Setzer and Daryl - Rebuilding
Title: After the World Was Won
Theme + Number: Rebuilding #60
Claim: Setzer+Daryl
Characters/Pairings included: Setzer, Daryl
Rating: Mature
Summary: An after-game reunion between two jaded lovers.
Chapter Three: Daryl’s research can save a fallen world, but she herself does not stand to benefit from it. Although she’s hesitant to accept any more charity from him, Setzer makes her an offer she finds difficult to refuse.
“I read in the paper this morning that Locke Cole discovered an ancient abandoned city in the mountains next to Zozo.”
“That’s so cool! But it’s probably filled with monsters, right?”
“No way, stuff like that is just in fantasy stories.”
“Hey, I just wanted to say that I think Locke is really sexy. He wears these tight pants, right, and his hair is all short and spiky, and he’s got such a delicate face, you just want to molest him.”
“Listen, he could totally kick your ass. Anyway, my favorite one is Sabin.”
“I think Edgar is way sexier. He’s all regal and stuff, and he’s got that long, gorgeous hair, too. I hear he’s still single.”
“Hey, Sabin is still single too!”
Daryl smiled to herself.
The girls laughed. “Hey,” one of them spoke up, “what about Setzer? He’s so romantic! Like, all the stories about the war describe him as ‘the wandering gambler.’”
“And he’s so handsome!”
Daryl burst out laughing. “You girls need to get a life.”
“Hey professor,” one of the girls interjected, “you know that he’s here right now, right?”
“What?” Daryl stared at the girl.
“Well, I mean, he’s got that company that makes airships, right? Apparently he’s here recruiting employees. The university is holding a reception to welcome him this evening.”
“I don’t believe it,” Daryl muttered darkly. “Maybe he’ll do us a favor and start drinking early. That should keep him away.” She shook her head.
Daryl’s students continued to laugh as she returned to the meticulous business of measuring different samples. After the fall of Kefka, it was impossible to avoid Setzer’s name. The airship research and development facility he had set up was wildly successful, supporting itself through fulfilling commissions. The complete annihilation of the imperial city of Vector during the war had witnessed the destruction of not only the vast majority of aircraft but also the engineers who constructed and maintained them. Setzer was one of the few people left with the detailed technological knowledge and considerate financial capital necessary to launch new ships into the sky. Both his fame and his charm had drawn scientists and engineers to him, and his company had no rivals. His talent for management or, Daryl mused, delegating responsibility had ensured the financial stability of even such an Icarian venture. If there was one thing Setzer loved more than figuring out ways to fly higher and faster, it was having money to play with.
After her own disregard for the limits of technology had resulted in the malfunction and subsequent crash of her own prototype airship, Daryl had hated Setzer for his blithe freedom. She had once scanned newspapers for articles about him, burning with resentment. He made stupid, impulsive decisions, and the world rewarded him for them. Over time, however, his name meant nothing more to her than that of any of the other heroes of the war. Her chance encounter with him a year ago was more of a nuisance than a godsend. She had had no trouble making use of her restored access to her old bank account, but she resented Setzer’s assumption that she needed the money; her current research would have made her more money than any residual patent royalties. His assistance was simply too little, too late, and she could have done without his condescension. And yet, somehow, knowing that he would be here, so close to her, made her nervous. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to see him.
The afternoon light streamed through the laboratory’s west-facing windows and created bright outlines of refraction around the glass tubes and beakers on the table in front of her. She paused in her work and allowed the dull buzz of the soft chatter of her assistants to wash over her. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door of the room, which swung open without further preamble.
Of course this would happen, Daryl thought to herself before adjusting her face into a smile and standing to greet the visitors. Her university department chair was leading none other than Setzer Gabbiani.
The chair filled the room with his booming voice, introducing Daryl and her students, who stood at attention. To give them credit, Daryl smiled to herself, they weren’t blushing or gawping like idiots. Their earlier conversation was filler; this was business. The department chair, who had given Daryl her doctorate and then immediately hired her, explained her research to Setzer in the tones of a senior scholar habituated to lecturing. The dust and ash caused by collapsing continents had not cleared from the atmosphere, and the correspondingly acidic rains had rendered the majority of the world’s arable soil increasingly arid. Although it had taken many months for these aftereffects of the war to fully manifest themselves, food shortages would soon become a critical problem. Daryl was developing a chemical fertilizer that would reverse the effects of the polluted rain. Even though this fertilizer was extraordinarily cost effective; the chair explained, the patent alone had the potential to become a goose of the golden egg laying variety.
Daryl fought to keep a pleasant, attentive smile on her face. Of course the holder of this patent would be not her but rather the university. Her name would be attached to a publication, perhaps, but only under that of the chair, who was effectively her managing director. Her students would be lucky to be mentioned at all, and neither she nor they would see more than an annual bonus in their stipends completely incommensurate to the value of this project. As the chair recounted facts relating to volcanic ash in the clouds, Daryl felt like rolling her eyes. Did this man honestly think Setzer had not accounted for the problem in the coating of fibers that covered the gas bag outer frame of an airship? Did he think that Setzer would not have had to make significant adjustments to the rear engines of the ship, which would be directly in the windstream pathways of the fine particulate matter that was deflected off this fiber? Daryl thought she could see Setzer struggling to maintain his poker face. He met her gaze briefly and slightly upturned a corner of his mouth.
At a small pause in the chair’s words, Setzer took the opportunity to interrupt him. “I believe Daryl and I have met before,” he smiled. “And I am familiar with her research. It’s my understanding that one of my employees may have borrowed from it rather liberally for a rather specialized application.” He turned directly to Daryl. “Perhaps we could discuss the matter at the reception this evening. I would love to hear more about your work.”
The light from the windows shone silver on his hair, which framed his face. His eyes sparkled with poorly disguised amusement at the facade of treating her as a mere acquaintance, performed in front of this pompous windbag of a professor. It was a private joke they shared, his eyes seemed to say. Daryl’s ossified resentment cracked slightly, and she felt her artificial smile melt into something more genuine. Still, Setzer’s assumption of the closeness of the bond between them chafed at her. He wanted something from her, and he assumed he would get it.
“Maybe another time. I would love to discuss this project with you and my assistants if you could come back tomorrow morning. If you’ll excuse me, we’re working under a bit of a deadline right now, unfortunately.” She turned to her students, who nodded their heads in assent.
“Well then,” the chair interjected. “We do have other places to be. Thank you for your time, Daryl.” He shook her hand briefly and headed back towards the open door. Setzer hesitated briefly, as if he were debating shaking her hand himself, but in the end he merely flashed a perfunctory smile and followed the chair out of the room, swinging the door shut behind him.
Almost as soon as the door had closed with a resounding thud, Daryl’s students relieved the tension by laughing loudly, each of them at once.
“At least now we know that part of the stories about him is true,” one of them giggled. “He’s really handsome.”
***
Draining his wine glass, Setzer found himself trapped in a conversation he didn’t have the energy to escape. Normally he thrived on being around other people at large events like this, but Daryl’s rejection of his invitation earlier had disheartened him. He had come to this university under the pretense of hiring new recruits, but his true desire has been to see her, if only for several moments. He had realized that wish. How could he have hoped for more? All he could do during their brief conversation was look at her with naked longing, and she had every right to turn him away as firmly as she had. How was it that he still loved her, after all this time?
One of the waiters circulating through the banquet hall appeared at his side and refilled his glass with the cheap red wine being served at the reception. The party had gone on into the evening, and the academics in attendance were growing loquacious as the gas lights dimmed and the staff became more generous with the alcohol. Setzer currently found himself in a small circle of professors who possessed either a polished enough sense of social grace or a deeply ingrained enough sense of innate superiority to not be awed by his presence; they did not defer to him but instead spoke to him freely. Setzer had initially found this refreshing after the obsequiance that permeated the gathering, but now it was beginning to wear on him.
A scholar of the epic cycle detailing the War of the Magi was expounding on its archetypes. At the moment he was discussing the trope of the trickster god, whose role was aid the heroes, even as he seemed to hinder them with his self-centered diversions.
“This character is an outsider,” the professor explained, “and has a close connection to flight and the winds. In his gifts to the heroes, he demonstrates an awareness of technology that seems out of keeping with the general setting.” The scholar laughed, his breath reeking of alcohol. He was past the prime of middle age, with a slack face and graying hair. “What do you think of this character?” He glanced slyly at Setzer.
Setzer raised his glass in a token toast to the professor. “I see your analogy, and I will admit it’s very clever, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disagree with your implied equation. If I were to fit myself into an archetype, perhaps it would be that of the glory-king, powerful and triumphant. But of course things are described differently in the stories that are told about the war. I read that I am a gambler who fights with cards and dice, as if luck alone were enough to carry me through battle. I read that I was a lost cause, rescued from myself twice by the wiles of a beautiful young girl, as if a pretty smile is all it takes to change the course of one’s life. Should I write my own history, then, and make myself the hero? Should I write a confession and describe what it’s like to be a fugitive from warm meals and hot showers, always worried that a sudden ambush at the next landing will be the end of everything? Should I tell stories of honor and battle and swords half as tall as I am? Perhaps I will write something, when I am older and need to publish my boasting to convince people to sleep with me. For now, though,” Setzer rose to his feet, “I have better things to do.”
The evening had progressed in spite of itself, and Setzer hadn’t been given an opportunity to eat yet. If he were to eat, he didn’t want it to be at this party, with these people. On his way out of the banquet hall, he lifted two glasses of champagne from a silver tray and then slunk through the shadows lining the walls in order to escape unnoticed.
As he walked quietly through the university’s halls, he wondered at his actions. Was he really heading for the destination his feet led him to?
Without knocking, he pushed open the door of the laboratory he had visited earlier that afternoon. The harsh glare of an electric lamp illuminated Daryl, who was perched on a stool next to a high table and bent over her writing. She turned toward the sound of the opened door.
“I thought I might find you here,” Setzer said.
“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in going to the reception tonight,” Daryl responded as Setzer crossed the room.
“That makes two of us then.” Setzer offered her a champagne flute, and she accepted it.
The two sipped their drinks in silence until Setzer blurted out, awkwardly, “Come work with me.”
“You want me to work for you?”
“No, I want you to work with me. I want you to be a partner in my company.”
“Why should I do that?”
“I think you know perfectly well.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“Do you really want to stay here?”
“Asking me to choose between the lesser of two evils is hardly an appealing proposition.”
Setzer set his glass down on the table and took Daryl’s free hand between both of his own. In this light, the determined look in eyes betrayed less of an easy confidence than it did a terrible sadness. The bright white electric light highlighted the bruised darkness under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks.
“Daryl, I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t find you, and I’m sorry that what you went through wasn’t immediately cleared up as an idiotic misunderstanding. But you didn’t need me to save you, and you still don’t. What I can offer you, though, has nothing to do with me, and it’s well worth taking. Please forgive me. Please work with me. Without you as my partner, I can only manage half of what I could do with you by my side.”
Daryl was surprised to hear Setzer speak so earnestly, for once in his life. Although she wouldn’t meet his eyes, she made no move to withdraw her hand from his. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable.
Setzer released her and picked up his champagne flute. Daryl looked at him, but the moment had passed. “At the very least,” he smirked, I won’t claim the money you stand to make from your research.”
“It’s all about money with you, isn’t it?”
Setzer laughed. “What good is luxury if you don’t have money to spend on it? Speaking of which, I think I’d like to get away from this place and go out to dinner. Eating alone would be pathetic, so I’m not going to leave until you agree to go with me.”
“You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
“Dinner on the waterfront is hardly equivalent to a choice between two evils. We can talk about soil, and pH levels, and chemical fertilizer. We can talk about how you will save the world, and how extraordinarily rich that will make both of us.”
“How could I refuse such an opportunity for pure intellectual exchange?” Daryl smirked as she climbed off her stool.
“It’s settled, then.” Setzer grinned offered Daryl his hand.
Theme + Number: Rebuilding #60
Claim: Setzer+Daryl
Characters/Pairings included: Setzer, Daryl
Rating: Mature
Summary: An after-game reunion between two jaded lovers.
Chapter Three: Daryl’s research can save a fallen world, but she herself does not stand to benefit from it. Although she’s hesitant to accept any more charity from him, Setzer makes her an offer she finds difficult to refuse.
“I read in the paper this morning that Locke Cole discovered an ancient abandoned city in the mountains next to Zozo.”
“That’s so cool! But it’s probably filled with monsters, right?”
“No way, stuff like that is just in fantasy stories.”
“Hey, I just wanted to say that I think Locke is really sexy. He wears these tight pants, right, and his hair is all short and spiky, and he’s got such a delicate face, you just want to molest him.”
“Listen, he could totally kick your ass. Anyway, my favorite one is Sabin.”
“I think Edgar is way sexier. He’s all regal and stuff, and he’s got that long, gorgeous hair, too. I hear he’s still single.”
“Hey, Sabin is still single too!”
Daryl smiled to herself.
The girls laughed. “Hey,” one of them spoke up, “what about Setzer? He’s so romantic! Like, all the stories about the war describe him as ‘the wandering gambler.’”
“And he’s so handsome!”
Daryl burst out laughing. “You girls need to get a life.”
“Hey professor,” one of the girls interjected, “you know that he’s here right now, right?”
“What?” Daryl stared at the girl.
“Well, I mean, he’s got that company that makes airships, right? Apparently he’s here recruiting employees. The university is holding a reception to welcome him this evening.”
“I don’t believe it,” Daryl muttered darkly. “Maybe he’ll do us a favor and start drinking early. That should keep him away.” She shook her head.
Daryl’s students continued to laugh as she returned to the meticulous business of measuring different samples. After the fall of Kefka, it was impossible to avoid Setzer’s name. The airship research and development facility he had set up was wildly successful, supporting itself through fulfilling commissions. The complete annihilation of the imperial city of Vector during the war had witnessed the destruction of not only the vast majority of aircraft but also the engineers who constructed and maintained them. Setzer was one of the few people left with the detailed technological knowledge and considerate financial capital necessary to launch new ships into the sky. Both his fame and his charm had drawn scientists and engineers to him, and his company had no rivals. His talent for management or, Daryl mused, delegating responsibility had ensured the financial stability of even such an Icarian venture. If there was one thing Setzer loved more than figuring out ways to fly higher and faster, it was having money to play with.
After her own disregard for the limits of technology had resulted in the malfunction and subsequent crash of her own prototype airship, Daryl had hated Setzer for his blithe freedom. She had once scanned newspapers for articles about him, burning with resentment. He made stupid, impulsive decisions, and the world rewarded him for them. Over time, however, his name meant nothing more to her than that of any of the other heroes of the war. Her chance encounter with him a year ago was more of a nuisance than a godsend. She had had no trouble making use of her restored access to her old bank account, but she resented Setzer’s assumption that she needed the money; her current research would have made her more money than any residual patent royalties. His assistance was simply too little, too late, and she could have done without his condescension. And yet, somehow, knowing that he would be here, so close to her, made her nervous. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to see him.
The afternoon light streamed through the laboratory’s west-facing windows and created bright outlines of refraction around the glass tubes and beakers on the table in front of her. She paused in her work and allowed the dull buzz of the soft chatter of her assistants to wash over her. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door of the room, which swung open without further preamble.
Of course this would happen, Daryl thought to herself before adjusting her face into a smile and standing to greet the visitors. Her university department chair was leading none other than Setzer Gabbiani.
The chair filled the room with his booming voice, introducing Daryl and her students, who stood at attention. To give them credit, Daryl smiled to herself, they weren’t blushing or gawping like idiots. Their earlier conversation was filler; this was business. The department chair, who had given Daryl her doctorate and then immediately hired her, explained her research to Setzer in the tones of a senior scholar habituated to lecturing. The dust and ash caused by collapsing continents had not cleared from the atmosphere, and the correspondingly acidic rains had rendered the majority of the world’s arable soil increasingly arid. Although it had taken many months for these aftereffects of the war to fully manifest themselves, food shortages would soon become a critical problem. Daryl was developing a chemical fertilizer that would reverse the effects of the polluted rain. Even though this fertilizer was extraordinarily cost effective; the chair explained, the patent alone had the potential to become a goose of the golden egg laying variety.
Daryl fought to keep a pleasant, attentive smile on her face. Of course the holder of this patent would be not her but rather the university. Her name would be attached to a publication, perhaps, but only under that of the chair, who was effectively her managing director. Her students would be lucky to be mentioned at all, and neither she nor they would see more than an annual bonus in their stipends completely incommensurate to the value of this project. As the chair recounted facts relating to volcanic ash in the clouds, Daryl felt like rolling her eyes. Did this man honestly think Setzer had not accounted for the problem in the coating of fibers that covered the gas bag outer frame of an airship? Did he think that Setzer would not have had to make significant adjustments to the rear engines of the ship, which would be directly in the windstream pathways of the fine particulate matter that was deflected off this fiber? Daryl thought she could see Setzer struggling to maintain his poker face. He met her gaze briefly and slightly upturned a corner of his mouth.
At a small pause in the chair’s words, Setzer took the opportunity to interrupt him. “I believe Daryl and I have met before,” he smiled. “And I am familiar with her research. It’s my understanding that one of my employees may have borrowed from it rather liberally for a rather specialized application.” He turned directly to Daryl. “Perhaps we could discuss the matter at the reception this evening. I would love to hear more about your work.”
The light from the windows shone silver on his hair, which framed his face. His eyes sparkled with poorly disguised amusement at the facade of treating her as a mere acquaintance, performed in front of this pompous windbag of a professor. It was a private joke they shared, his eyes seemed to say. Daryl’s ossified resentment cracked slightly, and she felt her artificial smile melt into something more genuine. Still, Setzer’s assumption of the closeness of the bond between them chafed at her. He wanted something from her, and he assumed he would get it.
“Maybe another time. I would love to discuss this project with you and my assistants if you could come back tomorrow morning. If you’ll excuse me, we’re working under a bit of a deadline right now, unfortunately.” She turned to her students, who nodded their heads in assent.
“Well then,” the chair interjected. “We do have other places to be. Thank you for your time, Daryl.” He shook her hand briefly and headed back towards the open door. Setzer hesitated briefly, as if he were debating shaking her hand himself, but in the end he merely flashed a perfunctory smile and followed the chair out of the room, swinging the door shut behind him.
Almost as soon as the door had closed with a resounding thud, Daryl’s students relieved the tension by laughing loudly, each of them at once.
“At least now we know that part of the stories about him is true,” one of them giggled. “He’s really handsome.”
***
Draining his wine glass, Setzer found himself trapped in a conversation he didn’t have the energy to escape. Normally he thrived on being around other people at large events like this, but Daryl’s rejection of his invitation earlier had disheartened him. He had come to this university under the pretense of hiring new recruits, but his true desire has been to see her, if only for several moments. He had realized that wish. How could he have hoped for more? All he could do during their brief conversation was look at her with naked longing, and she had every right to turn him away as firmly as she had. How was it that he still loved her, after all this time?
One of the waiters circulating through the banquet hall appeared at his side and refilled his glass with the cheap red wine being served at the reception. The party had gone on into the evening, and the academics in attendance were growing loquacious as the gas lights dimmed and the staff became more generous with the alcohol. Setzer currently found himself in a small circle of professors who possessed either a polished enough sense of social grace or a deeply ingrained enough sense of innate superiority to not be awed by his presence; they did not defer to him but instead spoke to him freely. Setzer had initially found this refreshing after the obsequiance that permeated the gathering, but now it was beginning to wear on him.
A scholar of the epic cycle detailing the War of the Magi was expounding on its archetypes. At the moment he was discussing the trope of the trickster god, whose role was aid the heroes, even as he seemed to hinder them with his self-centered diversions.
“This character is an outsider,” the professor explained, “and has a close connection to flight and the winds. In his gifts to the heroes, he demonstrates an awareness of technology that seems out of keeping with the general setting.” The scholar laughed, his breath reeking of alcohol. He was past the prime of middle age, with a slack face and graying hair. “What do you think of this character?” He glanced slyly at Setzer.
Setzer raised his glass in a token toast to the professor. “I see your analogy, and I will admit it’s very clever, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to disagree with your implied equation. If I were to fit myself into an archetype, perhaps it would be that of the glory-king, powerful and triumphant. But of course things are described differently in the stories that are told about the war. I read that I am a gambler who fights with cards and dice, as if luck alone were enough to carry me through battle. I read that I was a lost cause, rescued from myself twice by the wiles of a beautiful young girl, as if a pretty smile is all it takes to change the course of one’s life. Should I write my own history, then, and make myself the hero? Should I write a confession and describe what it’s like to be a fugitive from warm meals and hot showers, always worried that a sudden ambush at the next landing will be the end of everything? Should I tell stories of honor and battle and swords half as tall as I am? Perhaps I will write something, when I am older and need to publish my boasting to convince people to sleep with me. For now, though,” Setzer rose to his feet, “I have better things to do.”
The evening had progressed in spite of itself, and Setzer hadn’t been given an opportunity to eat yet. If he were to eat, he didn’t want it to be at this party, with these people. On his way out of the banquet hall, he lifted two glasses of champagne from a silver tray and then slunk through the shadows lining the walls in order to escape unnoticed.
As he walked quietly through the university’s halls, he wondered at his actions. Was he really heading for the destination his feet led him to?
Without knocking, he pushed open the door of the laboratory he had visited earlier that afternoon. The harsh glare of an electric lamp illuminated Daryl, who was perched on a stool next to a high table and bent over her writing. She turned toward the sound of the opened door.
“I thought I might find you here,” Setzer said.
“I thought I told you I wasn’t interested in going to the reception tonight,” Daryl responded as Setzer crossed the room.
“That makes two of us then.” Setzer offered her a champagne flute, and she accepted it.
The two sipped their drinks in silence until Setzer blurted out, awkwardly, “Come work with me.”
“You want me to work for you?”
“No, I want you to work with me. I want you to be a partner in my company.”
“Why should I do that?”
“I think you know perfectly well.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“Do you really want to stay here?”
“Asking me to choose between the lesser of two evils is hardly an appealing proposition.”
Setzer set his glass down on the table and took Daryl’s free hand between both of his own. In this light, the determined look in eyes betrayed less of an easy confidence than it did a terrible sadness. The bright white electric light highlighted the bruised darkness under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks.
“Daryl, I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t find you, and I’m sorry that what you went through wasn’t immediately cleared up as an idiotic misunderstanding. But you didn’t need me to save you, and you still don’t. What I can offer you, though, has nothing to do with me, and it’s well worth taking. Please forgive me. Please work with me. Without you as my partner, I can only manage half of what I could do with you by my side.”
Daryl was surprised to hear Setzer speak so earnestly, for once in his life. Although she wouldn’t meet his eyes, she made no move to withdraw her hand from his. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable.
Setzer released her and picked up his champagne flute. Daryl looked at him, but the moment had passed. “At the very least,” he smirked, I won’t claim the money you stand to make from your research.”
“It’s all about money with you, isn’t it?”
Setzer laughed. “What good is luxury if you don’t have money to spend on it? Speaking of which, I think I’d like to get away from this place and go out to dinner. Eating alone would be pathetic, so I’m not going to leave until you agree to go with me.”
“You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
“Dinner on the waterfront is hardly equivalent to a choice between two evils. We can talk about soil, and pH levels, and chemical fertilizer. We can talk about how you will save the world, and how extraordinarily rich that will make both of us.”
“How could I refuse such an opportunity for pure intellectual exchange?” Daryl smirked as she climbed off her stool.
“It’s settled, then.” Setzer grinned offered Daryl his hand.