FFVIII || How Not to Date Blondes: Chapter Six

[first-seventhe.livejournal.com]

Title: How Not To Date Blondes
Chapter Six: In Which A Dinner Date Goes Badly


Authors: first_seventhe and rosencrantz
Fandom: FFVIII
Characters/Pairings included: Quistis, Zell, Seifer, Cast (eventual Quistis/Zell)
Rating: M / R (Profanity, eventual mature situations)


Summary: Quistis is looking for another promotion. Zell is looking for some action with that cute library girl. And Seifer? He’s just looking for trouble.

Read it at fanfiction.net here.



Chapter 6: In Which A Dinner Date Goes Badly

Quistis stood before the mirror and studied her reflection critically. Though it was true that she had been on multiple "dates" before - thanks to Selphie and Rinoa's careful planning - this qualified as quite possibly the first time she had ever had to dress for one. Part of her abstractly wished that Zell had stipulated exactly what type of "civvies" she was supposed to wear. The other part of her instinctively knew that whatever fashion advice Zell might have given her was definitely not to be heeded, lest her dignity suffer yet another blow.

Still, as she picked at her navy blazer and tan slacks, the frown refused to ease off her face. There was nothing wrong with dressing conservatively, she told herself sternly. After all, it was more of a lesson than an actual date, wasn't it? Her reflection narrowed its eyes.

"I look like a school marm," Quistis groaned, tossing off the jacket.

Angrily she strode back to her closet and flung it open. The pickings were, admittedly, meager. An old cadet uniform hung in the back of the closet. Two crisply pressed SeeD uniforms in perfect condition were next, unused due to her week of inactivity as a teacher. A couple of different permutations of her peach battle gear could be found next to them; experience had taught her that it was always good to have a few spares. And on the shelves next to that, her neatly folded t-shirts and sweats, for those lazy days of bumming around her room. Truth be told, there were very few choices in Quistis' inventory of casual wear. With a slight sigh of annoyance, she realized it was because it was so rarely that she ever had the need to dress casually. And when she did, Rinoa and Selphie were usually on hand to loan her articles of clothing as well as advice: definitely not an option in this case.

She stole a glance back at the jacket on the bed and let out a heavy sigh. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered under her breath, reaching for the old cadet uniform. Pushing it aside, she revealed a small stack of boxes and bags that were lurking behind it. They were spoils of war from Selphie and Rinoa's self-proclaimed "girl's day out" excursions - something which usually involved much more shopping and gossiping than Quistis was comfortable participating in. Each time they happened, inevitably one of the girls would force her to buy something to wear, with the explicit instruction that it could not be peach. She had relegated most of the results to the darkest corners of her closet, certain that they would never see the light of day again.

Now, as she threw them across her bed and began to root through the clothing, an unfamiliar feeling washed over her. Funny, but it felt suspiciously like - gratitude? Quistis shook her head, glancing at the clock, and filed the strange sensation away for closer inspection at a later date. Perhaps she owed Selphie and Rinoa an apology for more things than she realized, but at the moment her primary concern was making it to the Cafeteria on time, unnoticed and most importantly, dressed appropriately.

She couldn't bring herself to touch anything with sparkles, though, and the shirt with all the ruffles was right out... ah. Quistis yanked at one of the tailored sleeves expectantly. The black sweater was plain and simple - perfect - but its low neck was alluring enough for a fancy, candle-lit dinner.

Lesson, Quistis corrected herself sternly. This was just Zell. But at the same time, she was looking forward to dressing up a little. The life of a SeeD Instructor was harshly practical, and it had been ages since she'd actually tried to look nice for a date. The lush pile of clothing on her bed was urging her to be a little... risqué. Fancy. Elegant. Perhaps she'd even put on makeup.

She tugged out a sleek grey skirt and smiled in approval. There was even a touch of black lace trim at the bottom that normally would have had her frowning coldly; instead, she nodded decisively and headed to her bathroom to change. There was nothing wrong with dressing up, either, even if it was just for Zell. She was teaching a lesson here, and atmosphere was critical: surely Zell's dream girl was more feminine than the average Instructor. And besides - eventually he'd have to learn how not to be flustered by a woman, right?

.x.x.x.

"Oh no!" Selphie peered out cautiously from behind the pillar she was pressed against and worried her lip. "She's going through with it!" Fingers tightened painfully around her arm and she glanced back at Rinoa, whose mouth was dropping open.

"Hey! Isn't that the sweater I picked out last year? And your skirt! I told you it'd look great on her!" Rinoa exclaimed softly, a pleased smile stretching over her face – then suddenly dropping into a horrified gasp. "She's dressing up for Zell! This is worse than we thought!"

Selphie nodded mutely, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Where the heck is Martin?" she hissed. "He was supposed to put a stop to this! You can't trust those squinty library types at all," she muttered. "Come on!" She began to storm after Quistis, hell-bent on confronting her, when Rinoa pulled her sharply back.

"Selphie! Irvine!" she whispered with a look of panic.

"We promised Irvine we wouldn't follow Quistis on her date. She's not on a date yet, is she?" Selphie rationalized, dragging Rinoa into the corridor after her.

"Yes, but -!"

"Rinoa! What happened to your guts? Come on, I thought you wanted to help save Quisty too!" With another firm tug, she whirled around - and smacked directly into a tall, lanky figure wearing an all-too-familiar leather duster.

"- Irvine's right behind you," Rinoa finished lamely.

"'Evenin', ladies," Irvine said lazily, peering knowingly at Selphie. "Fine night for a stroll, ain't it?"

"Irvy!" Selphie squeaked, her eyes round. "What are you doing here?"

Irvine casually tucked the hand that was holding the small camera behind his back and tried to look nonchalant. "Well, since someone 'sides me was checkin' my email again, I figured I might need to keep an eye on you two."

Rinoa blushed, but Selphie recovered almost instantaneously. "Yeah, well if you'd tell me who Tilla, Alice, Pamela, Cindy and Rhea are in the first place I might not need to ask them myself!" she huffed, and Irvine blanched.

"H-hey, this ain't about me, this is about you two ruinin' Quistis' date!" he said quickly, managing to avoid Selphie's burning glare. Admittedly, it was providing the girls with enough of a distraction to keep them from following Quistis, but even Irvine had a sense of self-preservation. He owed Zell big, but not THAT big.

"We're not trying to ruin anyone's date, Irvine," Rinoa interrupted, delicately nudging Selphie before any sort of explosion might occur. "We just wanted to... umm... talk to Quistis before she left. Isn't that right?"

Selphie didn't answer; instead, she peered over Irvine's shoulder, her eyes widening. "Guys! She's getting away!" she yelled, jumping angrily. The sound of Quistis' heels - when was the last time she'd worn heels? Rinoa thought dazedly - was vanishing down the hallway.

"What? Aww, dang blast -" Irvine muttered, sullenly bringing the camera out and flicking off the power.

"Irvine... is there something you're not telling us?"

He found both of the girls staring at him and blanched again, smiling nervously. "Oh, ah, this thing? It's... it's..." For clearing my debts with Zell didn't seem like a good answer, considering that it would lead Selphie to question why he had debts in the first place, and could potentially result in the discovery of how exactly his freshly-laundered SeeD uniform had ended up covered in T-board wax that one time.

"It's for a party!" he huffed.

"Party?" Selphie perked up instantly, but this time Rinoa's face darkened. Irvine winced; trying to handle both girls at the same time was like trying to juggle angry knife-wielding Tonberries coated in motor oil. Well, except that the Tonberry was much less dangerous.

"There haven't been any parties scheduled recently," Rinoa continued sweetly, glaring at Irvine. "I've checked."

"That's... uh... 'cause it's a surprise party, darlin'!" Irvine said with a broad smile.

"Ohh, those are the best kind!" Selphie squealed, the mission to waylay Quistis almost completely forgotten in her excitement. "So whose birthday is it, anyway?"

"No one's," Rinoa offered helpfully, still directing a saccharine-sweet smile at Irvine. "Or is there another friend of ours that we've been forgetting about, hmm?"

Well, shit. Irvine cast about in his mind for something, anything, that would throw Rinoa off the scent. Fortunately, he always had been a little more wary of junctioning GFs than the others, and one obvious answer rose to mind in his memory. Whether or not it was a wise answer was a completely different matter, though - one Irvine didn’t want to think about.

"Seifer!" he blurted out.

Irvine was pretty sure from the twin expressions of shock on the girls' faces that he had ensured Quistis and Zell a trouble-free evening. Hell, at this rate they would probably be trouble-free for the entire week. He, on the other hand, was mortally screwed.

"Seifer," Selphie repeated faintly, blinking. "You're throwing a party for Seifer."

Rinoa's reaction was slightly more worrisome. "You're throwing a party for Seifer," she ground out dangerously.

Basic training stated that when in doubt while surrounded by hostiles, SeeDs should assume a defensive posture and employ diversionary tactics to minimalize casualties. And Irvine was, if nothing else, a good SeeD.

"Squall's plannin' the whole thing!" Briefly he wondered if his suspension was going to be quite as bad as Quistis and Zell's.

"But Squall hates Seifer," Rinoa replied, her delicate brows furrowing in confusion. "Why in Hyne's name would he..." She shook her head angrily. "No. No! He was already upset enough when Seifer's name came up with -"

Irvine waved a hand lazily through the air. In for a penny, in for the whole damn pound, he reasoned. "'Cause they blew his cover, babe. Now that Seifer knows somethin's up, gonna be twice as hard to bring him in, won't it?"

Rinoa looked like she was going to faint. Selphie, on the other hand, still looked mildly doubtful - but the prospect of planning another major event clearly overrode her misgivings.

"This is gonna be so romantic! Balamb Garden, welcoming back its prodigal son with open arms! No wonder Squall's keeping it quiet, this would totally ruin his reputation as a hard-ass!" She leapt up and hugged Irvine tightly, squealing with delight. "We'll definitely need music. And special lighting! You think we can convert the Quad?" she prattled eagerly.

"Squall's throwing a birthday party. For Seifer," Rinoa repeated slowly, still not convinced.

Irvine winced and patted Selphie on the back. This went WAY beyond the laundry incident; personally he thought it qualified as the grand mother of all debt reversals. Hell, even Quistis owed him one. He only hoped that those two were having a better time that evening than he was.

.x.x.x.

Quistis had finally made it to the Cafeteria with only seven outright stares, three whistles and a pair of cat-calls that had quickly ended with a hurried dosage of Silence. She hadn't really thought through the potential side effects of walking through Garden in very nice (and flattering) civilian clothing. And she'd taken the back way! The thought of meeting Selphie and Rinoa - or, Hyne forbid, Irvine - in her tell-tale outfit had brought butterflies to her stomach, so she'd chosen the maze of stairs usually only frequented by the custodial staff or truant students. She mentally thanked both Shiva and Ifrit that there were no obvious Trepies about, or else her whole cover may have been blown. Although, she realized with a chuckle, the Trepies probably wouldn't have recognized her with her hair down.

Slightly frazzled, Quistis hurried on her way, wondering how exactly Zell was planning on sneaking out at the Garden Cafeteria's busiest time of the day. The halls were thronging with students, most of which were headed the same way she was and only gave her a glance in passing as they hurried towards their precious hot dogs.

She spotted Zell almost immediately. He was shadowboxing against a particularly high potted plant - not the most subtle of pastimes - and Quistis hurried over to him, her nerves singing with fear that one of her students would spot her. "Zell," she hissed, "you had better have a good plan for this."

"Don't worry, Quisty," he said, turning around - and then he froze. Quistis watched as the red tint ran its way up his neck and completely over his face. "Uh," he stuttered, suddenly looking everywhere except at her face.

Of course, that brought his gaze directly upon her décolleté sweater, which only made him flush that much harder. Zell had never seen Quistis with her hair down, let alone in something with lace. She looked so... pretty. Wasn't this supposed to just be a lesson? He'd almost forgotten to comb his hair!

Self-consciously, Quistis tucked her hair behind her ears and adjusted her glasses. "Can we go?" she asked pointedly.

"Whew," Zell gasped, recovering slightly (though still red-faced). Her no-nonsense tone had managed to cut through the uncomfortable haze that had been starting to impair his language skills and brought him crashing back to reality. "Thank Hyne - you're complainin'. For a second there I thought you weren't Quistis Trepe!"

"Ha, ha," Quistis deadpanned. "Now please, Zell, before all of Garden learns you're taking me out for dinner."

"Right-o!" Zell gave her a flashy thumbs-up and then leant in. "So here's what's up. I got Diablos junctioned, see, an' all I gotta do is activate that ENC-None ability of his. An' then we just sneak out the back door!"

"Right," Quistis said slowly, still unconvinced. "Will you get to it? There are almost a thousand people in this room, if you haven't noticed."

"Relax, Quisty," Zell replied, his face scrunching up in concentration as he prepared himself. "The best place not t' be noticed is in a room full of people!"

Quistis simply shook her head at this phenomenal example of Zell logic, but at that point she heard a sharp intake of breath; Zell had apparently activated the ability. A brief shimmer of magic flowed through her body, resonating slightly with her own GFs before fading away.
"Sweet!" Zell whispered. "Now just follow me."

"Do we really have to whisper?" Quistis asked back, her voice hushed.

"Nah." Zell flipped her a grin. "But it's more fun that way. Now c'mon."

He grabbed her hand before she could protest and led her straight for the swinging doors which led into the kitchens. Quistis allowed herself to be dragged, wondering what sort of story she could concoct to explain her role in this debacle. Blackmail? Drugs? Mind control? But as she glanced around nervously, she noticed something - or particularly, a lack of something: attention. None of the students were even glancing at them. Apparently Zell's theory had some merit. Quistis wondered idly how often he’d done this, and then realized she definitely did not want to know the answer.

They ducked carefully through the doors, and Zell led her through the maze of kitchens, stopping only momentarily to gaze longingly at the tray of hot dogs in the roaster. Quistis, still nervous, prodded him forward; he sighed, but continued on.

"See, the back door," he whispered to her over his shoulder, "an' I bet you don't know where it goes!"

"I most certainly do not," Quistis asserted.

"The garage!" Zell pushed the door open with a flourish. "See? We can just snag one of Garden's cars an' get there in style, baby!"

Quistis leveled him with a look and felt the Enc-None field falter slightly before fading away completely. "And you don't think anyone will notice a missing vehicle?"

"Uh, well," Zell countered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I figured we'd take somethin' nobody would miss, y'know..."

This was how Quistis found herself seated in the passenger seat of one of Garden's blocky, pasty-gray cargo vans, with Zell hooting out the window as they pulled out of the garage. Idly, she brushed a wrinkle from her skirt. Get there in style, indeed.

"So," she said finally, "where are you taking me?"

Zell turned to her quick enough to flash another huge grin. "Wendigo's!"

After ten seconds of chilling silence, he dared give her another smile. "Umm... not Wendigo's?"

"Zell," Quistis began, her voice obviously exasperated, "Wendigo's is a somewhat dirty bar with holes in the screens, three broken pool tables, and a bartender who looks like Cerberus on a bad day."

"Only two of the tables are broken," Zell corrected her. "Frank got some insurance money from that one fight three weeks ago and fixed one of 'em."

"Fascinating." Quistis' voice was short. "Zell, what makes you think this is a suitable place for a date? A first date, at that?"

"I love Wendigo's," Zell protested. "They've got the cheapest jukebox in town, an' the fries are delicious, an' if Lillica is servin' you can get a free shot!"

"Zell," Quistis replied sternly, "the first date is your first chance - in fact, sometimes it's your only chance - to show the girl how much she means to you and that you know how to treat her right."

"What's wrong with Wendigo's?" Zell huffed. "I mean, shouldn't I be sharin' the things I like the best with my girl?"

Quistis opened her mouth to reply, but paused. Zell's logic did have a point, albeit a strange one. Most of her dates had been students looking to woo her with their expensive tastes in wine and décor. One or two had tried something they thought might have been fun - dancing, or the cinema - but most people were preoccupied with the stereotype of sweeping her off her heels. "That's for later in the relationship, Zell," she corrected him finally. "For the first date, a woman likes to be flattered."

"Fine." Zell sulked behind the wheel. "Where should I take Piggy, then?"

Quistis quenched a smile at both the sulking and the nickname. "There are plenty of nice restaurants in Balamb," she explained. "There's the Balamb Bounty..." she trailed off, thinking of the menu prank that had spawned their ill-fated Balamb mission. "Well, let's not go there," she said decisively. "There's also the Crown Plaza in the hotel, and then Felicia's on the Wharf."

"Felicia's?" Zell's eyes were huge. "You're kiddin', right? A dinner there is, like, my whole SeeD salary!"

"Felicia's it is," Quistis noted with satisfaction. "You have to give a girl the best."

.x.x.x.

Squinty emerged from his spot around a nearby building, and narrowed his eyes as the two blondes walked into the restaurant at the end of the pier.

It had been all too easy to follow them - on the motorbike he'd very legally signed out from the Transportation Office. One of the perks of being on the Library Committee was the extra stripe it gave you on your uniform for service. He'd had no trouble convincing the woman at the desk that he just wanted to 'take a spin' and 'blow off some steam.'

Blow off a little more than just steam. Squinty had noted that Zell was taking Quistis to Felicia's on the Wharf, the most expensive and fanciest restaurant in Balamb. It was where he'd planned on taking Instructor Trepe on their very first date. There, he'd order her a fine white wine and scallops. She loved scallops, he could just see it. And she'd be so impressed with his choices and his generosity that she'd...

The squint turned into a glare. Squinty shook his head: it was time to focus.

.x.x.x.

It had taken Quistis up until they'd reached the door of Felicia's to finally observe Zell's attire. She hadn't noticed because it was the same exact thing he wore every day - jean shorts, this time with a ripped pocket, and an oversized polo with his trademark vest over it. She sighed, albeit under her breath, and opened her mouth to suggest the Balamb Bounty instead - but Zell had already reached the fancy doors and thrown them wide open with a dramatic flair.

Zell whistled loudly, staring at the plush interior of Felicia's on the Wharf with wide eyes. "Fan-cy! So, which table do ya want, Quisty? Hey, that one by the window looks real nice..." he observed, starting to move in the direction of the table. Then he tripped as he was pulled back suddenly. "Oww!"

Quistis silently groaned and directed a placating smile towards the maitre d'hotel, who was eyeing them with distaste from behind his podium. It was still much too early for the restaurant to be full, something which Quistis was actually thankful for as she hurriedly tried to give Zell a crash course in fine dining.

"You don't seat yourself in restaurant of this caliber, Zell!"

"Why not? The place is practically empty!" Zell complained. He shut his mouth quickly when Quistis shot him one of her looks, the one that said she was being liberal about the application of her Silence spells again.

"A table for two," she said crisply to the maitre d'hotel, keeping her chin high and her gaze cool as the man casually dropped his eyes to Zell's shorts-and-sneakers attire with obvious disdain. "Non-smoking," she added icily for good measure, daring him to turn them away. After a brief battle of wills, the man gave a haughty sniff and motioned for them to follow him. For a brief moment Quistis was afraid he was going to seat them directly next to the kitchen door, but to her relief he actually led them to one of the outdoor tables on the restaurant's balcony overlooking Balamb's small quay. Obviously, the attendant had seated them there in the hopes of keeping them out of sight from the regular patrons. And normally, the fisherman's quay was a smelly and crowded locale, not a particularly desirable spot to dine in. On this particular day, however, a brisk evening breeze conveniently whisked away the more pungent reminders of Balamb's major source of income, and exaggerated reports of the Balamb Bandits' escapades had sent most of the fishers home early. The setting sun lit the sky in brilliant shades of pink and gold, which reflected softly across the dark ocean waves. She paused to drink in the sight, and Zell let out another low whistle.

"Hey, maybe there is somethin' to this winin'-and-dinin' stuff after all," he murmured appreciatively. Then with a grin, he pulled out chair and seated himself at the table eagerly. "Whoa," Zell mumbled to himself, eyeing the place setting warily. Eating in the Dincht household had always been a simple affair - one plate, one set of utensils, one glass to drink from and one hearty, home-cooked meal. The daunting array of gleaming cutlery that greeted him looked more like one of Dr. Odine's scientific experiments than the preparation for a meal. Why did he need two forks? What was up with all those glasses? And did they actually expect him to eat his napkin?! Maybe it was just dolled up like a fortune cookie on the plate because the appetizer was hiding inside. Eagerly, Zell grabbed and the cloth and shook it out... only to let out a disappointed grunt when he found it was empty. There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and he looked up to see Quistis was still standing, one hand on her hip and her eyebrows lowered dangerously.

"Zell?" she said expectantly, looking mildly upset.

"Why don'tcha sit down already, Quisty? Are ya worried about wrinklin' your skirt?" he asked. Her eyebrow began to twitch, and Zell scrabbled to remember the few table manners Ma Dincht had tried to imprint on him in his youth before she had given up. It hit him suddenly, and he before he could stop himself his mouth was moving. "Aww, shit!" The wine glasses rattled precariously on the table as he hurriedly scooted away and leapt to his feet. "Sorry, I forgot!" he mumbled, flushing furiously as he raced around the table and pulled out the chair out for her.

"It's fine," Quistis said curtly, settling comfortably into her seat. "Just don't forget to do it when you're on a real date."

Zell rubbed the back of his head and began to move away, but Quistis caught his arm and stopped him. "Actually, there's something else you might want to do while you're here," she told him in a business-like tone. "Women appreciate thoughtful gestures when being seated at a table like this. If you wanted to be polite, you could unfold my napkin and present it to me while you're here."

"You... you want me to get your napkin for you," Zell repeated slowly. She couldn't be serious. As if to prove him wrong, Quistis made a small noise of impatience and nodded at him.

"Yes, Zell. It's not that complicated. Take the napkin and present it to me."

Holy cow, she was serious. Zell felt his face turning red as he eyed the huge cloth wonton on her plate. "You sure about this?" he asked, slowly reaching for the fabric as if it might bite him and fumbling with the loosely-folded knot. He reached a trembling, napkin-filled hand out towards her - and choked. "I- I can't do it, Quisty! It ain't right!" he yelled.

Quistis was eying him strangely again, and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Zell," she finally said, rolling her eyes upwards. "I know you're shy, but this is ridiculous. You're going to have to get over it if you want to make a good impression on any girl. Now," and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Give me the damn napkin." She smiled in approval as Zell clumsily flapped the cloth out, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then she froze as he reached for her chest.

"ZELL!" she screamed, slapping his hand away.

"OWW! Geez, Quistis, that HURT!" he yelled, backing away and cradling the rapidly-reddening appendage to his chest. She might have been dressed fancy, but Quistis sure didn't hit like a girl.

"Of course it did!" Quistis hissed furiously, trying to control the red flush on her cheeks. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"You're the one who told me the guy's supposed to put the napkin on the girl!" Zell replied defensively, flapping the offending culprit at her. "It ain't my fault you're wearin'... that!" he mumbled, flushing red again as he waved the cloth at her plunging neckline.

Reflexively, Quistis looked down at herself, still fuming. "What on earth does my sweater have to do with -" She blinked and looked up, her face frozen in surprise.

"Uh, Quisty?" Zell said nervously, waving a hand in front of her face. To his dismay, the surprise began to melt into incredulity.

"Zell! You do NOT wear your napkin as a BIB, especially in a restaurant like this one!" she hissed at him, her eyes bright with unspoken anger.

"You don't?" Quistis glared, and Zell quickly corrected himself. "You don't!" he stated firmly. "So, uh, what do I do with it then?"

"You place it across your lap!" she snapped.

Zell instantly turned red again. "You want me to stick my hand in your LAP?" he yelped.

Quistis leaned over and snatched the napkin out of Zell's hands before he could get any more brilliant ideas. "Just... sit down, and skip this whole part next time," she ground out.

Zell shifted his weight uncertainly. "Uh... you sure? If it's real important, I can try again -"

"SIT!" Quistis commanded him, her voice cracking very much like her whip. Zell managed to seat himself in record time, sending the wine glasses wobbling again. A tense silence settled over the table as Zell fidgeted nervously with his forks and Quistis tried to regain her equilibrium, dropping her forehead into a waiting palm. The silence stretched for so long that Zell was just beginning to reenact the famous saber battle from Moomba Wars with two of his knives when the waiter finally approached their table and broke his concentration.

"... Good evening," he said warily as he observed Zell, directing the greeting towards Quistis. "My name is Staniel, and I will be assisting you," he continued politely. "Tonight, we have a very fine Pinot Chardonnay available, as well as a '98 Merlot, which was a very good year indeed."

"What's a - oomph!" Zell closed his mouth as Quistis' heeled foot came into brief but painful contact with the top of his sneaker. "Uh, I mean, do you guys got any Dollet Blast?"

"Dollet Blast," the waiter faltered, staring at Zell as the tip of his pen wavered.

"Yeah, with vanilla if you got that kind," he added as an afterthought.

"One Dollet Blast with vanilla," the waiter repeated with contempt. "And for the lady... ?"

"I'll have the Chardonnay," Quistis said quickly. She accepted the menu from the waiter gracefully and waited until he disappeared before leaning over the table. "Did you really have to order root beer?" she asked irritably.

"What's wrong with root beer? I'm drivin' tonight, ain't I?" Zell replied hotly. He was beginning to feel a little defensive; if dates could be graded, he was pretty sure he was flunking badly. Quistis sure was a tough customer to please; he wondered if dating Piggy would be half as nerve-wracking.

Quistis drummed her fingertips across the table in a staccato beat; training Zell in the art of fine dining was beginning to look slightly less appealing that trying to housebreak a rambunctious Carbuncle. Finally, she sighed. "There's nothing wrong with root beer. One thing you should have done when the waiter was here, however, was order something for both of us."

Zell stared at her blankly. "Why? If you wanted root beer instead of that shard-on-hay stuff, you should've asked for it yourself." Then he grinned at her broadly. "S'okay, though, if you really want it that bad, we can share mine!"

Quistis tried counting down from ten backwards. She made it to nine before her eyes flew open. "I don't want to share your Dollet Blast, Zell!" she spat. Seeing him bunch up under her sudden outburst, she tried to modulate her tone into something less censured. "A proper gentleman would order something for the lady in a situation like this," she said carefully.

His reaction wasn't what she expected; after a brief and obvious struggle with his embarrassment, he straightened up and looked her in the eye. Zell was no stranger to flunking on his exams, but at least at Garden he had the excuse of not studying. This stuff... this was like being quizzed in a foreign language without having even been told the subject. It was starting to irk him, and he felt the need to defend his pride from Quistis' withering glares. "Well, why? None of this stuff makes sense, Quisty! How am I supposed t'know what you want if you don't tell me? Besides, why would ya need someone like me to make up your mind anyway? You can talk for yourself just fine!"

Quistis, surprised at the sudden outburst, fumbled for a reply. "Because... because... that's just how it's done!" she finally said, gesturing at the table helplessly.

"That's stupid," she heard Zell mutter under his breath. To her surprise, Quistis found herself agreeing. She never had thought about it before; most of her previous dinner encounters had been conducted by dates so eager to prove themselves to her that they always ordered the most expensive things on the menu before she could make her own input. It had gotten to the point where she was ready to swear that if she ever saw another scallop again, she would force it up her over-eager partner's nostril.

In fact... Quistis paused. Why were first-dates always such an intricate dance? Why couldn't things be simple? She'd gotten sick of the dinner-dates with frightened young cadets so worried about getting something wrong that they got nothing right. Where had those strange set rules come from anyway? Perhaps Pupu had descended his proverbial mountain bearing the two stone tablets of Dating Rules long ago and engrained them onto the human populace. It certainly seemed that those unspoken rules of behavior came from outer space at times.

Something struck Quistis then, and she looked up at Zell with that Instructor gleam in her eyes that made him mildly nervous. "Think of it as a set of rules, Zell," she began, "much like your SeeD manual."

Zell made a grotesque face and a very loud vomiting sound that attracted the disdain of a nearby garcon. Quistis rolled her eyes and continued the lecture.

"There are a lot of rules that Garden has that may make no sense on the surface, but they've been rules for so long that everyone just assumes they're there for a reason."

"Like no T-Boards in the Library," Zell grumbled.

Quistis paused, directing her mind away from the obvious argument and back to the dinner-date. "Most likely, they're there for a good reason, even if we don't understand it completely ourselves. Believe me, Zell, there are rules to follow for a first date," she said firmly, "and the better you know them and act on them, the more impressive you will be to your girl."

Zell appeared to be digesting her words slowly, his innocently thoughtful expression darkening with each word as his forehead wrinkled in dismay. "The hell? But I thought dating was supposed to be fun!" he protested, and Quistis held her hand up to silence him.

"For example," she said with emphasis before Zell could get another word in, "at the beginning of the meal, the man usually orders a bottle of wine. White wine is usually safer. Like the Chardonnay."

Zell was looking at her blankly. "They can make wine outta hay? Does it taste any good?"

Quistis took a calming breath. So Zell didn't know anything about wine; she tried to remember that he had other areas of expertise separate from her own. He could probably identify the seven different permutations of Hynekan by taste alone. She suspected he would be able to do so while suspended upside-down from the ceiling with the beer tap in his mouth. In fact, she had a picture of him doing just that at last year's graduation party. Belatedly Quistis realized the rationalization wasn't helping to calm her nerves and forced herself to answer him as civilly as she could. "If you don't know anything about wine, order the house white," she snapped.

Zell shook his head slowly, ticking off on his fingers. "So I gotta hold the chair for you, do that... napkin... thingy," he mumbled, his face flushing red again as he desperately tried not to look at Quistis' sweater, "an' then I gotta order some fancy bottle of wine? What if I don't like wine? What if you don't like wine?"

"You can ask your date," Quistis allowed. "It's the gesture that counts, really. 'Would you care for a glass of wine? White maybe?' Something like that."

"Would you care for a glass of wine?" Zell parroted in a high-pitched imitation of Quistis' classy accents, and followed it with a derisive snort.

"Zell, if you don't care we can just go home," Quistis snapped, standing abruptly from her seat and throwing her napkin onto the table. This was ridiculous. It was like telling Norg to stop being fat and lazy - simply impossible. All she was doing was making herself frustrated and Zell very upset. The only thing Quistis wanted at that moment was to head back to B-Garden, possibly with a stop at Colonel Coeurl's Custard on the way. And she'd dressed up for this?

"Quisty..." Zell was looking up at her, half-pleading and half-angry. "C'mon, sit down! I didn't mean it. This - thing," he made a wild gesture to include the entire restaurant, almost scorching his hand on a candle, "the whole thing is nuts! I don't know nothin' about these 'rules' at all! You can't get mad at me for that! It's like... like... like you're testin' me on Junction Theory when I've only gotten to Basic Casting!"

The classroom analogy gave Quistis pause. It was true: Zell didn't have any of the experience required for this sort of thing. Orphans usually didn't grow up knowing the complicated rules of the first date. (In fact, she wondered idly, when had she become such an expert in the field?) As if that wasn't enough, there was the obvious case of Zell's rampant shyness around members of the opposite sex; no matter how boisterous he was around his other friends, his social gaffes around cute girls was the stuff of legend. Quistis shook her head and sat down, primly taking a sip of her water and reigning in her temper. She was an Instructor here, and she was sick and tired of being told she wasn't any good at it. Zell's crack, though idly made, had hit her in a particularly sore spot. She sighed. Failed Instructor. Poor leadership qualities. The memories made her spine stiffen in resolve. She’d get Zell Dincht a date if it was the last thing she did for Garden. And – if Squall stayed angry - it just might be.

"'m sorry, Quisty," Zell mumbled across the table, slumping.

"No, I should apologize, Zell." Quistis set the glass down and looked him in the eye. "I keep forgetting that it's my job to teach you all of this - a job I'm doing quite poorly. I'll try to explain more, and not to expect you to read my mind." She offered him a tentative smile.

Zell stared at her, anger forgotten as he focused on her mouth. Quistis smiling was a strange enough sight; the dusky wine of her lips contrasting against the sudden whiteness of her tiny, perfect teeth gave him pause. Was she actually wearing lipstick? For him? For some reason, he found a goofy grin creeping across his face. Her smile began to falter, and he hastily covered his lapse, trying to catch her smile before it disappeared completely. "Wait! Uh, I mean, sweet! Thanks, Quisty." Suddenly nervous, he took a large swig of his own water. "So what's next?"

"We decide what we'd like for dinner," Quistis prompted cautiously. An unusually spacey look had descended over Zell's face when she spoke to him; she figured it was probably the shock of hearing her apologize to him yet again. It was a habit she was going to have to try to break before she gave the poor guy a mental breakdown. She cleared her throat carefully and tried to keep her voice even. "So that when the garcon comes back with our drinks, we can order our food."

Zell grinned, flipping open his menu enthusiastically. "Finally!" His eyes quickly scanned down the page; Quistis watched as the grin slowly slipped away, to be replaced by a grimace. She opened her own menu delicately, her eyes still on Zell. She noticed him mouthing the words on the menu as his brow furrowed in concentration; thankfully he was doing it silently, rather than giving the rest of the restaurant his personally accented rendition of the menu.

"What?" she finally asked.

"There's like a bazillion things on here," Zell said slowly. "Am I... Am I s'posed to pick one to order for you, too?"

Quistis smiled encouragingly. "That's the right idea, Zell," she said. "You don't have to choose the lady's meal, but it's a nice gesture to suggest something for her."

"Oh." Zell's eyes ran down the page. "Uh, what do I suggest?"

"Choose something expensive and special," Quistis recommended. "Something to let the girl know she can order anything on the menu she wants. Although," she added as an afterthought, "you should mention what you're planning on getting as well, so that she doesn't feel out of place ordering her entrée."

"Bacon burgers," Zell stated decisively, turning the page in his menu. His brow creased.

"Zell," Quistis said cautiously, "I don't think they have burgers here."

"They don't have burgers here?" Zell exclaimed loudly. Quistis winced. She noticed another waiter eying them with silent condemnation as he passed by.

"Zell," she hissed. "Quiet."

"But, but - !" Zell protested loudly. "No burgers!" He scanned the menu again, this time with a hint of desperation. "Not even fries!"

Quistis bit her tongue, took deep breaths, and counted backwards from ten again, this time in old Centran. By the time she'd remembered the word for 'four' her teeth had unclenched enough for her to speak. "Even if they did have burgers, Zell, you should pick something a little more... classy."

"But I want a burger," Zell emphasized.

"YOU might," Quistis pointed out. "But what if Piggy wants something a little... nicer? A little more... extravagant? It is your first date, after all."

Zell looked at her quizzically. "Piggy can have whatever she wants, Quisty," he said, shrugging. "Why does it matter what I get?"

Quistis took another deep breath. "Zell," she said, slowly and pointedly, "you're in a fancy, expensive restaurant for a reason."

Zell's eyes flicked to the price column on the menu and bulged almost comically as his face drained of color. "Quisty!" he choked. "This is like... it's... it's more than a goddamn glove mod!"

Quistis nodded knowingly. "Precisely. The girl may feel intimidated by the cost of the meal. That's why it's up to you to order something expensive. Then you let the girl know you want to buy her something expensive as well."

"What if I DON'T want her to?" Zell asked with a clear note of panic.

"Trust me, you do," Quistis snapped coldly, unable to help herself. The deep breaths weren't helping. "It's a romantic gesture, Zell," she said. "It tells the girl that money doesn't mean anything. That you're a generous person. That getting the girl whatever she wants is what makes you happy."

Zell was still staring at his menu in obvious trepidation. "Gettin' that glove mod would make me happy," he muttered under his breath. "So I just tell her to get whatever she wants 'cause I'm rich?"

Quistis gave up on the deep breathing and buried her face in her palm. Maybe she was a crap Instructor after all, because Zell just wasn't getting it. "Here's what you do," she began, but paused. She couldn't really explain it in her own head - how could she explain it to Zell? When faced with it, Quistis admitted it didn't make much sense. If Zell wanted to eat a burger with Piggy, he should be able to, right? Ordering expensive food was just a classy way of showing off; but from the other perspective, it would definitely be expected at a place like Felicia's. This was much more confusing than she'd thought, and she really had no good explanations.

Why is dating so hard? Quistis thought for probably the ten millionth time in her life. Zell was still watching her as if she had all the answers. Her pride suddenly surfaced; she wouldn't, couldn't admit she didn't know something.

"Here's what you do," she repeated, closing her eyes in frustration. "You say, 'I'm going to get' and then you choose something fancy and expensive, like the calamari platter. And then you say, 'I hear the stuff is really good,' where stuff is something else fancy and expensive, like the scallops over angel hair. Then you say, 'Would you like to try that?' - and the girl will then know that you're ordering a very fancy meal, and she is welcome to do the same."

Zell roughly cleared his throat; Quistis kept her eyes firmly closed, ignoring him. "Saying 'I want a bacon burger' will make your date feel obligated to order something in the same price range as your meal." Zell was strangely quiet; Quistis slowly opened one eye to investigate.

Staniel was standing beside the table, looking down his nose at her with obvious disdain. A chilled glass of Chardonnay sat in front of her; she reached for it gratefully, flushing, and took a rather large sip. Perhaps that hadn't been Zell clearing his throat after all.

"Your order, please?" the waiter sneered, a demeaning smirk crossing his face. "I believe the..." A twist of disgust crossed his face. "... bacon burger is out of stock tonight, madam."

Quistis bowed her head and accepted her fate with resignation. She was simply never going to eat at Felicia's on the Wharf again. Not that the idea irked her greatly, considering how rudely they had been treated up to that point. In fact, she was well on her way to considering the whole evening a complete failure, when something miraculous occurred.

Zell took a deep breath and - much to her surprise - addressed the waiter, perfectly straight-faced. "I'm going to have the calamari platter. Quistis, get whatever you would like - maybe those scallops?" He even made an effort to enunciate each word clearly.

Quistis gaped. It was like Zell had put on a manners suit or something. The incongruous behavior sounded definitely foreign on him; in fact it was downright disturbing, she admitted. He looked stony and rehearsed and... like every other single one of the dates she'd had here, forcing her through power of suggestion to eat the (albeit delicious) scallops, drink the (albeit delicious) white wine and make very boring conversation. She tried to shake herself out of the shock and quickly turned her attention back to her own menu.

She'd been lusting after that calamari platter herself, but the sad look of resignation on Zell's face got to Quistis. She decided to take pity on him - and his pocketbook.

"I'll have the grilled salmon," she said, smiling coldly up at the rude waiter and snapping her menu shut in front of her. "With rice."

"Would you care for an appetizer?" the garcon asked lightly, sneering down at Zell.

"Uh, yeah - yes," Zell said, stumbling only slightly. He quickly scanned the list of appetizers, looking for the most expensive one. With a sigh he bid goodbye to that Magic Stone upgrade he'd been looking forward to so much. "We'll take the shrimp and lobster dip."

.x.x.x.

Squinty slipped through the back door of the restaurant, his palms sweating. Library Committee members weren't really the best at subterfuge missions. In fact, Library Committee members weren't really the best at any sort of mission. He was nervous - what if he got caught? - but the thought of Instructor Trepe out there, smiling happily at Zell Dincht! gave him new determination.

Sneaking into the kitchen, he grabbed the nearest apron, throwing it on over his SeeD uniform hastily. He was tying the back when a voice behind him barked gruffly, "Hey! Whaddareya doin'?"

Damn. Squinty turned around to face an exceptionally large chef, wearing a greasy, stain-covered apron and bearing a very, very large knife. In fact, he could have passed for a distant relation to the Tonberry King, particularly in the way he was brandishing the butcher's knife towards him. Squinty swallowed. Think of Instructor Trepe, he told himself.

"Maybe you can help me."

The chef's eyes narrowed. "You don' look like you belong here, boy."

The note of emphasis on the last word nearly made Squinty lose his nerve. Thinking quickly, he reached into his pocket for the only weapon he had. It was, however, the most effective weapon in the entire world, as Garden itself could attest. Smiling weakly, he pulled out a handful of credits - his latest SeeD salary. "Maybe you can help me," he repeated, dropping the gold one-by-one onto the counter.

Chef Tonberry looked at it and grunted suspiciously. "You tryin' to bribe me, kid?" he rumbled dangerously, nostrils flaring. Squinty winced and quickened the pace of the dropping coins. To his relief, the knife finally lowered and the chef nodded. "Mebbe I can," he replied slowly.

"I need to know what order came from table forty-two," Squinty said casually, tapping one of the coins on a cutting board as he leaned against the counter. It was a move he had seen in the latest Estharian spy film series, one that had struck him as particularly suave. It probably would have had more effect if he hadn't donned the greasy, ruffled apron before attempting it, though. And Chef Tonberry didn’t really look like the kind of guy who appreciated suave.

The tapping came to an abrupt stop as Chef Tonberry slammed the huge cleaver down on the cutting board, making the coins (and Squinty) jump with the force of the motion. He gave Squinty a yellow, toothy grin and waddled over to a nearby pegboard which held a series of receipts. "They gots a shrimp n' lobster dip, a calamari platter, and a salmon."

Disbelief and righteous indignation overcame fear, and Squinty picked himself up off the counter and shook his head. No scallops! What was Zell thinking?! "Which did the lady order?" he asked.

The chef shrugged, fumbling the gold on the counter into his greasy pocket. "I dunno," he said.

"Find out," Squinty ordered, narrowing his eyes and reaching into his pocket again. He was going to have a rough time at the Triple Triad tables next week, but it would be worth it. "I want you to find out -" he dropped a few coins onto the counter "- and make it perfectly -" a few more coins tinkled down onto the cutting board "- and then make the other meal with this." He dropped the rest of the handful onto the counter, revealing - a newspaper clipping, with one line highlighted.

Zell Dincht's Famous Onion n' Garlic Adamantoise Mega Pancakes with Apple and Fish Chunks, Tofu-Bacon-Maple Syrup and a Honey-Mustard Cheese filling

"As close as you can," Squinty said, "only worse." The chef, still gawking at the small heap of money, nodded faintly in response. "As bad as possible," Squinty continued; the chef nodded again. "Spice it up with peppers. Lace it with curry. And..." He reached into his pocket again and brought out a small bottle with a skull and crossbones stamped onto it, flames jutting out of the tiny picture's eye sockets. He placed it on the counter carefully, and Chef Tonberry took a step backwards, for the first time in the exchange wearing a real expression of fear.

"That what I think it is?" he said cautiously.

Squinty smiled slowly and pushed the bottle across the countertop. "That it is, my friend. Hyne's Hot Sauce, original recipe." He gave the chef a knowing smirk. "Feel free to apply it liberally. Then make it look good and send it out." With those last two orders, his final two gold pieces fell onto the counter.

The chef, dazed, nodded and grabbed the bottle. He watched the young SeeD retreat with a look of newfound respect. It had always been said that Balamb Garden wasn't something to be messed with, and now he knew why.

.x.x.x.

"Ah," Quistis said with a clear note of relief. "Here's our food. That was quick."

Zell had been strangely quiet ever since they'd ordered. Quistis had attempted to pry him open - first with an idle question about Balamb, and next with a more pointed question about the latest Combat King which he'd utterly ignored. She'd resorted to drinking as much Chardonnay as she could and watching Zell play with his glass of root beer.

Her face flushed from the wine, Quistis leaned forward and carefully selected one of the pita chips on the tray, delicately scooping up some of the lobster dip. "Zell," she asked cautiously, "don't you want some of this?"

Zell sighed, and Quistis realized he looked part angry and part resigned. "Zell, what's wrong?"

"This is stupid," Zell said, leaning forward and taking a huge chunk of lobster dip onto a piece of pita. "I don't even know if I wanna date anybody anymore."

Quistis looked at him, obviously surprised. "What are you talking about?"

"All these rules." Zell made a wide gesture, including their table, half the restaurant, and part of the shoreline. "All these dumb, polite, stupid expectations. What the hell's the point in datin' somebody if you're just gonna have to act like a freakin' statue? Shouldn't you be able to just, y'know, be yourself?"

"Zell," Quistis sighed, "some girls expect certain behavior, and -"

"How do you do it, Quisty?" Zell picked up another pita chip and stabbed at the dip viciously, causing some of it to violently splatter onto the formerly-pristine white tablecloth. "How'd you make it through so many dates like this? Don't it get boring?" He looked up hastily, a growing look of horror on his face. "Or do you actually, y'know, LIKE this kinda stuff?"

"Well, everybody likes to eat fancy meals," Quistis joked, trying to get Zell to smile. It didn't work. "Zell, I..." Quistis trailed off.

"I mean," Zell said, barreling on, "I like you an' all, Quisty, but... uhh... honest? This is the most bored I've ever been in my whole life, except maybe in Instructor Devan's Combat History class."

"Well," Quistis replied, trying to rationalize that comment without being insulted, "I assume you and Piggy will have a lot more to talk about than you and I do."

"I got plenty to talk to you about!" Zell bounced in his seat. "I just feel so... so frickin' preppy here, or somethin'. It's like everybody's waitin' for me to make one wrong move - even you."

Quistis shook her head. She really didn't know what to say. In truth, while she did like eating fancy seafood, and she did occasionally enjoy dressing up... out of all those dates she'd been on, none had felt special. They'd all been eager young gentlemen looking to impress; they'd all been pretending to be perfect - or what they thought she thought was perfect.

In fact, Quistis realized sadly, the person she was really thinking of was herself: she'd spent her entire career trying to meet and exceed so many people's expectations: Cid's, Squall's, Garden's, her own. She was the queen of following proper rules which made no sense. She didn't even call it her life - it was her career.

Zell wasn't willing to pretend, even for Piggy. Somehow, this impressed Quistis. On a broader level, it made her envious and even slightly depressed. Thankfully, before she was embarrassed into admitting it, Staniel approached with their meals.

"Calamari platter, sir," he said politely, setting the plate in front of Zell; "Salmon," he offered brusquely, slamming Quistis' order in front of her with much less delicacy. "Anything else for you two?"

"No, thank you," Quistis replied, eyeing Zell's plate. She'd been dying for that calamari herself. It looked as if it had been loaded up with a plethora of tasty-looking spices and a really interesting looking sauce - it was a lot fancier than she'd thought it would be. She glanced at her own plate: perfectly-cooked, delicious, boring salmon stared back up at her. Hadn't she just decided she needed to stop trying to fill people's expectations?

Zell waited until the waiter had left before letting down his poker face and eying his plate suspiciously, prodding at one of the morsels with his fork. He lifted it up to the candlelight, squinting, and then dropped it suddenly with a yell. "Holy shit! It has tentacles, Quisty!" Zell groaned, grimacing. "I can't eat this stuff! I only ordered it 'cause you said it was fancy!"

Sensing her opportunity, Quistis pounced. "I'll trade you!" she exclaimed. She noticed Zell eying her warily. "What? I have a perfectly good salmon here," she said snippily. "You can't possibly tell me you hate fish, Zell. You were raised in a fishing town, for Hyne's sake!"

"Naw, salmon's fine," Zell answered, still eyeing his plate cautiously, looking for signs of movement. "It's just..."

"Zell. I'm not just trying to make you feel better. I love calamari," she reassured him quickly, recognizing the hesitation on his face. In a way, she found it almost sweet; he thought he was trying to look out for her despite his obvious disgust with his meal.

"Oh, hey. Well in that case," he said acquiesced, perhaps a little too quickly. Considering that she had been giving him a hard time for the entire evening, Quistis let it slide. With a little careful maneuvering, they had soon switched plates.

Zell regarded the safe, familiar salmon with a sigh of relief. Picking up his fork, he dug into it with gusto. The rich, buttery flavor exploded across his tongue; this was way better than hot dogs! Zell's eyes widened and he began to shovel more into his mouth, grudgingly admitting that maybe there was something about these types of expensive restaurants that kept people coming back despite the stupid rules. A choking sound stopped him, and guiltily Zell swallowed and gulped down a swig of his root beer. He looked up at Quistis, fully expecting her to begin to lecture him on the speed of his eating, or quite possibly the fork he had chosen to eat with.

Instead, he saw Quistis turning pale as her mouth opened and shut silently.

"Shit!" Zell yelled, wiping his mouth hastily with the napkin. "Was I supposed to wait? Did I eat too fast?" Then, to his horror, tears began to leak out of her eyes. Fuck-fuck-FUCK, Zell thought to himself, mind racing. Things had finally been going well, and suddenly he had made Quistis cry. Nobody made Quistis cry (and lived to tell about it). "Sorry, Quisty! Aww, c'mon, don't cry, I'll try harder!"

Quistis shook her head wildly, her breaths starting to come out in short, rasping gasps as she grabbed at her throat. Zell furrowed his brows; maybe it wasn't him she was mad at after all. "Quisty?"

"... haaaaa..." she wheezed, her face turning an alarming shade of red as she fumbled for her water glass, knocking it over. Without hesitating, she leapt up from her seat and made a grab for his glass, knocking his root beer messily across the table as she chugged down the water.

"The hell?" Zell yelled, leaping up from his chair. Whatever Quistis was doing, he was pretty sure it didn't fall under the golden rules of fine dining. "Quistis! What's wrong?"

"... squid," she wheezed, finally grabbing her glass of wine in desperation and downing that, too.

Leaning over, Zell eyed the mass of still-bubbling tentacles on Quistis' plate curiously. He ducked closer and took a sniff... and instantly leapt back, eyes watering. "Holy shit! I'd know that smell anywhere! That's Hyne's Hot Sauce!"

Quistis looked horrified at the revelation. "... that?" she managed to choke out, gesturing wildly at her throat. "Al-allergic!" Looking panicked - and, honestly, terrified - Quistis grabbed onto Zell's arm and dragged him towards the door, stumbling and coughing the entire way.

As they burst into the restaurant proper, the many patrons of the now-filled restaurant turned to look at them in surprise. They were quite a sight - Quistis in her evening finery, coughing and choking as the tears streamed down her eyes, her fair skin flushed and rapidly developing a bright-red rash; Zell, trying to support her, in his ripped shorts and sneakers. Staniel ran up to them, visibly flustered.

"Sir! Madam! Return to your table immediately!" Staniel hissed furiously.

"Sod off," Zell ground out, trying to elbow past him as Quistis made another loud, wet gagging noise behind him. Quite a few of the diners did turn pale at that and got up to leave themselves.

The waiter, however, had different plans, firmly grabbing onto Zell's forearm and trying to maneuver him back towards the balcony. "Sir, I really must insist!"

Zell looked down at the arm on his vest, and then with a narrow glare, up at the waiter. "Thanks," he said, a fierce grin beginning to break across his face. "I've been waitin' for an excuse to do this all night." The waiter only had a brief opportunity to look confused before Zell's fist connected to his cheek with a resounding crack. A quick kick and a deft spin had the man hurtling over his shoulder, reeling past Quistis and disappearing onto the balcony in a crumpled heap. A few screams and loud clatters rose from the other diners at the commotion. Zell turned to grab Quistis and resumed their path towards the exit, before the maitre d'hotel appeared in front of them, his face flushed and red.

"What is the meaning of this, you- you- hooligan?" he sputtered, pointing a finger at Zell.

"First of all, I ain't no hooligan, I'm Zell Dincht," he said loudly. A hushed murmur swept through the restaurant; star power did count for something after all. He dragged Quistis to his side and pushed her in front of the tiny man, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. "Second of all, you bastards just tried to poison my date with that shit you pass off for cookin'! Just look at her!" As if on cue, Quistis made another retching sound and the little man turned a slight shade of green. Zell's angry voice rose into a loud shout which echoed around the now-silent room. "And last of all, I ain't got no clue why anyone would spend so much goddamn money in a place that's still usin' Hyne's Hot Sauce as a secret ingredient!" With that, he bundled Quistis into his arms and shoved his way out of the restaurant, leaving a flabbergasted attendant in his wake.

The door slammed shut behind them, and a moment of silence swept through the restaurant. The large chef in the kitchen began to slowly back away, hoping to escape before the maitre d'hotel looked his way; he bumped into the dessert tray in his haste, and there was another large crash as delicately decorated cake bits went flying. Heads swiveled towards the noise. Then there was a loud rustle of paper as several wallets came up simultaneously at the other tables.

"Check please!"


Notes: This is a new chapter to LJ. It has already been posted on ff.net. :P

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