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Staring out at Balamb from his hotel room’s bay window was becoming a daily activity for Seifer. He’d been back in the city a few months, working with various doctors, lawyers, and the oh-so-famous “Hero’s” to gain some kind of footing before he was brought before the Garden Tribunal. Quistis had been assigned to him, originally as some kind of glorified baby-sitter-come-lawyer, but he was still too good at pissing her off for her to stick around much. Five minutes with him had her steaming from the ears and he almost couldn’t help himself sometimes. Of course, she knew all the right things to jab and needle him right back with, stinging more with words than she ever had with Save the Queen.
Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he watched the fog roll past him outside, irritation welling up in him for no apparent reason. Well, that wasn’t true, not really. He knew what was causing it, what was making him so prickly lately. It was Balamb, the city itself, the things it represented, the people who lived there - all of it.
So, what does an angry convict do when he's in the city he hates with a passion? Why, go out and experience it, of course! Out the door of his room, he took three steps before an annoying little beep drew his attention downward. Shit, He cursed internally, looking down to see his tracker anklet coming to life, as it did whenever he left his room, Forgot about this fucking thing…Hyne-fucking-damn it…
Ignoring the beeps, he walked down to the lobby past the scared receptionist and headed out the door, pulling out the map he’d been given that demarcated his anklet’s radius. There wasn’t much of anything within the mile-wide radius, mostly residences and small shops that had closed their doors hours ago, but one pub lay on the far end of it. It was about a ten minute walk if he took his time, so, shoving the map and his hands into his pockets, he started to mosey towards the only place open at three AM on a Tuesday in Balamb.
The battered wooden doors were hardly a welcome sight after walking in the drizzle and fog, but if he wanted to get drunk and forget how much he hated this place, they were his only option. He pushed in and made his way to the bar, sitting down and tapping the scuffed wood to get the barkeep’s attention. “Whiskey, double. You put ice near that shit and I’ll break your teeth with it.”
The bartender, a grizzled man with a long grey beard, gave Seifer an unamused glare and poured him the drink, sliding it over a moment later. “Seven gil.”
Reaching into his back pocket, Seifer took out his wallet and fished out a shiny plastic card, the one given to him by Garden to cover food expenses, and slapped it down on the bar. “I’ll start a tab.”
Seifer didn’t watch the barkeep snatch up the card and stick it into an empty tumbler, more focused on downing that first sip of his amber-colored mistress. He grit his teeth and hissed, enjoying the burn as the liquid made a fiery path down into his stomach. Whiskey was a mean bitch at first, but she always did right by him in the end.
His wallet still sat on the bar, the faded grey leather peering up at him like it was ashamed of his drinking and other bad coping habits. In a way, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The wallet was crafted out of the scraps from his old trademark duster, sewn together with thick black thread and made to look sleek with silver accents. It had been a welcome-back present from Raijin and Fujin, a piece of the past that they made new as if to help him renew himself. So far, he hadn’t done anything to that effect, preferring instead to wallow in his guilt and snuggle up to bottles of whatever was cheapest in order to numb himself out. It had worked until Garden had stepped in and made him their business again, made him really think about who he used to be, what he’d done and why he’d done it. Fucking killjoys.
Sighing, he stuffed the grey thing back into his pocket and took his smokes out from his sweater pocket, lighting up before anyone could tell him not to. The sweater, an expertly made deep teal cable-knit with a front-zip and pockets, was another thing that would probably be frowning at him right now if it could. Edea had knit it for him when she’d heard he was coming back, got the whole thing done, perfect fit and all, in something like three days. She knit for all of the orphanage gang, he found out later, but never that fast, never that well. Despite all the FUBAR shit that went down between them during the war, he was still her favorite, still held a part of her heart that none of the others ever would. None of the others slept with her in a magic-induced haze either, but he generally left that out in polite company.
“H-heyyyy, Brody…Ain’t that guy the knight dude?” Seifer heard a not-so-soft and very drunken whisper from somewhere to his left. It wasn’t unusual for the locals to recognize him now and again, but mostly they just averted their eyes and shuffled past quickly. Upon occasion, however, some big shot, usually prepped with some liquid courage, would call him out on what he’d done and try to fight him. This, it appeared, was that sort of encounter.
Can’t a man get drunk in peace? He thought, determined to ignore the idiots stumbling towards him and continue to intoxicate himself. He tapped the bar and nodded, another double sliding towards him from the bartender who quickly added the drink to his tab. He was just about to pick up his drink when another hand shot out and grabbed it first, smashing it on the ground beside him.
“Dicks like you don’t get served here,” The drunken local slurred, his eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to separate out which copy of Seifer was the real one, a friend standing behind him with his arms crossed. Now, a rational person might have asked the man and his friend to calm down and, eventually, bowed out to avoid any trouble. Seifer, however, had never been very good at being rational when someone was getting in his face and throwing away booze.
Shaking his head, the ex-knight clicked his tongue like a tutting mother and gave the drunken fool a disappointed look, “Brody…Your name is Brody, isn’t it? Look, you seem like a nice enough guy, probably got a family and all, so do yourself a favor – “ He grabbed the man’s head and slammed it down on the bar, standing from the stool to lean in and whisper in his ear, “ - And don’t ever touch my whiskey again.”
“You sonova – “ Brody’s friend was on Seifer in an instant, pulling him back and taking a haphazard swing at his jaw. The ex-knight took a step back, successfully avoiding the flying fist, and rocketed his own punch at the dolt trying to assault him. Then, quite suddenly, the entire bar erupted into a brawl, punches and chairs being tossed like baseballs at a little league game - left, right, and center with barely enough force behind them. Seifer didn’t even know if his hit landed by the time he realized that he was flying towards the floor, some idiot tackling him at the waist. They both went down hard, but the former SeeD Cadet recovered quickly and threw his attacker off, taking out another man in the process.
Seifer got to his feet quickly enough, but it wasn’t soon before he was off them again, the barkeep hauling him up and towards the exit. The bearded man was far more surly than he seemed, taking the six-foot-two soldier and tossing him through the grungy wooden doors onto the sidewalk. “You’re banned, kid!!”
Catching himself on the pavement with his forearms, he heard the door slamming behind him with force, the din of the bar fight within disappearing almost entirely. “Fucking pricks…” He muttered, getting back up and assessing the damage. His sweater was torn on the left sleeve, hands bloodied from the force of hitting the asphalt, and his jaw felt dislocated, though he wasn’t sure how that last bit had happened. On top of that, he was barely buzzed and there weren’t any liquor stores within his one-mile radius, which meant he was staying that way. Dusting himself off, he sniffed and wiped his hands on his pants, gritting his teeth as the bits of gravel rubbed out of his cuts. He’d have to disinfect them when he got back to the hotel.
As he ambled back across town, he noticed his surroundings better, perhaps the pain and adrenaline sobering him up. The street lamps all had little halos from the fog, the sound of the ocean beating the cliffs not too far off, the smell of sewage and low-tide mixing with beach flowers to form a rotten, but somehow comforting scent. Comforting, He thought as he passed one of the bushes of flowers in full bloom, Only because it’s familiar…
That seemed to be a theme in his life lately, taking comfort in things because they weren’t new and they hadn’t changed. He’d had enough of change during the war, every decision he made to get away from his familiar surroundings just leading him to further destruction. Balamb and Garden, though he hated them for old reasons, were his home and they’d always take him back, no matter what he’d done. They had to…right?
By the time he reached the hotel, he was in a perfectly sour mood and almost entirely sober again. He may as well have not left the damn place at all.
“Gimme a first-aid kit,” He groused to the night receptionist, who, by her frenzied search for the kit, was now even more terrified of him. She handed it over and he replied with a gruff “Thanks” before stomping up to his room and tending to his hands.
About an hour later, his hotel phone rang, making him jump and accidentally stab himself with the tweezers he was using to pull the grit from his hands. “Motherfucking douchebags thinkin’ they can call at all hours of the fucking night. Hyne Almighty, I’m gonna have words with Trepe about this…” He cursed as he leaned over to the other side of the bed to pick up the receiver, “What the fuck do you want?”
“I want to know why the hell you used your grocery money to buy over six hundred dollars’ worth of whiskey, tequila, and shitty beer at…’The Sandy Dune’?” Quistis’ groggy, but still sharp tone cut through the static of the line and made him wince.
“What the hell are you – “ Seifer paled when he realized what she was talking about. He’d left his card at the pub and now it was being used to buy rounds for the whole place. “…Fuck me sideways.”
“How about tomorrow after lunch? I’m a little busy sorting out your mess right now, Almasy,” Quistis retorted, the sound of papers rustling coming through the line, “Look, I know your card got stolen because, even with your alcohol tolerance, you’d be dead if you drank that much in one go. We’ll sort this out, but don’t think I can save you from Squall. He’s all about penny-pinching with you.”
“You sure it’s not ass-pinching? I mean, I wouldn’t blame him if he wants to fuck me. I am a perfect male specimen, which, as I understand it, is like catnip to queers. Could be why he’s so uptight all the time…” Seifer tried to side-track the conversation, wanting Quistis to hang up already, but she didn’t. Wouldn’t really, not until she felt he’d been scolded enough.
“Squall isn’t gay and even if he were, you shouldn’t talk about it like it would be a bad thing,” She tutted, the mothering tone in her voice so much like Matron’s. For some reason, though, her tone annoyed the living piss out of him. “Look, Seifer, you need to be more responsible with these things…I can only do so much to keep you out of the fire before you toss yourself back into the frying pan.”
“You tryin’a tell me you wanna eat me or somethin’, Trepe? ‘Cause I’d give you a taste anytime…” He offered with a grin she couldn’t see.
“…I’m too tired to tell if you’re asking me to suck your dick or saying you want to eat me out. Either way, the answer’s no. We’ll discuss the credit card when I stop in tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Seifer.”
“Aw, I’m crushed. I was really hoping to be nose-deep in your – “
“Goodnight, Seifer.”
The dial tone on the other end told him she’d hung up and he smirked, idly wondering how pissed she’d be when she found out about the bar fight that ensued before the credit card incident.