Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Final Fantasy Gaiden ❯ Three ( Chapter 3 )

Final Fantasy Gaiden

Part Four, Chapter Four... Scene Four, Act One

By the Crackhead Pilot

"I do not have copyright or ownership over Final Fantasy 8 or any of its characters, except the plastic replicas I play with at home...."

::yawns::

Notes at 2:40 A.M:

Good morning fellow F.F.F's! (Final Fantasy Freak's)

It's 20 minutes short of 3:00 in the morning where I am, but I got an idea where doing my math homework and I wanna work on it, because I won't have time again for a while. That's why today I'm piloting the Crackhead instead of the Clockwork.

Again, thank you for the reviews and flames. I welcome both.

Anyway, today I might get into some naughty things if I get brave enough to write down the naughty words.

Notes at 2:38 P.M: Well's thats that. I decided I don't quite have the nerve to be sexual yet. Love it, hate it? Drop me a line. I'm hanging round all the time...

(I'm not a poet and I don't yet know it...) :~)

"I know what love is and what it means, it's a cute little girl with tight-ass jeans"

-Whitesnake, Take Me With You

Towards lights out, Osamu sulked into his room, discarded his clothes in a hurried, disorganized manner, and sunk under the stiff covers of his bed. He stared at the white, unfamiliar ceiling and began to wonder if he had made a drastic mistake in transferring from Galbadia.

Everyone, his friends, his instructors, told him that Balamb what the greatest of the three gardens; that all but 2 of the 6 heroes had received their training there. Hell, the almighty Squall Leonhart himself was the Headmaster and Commander of it! They all but said that attending Balamb was the best choice anyone could ever make as a SeeD candidate.

He had believed them. Trusted their judgment. Now, he didn't know if they were lying or just plain stupid. The instructors were impatient and short tempters, rooms were cluttered, all of the computers seemed to be shut down for technical repair, and (worst of all) food was on short supply. His stomach rumbled aloud at the thought. He wondered if it was some test to weed out the weaklings and crybaby's, so only the most elite, strong, and smallest-stomached SeeD's were sent out on missions.

A quick rapping was heard at the door. A female disciplinary committee member peeped her head in, to warn him that his lights would need to be out in five minutes.

"At least something things are the same at Garden's," He sighed after the girl had left, "Lights always out by 22:00. I guess some constants are better than none," he laughed cynically as he reached up and switched off his bed lamp.

Some strange comfort could be found in the darkness for Yamato. It seemed almost to act as thick blanket, a shield that protected him from his problems until tomorrow's light revealed them anew. Content for the present, he allowed his mind to wander on less overbearing things. Like that silver-haired girl, ignoring the minor detail that she had broken a lightweight but strong plastic stick over his head. What had that dork called her? Fu-Ra? She was weird looking, but in a good way. Sort of...exotic, rare. Typically he could get away with coping a feel, just an "accidental" brush-up while fighting or passing some sweet thing in the hallway. This Fu-Ra was pretty sharp, that was for sure. Her chasing after him made him regret he'd done it, not because she attacked him, but she was the one who got in trouble. He couldn't risk his own merit to cure his conscience, however, and he left it at that.

Silver-hair on ivory skin.

Sky-blue eyes. A smooth, somewhat boyish face.

Well-toned, semi-developed muscles.

Thick shoulders, thin eyebrows...he pieced her together, bit by bit, from fragments of memories still fresh in his mind.

Silk skin, lean tummy...

Fu-Ra was the smallest girl in Melee class, probably no more than 5' 2-but she was well proportioned, not squat or misshapen, almost like a porcelain doll with muscles.

He wanted her, he knew that much. He wanted to remeber every little thing about her, like artwork, like a movie.

Those ridulously bulky black boots. That baggy blue shirt with the Chocobo logo on the pocket, those tight, tight black denim shorts...

He remebered seeing a glance at her from the back view, such a cute little ass.

After few moments wrelsting with the elastic on his boxer shorts, he sunk his teeth into his lower lip he slowly entered Paradise...