Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Domestic ❯ Dissension ( Chapter 8 )

Domestic

WARNINGS:

1) I do not own FF8, Squaresoft, or get any profit out of this story

2) Rated PG-13 for violence, language, and sexual content

Chapter 8: Dissension

"He says he doesn't feel good," Riene yawned. "Sorry Zell. Maybe tomorrow."

"This isn't Zell," the blonde said in the deepest voice he could muster. "This is Squall. I have specific orders for you."

"Oh! One sec."

As soon as the door creaked open, Zell stepped in. "Never fall for that again," he muttered, walking into the living room. "Squall doesn't make personal visits to underclassmen unless the Garden's on fire." Riene stretched, as Zell closed the door behind him. "Where is he?"

"Sleeping of course," Riene said harshly. "And I'd wait until he wakes up. He's still not feeling…"

"Don't give me that," Zell snapped. "Quistis says he's going to classes. If he can go to a class he can train." With that, Zell made his way to Travis's room.

"No," Riene yelled, grabbing onto the blonde's wrist. "I won't let you."

Zell looked at the tiny girl in utter amazement. "You think you're going to stop me."

"I'll hit you if I have to," she glared.

"I definitely wouldn't want that," Zell laughed.

"I'm warning you! Leave!"

"Whoa! I'm not going to kill him. He'll be fine."

"You have three seconds!"

"Wait…Hold on."

"Three."

"No listen…"

"Two."

"Don't…"

"One."

"Leave him alone Riene," Travis muttered, emerging from his room. "Nice job getting in Dincht."

"I'm good at what I do," Zell boasted. Riene stuck her tongue out at him, so his pride quickly diminished.

"I don't feel up to it today," Travis mumbled, looking at the floor. "Actually I don't think I'm ever going to feel up to it."

"What?!" Zell coughed

"Sorry man. I don't think I can do it anymore."

"Uh…I think I'll go back to bed," Riene said nervously. With that, she disappeared to the back of the dorm.

"Why?" Zell asked, ignoring Riene.

"I don't feel comfortable. It'd be safer for me to pick another weapon."

"Who told you that?"

"I did some independent study," Travis said, still looking at the floor.

"But Squall wanted…"

"Leonhart's hiring crazed criminals on his staff. I really don't care what he thinks anymore."

Zell had to agree with him there. Still he was pissed. "This better not have anything to do with Wix."

"It doesn't," Travis said angrily. "It doesn't have anything to do with it."

"So what are you going to get?" Zell scoffed.

"What?"

"Sword? Gun?"

"Whatever's cheapest," Travis mumbled into the floor.

"It's up to you," Zell sighed, running his hand through his hair. "But listen to this. You're the best fist-fighter I've seen in the Garden. And you're getting close to being good at it. That's why Wix was in the Infirmary with you. If you give this up for a little 200G pistol, you'll regret it within a month. I'm gonna give you a week to think about it. But trust me, I've watched kids come and go in this Garden, and I swear to you, if you want to be in SeeD you'll take me up on this. Hiding in your room and listening to Wix is one of the worst mistakes you've ever made."

"I'm not listening to Wix!"

"Whatever," Zell mumbled, heading to the door. "Oh, here's these." He pulled some gloves out of his pocket and tossed them to Azerton. "I got a little bonus for picking up Seifer. They're called Demitrius. They'll survive you if you change your mind." Still angry, the blonde left the dorm.

Travis inspected the gloves. The first thing he noticed was their weight. They were easily three times the weight of his metal knuckles. They were a midnight black with purple streaks running down each knuckle. What felt like dragon scales were sown into the fingers, and a smooth metal ran underneath that. Feeling guilty, Travis went back to bed.

(**********)

The class was silent. Today was the day that they all dreaded. It was Wednesday. AKA - Weapons Class. Travis sat in the front left, as they always sat alphabetically.

"Almasy's not going to do anything stupid," Wix said loudly from the third row. "My father said he wouldn't have taken him back if Leonhart hadn't begged."

Just then, the door swung open. The knight had arrived. Complete with trench coat, Seifer made his way to the desk. The class was deafly silent waiting for the most recognized man in the world to talk.

He pulled a long silver sword out of his sheath and slammed it on the desk, causing several students to flinch and gasp.

"This is a Hyperion," Seifer began. "As you all know, myself and Mr. Leonhart are the only masters of the gunblade. Many of you will try to duplicate us, but none of you will be successful." The large blonde picked up the sword and swung it in an x-shaped pattern. "This is because most of you can't handle the backfire of a pistol, more or less swing a sword while controlling it. My suggestion is not to take up this weapon unless advised to. Most of you are too weak to handle it anyway."

The class wasn't sure if that was an insult or advice. Most were too petrified of the man to even understand what he was saying. Travis just looked at his feet. It felt weird to look at the blonde as an instructor.

"Ok next weapon," Seifer continued. "Anyone trying to fight with gloves?"

A shiver went down Travis's spine, but he kept his hand down.

"Azerton does!" Kramer called. "The kid right there!"

"Ah…Travis Azerton," Seifer smiled. "Squall told me a lot about you. So you're Chicken Wuss's apprentice?"

"No," Travis mumbled, keeping his eyes on his shoes.

"No?"

"He practices with him every morning!" Kramer called again.

Travis went red in the face and kept his head down.

"Every Morning?!?" Seifer laughed. "I'm so sorry. Squall is really throwing away your life." Seifer and Kramer were the only ones who laughed. "Let's talk about the cons of gloves. One, you have to fight in arm's distance to the enemy. Two, it's a weaker attack then a sword or a gun. Three, it takes years of training to perfect. Four, it is an instinct fighting style, meaning most of the moves cannot be taught. And finally, five, most glove users lose a limb by the age of thirty." Seifer slammed his fist onto Travis's desk. "Let's face it. Gloves are for thieves and homemakers."

Wix was never happier. Christmas came today for all he cared.

"Don't let Chicken-Wuss ruin your life kid," Seifer smiled. "Call mommy and daddy and tell them you need a new weapon."

"What about archery?" Travis said stoicly.

"You mean sticks with needles on the end? That's second worst to gloves."

The smile fell off of Wix's face. Christmas was cancelled.

(**********)