their interaction with each other
and the world of Final Fantasy VIII. I have intended for you not to get caught up in the plot as
much as to be swept away by the drama and pathos. Most of the plot movement occurs through
dialogue or internal monologue because the story is character-centric, not action-centric.
The creativity I offer, I'm afraid, extends only as far as the bounds of my eccentricity and the
reader's willingness to be led. The saddest part is when you have to leave this dream world that
I've constructed. Yes, I am here to wield the mad power of molding worlds as I see fit, and I can
proudly say that I do it in a way unadulterated by external opinions because it is my story and I
planned it out before all the input began to pour in. I think I am thoughtlessly undertaking the
emendation, extension, and (Hyne-willing) the establishment of canon. Ut sint unus auctor et una
veritas sed multae recitationes.
Now, for my final word of caution: I abuse the usage of participles and adverbs, and I am
shameless in experimenting with narrative presence, distance, and time (though nowhere near as
adept or fanatical as Woolf or Joyce). I have in store for you my finest stock of gentle satire,
gentile lampoon, bittersweet humor, and every last wicked intention. If the story happens to bore,
bewilder, annoy, offend, or disgust you in any way, then it is a pity. Caveat emptor, take product
as is. If you want another story, or a sequel perhaps, drop a line with any fictitious character
names you would like to see incorporated in it, or any fresh ideas. So now, without further delay,
I shall make my invocation and send you off into my own little microcosm of Final Fantasy VIII:
"Be with me, Muse of all Desire, Erato,
While I call up kings, the early times…
A greater history opens before my eyes,
A greater task awaits me."
-Vergil
Aeneid VII
Prologue: 1716 DAY 27, Tomb of the Unknown King Main Chamber
"O cruel one, bestow on me
Some taken of your sovereign sway,
Which I may follow earnestly,
And never from its precept stray.
If you would have me fade away
In silence, then account me dead,
But if you'd hear my ancient lady,
Then Love himself my cause shall plead.
My soul to contraries inured
Is made of wax and adamant,
And well prepared for Cupid's law.
Whether soft or hard my heart is yours,
To grave it leave to you I'll grant,
And to your will I'll bow with awe.
-Cervantes
Don Quixote of La Mancha Part 2 XII
H
e was bleeding.
From the way that it felt, it had to be pretty bad. Under his shirt there were, no doubt,
multiple punctures through which he could feel the red fluid seeping out and soaking his white
shirt. Had he his wits, he might have realized that he didn't have much time left before the end.
Nothing seemed to be happening. The drumming in his ears was silent but somehow
concurrently more intense than it could ever have sounded in reality. His mind couldn’t register
too many thoughts at once; he could only connect a small number of them; his movements were
sluggish; his limbs were nowhere to be found; the world was now at rest, now swirling; now
muddled, now clear.
He'd been in combat long enough to recognize these symptoms: He was in shock.
Looking down, he caught a glimpse of his completely red shirt and coldness seized him.
She betrayed me!
He could not get over that thought, he, crouching there, arms pulled in close, shivering in his
bloodstained uniform. The image of the girl running out from the cavern played itself over and
over in his head. He tried to stop it, but his memory refused to obey, forcing him to revisit the
blue, the flapping, waving blue that she had down over her back. The blue she had that was so
visible as she ran away.
What happened?
He grimaced as different parts of his body began to throb. He had to remember; he had to
go back further. He saw fire, he felt his body being pierced from all sides, he perceived his initial
fear, he stomached the onslaught of doubt, daunt, and imminent death, but only after the blue
forced itself back into reminiscence did he feel obliterated.
He closed his eyes and shook his head violently, desperately trying to recall what had just
happened. All the world seemed to bob ineffectually in eerie limbo.
She betrayed me!
He had to get beyond that. There was something else, something he was missing. If only
he weren't trembling so much; if he could shut out the pain flooding his system and ripping into
his muscles like a jagged saw, twisting from where it was nestled as to hook more sinews on its
way through his body. The imagined sound of his flesh being torn off by strips nauseated him.
His eyes shot open. It had just come to him.
I was buried alive.
He tried to look around, focus his eyes, and find anything that looked vaguely familiar. He
wasn’t certain if the noise exploding in his ears was someone's screaming or a great tremor sent
by Nature herself. Just as his mind began to question the seemingly inert passing of time, his
vision cleared and his eyes seized a target.
It was Rinoa, standing above him with a wicked-looking dagger that she was raising over his
head.
Am I to die? he wondered as the feelings of loneliness and dread washed over him.
In response to that question which he had forbidden himself to ever ask, a dark phantom
appeared from overhead and ominously called his name, beckoning to him.
"Squall…"
entrance
DIVISION 1: On the BREACH
Setting 01: 1220 DAY 0, Alcaud Plains around Balamb
“A savage race, that hoard, and sleep, and feed…know not me.
I cannot rest from travel.”
-Tennyson, Alfred Lord
Ulysses 5
<E
lixir> Pathetic plea.
<Elixir> Pathetic plea
<I need an Elixir> Self-evident declaration
<Help me>! Punctuated despair and pathetic plea
<Anyone have an Elixir>? Rhetorical question and wishful thinking
<Please help me> Pathetic plea and self-evident futility
<…> Pause and resumption
<My poor feet> Plaintive self-pity
<…> Pause and resumption
<…>? Awareness and interest
<…>! Sudden realization and flood of jubilance
<There is Balamb Garden>! Second and self-evident declaration
<…> Self-reassurance and calmness
<There is someone coming>! Awareness and suspicion
<Who is there>? Nonspecifically directed interrogative
<Squall>? Quasi-specifically directed interrogative and wishful thinking
<Squall>! Reckless presumption and exuberance
<Is that you>? Quasi-specifically directed interrogative
<Hey, Squall> Relation-creative-purposive address and wavering certainty
<…> Pause and closer inspection
<…>! Awareness and corollary certainty
<Squall, are you there>? Quasi-specifically directed interrogative, extended presumption,
uncertainty, and incipient inquietude
<Heavens>! Awareness and reflex panic
<Help me, someone>! Nonspecifically directed imperative directive, growing panic, and
wishful thinking
<Squall>! Reflex defensive assertion and specifically directed, imbedded directive
<Please, no> Plaintive plea, specifically directed, elliptical imperative directive, deplorable
capitulation, and fear
<Please> Plaintive plea, specifically directed, imperative directive, and unmitigated fear
<NO>! Awareness, plaintive plea, specifically directed, elliptical imperative directive and
recoil
<–
Setting 02: 1427 DAY 1, Winhill Cemetery
“This is my son…when I am gone.
He works his work, I mine.”
-Tennyson, Alfred Lord
Ulysses 33
“W
ell, I’m here now, and I probably should have come here a lot more often than I
have, this being the first time, so I’m sorry.”
Laguna Loire snapped his fingers to pass the time, unsure if what he said was coherent and
clueless about what to say next. He’d never seen his wife’s burial marker before, much less talk
to it, and he was trying his hardest to keep a smile on his face. What he really wanted to do was
plop down right there and beg for Raine’s forgiveness.
“This actually isn’t an awkward situation at all,” he lied, “I can almost see you there looking
skeptical. So, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to rehearse what the one monologue that I’ve always
imagined that I would have with you once I saw you again.”
He stopped to think about what he just said before struggling to rephrase himself, “Of course
I won’t be saying your lines out loud cause you’ll be saying them in my head, but it’ll work, I think.”
Taking a deep breath, Laguna tried to make some more excuses, even though he knew
there was no point. And yet, somehow, he was comforted by the fact that had Raine been
standing there, she wouldn’t have minded regardless. She would have stood there silently with
that understanding, sympathetic smile, ready to laugh at him lightly and let him off the hook. Yes,
he could see her standing there now, doing exactly that. It loosened him up a bit, but it also
made him wish that she would just get angry at him, start calling him names, cursing at him, or
beating him…anything to let him know how she really felt.
It was getting harder and harder to keep up that smile. He realized at that moment that the
coldest words were what Raine didn’t say. She would never chastise him even if she were still
alive. But now it was too late to hear her utter even a single word.
On the verge of cracking, it seemed like a good idea to change the subject. He thought
about going off the script and talking about something that might not make him feel so guilty, but
nothing came to mind. Then he remembered that he could always talk about their son whom he
was sure Raine would be curious about. Yet, he was determined to save that topic for last.
Unable to come up with anything fast, Laguna could feel himself becoming more and more
nervous. He even caught himself antsily tugging on the tails of his unbuttoned dress shirt and
swaying back and forth. He kicked himself for not rehearsing it more times before actually
coming, but it was too late for that now. Now he shook his head in disgust.
“Looks like I’ve botched another one, Raine,” he confessed finally, trying to joke about it with
a quick, exaggerated frown. He imagined Raine rolling her eyes, imitating that silly frown, and
shaking her head, once again absolving him. He wanted so bad to have her throw daggers at
him with her eyes.
“Laguna, you loser,” he scolded himself, “you can’t even make a figment of your imagination
get angry with you.”
Raine chuckled and playfully kicked some dirt onto his shoes. Then she tried to mimic his
swaying motion, which was making her dizzy.
This is embarrassing, he thought to himself, scratching his head.
“Can you tell me that I’m horrible, that I don’t deserve to live?” he asked her.
Raine placed her index finger against her closed lips, shaking her head.
“I’m serious,” he entreated, trying again.
She humorously covered her ears and pretended not to hear him.
“Well, fine then, be that way,” Laguna conceded, slightly irritated at getting beaten in an
argument with a speechless spirit.
Raine stuck her tongue out at him and pushed him lightly with the meanest face she could
put on. It didn’t look very mean to Laguna, and he told her so. Her features softened a bit, not
expecting her husband to be so straightforward.
Laguna finally gathered his thoughts and enough courage to spew out clumsily, “I know it
wasn’t fair of me to leave you like I did, but that doesn’t make it right for you to leave before I can
say that I’m sorry. This was one time that you never gave me the chance to pay for my mistake.”
That was what he wanted to say all along, how he felt on the inside, both guilty and cheated.
In retaliation, Raine did her best to pull off a mischievous snicker.
“Why did you leave me?” he asked a little bit louder. He could feel the anger boiling inside
him, giving him enough strength to press her more forcefully with his questions. “What was it?
Was it a disease, something natural, or was it me? It was me, wasn’t it? Tell me.”
Before Laguna had finished his last question, Raine had picked up three rocks lying by her
epitaph and begun to juggle them, finding them more interesting than her husband’s whining.
“Stop that,” he said, trying to swat away the imaginary stones, not realizing how idiotic he
looked to any third person.
Raine wasn’t listening now, surprising herself with how many stones she could keep in the
air. It was way more entertaining than Laguna’s confession, she decided. Ten seemed like a
commendable number. Maybe she would be bold enough to attempt an eleventh for good
measure.
Laguna was shaking involuntarily because he was mad at her for not listening and at himself
for getting mad at a dead person when he was the one at fault. He calmed himself, realizing that
this was exactly what Raine wanted…an angry Laguna who wanted to project the guilt and shift
the blame. She wanted to protect him from feeling as if he had wronged her, even if that meant
making herself seem so heartless.
“I’ll stay in Winhill until you want me to go then,” he suggested.
For the first time, Raine looked concerned. She shook her head, signaling to Laguna that he
didn’t have to do that.
Laguna realized that this was her weakness. She wanted him to stay, but didn’t want to say
it, just like she didn’t want him to stay in her little town because of her. He wasn’t doing this for
the pleasure of watching Raine grow worried, though, but because he wouldn’t be able to forgive
himself if he left Winhill again so suddenly. He owed that much to her, and seeing how
disconcerted she was, as well as knowing her nature of always letting him off easy, he knew he
was doing the right thing by making that promise.
At any rate, she might have married him so she wouldn’t have to listen to him beg her again
and again to reconsider. Perhaps she was banking on his long vacation all long as a reprieve
from all his droning. Had she known that he would have come back to whine after she was dead,
she never would have agreed to marry him.
“I won’t leave you. I never should have,” he added.
Unexpectedly, Raine let all the rocks she was juggling drop, visibly moved by his discovery
and decision.
“I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry,” he admitted, lowering his head.
Raine tried to comfort him with her puppy-dog look, walked over next to him, and caressed
his cheek before retreating to her original spot.
“I guess we were both lucky that Squall is that strong,” Laguna brought up suddenly, making
sure to get it over with before he forgot. “I tried my best to take care of him, but he turned out all
right on his own. Very independent, doesn't need anyone's help.”
Raine looked confused, but Laguna was too caught up with his praises to notice.
"I mean, he grew up with all that opposition, but he never let it get to him. It's great that he
doesn't concern himself with what other people think of him. Tries not to listen to anyone who
tries to give him any garbage about his not being able to take care of himself or making the wrong
decision. Squall understands himself and knows when he's right, and that's what counts.
Doesn't want anyone else to distract him from that. Pretty strong, huh? Always trusts himself to
make the right decisions and take care of everything personally-"
Raine was waving for Laguna to stop. She was totally lost, and regardless to whomever her
husband was raving about, he didn't seem to be living a healthy life.
“You know, our son. Squall? The big success?” Laguna picked up, thinking her interruption
was another joke.
Raine looked stunned, making it abundantly clear that he had better not die any time soon
because she was going to make him pay for choosing such a dumb name.
Laguna held up his hands in defense, stammering, “I-I t-thought you named him, because I
sure as hell didn’t.”
The realization that Ellone named their son hit them at the same time. The look on Raine’s
face spelled out that Ellone would do well not to die before her godmother’s wrath subsided, as
she would surely pay for choosing such a dumb name.
Laguna rubbed his chin and asked, “You didn’t name him in all that time?”
Raine shot him a “don’t-push-me” look.
“Okay, okay,” he said quickly, and shifted the subject back to Ellone, “What did you expect
her to name him?”
Raine made a “duh” face and mouthed, “Cloud.”
“I’ll get even with her for you, sweetie. I’ll name her son Irvine or something stupid like that,”
Laguna offered.
Raine nearly doubled over laughing.
Encouraged by her propitious reaction, Laguna took that chance to say that from what he
had heard, Squall had turned out just like him.
His wife was unimpressed, thinking to herself, “I thought you said he was a success.”
Instead of telling him that, though, she smiled tactfully, took a step forward, and gestured with a
wave over his face for him to close his eyes.
Laguna closed them, but he could still see as if they were open. He was able to see the
bright afternoon change into night, and all the stars lighting up against the dark velvet above.
Looking down, he scowled in dismay as the grave marker vanished before his eyes. His brown
slacks turned into black army pants, and his shirt into the sporty blue vest that he had worn when
he was young.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” rang a familiar voice from behind him.
Laguna knew whom that voice belonged to before he spun around. It was the same one that
he had longed to hear for nearly two decades, but he was too amazed by this new development
to lift Raine in the air. It was déja vue for he had seen all this somewhere before. He looked
through every memory he had with Raine before he realized that she was replaying for him that
sentimental scenario in which he proposed to her. Astonished as he was, Laguna allowed
himself to relive the moment, enjoying the miracle without questioning how it was possible that
they could go through the entire sequence again: He turns around, not sure how to pop the
question, waving her off and telling her to forget it; she runs over and pulled his arm, asking him
to stay; he swings around, grabs her hand, and fits her finger with a gold ring; she looks at him
questioningly; he shows her the gold ring on his own finger and watches as her quizzical
countenance melts smoothly into a heart-wrenching, near-whimpering smile; and finally they
share the seemingly eternal embrace that made all his consternation about the proposition seem
worthwhile.
Laguna’s feet were numb by the time this awesome experience was over and he had to
make an effort not to collapse as night turned back into day. Once again he was in the present,
staring at her marker, shocked that the illusion had vanished so quickly. He couldn’t see Raine
anymore, but some way or another, Laguna felt as if she was right there beside him, providing the
same comfort.
“Uncle Laguna!”
Having grown accustomed to the unbroken tranquility of Winhill for the past twenty minutes,
Laguna’s eardrums were nearly shattered by Ellone’s soft but nevertheless splitting voice. For an
instant Laguna was almost glad that Raine had left since Ellone would surely have been toast
had she arrived a few seconds earlier.
There she was, Squall’s “big sister,” green scarf and all, trying to make her way down the
grassy hill without spraining her dainty ankles. She waved in her usual blinding splendor so
innocently that even Laguna had to gawk before grinning and raising his head in
acknowledgement.
On the summit behind Ellone he could see Kiros and Ward. Kiros pointed at something
behind Laguna. Just a short distance away, the brilliant Balamb Garden drew near, skipping
from hill to hill.
Laguna stood up, feeling a sense of pride swell in him with the knowledge that the craft
carried a true hero, his son. He almost felt giddy. I can’t believe he’s really mine!
And auspiciously, Raine was there to see it.
Setting 03: 1458 DAY 1, Winhill Outskirts
“Down stage he strode some paces,
grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld.
Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly.
Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell.
A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows.
Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave
upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.”
-Joyce, James
Ulysses II
“T
his place must have a plethora of sentimental value, Ellone,” Kiros said, “otherwise I
don’t think he would be so determined to stay here.”
“I’ve never seen Uncle Laguna so fired up and decisive before, Mr. Kiros,” Ellone
commented.
Kiros considered it and gave Ward a knowing look.
“Neither have we,” was the consensus.
Ellone looked at Ward and giggled.
“No one knew on the White SeeD ship, Mr. Ward,” Ellone asked, “but how did you lose your
ability to speak?”
Ward was anything but offended by the question. He pointed back in the direction of Winhill,
almost out of view.
Kiros did not mince words in his explanation, “Your uncle pushed us off a cliff.”
Ellone gasped in amusement, “That simple, huh? No offense, Mr. Ward.”
Ward shrugged good-naturedly. He considered himself lucky. Befriending Laguna meant
taking risks. It could have been worse; for instance, had Laguna actually tried to save him with
one of his hair-brained ideas, he surely would have lost more than his tongue. In his next life, he
would invest in some ‘miscellaneous Laguna hazard insurance’ before the inevitable accidents
and become filthy rich. He might even retire early, or, as safety behooved, at least before
Laguna’s antics retired him permanently.
They had stopped and were waiting for the Estharian ship. It was actually carrying a full
load, but the pilots could not turn down the request of three presidential aides. What Ellone didn’t
understand was how Esthar was okay with doing without their president for a week or two. Then
she considered the possibility that all he did was put his signature on a few papers every day for
tradition’s sake and for the bureaucracy’s. As long Kiros and Ward were there, Esthar would be
fine.
Ellone frowned, recalling something her uncle told her.
“Was this during your escape from Lunatic Pandora?” she asked.
Both Kiros and Ward nodded.
“Uncle Laguna told me that he held off forty guards to give you two a chance to make it
down a side path while he had to eventually make the suicide dive himself,” Ellone said earnestly.
Kiros and Ward exchanged looks. They were used to Laguna’s lunacies, but they had never
heard this version of their escape before. Ward broke into uncontrollable laughter while Kiros
made a disgusted “psssh” sound.
Kiros took Ellone aside and said gently, “Now Ellone, your Uncle Laguna has a tendency to
exaggerate when he tells his stories…either that or he hit his head on the way down.”
“Oh,” Ellone murmured, “which part?”
Kiros thought about it and replied, “Not much, just that part about holding off forty guards by
himself, then covering our escape, and that last bit about making the jump himself.”
“”Uncle Laguna wouldn’t do that!” Ellone exclaimed.
“We’re talking about the same uncle of yours, Laguna Loire, right?” he asked, just to make
sure.
Ellone saw Kiros’ point.
“What weapon did he say he used?” Kiros pressed on, interested by Laguna’s
embellishment of the truth.
Ellone blinked.
“I thought you knew,” she answered, “he was using his bare hands.”
She turned to look at Ward who seemed to her like he was choking on something.
“No, seriously,” she cried, “he gave his gun to you guys in case you ran into any monsters on
the way down. How thoughtful of him.”
Kiros vocalized exactly what was on Ward’s mind, “Yeah, all three seconds of the way
down.”
Ellone finally saw the truth, but was adamant about preserving Laguna’s integrity.
“There has to be something good about him…why else would Raine marry him?”
“More likely he probably had something on her and coerced her to marry him through
blackmail,” Ward thought to himself.
“He’s probably getting old,” Ellone tried in desperation.
Kiros snickered.
“Laguna acts your age,” he pointed out, “but at least he made this holographic message for
us to give to Squall. I’ll transfer it to Balamb Garden with the Esthar transport’s antenna as soon
as it picks us up.”
“I hope he found something nice to say,” Ellone said.
The unadded “and that it’s coherent” was understood by all three.
“I bet it runs something cheesy, like, ‘So, how’s the weather, son? I’m your father now, so if
you want to change your last name, son, you can,’” Kiros added in afterthought.
Ellone scowled, saying her uncle wasn’t that corny.
Kiros suggested that the trip into space might have stressed Ellone out more than they
thought, so she punched him.
Ward pointed at the holovid, suggesting that they take a quick peek. This Ellone was
against, but even she was a little curious.
“How about just the first few seconds, before they can get into any of the private talk?” Kiros
suggested.
Ellone could live with that, so Kiros typed in the password that Laguna knew Squall would
eventually guess right, LOIRE. A miniature version of Laguna appeared, scratching his head and
shifting his balance from leg to leg, unsure of what to say.
“So, how’s the weather, son? I’m your father now, so if you want to change your last name,
son, you can,” Laguna mumbled.
Kiros was laughing so hard that he dropped the holovid, which shut off automatically.
Suddenly their attention was turned to someone coughing in the bushes behind them. Kiros
moved aside some shrubbery and saw a lady having collapsed in the tall grass. He checked her
pulse rate and breathing.
“She’s dying. Definitely needs medical treatment immediately. Even a Blood Soul couldn’t
inflict this many status defects. Perhaps an advanced stage Malboro-BTR poisoning. Nothing
like I’ve ever seen before. She must have been addicted to it for a long time,” Kiros concluded,
knowing that it was impossible for any doctor in Winhill to furnish the technology needed to save
this lady.
“What is a Blood Soul, Mr. Kiros?” Ellone asked, paling.
“An undead monster. Just some skeletal fish that floats around in the air. There are a lot of
them around Winhill, but I’m sure even this kind of poisoning is beyond its ability.”
“And you make this assessment based on what kind of experience?” Ellone inquired slowly.
“Five years in the Pan-Galbadia Medical School Gold Class and a surgeon’s degree summa
cum laude,” Kiros replied, still checking her vital signs.
Ellone whistled, raising her eyebrows.
Ward nodded, remembering how Kiros had once told him that familiarity with the anatomy of
various creatures made him so much more efficient a killer, knowing all the vital parts at which to
strike first.
And he’s good with those katal daggers too. Sort of like super-sized scalpels, Ward
reflected.
“Hey, look!” Ellone exclaimed, pointing at the Esthar ship appearing over the horizon and
speeding towards them.
Kiros looked at Ellone and said, “Don’t even think about it, there is no room for a fourth
passenger with that full load.”
Ellone considered the situation. It was essential that Kiros and Ward return to the control
room, and this lady definitely needed help. Ellone herself was the only one who didn’t really have
to make it back on the first flight.
“She can have my spot,” she told Kiros. “Just call ahead for another ship to come and get
me in five minutes.”
Kiros nodded, and then added, “We should notify her family.”
He turned to the sick women and tried to find out where she lived. Ellone doubted that she
could hear him, so she checked the woman’s pockets.
There were no identification cards like those they had in Esthar; Winhill was too small a
place for any need of that. However, besides a pack of green Malboro baby tentacle cigarettes,
Ellone did manage to dig out a pair of keys. Seeing them, she put her hand on Kiros’ shoulder
and told him he didn’t have to ask the woman anymore. Kiros gave her a questioning look.
“I recognize these keys,” she said softly. “This one locks up the bar, and the other one our
rooms.”
Kiros lifted his eyebrows, thinking, “What luck! Now Laguna doesn’t need to convince her to
let him live in his old house. She’ll probably end up selling him the house to pay off Esthar’s
medical bill.”
Their transport had landed and the crew urging them to hurry up. They were already behind
schedule because of the detour to Winhill.
“Just wait here, okay?” Kiros told Ellone, hoisting the sick woman on his shoulder and
running up the ramp. Ward waved to Ellone and followed Kiros.
“Okay, Mr. Kiros. See you soon, Ward,” Ellone called after them.
The Esthar ship lifted off slowly, drawing up the ramp and sealing the hangar. After it was
five meters above the ground, it stopped, slightly rocking, like a suspended puppet wiggles, then
made a smooth, in-place 50-degree turn before blasting forwards and disappearing over the
horizon in seconds.
When Ellone’s eyes could no longer follow the vessel, she sat down delicately on a little
grass patch beside the road. She decided to spend the next five minutes twirling her green scarf
and dusting off her white skirt. She really did need a new outfit; the blue shirt she always wore
was getting grubby. Suddenly she noticed a fluffy, yellow bird race from one bush across the dirt
path into another bush.
Absolutely delighted by the chocobo’s little feet, Ellone squealed, clapping at the same time.
She held out her hands and waited for the next chocobo to cross. When it did, she just barely
missed nabbing it. And so it went. The adorable babies even dropped items at times. Ellone
wheedled from them candy, stray Gil, some medicine, and even a piece of a vase. Totally
random, she thought to herself.
She had been entertaining herself in this fashion for a short time before another light flashed
over the horizon.
“Right on time,” she thought, giddily getting up and dusting her rump off.
Ellone stood up, tugging her hair playfully, and waited to be picked up.
Setting 04: 1533 DAY 1, Great Salt Lake Perimeter
"It is astonishing with how little wisdom mankind can be governed,
when that little wisdom is its own."
-Inge, William Ralph
<N
o sign of him here either> Nonspecifically directed declaration
<Well, keep searching> Imperative directive and indifference
<Where do you suppose he is>? Specifically directed, information interrogative
<If I knew, do you not think that you would know too>? Rhetorical question and scorn
<That is not what I meant> Reflex defensive assertion and disconcertedness
<I know what you meant> Complacent declaration and haughtiness
<I know you know what I meant> Ruffled retort and slight exasperation
<Then we understand each other>? Complacent, rhetorical question and indifference
<Crystal-clear, but where do you suppose he is>? Punchy, reflex dismissal and assertive
interrogative
<If somehow I knew and you did not know, would we be randomly flying around>?
Rhetorical question and vestigial condescension
<…> Internal conflict and strained suppression of ire
<…> Self-satisfaction and pleasure
<Why didn't the Carrier send more ships besides just ours>? Earnest interrogative
<Obviously the Carrier thinks one scout ship is enough locate him> Reflex ludicrous
response
<We both know that is not true> Rebuff and strained patience
<I know you know that we both know the same thing> Self-righteous clarification, feigned
admiration, and slight exasperation
<We have been through this many times already> Declaration, disapproval, and mild
annoyance
<Then stop bringing it up>! Snappy retort and scorn
<…> Pause and discomfiture
<…> Indifference
<You have not answered my question> Declaration and impatience
<Search me> Malicious, absurd suggestion
<…> Pause and frustration
<If I had the answer, you would have it already too> Supercilious explanation
<…> Helplessness and dissatisfaction
<…> Dismissal and indifference
<I fear the worst> Earnest opinion
<I know> Complacent, self-evident declaration
<…> Tested tolerance
<…> Indifference
<Where could he have gone>? Nonspecifically directed rhetorical question, befuddlement,
and slight exasperation
<For the last time, I do not know>! Sudden expletive and flood of annoyance
<It was a rhetorical question. I was not addressing you> Preplanned self-assured
clarification and latent affront
<Well, I heard it> Indirect plaintive declaration and annoyance
<Then it is not my fault> Childish declaration of self-exculpation
<Just mind your own business and keep searching> Brusque imperative directive and
dismissal
<What are you going to do>? Semi-interested interrogative, information interrogative, and
blatant check
<You already know> Patronizing reminder
<What good is looking through the archived data of this planet's sample population>?
Interrogative and skepticism
<You already know that too> Patronizing reminder and deliberate condescension
<Do you honestly believe that by knowing everything about the whole you can infer each
individual's every possible action in any given situation>? Derisive rhetorical question, slight
amusement, and intimated challenge
<What do you think>? Rhetorical question, information interrogative, and contemptuousness
<I know you just meant for me to search your thoughts> Complacent observance and
purposive display
<I know we both know what I meant and that I would know what you would know> Selfrighteous retort, contemptuousness, and intimated challenge
<…> Disappointment and frustration
<…> Internal revel
<Well, I think we should not assume anything before we know everything> Solemn
declaration, indirect caution, and hint directive
<I knew you were thinking that, so please do not remind me> Complacent declaration,
haughtiness, imperative directive, disdain
<…> Ire
<…> Self-assuredness and indifference
<Where could he be>? Nonspecifically directed rhetorical question, information
interrogative, and curiosity
<Can you not even stop thinking for more than two seconds>? Sudden expletive, imbedded
imperative directive, and annoyance
<I just think it is peculiar that after all our time here, he is the first data collector who has not
returned from his routine run> Hasty declaration and mitigating clarification
<I know what you are thinking, you do not have to tell me> Complacent declaration,
exasperation, and need directive
<And you do not find that peculiar>? Interrogative and lurking suspicion
<You already know what I think> Reflex argumentative assertion and intimated challenge
<You think the timing is peculiar because our data collection here is just about complete>
Calm declaration and casual dismissal
<Yes, I know, because I was thinking that, and thank you for reminding me> Overly
agreeable concurrence, brusquely feigned deference, and blatant causticity
<You have also considered the possibility that he has defected from the Clan>! Scrutinizing
exclamation and marvel
<Yes I have considered that possibility>! Sudden expletive, condescension, and
voluminous annoyance
<My apologies> Awkward concession, shock, and fading effervescence
<Stop repeating everything I think>! Directive with imbedded threat and annoyance
<Again, my apologies> Mitigating concession and daunt
<…> Disgust
<…> Discomfiture and uncertainty
<…> Pause and mild annoyance
<…>! Awareness and curiosity
<I detect it, do not repeat yourself> Blunt dismissal, imperative directive, and annoyance
<How clever of them>! Approving exclamation and admiration
<The ability to shift a city out of the visibility spectrum does not make the society intelligent>
Offhand derogatory dismissal and pomposity
<…> Adverse skepticism
<Land over there> Authoritative directive
<I know they cannot see us, but wouldn't we be breaching protocol distance to the
samples>? Considerate interrogative, suggestive reminder, skepticism, and latent criticism
<It does not matter because they will not detect us anyway and we need to recharge our
engine batteries> Dictatorial dismissal and didactic explanation
<…> Doubt
<Do not worry; even if they notice power surges, they are not advanced enough to discover
us> Assurance and disdain
<Fine> Conceded accordance
<Now that we have landed, launch project ‘Archangel’> Authoritative directive and
eagerness
<I will> Casual acknowledgement
<Have our unit investigate the one they call 'Squall'> Directive and disdain
<Will do> Casual acknowledgement and agreement
<Our recording incriminates this 'Squall' as the possible perpetrator> Stalwart declaration
and biased speculation
<The recording is not definitive, and I would make no accusations just yet> Earnest
declaration, reminder, intimated compromise, and purposive check
<The ‘Archangel’ unit will soon prove my worst suspicions> Self-assured declaration,
anticipation, stimulation, and deliberate inattention
<…> Hesitance and distrust
<Anyway, I am going to go check on the prisoner> Self-important dismissal and indifference
<Fine> Callous acknowledgement
<I wonder if we should abduct another specimen to ransom PuPu back in case he is their
prisoner> Nonspecifically directed declaration, consideration, and interest
<That is hardly necessary at this juncture, QyQy> Jeering declaration, hint directive, and
purposive interference
<We shall see> Self-assured dismissal and disregard
Setting 05: 2045 DAY 1, Balamb Garden Ballroom
“How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!”
-Tennyson, Alfred Lord
Ulysses 22
“I
’ve never had yellowish wine cooler before,” Cid informed Quistis, holding up his glass.
Quistis laughed agreeably, and then apologized for not being able to change before the
banquet. She looked around quickly at all the stately black suits and skirts that adorned the
Garden members in the ballroom.
“Perfectly understandable,” Cid replied lightly, “to be running late and not have time to
change coming back through Time Compression.”
“Nothing compared to what it took to get past Garden’s front gate with Rinoa. They still don’t
believe she’s a good sorceress,” Quistis joked.
Cid snickered accordingly, taking another tentative sip of his wine cooler. He paused and
unsure how to proceed, redistributed his weight over his legs and pretended to enjoy the Garden
orchestra.
“So what is the real reason for sending Matron and Irvine off to enjoy the rest of the party?”
Quistis asked, shifting her balance from her left foot to her right. It was uncomfortable because
she had been careless to stomp the ground too hard with it after throwing Irvine’s torso off her
shoulder just minutes before. Always trying to impress girls with that overly casual, occasionally
too carefree to be respectful, cowboy attitude. Nothing mysterious about that.
She sighed, and thought to herself, “If only Squall would do that.”
Cid rubbed the back of his brown-hair-matted head uneasily and forced a cheesy smile.
“This probably isn’t the best time to ask this of you, but I have another mission for you lined up
tomorrow,” he said.
Quistis blinked, and then nodded acceptingly.
“You’re the Headmaster, whatever you say goes. That means you are resuming command,
right?”
Cid shifted his spectacles and nodded in agreement.
“I am going to reassert my authority here in Balamb Garden,” he answered with finality.
Quistis held both hands behind her back, not sure whether or not Squall would like that.
While it didn’t seem like he warmed overwhelming to responsibility, he wouldn’t take too kindly to
being demoted either.
“But,” Cid continued, brushing some stray piece of hair off his best-looking red vest, “I have
something bigger planned for SeeD. I want Squall to go supervise the new SeeDs and Garden
trainees in Trabia Garden.”
Quistis raised her eyebrows, caught off guard. She hadn’t even thought about the remnants
of Trabia since the missiles from Galbadia demolished it.
“Does Selphie know about this?” Quistis asked, gathering her thoughts again.
Cid nodded and informed her that Selphie would be overseeing the 12 construction teams.
It was a massive project trying to build a new Garden with brand new designs in a matter of
weeks. Luckily they had some funding from some Shumi patrons.
“We were lucky to have Esthar move all those energy cells that responded to the Lunatic
Pandora weapon into Trabia. It should save us a pretty Gil,” Cid muttered.
“Why did you want to see me about this?” Quistis asked, fidgeting in her tight, pink skirt.
“You’re still the most experienced SeeD I have. I need you to keep an eye on Squall
because I won’t be there. I have no doubt that he always makes the best judgment, but he tends
to respond better to an environment more populated by his peers. I just don’t want him
withdrawing deeper into his world of seclusion,” Cid explained.
Quistis gave a sign of acknowledgement, and then asked if she should notify Zell and Irvine.
Cid shook his head, saying, “No, they’ll be needed for a different mission. I’m sending them
on diplomatic affairs in Shumi to make sure the Gil flow continues, as well as check out four
geographically spread sites in relatively isolated areas and investigate some atmospheric
abnormalities that have been reported.”
Quistis frowned, her training unable to suppress her instinctive reaction. She didn’t think that
diplomacy was the right task to ask of either impulsive young men, and she told Cid that.
“That’s the funniest part,” Cid replied with his “I’m proud of myself” look.
Quistis noted that Headmaster Kramer had a sick sense of humor and pitied his wife.
Deciding that the conversation was over, she nodded more artificially than she needed to,
excused herself, and then went off to find Squall.
“I still don’t understand why you were so adamant about turning in your resignation notice as
SeeD instructor,” Cid sighed, even though Quistis was already out of hearing range.
Not seeing Squall anywhere, Quistis decided to walk past Irvine, wildly videotaping
everything, and towards the table where Zell was in a feeding frenzy.
Surely he must know where Squall is, she thought.
Stopping only to compliment Edea on how wonderful she looked tonight, Quistis got to the
table about the same time as frolicking Selphie appeared out of nowhere. Somehow she had
wrenched away Irvine’s trademark hat and was wearing it with his usual slim yellow outfit.
Zell was furiously cramming down as many of the jealously coveted Garden hotdogs as he
could. His girlfriend was begging him to chew more and eat less but either it seemed a good idea
to pay attention to her later or try to impress her by gorging himself even more, he continued his
rare feast. Quistis caught a bit of what Zell’s girlfriend went on to tell him. Something about her
having to leave for Galbadia on an anti-Malboro campaign the following morning. Zell seemed
totally unaffected by her news, but he also must have completely misunderstood her because he
wished her good luck for her dance competition. Yet, with all the hotdogs stuffed in his mouth,
which made him look like a moogle with hives, his words came out as coherently as a moogle
would have spoken them.
That's odd, Quistis thought, frowning, I thought Zell's girlfriend was a blonde Balamb girl.
Who is this pig-tailed brunette in the Garden outfit?
“Hey, Zell,” Quistis called from across the table, “do you know where Squall is?”
Zell had seen Quistis coming, and whether he actually heard what she asked him and tried
to say, “With Rinoa,” or he mistook her question for "Why were you downloading Rinoa screensavers from the Garden tutorial?" and wanted to answer, "Not of Rinoa," his reply came out as
“wruffa wuffferra.” He found out that more went in than came out, immediately choking and
spewing out bits of half-macerated hotdog all over. Some landed on his girlfriend’s black Garden
uniform, and even though she knew that those hotdog bits were not juicy enough to stain her
skirt, even if it had been a color on which a stain would be noticeable, she screamed and jumped
out of her seat.
Quistis had already guessed that answer, and was wondering why he even bothered to give
such a useless reply. She found it a good time to make some chit-chat and get to know Zell's
new companion while they were all huddled around him. Selphie, in the meantime, after making
fun of his girlfriend's pigtail hair-style, possibly because she was jealous of the hair’s length,
leaned down and with thick, artificial tenderness, asked Zell if he was going to rechew the pieces
of food that he had spit out on the table. Zell was desperately looking for a mouthful of milk, but
his empty glass did not refill itself and he had to force down the rest of his dry meal by himself.
Selphie’s comment didn’t sit well with him so he jumped up, knocking over his chair, and
frightened all the ladies away.
Irvine had zoomed in on these four for awhile now, so he was quite surprised when Zell
threw a leftover hotdog at him. He wasn’t use to handling laughing and being startled at the
same time so he dropped the camcorder. The look on Selphie’s face was enough to make his
heart sink and his face apple red. He had already chaffed her by focusing on those three
underclasswomen, so he didn’t think this was helping his standing with her.
“T-there’s no problem! No problem,” he stammered, picking it up and brushing it off as
quickly as possible. He took a cautious peek over at Selphie. She had one of those “There-hadbetter-not-be-a-problem” look on, with her hands on her hips…Irvine lost his thought when he
saw those hips…
“Hey!” Selphie shouted at him, bringing him back to reality with a jolt.
“Nothing wrong at all,” he assured her, giving his best “Just-pretend-you-didn’t-see-thatcheesehead-move-of-mine” smile.
“Smooth, real smooth, Irvine,” he muttered to himself.
Selphie was still glaring at him. She suddenly made alternating circular motions with her
hands, shouting at him, “Well, keep it rolling!”
Embarrassed, Irvine fumbled about with the controls, trying not to look at Selphie’s halfexasperated, half-annoyed facial expression that he knew she was sporting.
“That klutz,” she thought to herself critically. She turned away in disgust and found herself
looking through the archway leading to the open balcony. Suddenly she noticed her dark-haired
girl friend with her usual blue skirt and black shorts on.
How does Rinoa get her skin to glisten like that? she wondered enviously.
Catching a glimpse of Squall around the corner, Selphie smiled at the thought that this might
be the perfect time for their diffident team leader to make a move on Rinoa. Selphie caught Irvine
aiming the video camera at her again with her peripheral vision, and so turned and motioned for
him to zoom in on Rinoa shooting the breeze. Irvine adjusted his view accordingly, but was at the
wrong angle to catch any part of Squall on tape.
“What’s up with Selphie?” he thought to himself, feeling his hands almost slip off the
precious equipment before grumbling, “First she chews me out for looking at girls, and now she
wants me to get an eyeful of Rinoa.”
Quistis caught up with Selphie just as Squall moved fully into view from where they were
standing. Rinoa had pointed at something outside and apparently that was incentive enough for
Squall to lean in, take her in his arms and snatch a deep kiss long since reserved for him. Not
expecting to find Squall in that position, Quistis held her breath as Selphie cupped her hands over
her mouth and squealed in delight.
“Long live the Tonberry King!” she shouted, following it up with, “Squall finally got on first
base!”
Quistis remembered to inhale.
Irvine came up to them, asking them what all the commotion was about.
Selphie just stared at him in disbelief for a second, leaving just enough time for little cowboy
Kinneas to wonder what he had done wrong now.
“You didn’t get any of that?” Selphie shrieked.
Irvine’s surprise was turning rapidly into fear.
“The batteries ran out,” he appealed, figuring that the truth would save him.
Obviously Irvine had forgotten that things worked differently in their fantastically warped, little
community and as a result, Quistis ended up catching the camcorder that he threw in the air as
he sped away from a charging Selphie, fork in hand and close in pursuit.
Quistis passed the camcorder between her hands, wondering how to approach Squall now.
It seemed like she had definitely lost him now. After all, he and Rinoa were still on the same kiss.
Flustered, Quistis looked away, her eyes finding their way back to Zell’s table. It was empty now,
his girlfriend having gone home early, and Zell nowhere to be seen. Something caught her eye
and she took a step closer.
There was a piece of paper on the seat. Quistis walked over and picked it up. “Silly girl, she
must have left it,” Quistis thought, turning it over. What was her name again? Mina*?
*Raine Ishida (nanaki_17@hotmail.com)
has a sequel to my saga and in that work
"Hope," like others, she includes Mina.
It was a new photograph of Mina and some guy who Quistis thought was pretty cute and had
a face that was awfully familiar. She dismissed it as one of those faces that naturally just seemed
that way, like the ones those two brothers operating the elevators at Fisherman’s Horizon had.
Without giving the snapshot another thought, she looked around for Zell.
She saw him saunter thoughtlessly right into Squall and Rinoa’s kiss off. He caught himself
halfway through the act, and cupped his eyes with his palm in dire embarrassment. Squall had
pulled away just as Zell came up to them and based on her facial expression, Rinoa was not
going to forgive the bumbling fool.
“Poor Zell,” Quistis thought, racing over next to Zell in a position optimal for shielding him
from any Blaster-edge attacks.
The best line Zell could dish out was, “Um, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Squall said that it was nothing. The unfortunate response merited, in Zell’s opinion, one of
the dirtiest looks that a pretty Heartilly face could dish out, a shove from Rinoa, and her storming
away from the balcony back into the party. Squall looked like someone caught with his shorts
down.
What? he shouted in his head. Was it something I said?
Quistis having heard the nauseating exchange, quickly handed the photograph to Zell, told
him about his coming ambassadorship, relayed Cid’s message to Squall with a glare, and ran off
to comfort Rinoa.
What did I do? he asked after seeing Quistis’ look.
Zell, apparently very excited about his new mission, raised his fist triumphantly in the air,
forgetting all about the embarrassing situation they were in. His cheering and victory dance was
compounded with some in-place shadow-boxing. Still holding the picture as he wiggled through a
tight four-punch combination, it was perfectly visible after his uppercut. Exactly what the picture
meant took awhile to register. Squall didn’t notice Zell’s abrupt break in his string of war hoots
and jabs.
“W-Where did Mina say she was going?” Zell asked shakily.
Who? Squall asked silently, barely listening to him. The only Mina in my recollection is that
exotic dancer from the club in Esthar.
Zell saw his clueless face.
"The assistant librarian? You know, my girlfriend?" Zell repeated, more frantically this time.
I thought your girlfriend was that blonde chick in Balamb? Did you find yourself a SeeD,
Zell? Squall wondered, lifting his eyebrows and for a rare instant, betraying his apathetic mold.
"S-she went home to pack, didn't she?" Zell reasoned aloud, voice wavering.
How should I know? Squall thought immediately, realizing that he had to verbalize it just as
he was about to look away.
“How should I know?” Squall grumbled, disturbed more by Rinoa’s reaction to what he said
than how Zell had barged in. He would not notice Zell as he scrambled off to catch his girlfriend.
Left alone, Squall rested his elbows on the balcony railing. Closing his eyes, he tried to let
his mind go blank, and his spirit free from any anxiety. He was bombarded by confusion, disgust,
and resentment.
Why is this happening to me? Why isn’t Irvine or Zell out here with a migraine?
“Who could understand Rinoa anyway?” he asked aloud accidentally.
He considered the facts. She isn’t even a SeeD. Why is she making me so nervous
sometimes and upset at other times? Tonight definitely qualifies as one of those confounding
second type of times.
It just didn’t make sense to him what exactly Rinoa wanted from him. Does she actually
expect me to say and do everything she wants? Does she want my soul? Doesn’t she like me
because she understands me? And if she does understand me, why does she want me to
change? Why doesn’t she just excuse me for who I am?
It annoyed him to feel like he needed an excuse to be himself. Squall went on to question
whether it was possible to give his soul out so simply. It just doesn’t seem worth it. I can save
her from fire and ice, but how much more am I expected to sacrifice? And why does she need
me to show her all these sacrifices? It’s irrational. Rinoa is irrational.
Squall considered Rinoa’s bright, happy-go-lucky personality, and finally made the
connection between her person and her unreasonable demands. It was just because she was
that capricious. True, she is a pleasure to be around sometimes, but if she is going to turn into a
Wendigo every few minutes and make everyone uncomfortable, then she isn’t worth it. Besides, I
think she just gave up on me.
If this is what you end up raising with the best environment that Gil can buy and the most
orderly tutelage an army can provide, a spoiled, fickle brat who hands out headaches to everyone
in her path, then I want nothing to do with it, he concluded decisively.
Just to bolster his reasoning, he added, It’s not like SHE jumped into space to save ME.
Squall looked at the moon for a bit longer before reaching in his pocket and pulling out a
rolled baby Malboro tentacle from his cigarette case.
“Ifrit,” he whispered.
The fiery, horned, dark-skinned Guardian Force appeared beside his master before Squall
could finish pronouncing his name.
“Master?” he growled hungrily.
Squall held out the Malboro tentacle roll nonchalantly. Ifrit brushed the end of the roll with
his paw and watched it spark to life at the touch of his flinty skin.
“Do you want my opinion?” the monstrous GF offered.
You’re still here? No, of course I don’t want your opinion. If I wanted your opinion, don’t you
think I would have asked for it, you dumb ox?
“No,” Squall answered without taking his eyes off the moon.
“I didn’t mean about the girl,” Ifrit clarified. “I meant about the cigarette. It’s not good for
you.”
I know what you meant.
Had Squall cared enough, he would have shot back a look smacking of “I don’t care.”
I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you. Maybe you’ll go away. Hopefully this time you’ll take that sulfur
stench away with you.
After a moment, when Ifrit was still there, he said, “You can go now,” waving the GF off.
Ifrit bowed and petered out in a wisp of smoke as fast as he had come, leaving Squall to
himself, staring at the myriad of tiny waves, tugging against each other to see who could steal a
ray from the moon and shimmer for just that one second.
I don’t want to think about anything now. Just rest here and pretend that none of this ever
happened. I wish it didn’t. I’d still be fencing in the courtyard everyday, I wouldn’t know some
irresponsible, indecisive loser who doesn’t want me to be his son, I wouldn’t have raised
everyone’s expectations of my actions, and I wouldn’t have to feel inadequate every freaking five
minutes around Rinoa.
From behind him, Selphie’s upbeat voice broke the silence. Squall turned his gaze from the
giant kaleidoscope below them to the yellow sprite that had thrown herself onto him. He threw
her off and asked her what was wrong with her.
Selphie was too hyped up to mind. She just heard the news that she was the head of the
construction crews in Trabia. After adjusting how Irvine’s hat sat on her head, she slapped Squall
on the back for his promotion to Headmaster and before he could turn and frown, slapped his arm
and asked him what he did to Rinoa. He shot her an annoyed but surprised look.
“I didn’t do anything,” he defended himself.
Selphie gave the ever omniscient smile.
“Oh,” she cooed, “is THAT the problem?”
Squall scowled and told her that she did not know what she was talking about.
“Squall’s so cute when he’s growing up,” she continued to tease before he decided it would
waste less energy by quitting the view and leaving the balcony to her.
“Oh, Commander,” she added, knowing that the title would make him stiffen, “the President
of Esthar left a message for you earlier today.”
Doing her best imitation of a sonorous male voice Selphie grunted, “Squall, son, you might
want to check it out.”
While making his exit, Squall did stiffen at the title, but the hair on his neck bristled at the
mention of his father.
As seductively as possible, she called after him, “Rinoa’s so cute when she’s asleep, Squall,
but you wouldn’t know that, would you?”
“No,” he yelled back flatly, “I wouldn’t!”