Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Fallen Knight ❯ Chapter 3 : SeeD Cadet ( Chapter 3 )

:: Chapter 3 ::

SeeD Cadet

One Month Later . . .

 

Quistis made her way to the infirmary that morning, steeling herself as she had for the past four weeks. Her student awaited her there, and today he would be getting released from Dr. Kadowaki's care. She bit her lip slightly, a nervous habit, as she progressed around the fountain.

 

Seifer had seemed to grudgingly accept her ultimatum that day, and when she came back the next morning to quiz him he'd passed. Not with flying colors, but he passed. Quistis had not been all that surprised. He had been one of her best students after all, the stubborn jerk just never applied himself. He knew the material, the challenge was getting him to cooperate long enough to prove it.

 

He wasn't a star pupil this time around either, but at least he was trying. It was more than Quistis had hoped for. Yet now they were letting him out of the infirmary. She couldn't help but wonder if having free roam would change his attitude. Would he start showing up late for everything, just like before? Would he not show up at all? Quistis stepped through the infirmary's automatic doors, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to not think about that right now.

 

He stood on his own two feet just outside of the room that he'd lain bedridden in for the past month and a half. His six foot two frame straightened a bit and turned when she entered. The doctor had worked wonders, but Seifer was still a pale shadow of his former self. He was still far too slender, yet not quite so emaciated anymore at least. His skin no longer possessed the pallor of death, though nor did it have his former bronze tan. He wore what looked like cast-away clothes—a pair of jeans and a baggy blue T-shirt that didn't necessarily fit him very well but they suited enough to go walk around Garden in. His long hair had been pulled away from his face and tied back into a loose ponytail, and those hard emerald eyes had regained a spark of their old glitter.

 

Quistis nodded to him, feeling her face wipe clear of expression. Hyne, she always had to be so careful around him. One slip and she felt like she'd be thrown to the wolves for slaughter.

 

“Come on Seifer. First stop is Supply to get you outfitted with a new student uniform and some training clothes. After that, the dorms. And then after you've settled into your new room, I'd like to get a few hours of prelim battling in the Training Center to see where your skill level is at.”

 

She saw him roll his eyes.

 

“Well then, lead the way Instructor,” he sneered. His arrogant voice was deep and rumbling again, a small testiment to his returning health, as he motioned with his hand for her to get on with it. Resisting the urge to reply in kind, Quistis merely nodded a farewell to the doctor and then led the way out. How could this man push all of her buttons so darned effortlessly . . . ?

 

She could tell that he was tense. The stiff way that he walked, the way his eyes kept darting this way and that, and the way he said not a word all the way to Supply told the tale well enough. The reasons were obvious, she supposed. Having to be paraded through the halls of hostile and/or avidly curious students in his current condition had to be extremely demeaning.

 

They both entered the storage room, Quistis in the lead with Seifer hanging in the background. The young female cadet in charge of the hanger stood hunched over the desk, an Occult Fan Magazine opened in front of her as she chewed a large wad of gum. Quistis took a deep, calming breath.

 

“Instructor number 14, Quistis Trepe, here to pick up a starting kit for Cadet Almasy.”

 

The girl jerked straight and then apparently almost swallowed her gum, because she immediately began coughing and hacking. Quistis heard Seifer's snort somewhere behind her as they both watched the female wheeze for a moment before she finally spit the gum out into the trash can. She had to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. The cadet stared with wide eyes at Seifer for a moment, then switched her gaze to Quistis after the woman in question cleared her throat rather loudly.

 

“Uh . . Oh! S-sorry, Instructor! I-I need to see your . . .um . . . key pass please.” Quistis fetched the piece of plastic from her pocket while the girl's gaze strayed over to Seifer again. She was forced to snap her fingers a few times to regain the cadet's attention. She swiped the identification card, and nodded at the green light and the bleep that confirmed Quistis's security clearance.

 

Quistis turned to him with a critical eye.

 

“I'm going to need two pairs of boots, size 13 I believe?” He nodded, and the girl began flurrying around the room and throwing what Quistis wanted into a large carrying case. “Two cadet uniforms, three training outfits and two sets of leather gloves. Size medium on all of that for now, though set aside the large sizes in one of the back rooms. He'll be filling out pretty quick after the first two months or so. I need soap, shampoo, a shaving kit, toothbrush, toothpaste, three towels and wash cloths, a first aid kit and a portable Study Panel.”

 

The girl straightened from packing and blinked.

 

“A PSP? I'm going to need to get the Headmaster's clearance for that, Instructor.”

 

“Then get it,” Quistis snapped impatiently, frowning. They waited while the girl called up to Cid's office to get clearance, then nodded and carefully placed the extremely expensive portable computer into the case.

 

“Which standard weapon will he be using, Instructor?” she questioned, stepping over to the weapon locker and opening it.

 

“Gunblade, slashing class.”

 

Out came a gunblade and case that looked very similar to Hyperion in design, though much more plain and simple than the vicious black weapon had been.

 

Quistis handed Seifer the gunblade case, and then hefted the large black suit-case of sorts in her own hands. It was pretty heavy, but nothing she couldn't handle. She saw him cast her a look, though what it meant she had no clue. The cadet pulled out a clipboard and had Quistis sign one of the papers. She then took it back and filled out some information.

 

“What GF will he be junctioning with, Instructor?” Quistis felt him tense. She cleared her throat.

 

“Almasy will be using his former GF, Tiamat.”

 

“Tiamat?” the girl blurted, eyes widening. “B-but hasn't that GF been given `unstable' status?”

 

“Because he wouldn't junction with anybody but Almasy,” Quistis snapped. “Just take your notes, cadet. Let me worry about it.”

 

The girl frowned, then scratched out her notes with a sniff.

 

“All clear,” she then muttered, tossing the clipboard into a drawer. Quistis nodded, then turned and led the way out of Supply. He was quiet for a moment, then,

 

“I thought you guys killed Tiamat.”

 

“Well then you thought wrong,” was her flippant response. “We had to fight him in Ultimecia's castle, yes, but we didn't kill him. Her magic made him berserker, and then after we defeated her and recovered him he refused to junction with anybody but you. We've kept him around more for study than anything else.”

 

They entered the dormitory halls, both doing their best to ignore the curious stares that followed them the entire way. Seifer's eyebrow raised as Quistis led him to the singles.

 

“Yes you're getting your own room,” she confirmed in a tired voice. “Obviously it would be inconceivable to put you in a double.”

 

“Obviously,” he muttered, tone annoyed.

 

Quistis set the case down just in front of the bed, then stepped back. She hesitated for a moment as he stared around him, then sighed.

 

“I'll let you get settled in. After lunch meet me in the Training Center and we'll get started.” With that she turned and, after pausing for one last look back, left him.

 

~*~

 

Seifer cast his gaze about the room, not sure exactly what to make of it all. It looked just like his old one . . . excepting a few things. Such as the Julia Heartilly poster he used to have hung on the far wall, or the Detention Center chart on the back of his door that kept track of how many times he'd been thrown in the punishment hold. Little things that had made it seem more like a home.

 

With a sigh Seifer threw off the nostalgic feeling. He set the gunblade case up against the far wall, feeling a pang of regret. He had no idea where Hyperion was. After escaping the Time Compression, at Fisherman's Horizon, he vaguely remembered tossing it into a dumpster . . . .

 

He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, reaching for the case and flipping up the top. Twenty minutes to lunch, then it was off to the Training Center to get his ass kicked by some Grats. He hadn't fought in nearly five years . . . hell, he wasn't even sure if he could fight anymore, it'd been so long. He hoped it was like riding a bike, else he was about to make a damn fool of himself in front of the one person he'd rather die before looking weak to.

 

Seifer grabbed out one of the training outfits and his shaving kit and then stepped into the bathroom. He turned to the sink and then nearly fell over. Hyne . . . he looked like shit. Seifer hadn't even thought to glance in the mirror in a very long time. No wonder everybody was staring at him like he was death warmed over. He sure as hell looked the part. Frowning, Seifer got the business of shaving the scruff from his face over and done with, combing his hair back and tying it tighter than before, making a mental note to get it cut.

 

After that was done with the twenty-three year old dressed in his issues; a pair of dark navy blue, faintly baggy sweat pants, a black tank-top with Garden's emblem on the left breast, a long-sleeved blue jacket over that and calf-high black boots on his feet. With one last glance in the mirror Seifer turned and exited the bathroom again. Now, the dilemma. Should he go down to the cafeteria and get stared and goggled at for 40 minutes while attempting to eat or should he just sit in here and wait until it was time to meet Trepe in the Training Center?

 

Then Seifer scowled. He'd have to go to the damn cafeteria eventually, he couldn't just hide out up here in the dorms forever. With that thought he stalked from the room, shutting the door a sight more hard than was necessary for the latch to take. As he made his way back down the halls Seifer wondered idly where Raijin and Fujin had gone. Apparently they'd been sent on a mission of some sort. Raijin had assured him that they'd be back in a month or so, but they weren't allowed to talk about the specifics of the assignment.

 

Cadets and SeeDs alike stopped and stared as he passed by. Some didn't recognize him, either too young to remember or his appearance having changed so much that he became unrecognizable. But some did. Soon the whispers could be heard behind him, “Damn Sorceress's Knight!” “It's Seifer Almasy, the traitor!” “What the hell's he doing back here?!”

 

Seifer stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and unconsciously quickened his step. The fierce scowl on his face was enough to keep anyone from actually approaching him though, and for this he was very grateful.

 

Once inside the cafeteria Seifer made straight for the second window.

 

“What kinda soup you got, Marge?” he questioned heavily, causing the lunch lady to jerk in shock. And then she gave a wide grin.

 

“Almasy! How you doin' kid?! I was wondering when you'd finally find your way back home. It's great to see ya.” He smirked.

 

“You're probably the only one that thinks so,” he murmured, casting a glance back over his shoulder at the little knot of cadets and SeeDs that had begun to gather behind him, whispering and murmuring furiously. Marge snorted, reaching down and grabbing up a tray. As she ladled out soup, salad and crackers she began rattling on as she always did. And there was something strangely comforting to him about it's familiarity, so Seifer was inclined to let her ramble despite her touchy topic of choice.

 

“Everybody makes mistakes, kid. Sure, probably not on as big a scale as you but you've always been that way. Do it big or forget about it. I say this place is empty without ya. You're as much a part of Garden as Commander Squall or Headmaster Cid. Can't have light without shadow is my motto. And you won't be happy until you're wearin that SeeD uniform at your Graduation Ball. It's been bred into ya, boy, you just gotta put your nose to the grindstone is all. Now I wanna see your skinny butt in here breakfast, lunch and dinner, boy. You gotta get some meat back on them bones of yours!” was her parting words as Seifer turned and began heading for the tables.

 

He loped through the throng, not really paying much attention, that is until a crown of golden hair caught his eye. He hesitated, gazing over at the table filled with the world's salvation.

 

Almighty Commander Squall Leonheart, Puberty Boy as Seifer had called him, sat hunched over the table sipping a drink and apathetically allowing—whom Seifer assumed to be his girlfriend—Rinoa Heartilly draw swirly designs on his unoccupied hand. The wonder child herself was talking a hundred miles a minute to Messenger Girl, Selphie Tilmitt, who was practically bouncing in her chair with her excitement of the topic. From the snippets he heard, Seifer assumed it was about this year's Garden Festival. The Cowboy, Irvine Kinneas, lounged next to her with his hat drawn down over his eyes and his feet propped up, looking for all the world as if he were fast asleep. The only evidence otherwise was the slight smirk that would pull at his mouth every now and then. Chicken Wuss Zell Dincht sat across from them, stuffing his face with hotdogs, about five seconds away from needing the Heimlich maneuver. And finally there was the Instructor, Quistis Trepe. She sat slightly apart from them, several books laid out in front of her as she flipped pages, rabbit-eared them and took notes.

 

Seifer was made momentarily immobile at the sight of their happiness. It seemed they had all adjusted well. Not much had seemed to change. In gazing at them, Seifer felt more than ever like an outsider. Suddenly Rinoa looked up from her impromptu artwork and Seifer stiffened as their eyes met. He felt it. A soft, whispering tug of power. Calling him. He grimaced as her soft brown eyes widened, face darkening before he spun on his heel and stalked as far away as he could get from her.

 

Damned Sorceress. They should all be shot.

 

In an even more foul humor Seifer tossed the tray down onto the table and then heaved himself down into the chair. He suddenly wasn't very hungry.

 

Seifer? He gripped the spoon, fist shaking.

 

Get out of my fucking head, Rinoa!

 

But—

 

GET OUT!

 

Seifer heard her cry out from across the cafeteria, but he didn't turn. Stupid little bitch should know better. He began shoveling soup into his mouth, wincing as the stuff burned his tongue a bit.

 

“No, Squall! Don't!”

 

Seifer froze, but refused to turn around. Not even as he heard the boots stomping into the tile, ominously in his direction. In due time the Commander reached his table, bent over and slammed his fists down on either side of Seifer's tray. The crackers bounced and almost fell off.

 

“What the hell was that all about Almasy?” Squall drolled, voice deceptively calm. Very slowly, as if he were bored, Seifer raised his head and met his one true rival's steely blue eyes. The entire gaggle had gathered behind their fearless leader, the rest of the cafeteria having gone dead silent as everyone watched the scene before them unfold.

 

“What was what about?” he questioned as tonelessly as the other.

 

“What you did to Rinoa!” Zell snarled, fists clenching. Seifer glanced to the hot-tempered martial artist, then back to Squall.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Chicken Wuss.” He nearly winced after the nickname left his lips, noting Zell's suddenly reddened face. It was a damned force of habit. “I didn't do anything to her,” Seifer continued. “If something happened, then she did it to herself.” The last was said as his narrowed green eyes slid over to the young Sorceress in question. She bit her lip, face flushed guiltily, then reached over and tugged on Squall's jacket sleeve.

 

“Come on, Squall, just leave him alone. He didn't mean to do anything. It was my fault.”

 

Squall didn't even flinch, and his cold eyes never left Seifer's. There stretched several minutes of silent stare down, then the Commander spoke again. And it was a Commander's tone, too. Not the voice of a twenty two year old young man, but that of a battle-hardened, world-weary soldier who'd seen far too much loss in his young years to tolerate any more of it.

 

“One slip up, Almasy,” he murmured. “Fuck up just once and you'll be shipped off to District D so fast your head'll spin.”

 

Seifer spooned in another mouthful, then saluted with the spoon.

 

“I'll keep that in mind.”

 

“Come on Squall,” Zell growled, “he ain't even worth it anymore.”

 

Slowly the Commander straightened and then walked away. The others followed, all except Trepe. She stood for a moment, disapproving look in her deep blue eyes that immediately raised his dander.

 

“What?” he snapped after a moment, lifting his head to give her a glare. She scowled back at him.

 

“Just make sure you're in the Training Center on time,” was all she said before spinning on her heel and stalking away.

 

~*~

 

Seifer tried to balance the gunblade on his shoulder, like in the days of old, but found that the cold metal bit too painfully into his collar bone to keep it there for long. With a snort of disgust he was forced to tote the thing in both hands as he entered the Training Center. Ten minutes late wasn't so bad was it? Trepe's frosty glare apparently thought otherwise.

 

“You're late,” she announced waspishly and Seifer shrugged, trying not to let her see how damned heavy this gunblade was. Hyne, had they slipped weights into the handle or something? “Well at any rate, we're just going to tour the first room. Don't want to run into any T-Rexaurs at this stage. Tiamat's been released, so make sure you're junctioned properly,” she murmured, grabbing the handle of her whip and unhooking the weapon from her belt.

 

Seifer watched in some sort of morbid fascination as she flicked her wrist slightly, causing Save the Queen to snap up with a few loud cracks before it curled docilely around her neck and chest, handle at the ready.

 

Seifer cleared his throat, took a deep breath and then closed his eyes in preparation to open his mind to the moody dragon. Instinctually the blocks dropped down, and then there was that almost lovingly familiar rush of power, of emotion; pride, arrogance, fire, strength, might. With Tiamat's junctioning, the gunblade became just a bit less heavy, enough so that he could hold the thing in one fist without straining.

 

It has been long, hatchling. Seifer smirked at the sound of Tiamat's overbearing, grumbling voice.

 

Let's say we go kick some Grat ass, eh Tiamat? There was a din of chuckling.

 

Indeed.

 

Quistis had turned and led him into the Training Center. The indoor jungle of sorts was at a sweltering 97 degrees, the perfect temperature to house the deadly flora and fauna that resided here. It didn't take very long for a group of bad-tempered plants to find them. Quistis held back and went into a defensive stance, watching as he stepped up to the plate.

 

Seifer braced himself, then jumped forward and swung out with all his might. The Grat clicked and squeaked angrily, just before it rolled out of the way. Seifer stumbled slightly, stunned. He'd been outmaneuvered by a plant?! He growled in pain as the unoccupied Grat managed to swipe him with two of it's tentacles, and then the one he'd tried to hit followed up with a hit of it's own. He tried again for another hit, and again it dodged. Hyne, when had these little bastards gotten so quick? Suddenly there was a loud crack behind him. Save the Queen snapped out and nearly sliced the Grat behind him in half. Seifer stumbled and turned to see Quistis replacing the whip around her shoulders. She then crossed her arms and motioned with a tilt of her head for him to continue.

This couldn't possibly get any more embarrassing . . .

 

The Grat lunged again, it's maw gnashing, tearing a chunk out of Seifer's jacket sleeve. He hissed in pain as the poisonous saliva burned into his flesh. Then he jerked up, green eyes narrowed. Enough of this shit.

 

Seifer stepped back, gunblade held behind him and raised his unoccupied fist. The tingle of magic raced up his arm as a swirl of red began before his palm.

 

“Fire . . .” the fireball burst to life, and then shot off to slam into the Grat, “Cross!” He lunged forward, following up the flame attack with a vicious uppercut, pulling the trigger right at the last minute to get a final shot into the damned plant.

 

The Grat fell back, tentacles twitching. Seifer lifted up, breathing heavily, smirk forming. That smirk faded, however, as the Grat rolled back to it's stubby feet. Seifer nearly choked. That was his ultimate attack . . . and a Grat lived through it?! The proud Almasy stumbled back, raising his gunblade to block the flurry of tentacles that swarmed in his direction. Desperate, he did the only thing he could think of.

 

The area surrounding him darkened, myriad runes glowing beneath his feet as the powerful Dragon Prince made his entrance. The Grat stumbled back, hissing. The blackish purple dragon hovered right above Seifer's head, wings spreading and damn near not fitting in the room. He roared, rearing back, before releasing his ultimate attack on the poor unfortunate plant form. Needless to say, Dark Flare fair incinerated the thing. Once his duty was done, the GF let loose one last roar before he disappeared.

 

Seifer sat down hard onto a near-by log, scowl fierce. He'd had to summon a GF to beat a Grat. A grat! How goddamned humiliating could this get? He glanced over toward Quistis and felt his chest tighten as he caught the very last emotion he wanted to see reflected at him in her eyes.

 

Pity.

 

“Well I think that's all I need to see,” she murmured, turning around. “Come on, you're not ready for this yet.”

 

He wanted to argue. He wanted to rush out into the tunnels and beat the crap out of every Grat that came his way. He wanted to rail at her for calling him weak, in a roundabout way. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die of shame. Instead Seifer got to his feet, silent, and followed as the Instructor led him back out of the Training Center.