13AN: Hey everyone! This is just a little plot bunny that I couldn't get to leave me alone. I have most of this story mapped out; all I have left to decide is how I want it to end. I can't see it being too long- probably about fifteen chapters. This is set 27 years post-game and it will not be centered around the characters from the game, though they will be present. And there will be adult Squinoa! Also, I think it will end up being pretty light. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought. I promise to update stat- the next chapter is just about done!
Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy 8. Or any of them, for that matter :).
There was a good reason for why he was doing this. Really, there was. There had to be, because otherwise he would have been admitted to an asylum for somehow managing to get into this situation without a good reason. The trouble was, lying bloodied and unarmed in his boxers, staring up into the angry face of a T-Rexaur who was intent on having him for dinner, he was having trouble remembering what that reason was.
He remembered lounging in his dorm room with his roommate and a couple of their buddies, swigging a couple illegally-smuggled-into-Garden beers. He remembered kicking ass in Call of Duty on his roommate's illegally-smuggled-into-Garden-via -mail-by-his-mother Xbox. He remembered a couple of guys sneaking into the room and proudly (and loudly) whipping out the really-super-illegally-smuggled-into-Garden vodka. After that though, his memories started getting a little less clear. There were vague recollections of his roommate trying to chug a ketchup bottle, watching his friend do a strip tease on his bed, and planning how to turn the cadet dorm hallways into a slip-n-slide. Then there were the even vaguer recollections of his neighbor from across the hall accusing him of being a cocky asshole and saying there was no way he'd be able to take on a T-Rexaur unarmed. He remembered being so confident he agreed to do it right then and there, and he'd even do it without any clothes on, damn it! And he knew that in his inebriated mind, his brain cleared by the cleansing power of unmixed vodka, he must have had a moment of clarity where he had a very good reason for why this dare was possible. Unfortunately, the actual sight of said T-Rexaur effectively sobered him up, better than any water, bread, and mother combination could ever do. And now, in his clouded, sober mind, he could no longer remember why it was again that this was a good idea.
His only thought as the T-Rexaur's grimy jaws approached his face, aside from the obvious, I wonder if Commander Leonhart will give me a funeral if I'm partially digested and under the influence of illegal substances, was that he was certain there was a good reason for this situation.
Really.
His eyes closed and he waited for the dark, slimy end to come. There was an explosion in the background and he was certain that that must be it- he was dead now. But he didn't feel dead yet. Warily, he raised one eyelid a sliver, ready to clamp it shut again if he saw something horrible like reptilian teeth, the grim reaper, or his grandma's ghost. What he did see, however, made his eyes fly open in shock. Chunks of ice from a blizzaga spell were flying everywhere and shattering when they hit the ground. The T-Rexaur was roaring and raging in agony, meal forgotten, and he belatedly remembered the topic of Level 1- Lesson 4 Cadet Training: T-Rexaurs are weak against ice. Right. He was sure that had been part of his plan.
Through his clouded vision, he saw what must have been a dozen blades appear out of nowhere. They flew into the air and circled the T-Rexaur as though they had a mind of their own. And then, as one, they simultaneously stabbed into the monster's neck. A roar shook the training center as the monstrous beast cried out in anger and pain.
Suddenly, the T-Rexaur stopped shrieking and the lack of noise shocked him more than the cries themselves had. The giant reptile swayed on the spot for a second before toppling over with an almighty bang, fast asleep in the grass.
By now, the severity of his wounds had begun to take over. His vision was darkening and he struggled to turn his head to find the caster. From his position on the ground, he caught a glimpse of black toenails, each with a single, sparkly white diamond imbedded in them, on pale feet tucked into four-inch tall, strappy, red stiletto heels. He followed the pale skin up the curve of her calves to find a mid-thigh, black denim skirt with two identical, red, diamond encrusted belts crossing over it to form a bright X across the darkness. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind (probably in the same drawer his genius plan had been stashed in) he recognized that look, but by then his mind was drifting and his neck refused to turn any further. He saw her knees bend and then he gave in to the growing impulse to close his eyes.