Chapter Text
You are cordially invited
to
Balamb Garden’s First Annual
Charity Ball and Auction
on
Saturday, July 20th at 7 p.m.
kindly RSVP to Selphie Tilmett at BGU
Seifer stares at the card in his hand for a few moments without completely comprehending what he’s reading. The thing is revoltingly glitzy, bright pink with silver gilt edges; it has Selphie’s personality all over it, even if it didn’t have her name printed right on it.
Why would anyone from Balamb Garden be sending him anything? And moreover, why would they think he’d care at all about — what was it? — their first annual charity auction? He contemplates tossing the invitation in the bin, but on reflection, he sets it down on the kitchen counter with the rest of his mail.
He isn’t in contact with anyone from Balamb Garden, he hasn’t, in fact, heard from any of them in something like two years — at least not since he moved to Esthar, which must be at least a year and half now. Nor does he have any real desire to hear from any of them; he assumed the feeling was mutual, and the last eighteen months have been spent happily in radio silence. So what in the world would make Selphie Tilmitt, of all people, send him, of all people, an invite to her special ball?
He doesn’t really have to think about it that hard, though. The answer is plenty obvious.
Seifer has money. The settlement with the Estharian government, in which Seifer agreed to not spill any of the numerous deep dark secrets he’d learned during his brief stint as commander of both Estharian and Galbadian armies in exchange for asylum, ensured that he has plenty of cash to burn for years to come — assuming neither Galbadia nor Esthar manage to assassinate or otherwise silence him before he grows to a ripe old age. Selphie and the rest of the twits at Garden fully well know he’s loaded, because he’d gloated enough about it before taking off for Esthar (in retrospect, probably not the coolest thing he could have done, but at the time he was so happy to have gotten away from the various governments of the world with what amounted to a clean slate that he felt he deserved a little bit of preening.) Still, Garden must really be hurting for cash if they're inviting him to their charity ball. He can’t think of a single person at Garden who would give him the time of day if he passed them on the street — a kick in the ass, maybe…
There could be some fun in showing up, though, even if just to fuck with Quistis and Squall or whoever’s running the show there nowadays. What else does he have to do on a Saturday night, anyway, besides what he does every week — sit at home and think about what a fucking bore his life has become? In fact, it would be a nice change of pace to head to Balamb for a weekend, and the satisfaction of crashing Selphie’s party would be a bonus.
Anything to break the monotony, he figures.
If he’s feeling nice, he might even spend some money and help Garden out. That’s pretty much all he’s good at these days anyway (spending money, that is, not being nice.)
It would piss Selphie off no end if he actually showed up, and that’s reason enough to go. Seifer grins to himself. Something to look forward to, that’s… novel. When was the last time he went to a social event?
(When was the last time he went anywhere? …No, best not to follow that train of thought too far.)
Sure enough, Selphie’s expression is reward enough for the long trip from Esthar to Balamb. “Ugh!” she cries, looking like she’s just been forced to swallow grat slime. “What are you doing here?”
“You invited me,” Seifer replies, reaching in his jacket to pull out the invitation. Selphie snatches it out of his hand.
“I didn’t think you’d really have the balls to come here!”
“I did RSVP,” Seifer says, putting on his most charming smile. Selphie takes his invitation in her gloved hands and begins to tear it into pieces.
“You’re not wanted here, you big—“
“Selphie,” Quistis suddenly intervenes, swooping in out of seemingly nowhere to get between her and Seifer and cutting the other girl off. She takes Seifer’s arm. “I’ll handle this. Seifer, with me?”
He lets Quistis lead him away, relishing in Selphie’s expression of frustration as she flings the pieces of what had been his invitation onto the ground. Yes, definitely worth it.
“I’m really surprised you showed up,” Quistis tells him, leading him into Garden’s ballroom, which has been decorated to match Selphie’s pink and silver theme. Already there’s a crowd of people there, some finding their place at the tables that fill the outside of the room, some mingling in the open dance floor at the center. Seifer gives Quistis an innocent look.
“Why? If she didn’t want me here, she shouldn’t have sent me an invite—“
“She didn’t,” Quistis interrupts, “I did. I guess it was too much to hope you’d attempt to be civil and not go antagonizing Selphie—“
“I didn’t antagonize her. All I did was say hello.”
“The truth is, Seifer, you’re not wanted here,” Quistis goes on, ignoring him. She releases his arm and turns to face him, looking very stern, despite her long, loose hair and soft pink dress. “You certainly don’t have any friends here tonight. So try and behave, won’t you? I’d hate to have to do something as uncouth as throw you out.”
“You make it sound like I came here to cause trouble,” Seifer says, affecting a wounded attitude. Quistis gives him a very skeptical look that clearly says she’s not going to buy anything he says tonight. “Relax,” he says, but she continues to glare. “I’ll behave myself. I only came here to spend some money… you guys must be pretty hard up for cash if you’ve been lowered to inviting me to your charity, after all.”
“Tsk… you’re not wrong,” Quistis says, as Seifer smiles at her. “Enrollment was… not high this year. This auction was all Selphie and Irvine’s idea, though. But that’s not why I invited you.”
“Don’t tell me you missed me, instructor. You’ll break my poor heart.”
Quistis gives him a probing, thoughtful look. “I thought maybe you missed this,” she answers, flashing a little smirk at him. Then she turns and walks away, leaving him standing alone by the seating chart, before he can muster up a snarky enough reply.
Problem is… she’s right.
He misses Garden… a little. The feeling of normalcy, of fitting in somewhere. Not that he’d admit that to anyone, ever — he doesn’t even like to admit it to himself. Besides, Garden would never take him back, and no one at Garden is likely to ever forgive him, so it’s a moot point.
He finds his seat at a half-empty table, and stays there for a good portion of the night, watching people go by — most of whom are determined not to look at him, go near him, or in any way acknowledge his presence. Dancing is out of the question even if that was something he wanted. He sits through a bland dinner seated next to Xu, who’d clearly been placed there to keep an eye on him and who looks just as unhappy about the arrangement as he is. He finds some enjoyment in watching Squall try, and struggle, to make a speech later in the night.
The night overall, however, is not what he’d call a pleasant experience. It’s only marginally more enjoyable than a night spent alone at home due to the fact that his presence there is making a lot of other people unhappy, but it’s a small consolation. After a while, as the party is winding down, Quistis comes back over and takes the seat that had been vacated by Xu at the earliest possible moment. “Are you having fun?” she asks him, flipping her long hair back over her shoulder.
“Is there any part of me that looks like I’m having fun?” Seifer replies.
“The auction is starting soon. You might find that interesting,” she remarks.
“I’m not interested in anything you think I might find interesting.”
“Seifer, I don’t know why you’re so determined to be bitter,” Quistis sniffs, and shakes her head. “You’re the one who went swanning off to Esthar, so don’t go acting like we’re the ones who have done you some great wrong. Nobody here’s got any pity for you.”
Seifer grits his teeth. Swanning off, huh? Was that how she saw it? “So what were my choices, instructor, hm? Jail time? Either way I’m in a cage, I just picked the well-furnished one.”
“I’m not saying you had any good choices there, but you certainly had the choice of not being an ass about it.”
“Forgive me for not having a whole lot of hometown loyalty after Garden pretty much threw me out—“
“You didn’t get it then, and you still don’t get it,” Quistis interrupts him, standing up abruptly and pulling her shawl around her shoulders. She looks offended; Seifer doesn’t know what he’s said, but he’s pleased anyway. “Why don’t you leave?”
Seifer stands up as well, ignoring the daggers she’s glaring at him. “I wouldn’t want to miss the auction,” he says coolly. “You said it would be interesting, right?”
She studies him for a long moment. “Well, on your own head,” she says finally, giving a careless shrug. Seifer doesn’t have to ask what she means by that; it’s quite clear that his continued presence in Garden isn’t wanted by anyone, himself included. He’s given up the habit of picking fights — living on a government leash does that to a person — but it’s only a matter of time before someone takes real issue with his being there.
He doesn’t have to wait long, either. He and Quistis have just left the ballroom and are heading down toward the Quad, where Seifer can see rows of chairs set up in front of the stage, when someone comes up on Quistis’ other side. “What’s he doing here?” a snide voice says.
“Nice to see you again too, Dincht,” Seifer says, says, peering around Quistis to get a look at the other man.
“Tch,” Zell says with a sneer. “Quistis, I need to talk to you about the… the thing. Come with me?” he says, and pulls Quistis away by the arm, but not without shooting a nasty glance back at Seifer over his shoulder.
“Just like old times,” Seifer mutters to himself. This remark doesn’t escape Quistis’ notice, and she gives him a quelling look even as she walks away with Zell.
He almost feels at home again. All he needs is for Squall to come hassle him and it really would be like old times.
He loiters around for a while as people filter, in from the ball. Everywhere he turns are familiar faces; Rinoa, in an unnecessarily poofy blue ball gown, scurries past him without looking at him; Selphie, over by the stage, is glaring at him as though she thinks she can burn him to a crisp with the power of her mind; a little ways away, he can see Xu and that pilot friend of hers conversing in low tones and casting disdainful looks his way in a manner that leaves no doubt they’re talking about him. Quistis has disappeared, but he sees Zell trotting around after a while, chit-chatting with everyone in his usual upbeat manner. Seifer half-hopes Zell will find a reason to come over and pick a fight with him, but all the other man does is scowl at him from afar, and then vanish backstage again.
The little chicken shit has grown up, has he? Seifer feels unexpectedly irritated at this development. He had been fairly certain that Zell, if anyone, would be holding a violent grudge against him still.
“Hi, everyone! Hey, listen up!” Selphie ascends the stage and is facing the crowd, wielding a microphone. “We’re gonna start the auction, so go ahead and take a seat! It’s gonna be really fun!” she announces, wiggling her arms with excitement.
“I doubt it,” Seifer mutters to himself, but he stops himself from saying anything more; Quistis has taken the seat next to him. “Come to keep an eye on me, instructor?” he asks quietly.
“Well, I drew the short straw,” she replies with a smile.
“You can admit it if you missed me, Trepe. I promise I won’t even be mean to you.”
“If you want the truth, Seifer, I feel sorry for you,” is Quistis’ response, and her cool tone startles him a little. “You could have stayed here and everyone — mostly — would have been willing to try and forgive you. But you’re even more of an asshole than you used to be, so instead everyone is quite happy to hate you.”
“Oh, well, good,” Seifer says, sitting back in his chair, and trying not to be affected by her callousness. “At least the feeling’s mutual.”
The lights go down, and Selphie reappears on stage, trailing Irvine behind her. “Welcome, everyone, to Balamb Garden’s first charity auction!” she chirps, and the audience applauds. There are a lot of people still there — Seifer wonders what exactly they’re expecting from this pageant Selphie’s putting on. “We have tons of great stuff, okay? So we’re gonna start with the small stuff and work our way up to the good prizes!”
“Like it’s a damn game show,” Quistis murmurs from next to him. Seifer leans over toward her a little.
“Do I sense a hint of disapproval, instructor?”
She purses her lips, evidently caught between a desire to bitch and a dislike of having a moderately friendly conversation with Seifer. After a moment or two, the former wins out. “I was against this idea,” she admits, fussing with her shawl. “I think it’s a little ridiculous. But Selphie does pretty much whatever she wants, so there’s no point in fighting. Squall has a soft spot for her or something.”
“You sound a tad jealous,” Seifer says.
“Go fuck yourself,” she snaps, and focuses her attention back on Selphie. Seifer smiles, a little; he must have touched a nerve.
The auction is as boring as the party had been; Seifer watches with very mild interest as items are sold off to people with clearly too much money on their hands. He keeps up a quiet, sarcastic commentary as things progress, mostly for Quistis’ benefit, but she’s evidently determined not to speak to him again. “This is kind of embarrassing to watch,” he says after a while, watching as Selphie hands off another sold item — one of Quistis’ whips — to an enthusiastic Trepie for an absurd amount of money. Quistis herself is trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone.
“I hate to agree with you,” she says, and then sighs. Looking around, Seifer sees that she isn’t the only one who does; Squall, sitting near the front, is looking extremely uncomfortable with the show on the whole, although it’s possible that’s his normal expression. Irvine and Selphie, however, are going at it with great energy up on stage, and most of the crowd seem to be having a good time. “I’m afraid to say it gets worse,” Quistis remarks a few moments later, sighing again.
“That sounds promising,” Seifer replies.
Quistis doesn’t say anything, but goes back to watching the auction. Seifer tries to do the same, but it’s boring the life out of him; he’s contemplating leaving when one of the assistants drags the next item up for bid onto the stage, and it’s familiar — a big, shiny, heavy black case; the girl carrying it probably weighs as much as it does, and she bangs it against the floor with every step.
“Hey!” Seifer yells, getting up out of his seat, and causing a portion of the crowd to look his way. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Seifer, sit down,” Quistis says.
“That’s mine. You can’t sell that,” he growls, walking up to the stage, where Selphie is opening the case to reveal what’s inside: a sleek, gleaming gunblade — his gunblade. Selphie gives him a smug look.
“It’s property of Balamb Garden,” she says snottily.
“It’s my property, give it to me,” Seifer snarls, and he’s about ready to climb up on stage and take it himself when Quistis grabs the back of his jacket and hauls him back to his seat.
“You’re making a scene,” she chides.
“You can make a bid for it if you like,” Selphie cooes, looking infuriatingly superior as she paws his gunblade with her little gloved hands.
Quistis is still yanking on his jacket; reluctantly, Seifer returns to his seat, fuming. “Is this what you invited me here for?” he hisses at her. “To make me buy back my own stuff?”
“Like I told you, I didn’t have anything to do with the auction,” Quistis says, managing to look remarkably cool despite the fact that Seifer is spitting venom at her. “Trust me, if I had, it wouldn’t be this… circus.”
“Alright, then, this is a very rare item, isn’t it?” Selphie giggles, clearly reveling in Seifer’s frustration. “So, what’ll we start the bidding at? What do you think, Irv? Shall we start at 10,000 gil?”
“Will you be wanting this?” Quistis murmurs to him, handing him the little paddle he’d been given at arrival to the auction. Seifer snatches it from her, grinding his teeth. Damn if was going to buy his own weapon back from Garden, and at such a ridiculous price — damn if he wouldn’t; he certainly isn’t going to leave here tonight without it. He’d never imagined Garden would keep it — in fact, he’d been sure it was lost at the end of the war, and he couldn’t think how Garden ended up with it in the first place.
“Anyone? No bids?” Selphie pouts, shaking her head, while Irvine mimics her. “Maybe I undersold it? This is certified war memorabilia, you know. Should we start a bit higher? Oh, we have a bid!”
Selphie’s pointing into the crowd — right at Quistis, who has her paddle up in the air. “What are you doing, Trepe?” Seifer snarls, grabbing her hand and wrenching it down.
“Getting the price up,” she replies unabashedly.
“Ten-five, anyone?”
Seifer thrusts his paddle into the air, giving Quistis a look that hopefully conveys his full intent to use the weapon on her if she tries to make another bid. She doesn’t, and a moment later, Selphie announces, “alright, then! Sold to the creep,” she punctuates this remark by making a rude gesture in Seifer’s direction, “for 10,500. Thanks, creep.”
“What other shit of mine are you weirdos holding onto?” Seifer growls at Quistis, who’s getting up from her seat, leaving her shawl and her paddle on the chair.
“You should have just left when I told you to,” is her answer, watching the stage — Selphie had moved on to the next item already — with a grim, resigned sort of expression. “But since you’re staying, you might as well see me humiliate myself. I’m up for auction next.”
“You’re what?” Seifer spits, momentarily forgetting his anger.
“We’re having a bachelor auction, a bunch of the instructors and the SeeDs. It’s the most debasing thing I’ve ever done,” Quistis says, and she looks, indeed, really unhappy as she describes it. “The winner gets a date with me. So if you’re feeling sadistic, go ahead and make a bid; then you can have a whole night to make me miserable at your leisure.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid one of your fanboys,” Seifer says, jerking his thumb at the group of Trepies sitting nearby who are all still squabbling over the whip, “is going to win the date and try to get handsy with you. Should I be flattered that you’d prefer me to one of them?”
“The evil you know, right?” she says with a bitter smirk, and then walks away toward the stage, shoulders slumped.
Seifer is stunned. Maybe this night would turn out to be worth coming after all.
His mood improves rapidly after the event gets going. Most of the dozen SeeDs Selphie had probably had to bully to get up on that stage look as displeased with the situation as Quistis did, excepting Irvine, who appears to be in his element. Seifer has to give Selphie some credit for the arrangement of this whole thing — not least for convincing everyone involved to go along with it — but all the participants are lookers, and she’s pawning them off with reckless enthusiasm, spurred on by the crowd, whose excitement is growing as the auction continues. It appears that the bachelor auction, which Seifer hadn’t even known about, is the main attraction of the whole night.
Selphie moves right down the line with gusto, evidently working up to the more popular SeeDs — Irvine, Quistis, and Zell are the last three up (apparently she hadn’t been able to get Squall to go along with this farce, which is a shame purely because of the wasted entertainment potential.) Seifer might have thought she was saving the best for last, except that it’s Zell at the end of the line; but evidently he’s pretty popular, to judge by the excited whispering of a group of women sitting just a little ways from Seifer.
Quistis is trying to catch his eye as the line winds down; Seifer refuses to humor her — maybe that was the real reason she had invited him to this event, in the hopes that he might make a bid to save her from the Trepies… and as he watches the large, tightly-clustered group of Quistis fanboys and girls nearby, who are now bickering over ownership of the couple of her personal items that she’d donated to the auction, he’s almost moved by pity to help her out — not quite, but almost. If she hadn’t been so cold to him earlier, maybe, but she struck home with a couple of her little jabs, so Seifer is perfectly inclined to consider his revenge complete in the knowledge that no torment he could purposely inflict on her will be as bad as her having to go on a date with one of her fan club members.
“Next up, ladies and gents, we have Miss Quistis Trepe… Instructor Trepe is one of the most popular instructors at Garden; the waiting list for her classes gets longer every year!” Selphie commentates, and the crowd cheers. “Quistis even has her own fan club here at Garden, I think they're all here tonight, as a matter of fact!”
The Trepies hoot and holler; Seifer can see a tic going in Quistis’ cheek, but she maintains her pasted-on grin.
“Instructor Trepe is the very picture of poise and refinement… but don’t let that elegant demeanor and cool facade trick you; she can be a pretty wild date if you know how to push her buttons!” Selphie crows.
“Selphie!” Quistis cries.
“You’re bidding on one — that’s exactly one — date with Instructor Trepe, so let’s begin! We’ll start at 1500 gil, how does that sound? Does that work for you, Q?”
“As if,” Quistis mutters, mutinously, but her reply to Selphie is lost in the noise of the audience as they begin bidding.
“Sixteen — seventeen — okay, wait — slow down a bit, will you? I’m not exactly a professional—“ Selphie calls out, her head whipping back and forth as she tries to follow the action of a dozen or more paddles all going in the air at once. “We’re up to 2100 — do I hear twenty-two? Oh, there—“
Seifer catches Quistis’ eye for a moment; she gives him a very cold look, to which he only shrugs. The bidding goes up and up; the Trepie with the whip appears determined to outbid all the rest, and it’s he who gets in with the final price of 6900 gil, which brings Quistis in as the top-selling date so far tonight. She leaves the stage with an extremely sour look on her face, as though she’s just had an entire lemon shoved down her throat. Irvine takes center stage next.
“You didn’t do anything!” she hisses as she walks by Seifer, heading toward the table where Xu is taking down contact information from auction winners.
“I don’t recall promising I’d help you,” he says. Quistis slaps him hard on the arm, and then goes on her way, leaving Seifer to feel satisfied that he’d done his duty in pissing her off quite thoroughly tonight.
Irvine is the next to sell himself off, and he flirts and winks his way up to 6000 gil, not quite beating Quistis out for the top spot; he doesn’t seem much bothered about it, however, as he leaves the stage to introduce himself to a very pretty blonde in a slinky satin dress who’s fishing a checkbook out of her handbag.
Next, and last, is Zell, and he at least seems to be taking the situation good-naturedly — he isn’t clearly in his element, the way Irvine was, but neither does he look half as miserable as Quistis and some of the other participants, who Seifer assumes Selphie had probably had to bully or blackmail to participate in this exhibition. Zell is greeted with applause and some cheering from the women in the audience; one of them, a very short, very pretty redhead, gives him a little wave, and he grins.
“Last, but quite certainly not least, we have SeeD Dincht!” Selphie announces. “Like I even need to introduce him! Everybody knows Zell! He’s the cutest and sweetest and definitely the nicest guy at Garden—“
Seifer snorts, but no one takes any notice. Zell has gone a bit pink. “Stop introducing me like I’m everyone’s little brother!” he mutters to Selphie.
“So, for one date with Zell, let’s start the bidding at… 500!”
“500? You started Quistis at 1500!”
“Well, we all agreed that you’d probably be a cheaper date,” Selphie tells him.
Whatever Zell’s indignant response to that was is lost in the greater noise of the crowd as people began bidding. Seifer watches as the numbers go up with only a bare minimum of interest; the group of women nearby him are not as overly enthusiastic as Quistis’ fanclub had been, but appear no less determined to win a date with Zell. Seifer keeps his eyes on the redhead for a while; she’s coolly maintaining the highest bid.
Quistis has come back to her seat, still casting angry glares in Seifer’s direction but evidently more willing to put up with him than with the Trepie who won her date, who is still collecting some of his prizes from Xu. “Chicken-wuss is pretty popular, isn’t he?” Seifer remarks as the bidding goes past 5000. Quistis, arranging her shawl over her shoulders, gives him a patronizing smile.
“Everybody loves Zell,” she explains, as if Seifer didn’t know; it had been the same during their school days — Zell managed to get along with nearly everyone without effort. He and Seifer had never quite seen eye-to-eye, but that was probably mainly because he was so easy to ruffle and Seifer could never resist an easy target. “He’s just been through a breakup, though, so I think a lot of the girls are hoping this is their chance,” Quistis adds, shrugging carelessly.
Seifer watches the other man up on stage for a moment, starting to feel irritated. Zell doesn’t look like someone who’s just been through a breakup; he looks smug, like he knows perfectly well that he’s popular and the fact that women are competing to pay to date him only proves that. “I find I’m kind of annoyed,” he says to Quistis.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m rich and good-looking, and women don’t look twice at me. Zell looks like a kid playing dress-up in that uniform, and they’re swooning over him.”
“Yes, but you’re an asshole, and Zell is adorable,” Quistis replies, offhandedly. Seifer grits his teeth, but she’s right - Zell is cute and lovable in a completely charming sort of way, despite the fact that he could knock your teeth into the back of your skull if you pissed him off. And contrary to anything Seifer would ever admit to saying, he looks good in that SeeD uniform — mature and sort of grown-up, really a far cry from the boy Seifer had known a year or so ago. “Besides,” Quistis says, “it’s for charity. Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”
“We’re up to 6100! Do I see sixty-two? Anyone? Yes, there—“ Selphie is commentating, pointing to acknowledge the red-haired woman, who has her paddle up again. “Alright, we’re at 6200! I think Zell’s trying to beat you out for the top spot, instructor!”
Beside Seifer, Quistis gives a quiet snort of contempt. Selphie, meanwhile, is looking around the crowd, still chattering, “6300, anyone? Do I hear sixty-three? No? Come on, let’s keep things exciting, people—“
But she stops speaking suddenly, and the audience goes quiet. She’s staring at Seifer, who has his paddle up in the air; slowly, heads begin to turn in his direction. “What are you doing?” Quistis hisses in his ear.
“Making a bid,” he answers matter-of-factly, feeling quite smug again with all eyes on him. His move has thrown everybody off; Selphie looks like she can’t comprehend what she’s seeing, and Zell’s satisfied grin has vanished to be replaced with an expression of danger. “Sixty-three,” he says to Selphie, shaking his paddle for emphasis.
“Sixty-four,” the redhead, across the aisle from him, declares, and she turns to give him a long, probing stare. Seifer doesn’t look away.
“Sixty-five,” he says.
“Seven thousand.”
“Seven-five,” he counters.
“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” Zell makes his way down to the end of the stage where Seifer is, and he looks rightly pissed off, which gives Seifer a keen sense of satisfaction. “Quit it! Quit it right now!”
“I’m just trying to help,” Seifer replies, with a grin that he knows will drive Zell insane. “It’s for charity, after all, right?”
“Eight thousand,” the redhead declares; her expression, scowling a bit now, isn’t quite as pretty as before. Seifer wonders, what she’s after; she looks fairly determined not to lose out to him. Of course, she doesn’t know the lengths to which he’ll go just to be an asshole.
He puts his paddle up again, ignoring the sharp elbow Quistis grinds into his ribcage. “I can keep going, you know,” he says to the woman, who gives him rather a dirty look. Most of the women nearby her are making similar mild to moderately-threatening expressions. Clearly Seifer has broken some weird chicken-wuss fan club rule by horning in on their private girl fight.
“Wait! Time! I mean, I mean, pause!” Selphie cries, running to the front of the stage with her hands up in the air in a T shape. “Let’s pause for a second! Zell, can I have a word with you?”
She grabs the blond by the elbow and forcibly drags him back from the edge of the stage, where from the looks of it he’s preparing to launch an attack on Seifer. The two of them and Irvine form a little circle in the middle of the stage and begin having a quiet, tense discussion; Seifer doesn’t have to rack his brain to imagine what about. He watches Selphie mouth the words “but we need the money,” and feels a sense of smugness. Obviously they aren’t going to let him just waltz in and snatch away their golden boy SeeD — not that Seifer really wants to anyway, he just wants to annoy everyone present, and he seems to have found an excellent way to do it — but they have to be desperate to be considering it.
“Alright, everyone, we’re changing the game a little bit!” Selphie announces with a grin on her face that Seifer associates with trouble. Zell is looking exceptionally sour, which means that Selphie probably bullied him into whatever scheme she cooked up to combat Seifer’s insistent dickery.
“We’re going to up the ante a little,” Irvine adds. “The auction will go on, but the prize is changing! Instead of one date with the lovely Zell, you will be getting seven dates — that’s a whole week’s worth of quality time for a bargain price! We’ll start the bidding where we left off at eighty-five hundred, how’s that sound?”
The audience starts buzzing, but Seifer only wants to laugh; Zell’s expression strongly suggests he’s itching to hit someone, and Seifer is willing to bet he’s the first candidate. The redhead across the aisle turns to give him a cold look. “Do you really want to do this?” she asks in a low tone.
Seifer gives her his most winsome smile. So she’s going to be like that, is she? “To be honest,” he says, leaning across the aisle toward her, “I didn’t, no. But now I think I do.”
She cocks an eyebrow at him, and then raises her paddle, looking sort of smug and triumphant — but if she thinks she has him beat, boy is she going to be in for a surprise. “Ten thousand,” she declares, and the women around her start tittering.
“Twelve thousand,” Seifer returns.
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty,” he says, and then fakes a yawn, as if he’s getting bored with the proceedings. The red-haired woman looks furious — but not as furious as Zell up on the stage, whose expression suggests he’s about to blow his lid. By contrast, both Selphie and Irvine are grinning like they just won the lottery.
Some of the other women are whispering now, and one of them leans over to say something to the redhead. Seifer is willing to bet equal amounts that they’re pooling their bets for one final bid, probably hoping to shoot way over his price range. Obviously none of these people know who he is.
“Twenty-five thousand,” she says, smiling at him, but Seifer isn’t rattled. Twenty-five thousand gil isn’t exactly pocket change — this woman has cash, whoever she is. But so does he, and what’s more, he has the dickish determination to spend such a ridiculous amount of money solely for the purpose of pissing off everyone one here tonight — a good night’s work, if he accomplishes it, truthfully.
“Forty thousand,” Seifer declares, ignoring the punch that Quistis gives him on the arm a moment later. The redhead stares at him as though she can’t decide if he’s crazy or not. Everybody around, in fact, is staring at him; Seifer hasn’t been the center of so much hostile attention in months — probably since his trial. It’s somewhat comforting to know that he still possesses the ability to make everybody in a room hate him with very little effort at all.
Nobody speaks for a long few moments; at length, Seifer turns to address Selphie, who’s staring at him from up on the stage, slack-jawed. “Are we done here?” he asks, standing up from his seat. “Is anyone else going to make a bid?”
“Uh… sold!” Selphie cries out, before anyone else can speak — and Zell is about to make an explicit refusal to continue participating in this debacle, by the looks of his expression, which is equal parts fury and confusion. “Sold to… Seifer Almasy… damn…”
“What are you…? Selphie, this is insane! You can’t sell me to that fucker!”
“I mean, he made a valid bid,” Selphie begins to say, shrugging, before Zell converges on her; Seifer witnesses Irvine jumping to her rescue, trying to insert himself between the two of them, before Quistis grabs him by the arm hard and steers him away from the scene. She drags him over to the side of the stage where they’re out of view of everyone else, although Seifer can see the red-haired woman storming out of the quad, surrounded by a cloud of chattering, stricken-looking followers.
“Seifer, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Quistis demands to know, looking outraged. The expression does nothing for her beauty; Seifer thinks she looks like she might start breathing fire at any moment — and knowing Quistis, that’s a viable option.
“Just trying to do my part, Instructor. You guys are hard up for money, right—“ he begins in a mocking tone, but she cuts him off with a sharp slap to the face.
“You’re incredible,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t believe you. You know Zell is going to kill you, right?”
“Oh, whatever. I can hold my own.”
“Do you know who that woman is, Seifer?” Quistis hisses. “That’s the daughter of the owner of the Balamb Plaza Hotel. She’s been trying to hook up with Zell for weeks—“
“So what, I cost chicken-wuss a hot date? Boo hoo,” Seifer says sarcastically, stepping away from Quistis and straightening his jacket. “He’ll get over it. You all, however, will never get over the fact that you had to take money from me to get by, and that’s something that I’ll always treasure. Thank you, Instructor, for that,” he finishes with a heavy dose of sarcasm, relishing in the frustrated expression on Quistis’ face. Then, before she can make a comeback (or give him another slap in the face,) he walks away, back toward the stage, where Selphie and Irvine are waiting.
“Well, this was a lovely evening,” he says dryly, noting that Zell isn’t anywhere to be seen in the slight chaos that is the breaking-up party (his attendance always seems to have that effect on gatherings, doesn’t it?) “Where’s my gunblade?”
“Where’s my check?” Selphie replies, holding out one tiny gloved hand and giving him an impressively no-nonsense look — Seifer would maybe be amused at how fast a large amount of cash changed her mind about him, but that would mean admitting that there’s something about her that he doesn’t entirely hate, which is out of the question. Seifer reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his checkbook, and Selphie begins to bounce. Irvine, with a disgusted expression, walks away.
“You know how to throw a party, Tilmitt,” Seifer says as she slaps a pen into his hand.
“That’s fifty thousand and five hundred gil.”
He scribbles the amount out, and tears the check from its book, but doesn’t hand it to her. “I’ll be having my stuff first, thanks,” he says, holding the slip of paper up out of her reach — which is maybe a little cruel, but as Selphie is practically vibrating with desire to get her hands on that check, he doesn’t feel any great need to end her suffering just yet — not after she made him pay back five times what his gunblade is worth just to get the useless thing back.
She stomps her foot, but then she goes backstage, and emerges a minute later with the black case in hand, which she practically throws at him. “Here, take your stupid gunblade and give me my check,” she snarls, extending her hand again.
“And where’s my other prize?” Seifer asks, in his smoothest tone of voice.
“What other prize?”
“I paid for seven days of chicken-wuss’ time. I won’t be leaving without him,” he says nonchalantly, just to be a dick. Selphie stares at him like he’s stupid.
“What are you talking about? As if we’re going to let you leave here with Zell. You’d better just leave while you’re ahead,” she says, huffing. At that moment, however, Irvine comes back from behind the stage with Zell himself, who, although clearly angry, no longer has that look about him that suggests he’s going to separate Seifer’s head from his neck.
“Oh, perfect,” Seifer says. “Do you do curbside delivery as well?”
“I’m gonna bash your face in, Almasy,” Zell snarls, but Seifer, suddenly struck with a new idea, only smiles at him.
“Don’t even think about it, chicken. That’ll be my first command.”
“What?” Zell says, sneering at him. “I don’t take orders from you, asshole.”
“You do starting right now, don’t you? I just paid for seven days of your time. You’re my slave, Dincht,” Seifer remarks, grinning, and feeling nothing but satisfaction at the utterly befuddled expression on all three of the others’ faces.
“What are you—?”
“That’s not what the auction was for,” Selphie says sharply, still making a grab for the check, which Seifer is keeping just out of reach.
“‘A whole week’s worth of quality time’, and I quote,” Seifer says casually, and he can practically hear Zell’s teeth grinding. “That means I own you for the next week, Dincht. And don’t even think about hitting me, I’m armed now,” he adds smugly (as if he could do any actual damage with his gunblade, as out of practice as he is. But he doesn’t need to point that out.)
“Fuck you, Almasy,” Zell says; Seifer watches his fingers twitch, and knows that the martial artist is just dying to throw a punch his way. In fact, Seifer is surprised he hasn’t already done so. “That’s not what the thing was about and you damn well know it.”
“Well, that’s really too bad,” Seifer says with a shrug, and he folds up the check, making as if to put it back in his pocket. “If that’s not what I’m paying for, then I guess I’ll just keep this.”
“Zell,” Selphie says lowly, turning to look at the blond, who looks right back at her with puzzlement. “You did agree to the auction, you know.”
“I agreed to go on a date with some chick, not to be, what — pimped off to any motherfucker who hands you a wad of cash—“
“I have it in writing, if you wanna…”
Seifer watches the two of them have a silent but extremely vehement debate through expression, and knows he’s already won. The money is obviously a bigger draw to Selphie than poor chicken-wuss’ virtue — not that that is actually in any danger; no, Seifer just wants to make him suffer a little, humiliate him, just for fun. He isn’t going to make Zell be at his beck and call for a whole week; Seifer doesn’t think he could handle that anyway, but it doesn’t do any harm to let Zell think that’s his plan.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Zell says to Selphie, and there’s definitely a desperate whine to his tone.
Seifer hands her the check, and she snatches it from him and stuffs it hastily down the front of her dress, where it would undoubtedly be safe even if Seifer decided he might want it back (and he certainly no longer does.) “Sorry,” she says to Zell, although she doesn’t look all that sorry.
“Perfect. Money well spent,” Seifer says, just for the sake of pissing Zell off a bit, but the other man seems to be a little bit in shock — he isn’t planting his fists in anyone’s face, though, so that’s an improvement. Seifer hands his gunblade case to him, and he takes it with sort of tentative movements, as though he’s not sure what he’s doing. “We’ll be going now. Really, excellent party. I do hope you’ll invite me again next year.”
“You’re a dick, Seifer,” Selphie says coldly.
“Yeah, well. You just sold me precious Zelly’s soul for that check, so I hope it’s worth it,” he cooes back at her, and then he turns away. “Come on, Dincht. And be careful with that, it’s worth a lot.”
He heads out of the party, and to his surprise, no one makes any move to stop him — they all just stare with their usual amount of horror and disgust (maybe with a little more than the usual amount) as he strolls out of Garden just as came in, only with the addition of Zell trailing hopelessly behind him.