Quistis paused. It was her night for patrols, and she'd already caught no less than seven couples in various areas of the TC (in various stages of undress), and she really didn't want to deal with anything else. She wanted a bowl of ice cream and her bed. She hated patrols. But the thought of two students, in various stages of undress, profaning the tiny chapel of Hyne that Garden kept - it was enough to make her stop, and sigh, and turn down the dark hallway.
It wasn't even really a chapel of Hyne - it was just a quiet place with an altar and some pews for religiously-minded students to sit down and think. There was a picture of Hyne, yes, but there was also a cross for the Cetran religion, and in the corner a small incense table for any of the traditional Trabians in the area. No matter what religion you were, there was a small peaceful spot in the chapel for you. And no matter what religion you were, there was no place for hanky-panky in such a small room.
Quistis rapped her knuckles on the door, sharply. "Excuse me?"
From inside came the sound of muffled sniffling.
It sounded male, Quistis thought, her heart sinking. Had someone died? There hadn't been any mission-related casualties in the past few weeks - they'd been lucky - and she hadn't received any of the Death In Family notices she usually did when students needed to be excused. Feeling a little less enraged, she gently pushed open the door.
A student sat crumpled before the altar of Hyne, sniffling into a long wrinkled piece of cloth.
"Hello?" Quistis said.
Seifer Almasy turned around. His face was red and splotchy, and his eyes were filled with manly tears he had not yet shed.
"Seifer?!"
Seifer turned away. "Go away, Instructor," he said, his voice sullen. "You won't understand."
"Seifer." Quistis took a step toward him, feeling nothing but sympathy. "Seifer, who was it?"
Seifer's head hung for a moment, and then he picked up the pile of fabric - which Quistis belatedly recognized as his trench coat - and held it up to her. One of the sleeves had been completely cut from the rest of the coat, and there was a long ugly hole in the front where it had been slashed through by a gunblade. Quistis assumed she knew whose gunblade it was.
"Wait." Her brain took a few steps back. "The coat?"
Seifer sniffled, and nodded, his eyes on the sad pile of fabric that had been his sleeve.
"Seifer." Now her voice was strict - because if she didn't try to do 'mean', she'd laugh. "Why don't you take that thing down to Custodial and have one of our seamstresses sew it back together?"
There was a long, drawn-out pause, and then Seifer was gone, and Quistis was left with the feeling that he'd whooped, and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.
no subject
The light in the small Garden chapel was on.
Quistis paused. It was her night for patrols, and she'd already caught no less than seven couples in various areas of the TC (in various stages of undress), and she really didn't want to deal with anything else. She wanted a bowl of ice cream and her bed. She hated patrols. But the thought of two students, in various stages of undress, profaning the tiny chapel of Hyne that Garden kept - it was enough to make her stop, and sigh, and turn down the dark hallway.
It wasn't even really a chapel of Hyne - it was just a quiet place with an altar and some pews for religiously-minded students to sit down and think. There was a picture of Hyne, yes, but there was also a cross for the Cetran religion, and in the corner a small incense table for any of the traditional Trabians in the area. No matter what religion you were, there was a small peaceful spot in the chapel for you. And no matter what religion you were, there was no place for hanky-panky in such a small room.
Quistis rapped her knuckles on the door, sharply. "Excuse me?"
From inside came the sound of muffled sniffling.
It sounded male, Quistis thought, her heart sinking. Had someone died? There hadn't been any mission-related casualties in the past few weeks - they'd been lucky - and she hadn't received any of the Death In Family notices she usually did when students needed to be excused. Feeling a little less enraged, she gently pushed open the door.
A student sat crumpled before the altar of Hyne, sniffling into a long wrinkled piece of cloth.
"Hello?" Quistis said.
Seifer Almasy turned around. His face was red and splotchy, and his eyes were filled with manly tears he had not yet shed.
"Seifer?!"
Seifer turned away. "Go away, Instructor," he said, his voice sullen. "You won't understand."
"Seifer." Quistis took a step toward him, feeling nothing but sympathy. "Seifer, who was it?"
Seifer's head hung for a moment, and then he picked up the pile of fabric - which Quistis belatedly recognized as his trench coat - and held it up to her. One of the sleeves had been completely cut from the rest of the coat, and there was a long ugly hole in the front where it had been slashed through by a gunblade. Quistis assumed she knew whose gunblade it was.
"Wait." Her brain took a few steps back. "The coat?"
Seifer sniffled, and nodded, his eyes on the sad pile of fabric that had been his sleeve.
"Seifer." Now her voice was strict - because if she didn't try to do 'mean', she'd laugh. "Why don't you take that thing down to Custodial and have one of our seamstresses sew it back together?"
There was a long, drawn-out pause, and then Seifer was gone, and Quistis was left with the feeling that he'd whooped, and kissed her on the cheek before leaving.