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Liberi Tenebri (The FF8 gender-reversals study, version 2.0)
Well, it's fifty parts strong. Fifty. Out of what I always guessed would be a likely hundred, sure, but FIFTY! Shows how much free time I have, and how much I truly love doing this.
Those of you who are familiar with this tale already will inevtiably notice some tweaks (and those of you who have it archived, well...sorry?). It's never change for the sake of change, though--it's change for the sake of SOMETHING.
And I'll try to keep the repost as quick as I can. Honest.
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Fithos Lusec Docos Rengasem
Liberi Tenebri
by Mithrigil Galtirglin
Part One; Holed Up Inside
"Are you...can you sit up?"
My eyes flutter...or is it my eyelids? God, I can't think straight, not with this light! And the voice--voice sounds far away, but the crashing of drums and the choir and waves in my head are still clanging relentlessly close by, and a spray of something dense and clouded....I must have obeyed the voice's commands, because it's next action is a sigh of relief.
You'll find me
"Wonderful, you've regained consciousness."
It's a male voice, and a strong one, at that. He must be very close...
I promise
"What?" Is that my voice? Why does he sound so close when I sound so faint?
"How are you feeling?"
Whatever that mist was is sweeping away, replaced by the cold, artificial light of someplace immaculate. My eyes must be opening. "...OK, I guess."
A shape finally comes to fit the voice...whatever face he--by now, I'm assuming it's a he--has is on level with mine. "Take it easy next time, you hear?" His smile is nearly as white as his clothing; must be wearing a...lab coat? Yeah....I can name the colors of the pens in the front pocket; red, black, green. "Looks like your eyes are focusing. You should be fine."
I nod. At least, whatever I'm seeing isn't the white form of a doctor, it's something thick, blunt and black. Still wearing my pants. Good sign.
"Say your name for me."
I let my eyes, followed by my expression, drift back in his direction. I can name him perfectly now. Doctor Kadowaki, pervert with a stethoscope. I meet his eyes just to prove to him that I'm not delirious and answer, though weakly. "...Tempest." Some of my hair has fallen over my eyes. I shake it away. Something sends a barely painful twitch down the bridge of my nose.
Then it all comes back. Seiferat...
The doctor nods. "Why don't you take it easy in training? Next time you might not be so lucky, young lady."
Yeah. I could come out of it completely unscratched. "Try telling that to Seiferat."
He laughs. "That Seiferat won't listen to anyone. She just said the same about you."
"Really." I can't help but snipe at that one. Seiferat is practically perfect; golden-haired, tall, a flawless, paled face, despairingly intelligent, an expert combatant, stronger with a gunblade than I...Hell, only thing she's got holding her down is an ego the size of Deling City, and even that can be shoved (violently) aside sometimes. Most often when we're training. I guess she forces herself to be humble around me or something. The question is exactly why she bothers.
His eyes (I can name them now; brown) narrow slightly, patronizingly. "Why don't you just ignore her?"
I shrug. The same hair slopes over my eyes again, and gets brushed aside again, tucked behind my ear this time for safekeeping. "I can't just run away."
"Have to compete to be cool, I gather." I can tell just by his eyebrows that he doesn't understand. "Well, just don't get hurt in the process."
I'm tempted to comment, but only slightly. So I lie back again and try to focus on the harsh, hanging lights. I can practically hear the comment he kept himself from voicing: 'Why mar a body like yours?'. Doctors. They're all perverts. Get a girl in a hospital bed and she's completely at your mercy, even if she's a dog like me.
He begins to mutter, half to himself. "Let's see, your instructor this period is supposed to be..."
Quistian, you dumb fuck. Quistian.
"Qui--Instructor Trepe! I'll call him now. You just wait here."
As if I had anywhere else to go?
There are mirrors suspended from a medical mobile above my bed, probably meant for operating situations. The only mirror in my quarters is about four inches square; I've stopped looking in it, so it's been a while--actually, more like a year--since I've had a decent look at my face, not that it matters much. Last time I checked, I was scrawny and sun-browned, portrait of a tortured tomboy, probably the only girl in my year still walking around the school in ratty old pants. The denim has changed to
leather, but still...
"Quistian? Come retrieve your student...Yes, it's Leonhart."
Man, have I changed.
"Yes, yes, her injury isn't serious."
I guess all that time holed up inside Garden has done my skin some good; hardly any blemishes and my face is pale again. I've grown into my ears now, I guess, at least they're on level with my eyes...damn, I never realized what a weird color my eyes are...I think they're what happens when you mix silver nitrate with copper sulfate, or something like that. My hair has grown, and it's long enough to cover the pillow I'm resting on. I wonder who let my hair down?
I tweak my eyebrows at that, and, with the same pain, I notice it.
"It'll probably leave a scar."
Here I can't help but draw in a sharp breath. I had just been exclaiming to myself that I no longer resembled the wrong end of a T-Rexaur when I finally notice the sanguine gash that runs from the inner corner of my right eyebrow to under my left eye, still reeking of medicine and still painful. So much for paradise found. I'll probably never be able to blink without thinking of Seiferat again.
Seiferat and I have what I tell myself is a love-hate relationship. I love what she could be and hate what she is. Meanwhile, she loves herself and hates having to demean herself by comparing herself to me. Since we both specialize in the same fields, we have virtually no class time apart, ditto for private weapon instruction. Seiferat's the first female Garden student to practice Gunblade. I'm the second, but that's only because Almasy comes before Leonhart on the roster. That, I believe, is the story of my life.
A scar. And not just any scar; right in the middle of a face I had only liked for the space of thirty seconds.
Damn her.
"...Right. Now, please come by."
Doctor Kadowaki hangs up the phone, then busies himself with notes, thank Hyn. Quistian must be on his way.
One thing that's always perplexed me about Garden is the age bracket between Instructors and Students. As in, as of now, there isn't one. Quistian (formerly known as 'that hopeless nerd' and currently as both 'The Trepester' and 'Mr. Pink', after the civvies he wears) is only a year older than I am; the fact that he's the youngest SeeD in the history of the world doesn't help matters, but the following he receives from the more teeny-bopperish students is disturbing. He tries to stay professional about it all, but I've noticed how he's begun to stare at me and Seiferat lately. I find it more that a little disorienting, especially during exams. Hell, I always thought he was gay. Always? No, maybe not always, but I can't really think straight right now. Damn this fucking scar and the bitch that gave it to me...
A whisper at my side. Another voice, this one of a younger man with one heck of a weird accent. He's behind the window to the x-ray room. "Tempest...so we meet again."
I turn to face the voice as quickly as I can, but all I can catch is a wisp of green cloth. Whoever he was isn't there any more.
I sigh and lay back again. Too many distractions, too many questions in the space of one morning. I think too much. I really do.
Luckily, the gaseous slide of a door opening interrupts my thoughts, and Quistian is there, in the navy blue and grey uniform the Instructors are required to wear. His arms cross as he looks down at me, and his spectacles flash in the cold light as he shakes his head and exhales, his words coming out with his breath. "I knew it'd be either you or Seiferat." For someone only half a year my senior, he seemed to have 'patronizing' down pat. "Though I must say she's not up to par either."
I contemplate asking exactly what he meant by that, and decide against. Why glorify Blondie with a response?
His hair (overgrown bangs that look like he's been putting off trimming them for too damn long) wavers slightly when he looks over his shoulder, then faces me again, business in his painful blue eyes. "Come on. Today's your field exam."
Of course, I get up and follow him out. Damn, I wish I had something I could tie my hair back with. If it gets in my eyes during the exam, I'm skewered.
Skewered. Phallic imagery. This is not going to be my day.
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To be continued...
Last edited by Hypocrite; 05-25-2002 at 01:42 PM.
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