A/N: The author owns none of the recognizable characters and names – makes no profit off of them.Another character sketch snippet piece. Enjoy!
A Wish For…
"…And then you sign here – oh, don't forget this one too." The secretary offered a spunky grin, brandishing a writing instrument.
Squall accepted the pen with trepidation, regarding the "last" sheet on the quarter inch high stack of documents with equal enthusiasm. He hesitated, "All I want is a chair, not a new room."
The young Secretary of Supplies continued to smile, she bobbed her head, "Of course, and these are the forms required to file a formal request. Very simple and straightforward."
Simple? What do you call hard? Squall's eyebrows converged with only a wrinkle staving off a collision. "Can I file an informal request?"
The secretary laughed and shook her head, sending her short hair in motion opposite to the cadence of her head. "No, silly." She tapped the stack of paper. "Just fill this out and we should have your chair in stock within the month."
Squall's jaw came unhinged. "'Within the month'? But all I want is a replacement – don't you have something less broken than mine that's already here?"
If Squall had been any less agreeable in visage, the secretary's congenial demeanor would have failed. "I'm afraid not. Now…" she pushed the offending documents encouragingly, "just fill out these forms and you'll be set to go."
He considered, the pen almost touched the paper…but no, he just couldn't bring himself that far. "Thanks, but no thanks." He handed the pen back.
The secretary made an audible sigh as the door closed behind him.
Wonder if that crate is still in the parking lot. It was worth a look – and he did need a chair, or, at least something functional to serve as one.
Hands dug deep in his pockets, Squall hugged the outer perimeter of the Garden's circular floor plan. Fellow students passed in bevies of twos and threes, conversing in varying tones. Many were making plans for the off hours between classes and later in the evenings.
People seemed to like to have plans in place. They also seemed to like having every hour scheduled. Not that that was a bad thing. He didn't like to be idle anymore than the next person, and a variety of activities was welcome, to an extent.
But all this in-depth planning and group activities seemed overrated. Couldn't people just sit still – on their own – for any length of time; just being quiet?
No, everything has to be complicated so that it at least sounds important.
He turned into the parking lot corridor, still staying out of the main stream of traffic. Life was good, until a roving student detached herself from a gaggle of peers and blocked his route with a wide, friendly - albeit empty - smile. "Hi! I'm…"
There were two generic strategies for the battlefield: Strategy of Attack, and of Defense. Filed under Defense, was the sub-category Evasion. Schooling in both was a staple to every Garden's training plan. Squall was a student of practice – evident in his grades – testing and honing his skills in and through unique situations. Here, was one such unique situation.
Eyes squared on his path, Squall's pace didn't slow as he neared the campaigning student.
"…And I represent the Garden Squad for Peace and Love…"
Not another one. Didn't I get accosted by one of them just yesterday? Hmm, out in force it seems. Garden Chapter something, page something, section onenumberoranother: "Sometimes the best way to evade is to just keep advancing through the enemy."
"…We're holding a rally tonight and I'd just love it if you would join me for…"
He was past her, but she turned to follow. Tenacious…
"I've got a folder just for you! Then I'll make out a special card for you to keep on your person…"
A card? Does everything have to have a card? He kept walking, staunchly trying to evince as much disinterest as humanly possible. A card to get in my room, a card for the cafeteria, a card for classes, a card to get outside the Garden…
"You'll even get your own free, personalized mug – all I'll need is your name and a small donation!"
Stop making it sound so personal- your cohorts ran the same line on me the other day. They passed into the parking garage.
"So what do you say, we'll sit down here on this crate and you can sign a few –"
If you even say the word 'forms'… "That's my crate." Squall possessively hooked a hand through one of the slats.
Emillian Rohost blinked.
Hefting his prize, Squall stalked past her.
Rohost watched him go, jaw slack. A member of a rival student organization sidled up next to her, gesturing down the hall. "Tried recruiting Leonhart too, eh?"
Emilian Rohost nodded and sighed.
"Don't feel bad – we all try; no one succeeds." The student grunted, "Maybe we just need more incentives."
"You mean palm-sized squishy mascots and bumper stickers?"
"Don't know, maybe more paperwork. Paperwork looks good on a clipboard – you know? Very official looking."