#etchedpain

[scarredremembrance]

♚ -- { l'espoir troisième | squall&reika }

"...excuse me, young man?"

A nasally inquiry stirred him from a light slumber. Squall roused from the counter, inhaling sharply as he opened his eyes to the sight of a customer and the basket of clothes that accompanied her. Everything from her furrowed brow to her lips pursed into a fine line screamed utter displeasure, which begged Squall to ask himself the question, (...how long have I been out?) 

The brunet blinked once, then twice, before the gears in his head began to spin. He reached forward to scan the customer's purchases, every motion mechanized from routine and practice. Eartips burnt red with embarrassment. There was no excuse for him to drift off on the job. Sure, he'd spent the last few weeks running back and forth from school to work to home only to repeat the cycle after a lackluster sleep, but there was still no excuse. Squall could feel the woman's condescending gaze sweep across his features as loud 'beep's signaled each clothing article being registered into the system. Tallying up the purchase as quickly as he could to make up for the time he'd spent dozing, Squall soon announced, "That's sixty-four dollars... and twenty-two cents."

The woman shook her head, pulled out a thick wallet from her purse and searched inside for the appropriate funds. Squall watched in silence, eyeing her abundance of money with the slightest twinge of envy. Or at least he watched until she quipped, "You know, if I had a lick of sense, I would report you to your manager right now." Squall hastily diverted his blue gaze to move the clothes into plastic bags, but she continued: "I don't know why an establishment like this would hire someone so careless. You children think you can just sleep wherever you want... save it for home, why don't you?"

(...alright. I get it.) Squall's lips tugged into a scowl. Above the rustle of plastic bags, he could hear the brushing of bills as the customer pulled them from her wallet and laid them atop the counter. Today, fatigue bogged him down too much to breathe a single word in response to the berating. Unfortunately, this woman was the type to be spurred on by silence, as he would immediately discover. "Honestly...! If I owned this place, I would do a much better job in selecting my employees. Lazy, discourteous, and ragged-looking..." Squall glanced upward. Eyes pulled into narrowed slits. The woman had finished withdrawing her payment, but clearly she hadn't finished her business here. Staring him dead in the eye, she gestured across the bridge of her nose where a scar would've sat had she been Squall. "I can only imagine what you did to get that awful thing. And look at that piercing... I wouldn't be surprised if you're one of those cutthroat thugs that are always prowling around town like wild animals..."

If she was purposefully trying to provoke a reaction, she had chosen the wrong person to insult. Squall offered little more than a tired shrug, took her money and offered her the bags in exchange. (...are you done now?) He wondered, before promptly receiving his answer.

"Don't give me attitude, young man. I'm only trying to help you out and offer you some advice... the least you could do is thank me," she huffed, shooting him a glare in return for his blank stare. "Do yourself a favor and use the money you earn here to clean yourself up, instead of using it for... whatever it is you do." It was lucky that the customer chose to cut it short there. She turned and strutted away, barely missing the twinge of irritation that flashed across Squall's face. Every cent he scraped together went towards his bills. Every dollar he made was barely enough to keep him from losing everything. Not that she would understand... that woman likely had life offered to her on a silver platter.

Resentment and frustration churned in Squall's gut. He leaned forward against the counter, resting his forehead in his hand. Fortunately, he had not long to dwell on the woman's judgmental commentary. There was a tap on his shoulder mere minutes later; Squall straightened himself out and snapped to attention... or at least, as much attention as one in his fatigued state could muster. The question, "...can I help you?" was on the tip of his tongue, but Squall hadn't the chance to speak. His coworker gave him a curt nod, then said, "The boss wants you."

Four words, yet they were enough to open a gaping pit in his stomach and extinguish the rising flames of anger within him in an instant. Squall's face betrayed no hint of his inner emotions, however, and he simply gave them a nod in return. Stepping away from the counter to make the short journey from the cash registers to the manager's office, Squall had nary an idea of what awaited him. Little did he know, it would be the icing on the cake of his day.

Unlike the store proper, his boss' office was dimly lit. Shelves of books and little knick-knacks to spruce up the room rested against one wall. In the corner sat the manager's desk, wooden surface clean and pristine as the man who sat behind it. Squall knew little about him: his name was Thomas, he always arrived at work in a crisp suit and tie... and most importantly, had a hair-trigger temper. Suppressing his nerves with a thick swallow, the youth came to a halt in front of the desk. Thomas looked at him but made no invitation to sit in the chair across from him; therefore Squall continued to stand, breathing naught a word until his manager spoke first.

Silence could not reign forever. Eventually, Thomas' head drifted to the side. He leaned back in his seat, running his fingers across a clean-shaven chin. "Squall Leonhart... that's your name, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he asked, "How long've you been working here, now? Two, three months?" Squall opened his mouth to state that, actually, he'd been here for about half a year now. Once again he was cut off. "You do realize that, as a cashier, you're the face of the company... right? And I'm sorry to say, but... you haven't been putting on the best face lately, Squall."

He had no argument for that. The moment those words slipped from Thomas' lips, he knew exactly why he'd been called to this office. Squall's stomach sank lower and lower as the seconds dragged past. A mixture of horror and exhaustion brought his world to a halt. Half of his boss' words went in one pierced ear and out the other-- only the bare point of his long, drawn-out charade was ultimately received. Squall had been fired. Or as Thomas would put it, "released for the greater good of the store's future". One moment, he found himself standing in that dimly office. And in the next, he was out on the streets after finishing up his last shift, deadened to the bustling evening around him.

He was barely clinging to his cramped apartment as it was. Even after working himself to the very bone to keep up school appearances and pay for his housing, Squall was barely there. One slip up and he would find himself on the streets... or even worse, crawling back to Paralia to face the music of his parents. No... no, returning to Paralia wasn't even an option. He would rather wither away and die on the streets of this city than attempt to seek the help of the people he was forced to call his mother and father. Turning to cast a final glance at the clothing store that once paid his bills and put food on his table, Squall exhaled a heavy sigh. Then, without a second thought, he took off down the pavement, opposite of the direction he usually went after work. It was Tuesday night. But Squall was not heading home to prepare for another day. Actually, he had no idea where he was going. Perhaps it was he simply didn't care anymore.

Dusk faded into early night. Squall continued to walk, hands thrust into the pockets of the leather coat he could only afford from employee discounts. Discounts which he no longer possessed. Cars whipped past him along the roads. People crossed his path and rushed by as they hurried to reach wherever destination they were heading to for the night. It was a long, long time before Squall came to a halt. And even then, it was only because the cold of night had finally gotten to him. The brunet caught notice of an open facility; he had no idea what it was, nor did he check to see. He simply nudged the door open with a shoulder and entered inside, acknowledging after a moment of examination that he had, in fact, stepped into a café.

Squall paid no attention to his surroundings. A miserable atmosphere clung to his figure. He dragged himself to the nearest empty seat. It took all of his willpower not to lay his head down on the table and lament his situation. The only thing that prevented him from doing so was the presence of so many other people. Squall had to be strong. He could not afford to show these strangers how weak he felt, how hopeless and bleak his situation seemed. But Squall was tired. So, so, tired. He was tired of the nonstop stream of work. He was tired of fighting tooth and claw to live. He was tired of combating his parents by living in Kairos, and yet he was incapable of stopping. The energy had been sapped from his body. Physical exertion was growing more and more of a challenge with each passing day. Pale blue eyes radiated fatigue... and so, Squall could not help but put his vulnerabilities on display, if only in the form of a resigned hanging of his head in his hands.

It occurred to him, somewhere in the back of his overworked mind, that a waitress or some such would likely approach him soon. It wasn't good courtesy to loiter in an establishment without buying something... but unfortunately (everything was unfortunate today, wasn't it?) Squall hadn't the money to waste on a coffee or treat. So when that moment came, he figured he would need to leave. Until then, however, he would continue to sit... and continue to brood.

[reflectionroulette]

☭

Battle Intro: "You want to fight...? Well, I know you're capable, so I'm not gonna hold back."

Victory: "...I'm sorry. Don't tell Squall."

Defeat: "...Seriously...? ...Never mind. Nice job."

Assist: "Are you alright? Watch yourself."

[scarredremembrance]

Squall wasn't one for giving gifts, but he felt the need to put together a surprise for Reika after that hellish ski trip. He unlocked the door to room 236, and found he'd come to miss the safe confines of his dormitory after so long. There was a thin book in his hands, cover bound in brown leather. In silence he approached her bed, and placed it on her pillow.

Inside the book was something he hoped she'd like... a collection of photographs Squall had taken during the trip. Photos of the sky, forest and mountains. There was even an entire page devoted to the fireworks show. It wasn't much, but... she deserved it. In all honesty, it was the least he could do.

[scarredremembrance]

--white lights, red sights { squall & reika. }

The world was white when he died, and the world was white when he awoke. It felt exactly the same as the last two times; as if someone breathed life into his mouth, jolting him back into painful consciousness. His whole body felt numb, cold. And with each passing moment he spent staring up at the ceiling of the resort infirmary, memories leaked into Squall's mind. The silver eye. That week of nightmares. Their last moments. Blood. A warm room. Blood. Her flesh. The bedsheets. Blood. Blood. An endless journey outside. Snow. 

He hardly noticed the dull pain in his left arm as he relived her murder. The mercenary quivered beneath a thin blanket, desperate attempts made to pull himself out of the past and back into the present. (It's over.) He had to assure himself. (It's all over... it'll never happen again...)

Squall hauled himself upright. It was then he noticed the sharp, stabbing sensation in his shoulder. The feeling didn't cushion his surprise when he found a new arm attached to his body, a bandage neatly coiled around what had once been a stump. The body part felt distant; it took great effort to perform an action as simple as flexing his fingers. Maybe it would heal, or maybe it would remain a foreign limb forever. Only time would tell...

His attention was constantly drifting. From the events that escalated to his awakening in the infirmary, to his new arm, to the figure that laid in the cot beside him, black hair catching his gaze in a sea of white. Squall turned. His gut twisted at the sight of Reika, only in the infirmary because he put her there. He didn't look at her long enough to tell whether his actions had left any marks. Squall turned his eyes to the floor as he rose from his bed. Slowly, good arm clutching whatever furniture was within reach for support, Squall stumbled across the room, carefully lowering himself to sit on the edge of her cot.

He noticed he was shaking again. Nearly as bad as the night he'd killed her. Squall dared not press up against her, or even touch her; only Hyne knew how much pain she was in. He would only give himself leave to perform one action. In a quiet voice, he asked the form beside him a question: "Reika... you awake?"

[scarredremembrance]

{ aftermath | chat log. }

Joseph: Hey Squall don't you like this wall I picked out Squall Leonhart: Man. It's an amazing wall. Comfortable and easy to lean against. You couldn't have picked better Joseph: Thanks man, I really appreciate that. Squall Leonhart: No problem. I wish I could express it in words, but I'm sort of struggling to breathe right now. I'm sure you understand that though. Reika: Here comes Reika Kuze running down the hall in the yukata she slept. Whoops, she slipped and almost fell as she rounded the corner. Okay, there we go. She's running again. And here she is. Breathing heavily and sweaty but hey, what's up?

[scarredremembrance]

Stares down at his Monomessenger. Glances up at Reika from across the room. Takes a deep breath. She told him to express his feelings, so that was exactly what he was going to do. No matter how difficult it was.

To: Reika Kuze From: Squall Leonhart Message: I wasn't feeling too great earlier today. But I'm fine now. I think. So you don't need to worry. Sorry I didn't tell you in the recreation room. I didn't want anyone to overhear.

There. He closes the device and rolls over in his bed, wondering how, or even if she'll react to the message. Maybe if he just curls up and throws the sheets over his head, she'll think he's asleep.

[scarredremembrance]

As per the Irvin's orders, Squall arrived at the entrance to room 214 with Reika in tow. He brought an arm up to knock on the door, giving it several firm raps before his hand fell back to his side. Squall cast the priestess a sideways glance, then turned his gaze to the floor. Reika apparently had questions for the Commander. Squall merely wanted to discuss something he had mentioned at the end of that trial. Which would be tricky around the priestess, considering it involved her murderers.

He was not here for the offer to join Irvin's forces. Squall had thought long and hard about it, and quickly determined he was no longer fit to serve under anyone. He had no intention of taking on the wings. No... he was here for something else. The revenge he could no longer serve to Izaya, Bel and Armin on his own.

With that thought in mind, he waited for the door to open.

[scarredremembrance]

To: Reika Kuze From: Squall Leonhart Message: Don't wait for me.

His hand fell to his side, Monomessenger still in his palm. It had taken five minutes to compose those four words with clumsy fingers, and with each passing second he continued to bleed. Squall couldn't move an inch from where he laid on the ground. If he did, he threatened to move the only thing that kept the hole in his chest plugged.

He was coughing. Blood trailed down the side of his mouth, and he couldn't move an arm to wipe it away. Was it too late for help? Probably. His shoulder was a mess, his palm was on fire and each breath that passed his lips was strained. Ragged. Vision blurred on the ceiling ahead.

An angel had rescued him. Squall wanted to believe that it had been a hallucination, but he had witnessed her arrival first-hand. Everything was a blur, but Squall knew he had watched an angel sent by Hyne himself to carry the prince away. Or maybe that was just what he told himself for comfort as he lay dying on the floor of the cafeteria.

Would those words spur Reika to try and find him? He hoped not. He didn't want her to see him like this. He didn't want her to worry. And most of all... he didn't want her to do anything irrational or stupid. It would have been smarter to avoid sending a message, but he refused to pass away without a word.

He wouldn't be coming back to the dormitory tonight. So there was no point in making her wait.