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The towering amusement park of the Eldertree came under the dominion of the Dollet Dukedom. The billion-gil development had only recently opened to the public, with the prideful Duke himself cutting the ribbons over the grand foyer just a few months ago – the big day delayed by a full year due to the war. The western hemisphere had recently seen its spring equinox, and swathes of families from around the World had now come to revel in the wonders of the Eldertree.
Quistis tentatively met Seifer at the train station. This was hardly their first rendezvous since he had resurfaced, though Quistis liked to think it was still a secret from the rest of the Children of Fate, and her counter-surveillance measures meant she was fairly certain that she had not been followed. She was wearing the same salmon attire she wore to battle. As well as the free-flowing blonde hair with the two signature trailing bangs. And the glasses.
The man that worldwide media called the Bloodhound of Garden was standing still as sea stack amongst the parting tide of gleeful families pouring from the train carriages. Seifer had never replaced the grey trenchcoat damaged during the war – and for good reason, as he was still wanted as a war criminal in most nations. Though the plaid shirt he wore was of the same shade of grey, which hung well over dark blue jeans and maroon suede shoes. In a bid to be less recognisable, he had grown his hair out, and it was brown now – having not bleached it a kingly golden since leaving Garden. For want of a full beard, Seifer had settled for a neat chinstrap popularised by the Paladins of the Holy Dollet Empire, and it burgeoned his strong jaw. As Dollet never saw much of a winter, his skin was bronzed. Much like Squall’s, his scar was now faded white, recessed between eyes the colour of shamrock.
The two embraced warmly as they were quickly left alone at the platform. Seifer beamed at Quistis, which she naturally returned.
“Looking good, Instructor Trepe,” he said.
It did not matter how many times she corrected him. She would always be “Instructor” to Seifer. Until she got herself a new weapon, he had sardonically told her. And he already bore that delinquent smirk, because he knew what she was thinking.
“Thanks, you too,” she replied.
Seifer chuckled momentarily. He extended an arm, which she wrapped her own around. Then he asked, somewhat eagerly, “You got your Gold Pass?”
Like I would forget! she thought.
The Duke of Dollet had been largely unhappy with the terms of the armistice signed with the late Vinzer Deling, having been pressured into acquiescing both by his parliament and by Master Norg. After the death of Deling and the fall of Sorceress Edea, the Duke had ultimately decided not to abide by its terms. While the Children of Fate had departed for Esthar, Xu had negotiated a new contract with the Duke, and before the ink had even dried she and Nida had spearheaded Dollet’s offensive on the Galbadians in the region.
Several months after the occupiers had been driven from the Dukedom, the Gold Pass had since been issued to every SeeD and cadet at Balamb Garden as a token of the Duke’s gratitude, and it extended to one guest. Quistis had held off using hers immediately, largely because she knew the initial crowds would be like bitebugs around behemoth dung, and also because, admittedly, she had had no one to go with. She had tried to palm her Gold Pass off to Irvine, who was not a SeeD himself and so had been overlooked, but he had said he was going with Selphie. Rinoa had gone with Squall, so no luck there. Zell had gone with Whatsername from the library. And surprisingly, Xu had gone with Nida. And so, the Gold Pass had just languished in her desk drawer – until today.
“Have you been here, yet?” Quistis asked.
Seifer shook his head. “No, not before this morning.” Then he laughed at some children diving head-first into some chutes. “I bet that’s pretty fun when you’re half-cut!”
Quistis smiled again. She didn’t plan on letting her hair down completely. Not here. What if she was seen?
“So,” Seifer said, rubbing his hands together and grinning as gleefully as a child on his nameday. “Where to first, Instructor?”
Quistis' eyes were moving from one sign to the next. Everything was at her fingertips, money would not be an issue, and she was spoilt for choice.
“I don't know where to start, Seifer!” she admitted. “Shall we just walk around first?”
They started from the ground floor up. The only section neither of them were interested in was the Battle Square, as conflict had already taken up such a large part of their lives. Far too much, Quistis reflected. There were plenty of mini-games to provide miniature distraction in all the big zones; Gold Pass holidays started with ten-thousand ET points to burn on these, and the two of them made small chips into Quistis’ allowance by playing the touch-operated gaming machines, Claw-a-Monster and pinball.
As they discovered they were in that kind of mood, they diverted to the Arcade Square. This was one huge open chamber, with so much beeping within that this was one of the only places one could not hear the incessant, synthesised music. Quistis led the way between the mock firing ranges, Whack-a-Vysage!, and a time-attack Can You Beat Wendy!? – inset with a pictured sign of a female wendigo twirling a basketball on one finger.
Following this, the two of them wandered through to the adjoining zone, which was the Racing Square, where the contests ran daily. If it were not chocobos, then it was the mesmerizes. They ascended the rows of comfortable seats in the box reserved for Gold Pass holders, Seifer’s brow creased with concentration as he surveyed the odds on the wide, wall-mounted screens.
“I should have known that you’re a betting man,” Quistis commented.
“I like a punt, every now and then,” he answered dismissively.
A robust female chocobo, with a pinkish tinge to her feathers, was being led by her rider in view of their box. Seifer noticed Quistis staring at it and nudged the arm of an elderly and moustachioed gentleman next to him.
“What’s that chocobo called?” he asked.
“Lightning!” the old man answered, then turned and whispered, “And the odds on her are going down! She came second in her maiden outing!”
“’Lightning’? Why not ‘Fire’?” Seifer muttered, though the old man ignored him, proceeding to claim that he raked in thousands of gil daily on his accumulators, thanks to his vast knowledge of statistics. Quistis intently watched the preparations for the next race as all the chocobos were led to the starting gate, Lightning third from the end, then brandished a hundred-gil note and gestured towards the counter at the top of their box.
“Let’s put a fifty on Lightning,” she said. “Two races apiece!”
“Okay,” Seifer answered sceptically, and with a shrug.
Quistis was rewarded with a two hundred gil return when Lightning came second-place first and then won immediately after. Win or lose, Quistis mused, the races were a lot of fun. The multicoloured, winding tracks were viewed better on the many screens than from the box itself, but the races got repetitive to watch after a while, and Quistis knew they should depart while she was still winning. Thanks, Lightning! Though this did not stop either of them buying a Cactpot ticket for the draw that evening. Gotta be in it to win it, I guess.
“The Event Square is closest to here,” Seifer said. “And I could use a beer!”
The Event Square showed three plays per day, and the afternoon one was ending. The pair of them emerged into it during the penultimate scene.
The stage was circular and in the middle of the gigantic hall. In the centre was Sorceress Adel; how she had looked in antiquity, enthralling ravishing and crimson-haired. Her portrayer was speaking in archaic Centran as she stood contemptuously over the bloodied and motionless body of Zefer. The entire room was lit in an eerie crimson, foreboding the Lunar Cry. Quistis and Seifer neared the stage when pyro exploded. Zefer's body was engulfed in green fire, and Adel's deep, maniacal laughter sounded from speakers all around the hall.
“You wanna watch the end?” Seifer asked.
“Nope,” Quistis said. “Not unless you do.”
They already knew the tale of the Fracture of Centra. Quistis had taught it her first semester as an instructor – and, having already learned it of his own volition as a preteen, Seifer had deviously played a handheld console behind his terminal.
And he knew that I knew, Quistis mused.
Now that they had been on their feet for a while, she was content to sit and sample a cocktail. As Adel fended off fireballs thrown by the grief-maddened and pointy-hatted Sorceress Matoya, Quistis and Seifer entered an adjoining bar decorated like a chocobo stable. The bartender was a moogle, flying up and down the bar, and there was a robust moomba clearing glasses with a deep tray harnessed to its front. Through an open gantry, they could see multiple tonberries working busily in the kitchen. The two of them sat at the bar, with their backs to the raging battle and overly dramatic pyro onstage, and Quistis placed her winnings on the wooden counter as Seifer reached for an ashtray shaped like a broken chicobo egg.
“What can I get you, kupo?” the moogle squeaked.
Quistis had liked the look of the gin-based Cloud Strife; or maybe even a ginger-rooted Fiery Moomba.
“A Cloud Strife, please,” Quistis answered, after a split-second decision.
“A Trabian pilsner,” Seifer said simply, lighting a cigarette. “And make sure it’s cold!”
The moogle narrowed its squint eyes at Seifer, if that were possible, and its whiskers twitched.
“Might I recommend the Quicksilver Moogle, kupo?” it chirruped, looking hopefully between them. “It's my speciality, kupo!”
“Nah,” Seifer said disinterestedly, exhaling over the bar.
When the moogle looked crestfallen, descending a few inches, Quistis reassured it by winking and saying, “Maybe I’ll try that one next time.”
After serving their drinks, the moogle said, “My name's Moglito, and I'm here when you need me, kupo!”
Quistis accepted a parmaviolet Quicksilver Moogle the second time it was offered, only so as to not hurt Moglito's feelings again, and could not help but think about marshmellows as she sipped the overly sweet liquid. They remained at the bar until the conclusion of the play and the Event Square emptied.
Then they went to dinner. It was an open buffet for Gold Pass holders and their chosen guest, and while Quistis was modest in her takings for a first plate, not bothering with a starter, Seifer filled his boots; he only seemed satisfied when his food was piled six inches high and draped with an oozing sixteen-ounce snowlion steak! Quistis resisted the lure for more alcohol and washed down the scrumptious offerings with a bottle of mineral water. She was sure that Seifer would be full, but some of those brownies and cookie doughs just looked too tempting for him to pass up!
Quistis had never felt so privileged. Now feeling highly content with their bellies full, they decided to go the Movie Square. Neither of them had yet to watch the newly remade A Dragoon's Fate, starring Aranea Highwind herself. It turned out to be as good as reputed, and afterwards, they returned to the chocobo stable bar.
On the nearby stage, the Warriors of Light were assembled before the Skeleton of Hyne. Even with their weapons bared, Hyne was contemptuously seated upon the Roots of the Eldertree as though it were His own throne, boasting of his wonderful “gift” from the Cloud of Darkness. Inside the bodysuit, the actor spoke with an accent that was as flamboyant as his attire. Hyne mocked the Warriors of Light before multi-coloured pyro signalled the beginning of their titanic clash.
Quistis glanced at Seifer, who was watching the battle intently, a freshly lit cigarette burning between his fingers as Moglito placed a cold bottle upon a beer mat.
The spectacle was impressive, as cheesy as the one-liners of the Warriors of Light were. Arc the Scholar urged Refia the Red Mage to “call down lightning fury upon this pretender!”, “enshroud this fallen deity in balefire!”, “freeze this marionette of the Cloud of Darkness!” as he used the Monocle to expose Hyne’s barrier shift. Luneth the Dragoon and Ingus the Onion Knight channelled Refia’s magic to imbue their weapons accordingly.
Seifer leaned forward on his stool.
“Ingus is the one!” he declared, in anticipation of the final blow.
“The Onion Knight?” Quistis remarked, as she had always thought that moniker to be ridiculous.
“Begone!” Ingus roared, as he ran Hyne through with his flame-encompassed sword, resulting in a multicoloured explosion before all the stage lights went out.
“The greatest knight who ever lived,” Seifer stated, leaning back against the bar in contentment. His cigarette had burnt almost to the filter. “He killed a god.”
But Quistis was thinking about another flaming sword, and its victim. Odin. Seifer had cleaved the Pale Rider and his mount in twain, albeit infused with the power of Ifrit and Phoenix. And unlike any other Guardian Force defeated in battle, Odin had never reappeared after Lunatic Pandora. An elusive being named Gilgamesh now wielded Zantetsuken. Seifer may just have killed a GF – and yet had never once bragged of the feat.
That evening, Seifer decided to enlist in a Triple Triad tournament. Quistis, the former CC King, had never replaced the cards she had lost to Squall, and so opted for some friendly games of Balambi Mahjong. She had been taught how to play the Albatross Archipelago’s favourite boardgame by Nida, and here, in the Champions Square, there was always somebody eagerly waiting by a table for a challenger.
Seifer made it to the quarter finals before squandering his best cards, and in that time, Quistis had amassed another few hundred gil from her wagers, having lost only one Mahjong game out of five. And, as always, she walked away before her luck could change. Additionally, she had checked her Cactpot numbers after the draw and raked in another hundred gil.
“Beginners' luck,” Seifer had moodily put it down to, scrunching up his own useless ticket.
“What haven’t we done, yet?” Quistis asked him. “Apart from the Battle Square?”
“Golf,” Seifer said simply, and mimed a swing.
“You're kidding, right?” Quistis asked incredulously. “Golf?”
“It’s adventure golf!” he clarified. 'It totally different from the real thing! And it's just putting!” he added, miming only a putt this time.
As it happened, Quistis found the adventure golf rather enjoyable. No two 'holes' were the same, centred in meandering neon and disco-lit chambers, all modelled after the different lair of a GF. And with all the rebounds players could get from the many twists and sharp turns, skill was not necessarily a factor. Quistis even managed to beat Seifer by one putt, gleefully cheering and jumping when he missed a putt into Bahamut's jaws that would have put them on a tie.
'What's that?' she asked him slowly and playfully, before cupping a hand around one ear. “'Beginner's luck?'”
On the midnight hour, they took the cable car ride. Passengers could laze for as long as they wished in the cable cars, which were operated twenty-four seven. The cars took a leisurely, scenic route around the colossal, shining gold-plated structure, passing between the hanging “branches” that housed the differing zones of the amusement park. There was a particular moment when the ride reached its zenith, where the entire amusement park, the sprawling Hasberry Plains and the verdant forests were lit by the radiant full moon which straddled the glittering Monterosa Gulf. At this high point, Seifer looked out to the twinkling sea. Quistis nestled into him, and he loosely placed an arm around her. Her slender hand found his broad one, his palm just as callused as hers was, hardened through years of tribulation.
They remained placidly snuggled, soaking in that moonlit backdrop as the car made its slow descent.