Meeting Love, Finding Despair
Title: Meeting Love, Finding Despair
Chapter: 02.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Characters: Seifer Almasy, Quistis Trepe, Laguna Loire, Kiros Seagil, Anisa Armanti (OC), Síla Trepe (OC), Various other characters will be mentioned at random.
Summary: It's been ten years since the end of the Second Sorceress War. Quistis, during this time, has packed her bags and moved to Esthar. Seifer was imprisoned, and has recently been released.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy does not belong to me.
Feedback: Would be absolutely adored ♥ So would reviews and critique!
«-----------------------------------------------»
Chapter Two
Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies away in the wind
-- Guillaume Apollinaire
«--------------------------------------------------»
The woman outside President Loire’s office sighed, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Her hands fidgeted with her hair, twirling strands around her fingers idly, in nervous habit. She wasn’t accustomed to waiting, not after several years in a very high-powered job. Anisa Armanti, at the age of thirty five, had become the President of Timber. Following on from Quistis’s lead, Anisa had continued her popular predecessor’s work-strengthening the alliances that Timber had forged with the powerful military city of Esthar. As such, it was one of the days when she was away from her country, away from the hue and cry of the populace of Timber. Shortly after the Second Sorceress War, Anisa had assisted Quistis with the formation of the Republic of Timber. And now, she, Anisa was president. She, the darkie, the one that’d faced prejudice because of the colour of her skin, was a president of a good, well-run country.
A soft cough alerted Anisa to the presence of another being in the room with her. She glanced up, seeing a familiar face, and she smiled warmly. After all, she did like Kiros. “Anisa, Laguna’s ready to see you now,” he said, his voice warm and deep. It was one of those voices she enjoyed hearing a lot of, melodious to her ears. It reminded Anisa of her brother, Baha’s voice on a good day. Baha always made her smile, and so did Kiros. Anisa stood, smoothing her skirt down and adjusting her handbag as she did so. Kiros opened the door, holding his arm out to indicate that she ought to go in first. After Anisa passed through the door, Kiros closed it discretely behind her. Sitting down, Kiros and Anisa waited patiently for Laguna.
It didn’t take long for Laguna to arrive, a little girl following after him with her thumb in her mouth and clutching a teddy. (Well, it wasn’t a teddy, in all actuality-it was a Moomba plushie, but before we go on it needed clarification.) Anisa quirked an eyebrow but held her tongue, knowing that it wasn’t the best time or place to question why Laguna Loire was allowing a little girl to listen to political debates. Kiros said nothing, but carefully took Síla by the hand and led her out of the office. He led her down into Ellone’s rooms, where the dark-haired woman smiled at both of them, and swiftly took over the care of Síla.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Anisa,” Laguna began, smiling as he reached across to kiss Anisa’s cheek in greeting. “How are you keeping?” Anisa smiled.
“I’m well, and it’s also a pleasure to see you, too,” Anisa replied formally, her voice tinted with a bit of an accent that was soft and melodious. It was a curious accent, soft and sweet. To Laguna, it reminded him of Raine’s accent, the one from Winhill. The dialectic patterns were similar, too, he remembered. But very few people knew that Winhill and Timber shared a dialect; most just spoke the standard language and completely forgot about the whole accent issue. But again, Laguna was digressing from the subject at hand. He tended to do that a lot, go off on tangents entirely unrelated to the subject, yet somehow, he always seemed to remember the original subject of whatever he was talking about.
«-----------------------------------------------»
Quistis pursed her lips, thinking deeply. A finger reached out to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger out of nervous habit and uncertainty. Just what was Seifer Almasy doing in her office, and more importantly, how had he found out where her office was? Oh, sure, she could think of several reasons why he could’ve found it, but she wanted to know straight from the Shumi’s mouth as they said in these parts. Or rather, from the region of Trabia-but it was still the same thing, really. “You- you,” she began, “How did you get access to my office?”
With an irritating smirk that hadn’t changed with incarceration, Seifer replied caustically. “I followed a sign, Trepe.” Duh. Of course he’d followed the bloody signs-it wasn’t that difficult to find her office. Then again, he did know her habits. Boring little Quisty, with her prim and proper hairdo and manners. He let his eyes roam over her face, down her neckline, down to her pert breasts. He had to admit it, she was hot. And a cheeky smile crossed his face as he spoke, “If you didn’t want me to come see you, why, then, did you make it painfully obvious where your office was?” He pulled off one of his gloves with a sigh, looking at her again.
“Get out of my office, Seifer, before I call security,” Quistis demanded, her eyes flashing towards the door and then back to Seifer. The look on her face was void of emotion. It was her typical icy look that Seifer knew so well. Even though he knew she could be icy, he also knew that there was far more to her than that. He’d seen it himself, many times over, the exasperated look cross her face. The same look that she’d given him after the scar on his nose had occurred, how he’d been kept back after class to discuss the ramifications of his actions. She’d warned him then that his temper could get the better of him, if he wasn’t careful. He’d scoffed at her well-meant words, thinking she was nothing but a meddlesome troublemaker.
Calmly, Seifer shrugged. “How about no? Not until you hear what I have to say,” he said coldly. “And please, hear me out before you make any hasty decisions.” He was imposing as ever, even with the shrunken frame from the years of incarceration. Quistis let her eyes wander over his body discretely, noting that he was actually not all that bad looking, not that she’d ever tell him that. Seifer looked over at her, smirking to himself as she tried to hide the fact that she was staring at him. But he wouldn’t say anything for now-if anything, he’d keep quiet.
Quistis sighed. He had a point, she had to concede, that she really ought to listen to him before throwing him out of her office. She motioned that he could sit down, and waited until he did so before she herself sat. It was a rather comfortable office chair that she had, all soft and supportive. Sitting straight-backed, from years of military routine, Quistis effortlessly picked up a pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her as she waited for Seifer to speak. “So, Seifer, speak,” she said simply. She needed a coffee, but she’d just had lunch moments ago before coming back to her office. The light-headed feeling that she had was not good, and it probably meant that she was low on glucose-never a good thing.
Seifer looked at her levelly, looking her in the eye. He held her gaze unwaveringly for a moment before she broke it, and he then played with the cuff of his sleeve. “Do you want the full story? Or the abridged version? I’m happy to give you either version-but it’s up to you, Instructor,” he said, the last word coming out more venomous than he’d intended. Old habits, it seemed, died hard with Seifer Almasy. It equally infuriated and amused him that the simple title of instructor, when paired with the woman in front of him, would not leave him be. It was definitely a derogatory word on his lips-or it had been years ago-but on the lips of others, it was a mark of respect. He knew that, just as Quistis did.
“I have all afternoon, so please, humour me with the full version,” Quistis replied with the barest ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She was remembering an incident, some thirteen years ago now, that had suddenly sparked in her mind at the name instructor being used by Seifer.
«------------------------------------------------»
It was her first day as an instructor. She was incredibly nervous, and the familiar fluttering of butterflies in her stomach made her want to back out, to run to the bathroom, to do anything except stand up and teach a class of students barely older than herself. Some of them, she was sure, were bound to be disrespectful-thinking they could get away with things just because she was young and this was the first real lesson she’d ever taught. Quistis bit her cheek, taking a deep breath before slipping her glasses on. Her uniform was impeccably presented, as usual-it was one aspect of her grooming she took especial care with. Mustering up enough courage, Quistis stepped confidently into the classroom and stood behind the desk, syllabus in her hand.
Shortly, the students filed in, and the lesson began smoothly. The peace, however, and smoothness of the class, did not last for long. Seifer Almasy and Squall Leonhart-both brilliant students in their own way, rivals and it was rumoured that the two of them had been bedfellows more than once-but Quistis had dismissed that as just cafeteria gossip. It’d begun innocently enough, with Squall trying to do his work and Seifer apparently pestering him and not doing his own work.
She did what was the recommended course of action described by the Instructor’s Manual, remembering that it was a godsend in times like these. “Mr Almasy, do you care to share with the rest of the class what’s so important that you’re interrupting Mr Leonhart’s work?” she called out acerbically, a very small hint of amusement could also be detected in her voice.
The blonde troublemaker flipped her the birdie. Her mouth tightened in a scowl. “Detention.”
…and that detention had proved far more interesting than she ever would’ve expected. Flushed and satiated, she’d hurried back to her dormitory, leaving an equally-satiated Seifer to wander back to his own dormitory. And thus they became lovers in secret.
It lasted until Squall Leonhart ended up in the infirmary with an injury to the head after training. Seifer had all but passed the SeeD exam, but he’d repeatedly failed due to his reluctance to follow orders and procedure. Quistis despaired of him.
Following that, they’d been at one another’s throats. That day in the Disciplinary Room just prior to Squall and his squad going off to assist the Timber Owls, Seifer had nearly raised a hand against her. He’d had a hissy fit, and stormed off, taking only Hyperion and his shredded dignity.
«------------------------------------------------»
He looked at her, watching as she gazed into the distance behind his head that he was sure was oh-so-fucking fascinating. Much more so than him. It irked him, drove him crazy. She was supposed to be paying him attention, not the fucking wall! “I suppose you could say that the years in prison were years I spent thinking about all the fucking misdeeds I did during the war, couldn’t you?” he smiled sardonically. “Truth is, it wasn’t far from the truth. Ultimecia… she was a fucking mind-trip, you know? Like I’d been tripping on acid or some other illegal substance that fucks with your mind. It took me six years to stop my mind going back over that fucked-up year, I almost went mad.”
There was a slight hint of shock registering in Quistis’s eyes and in the way her jaw was set. To her shock, she hadn’t expected Seifer to be this forthcoming about his experiences as the knight to the sorceress. Hadn’t Headmaster Cid explained that without a knight, a sorceress could become evil and would perhaps have to be killed by SeeD in every generation-the true purpose of SeeD had been revealed when all hell broke loose in the War. So Ultimecia, ultimately, was a tragic figure-she had no knight loyal and true, except for one that existed only in a time-compressed universe. Seifer had been her knight in that universe, serving her through the woman that she possessed-none other than the woman Seifer called mother. If Sigmund Freud existed in this world and universe, he probably would’ve described Seifer as Oedipal. But the label didn’t exist here, and thus it’s probably a pointless narrative effort by the author trying to insert humour and classical references and psychoanalysis. These thoughts, however, were floating around in Quistis’ brain, and thus she frowned. It seemed to her that Seifer had genuinely repented, a saved sinner, in some ways. If there was ever a redeemed man, she was certain she might be looking at him. “I don’t know anything about that, Seifer,” she said gently, looking down at her bare hands. She found that inspecting her nails was much more fascinating than looking at Seifer, and she had no clue as to why.
“Given the experience that I had during that hellish period of time,” he continued as though Quistis hadn’t spoken, “I’m getting a second chance to prove that I can be of use, that I do know what I’m talking about, and that’s a fucking miracle. Laguna, smart man, trusts people and believes in the redemptive power of a second chance-a chance to do things over. I learnt a lot when I was in prison-a whole fucking lot-about things like that. Ten years in the clinker leads to a lot of thought, it also leads to a lot of unmentionable things that I’d rather you didn’t know about,” Seifer shuddered at the memories of prison, of being in solitary due to fights that he’d foolishly provoked, trying to prove that he was a tough man. Of course, that’d been in the first year of his incarceration. Throughout the other nine years, Seifer had read a lot. Unlike the cliché of finding that there was indeed a god, Seifer had long discovered that there was no god, nothing but a big void of existentialistic thought. The questions had plagued him-why were some men hailed as heroes and others, like him, branded as criminals and shackled against the wall as though they were rampaging mass murderers. Existentialism wasn’t something Seifer had ever thought about before being imprisoned. But in the end, Seifer had realised that he’d needed this time-this prison sentence-to bring him back to who he had been before Ultimecia had destroyed a part of his soul.
Quistis, again, said nothing. Pursing her lips in thought, she silently admitted that he’d done a lot of thinking while in prison. Perhaps even more than she had in the ten years she’d not been a SeeD. The adverse affects of their reliance upon Guardian Forces was something that was still being charted, but Quistis knew she’d do anything to retrieve some of the memories that they’d stolen from her. Memories, thoughts, feelings-everything was all as Ultimecia had said: “Reflect on your childhood...your sensations, your words, your emotions.” Ultimately, the sorceress had been right. They all escaped Quistis and Seifer-hell, they escaped everyone who used the destructive power of the Guardian Forces. She appreciated that now, appreciated the bitter price every SeeD had to pay in exchange for their power.
«-----------------------------------------------»
Anisa, meanwhile, sat down on her bed in one of the guest suites. It’d been a long and frustrating day for her, politically, at least. On the personal side though, it’d been a good day and Kiros was taking her out for dinner. It seemed to happen whenever she arrived in Esthar, like a set pattern of a romance, in a way. Neither of them would ever admit that they were developing warm fuzzy feelings towards one another. It would be entirely unprofessional, and they were strictly friends. The dress that she’d packed with her hung now on a coat-hanger Her shoes and handbag, too, were ready to go. Quickly showering and changing, applying a very minimal layer of make-up, she was ready when the buzzer rang.
It seemed to her that Kiros, too, had given thought to their evening. Dressed rather sharply in a lovely-looking dark grey jacket, white shirt and matching dark grey trousers, he looked good. Unconsciously Anisa’s eyes wandered his body, subconsciously undressing him. Damn, Anisa, stop thinking of him like that, she told herself sternly. It’d ruin things between them, both she and Kiros knew that. Simply smiling up at him, Anisa allowed him to wrap her shawl around her shoulders as she gathered her small clutch from the table. Then they were off.
The night was lovely, little stars peeked out from underneath clouds, the sky not yet entirely dark. The sun, very low on the horizon, gave the last rays of warmth from its dying descent down to the other side of the world, and they walked along the crowded, busy streets of Esthar. Dinner, dancing and wine were on the agenda tonight. No thoughts of politics, of schedules conflicting, of meetings gone awry. It would be a night of pleasure.
Chapter: 02.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Characters: Seifer Almasy, Quistis Trepe, Laguna Loire, Kiros Seagil, Anisa Armanti (OC), Síla Trepe (OC), Various other characters will be mentioned at random.
Summary: It's been ten years since the end of the Second Sorceress War. Quistis, during this time, has packed her bags and moved to Esthar. Seifer was imprisoned, and has recently been released.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy does not belong to me.
Feedback: Would be absolutely adored ♥ So would reviews and critique!
«-----------------------------------------------»
Chapter Two
Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies away in the wind
-- Guillaume Apollinaire
«--------------------------------------------------»
The woman outside President Loire’s office sighed, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Her hands fidgeted with her hair, twirling strands around her fingers idly, in nervous habit. She wasn’t accustomed to waiting, not after several years in a very high-powered job. Anisa Armanti, at the age of thirty five, had become the President of Timber. Following on from Quistis’s lead, Anisa had continued her popular predecessor’s work-strengthening the alliances that Timber had forged with the powerful military city of Esthar. As such, it was one of the days when she was away from her country, away from the hue and cry of the populace of Timber. Shortly after the Second Sorceress War, Anisa had assisted Quistis with the formation of the Republic of Timber. And now, she, Anisa was president. She, the darkie, the one that’d faced prejudice because of the colour of her skin, was a president of a good, well-run country.
A soft cough alerted Anisa to the presence of another being in the room with her. She glanced up, seeing a familiar face, and she smiled warmly. After all, she did like Kiros. “Anisa, Laguna’s ready to see you now,” he said, his voice warm and deep. It was one of those voices she enjoyed hearing a lot of, melodious to her ears. It reminded Anisa of her brother, Baha’s voice on a good day. Baha always made her smile, and so did Kiros. Anisa stood, smoothing her skirt down and adjusting her handbag as she did so. Kiros opened the door, holding his arm out to indicate that she ought to go in first. After Anisa passed through the door, Kiros closed it discretely behind her. Sitting down, Kiros and Anisa waited patiently for Laguna.
It didn’t take long for Laguna to arrive, a little girl following after him with her thumb in her mouth and clutching a teddy. (Well, it wasn’t a teddy, in all actuality-it was a Moomba plushie, but before we go on it needed clarification.) Anisa quirked an eyebrow but held her tongue, knowing that it wasn’t the best time or place to question why Laguna Loire was allowing a little girl to listen to political debates. Kiros said nothing, but carefully took Síla by the hand and led her out of the office. He led her down into Ellone’s rooms, where the dark-haired woman smiled at both of them, and swiftly took over the care of Síla.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Anisa,” Laguna began, smiling as he reached across to kiss Anisa’s cheek in greeting. “How are you keeping?” Anisa smiled.
“I’m well, and it’s also a pleasure to see you, too,” Anisa replied formally, her voice tinted with a bit of an accent that was soft and melodious. It was a curious accent, soft and sweet. To Laguna, it reminded him of Raine’s accent, the one from Winhill. The dialectic patterns were similar, too, he remembered. But very few people knew that Winhill and Timber shared a dialect; most just spoke the standard language and completely forgot about the whole accent issue. But again, Laguna was digressing from the subject at hand. He tended to do that a lot, go off on tangents entirely unrelated to the subject, yet somehow, he always seemed to remember the original subject of whatever he was talking about.
«-----------------------------------------------»
Quistis pursed her lips, thinking deeply. A finger reached out to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger out of nervous habit and uncertainty. Just what was Seifer Almasy doing in her office, and more importantly, how had he found out where her office was? Oh, sure, she could think of several reasons why he could’ve found it, but she wanted to know straight from the Shumi’s mouth as they said in these parts. Or rather, from the region of Trabia-but it was still the same thing, really. “You- you,” she began, “How did you get access to my office?”
With an irritating smirk that hadn’t changed with incarceration, Seifer replied caustically. “I followed a sign, Trepe.” Duh. Of course he’d followed the bloody signs-it wasn’t that difficult to find her office. Then again, he did know her habits. Boring little Quisty, with her prim and proper hairdo and manners. He let his eyes roam over her face, down her neckline, down to her pert breasts. He had to admit it, she was hot. And a cheeky smile crossed his face as he spoke, “If you didn’t want me to come see you, why, then, did you make it painfully obvious where your office was?” He pulled off one of his gloves with a sigh, looking at her again.
“Get out of my office, Seifer, before I call security,” Quistis demanded, her eyes flashing towards the door and then back to Seifer. The look on her face was void of emotion. It was her typical icy look that Seifer knew so well. Even though he knew she could be icy, he also knew that there was far more to her than that. He’d seen it himself, many times over, the exasperated look cross her face. The same look that she’d given him after the scar on his nose had occurred, how he’d been kept back after class to discuss the ramifications of his actions. She’d warned him then that his temper could get the better of him, if he wasn’t careful. He’d scoffed at her well-meant words, thinking she was nothing but a meddlesome troublemaker.
Calmly, Seifer shrugged. “How about no? Not until you hear what I have to say,” he said coldly. “And please, hear me out before you make any hasty decisions.” He was imposing as ever, even with the shrunken frame from the years of incarceration. Quistis let her eyes wander over his body discretely, noting that he was actually not all that bad looking, not that she’d ever tell him that. Seifer looked over at her, smirking to himself as she tried to hide the fact that she was staring at him. But he wouldn’t say anything for now-if anything, he’d keep quiet.
Quistis sighed. He had a point, she had to concede, that she really ought to listen to him before throwing him out of her office. She motioned that he could sit down, and waited until he did so before she herself sat. It was a rather comfortable office chair that she had, all soft and supportive. Sitting straight-backed, from years of military routine, Quistis effortlessly picked up a pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her as she waited for Seifer to speak. “So, Seifer, speak,” she said simply. She needed a coffee, but she’d just had lunch moments ago before coming back to her office. The light-headed feeling that she had was not good, and it probably meant that she was low on glucose-never a good thing.
Seifer looked at her levelly, looking her in the eye. He held her gaze unwaveringly for a moment before she broke it, and he then played with the cuff of his sleeve. “Do you want the full story? Or the abridged version? I’m happy to give you either version-but it’s up to you, Instructor,” he said, the last word coming out more venomous than he’d intended. Old habits, it seemed, died hard with Seifer Almasy. It equally infuriated and amused him that the simple title of instructor, when paired with the woman in front of him, would not leave him be. It was definitely a derogatory word on his lips-or it had been years ago-but on the lips of others, it was a mark of respect. He knew that, just as Quistis did.
“I have all afternoon, so please, humour me with the full version,” Quistis replied with the barest ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She was remembering an incident, some thirteen years ago now, that had suddenly sparked in her mind at the name instructor being used by Seifer.
«------------------------------------------------»
It was her first day as an instructor. She was incredibly nervous, and the familiar fluttering of butterflies in her stomach made her want to back out, to run to the bathroom, to do anything except stand up and teach a class of students barely older than herself. Some of them, she was sure, were bound to be disrespectful-thinking they could get away with things just because she was young and this was the first real lesson she’d ever taught. Quistis bit her cheek, taking a deep breath before slipping her glasses on. Her uniform was impeccably presented, as usual-it was one aspect of her grooming she took especial care with. Mustering up enough courage, Quistis stepped confidently into the classroom and stood behind the desk, syllabus in her hand.
Shortly, the students filed in, and the lesson began smoothly. The peace, however, and smoothness of the class, did not last for long. Seifer Almasy and Squall Leonhart-both brilliant students in their own way, rivals and it was rumoured that the two of them had been bedfellows more than once-but Quistis had dismissed that as just cafeteria gossip. It’d begun innocently enough, with Squall trying to do his work and Seifer apparently pestering him and not doing his own work.
She did what was the recommended course of action described by the Instructor’s Manual, remembering that it was a godsend in times like these. “Mr Almasy, do you care to share with the rest of the class what’s so important that you’re interrupting Mr Leonhart’s work?” she called out acerbically, a very small hint of amusement could also be detected in her voice.
The blonde troublemaker flipped her the birdie. Her mouth tightened in a scowl. “Detention.”
…and that detention had proved far more interesting than she ever would’ve expected. Flushed and satiated, she’d hurried back to her dormitory, leaving an equally-satiated Seifer to wander back to his own dormitory. And thus they became lovers in secret.
It lasted until Squall Leonhart ended up in the infirmary with an injury to the head after training. Seifer had all but passed the SeeD exam, but he’d repeatedly failed due to his reluctance to follow orders and procedure. Quistis despaired of him.
Following that, they’d been at one another’s throats. That day in the Disciplinary Room just prior to Squall and his squad going off to assist the Timber Owls, Seifer had nearly raised a hand against her. He’d had a hissy fit, and stormed off, taking only Hyperion and his shredded dignity.
«------------------------------------------------»
He looked at her, watching as she gazed into the distance behind his head that he was sure was oh-so-fucking fascinating. Much more so than him. It irked him, drove him crazy. She was supposed to be paying him attention, not the fucking wall! “I suppose you could say that the years in prison were years I spent thinking about all the fucking misdeeds I did during the war, couldn’t you?” he smiled sardonically. “Truth is, it wasn’t far from the truth. Ultimecia… she was a fucking mind-trip, you know? Like I’d been tripping on acid or some other illegal substance that fucks with your mind. It took me six years to stop my mind going back over that fucked-up year, I almost went mad.”
There was a slight hint of shock registering in Quistis’s eyes and in the way her jaw was set. To her shock, she hadn’t expected Seifer to be this forthcoming about his experiences as the knight to the sorceress. Hadn’t Headmaster Cid explained that without a knight, a sorceress could become evil and would perhaps have to be killed by SeeD in every generation-the true purpose of SeeD had been revealed when all hell broke loose in the War. So Ultimecia, ultimately, was a tragic figure-she had no knight loyal and true, except for one that existed only in a time-compressed universe. Seifer had been her knight in that universe, serving her through the woman that she possessed-none other than the woman Seifer called mother. If Sigmund Freud existed in this world and universe, he probably would’ve described Seifer as Oedipal. But the label didn’t exist here, and thus it’s probably a pointless narrative effort by the author trying to insert humour and classical references and psychoanalysis. These thoughts, however, were floating around in Quistis’ brain, and thus she frowned. It seemed to her that Seifer had genuinely repented, a saved sinner, in some ways. If there was ever a redeemed man, she was certain she might be looking at him. “I don’t know anything about that, Seifer,” she said gently, looking down at her bare hands. She found that inspecting her nails was much more fascinating than looking at Seifer, and she had no clue as to why.
“Given the experience that I had during that hellish period of time,” he continued as though Quistis hadn’t spoken, “I’m getting a second chance to prove that I can be of use, that I do know what I’m talking about, and that’s a fucking miracle. Laguna, smart man, trusts people and believes in the redemptive power of a second chance-a chance to do things over. I learnt a lot when I was in prison-a whole fucking lot-about things like that. Ten years in the clinker leads to a lot of thought, it also leads to a lot of unmentionable things that I’d rather you didn’t know about,” Seifer shuddered at the memories of prison, of being in solitary due to fights that he’d foolishly provoked, trying to prove that he was a tough man. Of course, that’d been in the first year of his incarceration. Throughout the other nine years, Seifer had read a lot. Unlike the cliché of finding that there was indeed a god, Seifer had long discovered that there was no god, nothing but a big void of existentialistic thought. The questions had plagued him-why were some men hailed as heroes and others, like him, branded as criminals and shackled against the wall as though they were rampaging mass murderers. Existentialism wasn’t something Seifer had ever thought about before being imprisoned. But in the end, Seifer had realised that he’d needed this time-this prison sentence-to bring him back to who he had been before Ultimecia had destroyed a part of his soul.
Quistis, again, said nothing. Pursing her lips in thought, she silently admitted that he’d done a lot of thinking while in prison. Perhaps even more than she had in the ten years she’d not been a SeeD. The adverse affects of their reliance upon Guardian Forces was something that was still being charted, but Quistis knew she’d do anything to retrieve some of the memories that they’d stolen from her. Memories, thoughts, feelings-everything was all as Ultimecia had said: “Reflect on your childhood...your sensations, your words, your emotions.” Ultimately, the sorceress had been right. They all escaped Quistis and Seifer-hell, they escaped everyone who used the destructive power of the Guardian Forces. She appreciated that now, appreciated the bitter price every SeeD had to pay in exchange for their power.
«-----------------------------------------------»
Anisa, meanwhile, sat down on her bed in one of the guest suites. It’d been a long and frustrating day for her, politically, at least. On the personal side though, it’d been a good day and Kiros was taking her out for dinner. It seemed to happen whenever she arrived in Esthar, like a set pattern of a romance, in a way. Neither of them would ever admit that they were developing warm fuzzy feelings towards one another. It would be entirely unprofessional, and they were strictly friends. The dress that she’d packed with her hung now on a coat-hanger Her shoes and handbag, too, were ready to go. Quickly showering and changing, applying a very minimal layer of make-up, she was ready when the buzzer rang.
It seemed to her that Kiros, too, had given thought to their evening. Dressed rather sharply in a lovely-looking dark grey jacket, white shirt and matching dark grey trousers, he looked good. Unconsciously Anisa’s eyes wandered his body, subconsciously undressing him. Damn, Anisa, stop thinking of him like that, she told herself sternly. It’d ruin things between them, both she and Kiros knew that. Simply smiling up at him, Anisa allowed him to wrap her shawl around her shoulders as she gathered her small clutch from the table. Then they were off.
The night was lovely, little stars peeked out from underneath clouds, the sky not yet entirely dark. The sun, very low on the horizon, gave the last rays of warmth from its dying descent down to the other side of the world, and they walked along the crowded, busy streets of Esthar. Dinner, dancing and wine were on the agenda tonight. No thoughts of politics, of schedules conflicting, of meetings gone awry. It would be a night of pleasure.