do not reply (FFVIII, Laguna, Squall/Rinoa)
Title: Do Not Reply
Fandom: FFVIII
Rating: PG13
Characters: Squall/Rinoa, Laguna
From: presidentloireisawesome@esthar.gov
To: sleonhart@garden.balamb.edu
He opens his email in the morning, and the President of Esthar has sent him a message, with no subject in the line of note, except for a smiley face. Just one, which is a refreshing change-- normally Laguna appends at least sixteen.
They're probably all inside the email, waiting.
Squall clicks on every other one of the thirty-eight new messages in his inbox, and saves his father's note for last, mostly because he hopes that this will be the day that something happens that needs his immediate attention at six a.m., like the coffee maker catches fire and then an emergency meeting is scheduled, and then the first year class manages to set all of the T-rexaurs loose, despite not having any TC authorization codes, so that he won't have time to read the email, and by the time that he has a moment, it will be buried under six hundred new messages.
Not that he's thinking about this from personal experience or anything.
He is almost out of coffee by the time he finishes replying to message thirty-seven, so Squall hits send, and then gets up to refill the mug. It's covered in tiny hearts, and is glaringly, shockingly pink, but Rinoa used his last clean plain one yesterday, and neither of them have bothered to do the dishes yet. He takes the full mug back to the kitchen counter, where his laptop sits open on his inbox, and Laguna's message is the only thing marked as unread.
He clicks it open after a prolonged sip of coffee in which he briefly prays that someone pulls the fire alarm, and is momentarily surprised when the text isn't blinking or glittering or an irritating e-card (Laguna's latest obsession). In fact, the email looks pretty professional. Almost like a job request.
Squall skims the contents once, then scrolls back up and rereads them.
It is a job request, or something like it. There's only one smiley in the entire thing, and that's right at the end, next to "President Laguna Loire," just a tiny indicator that his father cannot take his job seriously for more than five minutes, which is probably how long he spent writing the email, Squall decides. It's littered with phrases like, "diplomatic security stuff," and "that hot instructor lady should come, too. But not really. But she should. You might need the help. And bring Rinoa."
Other than that, it wasn't that bad. It actually sounded...interesting. Esthar was hosting a Peace Day festival, and Laguna would be giving a speech, followed by a series of important dignitaries from around the world. Rinoa would probably like it, too.
He dashes off a brief, curt note saying he'd consider it and logs out of his email.
As soon as he closes the computer, the fire alarm goes off. Perfect.
--
Xu drops the latest financial reports on his desk two hours later, and taps her pen on the bottom line.
"We can take the job, and you could use some of your vacation time," she says. "It's just event security."
Squall sighs.
"If you don't use the vacation, I can report you to the Garden council and make you take leave."
"...Fine."
--
Laguna's response to Garden's acceptance of his contract (and Squall's impending vacation) is a singing e-card.
Squall's first instinct is to hurl his computer out of the window, but instead he settles for clicking "delete" as quickly as he can.
Of course, the computer freezes, and for ten minutes of frantic key-smashing, the song, "Happy Happy Chocobo" blasts through the cleverly installed surround sound system in his office.
--
"I'm just saying," Rinoa says, folding another shirt and putting it neatly into her obscenely pink suitcase, "that this could be good for you. Family bonding."
He makes a noise that is noncommittal.
"You won't have to work," she adds, but he already knows that, because it's vacation. Forced vacation, but vacation nonetheless, since he's getting paid to basically do nothing for a few days. “Please?” She smiles at him in that way that makes his brain blank out for a second-he’s still only twenty, after all, and very, very biologically male.
"He's...frustrating." It's the nicest (and really only) thing he can think of to say, which isn't saying much.
Rinoa twists a lock of dark hair around her finger. He is mesmerized by it.
"He'll be busy with the Peace Day events. We'll have lots of time without him." She turns around and digs in her underwear drawer, filling the little space left in the suitcase with lots of things that resemble scraps of lace and satin, and the distraction of wondering what they all look like is enough to keep his mind off of Esthar for the next couple of hours.
He’s pretty sure that was her plan all along.
--
Laguna assaults him with a hug akin to that given by a raging behemoth when they come out of the gate at the airport, and it takes all of Squall’s willpower not to send his father hurtling across the terminal into the wall.
“How was your flight? Great? Wonderful. I’m a big fan of that airline. Good people. Anyway, I thought we could all get together and have a nice cozy dinner, just the three of us.”
Squall decided he was going to find the person who allowed Laguna anything but decaf coffee in the mornings and hurt them.
Fandom: FFVIII
Rating: PG13
Characters: Squall/Rinoa, Laguna
From: presidentloireisawesome@esthar.gov
To: sleonhart@garden.balamb.edu
He opens his email in the morning, and the President of Esthar has sent him a message, with no subject in the line of note, except for a smiley face. Just one, which is a refreshing change-- normally Laguna appends at least sixteen.
They're probably all inside the email, waiting.
Squall clicks on every other one of the thirty-eight new messages in his inbox, and saves his father's note for last, mostly because he hopes that this will be the day that something happens that needs his immediate attention at six a.m., like the coffee maker catches fire and then an emergency meeting is scheduled, and then the first year class manages to set all of the T-rexaurs loose, despite not having any TC authorization codes, so that he won't have time to read the email, and by the time that he has a moment, it will be buried under six hundred new messages.
Not that he's thinking about this from personal experience or anything.
He is almost out of coffee by the time he finishes replying to message thirty-seven, so Squall hits send, and then gets up to refill the mug. It's covered in tiny hearts, and is glaringly, shockingly pink, but Rinoa used his last clean plain one yesterday, and neither of them have bothered to do the dishes yet. He takes the full mug back to the kitchen counter, where his laptop sits open on his inbox, and Laguna's message is the only thing marked as unread.
He clicks it open after a prolonged sip of coffee in which he briefly prays that someone pulls the fire alarm, and is momentarily surprised when the text isn't blinking or glittering or an irritating e-card (Laguna's latest obsession). In fact, the email looks pretty professional. Almost like a job request.
Squall skims the contents once, then scrolls back up and rereads them.
It is a job request, or something like it. There's only one smiley in the entire thing, and that's right at the end, next to "President Laguna Loire," just a tiny indicator that his father cannot take his job seriously for more than five minutes, which is probably how long he spent writing the email, Squall decides. It's littered with phrases like, "diplomatic security stuff," and "that hot instructor lady should come, too. But not really. But she should. You might need the help. And bring Rinoa."
Other than that, it wasn't that bad. It actually sounded...interesting. Esthar was hosting a Peace Day festival, and Laguna would be giving a speech, followed by a series of important dignitaries from around the world. Rinoa would probably like it, too.
He dashes off a brief, curt note saying he'd consider it and logs out of his email.
As soon as he closes the computer, the fire alarm goes off. Perfect.
--
Xu drops the latest financial reports on his desk two hours later, and taps her pen on the bottom line.
"We can take the job, and you could use some of your vacation time," she says. "It's just event security."
Squall sighs.
"If you don't use the vacation, I can report you to the Garden council and make you take leave."
"...Fine."
--
Laguna's response to Garden's acceptance of his contract (and Squall's impending vacation) is a singing e-card.
Squall's first instinct is to hurl his computer out of the window, but instead he settles for clicking "delete" as quickly as he can.
Of course, the computer freezes, and for ten minutes of frantic key-smashing, the song, "Happy Happy Chocobo" blasts through the cleverly installed surround sound system in his office.
--
"I'm just saying," Rinoa says, folding another shirt and putting it neatly into her obscenely pink suitcase, "that this could be good for you. Family bonding."
He makes a noise that is noncommittal.
"You won't have to work," she adds, but he already knows that, because it's vacation. Forced vacation, but vacation nonetheless, since he's getting paid to basically do nothing for a few days. “Please?” She smiles at him in that way that makes his brain blank out for a second-he’s still only twenty, after all, and very, very biologically male.
"He's...frustrating." It's the nicest (and really only) thing he can think of to say, which isn't saying much.
Rinoa twists a lock of dark hair around her finger. He is mesmerized by it.
"He'll be busy with the Peace Day events. We'll have lots of time without him." She turns around and digs in her underwear drawer, filling the little space left in the suitcase with lots of things that resemble scraps of lace and satin, and the distraction of wondering what they all look like is enough to keep his mind off of Esthar for the next couple of hours.
He’s pretty sure that was her plan all along.
--
Laguna assaults him with a hug akin to that given by a raging behemoth when they come out of the gate at the airport, and it takes all of Squall’s willpower not to send his father hurtling across the terminal into the wall.
“How was your flight? Great? Wonderful. I’m a big fan of that airline. Good people. Anyway, I thought we could all get together and have a nice cozy dinner, just the three of us.”
Squall decided he was going to find the person who allowed Laguna anything but decaf coffee in the mornings and hurt them.