"How're you doing?"

Squall didn't look up from cleaning Lionhart.

"That's great; I'm doing fine, just so you know."

Strange: It seemed as if the trigger had extra debris lodged in it.

"So, I was just following that Sephiroth guy around, and then, I realized that Chaos has this awesome hibachi grill over by his little home; it smells fantastic. I'm telling you, we should go check it out before Tidus hops over to his old man and finds out—" An exclamation. "Oh, yeah! Forgot to tell you. I had to replace our mattress because I think Cecil thought it was his brother, or something, and he went all darkness-mode on it—"

Maybe he needed more oil.

"—but it's cool. Or not. We might have to sleep in Mr. Leader's room for a while—"


"Er … Squall?"

No words.




There was a guttural noise, but still, nothing, save for the creak of the bed.

"Oh, boy: Better buy him a punching bag before he goes to sleep tomorrow."

And the other's foot kicked him back out of the bed in response.


Bartz looked over at Squall's paper.

"Looks like you're almost done."

The other shrugged and continued to color.

"Here: Pass me the brown."

Nodding his head in thanks, the former twirled the crayon in his fingers before he set back to completing his objective, his sigh one of amusement when the Warrior of Light's classical music bled into their room from outside. The hue was a bit too dark, and the crayon was a tad too thick for precision, but it was good enough to trace over the pencil marks and shade in the blank spaces. Now, if only he had his companion's skill and expertise in this field: While he was still lingering in the middle phase of his project, the brunet was already adding fine details to vivify the artwork—though, honestly, he found it to be good enough—actually, too good, considering how they were using Onion Head's elementary stash—to make his seem like Moogles had gotten hold of art supplies and wreaked havoc. He deemed to simply crack his knuckles and lean back in his chair as he lightly tapped his counterpart with his foot.

"Well, no point in making things worse: I guess I'm done," Bartz said, peering at the ethereal picture of Shiva Squall drew. "Yeah. Definitely."

The latter took in his efforts. "Is that …"

"Yup, that's … you."




" … your stick figures are impressive."

Bartz plopped his head onto the table.

"Man, you make me feel like an idiot."

Sadly, this scenario was one of many.



Squall furrowed his brow when an eager hand groped his backside.

"Yeah, I still have your feather."