#v; parabellum

[youngrevolutionary]

@sharpxshootin​ says, “ everything’s cool. this place is not creepy at all. ”

Seifer promised Squall that he would not go chasing after demons he had no business fighting but once an idea is in his head, yet it’s near impossible to just let it go. The thought was quick to latch on inside his mind and begin consuming the better portion of his days, making it damn near impossible to concentrate on anything else.

On the third day, Seifer began to seek out a place of solitude -- somewhere quiet where he would be able to find out what he could about this ‘primordial guardian’ without prying eyes. The sub levels between the ground floor and the MD levels were his first choice considering there was virtually zero foot traffic and no other soul had any clue about them unless they were actively searching for them. A long-forgotten access, and at the end of a winding corridor of narrow passage ways and dark corners would be a small little nook, right beside a rusted door labeled ‘Compressor Room, Side B.’ 

And just next to the door, Irvine would find Seifer sitting on the ground along with the efforts of his fixation. Images, maps, data collected (or rather, stolen) from the third floor are all spread out in a half circle around. It’s fairly obvious what he’s after--

Seifer promised Squall -- but Seifer believed Squall needn’t fear the result of a hundred battles with this being so long as Seifer knows the enemy as well as he knows himself.

But he needed food, and a second pair of eyes. When the generators in the compressor room kick off, there’s a dense fog that looms in his ears, but Seifer hears Irvine’s voice just fine-- but he’s busy to look up. All he can muster as he searches in his bag for a book-- “Wuss,” before pulling it out -- a Centran book of mythical lore.

Yes, he’s reaching that deep with this.

“Pop a squat,” Seifer’s got a space already set up for Irvine, "How much you know about Centran lore?”

[hartofbalamb]

Entombed deep within the belly of this long-forgotten tomb did it lie dormant. Doomed eternal within the veil of an endless void somewhere between conscious thought and dreamless slumber. Civilizations, War, Pestilence, Famine, and Rebirth-- it all came and went but here, it remained. Drifting, endlessly awaiting a hapless fool to come bearing deliverance. Such luck! Who better an unwilling servant than one which travels the currents of time? This one, this Squall, this-- ( 'T͝e͞m͡p͞e͢s̢t...' )

⇚ 💠 ⇛  Sleep came easier these days, miraculously. Perhaps it was the drugs, or the sheer exhaustion of his body mending itself bit by bit, day by day, but the nights in which all visitors left, the door closed, lights dimmed, leaving him lulled into slumber by the whispers of machines tracking his vitals were a welcome respite; an excuse to just be… it was all anyone was asking of him these days. Please, Squall. Just be. 

  But something was different about this night — a night that came several weeks after the accident, when the wonders of science and medicine had mended him nearly to the point of release — just a few more tests to make sure. He’d been asleep only a few hours when a deep, low hum began to vibrate between his ears, filling his head like the depths of the ocean as he sank lower, lower into darkness, that hum a pressure on his subconscious, tickling at the recesses as if searching, nestling into place.

  Suddenly the pressure released, the low thrum vibrating at a frequency distorted yet so clear as to be startling by comparison, like breaking the surface of water and hearing the world above in startling clarity.

  ‘Tempest…’

  Squall shot upright in the hospital bed like metal string wound to snapping point, the sudden and frantic cacophony of alarms around him a distant annoyance, as was the persistent pain in his ribs as they protested the violent reaction. The world around him in that moment failed to exist save for the very real sensation that something had touched him. A touch that was inexplicable with no tactile explanation. It was not something he could feel on his skin, warm or cold. It was something he felt with his mind… creeping into places he’d forgotten, tugging at thoughts and feelings long abandoned like fingers picking over a woven tapestry searching for a loose thread by which to unravel it. 

  In that moment Squall couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had called his name. Squall couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. ⇚ 💠 ⇛

[sharpxshootin]

( @sunny-explosions​ continued from x )

  It was uncanny, not realizing how very impulsive he could be until he’d met her — well... reconnected, really. Even as they stood there part of his brain was mulling over just how many days he could get away wearing the same pair of underwear, turning them inside out, backwards, washing them in the sink. Then again it wasn’t as if life under Garden employment didn’t pay well enough to afford a new set of clothes. 

  Still, as tempting as the thought was, and as much as he never wanted those dainty fingers to uncurl from his jacket, he had an obligation to a certain blonde-haired friend who’d taken a sudden and intense interest in all things Centran. 

  “A few days lounging in a hotel in my underwear not having to worry a lick about work sounds mighty nice,” he admitted with a smile that bordered on apologetic in spite of the genuine enthusiasm of his words. 

  “But without you beside me the entire time, who knows what sort of trouble I might get into,” he chuckled, reaching up to trace a strand of hair out of her face before swiping his finger down the bridge of her nose affectionately. “Best I stay here where someone more responsible can keep an eye on me,” he winked, leaning down at her behest to return the tender kiss that always seemed far too short when leaving her company. The way he curled her in tight against his body in a hug that practically enveloped her with his entire being confirmed as much.

  “I’ll be here waitin’, first face you’ll see when you get back,” he spoke the promise into the crown of her hair. It wasn’t until the train chimed a third time for last boarding call that he let go and gently turned her around toward the locomotive, giving her a gentle spank on the rear to send her off. 

  “Be safe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

[sunny-explosions]

@sharpxshootin | Continued from X

She winced, knowing full well that if Squall was that livid already, it was probably even worse than the news was showing. “Can you blame him? Galbadia gets worldwide forgiveness for succumbing to the sorceress and making themselves into public enemy number one, then get handed a peace treaty, and instead of just signing it and backing off, they do this.” It was despicable, only reinforcing Selphie’s low opinion of them, and even though she, too, was upset, the emotion that had bubbled to the surface was fear.

If this was happening halfway across the world, who was to say their forces wouldn’t get cocky and go after others on their hit list - namely, the Gardens. If they wanted to cripple Balamb Garden’s forces, they knew some of the key SeeDs that were responsible for their defeat last time. If they wanted to take the Gardens by surprise and show they meant business...Trabia might be in trouble. It didn’t help that she was away from everyone else, but at the very least, Irvine’s worry mirrored her own for all of them, and she could only hope that they could all stay safe with this cloud of dangerous uncertainty hanging over their heads.

“I promise,” she said softly, turning to look out the window across the frozen tundra - a calm, peaceful scene that strikingly contrasts the madness that was unfolding in the background of the news broadcasts that had been playing almost nonstop for the past hour, and perhaps that was why it had stunned Trabia Garden into shocked silence once it had been turned on. “I was only going to go to town once before I came back, but now I might not even do that. Better safe than sorry, even if we’re protected here.”

Selphie paused, her certainty of their safety slowly waning as she sighed heavily, barely voicing the following, “...For now.”

[youngrevolutionary]

@sunny-explosions​  // “Do you feel anything?”        

“Should I?” What a concept-- sympathy. “I’m tired,” He answers, eyes falling back down to the data pad resting against a leg propped over his knee. Lazily flinging colorful birds at little green piglets pulled more reaction out of Seifer than yet another news story covering sightings that Galbadia was shifting their interests toward smaller settlements throughout Timber.

Why should Seifer feel anything for them? This was war -- a slow burning conflict that had been waged on far longer than either of them had been alive. Any media coming out of Timber was going to be overrun with emotional testimonies to go along with horrific images of the big scary army swarming on fishing villages and farmlands.

Been there, done that at this point. He looks down, flicking a red bird into a blockade of armored piggies before a flash of yellow on the broadcast catches his eyes-- the cameraman focused on refugees waiting for the train to arrive. The image zooms in on a little girl seated on a bench with what appeared to be a grandparent. She wears a little yellow coat to keep warm.

Could almost pass for Selphie.

“Wonder how many orphans’ll be made before their campaign is done. You ever try to find your parents, Tilmitt?”

[youngrevolutionary]

@dreamesweaver​ //  “Here, I’ll clean and bandage it. Alright? Will you let me?”     

"No, I will not!" He punctuates his words, his body tilting away so that she clearly understand that he does not want to be touched. Not when he's hurt. Hurting. Throbbing. Pain. Especially when he's hurting. In his palm, the gash continues to weep, but despite the mess, Seifer holds it close to his chest, guarded. The pinch in the iron door all but took out a sizeable chunk in the meaty part between his index and forefinger. Fingers present themselves with a tremor and glisten in red as they move. A traumatic injury, one that got his blood pumping when the door tried to close on him, but never mind that— how did Ellone know he was in here?

Blue-green eyes cast to the cold tile floors, and he sees a few droplets of blood. There's likely more out in the Infirmary hall— a worrisome thought considering they would lead out to the parking garage, particularly near the maintenance access hatch down into the MD levels….

And she would smell it on him, too. The stink of grease and oil. Steam and moisture hung in the air around him, his ordinarily clear skin having something of a dry shine to it.

The throb in Seifer's hand is starting to place emphasis on how deep that wound really is, so instead of kicking her out of the examining room and risk Kadowaki catching them both, he casts a sideways glance at her, cautious. "At least close the damn door if you're gonna be in here…" At least he can contain the spread of information by keeping his eye on Ellone. Making sure she doesn't tell anyone what she's seen.

The rolling chair he's seated in whines as he turns his attention back to his hand, carefully dipping it into the basin half-full with water. "Surprised you're still here. Figured you would've been whisked away back to Esthar, by now."

[youngrevolutionary]

@hartofbalamb​ | x

“Really?” He muttered, sliding his hand up over his forehead and into his hair, rolling onto his side. “This is the book you picked out?” It wasn’t really disappointment in his voice, honestly — the choice was very on brand for Seifer in an intimate sort of way, but he supposed if he was going to ask his partner to read something to help settle his mind picking something Seifer was familiar with was a smart choice.

 Besides, he’d never actually read all of the Sorceress Knight. If he was going to hear the tale from anyone he supposed he’d want it to be the man laying in bed next to him who’d built his entire destiny around the literary legend.

 Squall tucked an arm under his pillow, shifting himself until he could press his forehead against the side of the other’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut; a soft, simple gesture of affection like many that transpired between them.

Complete and utter deadpan, because Seifer is not putting up with this sass--

“Yes, this is the book I picked out. Is there a problem?” What other books would suffice, Squall? Seifer is just dying to know. Would he choose the prescription forms that came in a thick folded stack along with his pain medicine or a how-to-guide on How To Be a Bland Piece of Toast? That one is always the go-to around here, it seems. 

He shoves his pillow against the headboard and climbs into the bed, letting Squall get comfortable (even as he bears that very ‘done’ expression). “This is a literary masterpiece and you’re goddamn lucky that I’m even pulling this edition from my collection, it’s special...” And just how special it was would be made apparent when Seifer cracks open the book, carefully holding the gilded pages in place as he presents the front cover-- 

‘  To my darling, Rinoa, may you immerse yourself in the written word, remember to get out there and see the world, also. Fall in love. Let the wind blow free in your hair and become what you are destined to be. With everlasting love, Julia. ’ 

Turning the pages, he’s starting on the Prologue. “Satisfied?” 

[youngrevolutionary]

@hartofbalamb​ //

Nearly a year.

Seifer Almasy had been classified as 'missing' for nearly a year before apprehended— holed up with a resistance cell that had successfully coordinated three attacks on Galbadian-occupied bases located in the canyons running along on the border of Dollet Dukedom.

What intel the Galbadian military was willing to release was minimal, as expected. Lines of blacked out text, omitted statements, redactions... Public Relations had been quick about stopping the spread of misinformation once the threat had been contained. The public did not need to know who was behind these attacks— if these attacks even occurred in the first place. Galbadia's image was already shattered from the days they allowed this young revolutionary to commandeer their entire military force. To have him cut the legs out from beneath them after would have made them look out to be fools to the rest of the world twice over.

Still, an agreement was made and Seifer was spared the firing squad, once more. Either through divine intervention or negotiations, whatever agreement Balamb Garden had come to with Galbadia had been unclear to Seifer. He knew Squall could fix it. He had to fix it.

He had to.

Back in Balamb, with an impassive gaze and clasped hands shackled and resting in his lap, Seifer was seated in Squall's big fancy office, kicking his filthy boots up onto the coffee table in front of him, "Don't bother askin' who helped me escape. Waste of time. I acted alone."