Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Meet Me At the Altar ❯ The Beginning: Part II ( Chapter 2 )

Mirk Alley:

Ray's Shack stood in the backstreets of where Deling City's reputable and well respected shops were situated, simply because the place was unreputable as it got. Simpler still, the place was damn illegal. It was considered unhealthy to be supplying unconventional weapon accessories to anyone who ad the money. So it was a good thing for Ray and his little shack no one knew about its existence save for a choice few people.

The outward appearance of the building in Mirk Alley blended well with its surroundings - boarded up windows, prowling street cats, rusty fire escapes running four floors up and litter strewn everywhere: a very homey scene.

This was the exact thought running through Quistis' mind as she picked her way through the various obstacles. She toed the bottom half of a rat, the remnants of someone's dinner no doubt, with a patent leather black boot. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Quistis knocked loudly on the iron metal door decorated with indents, some small, some roughly an inch in diameter... Target practice, she thought with a degree of concern.

A cat screeched in the background followed by the sound of shattering glass and a gunshot that pierced an upstairs boarded window. At least she knew the reason why they were in such a messed up state.

A voice rose above the yowling sounds. "What the fuck is it now? What the fuck do you fuckers want?"

Heavy pounding footsteps followed along with more cat screams. "Shut the fuck up will you. Damn fucking flea ball. Get out of here!!"

The door from the other side clanged as Quistis heard more than one bolt being back, and chains? Right after that the door swung wide open with such force it rebounded against the wall, chipping bits of plaster and concrete.

"What the fuck is the matter with the world?!"

Quistis took half a step back at the manic expression she was staring right at, a switchblade was held in one hand. "Bad timing?" she said.

The man called Ray and proprietor of the seemingly dilapidated building did a double take, hair that had been knotted together to form dreadlocks flying. Eyes widened in recognition. "Oh Quistis, it's you! Why didn't you say so!"

"I got the impression you weren't in the best of spirits what with all the shouting and bad words you've been spouting." Quistis said, smiling. "Irvine said you were in a foul mood."

"Say what?" He had no idea what she had just said. He got the general idea in anycase. "Nah, girl. I'm in a bad mood all the time, my mama was the one who taught me how to swear! You swear, I swear, my whole family swears. Everyone does." He led her up a ladder to his workshop above where he sold his goods and did all his work.

Quistis had only been to this place a few times and she was beginning to discover the more she visited the more she worried about its poor conditions. The ladder since she was last here was now missing three rings.

"Oh yeah!" he shouted to her. "You might need something to stand on. Grab that thing by the wall."

Quistis looked about her and saw an unstable looking stool standing by the entrance.

"Um, Ray? Not meaning to be rude, don't you think you should fix that?" Quistis advised as he helped her to her feet.

"Pssh! It's fine the way it is. Me and Irvine slide most of the time." The coloured man said airily.

"I see..." she said, her voice a mixture of bemusement and wonder.

Was the guy serious?

She turned about the room to survey the array of tables cluttered with rolls of paper, tools and unfinished pieces of work. "So... If Irvine and you 'slide' as you call it most of the time, how do you get back up what with the bottom half of the ladder missing? That's assuming you don't have a stool to help you."

Ray stopped mid bustle on a table crowded with rolls of paper containing designs for proposed weapons and general scribbles and doodles. He looked over at her completely scandalised and moved to stare down the trap door with the ladder beneath minus its three rings.

"Shit, you're right!" he declared, eyes so wide that the whites showed. "And I only just stole that chair from some old dude who's got loads of the stuff."

Mortification took place over his scandalised expression, which soon gave way to realisation as he clicked his fingers in an excited manner. "Oh I remember now. We go out the back and climb the pipes and smash the window."

"I see..." Quistis repeated going slack jawed, less pleased than before. The guy was clearly insane. "Are you sure you don't want to fix the ladder? It shouldn't take a skilled man as yourself very long to rectify."

"It's all cool," he assured her, returning back to flipping paper over in search for something. "Slidin' is the bomb,"

"Right..." Quistis smiled falsely, not quite sure what to think any more. She then thought of something. "Why is it then I heard footsteps when I came knocking?"

"Oh yeah, that's 'cos I used the stairs in the back room downstairs."

Quistis frowned having to think things through before speaking. "Wouldn't it... make more sense to use those stairs to get back upstairs instead of breaking glass and hurting yourself?"

Ray played with a tiny device in his palms, thinking through her words all the while. "Oooh yeeeaah!" He said, his dark face breaking into a grin revealing very white teeth. "No wonder you're such a smart girl! You think of everything!"

"Ah yes," Quistis agreed weakly, leaning against a stack of wooden crates. Perhaps she should have waited at the bar until Seifer arrived. Her sanity was barely hanging on just by speaking to the man before her.

The man hailed from the quiet town of Dollet, making his way to the big city to make his fortune. Most would dispute running an illegal establishment was not a credible way to make a living, but the way he saw it... it beat being homeless and sleeping inside a cardboard box which flea ridden strays used as pissing spots. And it wasn't just dogs, cats and rats included.

"Who cares anyway. Upstairs, downstairs, stairs, stairs, stairs. You need stairs to go up or down. Girl, you're gonna give yourself a headache, thinking of everything."

Funny. Quistis felt an impending headache developing at the forefront of her cranium and it wasn't because of thinking. More like listening to the loony rambling.

"Come to think of it," Ray said thoughtfully. "I think I got that stool from a furniture shop."

Quistis shut her eyes tightly and asked Hyne for strength. At least you could have stolen a better one. She said to herself.

"Ah who cares. He won't miss it. It's already fucked up. Anyways, what can I do for you, pretty lady?"

"I came to pick up a few things before I left for home." she said, all attention. She had contacted Selphie yesterday upon arriving Deling City and was given strict orders by the petite SeeD to obtain a few things for her weapon. "Spiked balls? Do you have any of those? Selphie ruined the pair on her weapon after a battle."

"Hmmm," Ray unearthed a clipboard with a list from beneath a hammer and a pile of screwdrivers, running an index finger down the list. At length he spoke. "Nope. None of those. I've got something in the making though. It still needs tweaking but I reckon I could get that done for you soon."

"How much?"

The man waved off her question dismissively while eyes were still on his list. "Don't worry 'bout that. I'll send you an invoice or somethin' to let you know."

"All right. What about chains?"

"What type?"

"She wanted something thicker and stronger, light."

"Let's see what I got." Abandoning his clipboard on the worktop, Ray moved away to a set of wide drawers and yanked them open. "How 'bout this one?" he asked, presenting her with his offering.

Quistis took the chain from him hefting it to test the weight. "It's quite heavy," she commented.

Ray shrugged his shoulders. "That's cast iron for you. Other types I've got are too brittle to use in nunchakus. But I got a brotha' who's working on something new. He won't tell me shit so I'll give him a bell and find out what he's able to do for ya."

"I also need something for my Save the Queen. The handle has worn quite thin. The grip needs to be strengthened and I wanted to change the tip to something lighter while keeping its kick. The spike I have now is too heavy. It ruins fluidity at times."

"Mmmm hmmm," Ray nodded, scribbling furiously on the sheet of paper under his list. "Give me some time for that too, I'm sure I can sort somethin'. Is that it?"

"Yes. So... You don't actually have anything on hand?"

"Nah," he said, nestling his pen between the shell of his ear. "You're asking for specialist stuff ya know. You can have a grenade if you want."

Quistis kindly declined the offer with a shake of her head.

"Oh but hey, I got something for Seifer. Where's that son of a bitch hanging anyways?"

"He's gone to have a drink with Irvine."

"Hmph, that smooth talkin' cowboy slacking off again. Man, he's asking for a bullet up his ass." Ray muttered, pulling out keys from his battered army trousers. Searching through the bunch he selected the one and inserted it inside the padlock holding a metal cabinet casing shut.

Moving closer, Quistis watched with interest as the doors swung opened to reveal a safe. "Why the high security?" she questioned.

"You'll see soon enough." Ray replied, punching in the code with deft fingers.

Withdrawing a silver case that had two catches to seal it shut Ray presented the object by placing it on the paper covered worktop with a great deal of flourish, kicking the safe shut as he did so.

Quistis blinked blankly at the silver case then up at Ray who rolled his dark coffee coloured eyes at her in exasperation. Sighing he reached to open the case with impatience, ruining the splendour of the moment. Flicking back the catches he swivelled it round for her to see.

In it, lying on an ivory silk lining were six immaculately placed bullets, the single light bulb suspended on a wire overhead adding a glitzy shine to it.

Ray folded his arms to survey his craftsmanship. "Sexy as hell, eh?" he said proudly.

Leaning in for a closer inspection, Quistis noted the S.A. and Cross-sword engraved around the base. "What's the difference between these and the standard bullets Seifer normally uses?" Quistis asked.

"These," he indicated by picking one up between his finger and thumb. "Are Adamantine tipped. You know how Adamantoise's have hides so thick you'd need somethin' like a powerdrill or something to make even a dent? Well, reverse it and use it for coating bullets you've got somethin' different. At the speed it's ejected from a gunblade cylinder, whoo that's gonna make one hell of an impact, not to mention a fucking massive hole! I've tested these baby's on bullet-proof vests and Shell and boy... put it this way, those Galbadian army bums would pay serious shit for this stuff 'cos these are tiiight!!" His eyes positively shone as he lavished his work with praise. "If I say so myself. Figured my man Seifer could so with somethin' like these babys. Wreak some havoc and inflict some serious damage ya know."

"It's not good to encourage him," Quistis smiled, taking the box. "None the less I'm sure he'll greatly appreciate it."

"Damn right he better!" Ray shrugged. "He's a cool dude. I like him. Hey, is there somethin' goan on between you two?"

Quistis raised a fine eyebrow in interest at the rapid change of direction the conversation took. "What makes you say that?"

"Nothin'," he shrugged again.

The blond woman threw the man a piercing look making him flinch. "You clearly think there is a relationship between us so you might as well spell out your curiosity."

"You sure spend a lot of time together," Ray announced, padlocking the cabinet and leaning back to better assess her. "Plus he talks about you a hell of a lot. I had to tell him to shut the fuck up 'cos your name was driving me apeshit!"

"Oh?" In turn she was curious at this piece of information though not entirely convinced, if she knew Seifer. "I'm sure all he had to say were slanderous things about me."

Ray frowned causing lines to form on his forehead. His dark face taking on very pained look. "What the hell did you jus' say? Man, I only know one language!"

Quistis sighed. "I meant, Seifer probably says nothing nice all those times he has mentioned me." she translated.

"Psshh! It's always bout your eyes or your mouth and stuff like that." He shuddered involuntarily. "Man... I think there's a draft somewhere 'cos I'm gettin' the chills. Must be that window I shot."

Feeling the cold wind herself Quistis checked her watch just as Ray began a search of duct tape. The handles told her it was thirty-six minutes past ten.

"Umm, Ray?" she said, side stepping a mousetrap with a piece of nibbled cheese still attached the coloured man had thrown in his quest to locate the tape.

"Yeah?"

"I'd better be heading off now. Exhausted from today and early start tomorrow..."

"Ha! Found it!" he triumphantly brandished the roll of tape in the air. "You're going? Oh right." He eyed the case containing the bullets with a degree of unease. "There's twenty-four in there. Watch them, ok? I don't want it goan in the wrong hands. They're kinda illegal."

Quistis smiled. "You have nothing to worry about." she assured.

"Hold on, let me get you a bag." Ray said, ducking underneath the worktop and handing over a black pull string bag. "There's thieves all over the place. They'd jump you if you had a shiny bottlecap."

Recalling the young thief earlier on this night, Quistis readily opened her mouth to relate the entire story when a yawn gave way indicating how tired she was. "Pardon me," she said, covering her mouth when another yawn followed.

"Pretty beat, huh?" Ray said, cracking a grin. "C'mon, I'll take you through the back way."

"Not through the pipes-" Quistis quickly said.

"Hell no," Ray laughed loudly. "Got no more windows to smash. Nah, we'll take the back stairs."

Relieved, Quistis followed him out to a back room it's walls plastered with posters of different weapons, shelves filled with catalogues and various texts. Magazines lay strewn across the bare wooden floor and on a sofa in an odd tidy fashion while a made-up bed stood on the far corner.

After seeing the chaos below and in the previous room, Quistis took the change in surroundings with great surprise. She always did believe men were messy animals but perhaps Ray's living quarters were a sign of things to come. Passing a boarded up window, she saw with no great deal of surprise a large poster pin up of a female brunette kneeling in a provocative position, one arm covering her torso and wearing very little else other than red underwear and a coy smile. At the bottom corner of the poster in bold letters set at a jaunty angle were the words: The Girl Next Door Special Edition.

"Irvine's," she commented absently to herself shaking her head.

"Huh? You say somethin'?" Ray spoke up.

"I take it the poster of the woman belongs to Irvine."

"Yea. That guy needs a real lay or better, a woman to keep him occupied. Half the time he's dreamin' 'bout women 'stead of helping me out. I don't think his brain can hold much else."

Quistis laughed. "But he's a fine marksman," she said.

Ray nodded in agreement. "Yea. His saving grace."

Having descended down the back stairs they now stood at the front door, Quistis clutching the bag with Seifer's gift and Ray looking sheepish, a look Quistis was familiar seeing on Zell Dincht's face.

"Well, I'm off." Quistis announced unnecessarily, reaching for the door handle to find there was none.

"Oh here, let me get that." The black man came forward to pull at the two deadbolts and two chains. "The door handle fell off ages ago. If you pass by the Loveless, tell that cowboy to get his ass back here or he'll be sleeping with the rats tonight."

Bathed in moonlight, Quistis' silhouetted form pooled behind her giving an illusion of a goddess; face half masked by darkness with her hair cascading freely down her back and clothes accentuating her figure.

Thanking him once more for his help only to have it waved away, Quistis smiled her gracious smile and turned on her heel to face Mirk alley, the backstreet a mixture of light where the moon shone and blackholes.

"I'll get in contact with you soon." Ray said, watching her hair swish in rhythm to her movement. He lingered by the door until nothing but the sound of her clicking heels against concrete could be heard, the sound echoing eerily amidst the stalkers of the night.

Turning his back on the alley, Ray shut the door with bolts and all. Expelling a long, slow breath he rested against the door for a while the smell of her still lingering in the hallway. Jasmine... "Seifer my man," he said to the empty shack. "You lucky bastard."

~ ~ ~

Back at the Loveless:

The bar when he entered was busy. He wasn't that all surprised, in fact Seifer was half expecting it to be. The other half always full of hope that he'd have choice of where he wanted to sit. Not tonight.

That didn't really matter in anycase. On his approach towards the bar itself he noticed a bar stool next to the familiar form of Irvine Kinneas to be vacant. The stools following that were occupied by men drinking greedily, their raucous laughter hurting his ears as well as his tired brain. All signs pointing towards drunkeness.

Tapping the former Galbadian student on the shoulder by way of greeting, Seifer seated himself and saw that Irvine was concentrating very hard on ignoring his noisy neighbours. "'Bout time," he muttered, downing half of his drink. None the less relief flooded his face. At least he had someone to share his pain with.

Ignoring the slight annoyance in the latter's voice, the tall blond man drummed gloved fingers on the bar counter. "Where'd Quistis go?" Seifer asked, signalling for the bartender.

"Over Ray's. Said she had some stuff to get. You done for the night?"

"Yeah," said Seifer. "I'll have what he's got." he told the bartender. "Yeah..." he repeated. "Finally caught the little brat. Man, all the running brought back memories of training."

"You're remembering stuff now?" Irvine perked at this. He found it disheartening when he realised none of his Orphanage friends remembered anything of their childhood; their times at the beach, the flower field, the food fights... To be the only one and not able to reminisce and share those memories with anyone... it hurt. He kept it in most of the time, locked away deep within not wanting to reveal those treasured times. Everything came tumbling out on their brief visit to Trabia Garden after the assault issued by the Galbadian army. The Garden was ruined but still salvageable. Now, with the restoration process in completion Trabia had their dignity back with the scars to show.

"Bits and pieces," Seifer conceded. "I don't have much time to sit and relive the past." He was in part lying when he said those words. Garden work was keeping him busy and he liked that. He wasn't a man to be idly twiddling his thumbs waiting for something to jump up at him. Boredom was a sworn enemy he found difficulty defeating, it came easily and took time to get rid of. Seifer wouldn't admit it out loud but he was grateful towards Squall for dragging him out of Fisherman's Horizon where he spent months after Ultimecia's defeat. Thankful... who would have thought it; to an archival to boot. What was the world coming to?

Besides his newfound busy life he was still growing accustomed to, Seifer had other reasons for not wanting to visit the past. Whilst people who led generally guilt-free lives gladly spoke of good times - Seifer wasn't one who could do so with ease, rather he did so with great unease and extreme reluctance.

Sighing into the mixer glass Seifer quickly downed the contents and grimaced. Bitter... exactly how he was beginning to feel.

"Hey Seifer you all right?"

"Yeah, feeling juuust peachy." came the heavy reply.

"Are you drunk?" Irvine inquired.

"Haven't even started."

"Uh, Seifer?"

"Yeah?"

"I think the guy behind you wants to sit back down."

"What do you mea-?"

"You're in my seat punk,"

Punk?

"I think I was here first," Seifer as a matter-of-factly, turning to confront whoever was trying to unseat him. What he received was a full punch to the face, the force of the action sending him crashing into the bottles of alcohol aligned on the wall behind the bar.

"Now gentlemen!" the bartender who was also the Loveless proprietor said panic stricken at all the good drinks gone to waste forming pools at his feet. "I don't want any trouble!" The evening was going so well... It looked very likely a new order of furniture was going to be needed.

The giant man growled deep in his throat baring sharp teeth. He brought a fist down on the bar top, scaring the bartender out of his wits. "Shut the hell up and get me a drink!" he barked, shoving one of his 'friends' seated directly next to him so as to prop his right leg there.

Nodding mutely, the balding bartender scurried out back to replace the ruined alcohol.

Taken aback at the act of violence that had just taken place, Irvine set his glass down. Then again, the guy was a hulking size, over exercised muscle straining against the clothing he wore. He didn't look the type who took confrontation too kindly. In fact Irvine was certain this guy was used getting his own way. You just didn't argue with a guy so huge.

Tilting his hat up, Irvine peered cautiously over the bar to see how his fallen was faring, emitting a yelp of surprise when a hand fisted itself around the front of his shirt jerking him forward so that he was almost touching noses with Seifer. Irvine noted the development of a bump where a bottle or a glass had landed on the corner of Seifer's forehead. Small shards of glass stuck to Seifer's hair, the ends slowly dripping with spilt alcohol.

"And why didn't you tell me the seat was already taken by that titan, Irvine?" Seifer hissed into his face.

The sharpshooter held up both hands in defence. "Hey, hey. Take it easy, I'm like on your side." Seifer smelt strongly of the cocktail of alcohol that had showered down onto his hair, coat and trousers, the stench reaching Irvine's nostrils and inducing him to heave. He tried to pull away.

"I didn't see you doing much!" The blond man accused through clenched teeth, the fist mark on his left cheek taking on a bright red glow. There was going to be a bruise.

"He's bigger than I am," Irvine protested.

Releasing his hold on the cowboy's shirt, Seifer muttered a string of oaths before setting his hands on a bottle of Sylkis that had remained in tact after the collision.

"You're not going to-"

"You bet I am,"

Pushing himself to a crouching position, Seifer listened carefully and waited patiently - sensing the return of the bartender, given away by the crunch of glass.

Spotting the full bottle held in his gloved hand, the bartender's eyes widened at the realisation of Seifer's intent; the shout of the rowdy customer demanding his drink prevented him from saying any words of discouragement as he grabbed a tankard from under the bar and filled it with beer.

Sliding over the counter and back down to his seat, the cowboy straightened his rumpled shirt and observed from the corner of his deep set blue eye, Titan's budding friends surrounding him, small in comparison, their pint glasses raised and cheering the success of Seifer's swift disposal with gloating expressions.

"Heheheh. Good one on that scarface, Steiner! You showed him!" Someone praised.

From behind the counter Seifer felt himself bristle. I'll show you scarface…

"No one messes with you, eh?" Another said loudly.

A deep guzzling noise comparable to that of the sounds made by pigs during feeding time consequently followed as the titan swallowed the amber liquid greedily. Wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand, the man called Steiner let loose with an almighty large belch which seemed to go on forever, reaching out to all corners of the bar eliciting a mixture of disgust and admiration from other drinkers.

It was fair to say that prior to the short-lived incident involving Seifer, the other patrons of the bar now took considerable interest of the scene at the bar. "Gimme another one!" The order came out in a harsh resounding boom, the metal tankard crashing down on the wood with a loud clatter.

"Y-Yes Sir! Right away!"

Mumbling incoherent words Steiner's bulky form sagged

The perfect opportunity in view, Seifer revealed himself. "Why don't you try something a little stronger!!" He suggested.

"Huuuh?"

Without giving Steiner time to gauge the weight of his words Seifer attacked, lifting the bottle of Sylkis and bringing it down hard making contact with the oaf's skull. In the background he was vaguely aware of the bartender whimpering at the inevitable and Irvine muttering "you're doomed".

Instead of knocking the giant out like Seifer expected, the glass bottle shattered sending glass flying and old century alcohol to rain down.

Toppling over his stool from the assault, Steiner landed on the unpolished wooden with a thud Irvine felt as he was sure everyone else did. Rubbing at the spot where the bottle connected moments ago, Steiner staggered to his feet with the help from two of his comrades. With slightly unfocused eyes he pointed a thick finger to where the blond man stood completely flabbergasted.

This guy isn't human, Seifer thought in amazement. That, or he has a skull made of metal.

"Wrong move Scarface," he snarled. "Lesson number one, don't start something you're gonna lose."

Quickly scanning the bar for routes of exit Seifer began to edge his way to the end of the bar unoccupied by Steiner's goons.

"Hey! He's that ex-sorceress' knight!" a voice from the audience shouted.

"Yeah, that's him!!" Murmurs rippled throughout, deafening to Seifer's ears.

Great... Seifer muttered. More people entering the fray making the situation more volatile.

Fully regaining control of his bearings, Steiner followed Seifer's movements with black unblinking eyes. "Where are you running to, witch's knight?" He taunted. "Dirk Steiner's not finished with you yet."

So that was what the moron's name was. A befitting name for such a clueless hulk of a man. If only he knew of Seifer's true capabilities and what lay hidden beneath the cloak of his grey trench coat... Seifer was known to be merciless and unrelenting in battle. Those who fought him and escaped alive feared him, students at Balamb Garden who remembered his legacy of years past dared not tread in his path and a temper when risen to the extreme caused his fellow colleagues and friends to seek shelter. Veritably a man not to be trifled with - a lesson Dirk Steiner was soon to learn.

Reaching the end of the bar levered himself onto the counter his eyes never leaving their post.

"Here, have a drink on me!" Steiner jeered, grabbing two pint glasses and launching them at the blond man. The first went wide and missed him entirely sailing through a window with a crash. The second he wasn't so lucky on, not ducking quick enough so that it connected with the side of his head.

Howling at the pain, Seifer clutched at his head feeling blood penetrating the black, leather material.

"Shit," he cursed. Get up, Almasy, dammit!

Taking a large gamble Seifer roll dived from his shelter, scrambling under a table as a chair flew across the air followed by a barrage of beer bottles.

"No use hiding! Let Dirk give you a fresh new scar..." The large man said, laughing at his own jibe.

"No thanks, I don't like pain." Seifer said, blood trickled down the left of his face and gathered at his chin. His gloved hand snaked over the table's edge fingers coming into contact with something smooth and heavy by the feel of it. A glass ashtray. "Plus I don't fancy ending up looking like you."

Keeping himself in a stooped position, Seifer bolted from beneath the table to stop behind a wooden pillar.

The pillar was one of several in the Loveless, their purpose, to support the ageing foundations of the establishment entirely made of wood. You could tell just by looking around the joint this was a place that had withstood many fight scenes and scuffles as well as Time itself. One of the oldest places in Deling City in fact.

Seifer felt bad in a way. He liked this place and always did come here when he was in the vicinity. He didn't want to be held responsible for adding another notch or rather disfiguring mark to the bar's deep-rooted history. And here he was playing his part in its destruction while Irvine remained seated at the watching the action. Tossing a curse in Irvine's direction, Seifer sneaked at look to see what his friend the titan was up to.

Contrary to Seifer's belief, Irvine was making himself useful. The reason for his apparent uncooperativeness was because Steiner's friends, like him, were watching and waiting. Watching to see how things played out and waiting for the time when their assistance would be needed. Not that Dirk Steiner needed help in crushing the blond man to pulp with the use of just one hand, none the less the five of them were a posse. Posse members stuck together. While Irvine was fully aware of their presence it seemed the team of four partially intoxicated men had forgotten about him. The alcohol consumed by them was not enough to dub them 'drunk'; tipsy perhaps although such a description did not suit the foursome who appeared to have the looks of men experienced in bar brawls. That, or battles with monsters. However the beers did account for their elevated moods - and not the type Selphie was renowned for. The four amigos got unsteadily to their feet, using each other for support. Reading their thoughts Irvine stood to block their path.

"Now boys, let's not be doing something stupid." Irvine advised with a shake of head when Steiner's group made a move to follow their leader. He lifted his tan duster enough to reveal the sleek, shiny body of his Exeter. "Five against one is hardly fair now is it? Plus I got a mighty itchy trigger finger tonight, you don't want me t'go using it do you?"

"Get the fuck out of the way you freakin' pansy!" The tallest of the lot snarled.

His comrades chortled at the insult. Unfazed, Irvine held his ground. "Y'all making a big mistake." He told then.

"Did you hear that?!" The man with a beer gut hooted. He nudged the one beside him, a nose broken in two places his most distinguishing feature.

The last of the four, also the shortest chewed on the toothpick stuck between his lips, the corner of it rising to form a baleful smile. When he spoke he did so with an accent Irvine was not familiar to hearing. "You trying to scare us with your bullshit, gaucho?"

Irvine sighed and shrugged. Well... he did warn them.

A table. Dirk Steiner held one of the large circular tables with both hands leaving two men tableless. There was no doubt on what he intended to use the table for. Seifer was extremely aware of this and began to mutter continuously under his breath as he planned his next course of action.

"Shit, shit, shit...." he said repeatedly like calming mantra when all it did was increase the pace of his heartbeat and incite the formation of sweat on his brow.

Already the blood from the blow with the pint glass had congealed a trail of black starting from the gash around his temple and stopping at his chin. Seifer felt the stiffness against his skin and went to rub at the discomfort only to find that the blood on his gloves had stiffened too.

"Scarface," the name came out in a badly out of tune singsong lilt.

Seifer winced at the poor performance and at the name itself. I really hate that name. Lapdog, traitor, Sorceress' knight… he could handle those labels people branded him with. He was all that and a lot more besides that. Inside, the demons still raged and it would take added time for it to subside, until the day came for that to happen Seifer preferred that his disfiguring scar be left out the equation. Disfiguring in the sense that it was right there - unavoidable no matter which angle you viewed his face from - in spite of it the scar did something for him. In an odd way it highlighted his rakish good looks but he still loathed it.

"Boo!" Dirk Steiner's form loomed suddenly from the other side of the pillar, startling Seifer.

He looked up just in time to see the table come crashing down.

Momentarily distracted from where he had just batted Lanky with the butt of Exeter, Irvine looked up at the sound of crashing. An instant error when he returned his attention back to the fight he was engaged in. The last thing he saw was the cocking of fist and then… darkness.

"Who gave you that pretty little mark, Scarface?"

"Call me that one more time..." Seifer threatened in low dangerous tones.

"Ooooh, a threat?" Dirk squeaked in a grotesque imitation of a woman's voice. He flexed his large hands. "What'cha gonna do about it?"

"You wanna know?" His emerald eyes narrowed into cold thin slits. "You really wanna know?"

"Yeah," the reply was bordering cocky.

"How abouts I slice that gut of yours?" Seifer suggested, meaning every word he said. Against his leg he felt Hyperion stir, his right hand itching to whip it out and end things here and now. "Slice you right through with my gunblade and twist it when it's stuck in there, for good measure. Trail you around the streets with your blood painting the city red, then hack your limbs and feed it along with your entrails to my pet dog?"

Unwavered by his graphic depiction of his demise, Dirk cracked his knuckles. "Hah! A little pooch?!" Steiner laughed scornfully, clutching at his side when his laughter reached a hysterical pitch. "You're a joke!"

"You don't believe me?" said Seifer, his face completely serious. He indicated towards the front door. "Outside."