Hyne Mass

Author's Notes: Let me apologise for the delay. I've had this drafted for a few days now, but never got around to checking it. First of all, the laptop I normally use has been sent off to get the DVD drive fixed, so I've resorted to sharing the eight year old Toshiba in the meantime. Also, I recently got back into playing Soul Calibur 3, and am thusly once again interested in my unborn, foetus of an original story about the characters I created for Chronicals of the Sword. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantassy VIII
Beta-read by the 666th Necrophiliac

here goes another one. This place is overcrowded, but perhaps not for much longer. These young students are dropping like flies. Some passing out, others rushing off to Dorm rooms, or the training Centre. And I can guess that they're not going there for the monsters.

The music continues to pump. But strangely, it almost seems to have improved, or perhaps I'm simply not as bothered by it as I once was. The room is slowly beginning to thin out. It's almost pleasant without everyone else here.

Even Rinoa leaning against me isn't bothering me as much as it should. My inebriation is clear, as is its impairing effect on my judgement.

Zell was dragged off earlier, by the librarians again. I don't know where they took him, but they've left the room. And I don't particularly agree with Irvine's theory. Speaking of which, the cowboy should be around here somewhere…

Now Quistis has been dragged off by the three leading members of her very own fanclub:
The Stalking Committee… formally known as the Trepies. I'm mildly familiar with all three of them. All were Cadets and took the written exam with me. An egotistical female with short brown hair, a girl with long brown hair fashioned in a ponytail, and a hopeless, dark skinned young man who's failed every test he's been given, to my knowledge at least. I've been unfortunate enough to have had to deal with them in the past. They were involved with that fake Triple Triad fiasco, circulating fake cards depicting the ex-Instructor's visage.

I'm surprised the three of them managed to pass the entrance exam. They're impossibly dense, and they almost never take no for an answer. I caught the blonde sending me a pleading look.

She was practically begging for help, but I had my hands full. That's the benefit of having Rinoa so close. Quistis is on her own this time. She can deal with those three by herself.

"You know, you… probably should have gone after her," Rinoa chastises, slurring slightly.

"But then who would keep you upright?" I dryly retort.

"Come on, I haven't drank that much!" She indignantly protests, her gaze not faltering at my raised eyebrow. To cement my point, I step away from her and smirk in amusement.

Unprepared for the sudden movement, Rinoa loses balance, waving her arms about in distress, her mind utterly disoriented. The unfortunate girl cried out, flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to stabilize herself.

I step forward and grab her by the shoulders before she hurts herself, securing and relaxing her. Holding her by the shoulder, I walk her over to a nearby table and sit her down.

"I rest my case. Without me, you'd have fallen flat on your face. I assume you realise that."

"Shut up," Rinoa responds in the manner of a sulking child, reaching for another drink.

"As if you weren't hard enough to deal with right now," I comment, not that I mind, really. Although I've had to ward off several drunk Cadets, lest Rinoa's intoxicated mind become impressed by some cretin's scatterbrained advances. It's a sad day when Irvine Kinneas is the least of a girl's worries.

I don't have to be so protective, I suppose. I could simply dump Rinoa on the next guy to make eyes at her and be done with it. My problems would be over, but if I'm here to take care of her, I may as well do the job properly and make sure she doesn't do anything she's likely to regret in the morning. I may be making myself out to be a killjoy, but at least it's better than having everyone else trying to get me drunk.

Besides, Rinoa's current demeanour is actually quite enjoyable… not that she'll ever hear it from me.

"You drink too much," I offhandedly comment, my words stopping the champagne flute in its tracks, if only momentarily.

"Like you can talk," Rinoa argued, lifting the flute to her lips and draining it in one swallow. What should have been a glare became a smirk, and I drained a flute for myself, instantly noticing the taste. Different, and much less bitter than before. Altogether more pleasant.

My brows furrow and my eyes narrow. "This…" I falter in my question, thinking of how awkward it must sound. I shake my head, shake it away. "Never mind." Rinoa tilts her head at me.

"Go on," she offers, lending her ear.

"Does this taste different to you?" Rinoa pauses for the moment, and I turn away. It was a stupid question after all. And irrelevant. I wouldn't have answered it myself.

"Actually, yeah. It's lighter." I arch my eyebrow at the girl's choice of phrase.

"Lighter?"

"Mn, hmn," Rinoa responds affirmatively, nodding her head. "It's not as strong as the stuff you were drinking." Not as strong? Rinoa… what do you mean. Why would the flutes over there be filled with a stronger batch? I don't understand.

Is that why it tasted different than usual? Because it was stronger? I thought it was simply from a different Vineyard. We usually import wine from Dollet. Perhaps this was all set up on purpose, to… get me drunk.

Of course, what else could it have been? I shouldn't be surprised. That was their plan all along, wasn't it? But how did you know that, or were you in on it all along, in on it with them. Simply a part of their plan. A pawn, just like me…

"Problem?" she asks so innocently, though I can't be certain of her sincerity, for obvious reasons.

"How do you know?"

"Know what?"

"About these drinks being different. About the others being stronger." Suddenly, Rinoa's dark eyes light up. Her entire face breaks into a grin.

"That's for me to know," she teases. Sitting a little closer, Rinoa rests her head upon my shoulder. I find her proximity uncomfortable, but I'm just drunk enough to stop myself from pushing her away. This is my mission after all. To keep her safe. To keep her close by. I have a job to do. And if this is the cost of doing that job… I'd be foolish to complain. I know things could be much worse.

Rinoa begins to lightly giggle. The softest strands of black hair brush against my ear, and her voice sounds. Speaking softly, sweetly. The kind of scene which would ordinarily sicken me, yet the alcohol flooding my system won't let me be. This isn't me. I'm not acting like myself. I don't understand it. This is like a dream. The room is spinning, and I'm loosing myself.

I feel something almost akin to contentment amongst the bewildering madness. I can't control myself, any of this. I'm loosing it. I'm losing control of my mind, my senses, of everything. And then she speaks. Her voice so soft, yet powerful enough to penetrate even my thick skin, and to impregnate my core.

"You will never know."

The room is spinning. Everything goes dark, and I am alone in the pitch black. If any of this is real, then I am insane.

Entrapped within the darkness, Rinoa's laugh is the last thing I hear.

Well, there you go. Hope it was worth the wait. Understandable scene transition, or nasty cliffhanger? You decide. I may take a break from this story now and go back to Trial of the Flesh. I'm not one hundred percent decided just yet. This arc only has a couple of chapters to go, anyway. Either way, thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. I appreciate it, and keep those comments comming.