Hand of Ice Chapter 10

Envri Slir

By General Wyvern

The perfect opportunity had come, the halls were empty, and students were either in class or in their dorms. Irvine felt it a good time to go snooping. Since Squall was gone, the spy inside him felt the great push to see what was inside his room.

Since the lock was still out of order, the door had simply been barred off with red tape and plywood. There was no problem in getting that barrier down, so Irvine was able to get in.

It still surprised him that the room was clean. He had pictured Squall as more careless with objects. The first thing he felt like doing was going back to his desk to take out whatever drawing he had manifested over the years. In the mainstream of the cafeteria sideshow, they would have made great curiosity interest. Though he was stopped when he saw something tapped to the back of his shelves. It was a simple sign of lined paper that had, in big bold, red lettering, written on it: DEATH TO TEDDY BEARS.

“Whoa.” Irvine cringed. “This dude has serious issues.”

A stilling wind came in the room, as if some other presence was made known just behind him. Irvine stiffened up. Damn, I’m caught. “Hello, who is it?” He asked slowly, not really wanting to know the answer. He turned around slowly when no answer was given, nearly jumping straight through the ceiling once he saw whom it was.

Quistis gave him her greatest look of stern lecture, the kind he had been very good at getting over the last weak or so.

“You just can’t help but piss him off. Can you?” By ‘him’, he knew she was referring to Squall.

“Well, it’s like this.” He started rather shakily, what with not having any real alibi on hand. “I’ve never, like, been in here. So, I was, like, um…uh…” For consult, he turned quickly to the sign at the back of the shelves. Ripping it off the single band of tape. He gave it to Quistis.

“Check out what I found.”

She read the sheet out loud. “Death to teddy bears? Well, that explains that effigy he burned of Tinkly Winkly the Friendship Bear.”

Irvine snorted with hilarity at the name. Tinkly Winkly. I’d burn an effigy as well, what with a name like that.

Quistis continued to speak, her voice dressed in curiosity. “Why is it I haven’t noticed this sign when I was in here before? It couldn’t have been recent, I was just in here yesterday and he was hiding under the bed.”

“Oh,” cooed Irvine. “You’ve been in here before?” He cocked an eyebrow in amusement.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t get into that.”

“Then tell me why you’re here, Miss Ultimate Authority.”

“Because I knew you’d be here. You couldn’t keep you hands off Seifer’s belongings, why would you stop at Squall?”

“…Because Seifer won’t hang me if I mess with his boxers?”

“No, he’d probably boil you in oil.” She scolded, putting her hands on her hips crossly. “Why is it you cringed when you had to shoot Matron, but you can’t help but piss off the biggest, most terrifying individuals this Garden has to offer?”

Irvine was about to answer that question when he realized something in what she said. “How did you know about the Sorceress-Sniping mission?”

“Rinoa told me.”

“So how many people know about that besides you, me, Rinoa, and Squall?”

“About the entire Garden. Once Zell opened his mouth, there wasn’t a soul in this place that didn’t hear it.”

Irvine sighed heavily. “Terrific, I’m a laughing stock of the entire organization.”

“Be fortunate that story died down by Thursday. Now, you’re just a Galbadian student who can speak Alcauldian.

Irvine sighed again, this time in relief. “Thank God, at least I won’t have to worry about getting beat up.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She took hold of Irvine’s hand, and then proceeded to drag him out of the room. “I’m going to show Dr. Kadowaki this sheet. In the meantime, you should stay out of the frying pan. Lest you wake up one morning on the rack.”


“I’m here to see Squall Leonhart.” Seifer spoke as calmly as he could. Inside, he was shaking with anxiety. He couldn’t wait to shove reality in his rival’s face.

The nurse at the reception desk looked as if she hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours. “Just a second, let me check the patients records.”

Seifer gave a silent curse in Alcauldian as the nurse reached under the desk to pull out a large book of records.

Just behind him, Raijin stood, staring blankly at the abstract mural by the reception desk. Seifer had insisted he come along, providing witness to the glorious moment.

Beyond the reception desk, just down the hall to the left, several doctors and nurses with patients were moving about to which destination and what. One of the nurses wheeled Squall down the hall towards the recreation room, where he was expected, or at least told, to interact. As was common for patients out of their ‘room’ he wore a light green robe. He didn’t feel up to seeing anyone, he just felt so under the weather. The withdrawal effects of the drugs he could not take were getting up to him. He was feeling cold, jittery, nauseous, ravenous, lightheaded, nearly numb in his right arm, with a side of headaches that he was sure was making it hard to hear close sounds. On top of that, Cloak hailed a burden that seamed to put the extra power to gravity, even though the electric shocks he was given seamed to shut her up.

The bright lights of the hallway hurt his eyes. He held up a hand above them for shade. Beyond moving his arm, he had pretty much not moved the entire day. He was just too tired all in all.

Another nurse came up to the one who was pushing his wheel chair. She explained an emergency with another patient, it seamed that the woman was one of the few nurses they trusted with that kind of problem, and they needed her, but the woman wasn’t up to leaving Squall unsupervised.

From out of one of the corridors came a younger nurse.

“Excuse me,” started the older nurse, “Nora, can you give me a hand here?” Unintentionally, she left Squall alone, although, he didn’t realize she had even spoken.

The nurse, known a Nora looked at the older woman as if she had interrupted something important.

“Sorry about that,” apologized the older nurse, “but something has come up. So, could you look after Squall over there for me.” She pointed behind her towards the patient, who was still shielding his eyes from the glare of the light.

“Eww,” started the younger nurse. “I can’t look after him, he’s crazy.”

“Everyone in this hospital is crazy. That’s why it’s called a ‘mental institute’.”

“No kidding.” Nora sarcastically remarked.

The older nurse was not amused. “You’ll like him, he’s cute once you get past the blood shot eyes, the pasty complexion and the bed head.”

Nora looked over the other nurse’s shoulder to see the patient herself. To see what they were up to himself, Squall had turned around, completely deaf to the cries of his body; begging him to reconsider. Nora cringed when she saw his flushed, gaped mouth stare. She turned immediately back to the older nurse.

“No freakn’ way I’m looking after him!” She replied with obvious disgust.

While the two nurses were busy arguing the point, they did not notice that Squall had collapsed in front of his wheal chair. He had tried to get away, but his body had finally stopped persuading him, and acted on it’s own terms by ordering his legs to give out. He didn’t like being woken up for breakfast, and he wasn’t at all interested in meeting anyone. Like it had before, his curiosity enjoyed independence, so he decided to go off on his own. Now, he just had to worry about getting somewhere.

He managed to collect all will and strength, crawling towards the edge of the wall. Sitting up against it, his head began to whirl with its sudden elevation.

Oh God. I think I’m goinna puke. Then, I think I’m goinna puke again. But, of coarse, he hadn’t eaten anything since four hours ago, and that wasn’t a lot.

A couple other nurses walked by, but they paid no attention to the ailing patient, nor did he notice them.

Working up the gusto, he managed, although with some difficulty, to get himself to stand up using the wall as a brace. His head responded with a heavy spell of dizziness that nearly toppled him over again, and was making it rather hard to keep the drool from running out the sides of his mouth. Squall managed to walk only by keeping his hands on the peeling blue wall. As the corner leading to the main lobby came around, he found that it wasn’t as easy as it looked to get past that corner. He simply ended up collapsing to his knees. With a desperate resort to see what was before him, he lifted his head up, his neck making unhealthy snaps. The images before him were unnaturally sharp. He made out with eagle precision the door that led out of the entire hospital, the small waiting room, the edge of the reception desk, and beside it, Seifer and Raijin.

“How long is it goinna take, ya know?” Complained Raijin.

Seifer snapped at him with impatience. “I told you! I don’t know?”

“Geesh, I’m just trying to make conversation ya know.” Seifer continued to stare absently at the chairs in the lobby, while Raijin chose to stare at the hall that went into the hospital. He looked with silent shock as he saw Squall hobble down the hall, clothed in the standard cotton slacks and shirt of the patient, as well as a robe that swayed ungracefully behind him as he limped along. He was in no way pretty, nor friendly looking, and the drool did nothing to contradict so.

It was mainly the extra jitters, and the adrenaline that Seifer’s presence gave him that got Squall on his feet and walking. The sole desire of bloody murder gave him his destination.

Raijin stuttered at seeing him. “Uh, Seifer…”

“I just don’t get it,” he interrupted, “how long does it take to find out where the hell a patient is in this god forsaken crap shack?”

“Seifer…” this time he pointed towards the approaching psycho.

In a gesture that meant he did not want to hear anything, Seifer’s hand came up to silence him. “I told you Raijin, I don’t know what the hell that painting is supposed to be!”

“But Seifer…”

Squall had only managed to get halfway down the hall to the reception area, before he was grabbed by a doctor, and three male nurses. Raijin continued to look on as the four medical employees tried to calm him down.

The receptionist had come back. Relieved that his wait was over, Seifer turned around gratefully from staring at the chairs. Raijin continued to gawk at the brawl down the hall. Thus far, they were now trying to sedate him by syringe.

“I’m sorry,” she started, probably not nearly as sympathetic as she sounded. “But that patient has personally requested he not have any visitors.”

Seifer gave a witty retort to the nurse. “He’s requested no visitors before he was put in this place!”

“He was also advised not to have any visitors by the Headmaster of Balamb Garden, and Dr. Karrion.”

“Dr. Karrion?” He started curiously. “Is he that bad?”

From down the hall, Squall had managed to squirm out of the arms of his captors, only to have them catch him as soon as he was loose.

The nurse responded to Seifer’s question. “I’m sorry, but we aren’t allowed to divulge specific information about a patient without a doctor’s consent.”

As one of the nurses tried to stab him with the needle, Squall snapped at his ear. When another nurse put his hand over his mouth, he flung his hand at the syringe, knocking it out of the grip of that nurse. While the guy bent to retrieve it, he bit the hand that was holding his mouth; then kicked the kneeling guy in the ribs.

“Well then,” continued Seifer. “Is it possible to talk to this Dr. Karrion?”

The doctor grabbed the syringe off the floor, but not before Squall spat on him. The nurse he kicked got up and tackled him, as well as having the other two grab his arms and legs.

“No.” The nurse bluntly answered. “Unless you are an immediate family member and/or a student or staff member of Balamb Garden.”

The doctor took hold of Squall’s restrained arm, ready to give him the injection. In a last resort attempt, Squall started to kick with all decent might he got from the remaining java in his veins. The nurse holding his ankles let go in surprise. Thus, Squall was free to kick at the doctor.

“Would a drop-out count?” Asked Seifer, regretting his choice of words right away.

In a ditch effort to help the other grab his flailing legs, the nurse that was holding his left arm had let go momentarily, only to have Squall grab hold of the wrist of the other nurse holding his other arm. He bit down on his wrist as hard as he could. The doctor, and the nurse who had realized his mistake, scrambled to get the other nurse free of the bite, but Squall had locked his jaws on him good. The third nurse decided to forget his legs, and just grabbed him by the waist.

The receptionist gave Seifer a sarcastic look. “No.”

Two other doctors had joined in to help, one of them pressed Squall’s ankles firmly on the cold, tile floor, while the other assisted by keeping the patient’s head still.

“So there is no way you will let me see the patient in question.” Concluded Seifer.

With all his limbs immobile, Squall resorted to spitting. It didn’t stop the doctor one bit.

The receptionist was straightforward. “No chance in hell.”

Worn out, Squall finally submitted to the three doctors and nurses. When put under, the nurses finally dragged him away, out of Raijin’s sight.

Disappointed, Seifer turned towards the door while motioning for Raijin to fallow. “Raijin frythna id. Elgra unir grahir’ig rüknari vir sthatfa.” [C’mon Raijin. This kobald ain’t letting us through.] His lackey fallowed obediently.

A sharp crunch emanated from under Seifer’s boot. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a cricket.

That can’t be good for the health inspection.

He wiped his boot off on the tile, then walked out like nothing happened. It was true that he was disappointed. But for him, a person who viewed all of life as a game, it was just a matter of more scheming.

Raijin turned to Seifer as they walked down the stone steps to their scooters. “You missed a good show, ya know.”

“Was their something good on that TV in the waiting room?” Asked Seifer, somewhat interested in what he had to say. “If you can call that a waiting room.”


A nine-year-old junior classman sat patiently on a chair in the infirmary while Dr. Kadowaki tried to get a carrot out of his nose with pliers.

The vegetable gave way as the doctor pulled it out, covered in snot.

“There we go.” Started Dr. K. “A nasty bugger it was, aye yah. Now think carefully before you put something else in your nose, Slake, or you’ll end up like Jerrik. Isn’t that right Jerrik?” She looked over her shoulder to an older candidate who was waiting to get the pickle he shoved up his nose three years ago checked again.

“Da’z righ’ doc.” Answered Jerrik, his voice highly nazal-ized due to the pickle.

Slake gave a slight wince. “Okay Dr. Kadowaki.” He got off the chair meaning every word he said, then walked out of the door.

No sooner had Slake left, then Quistis and Irvine came in. She was still holding onto Irvine’s wrist, and the threatening sign.

The doctor looked up with surprise. “Already? I be thinking that Irvine would have a better chance now that Squall is on hiatus.”

“Hardly.” Quistis croaked. “I caught him rummaging through his stuff, and I found this.” She shoved the sign in the doctor’s face just as Irvine had done to her.

“Excuse me?” Irvine started with annoyance. “Who found the sign?”

Dr. Kadowaki took the sign and read it quietly. “What are you getting at Quistis?” She asked, lowering the sheet to look at her. “This sign could have just as easily been put up after Squall was taken away.”

“Not likely!” She defended. “I had to grade his essays for a year, and I can defiantly tell you this is his handwriting! Plus, he spelled ‘death’ wrong!”

“Don’t yell! I believe you. As far as I know, he has the worst handwriting in Garden, and this fits the bill. Also, at the same time, it makes sense of why he would burn that effigy of Tinkly Winkly.”

Irvine gave his two cents to the conversation. “Damn! Is this place, like, a fish bowl or what?”

“Excuse me.” Quipped a forgotten Jerrik. “Bud I tough’ I wuz negzd?!”

Quistis gave him and angry look. “Oh, go snort an onion ring.”

“Ya’know,” started Irvine with a vague hint of nostalgia. “This kind of reminds me of this one kid in Galbadia Garden a few years back. His name was Tergo, and was a bit of a pansy.”

Quistis became a bit impatient. “Get to the point.”

“He was a teacher’s pet, but not at all popular. Then one day he almost killed another student with a razor, and claimed he was only doing what his pet frog told him to do.”

“You sure it wasn’t a big fish story?”

Irvine let out a sarcastic laugh. “You don’t attempt murder and blame it on an amphibian. That’s crazy talk. And that’s pretty much what we thought it was…crazy talk. So we dumped him in the same hospital we dumped Squall in and never saw him again.”

“I think I know where you’re getting at.” Stated Quistis, “only this time there was a murder and no animals were blamed. So, in a way, what you said makes no sense.”

“Not really. July said he was screaming about how it was all, like, ‘Cloak’s’ fault n’ stuff.”

“When did she hear that?”

“When they took him to the hospital. He did all the classic moves. Y’know, like they do on the TV, kick and scream and that kind of stuff. He was, like, spilling his guts out to these people.” His smile started to get wider with excitement. “I found it, like, ironic that he wouldn’t open his mouth when in front of several armed soldiers, or, possibly, the cops, but July said he just started to scream testimony as if the Devil Himself was taking him to Hell.” His ecstatic smile eased a bit as he came to sardonic realization. “So I guess this place is a fish bowl.”

“And I’m guessing that the loss of Zell hasn’t helped shut mouths either.” Added Quistis.

“Cin I say somin’ ‘ere?!” Jerrik shouted, anxious to get noticed.

“Well, wadd’ve we got here?” Irvine began with courtesy. “A cucumber up the nose?”

“Pickle.” The candidate answered.

“Well then! Let me show you how we get rid of those things in Galbadia!” Irvine raised his hand and hit the back of Jerrik’s head with considerable force. The pickle flew out with no damage done.

“S’bout time.” Observed Dr, Kadowaki. “I was close to surgically removing that thing several times.”

“Pickles are easy.” Irvine concluded. “Being, like, slimy, they slide easy. So you just give them a bit of a push. Now peanuts are another matter altogether…”


So, maybe he had been quite foolish to resist. It wasn’t as if Squall wanted their business. On the bright side, they had put him back in his cell. Now he felt as if he could just sleep all day, unless they came down to give him more electric shocks. He could have sworn that the volts they used were as bad, if not, worse then the volts they had used on him in the D-District. He would have loved to be there instead of that hospital; at least they didn’t care if he died. Thinking of which, he wondered if the hospital cared if he lived.

It didn’t matter as much as it should have. Pressing questions gave way to poor impressions of his immediate surroundings, and he felt so much like biting something.

Even though his sight had been drastically sharpened from a withdrawal effect, his lightheadedness did no good for recognizing simple objects. A movement started in front of Squall’s face, and he was very tempted to bite. Swiftly and deftly, he bit into the object, noting how his headache seamed to ease the harder he bit down.

Something warm and a bit bitter flowed past his teeth. He bit harder, as the warmth was soothing to him.

Too engrossed in his present endeavor, he did not see, nor hear the door to his cell open, letting in five nurses: two female and three male. The male nurses grabbed hold of Squall while the women looked over what he had done. One of them held up his right hand. It was bleeding black synthetic blood, where he had bitten it.

Not one member of the hospital board knew that he was living mostly off of synthetic blood. They didn’t even know such concoction existed. It was apparent to them that they would have to tell Dr. Karrion about it. But first, they would have to tie Squall down.

As was standard, every bed in the hospital had nylon straps. Without taking another look at the bite wound, they tied his wrists to the bed. Squall continued to struggle in blind surprise, but calmed down as soon as the nurses left. He noticed clearly that he could not move his hands very far due to the restraints. Not that it mattered much, he was still drowsy and highly nauseous, not the best way to remain awake. He fell asleep instantly.

Maybe it was the sudden serenity, maybe it was from his recent, intense lapse of reason, but Cloak had finally gained her foothold again. She wanted to talk to her host, and she loved to do so when he was asleep. The subconscious rendering of his and her words were jumbled and highly vague. It confused Squall, and she loved to do just that to him. Whether he wanted it or not, his life of isolation, social ineptitude, and broken, naïve visions of life had made him a scheming, intolerable liar, everything that Cloak was. One thing she wanted was for Squall to realize the same.

First to be seen, Squall was lying on his back in the middle of a marble dome, supported by carved marble pillars. The sky outside was that of noontime, full of wispy clouds. A face appeared above his own, looking down with a small smile. It was himself.

His projected self muttered something audible, but undecipherable, though it was clear what was said meant ‘wake up’. As soon as the projection had ducked out of his sight, the clouds started to move like water. The sun fallowed, slipping into afternoon, evening, dusk, night, dawn, morning, then noon again. The cycle continued another four times before it stopped to it’s regular pace, back at noon.

Squall got up. Something seamed off with how he arose. Looking out from the veranda, he looked longingly at a wild garden surrounded by large, rocky hills. In the middle of the tangle of ferns, reeds, and saplings was a pond. Clear, clean, and overgrown with weeds.

It was too bad that something was holding him back, or he would have gone straight to the pond to see what fish lived in there.

A soft hissing issued from his three throats, as well as seven thin, long tongues that squirmed out of his mouth. He raised his hands to look at his thin black fingers, each one tipped with a claw like a carving knife. He had become Cloak, and he loved it.

The stoic barricade that kept him away from the garden collapsed in its unseen dust, he moved away from the veranda with overindulged confidence. Stuttering a scratchy laugh, he sleuthed over the dense green overgrowth, his larynx driving though the plant life like a field mouse with dentacles. The water before him, though clean and still, disgusted him. Extending two of his tongues, he lapped the water gingerly, then spat it out.

Ferociously, he screeched, thinking of how he was stupid enough to touch such an alien substance. In his sudden spite, Squall raised Cloak’s hand, clawing the water mercilessly as if it would show pain.

Besides the plant life, there was nothing else alive below the surface. He looked outwards with Cloak’s hallow eyes, his vision the same as it had always been. Towards the back of the pond, the weeds had grown high and thick. No sooner had he looked at these overgrown weeds, then he was among them, but not as Cloak, he was back to his former shape, and he hated it.

He treaded the water silently as he preyed he would not be seen among the weeds. At the shore of the pond, Cloak wavered her dark coat like she was shaking something off. Her larynx dipped itself in the water. She began to sing:
Envri slir gulþring il starté nord;
Rax kirsvin noldra hònté.
Bròtti nisnir vjasdin od na throt,
Ungar südé lakir volé.

Fjor inkraþ ak snæd fra kroll jalli;
Il engrig mirla lesdonsva.
Skrat iltar ak rir gonsri tnaþkri,
Hakla kòrfir òla ykra?

Marng hæla müra snevrakir;
Næmà vetji an grovin.
Imüra dasvri ak mor griþimanir,
Imüra ydrin lone kraspin.

Rik’n grarr skimor, aksadri unka ygga,
Dridati müra finnex.
Darn helexsénæ bijen nira,
Rik’n taska undirskid.

All blind except the deaf wood board;
Stuffed within a corner.
Covered in rot and cobwebs,
‘Till some brat singes them off.

Now time is dead and so is now;
And the past is weak with regret.
What place is left to escape too,
That doesn’t hunger for heads?

Far from your home;
Naked and left to die.
Your spine is as soft as cheese,
Your heart molding from within.

I’ll be there for you, stationed at the bellows,
Stoking your fire.
If anyone gets too you,
I’ll give you their wrists.

She arched her head closer to the water, stepping completely into the pond. The flowing cloak of her body did not float like ordinary fabric, but sank along with her larynx and arms. Only her head remained above the water as she dog-paddled her way forward. Her head turned, and she was looking directly at Squall. He could see right into the glowing ember funnels of her eyes as she slowly swam towards him, her face aimed of a predator about to catch its meal.

The weeds rattled needlessly as he began to swim away as fast as he could. Cloak not only heard the weeds moving, but also saw them sway, she called out to him.


The shout rattled through his back and rippled the water he wasn’t treading. He had never been a good swimmer, and he had never deemed to want to be one, there was no reason why he should have been a better swimmer in his dreams. His pace through the water was slow and sloppy.

Something bit into his shoulder, and he was pulled down. He called out, hoping someone would come. Anyone would do. But he was already under the water. Cloak had caught him.


He did not realize how long he had been awake. He didn’t even remember when he started to realize his surroundings. When he did get that chance, he noticed right away that he wasn’t in his cell. He was in a lower level recovery ward from the looks of it. He had been brought down, probably still asleep, and tied to a gurney.

His head was slightly elevated, so, if he was able to see more of what was around him, he could, though it was hard to keep his eyes open. It sort of felt like he had just come out of a drugged sleep, as if he had just gone through surgery.

Please don’t let it be a lobotomy…

“Heeeello Appalling Pace!” He heard Cloak greet.

I didn’t just get a lobotomy, did I?

“If you did, you wouldn’t be hearing me. Now would you?”

Would I?

“Hey! I’m asking you!”

Well, that answered that. Squall tried his hardest to get his eyes open long enough to see what was happening. He was covered to the shoulders with a wool blanket. That much he saw and felt. He strained to see beyond. There were other beds, many of them empty. Only one other was occupied, and he couldn’t tell if the patient was man or woman.

Someone stepped up beside him and took hold of his wrist, just as Squall felt a monstrous headache come on.

Damnitt. Gotta bite something. Gotta bite something…

He opened his mouth and started snapping at random, hoping that something would just come to him. As luck would have it, he bit into something with a cling and the feel of metal and cork on his teeth.

“You know,” Cloak began, “you’re biting a metal ruler.”

Not now! Squall thought sternly. Must keep mind on…what did you say I bit into?

The nurse waited a few seconds beside Squall to make sure he had the ruler firmly in his mouth, then left. She had heard the story that he had a vicious bite, and had brought down the firmest piece of metal she could find just in case he had the urge to snap at something. It was this development that led Dr. Karrion to order him to be tied down from there on in. The news about his black blood was a more disturbing issue. They were there to treat the ailments of the mind, but discoloured blood fell under a physical ailment.

They had the boy brought down while he was asleep, tied him down to a gurney, and took one hefty blood sample. He had been drugged with standard anesthetic to be sure he didn’t wake up and start nipping at them. The blood was tested, and, sure enough, they found no signs of any cell activity. At that point, he was labeled a mutation, and the paper work to have him shipped to Galbadian Intelligence for further testing had begun. The nurse had merely come down to make sure that Squall did not die on them.

In the other occupied bed, the patient looked on with silent curiosity. The nurse noticed him staring at them.

“Tergo,” She began sternly, “there is nothing here you have to see.”

Tergo didn’t like being snapped at like that, but he looked away from them anyway, hoping he wouldn’t get lectured again.


Huge mobs of alien sympathizers and repentance hacks had joined outside of the New Coroner High School, holding a rally on how the aliens were going to change their lives.

Unfortunately for Seifer and Raijin, the high school was on their way to the boarding house, and the streets were pretty clogged.

The head of the union shouted out his cliché slogans of extraterrestrial peace and prosperity. The rest of the rally swallowed his words up with obscene gusto.

“Hyne has seen the folly of our ways!” He began, speaking into a microphone. “She has sent to us a more superior race to show us the way!” The crowed roared cheers of approval, waving their signs of ‘We welcome you’, and ‘peace on all worlds’, each one with a little trademark green alien head with huge beady eyes, or a cartoon U.F.O.

Seifer had to snort at their policy. “Oh, gag me plenty.” He spoke in Alcauldian.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Offered Raijin empathetically. “I’d rather have those aliens as our friends then our enemies, ya know.”

“Please! We can’t be sure that that thing in the sky is an alien ship, or something Esthar launched up there and forgot about. I tell you, this thing is one big pile of cow dippies!” He said his sentence in Galbadian on purpose, as he wanted people to hear him. It was a big mistake.

One of the alien sympathizers heard him. She turned around, angry at what she heard. As soon as she singled out who had spoken, she pointed at him. “Hey! That guy’s dissin’ the aliens!”

First to turn their heads were closest to the woman, then spread out towards the picnic table that served as a stage for the ringleader.

Raijin was quite nervous, what with having all those eyes on him at once, but Seifer didn’t waver a bit. It helped to crave that much attention at once.

“Yeah, you heard me ya desperate star gazing losers!” He spat. “What are you goinna do about it?”


Seifer and Raijin came through the door to Ms. Hodges’ boarding house all bruised and beat up, their clothes were torn in several places, as well as having dirt and blood smeared all over them.

“Okay,” began Seifer. “Lesson for the future: don’t taunt a mob of twelve thousand people.”

Raijin agreed. “I hear ya.”

The porch to the boarding house was dark, dusty, the striped wallpaper of gold and brown was peeling, and the green carpet was showing signs of extreme wear. A door was on the left wall that entered the den, which was just a couch and a TV that got as bad a reception as the one they had.

It was only about 1500 hours. Fujin would not be back for another hour. And, as usual, no one else would either, even that good-for-nothing Doug. There was really nothing to do but vedge the rest of the hour away in front of the bare piping under the sink and hope something busted.

Chapter 11

General Wyvern's Fanfiction