Open House
REMEMBER! “Last name of guest, first name of guest, relation- Hmph.” Squall rolled his eyes and proceeded to crumble the notice into a wad. He decided the first garbage can he passed would be given the honor of housing the giant spit ball. “What’cha got there?” Caught off guard by the sudden appearance, he stood up to hide the fact that he was startled. Squall nodded a hello to the bubbly SeeD and stuck the wad in his pocket. “Is that the open house form? Who are going to invite?” Selphie smiled, hoping for the answer she wanted, but knew she wasn’t going to get. “No one.” “There must be someone you want to invite. What about La-” “No!......Thank you, but I think I’ll skip it this year.” Not bothering to say goodbye, he walked past Selphie and casually tossed the paper in the trash.
“Do you think Squall would be angry if I invited Sir Laguna to the open house next week?” Selphie fiddled with her french fries, continually dipping them in the same glob of ketchup. “Can I say the eulogy at your funeral? I’ve always wanted to write one of those things,” Zell smirked. “So, you don’t think it would be a good idea?” “Selphie Tilmitt was one of the best Garden Festival committee members, considering she was the only one. She also had a wond- well, she had a website--” “All right! I get it.” “I think it’s very nice of you to think of Squall,” Quistis began. “But he needs to be the one to mend his relationship with his father.” “Couldn’t I just.....help him?” “Do what you want, but don’t expect a miracle. And don’t expect Squall to thank you, either....” She laughed lightly. “Let’s send it in.”
A knock at the door broke the silence of the President’s office. Being in deep thought, Laguna did not respond immediately, causing the servant to knock twice more. Totally oblivious to the pounding, Laguna tightened his fist and took a deep breath, trying to decide which form of action would benefit him in the situation at hand. “Mr. President? Sir?” “Hm?” he grunted automatically. “Mail, Mr. President.” “.........Come in.” The boy opened the door the best he could, considering both of his hands were full with sacks of letters. Laguna was so absorbed in what he was doing, he didn’t bother to look up. “Close the door, there’s a draft,” he ordered softly. “Yes, sir.” The servant attempted to close the door with his hands, but when that failed, resorted to his feet. Despite the servant’s cautious movements, the wind caused the door to slam closed. Laguna’s eye’s bulged as each one of the Jenga blocks fell from their position on top of the tower and hit his wooden desk with a thud. He lunged forward to catch the remainder, but found it was futile. “I-I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to close the door so loudly! Honestly, sir!” “That’s,” he held his breath, trying to suppress a whimper. “Okay,” he choked out. “I truly am sorry!” “No, no. It’s....fine....” The servant boy timidly handed Laguna the mail bags. “H-here.” “Thanks. You can go,” he squeaked. “Sorry again, Mr. President,” he apologized before exiting. The President sighed, finally accepting the tragedy, and opened the bag nearest to him. “Nick and Mary-Jo Williams want me to cut taxes on.....meatloaf? There’s a special tax for meatloaf?” He shook his head and threw the letter on the carpet, then rummaged through the bag again. “Another one of those long-lost relative notes, a declaration of war from some high school kid, a letter to Santa, a letter from Balamb Garden....Huh?” Laguna ripped open the envelope, expecting nothing more than a plea for funding, or perhaps a request for a speech to the students. His eyes skimmed its contents as he quietly read aloud. ‘He wants me to come?’ A smile crept up his lips as he read the letter over again. When he was sure of what it said, he sped out of his office to tell Kiros and Ward of his plans for the next week. “La la la la la!” No longer worried by Laguna’s odd behavior, Kiros stood quietly, waiting for him to stop running in circles. “Guess what!” he panted. “You tried out for a Lollipop Kid in Esthar’s live production of The Wizard of Oz?” “They’re touring again?” “I was being-” Kiros shook his head. “No, Laguna, they aren’t touring.” “Squall invited me to Garden for open house!” “Squall invited you?” “His name’s on the return address, see?” Laguna proudly pointed to the upper left corner of the letter and brought it close to Kiros’ face so he could get a good look. Kiros shrugged and patted him on the back. “Congrats, man, he’s accepted the unacceptable.” “Er.....thanks....” “.........?” “Ward wants to know if Garden has an open house.” “I......just said that, Ward.” “He thinks you wrote that letter yourself.” Laguna was pleased to rub the envelope in Ward’s face too. “He says Squall doesn’t have bubbly handwriting.” Laguna quickly pulled his hand back and stuck the paper in his pocket. “How would you know?!” he huffed. “Usually girls have bubbly handwriting.” “What’s THAT supposed to mean?!” “Ask Ward! He’s the one who said it!” Kiros defended himself. The ex-Galbadian soldier backed away from his teammate and headed toward the other man in the room. He mustered up the angriest expression he could manage, and stared Ward straight in the face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “.........” “He says, It looks like your handwriting......Only not in crayon,” snickered Kiros. Laguna strolled back into his office. “Yeah, whatever!”
September 5th finally came, and despite the truckload of visitors that would be touring Garden, classes and missions carried on as usual. “Are you excited, Squall?” Selphie and Zell tailed along behind their commander, regardless of the many attempts he made to lose them. “Why should I be?” he asked in his normal tone. “Oh, uh....I just thought you’d be happy to see all those new faces.” She smiled sweetly, but Squall didn’t return the gesture. “Hey,” Zell spoke up. “It’s almost twelve o’clock. We’d better-” Squall halted. “You’re not wearing a watch,” he observed. Zell paused, unable to think of a plausible excuse. Selphie attempted to help by blurting, “T-the voices told him!” “Um, y-yeah.” He dramatically flung his hands over his ears. “Stop the voices!” “.....Er...Zell hears ‘the voices’ often. Don’t you, Zell?” He stood silently, waiting for her to continue. She also returned the gaze, expecting him to continue. When he didn’t, she jabbed his side. “DON’T YOU?” “All the time!.........Wait. I hear them again!” He bobbed his head up and down. “Stop the voices!” “But they DON’T talk to you THAT often. RIGHT?” He removed his hands cautiously. “Yes, they’ve stopped now.” Squall was very confused and had to double-take a few times before shrugging it off as another one of their bizarre idiosyncrasies. “What’s going on? You’ve all been acting strangely since the beginning of last week. If it’s just nerves or excitement, leave me out of it.” He continued walking, but Zell and Selphie did not follow. “So.....” Zell balanced his weight on his heels. “The part of eulogy writer is still open, right?”
"All right, I’m off!" Laguna reached for his car keys, but was promptly halted by three burly guards. "Mr. President!" one yelled as he and the others surrounded the vehicle. Laguna pretended not to hear him and began to roll up his window. The guard, being accustomed to the president’s antics, quickly stuck his arm through the open hole. The man sighed, annoyed that protecting this president meant escorting him to school events instead of warding off assassins......not that anyone wouldn’t want to assassinate President Loire. The guard decided long ago that he did. "Sir, I cannot allow you to leave unprotected." "Chill, Kiros and Ward are with me," he answered with the air of a teenager. "I must insist that my men accompany you." Laguna bit his lip as he eyed the stiff soldiers. Kiros and Ward waved their hands, motioning him to give in. It was a toss up, though, if he would listen to them. "C’mon, man, let’s get going! You’re going to be late, and that won’t look good," Kiros urged Laguna from the back seat. The president stared at the wool covering his steering wheel, occasionally rubbing the fur with his thumbs. "Okay, get in," he said just above a whisper. The guard smiled as he removed his arm, then cursed aloud when the car sped away. His desperate pleas were silenced by the roaring engine as he raced after the pearly white vehicle. The others looked on; one in disbelief, one in sheer happiness. "I can’t belie - that wasn’t - you KNEW he’d - you shouldn’t take advantage of the new guy!" the shorter of the two whined. The taller man smiled smugly and held out his hand. "20 gil. Hand it over."
After fooling the airline workers into believing he looked like President Loire because he was cloned..... Laguna and his friends boarded the plane and departed for Balamb. Unfortunately, their lateness forced them to split up on the airplane in order to find empty seats. Laguna spotted a chair by a lone teenager and hastily ran to claim it. He bumped Kiros out of the way (causing him to fall into the aisle) and plopped down. "Hi! Looks like we’ll be sitting together on this flight," Laguna cheerfully greeted the boy on his right. The teen gave a small nod and turned up the volume on his headset. "Nice hair. I’ve always loved the color pink. And is that a tattoo of a three-toed sloth?" The boy nodded again, then turned his attention to the window. He stared intently at the ground below as the plane took off, laughing occasionally. "The end is near," he muttered. Laguna confusedly turned to the punk kid. "What....do you mean?" "They are coming." "Who?" "THEY." "Who’s ‘they’?" he asked, his voice cracking on the words. "Not Who. They." "Oh, I get it." Laguna threw his head back and grinned when he thought he solved the riddle. "This is one of those ‘Who’s On First’ things, huh." "They will be here soon." "Riiiight. Oh, miss!" The stewardess stopped her cart for Laguna and smiled politely. "Can I help you, sir?" Without waiting for a reply, she quickly uncovered the tray of airline food and began riddling off the choices. "We’ve got chicken in red sauce with peas, red chicken in pea sauce, peas in red chicken sauce, and chicken in red pea sauce with a.....er......I believe it’s a brownie." "I’ll take the one with the brownie, please." "Laguna!" Kiros yelled from across the aisle. He waved his hands frantically, trying to get his attention. "Don’t eat the food!" Kiros pointed to Ward who had his head resting on the tray in front of him, apparently unconscious. "Ah, that’s right. I almost forgot how nasty and cold it always is. Can I have some peanuts instead?" The stewardess sneered and rolled her eyes, but handed Laguna a packet of nuts anyway. She then continued down the aisle, ignoring passengers and mumbling to herself.
By the time the clocks chimed one, most of the guests had arrived and were being treated to lunch in the cafeteria. Quistis’ family had gotten to Garden early and were sitting at their own table with her. The rest of the SeeDs gathered at their usual spot, chatting like normal. "Selphie, pass the salt, please," Squall asked. She jumped nervously. "What?! W-what are you gonna do with it?" He stared at her for a second then shrugged. "I promise I won't use it for anything illegal," he smiled. "I just want to salt my greenbeans." "Oh.....yeah." Selphie tensely nodded her head and handed him the salt with great care. Squall mimicked her movements and salted his plate extremely cautiously, treating the shaker as if it were made of crystal. Rinoa laughed to herself and shot a grin to an embarrassed Selphie. "Well, I heard the cafeteria ladies talking about how expensive they are and-" "They’re made out of plastic!" Zell chuckled. "Australian plastic!" she shot back. "Er....sure." Selphie sighed irritably and picked up her tray. She started toward the garbage can, but was cut short by the mass of students hurrying off to the hall. "Hey! What’s going on?!" she yelled into the crowd, not really expecting an answer. "The president of Esthar’s here!" one screamed back. "I heard he’s really cute!" another student squealed. Selphie whipped around, accidentally hitting two of the lower classmen with her tray. "Stay away from Lagu- uh...the president!" After attempting to ward away the crazed teenagers, she walked back to her table and sat down. "The president’s here? They....they’re kidding, right?" Squall looked intently at his teammates. "Urgh.... I thought.....it was a good idea, since you seemed to had lost your form...and-" "So he’s here?" he asked eagerly, scooting his chair closer to Selphie. Selphie took a cautious step back from the table and turned her head away from Squall. "Mmm....Maybe...." "I see." He paused a moment. "Excuse me." Rinoa watched as Squall got up from the table and began toward the kitchen. "Where are you going?" "I want to see if they have any more plastic sporks left," he grumbled. "Death by spork wounds," Quistis mused. "That's going to hurt, Selphie."
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