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deemoyza_archiveChapters: 15
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Rating/Warnings: General Audiences / No warnings apply
Character(s): Quistis Trepe, Selphie Tilmitt
Relationships: Quistis & Selphie
Summary: It’s only been two years since Quistis opened Qake, a boutique bakery in Dollet. But with the development of a megaresort nearby, business at the bakery has slowed down considerably, and Quistis’ livelihood is in danger. The arrival of a quirky, energetic heiress in town might just turn things around – if she doesn’t drive Quistis crazy first!
Notes: Bakery AU
Chapters
Part One (Chapters 1-7)
Chapter 9: Video
Chapter 10: Wimbly
Chapter 11: Invitation
Chapter 12: Contract
Chapter 13: Soiree
Chapter 14: Contrition
Chapter 15: Resurgence
“Another Coffee Crumble,” Quistis shouted over her shoulder as she rang up one of the last pieces of the breakfast cake for a customer.
“On it!” Zell called back, and Quistis could hear him gathering the bowls and pans in the kitchen. Beside her, Emmy furiously scooped coffee grounds into a filter and cast a glance at the line stretching toward the door. She switched on the urn and began to fill orders from the other one, trying to catch up. Weekday mornings at Qake had become hectic, and by the time the initial rush of customers had come through the bakery, Quistis and her employees were ready for a break.
One-third of a Coffee Crumble remained in the display case when the last customer in line left the shop. Emmy exhaled slowly and began wiping spilled coffee from the back counter, while Quistis collected plates and cups and Zell wiped down the tables. Rinoa, not yet ready to leave, nonetheless lifted her plate so Zell could clean beneath it.
“If there is a downside to success,” she said to Quistis, “it might be that we don’t get to chat like we used to.”
“It’s quiet now,” Quistis said, balancing the bus tub on her hip and reaching for another plate. “Chat away.”
“It’s hard to come up with topics on command. I think a conversation should build naturally.”
“Not necessarily. I know – and so do Zell and Emmy, by this point – that you’re eventually going to talk about Officer Leonhart, so feel free to just jump right in.”
Rinoa laughed. "Am I that predictable? I can’t help it. These past few months getting to know him have been so exciting! It’s like unwrapping a present that’s been wrapped about five or ten times, and unwrapping it slowly. I pull back one little layer, and I find there’s so much more I want to know!“
“Is the interest mutual?”
“I’m pretty sure it is. He doesn’t express it like other guys do, but he sure seems to find plenty of reasons to come to the bookstore, and Watts and Rosalie say he only really browses when I’m there. Other times, they say he just looks through the magazines and leaves without buying anything.”
Quistis handed Zell the tub and thanked him, then sat down across from Rinoa. "I suppose that’s something. Looking at him, though, I never figured him for a voracious reader.“
“Neither did I! But he’s apparently a history buff, especially military history. I never thought I’d be grateful for anything about my father’s career, but some of the details I picked up growing up with him have been very useful in engaging Squall in conversation.”
“Squall. You’re on a first-name basis, now?”
“Yep!” Rinoa beamed. "It’s taken forever, but we got there. I think what did it was when I listed all of the ranks of the Galbadian Army, in order from lowest to highest. He said he was impressed that someone like myself would know that, and we had a little trivia competition on the spot. I even had Watts confirm our answers and keep score. Of course, when we got into deep military history and the specifics of the Estharian Army, I lost ground, but Squall said he had fun, and thanked me by name!”
“Encouraging.”
“Tell me about it. And Angelo’s just wild about him! You should see how excited she gets when he comes in. She’ll run up to him and wag her tail, and follow him around the store. I’ve never seen her do anything like that for anyone who didn’t have treats.”
Quistis grinned. “Maybe he does, in his pockets. Charm the pet, charm the owner.”
“Oh, that would be the sweetest thing ever! I hope you’re right. I’m gonna think of it like that from now on.” Rinoa looked at her watch and gasped. "Oh no, I’m running late! I can’t sell books to a cute officer if I’m not in the shop.“ She smiled and thanked Quistis for her time, then rushed out the door and hastily untied Angelo’s leash.
From behind the register, Emmy sighed. "It must be so nice to have the guy you like notice you.”
“I’d hardly call trading military trivia the height of romance, or even an indicator of it,” Quistis said, and began cleaning the display case.
“Yes, but it’s something. And relationships can grow from that.” Emmy couldn’t help a glance toward the kitchen. "They can’t grow from nothing.“
“I’m not comfortable giving personal advice, but in this case, perhaps you’d be better off forgetting romance altogether, at least until you find a more solid possibility.”
“Oh, I can’t do that!” Emmy smiled. “The daydreams are too wonderful, and the little ray of hope is so exciting. They’re well worth the frustration of being overlooked.”
Quistis frowned, trying to understand exactly what Emmy wanted. Figuring that it wasn’t worth her time to puzzle out, she shrugged. “I suppose only you can understand what makes you happy. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, carry on.”
“You really are practical. You honestly don’t think about these things?”
“Not anymore.”
“Anymore?”
“Contrary to what everyone seems to believe, I am not a machine, nor was I born a stick in the mud. I was just as subject to certain whims as any other young woman. And I indulged them, a few times. But each time, the man would become frustrated with the schedule I kept, working in kitchens, and with my admittedly single-minded drive to establish my own business. My dream never seemed to be compatible with anyone else’s, but I wasn’t going to let it go. Now, I’ve achieved it, and holding onto it keeps me far too busy to worry about such things anymore.” Quistis swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump the lie made in her throat. It was for the best; if she couldn’t remedy a situation, there was no point in pining over it.
“That’s sad.”
“Not at all. We each have our priorities, and Qake is mine. Whatever sacrifices I’ve made to get to this point have been worth it.”
“Still …”
“If you’re looking for something sad, a half-empty display case during the lunch rush definitely is. Let’s help Zell finish cleaning so we can get started on the next batches of cupcakes. Come on.”
* * *
Less than an hour before closing, Selphie walked backwards into Qake, talking and gesturing excitedly to her phone. She bumped into a customer, excused herself, and continued, slowly backing up against the counter.
“I wanted to give you all a Selphie-eye view of a visit to one of my favorite places in Dollet,” she said into her phone. "And, except for bumping into that customer, that’s pretty much it!“
“Selphie, what are you doing?” Quistis asked from the register.
“A live episode of A Day in the Life of Selphie Tilmitt! It’s streaming on my website right now.” She angled the phone toward Quistis, and Quistis saw several tiny hearts float up from the corner of the screen. "People really like it.“
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, but it’s not complete without a cameo by you. Here, let me get you into the shot.” Selphie moved closer to Quistis and maneuvered her phone so that both of them appeared on the screen. "Here she is. You’ve heard me talk about her, and you’ve seen her work, now meet Quistis Trepe, the owner of Qake! Wave to the camera, Quisty!“
Quistis did as she was told, and saw a string of comments pop up along the bottom of the screen: "Hi!” "Wow.“ "Oh man!” "I could watch her bake all day!“ "Only if she bakes naked.”
“Selphie!” Horrified, Quistis stepped out of the frame.
“Whoops! That one’s an insta-block.” Selphie chuckled nervously, swiping and tapping on the screen. "Come on, you guys know better than that!“ she said to her audience, and was rewarded with another flurry of little hearts.
“If that’s your fanbase –”
“Don’t judge them all based on that creep. There’s one – or ten – of that kind in every crowd. You just can’t let them get to you.”
“Easier said than done.” Quistis tried to shake off the comment, and remained far outside of Selphie’s filming range. "So, have you decided which flavor you want today? I have to warn you, we’re out of Berry Spice.“
“What? No! Can’t you make more?”
“We close in forty minutes.”
“I’ll buy the whole batch!”
Quistis gave her a level look. "Are you sure that’s what you really want? Or do you just want it because you can’t have it right now?“
"Umm …” Selphie turned back to the display case, and her phone. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll take the Brown-butter Pecan instead. You guys sure are missing out! I wish I could share this with you over the phone. It’s sooo yummy!“
"To go?”
“Nope! I wanna sit down and enjoy this so all my followers can see how tasty it is.”
“Isn’t that a little mean?”
“Nah, people do it all the time.” Selphie sat down at a table. “Besides, I also want to talk to you about another order. I’m hosting a Battle of the Bands at my place, and I’ve come up with some wicked designs.”
“Wicked?” Quistis raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, as in super awesome. Get with the lingo, Quisty!”
“I understand the lingo, Selphie. It’s simply not a term I’ve ever heard you use.”
“Well, I’ve gotta get into rock-star mode to prepare for this event. It’s only three weeks away!”
“Three weeks?” Quistis set down the cupcake in front of Selphie. "Let me get my planner. We may need to talk about this.“
"No problem! I’ll just enjoy this fluffy, sweet treat while I wait.” She gave a thumbs-up to her phone screen.
Quistis pulled her planner from beneath the counter and flipped it open to the week in question. Just as she’d feared, she had two orders that weekend, including an intricate wedding cake for Mrs. Feltham’s daughter. She was hesitant to turn down Selphie’s request completely – after all, she owed a disproportionately large portion of Qake’s success to Selphie’s patronage and influence – but she wouldn’t have time to work on the crazy details Selphie was no doubt going to suggest. Perhaps she could negotiate with her. Quistis took a deep breath, put on her friendliest smile, and approached Selphie.
“Wow,” Selphie said through a mouthful of cupcake, “all of you are seriously missing out. This is delicious! If you ever come to Dollet – hey, Quisty! So, are you ready to hear about my design?”
“Yes, but we need to talk about scheduling and expectations first.” Quistis glanced at Selphie’s phone and stepped back, out of the frame. “Preferably one-on-one.”
“Huh? Oh, this? Give me a second.” Selphie turned back to her phone. "Well, everyone, it’s been fun! But Quisty and I need to work on getting that spectacular cake ready for the Battle of the Bands, so I’ll end this session now. Thanks to everyone who watched. I’ll see you all later. Booyaka!“ She smiled up at Quistis as she tapped on the screen, then set the phone aside, face down. "There. Now I won’t be distracted by all the ‘likes’ pouring in.”
“I appreciate that. Now, Selphie, you said this event was three weeks away. Am I correct in assuming it’s on that Saturday?”
“Of course! For maximum party potential!”
“I already have several orders for that weekend. I’d really like to take yours, as well, but I need to be sure the cake is not too … outlandish. What did you have in mind?”
“Remember the cake you made for my debut? I’d like that design, but with different bands on each side.” She pulled a paper from her purse with a competition bracket scrawled across it. "See, each band goes head-to-head until we have a big championship clash and declare a winner. So the bands in Bracket A go on one cake, the ones in Bracket B go on the other, and the middle cake is a big stage. I was thinking we could even put some sparklers on there, or something that makes a lot of noise and light. I saw some cute things at a party supply store. I’ll bring some in, and –”
“I can’t do that.”
“—then we can figure out where they – what did you say?”
“I can’t deliver a cake like that. Not with the other orders I have already. Maybe if you could tone down the design a bit, I’ll be able to fill this order.”
“Tone down? No can do, Quisty! This is a Battle of the Bands. It will be full of rockers, people who live on the edge, push things to their limits, destroy TVs for no reason! We have to go big to meet their big expectations. A tame cake might as well be no cake at all.”
“In that case, no cake.”
“What? But you’ve done this cake setup before. And I’m not even asking for trees and Blue Dragons this time. Just some guitars and amplifiers and logos of each band – hey, maybe they can be on little T-shirts, wouldn’t that be cute? – and a stage with tiny monitors and maybe some working lights.”
“All of those elements take time,” Quistis said, as gently as she could. "And right now, my time is stretched thin between running the bakery and preparing special orders. Furthermore, our other request for that Saturday is a large and intricate wedding cake, involving both fondant and fresh buttercream decorations.“
“Can’t you negotiate with whoever requested that?”
“No, because when Mrs. Feltham’s daughter placed her request last month, I had no other orders for that date. There was no reason to negotiate her design then, and I’m not about to call her to do so now. I’m sorry, Selphie, but this is a case of first-come, first-served.”
“But my request is well within the special order timeframe. I mean, you have three whole weeks!”
“During which, I have a lot to do.”
“C'mon, Quisty, the event won’t be the same without a special cake! I’m sure you can squeeze our design in.” Selphie laid her head on the table and looked up at Quistis through sorrowful eyes. "Please? Pretty please?“
"I’m sorry. Please understand that I appreciate your business, more than you could ever know, and that I’d love to help you, but I’ve just got too much other work to take on such an involved design.”
Selphie snorted. “'Work.’ That’s your favorite word, isn’t it, Quisty? That, and ‘afford.’ 'I have work to do, I can’t afford to have fun.’ Work, work, work. Don’t you have any time to live?”
A white-hot bolt of anger shot up Quistis’ spine, directly to her brain, leaving her momentarily lightheaded. She clenched her fists and bit her lip, determined to mitigate the damage she knew this feeling could cause. Ideally, she would have walked away before this point, but Selphie didn’t seem to realize that she was being serious.
"And I think it’s a word you’ve forgotten,“ she said quietly. "I don’t know who you were in Trabia, or how you lived, but from what I saw, I thought you at least valued hard work. But I guess I was wrong. You don’t know what it means to work; apparently, you’ve never had to do so.”
“Hey, wait a minute! I work…ed. I worked hard in Trabia. It’s part of the culture up there. But I always found time for a little fun. Now, that’s one word you don’t understand!”
“I can’t afford to understand it!” Quistis stood up quickly, the legs of her chair squealing against the tile floor.
“And there you go with that ‘afford’ again!” Selphie was on her feet now, too, gesturing wildly. "What do you even mean by that? Fun’s free! How can you not afford –”
“Because I don’t have a place to land if I fall! You can have as much fun as you like; your money will take care of you. Before that, you had a family who would do the same. Even Rinoa can afford to flirt with policemen and be selective about her stock. If her shop goes under, she can just run back home to her father. If Qake fails, I lose everything! That’s why I can’t afford to stop, that’s why I can’t afford to alienate customers by asking them to renegotiate orders.”
“I’m just asking for a simple cake.”
“It is not a simple cake. And I don’t have the time to make it for you, right now.” Quistis’ breathing calmed, her fists unclenched, and she gave a ragged sigh. “Please understand.”
“Yeah, I understand.” Selphie bit her lip. "I understand that it was really easy for you to make cakes for the rich lady when your shop was struggling. But now, you’ve got so manycustomers, you don’t need that lady anymore. Well, maybe she doesn’t need you, either!“
“Selphie, no, that’s not it at all! Please, stop acting childish!”
“Childish? Well, I –” A look of realization crossed Selphie’s face, and whatever retort she was about to fire died in her throat. "Oh. Huh, I guess that was kinda childish. Sorry, Quisty.“
"Apology accepted.”
“And?”
“No cake. At least not with that design.”
“Oh, flippin’ fudge-and-sugar muffins, I thought –”
“That I was gullible, apparently.” Quistis crossed her arms. "Was your apology genuine, at least?“
"Yeah.” Selphie studied her boots. “I got carried away. We’ll forget about cake for the Battle of the Bands, but I’m warning you, I have big, big plans for my New Year’s celebration!”
“I appreciate the heads-up. And I truly am sorry it didn’t work out this time.”
“Eh.” Selphie shrugged and picked up her phone. She waved goodbye – rather half-heartedly, Quistis thought – and was almost out the door, when she stopped in her tracks.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered.
“What is it?” Quistis asked.
“Oh, uh, it’s – it’s nothing! Just a couple missed calls. From my mother. She gets mad when I don’t answer. Gotta go listen to a lecture now, okay, bye!”
Through the window, Quistis saw her frantically tapping on her phone screen, her features twisted in anxiety. That was no missed call. Whatever it was, though, was Selphie’s business, and Quistis tried to push it out of her mind as she straightened chairs and finished cleaning and closing up the bakery for the day.
But she couldn’t forget the look of something very close to terror in Selphie’s eyes.
* * *
Quistis’ phone rang, pulling her back from the edge of sleep. She fumbled with the items on her nightstand until she found it, and answered without checking to see who the call was from.
“Quistis,” Emmy said, “I’m sorry to call you so late, but something’s happening.”
“What is it?” Quistis was fully awake now, sitting up. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but the bakery …”
A variety of scenarios rushed through Quistis’ mind during Emmy’s pause. Burglary, fire, vandalism. She needed to know. "The bakery what?“
"It’s not doing too good. On the review sites. See for yourself.”
Quistis got out of bed and turned on her computer. She navigated to the sites Emmy mentioned, and blinked at the numbers she saw. This morning, Qake had a respectable rating on these sites, an average of ninety-six percent satisfaction between them. Right now, that number hovered close to twenty percent.
“What happened?” she asked, hoping the problem lay on the websites’ end.
“Remember that conversation you were having with Selphie today?”
“Yes.”
“And remember what she was doing before that?”
“Yes … oh no, don’t tell me she –”
“Forgot to stop recording. Her fans heard everything, or everything they chose to. They didn’t seem to catch your coming to terms. Anyway, they went wild on Selphie’s website, and now they’re calling for a boycott of Qake.”
Quistis frowned. “Selphie’s website …”
“Please, don’t look at that!”
“Why not?” Quistis input the address and hit “Enter,” and immediately understood why. The comments section of the website was overflowing. Thanks to Selphie’s profanity filter, Quistis was confronted by a field of consonants and asterisks, which screamed the intended words more loudly in her mind than if they had been typed in bold script.
“You looked, didn’t you?” Emmy said. "Don’t take it too hard. They’re just a bunch of people who don’t know you, and have way too much free time.“
"How can I not? They’re calling for a boycott of Qake. They’re writing false reviews.” Quistis clicked back to the review sites, and saw messages of the same spirit there. They called her horrible names, made disgusting claims about the bakery, threatened to burn the bakery down or personally harm her. Quistis ran a hand through her hair and muttered a curse.
“Quistis! I’ve never heard you say that. Now, don’t worry. I’ve already contacted the site admins about the abuse and fake reviews, and they’re going to look into it. It’s going to be –”
“Too late. Whatever they do, it’ll be too little, too late. By the time these reviews are removed, if ever, people will have read them. And we can’t do anything about the comments on other sites.” Quistis’ stomach lurched. After all the work she’d put into her bakery, was she going to lose everything to a group of maladjusted individuals? "No,“ she said aloud. "No, I’m not going to let them do this to us. Thank you, Emmy, for bringing this to my attention. But I’m going to hang up now. I need to make an important call.”
Selphie’s phone rang several times, and Quistis was already calling her a coward by the time she answered.
“Quisty, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Selphie said without preamble. "At all! I really, really, totally thought I’d hit Stop before I put the phone down. You know I wouldn’t do this, right? I mean, yeah, we argued, but –”
“Call them off.” Quistis didn’t doubt Selphie’s sincerity, but she was not in the mood to accept an apology.
“I’ve tried, but –”
“Call them off.”
“Quisty, you don’t understand. I try to talk to them, but then they say I’ve been paid off, they say I’m just kissing up to you to get cake, they won’t listen.”
“Call. Them. Off.”
“I can’t!”
The panic in Selphie’s voice was genuine, and while Quistis did feel for her, she was frustrated by Selphie’s lack of control over the situation. "The video was on your website, right?“ she said. "You can take it down.”
“I already did, the moment I realized what had happened! But someone already managed to record the stream and spread it around. And they’re cutting out the ending. It’s just you and me shouting at each other.”
“What about your comments section?”
“I’ve tried, but more just keep coming in.” Selphie sighed. "I don’t know what to do!“
“Can you disable comments?”
“Only sitewide. But then they won’t be able to comment on anything else.”
“Isn’t that a reasonable sacrifice?”
“Umm …”
“Selphie.”
“Okay, okay, hold on.”
Quistis heard rustling and mumbling on the other end of the call, and a few minutes later, Selphie declared that it had been done.
“But that’s just on Taiga Chick,” she reminded Quistis. "I can’t do anything about any other sites this video might end up on. Oh, how did this happen?“
"Through your thoughtlessness! Why didn’t you make sure the recording had stopped?”
“I thought I had! I was so excited about the cupcake and my cake order, I just wanted to go ahead with things. And this wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t been so grumpy about everything!”
“I’m sorry, but you were not being reasonable at the bakery. Besides, I had no idea the rest of the world would hear about it.”
“It’s not the rest of the world. It’s just my fans.”
“Maybe it was, at first. But if this video is on other sites now, like you say it is, then it has already spread far beyond your little fan club.” Quistis paused and tried to keep her voice level. "To the review sites, for example.“
"No!”
“Yes. Qake’s rating went from ninety-six percent positive reviews to twenty-three percent within the day. Your little army has brought the war to my doorstep. And that’s not counting the threats they’ve made against the bakery, and against me.”
Selphie was silent.
“Fix it.”
“I told you, I can’t!”
“Well, you had better try. I am not losing Qake without a fight. And I don’t care who I have to fight to keep it.”
Selphie gulped. “Maybe things will settle down by morning,” she offered. "You know the online world, here today, gone tomorrow. It’ll be yesterday’s news by sunrise.“
"I’d like to hope so, but I highly doubt it. I do know the online world, and their memory – and collective grudge – is long.” Realizing she had nothing to gain from this conversation, Quistis bid Selphie goodnight. She returned to bed but did not sleep, unable to rest with the hateful comments and a precarious future swirling through her mind.
* * *
So far, the fallout from the video seemed contained to the younger set. Quistis’ morning crowd appeared unaware that anything was amiss, save for the helpful accountant who pointed out an egg splattered against the corner of one window. As she worked through the usual morning rush, Quistis began to relax, and wondered whether she had blown the whole thing out of proportion the night before.
At about eleven o'clock, the first call came in. A customer claimed her teenage daughter had changed her mind “yet again,” and that they would not be needing Qake’s services the following weekend. Another call, another mother, another cancellation. One man told Qake his son had expressed a preference for an ice cream sundae bar for his birthday, instead of the superhero cake he’d ordered from Quistis, because his favorite comic book character liked fudge ripple cones.
“Man, that was the lamest excuse yet,” Zell said, hanging up the phone. "I really hope it’s the kids comin’ up with this stuff, because it’s all so stupid!“
"And definitely not a coincidence,” Quistis said. She worked on the next batch of cupcakes, and tensed every time she heard the phone ring. When two-thirty arrived with no more cancellations, Quistis hoped the worst was over. Her lack of sleep from the night before made her limbs heavy and her head light, and she was eager to get this day over with.
She turned toward the front of the shop with a smile when she heard the bell on the door, and greeted Mrs. Feltham’s daughter warmly.
“I came to talk about my order,” Ms. Feltham said.
“You’re not cancelling, are you?” Emmy asked, wringing the coffee-stained cloth in her hands.
Ms. Feltham laughed. "Goodness, no! Quistis always makes such wonderful cakes, I wouldn’t dream of passing one up. I would just like to go over the details of the delivery. The hotel is providing full service, so you won’t need to do anything more than deliver the cake. Also, could you use the back entrance? And make sure none of the packaging has the bakery’s logo on it? It’s just that, um, I’m going for a sleek and elegant look, and anything that might clash with it –”
“We’re not welcome,” Quistis said, and watched Ms. Feltham’s face grow pale.
“It’s not that. Well, not exactly, but after that video came out, you’re not very popular. You see, my fiancé is a well-liked, and well-respected, man, and he’s destined to go far in his field. We can’t have any associations with negative publicity, even by proxy. If people found out that his wedding cake came from a bakery with such unprofessional connotations –”
Quistis held up her hand to silence Ms. Feltham. "It’s fine. We’ll do as you ask.“
“Oh, thank you, so much! This really means a lot. I’ll make sure my mother compensates you for this accommodation.” She smiled warmly. "Like I said, it’s really not about you, it’s about the way your … notoriety might impact my future husband’s professional prospects. You understand, don’t you?“
What else could she do? Quistis gritted her teeth and swallowed hard. "Yes, I understand. Thank you for choosing Qake.”
Chapter 10: Wimbly
Selphie squinted at the target in the shooting range behind her villa and groaned. She set down her rifle and removed her protective gear while Irvine retrieved the target, shaking his head and clicking his tongue.
“Getting rusty,” he said.
“I know.” Selphie sat on the grass and looked at the erratic design of holes in the target, none of which were near the center. She tossed it aside and hugged her knees to her chest.
“You aren’t practicing, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Too much socializing?” Irvine plopped down next to her.
“I guess.”
“You’re awfully quiet, today. What’s wrong?”
“I had a fight with one of my friends a few days ago.” She plucked at the grass. "We made up right away, but I accidentally streamed the whole thing to my fans. Now they’ve gone crazy, threatening her and her business, and I can’t do anything to stop them.“
"Which friend?”
“Quistis.”
“The cake lady? Dang it, Sefie, of all the people you could mess with, why’d you choose the prettiest one?”
“Give it up, Irvy. You don’t stand a chance with her, anyway.” Selphie leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder. He overreacted and fell to the side, his hat tumbling off his head. “And I didn’t ‘mess with’ her. We had an argument over a cake order, and it just kinda blew up.”
Irvine sat up and brushed off his hat. "Ooh, another order! For what, your Battle of the Bands?“
"Yep. Except there won’t be a cake. Quisty already has orders for that weekend. That’s what started everything. Then, she called me childish.”
“The nerve of that woman!” Irvine glanced at Selphie, apparently trying to gauge whether his response was satisfactory. With no reaction from her, he went on. “I don’t care how good she looks, I’m gonna –”
“She was right. For the past few months, ever since I got the inheritance, everything has been so easy. People have been falling all over themselves to help me, or to be my friend. It’s been 'Ms. Tilmitt, what can we do for you?’, 'Selphie, I’m your biggest fan!’, 'Whatever you need, just name it.’ And I got used to that. I got used to walking into any shop or restaurant and asking for what I wanted, and getting it. And Qake has been no different.” Selphie frowned as a memory bubbled up.
“Last month,” she went on, barely above a whisper, “at the Chocobo Trust Conference, I tried to get Quisty to stay for the rest of the evening. She told me she was exhausted, and I told her that was just an excuse. Just an excuse … exhaustion! Irvy, what in the world is wrong with me?”
Irvine looked her straight in the eye. "You’re spoiled.“
She swatted the hat off his head. He picked it up and brushed it off again, then continued. "Face it, Sefie, you got used to getting whatever you want, whenever you wanted it. I can’t blame you; it seems like a swell way to live. But I think you forgot a lot of stuff about who you were before your dear Uncle Rendel kicked the bucket. Not the least of which, you forgot how to shoot!” He grabbed the discarded target and shoved it in her face.
She ripped the target from his hands, balled it up, and threw it over her shoulder. "I hate it when you’re right.“
"So, what’re you going to fix first?”
“I definitely need to find a way to help Quisty. I need to get my followers off her back.” Selphie rose and dusted the seat of her pants, then put her shooting glasses back on. "But first, I need to get Selphie Tilmitt back. The real Selphie Tilmitt. Irvy, set up the target. I’m not leaving here until I hit that bullseye ten times in a row!“
* * *
The bell above the door tinkled as Selphie walked into Qake. Zell broke off his greeting when he recognized her, and glared at her until she reached the counter.
"You’ve got a lot of nerve comin’ here, after what you did,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything. It was all an accident that got way out of hand.” Selphie looked over the menu.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to face any consequences.”
“Yes, I do!”
“What, you’re not Miss Popular anymore? Pfft, big freakin’ deal. Quistis is losing business and getting threats. Try walking in her shoes for a bit.”
Selphie sighed. “I know. I know I messed up, big time. And I have to make it right, but I don’t know how.”
Zell grinned. "A little money never hurt.“
"I tried that. A few days ago, I told Quisty that I could cover everything that Qake is losing, and then some, but she didn’t want my money.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Really?” Selphie reached inside her purse and grabbed a handful of large-denomination notes. She placed them in Zell’s hand and smiled. "Go right ahead, then! Please! The guilt has been killing me!“
"What? No! I was just joking! I can’t take your money.” He shoved the notes back at her, but kept eyeing them longingly.
“Sugar-frosted snowflakes, you people are stubborn! C'mon, Zell, you work hard. You deserve this. Just take a few. Think of it as a tip.” She slid several notes toward him.
“In that case, they go in the jar.” Zell took the notes and deposited them in their proper place. "But don’t think this gets you off the hook!“
"I know it doesn’t.”
“Good. Now, are you gonna buy anything, or did you just come to grovel?”
Selphie rolled her eyes at him and turned to the display case. She was mulling over the cupcakes when Quistis came out of the kitchen and greeted her.
“Hey, Quisty. How are you doing?”
“Considering the circumstances, fine, I suppose,” Quistis answered. "We’ve only had two cancellations this week and one incident of non-permanent vandalism to the shop. The online threats are quieting down, and I’m hoping the worst is over.“
Selphie winced. "That doesn’t sound fine to me.”
“What else can I say? The fallout from that video really struck Qake hard. At this point, if we haven’t lost anything by the end of the day, I consider that day a massive success.” She smiled. “Redefining my standards has helped immensely during all of this.”
“Ugh, Quisty, you don’t have to keep acting so brave about it.”
“Acting?”
“Yes, acting. I know you’re putting on a front. I know it must be super terrifying to be you right now. It’s okay to admit that. It’s okay to accept help.”
“I appreciate your concern, but –”
“Then let me help!” Selphie pulled out her phone. "Look, I can make a video, right here and now, telling everyone that I was wrong, and that I’m still a proud customer of Qake!“
"Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“You tried something similar two days ago. How did it turn out?”
“Um … they called me a sell-out. They called me a corporate shill. But Quisty, you’re not even a corporation!”
“It doesn’t matter to them, especially if they’re your fans. I shouted at you, and they heard it. Right now, that makes me the enemy. And by referencing the bakery or me, no matter how noble your intentions, you’re just keeping the incident fresh in their minds, and possibly hurting your own image, in the process.”
“What are you getting at?”
“It might be best to lie low, at least for the time being.”
“Lie low?” Selphie looked at her reflection in her phone’s darkened screen. "So, you mean, no cupcakes?“
"I’m more than happy to sell you cupcakes,” Quistis said, a soft laugh rippling through her words. "I simply meant that you might want to dial back your online presence and give this whole thing a chance to blow over.“
"But it’s been almost a week already! How much longer do you think it’ll take?”
“I wish I knew. Eventually, though, people will find something else to talk about, something else to get angry over.” Quistis took Zell’s place at the register and motioned for him to take his break. "Until then, I hold on and you lie low.“
"Something else to talk about,” Selphie mused, returning to the cupcakes. That was it. All she had to do was find something to supplant that video in the minds of her audience. Something more exciting than a stressed-out baker. Something with a willing audience. Something like the Battle of the Bands.
Competitions of any kind were always chock-full of drama. Rivalries, high-stake dreams, clashing egos … plenty to get people’s tongues wagging. Maybe she could document all that … maybe she could broadcast it live. With behind-the-scenes interviews packed with loaded questions. Yes, that was it! She congratulated herself and began tapping an inquiry for production companies into her phone’s search field.
As she scrolled through the results, she became aware of a strange prickling sensation between her shoulder blades, as if someone was watching her from behind. She turned around and made eye contact with a man in a suit sitting at a table near the door. He flicked his gaze back to the newspaper he was reading, and Selphie went back to her phone. Then, she felt it again. Another glance, more eye contact, then back to the newspaper and phone screen. The third time it happened, she smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.
“Have you decided yet?” Quistis’ question startled Selphie, and her phone clattered to the floor. Chuckling and blushing, Selphie retrieved it, then pointed to her cupcake of choice.
“To go,” she said, then leaned across the case. "By the way, Quisty, who is that guy? The one in the suit.“
Quistis didn’t spare the stranger a look. "He’s a traveler from Deling City. He’s been here all morning. He said he’s waiting for check-in to begin at the hotel.”
“Hmm. If that’s true, then where’s his luggage?”
Quistis shrugged. “Probably at the hotel. I do believe they’d hold it for him.” She finished boxing up the cupcake and moved to the register.
“He’s kinda cute, don’t you think?”
“Not particularly.” Quistis extended her hand for payment and sighed. "You and Rinoa really are something. You see a pleasant face, and everything else flies out of your minds.“
"Nuh-uh,” Selphie insisted, paying for her cupcake and shoving more money into the tip jar. “I remember very well what I was thinking about. I know a way to take the attention off of that video and off of those bad reviews of Qake. I only need a little time, and the right people. Just you wait, Quisty; in a couple of weeks, battling band drama will have taken over, and everyone will forget all about you!”
“That’s not an ideal situation, either, Selphie.”
“Oh, you know what I mean! They’ll forget about this whole mess. I said I’d make it better, and I will. You can count on me!” She grabbed her cupcake and headed toward the exit, glancing up from her phone to cast one more grin at the stranger by the door.
* * *
Five curse words in a row. It was a record for the evening, so far, and Selphie mentioned this to Steel Moomba’s drummer.
“Ah, thanks, lady,” he said. "I like to keep my language skills sharp, y'know? Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah, DeathMoogle is a cheap, tawdry little act that should stick to buskin’ on street corners! You can add 'death’ to anything, but if you don’t got edge, you don’t got edge, y'know? What can you expect from guys who got their start playin’ kids’ birthday parties?“ He jabbed a finger toward the camera. "Yeah, you heard me! They even wore Moogle costumes. Those spineless scum-suckers are goin’ down tonight! Steel Moomba rules!” He made a rude gesture, then stalked off.
“Well,” Selphie said brightly, turning to the camera, “that sure was a spirited assessment of the competition from Steel Moomba’s drummer. We’re going to send it back to Irvy and the audience now, but stay tuned for DeathMoogle’s response, plus a one-on-one with Yesno-Maybeso’s Katerina about her recent breakup! Irvy, take it away!”
Selphie motioned for the cameraman to cut, and relaxed. She had no idea running a livestream of the Battle of the Bands would be so exhausting, even with a top-tier production group at her disposal. Between hosting and interviewing, she hadn’t had a spare moment to herself. There was a party going on all around her, and she couldn’t enjoy it.
Is this how Quisty feels at events? The thought crossed Selphie’s mind, but she doubted the situation was exactly the same. Quistis didn’t seem to be a natural partier, so she probably wasn’t as perturbed to remain on the sidelines as Selphie was. Selphie didn’t know how she could stand it; it was such a mega-bummer.
She needed a break, and some food, so she dismissed the cameraman for a half-hour and wandered over to the vendors. She spotted Rinoa there, nibbling on chips and having an animated conversation with someone standing next to her.
“Seriously!” Rinoa said. "That was such bait-and-switch marketing. Why did they say they were environmentally friendly and then fill their dog beds with such heavily-processed materials? No wonder Angelo never got near it. I took it back to the store the moment I found out, and – Selphie! I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you tonight. You’ve been running all over the place. Did you finally shake the cameraman?“
"Nah, I’m just on break.” Selphie slid some money across the counter and watched as they piled a sandwich bun high with meat for her. "I haven’t even had a chance to gauge the crowd’s reaction. I hope they’re enjoying this.“
"I think they are. I know I am. The audience is having a lot of fun, and the music has been great! Who’s up next?”
“Um … Darby and the Manwolf. They absolutely rock. Just wait 'til you hear Manwolf’s howl live. Irvy’s emceeing this segment, and he’s been practicing a howl like that for days.” She took her sandwich and licked her lips. "He’s gonna make a fool of himself.“
"And you’re going to let him?”
“Oh, Irvy doesn’t mind. He loves attention, no matter how he gets it. Besides, there’ll be plenty of girls online who’ll feel sorry for him and send him messages; I think sympathy is his favorite angle to work. By the way, I wonder how the livestream is doing. I hope that last interview didn’t turn people off. Steel Moomba’s drummer has a filthy mouth!”
“I think that’s the kind of content that’ll get your followers talking about something new.”
“Booyaka! My plan is working!” Selphie was scanning the area for a place to sit and eat, when the person who had been talking with Rinoa spoke up.
“Selphie Tilmitt,” he said, stepping into the light of the vendor’s sign. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.“
Selphie’s heart skipped, then sank. It was the stranger she’d seen in the bakery about two weeks ago, but he didn’t look half as good as she remembered. Maybe it was the casual clothes he wore now . Nevertheless, she smiled at him. "Hey, I know you! You’re the guy who was staring at me at Qake, a couple weeks ago!”
“Perhaps. I did visit several bakeries during my first days here. My name’s Wimbly Donner. I’m an event planner from Deling City, and I was hoping I’d have a chance to speak with you during my trip. My card.”
Selphie accepted his business card. “Event planner,” she read, “and 'arbiter of taste?’ Says who?”
Wimbly chuckled. “Your skepticism is understandable. However, Ms. Tilmitt, I have been in my line of work for over a decade, and in all that time, I’ve kept my finger on the pulse of celebrity trends. It’s one of the elements of my success. Do you remember the carnelian craze, about two summers ago?”
“No. I was still in Trabia. I didn’t keep up with celebrity trends, and I definitely couldn’t afford to follow them then.”
“You missed out. There were some stunning pieces made for the cream of the celebrity crop. I bring this up, simply because I called it. I was organizing an event for a well-known actress – I can’t say who – and I noticed the fine carnelian necklace she wore to our first meeting. I advised her to make this the centerpiece of her party outfit, and let the other attendees burn with jealousy. Two days later, the jewelers could not keep up with orders for that precious stone.”
“Uh, good for you, I guess.” Selphie spotted an empty table and headed for it. Wimbly followed.
“Ms. Tilmitt, let me apologize. I believe our conversation drifted far away from what I intended. While I am an arbiter of taste, my main role remains event planner, and I have been eager to work with you, ever since I saw your eye-catching arrival in Dollet!”
“Work with me?”
“Yes. I see that you love parties and other social events, and many of them seem fun, and mildly successful.”
“Mildly?” Selphie took a bite of her sandwich. “Let me tell you, Wimbly, that my parties have been total successes, each and every one!”
“Personal successes, I’m sure. But what about public image successes? Don’t think I don’t know about that little … hiccup in your popularity.”
“You too, huh?” Selphie frowned. "That’s why I went for a livestream tonight. I’m hoping all the dirt and spectacle will give my followers something else to gossip about. They’ve really been unfair to Quisty; all she did was call me out for acting like a spoiled brat.“
Wimbly looked around. "And yet, I don’t see 'Quisty’ here tonight.”
“Yeah, she had another order already scheduled. A wedding.”
“That is unfortunate, but a risk inherent in relying on a small business. Have you ever thought about approaching another baker?”
“No way! Quisty is my friend, and the best baker in Dollet. I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else for my cakes.”
“I won’t argue with her talent. The cupcakes I had at her bakery were very tasty. But I wouldn’t recommend her to my clients.”
“Oh? And why not?” Selphie gulped down another bite. "Is Qake not good enough for you?“
"Your baker friend is technically proficient, but dreadfully boring. Her designs are fine for the average consumer, but you, Ms. Tilmitt, are not average. You’re a celebrity, a star, one whose parties deserve to be graced by the presence of A-list celebrities, people who share your passions and dreams!”
“You’re drifting off the rails again, Wimbly. What’s so wrong with Quisty’s cakes?”
Wimbly tapped a finger against his chin, as if trying to decide how to word his next statement. He opened his mouth, shook his head, and thought some more. Then, he folded his hands on the table and looked at her. "Correct me if I’m wrong,“ he said slowly, "but didn’t Quisty tell you to tone down the design you requested for tonight?”
“Yeah. But that’s 'cause she had that other order.” Selphie rolled her eyes. “Keep up, Wimbly.”
“No, it’s because she doesn’t have vision. An artist with vision, be they baker or painter or pianist, will always adapt. They will never discourage their patrons; they will find ways to dazzle, even if it kills them. Your Quisty has skill, to be sure, but no vision; you have that vision, but lack the skill to make it reality. Do you see the problem here?”
“That’s enough!” Selphie stood up, and flung her half-eaten sandwich into the trash. Wimbly was making her sick. "There is no problem. Quisty’s always done a good job on my orders. And she does have a point: maybe I do need to tone down my requests.“
"Never!” Wimbly leapt to his feet, and placed his hands on Selphie’s shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, her lip curling in distaste. "You are a celebrity,“ he said, "and it is not your responsibility to tone anything down. You have a right to see your dreams become reality, and I can help you with that. Besides, you wouldn’t want to place undue burden on your friend, would you?”
“Oh. I never thought of it like that.” Selphie slid Wimbly’s hands off of her shoulders, one at a time. "Quisty’s never said I’m a burden, but I know she works hard to get the supplies and make the wacky decorations I ask for. And my plans for New Year’s … yikes!“
"What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking of a cake taller than myself! It would have sparklers, and maybe edible confetti. I saw something on a television show where the cake actually had moving parts, like a spinning top layer, and tiny glitter canons – those would be perfect for New Year’s!” Selphie began gesturing, her discomfort with Wimbly melting away in the rush of unbridled creativity. "And maybe it could have a little alarm, or something, that would ring at midnight. I love New Year’s! There’s so many things you can do with it!“
Wimbly watched her calmly. "True. But how many things can Qake do?”
“Oh, I’m not going to ask Quisty for all that! I don’t think she can make moving cake parts.”
“But I know someone who can.”
“What?”
“I know the cake you mentioned seeing on television, and I’ve worked with the baker who made it. Don’t look so surprised. I told you that I’m well-connected.”
Selphie stared at him. He knew a baker who could make the craziest cake she’d ever dreamed of. How in the world could she pass that up? She felt guilty considering this other baker at all, but she let Wimbly’s words rationalize her thoughts. An order like this really would be a burden on Quisty, and it might lead to another argument. Wouldn’t it be best to avoid that? Besides, she didn’t need to leave Qake out completely. She was planning a big party, the biggest she’d thrown yet, and she was sure there’d be plenty of room for some tasty cupcakes.
“Do you think this baker would agree to it?” she asked slowly.
“I’m sure he would. He serves all the celebrities in Deling City, and he’s used to unconventional requests. It will take some scheduling to get him here on the holiday, but if we work quickly, I’m sure we could secure his services.”
“That would be awesome.”
“I’ll call him in the morning, then.” Wimbly smiled. "I assume this means we’ll be working together?“
"For my New Year’s party, at least.” Selphie shook his hand, then wagged her finger at him. "But you have to stop putting down my friends. Quisty is a top-notch baker; I just don’t want to overwork her.“
"Understood. Now, about the venue … a cake taller than you would look very out of place here.” He gestured to the expanse behind the villa where the Battle of the Bands continued.
“Oh, it won’t be here, it will be inside my villa.”
“For how many people?”
“A few hundred, maybe.”
“Won’t it be a little cramped?”
“There’s the courtyard, too!”
“In the dead of winter?” Wimbly shook his head. "No, no, Ms. Tilmitt, a cake like that deserves to be in a comfortable, trendy setting, one where it can be leisurely admired. Have you considered hosting any of your parties at the Hyperion? They have lovely venues for gatherings of all sizes, and the most accommodating staff. I just organized an event there last weekend.“
"The Hyperion?” Selphie blinked. She’d known about the resort before she moved to Dollet, but she’d never considered hosting a party there. From its advertisements, the place always looked too sleek, too fake for her liking. It was somewhere people went just to be seen and maybe do a few things they’d regret the next day. And, once she and Rinoa became friends, she heard a lot more about it. How it leeched tourists away from Dollet, how that affected the businesses in town. She was already part of one big problem right now, why should she get involved in another? Unless …
She faced Wimbly directly. “Two of my best friends are business owners here in Dollet,” she began, “and they’ve told me what the Hyperion has done to this town. So, normally, I’d tell anyone who mentioned Hyperion to take a running jump off a cliff. I have a better idea, though. You say you have connections. Is the head of Hyperion one of them?”
“Mr. Almasy? Indeed. I speak to him frequently.”
“Good, because I’d like to have a little talk with him, too.”
“I-I’m sure I can arrange that.”
It was the first time she’d seen Wimbly falter. "Can you, really?“
He drew himself up, his confidence returning. "I assure you, Ms. Tilmitt, whatever you request, I can deliver. If you want a meeting with Mr. Almasy, I can set that up. His schedule permitting, of course. He is a very busy man.”
“It must take a lot of time to count all the gil his resort takes from this town.” Selphie smirked as Wimbly squirmed. “All right, Mr. Party Planner, there you have it. I want the cake, and I want one of the best event rooms in the Hyperion. And I want to talk with this Almasy guy and tell him to leave Dollet’s business owners alone. Maybe we can even all work together, instead of fighting over the tourists and their money.”
“Thank you, Ms. Tilmitt. You will not be disappointed.”
“I’d better not be, because you don’t get paid until I get everything I want.” She stuck her nose in the air and walked away. If there ever was a proper time to act spoiled, she’d found it. She felt a stab of guilt as she waved to Rinoa in passing, but she was sure that once she spoke to Mr. Almasy, Rinoa, Quistis, and the rest of the downtown Dollet business district would fare better than they ever had before.
Sometimes, she figured, you need to infiltrate the enemy’s compound. Infiltrate and influence. And no one could do that better than Selphie Tilmitt.
“Sefie!” Irvine rushed up and grabbed her arm, hissing her name through his teeth. "Where the heck were you? You wanted to announce the next act, and they’ve been ready to go for almost ten minutes!“
"What? Yikes!” Selphie jogged the rest of the way to the stage, stopped to catch her breath, and apologized to the band waiting in the wings.
“Sorry about that delay, folks!” she told the audience as the spotlight found her. “I took a little snack break, and got carried away. That sandwich was way too yummy!” Light applause absolved her of her minor misstep. "Anyhow, even though I know the hostess shouldn’t have favorites, I have a really big soft spot for this next group. I know all their songs by heart, and I even have a signed photo of the guitarist. Joining us all the way from Trabia, everybody please welcome Mach Chocobo!“
As the band took the stage, Selphie scampered off, and began preparing for another round of interviews. She spotted Wimbly at the edge of the audience, arms crossed, chewing on his lip and nodding along to the music. She’d given him a tall order, and she assumed he must be trying to figure out how to fill it at that very moment.
She’d make him earn his bragging rights, and she’d get Almasy off Dollet’s back.
Infiltrate and influence.
Selphie Tilmitt was back.
Chapter 11: Invitation
Though the threats had died down, Quistis’ knife felt heavy in her palm. For the past two years, the knife had been a comfortable companion on her early-morning walk to the bakery, a safeguard against trouble. But in the aftermath of the video, as the possibility that she would need to use it became very real, she became acutely aware of its weight, its shape, its terrible potential in her hand. She was glad to slip it into her purse as she locked the kitchen door behind her, glad to put it out of her mind for another day.
She removed her coat and hat, shaking off the early-December chill, and got to work. Qake had not fully recovered from the poor reviews and call to boycott, and, as a consequence, had missed out on the last surge of high-season tourists. Quistis hoped those who visited during the off-season would be calmer, more discerning, and not as easily swayed by online chatter as their summer counterparts. She still needed their business; her bookkeeping figures were not as healthy as she’d hoped.
She should have been more cutthroat, she admitted to herself as she poured batter into paper cups. She should have depersonalized her business interactions, and made her prices non-negotiable, regardless of customer loyalty or individual financial situations. It may have cost her a few points in the likeability department – which she lost anyway, thanks to that video – but it would have given her a larger margin for fluctuations in traffic. Instead, she’d tried to be both a professional baker and everybody’s friend. A discount here, a twinge of sympathy there, a heaping scoop of hubris throughout, and Qake’s safety net wasn’t as sturdy as she’d believed it was. The wave of last-minute cancellations tore a hole through its center, and she was left scrambling to curb her losses.
Yet, she was determined to remain positive, and to keep as much of this troublesome information from her employees as possible. When Zell and Emmy expressed concern over the bakery’s winter hours, she reminded them that she had made the same adjustment the year before. When she cut back on the more expensive recipes, she explained it as catering to the customers’ tastes, since many of the best-selling cupcakes were relatively simple. And when they passed their third weekend in a row with no special order to prepare, she reminded them that birthdays and holidays come only once a year, and weddings far less frequently than that.
It seemed to work. Aside from the occasional worry or frustration with a rude customer, Zell and Emmy’s spirits did not flag, and their enthusiasm strengthened Quistis’ resolve to push forward. Now, they walked into the kitchen, in the midst of a lively debate over the latest episode of some TV show, cleaning up and putting on their aprons without missing a beat. They listened as Quistis rattled off the day’s recipes and assigned them their duties, then resumed their discussion as they worked, trading analyses, barbs, and more than a few jokes.
Life returned to the kitchen, and Quistis brightened in its warmth. Whatever had happened and whatever lay ahead, they would persevere. Qake would not fail. And though she might stumble, Quistis would not stay down.
* * *
“Ooh, you have hot chocolate cupcakes!” Selphie bounced on her toes at the display case. "I’ll take two, to go!“
"That seems to be your new routine,” Quistis remarked, reaching for the cupcakes.
“Heh, I guess it is. I’m just so busy these days, I hardly have time to sit down to a full meal, let alone a cupcake, even though all your cupcakes are super delicious.” Selphie glanced at Quistis, then let her gaze wander the bakery as she continued. "My Battle of the Bands was such a success, I wanna make it an annual event, and that means I’ve got to start planning right away! Plus, I’ve been busy with fundraising for the Moomba Rights Organization, and planning next year’s Chocobo Trust Conference, and, oh yeah, I’m getting back into shooting!“ She gave a strained chuckle. "So, yeah, super busy!”
“Indeed! Quistis smiled. "I suppose I should be glad you even have time for a takeout order.”
Selphie’s grin disappeared. “I’ll always have time for Qake,” she said, more solemnly than the conversation dictated. She widened her eyes and leaned toward Quistis, her hands leaving streaks on the display case. "Don’t ever doubt that. You’re my friend, and I would never abandon you. Besides,“ she went on, her expression brightening, "I don’t think I could survive very long without one of your mega-tasty cupcakes!”
It was Quistis’ turn to laugh uncomfortably. Selphie was behaving more oddly than usual, and had been since the day after the Battle of the Bands. Whatever might have happened at the event, she was unwilling to talk about it, and Quistis could only hope her situation would improve on its own.
“And just how many of these ‘mega-tasty’ cupcakes will you be needing for your big New Year’s bash?” Quistis asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Or will you want a cake, instead?“
Selphie looked at the floor and chewed her lip. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked from side to side, making a series of noncommittal noises. "Um … er, I’m not sure I’m gonna have a party for New Year’s,” she said.
“Are you serious? That’s the biggest party time of the year.”
“I know. And I want to celebrate, and celebrate big. But I also don’t want to ask you for too much, especially with so little time left.”
“Nonsense. New Year’s is three weeks away. While that might be a tight window for procuring supplies, I’m sure we can fulfill your request if we start soon.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’d be better to have a smaller celebration a little bit later. Like, Happy Belated New Year! I can make a new holiday! I won’t have to compete with other parties for guests, and you can have a decent rest.”
Quistis narrowed her eyes. “Why the sudden concern for my well-being?”
“I realized something a while ago. My orders were super crazy, and really close together, and I think I was taking advantage of your business.”
“Again, nonsense. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I don’t want to overwork you.”
“You wouldn’t. Qake closes early for the holiday. It wouldn’t be an imposition at all.”
Selphie paid for her cupcake and smiled. "I guess it wouldn’t be right not to have a party on the partiest night of the year. I’ll think about it, and see if I can come up with anything that’s not too outrageous, but still screams, 'Selphie Tilmitt!’“
"I’m looking forward to working with you again.”
“Uh, yeah, me too. It’ll be just like old times!” Selphie chuckled again, then bid Quistis goodbye and carried her cupcakes out of the bakery as carefully as if they were a pair of porcelain figurines.
* * *
After two weeks of waiting for Selphie’s order, Quistis had to admit that, strange as it seemed, Selphie was serious about skipping a New Year’s Eve party. She still visited Qake almost daily, to stock up on hot chocolate cupcakes, but she seemed to be in a hurry now more than ever before, and the amount of eye contact she maintained with Quistis during their brief conversations decreased each time. She was fidgety, and evasive in regard to personal questions. Quistis tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but with each visit, she felt more and more certain that Selphie was hiding something from her.
Late yesterday morning, however, Selphie appeared more relaxed, closer to her usual cheerful self than she’d been for the past month. She ordered a half-dozen cupcakes of different flavors and tossed a handsome tip into the jar, wishing Quistis a “booyaka kind of day,” and telling her that very soon, everything would be better.
“Better than ever before!” she said, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up as she exited the bakery.
Quistis shook her head and assumed that Selphie had spent the early part of the day sampling spirits for her own private New Year’s Eve celebration. And since Selphie had yet to show up today, Quistis figured she must have been right.
She was preparing a batch of cupcakes for the lunchtime crowd when she heard Zell shout in surprise. She looked up as Emmy ushered him into the kitchen, then turned her task over to him when Emmy signaled for her assistance at the front of the store. Before Emmy could explain the situation, Quistis saw the doors of a black car open, and a trio of suited figures approach the bakery. She thanked Emmy for getting Zell out of their way, and steeled herself for another visit from Seifer.
He flung the door open with more force than was necessary, sending the little bell above it into a frenzy, then strode through, Fujin and Raijin trotting in behind him.
“Well, well, Ms. Trepe,” he said. "What’s this I hear about reduced hours?“
"Good morning, Mr. Almasy,” Quistis replied calmly. "Qake is operating on winter hours right now. It’s a seasonal adjustment, nothing more.“
"Is that so? It wouldn’t have anything to do with that unfortunate incident a couple months ago, would it? I know operating costs can be high, even for a rinky-dink little shop like this. A few cancelled orders, and it’s hard to keep the lights on.”
“An astute observation. But winter is traditionally a slow season for tourists in Dollet. Reducing open hours during this time is simply a good business practice.” She crossed her arms. "Now, please state the purpose of your visit.“
"Purpose?” Seifer appeared hurt. "Does one need a purpose to visit Qake, other than to peruse your goods and bask in your lovely presence?“
"Shove it, Almasy!” Zell called from the kitchen. Quistis heard rapid shuffling back there, followed by a muffled sound of pain from him.
“Ah, I see you’ve still got chicken-boy on your payroll. Maybe his offensive presence is keeping customers away.”
“You want offensive? Gimme a sec, I show you offensi – ow! Emmy, what the heck?”
Quistis sighed. “Perusal of goods usually ends in a purchase,” she said, “and flattery is not acceptable payment. Perhaps you’d like to let Raijin buy something. We have hot chocolate cupcakes now, topped with toasted marshmallow crème.” She noticed Raijin’s eyes light up, and smiled as he peered at the display case over Seifer’s shoulder.
Seifer frowned. “Stop tempting my associate.”
“Then state your business.”
“A year-end check-up. Still got a few thorns in my side, apparently.”
“Really. And what’s the prognosis?”
He grinned and towered over her. Her muscles tensed and her stomach turned, but she did not lean away from him. “Clear by the new year,” he said.
“I’d recommend seeking a second opinion.”
Seifer’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. He shook his head and raised his hand as he began to laugh louder, eventually building into roar that his associates awkwardly parroted. He stopped suddenly, and slammed his hand on the counter. Quistis flinched.
“Ms. Trepe, you are hilarious. Why does no one ever mention that about you?” he said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small card. “Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to know that I do have a second opinion, though not from someone I’d have ever expected, and it confirms my results. This little wonder crossed my desk recently, courtesy of Hyperion’s event planning department, and I thought you might like to see it, too.”
He laid the card on the counter, face-down, and slid it toward Quistis. She picked it up and turned it over. As her mind registered the words printed there, her heart sank and her limbs went hot. It was an invitation made by Hyperion’s in-house planning services, for a New Year’s Eve party at the resort:
You are cordially invited to Selphie Tilmitt’s
Sensational Super-Colossal New Year’s Eve Soiree
December 31st, Seven to Whenever
Theia Ballroom, Hyperion Hotel & Resort
RSVP to Wimbly Donner, Event Planner
See you there!
Quistis read the invitation over twice more, blinking and swallowing hard. No wonder Selphie had been acting so strangely. How long had she planned to keep up her charade with Qake? Quistis set her jaw and looked up at Seifer, but for once, she was at a loss for words.
Seifer, on the other hand, was not. He smiled wider and tapped the invitation.
“Checkmate.”
Chapter 12: Contract
“I wasn’t aware we were playing a game,” Quistis said at last, laying down the invitation, “which is the only reason you could ever believe you’ve won. But now that you’ve established that it is a game, how do I know you’re not bluffing? How do I know any of this is real?”
Seifer snorted. "Simple. You ask. Next time she comes in, get the facts straight from the horse’s – er, heiress’ – mouth.“
“I suppose I’ll have to.” A bitter taste crept up the back of Quistis’ throat, but she drew her shoulders back and tried to appear unaffected. "And, now that you’ve completed your business here, I suppose you’ll be leaving.“
“Who said I was done?”
“You’ve come to show me that you’ve secured the biggest client in Dollet. I don’t see what more we have to discuss.”
“Plenty.” Seifer turned toward Fujin and held out his hand. She placed a stack of papers there and stepped back as he faced Quistis once more. “I’m a winner, but a gracious winner. I know things are about to get very rough for you, without Tilmitt’s business, so –”
“Not necessarily. Qake survived before she came to Dollet, and we’ve been doing fine without any recent orders from her.”
“Oh, please. I saw the kinds of figures this bakery posted before Tilmitt got here; you were barely hanging on. And I think you’re forgetting Tilmitt’s biggest asset: her influence. You thought traffic was slow before; just wait until her followers flock to the Hyperion and forget all about this town.”
“We’ll manage. I am a professional, and my business will adapt to the changing conditions.”
Seifer chuckled. “Your bravery is cute, but hollow. Come on, even you don’t believe what you’re saying.”
Quistis glared at him, trying to keep her breathing under control, and decided to let him finish whatever he came to do. It seemed the quickest way to make him leave.
“As I was saying,” Seifer went on, “losing Tilmitt’s business is a huge blow to a puny little shop like this. She goes to Hyperion, her fans follow, Dollet becomes a fad of the past. You might coast for a while on what you made from all those orders, but pretty soon, things’ll get tight. Your regulars come in, buy their cupcake and their coffee, but it’s not enough anymore. You’ll cut hours, you’ll cut staff – not that you have any to spare, except maybe chicken-boy – until there’s nothing left. If I had to guess, I’d say you won’t last the next year.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t have to, then. Your last prediction was laughable.”
“It’s like you didn’t hear a word I said. You’re going down, Trepe. You can’t afford to be hostile. Especially not toward someone who can save you.”
“Save me?” Quistis burst into laughter. "I fear you’ve fallen victim to your delusions of grandeur, Mr. Almasy. I don’t need saving.“
“When this place goes under, you’ll change your tune. It’ll happen. And what will you do then?”
“For the sake of argument, I’ll indulge your prediction. So, Qake fails. I’ll survive. I will pick up a job somewhere, like I did before, and I will start over.” She looked him in the eye. "But that’s not going to happen.“
“You’re the delusional one. Your optimism is sickening. I’m offering you a chance at financial security, and all you do is fight me!”
“You haven’t offered me anything.”
Seifer slammed the stack of papers onto the counter. "Here.“
Quistis noticed the veins in his neck bulging, and smirked. Whatever business advantage he might gain from Selphie’s patronage – if that part was even true – she was clearly gaining the upper hand in this interaction, and she enjoyed it.
“Paper,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Almasy, but I still have several reams in the supply closet.”
He cursed, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. He flicked the top few pages off the stack, then turned it towards her. The Hyperion logo was prominent at the top of this page, centered above the words, “ Employment Contract.”
“With Tilmitt at the Hyperion, Qake’s days are numbered,” he said. "Before this place goes belly-up, I’m giving you a chance to save yourself. At the Hyperion, you can still bake all day, but you’ll have a steady paycheck and tons of benefits, too, and you’ll be serving clients with ten times the star power – and money – that Tilmitt has! It’s perfect!“
“No.” She pushed the papers back toward him.
“You haven’t even read the thing!”
“I don’t have to. I already know that I don’t want it.”
“What? Why not?”
“Qake is my business, and if it goes down, I’m going down with it. I’m not going to sell out to Hyperion.”
“No one said anything about selling out!”
“That’s exactly what you’re asking me to do.” She retrieved the contract and began reading through it, and was startled when Fujin stepped up to the counter and shoved a pen toward her.
“SIGN,” Fujin said.
“No, thank you,” Quistis replied. "I’m just looking for something.“
“SIGN.”
Quistis ignored her this time and skimmed through the pages of the lengthy document. In the final section, under “Terms and Conditions,” she found what she was searching for.
“By signing this agreement, the employee agrees that his or her employment with Hyperion is on an exclusive basis,” she read, “and that, while employed by Hyperion, the employee will not engage in any other business activity (including commitment of time) that is in conflict with his or her duties and obligations to, or the business interests of, Hyperion. This agreement will be in immediate effect upon signature, and will remain in effect and enforceable for a period of six weeks after termination.” She looked up at Seifer, and noticed that he was significantly paler than he’d been moments before.
“An exclusivity clause,” she said. "Brilliant. A bit slimy, but knowing you, fitting.“ She gently pushed the pen back toward Fujin. "Thank you, but I won’t be needing this.”
Seifer clenched his jaw, and his shoulders trembled with restrained rage. He reached out and snatched the contract away from Quistis. "You had your chance, Trepe,“ he said, anger rumbling low in his voice. "I will crush you, and the rest of these worthless little shops. Raijin! Update the list. I’ve adjusted my timetable.”
“Yeah, boss,” Raijin said. "How long?“
Seifer narrowed his eyes. “Two months.”
Quistis smiled at him, as sweetly as she could manage. "I’ll see you in March, then,“ she said. "Seifer.”
He bared his teeth in a barely-audible snarl, then turned sharply and stalked out of Qake. His associates followed, and hardly had time to close the car door before the vehicle sped away.
Quistis still smiled, congratulating herself on what felt like a victory, but her smile soured into a grimace when she noticed the invitation still on the counter. She hoped it was only a bluff, but the way Selphie had been acting lately, Quistis feared it might be true. She put the card under the counter, out of sight for the moment, but easily accessible for the next time Selphie visited Qake.
Seifer had been right about one thing: she needed to hear the truth from Selphie.
Straight from the heiress’ mouth.
* * *
Selphie arrived fifteen minutes before closing.
“Booyaka!” she shouted as she skipped through the door. "How’s every little thing? Super better, right?“
“No,” Emmy said flatly, from the register. Quistis put aside her cleaning cloth and walked to the front to face Selphie. Emmy was still frowning at Selphie when she arrived, and Selphie cast Quistis an inquisitive look.
“None of us here know what you mean by ‘better,’” Quistis explained. "It was a normal business day, except for a visit from Hyperion’s owner.“
“Mr. Almasy, right?” Selphie beamed. "That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Did he tell you about his new business plan? You said yes, didn’t you?“
Quistis gripped the edge of the counter and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process Selphie’s words. What was going on? Selphie really was involved with Seifer’s schemes? How long had this been the case? Had they been working together this whole time? She took a deep breath to steady herself, opened her eyes, and fixed Selphie with a level stare.
“Yes, he told me about his plan,” she said. "I declined.“
“Quisty, why’d you do that? It would’ve fixed all your problems. You could’ve worked together and everybody would be happy!”
Quistis frowned. “I have a feeling that we’re not on the same page. Seifer was very clear about his business plan, and it had nothing to do with working together. He tried to shut down Qake.”
“What?” Selphie took a step back. “But – but that’s not what we talked about at all!”
“Talked about? So, you have been associating with Hyperion.” Quistis reached beneath the counter and pulled out the invitation. "Which, I suppose, explains this.“
Selphie’s eyes widened. “Quisty,” she said slowly, “where did you get that?”
“Guess.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Really? Because it looks very straightforward to me: ‘Selphie Tilmitt’s Sensational Super-Colossal New Year’s Eve Soiree.’ 'Theia Ballroom, Hyperion Hotel and Resort.’ There’s not much room for alternative interpretations.”
“No, no, Quisty, you have to believe me, I didn’t do this to go behind your back! I did it to help you!” Selphie clenched and unclenched her fists, over and over. “That Wimbly Donner guy, he’s a party planner, he said if I booked with Hyperion, he’d get me to Mr. Almasy. And he did, and we talked, and I made him promise to leave you alone, and then he went and did something different, and –”
“I’ve heard enough.” Quistis laughed dryly. "Your stories are very amusing, but this one stretches credibility a little too much. You’ve done plenty already; please don’t treat me like a fool, as well.“
“No! It’s the truth!”
“Selphie, you are free to patronize any business you wish. I realize that, and I realize that my distress over this development is entirely irrational, and entirely on me. I suppose, given your history with Qake, and Qake’s history with Hyperion, I would’ve simply appreciated some openness on your part about your decision.” Quistis sighed. "I think that’s what hurts the most. You gushed on and on about Qake being your favorite place in Dollet, about how much you liked my work, and then you take your business to my biggest competitor without so much as a warning … and only after that incident …”
A wave of nausea swept through her as she recognized the coincidence of events. "How long?“ she asked. "How long have you and Seifer been working together? Was it his idea to stage a little online ‘accident?’”
“Quisty, what in the world are you talking about? I only met Mr. Almasy a few weeks ago. And you know that accident was real!”
“Then why did you make the move to Hyperion so soon afterward?”
“Like I said! I did it to help you! I did it to get Hyperion off your back.” Selphie bit her lip and stamped her foot. “Mr. Almasy promised that he’d work with you. He promised there wouldn’t be any more problems with Qake!”
“And there wouldn’t have been, if I’d signed that contract. There’d be no more problems, because there’d be no more Qake.”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Not at all. I’m gonna go talk to him, right now!” Selphie pounded on the counter. "I’m gonna cancel the party, and I’m gonna tell him what I really think of him and his stupid hotel!“
“Selphie, drop the charade. Like I said, it’s your right to choose the best venue and service for your needs. If that happens to be Hyperion, so be it. What’s important is that I caught Seifer’s little ploy, and no permanent damage has been done.”
“No, it isn’t right, and I’m gonna fix that. I’m going to make it right!”
“But every time you’ve tried, you’ve only made it worse!” Quistis hadn’t meant to shout, but her patience with Selphie had finally snapped. "And I don’t think I can handle what might happen next. Selphie, please, for the sake of my bakery, for the sake of my sanity, drop it. Leave it alone. Leave me alone.“
Selphie was quiet. She blinked a few times, then shook her head, slowly at first, building into a frenzied movement that sent her tears flying. "Quisty,” she said, her voice cracking. "I never meant for this to happen. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.“ She sniffled, long and loud, then backed toward the door. "You gotta believe me. Please, believe me, Quisty! Please!”
Quistis stared at her, fighting the sting in her own eyes and a tightness in her throat. She wanted to believe, but she refused to be made a fool of again. She shook her head, feeling the tension in her neck as she did so. Selphie grimaced, then turned around and ran out of the bakery, letting loose a frustrated cry as she continued down the street.
“She really did seem sorry,” Emmy said softly, walking out of the kitchen.
“Maybe,” Quistis said, tossing the invitation into the trash, “but how many more ‘sorries’ can we afford?”
* * *
“I saw something very interesting in today’s Gawkmonger,” Rinoa said a few days later, shoving a tabloid in Quistis’ face.
Quistis leaned back to bring it into focus. The cover featured a large photo of a crying Selphie, sitting on the edge of the fountain in the town square, with the headline, “Dragon in Distress: Selphie Tilmitt Breaks Down!” and the promise of more photos inside. Quistis felt a surge of sympathy for Selphie; regardless of what had happened between them, Selphie didn’t deserve to have her most vulnerable moments exploited.
But she wouldn’t give Rinoa the satisfaction of her initial reaction. Instead, she glanced toward the upper right corner of the cover, at a grotesque, reptilian creature touted as a rare mutation.
“Rinoa, it’s anatomically impossible for a Geezard to grow three heads,” she said. “That’s just a baby Tri-Face.”
“What? No!” Rinoa turned the magazine toward herself to look at the picture, then back to Quistis. "The big picture, Quistis. The big one.“
“I saw it.”
“And?”
Quistis shrugged.
“Serves her right?” It was more a question than a statement from Rinoa.
“Not really,” Quistis admitted. "That’s pretty low, even for the Gawkmonger.“
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Rinoa laid down the magazine and sighed. "You know, I really want to believe Selphie. I mean, she’s been such a nice person. She even forgave me for judging her when she arrived. It doesn’t make sense that she’d just hop over to Seifer’s side. But I’m scared; if she really is working with Seifer, trusting her could put my shop in jeopardy.“
“That’s my issue with her, too. Like you said, it was so unexpected.” Quistis grabbed a cloth and a spray bottle and walked around the counter to clean the display case. "I suppose we should just wait and see what happens with her party, whether she continues hiring the Hyperion or does something else entirely.“
Rinoa was silent for a moment. Then, in a brighter tone, she said, “Speaking of a party, I think you need one, too.”
“What?”
“You are not spending New Year’s Eve alone. I refuse to think of you sitting in the dark, wondering what Selphie’s doing, whether she really is on Seifer’s side, and what this means for Qake.”
“That’s not what I’ll be doing. I’ll be asleep well before midnight, since I’ll have been up since two that morning.”
“Well, take a nap when you get home, because you’re gonna have guests! I’ve asked both Rosalie and Emmy, and they say they can come.”
“Don’t you have any plans with Squall?”
“No.” Rinoa pouted, her shoulders drooping. "He has to work early the next day. I tried talking to Xu about it, I even told her it was good for him, that maybe he wouldn’t be so uptight if he partied a little, but she told me to go away. Xu is not as nice as I thought she was.“
"I hate to say I told you so …”
“Anyway, about the party, you have to say yes.”
Quistis gave a small smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m really fine with keeping my normal schedule.”
“Oh, come on, live a little! It’s not like it’s gonna be wild. We’re going to have a lot of good food, some really good drinks, and make fun of cheesy romance movies all night. Just a little something to get your mind off of things.”
“I don’t know.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll have to bug you until New Year’s Eve. Every time I see you, I’m gonna chant, ‘party, party, party,’ and drive you nuts. Is that what you want?”
Quistis sighed. While she usually admired Rinoa’s tenacity, right now it irritated her. She’d learned, however, that the only way to stop her was to give in. For the moment.
“Not particularly.”
“Heh, I’m getting to you already, aren’t I? So, the party is on?”
“Nothing too wild.”
“I promise! Thanks, Quistis. This’ll be really fun, you’ll see!” Rinoa bought a cupcake, then left the bakery, pulling up the hood of her jacket against a cold winter wind.
Perhaps Rinoa had a point, Quistis thought. It would be good to get her mind off of business matters, even if only for one night. So much had happened in the past few months, she needed to catch her breath and figure out how to move forward. Food, drinks, and bad movies sounded like a fun combination, and, as the day wore on, Quistis found herself anticipating this little get-together.
Not that she would admit that to Rinoa. She had an image to maintain, after all.
As she locked up the bakery that afternoon, however, she couldn’t help but remember the photo from the Gawkmonger, and Selphie came to mind again. Whatever the truth about her and the Hyperion, Quistis sincerely hoped Selphie was going to be all right
Chapter 13: Soiree
Work together? You might be on to something, Ms. Tilmitt.
Her meeting with Seifer replayed in her mind as Selphie walked back to where she’d parked her car. He’d seemed like a nice guy, and she hadn’t doubted his sincerity for a minute. Now, she pored over what she remembered, trying to spot where she had slipped and fallen into the biggest mess of her life.
I’m incredibly successful, he’d continued, standing and looking out his window toward Dollet, and I got that way by stepping on a lot of backs. Looking out for number one. There are no allies, only enemies, whether they run the biggest bank in Deling City, or a tiny bakery in Dollet. You see, it’s the only way I’ve ever known, and it worked.
Yeah, but it’s not gonna work forever, Selphie said, admiring a silver letter opener in the shape of a sword. Quisty’s not trying to fight you, she just wants to survive. You know, I’d bet she’d be a lot nicer to you if you asked to work with her, instead of threatening her. Rinnie and her run cross-promotions with each other’s shops all the time. You could do the same!
… Maybe. Or, maybe I could do something bigger, something worthy of Hyperion’s size, and my name. He chuckled briefly, then returned to his desk. Thank you, Ms. Tilmitt, for opening my eyes. I’ll work on a plan, and put it into motion within the week. Rest assured, there will be no more problems between Hyperion and Qake.
Thank you, Mr. Almasy! I knew you weren’t as bad as everyone said! I knew you’d listen to reason.
Of course. I’m a reasonable man. He smiled at her, but his eyes were cold. And thank you, Ms. Tilmitt, for choosing Hyperion.
That cold gaze. She’d noticed it then, but, in her excitement, she’d brushed it off as an inconsequential detail. Seifer was a hardened businessman, she’d thought, so maybe his eyes had forgotten how to smile. Now, however, she was furious, at Seifer and at herself, for even thinking she could trust him.
She sniffled once more and wiped the last of the tears off her cheeks. Quisty was right when she said that Selphie hadn’t managed to fix her previous mistakes, but it was time to change that pattern. Selphie got in her car, turned the key, and headed toward the city gate. Hyperion was about to take a massive loss.
* * *
“Get out of my way, you big galoot!” Selphie jabbed her finger toward the large man standing at the door to Seifer’s office. When he didn’t move, she ran up, grabbed his sleeve, and tried to drag him away. He didn’t budge.
“Uh, sorry, no can do, ya know?” he said, taking hold of the back of her shirt collar and plucking her off his person. "Mr. Almasy’s in a conference call. No visitors.“
"I’m not a visitor, I’m a client.”
“Uh … no clients, either.”
“You don’t sound very sure about that.”
“I am! No visitors, nobody! Seifer can’t be disturbed, ya know?”
“Really?” Selphie put on her sweetest face. “Not even by a cute client?”
“Uh-uh.”
“But I just want to say hi to him. Can’t I do that? Just a little wave. Pretty pleeeease?”
“No! This isn’t a nightclub, ya know? You can’t get in just by bein’ cute. Not that you’re cute, anyways!”
“Up yours!” Selphie made a rude gesture to the guard and saw his eyes widen, then dart from side to side. "I’m plenty cute, and I’m going in to see Mr. Almasy!“ She marched forward and gave the guard a hearty shove. Surprised, he staggered to the side, and Selphie seized her chance.
She was halfway into Seifer’s office when the guard caught her by the collar again. She grasped the door frame and braced herself against it with her feet as he tried to pull her back into the hallway.
"No!” she cried. "I need to talk to Mr. Almasy! It’s important! Stop pulling! And caramel-crusted cornflakes, get your hands off me!“
She threw her weight forward and heard the threads in her collar snapping. If she had to sacrifice a shirt, so be it. Confronting Seifer was far more important than her clothing. She tried again, but though the thread had broken, the material refused to give. She continued screaming, the guard continued pulling, and Seifer hung up the phone and crossed the room. She glanced up and saw him glaring at both of them. She was about to begin airing her grievances right then and there when he shouted at the guard.
"Raijin! What’s going on here?”
“Uh, intruder, boss. Gotta … get … her … outta here!” Raijin continued pulling.
“Give it up. She’s already in.” He turned his gaze on Selphie, and looked her up and down with a smirk. "Besides, she’s hardly a threat.“
"Hardly?” Freed from Raijin’s grip, Selphie rushed at Seifer, fists swinging, but he sidestepped, and she was forced to curb her momentum before crashing into the wall.
“Like I said, hardly.” He motioned to Raijin to leave and close the door. "So, Ms. Tilmitt, to what do I owe this … spiritedinterruption?“
"I think you know.” Selphie straightened and smoothed her shirt the best she could, trying to salvage her dignity. "Just what did you do to Quisty?“
"Do? Nothing. That woman is incredibly hostile. I simply offered to work together, and she ran me out of the bakery. Ingrate.”
“Work together? You tried to buy her out!”
“I’ll admit, I did. Had she accepted, she’d be working here, at Hyperion. We’d be working together toward a common goal, just like you wanted.”
“You know very well that’s not what I meant.”
Seifer laughed. "It’s a good thing you’re not a businesswoman, because you’re terrible at it. Old Uncle Rendel must be turning in his grave.“
"What are you talking about?”
“Loopholes. Double meanings. Extreme clauses hidden in the fine print. The tools of every successful businessman. You asked me to work together with Ms. Trepe; you never said how.”
Selphie blinked at him. It was true. This really was her fault. She thought she’d been helping Quisty, when all she’d done was give Seifer another idea. And now she was giving him her money, too, with her party. No more! She planted her feet firmly on the carpet and her hands on her hips, and jutted her chin towards him.
“You’re a sleazeball,” she said. "A real muck-sucker. And guess what? I don’t work with muck-suckers. The party’s off!“
Seifer didn’t react. She reached up and waved her hand in front of his face.
"Hello? Did you hear me? I said, the party’s off!”
Seifer began chuckling, a low, throaty rumble that set Selphie’s hairs on end. He shook his head slowly, then smiled at her. "No, it’s not,“ he said.
"Yes, it is.”
“Ms. Tilmitt, the party is three days away, far outside of the cancellation window. The party is on, unless you’d like to contest a breach of contract in court?”
“Breach? What do you mean? There wasn’t any ‘cancellation window’ in the contract!”
“Fine print. Like I said, a tool of the trade, maybe the most useful one.” He walked back to his desk, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a copy of Selphie’s contract. "Section sixteen, paragraph seven, lines twenty-three through twenty-five.“
"Reservations may be cancelled at the request of Hyperion or the client up to two weeks prior to the date of the event,” Selphie read. "'Cancellations outside of this window will be subject to full payment. No refunds will be offered or negotiated. Failure to comply with these terms will result in legal charges.’ Hey, wait a minute! This is important stuff! Why’s it all the way down here?“
"You’re a little dense, aren’t you? It’s there to secure Hyperion’s profits. You saw for yourself how fickle people can be when even a shred of negative PR gets out. This way, even if people decide to cancel en masse, Hyperion loses nothing.”
“Yeah, well, you’re gonna lose a lot from me! The party is still off, and I’m not paying for a thing!”
Seifer sighed. "Very well. I suppose you’d like to have a seat while I call my legal team. That way we can work out a court date that works for both of us.“
"Ha! You think I’m scared of your lawyers? I’m a Blue Dragon. I’ve got money to burn.”
“Hyperion isn’t exactly poor, either, and we have a solid case. The settlement we’d get from you would keep the resort running for another six months, maybe even a year. More than enough time to shut down the entire downtown Dollet business district.” He leaned back and spread his arms, palms up. "It’s your choice, Ms. Tilmitt. Pay for the party, or help me shut your friends down.“
Selphie stiffened, her nostrils flaring and her vision darkening in rage. She stared at Seifer for a few seconds, then, quick as a cat, grabbed the letter opener off the desk and plunged it through every page of the contract.
Seifer raised his eyebrows, then reached for the phone. "I think I can arrange a preliminary meeting with my legal team for the seventh. Seven’s always been my lucky number. Would that work for you?”
“Forget it.” Selphie pushed her chair back and stood up. "The stupid party’s on again, but don’t get too comfortable. I’ve got a few surprises.“
"And I’ve got top-notch security.” He smiled, his cold glare a shard of ice to Selphie’s heart. “Don’t do anything dumb.”
“I’ll do whatever I like, dumb or not.” Selphie realized only after the words left her mouth how incredibly dumb she sounded. She gave him her best sneer, then walked out of his office, sticking her tongue out at Raijin as she passed him.
She sat in her car for a few minutes, alternately trying to calm herself and fantasizing about spectacular destruction. Finally, she pulled her phone from her purse and punched in Irvine’s number.
He answered almost immediately. "Yes, my sweet?“
"Irvy, are you still in Deling?”
“Yep, I’m taking the morning train into Dollet. You need somethin’?”
“Yeah, a favor. I’ll repay you when you get here.”
“I’m at your command.”
“Can you stop by that neato store behind the shopping arcade? You know, the one that sells costumes and theater props and stuff?” Selphie grinned. "I’m gonna need supplies.“
* * *
December 31st 15:23
Booyaka, everybody! Happy New Year! (Well, not yet, but I’ll be busy par-taying when the clock strikes 12!) Hope everyone has a great time, and most importantly, STAYS SAFE!!!
As always, New Year’s Eve is a time for reflection, and boy, do I have a LOT to reflect on this year! So much has happened. Last New Year’s I was in Trabia, just living life, and now I’m here in Dollet, and a Blue Dragon heiress. I’ve learned so much, and not every lesson has been a happy one. But I think that’s important, because we learn even more from our mistakes and we get a chance to grow. Growing is hard, though, and that’s something no one ever tells you. It’s hard, and it’s scary.
But it’s so worth it.
I hope.
I’ve always had a lot of friends, and when I moved to Dollet, I made so many more, and some have become very dear to me. And those are the ones I’ve hurt. Isn’t it strange? Sometimes, it’s like the people you love the most, you hurt the most, even when you’re only trying to help them.
Hmm, what am I saying? Well, I’m saying I messed up. I made some really dumb mistakes, and then I made even more, even dumber mistakes while I was trying to fix those. I hurt people’s feelings, and maybe even their jobs, and now I have to work REAL hard to make things right again.
But Selphie Tilmitt’s never been afraid of hard work!
This is actually my New Year’s Resolution #1, to make up for everything stupid I did in the past year.
Resolution #2 is to eat more vegetables. (I can’t help it – a lot of veggies are just plain yucky! XP)
But Resolution #3 is my biggest, even bigger than #1: Be the best person I can be. It sounds simple, right? WRONG! Sometimes, we think we’re being our best selves, but we’re actually acting out of spite or jealousy or just plain selfishness. Being your best self means checking in with yourself from time to time, remembering what you value, and who you really love. It’s really easy to fall into habits and to justify our actions, so being our best takes work, and it takes attention.
And I should know. I was definitely not my Best Selph at all times this year. I even forgot how to shoot, for a while! But, thankfully, a good friend opened my eyes. And now this Best Selph is going to help her other friends, for real, this time! :D
So, those are my New Year’s resolutions! What are yours? Tell me in the comments!
Also, a great big THANK YOU to everyone who participated in my little poll yesterday. I’m sorry it was such short notice, but you really helped me out. Helping me choose my outfit and makeup, and the kinds of fun stuff I can do at my party tonight, it’s going to feel like all of you are there with me! Massive hugs all around!
Have fun, stay safe, and here’s to a bright New Year!
See you next year!
xoxoxo
Selphie Tilmitt, Taiga Chick
* * *
Two hours before the start of her party, Selphie sashayed into the Theia Ballroom, wearing a bright yellow dress with feathered accents, carrying a large plastic bag bulging with lightweight decorations, and stumbling only twice when her ankles turned in her high heels. She called to Wimbly from across the room, and smiled as she noticed the change in his body language. By the time he reached her, his face was red, his features contorted in abject horror.
"What in the world are you wearing?” he cried.
“My chocobo dress. You like?” Selphie twirled in front of him, her movement lifting the feathers draped from her shoulders and fanning out the ones hanging from a belt down her backside.
“It’s horrendous! And – and your hair!” Wimbly’s voice rose an octave or two as he studied Selphie’s updo, carefully shaped and pinned to resemble the feathers of a chocobo’s head. Selphie told him as much, and he screamed.
“This is not a costume party!” he said, flinging his arms downward with such force that his clipboard slipped from his hand and landed several feet behind him. "This is an upscale celebrity soiree. Some of the biggest names of the highest social circles will be here tonight. Film stars, singers, famous individuals of indeterminate talents. I cannot – will not – have you running around like a deranged children’s party escapee.“ He pointed toward the door. "Go. Change. Now.”
Selphie only smiled. “Wimbly, who’s paying you?”
“You are, of course, but –”
“Then that makes it my party. And I can show up to my own party dressed however I please.”
Wimbly opened and closed his mouth several times, then turned around and collected his clipboard. “Very well,” he said. “But I’ll need you to make that statement to everyone tonight. I refuse to have this atrocity attached to my reputation.”
“No problem!”
“Fine.” He took a few moments to regain his composure. "So, what do you think of the décor? I envisioned something sleek and stylish, but also fun.“
Selphie looked around the room and made a face. It was sleek and stylish, all right, but absolutely boring. Each table was covered with a black tablecloth, scattered with holographic confetti, and accented with swaths of metallic tulle in various shades. At one long table against the wall, gold-rimmed champagne flutes stood on a tray amid a forest of tinsel sprays, and the food table was festooned with a garland of tiny, star-shaped lights. Selphie turned to Wimbly and made a noncommittal sound.
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh?’” he said. "This is the décor scheme we agreed on!“
"Yeah, but I changed my mind.”
“You can’t change your mind! The party starts in two hours.”
Selphie ignored him. “Needs more chocobos.” She upended the plastic bag and dumped out a mountain of cheap paper chocobo decorations, then plopped down on the floor to assemble them. Wimbly made several choking sounds as he watched her open and pin the paper spheres around the chocobos’ midsections, and stormed out of the room when she finished, rose, and began setting them on each table.
She stood back to admire her work, satisfied that the ballroom now looked sufficiently festive. Wimbly returned a short while later, on Irvine’s heels, reprimanding him for he machines he was wheeling in.
“These are unapproved electronics,” Wimbly said. "I cannot allow you to bring them into the ballroom!“
"Relax, man,” Irvine said, drawing out each syllable. "They won’t pull much juice. You can still have your DJ booth and your strobe lights and whatever. But Sefie said she wanted something extra, and who am I to deny her?“
"This is unacceptable.” Wimbly turned toward Selphie. "If you wanted fog and – what’s this, bubbles? –bubbles for this party, you needed to ask me during the planning phase.“
"I did.” Selphie inspected the machines. "You said no, that they were too childish. I really don’t like going behind your back, Wimbly, but you sucked all the fun out of this party. You took all the Selphie-ness away. And, if I’m going to have to pay the Hyperion for this event even after Mr. Almasy twisted my words to suit his needs, then I’m going to have the party I want. If you don’t like it, I can pay you right now, and you can leave.“
Wimbly scowled. "I never leave a party before the host or hostess. I’m staying. But you can be very sure that I will let everyone know that this – this abomination was all your idea.”
“Fine by me. I’ve got a few things I want everyone to know about, too.”
“Things? What things?”
“Oh, you know, underhanded dealings, unscrupulous businessmen, that kind of stuff.”
The color drained from Wimbly’s face. "You’re skating on thin ice, Ms. Tilmitt,“ he said quietly. "I would rethink that decision if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me, and that’s obvious from your decorating sense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Donner, I need to freshen up for my grand entrance!”
* * *
No wonder Wimbly’s decorations were so boring; his parties were the same. Selphie sat at a table, chin propped on her hand, and watched the beautiful people around her mingle with one another and pose for pictures. Irvine flitted among them, his awkward flirtation techniques earning him a few giggles from some of the drunker women, but no contact information. He returned to Selphie’s table and slumped into the chair next to her.
“Dang, I’ve had bad luck before, but this is ridiculous!” he said. "They all treat me like I’m some gawky teenager.“
"To them, I guess we both are,” Selphie said.
“Too bad you had to organize this behind your friends’ backs. They would’ve been a lot more fun to pass the evening with.”
“You wouldn’t get anywhere with them, either.”
“Yeah, but at least they talk to me.” He looked at Selphie’s empty glass. "Want a refill?“
"I’d better not. Don’t want to throw off my aim.” She patted her thigh.
“Wait a minute, you’re not going to –”
“Only if I have to. And since these people don’t pay attention to anyone but themselves, that looks more and more likely.”
“You are using blanks, right?”
Selphie swatted at his hat. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course they’re blanks! But I need to make sure I don’t threaten anyone directly; that’s why I have to stay sharp.”
“Ms. Tilmitt!” Wimbly walked over to her table, brushing aside the paper chocobo in the center before taking a seat. "I must apologize to you for my earlier misgivings. Apparently, people love your little additions to the décor. Wonderfully kitschy, they said. Ironically backwater, someone else claimed. Either way, they’re the talk of the party.“
"And I’m guessing you took the credit.” Selphie gave him her most saccharine smile.
“Well, I – er, didn’t want to disrupt the flow of conversation. A simple 'thank you’ seemed the most appropriate response.”
“Take it, then. It’s not like I’m hiring you again.”
“What? Why not? Look around you, Ms. Tilmitt! This party is a huge success!”
“This party is dull. It’s been going for over four hours and I’ve talked to people for about fifteen minutes total!”
“That’s to be expected. No one here really knows who you are.”
“Then why did you invite them?”
“Why else? Exposure. Fame.” He chuckled, then reached out to pat Selphie’s hand. She withdrew it quickly. "You have to understand, Ms. Tilmitt, that it’s not about you. Celebrities don’t go to parties to socialize with the hostess, unless they already know her very well. No, they go to see and be seen, to have fun with their friends and get a good picture in the next tabloid. It’s all about the image.“
"It’s all about the fakeness, you mean.”
“Now, now, let’s not grouse. You have a very important hosting duty coming up. You are in charge of the countdown, and –”
“All right, everybody!” A curvy blond woman squeaked into the microphone from the DJ booth. "It’s five minutes 'til midnight! Grab a drink, grab a partner, and get ready to smooooch your way into next year!” She finished with a shrill howl, to which the guests responded with rapturous applause and howls of their own.
“My duty?” Selphie said, glancing sidelong at Wimbly. He grinned nervously.
“It usually is the hostess’ duty. But it looks like Bunnie Forsythe has stepped up. I’d advise against taking the spotlight from her now. She’s incredibly famous, and can only be a boon to your event!”
“Really? What does she do?”
“Uh, no one really knows, for sure. But she is incredibly photogenic, and has a massive following, so like I said –”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that callout I mentioned earlier, would it?”
“Heh-heh. Well, you see, Ms. Tilmitt, callouts are definite downers, and who really wants to hear about things like that during the biggest celebration of the year?”
Selphie flicked the top of her empty glass so that it fell over onto Wimbly’s hand. "All right, Wimbly,“ she said, "spill. Why are you so scared of letting me get the mic?”
“Scared? I’m not scared at all. At least not for myself. You, on the other hand … slander, scandal, legal woes. That’s what awaits you if you go through with your plan. I’m only looking out for you, Ms. Tilmitt.”
“Yeah, sure.” Selphie slouched in her seat and watched Wimbly walk away. She remained there through the countdown, and when Irvine tried to steal a New Year’s kiss, she pulled his hat down over his face and pushed him out of his chair.
By two o'clock, she’d had enough. Not only had she been forced to keep the party and pay Hyperion for the space and services provided, but she hadn’t even enjoyed herself at it. As the night stretched on, and the bass reverberated in her skull, punctuated by shrill laughter from the tipsy women around her and overly boisterous posing by the men, all she wanted was to leave this mess behind, crawl into her bed, and forget any of it ever happened.
She got up from the table and picked her way through the crowd, then climbed into the DJ booth and asked to borrow his microphone. He handed it over and turned the music down. A chorus of boos greeted this decision. Selphie took a deep breath.
“Booyaka!” she shouted, smiling as she heard her voice echo through the ballroom. Some people started and looked up at her, while others wondered aloud what she’d just said. "I’m Selphie Tilmitt, your hostess for this evening. It looks like everyone is having fun here tonight, and I really want to thank you for coming.“ Light applause. "I also wanted to talk to you all about something very important, about the resort we’re in right now and how it’s affecting the nearby town of Dollet.”
“Nobody cares!” someone shouted from the crowd, and that triggered a wave of similar sentiments. Someone else called for the DJ to turn the music up again, while another called her a “pathetic little goody-goody,” among a litany of coarser terms. Selphie tightened her grip on the microphone and glanced at the DJ. He shrugged and indulged the crowd, and soon the bass vibrated beneath Selphie’s feet once more.
That did it. Nobody ignores Selphie Tilmitt.
She hiked up her dress quickly, to the cheers of a few men, who didn’t seem to realize what she was reaching for. She pulled a small gun from the holster around her thigh, raised it above her head, and fired three shots in rapid succession. People screamed and fell to the floor, while those near the exits pushed through the doors.
“Party’s over!” Selphie shouted. "None of you self-absorbed nitwits wanted to listen to me before, well, you’re gonna listen now! We are standing in the Theia Ballroom of the Hyperion, a lovely resort unfortunately owned by one of the slimiest men in the world. A man so insecure that he has to bully the small business owners in Dollet. A man so small-minded that he can’t fathom the concept of cooperation. A man who tries to force others out of business because, in his own words, 'there are no allies, only enemies.’ What kind of man is that? He’s not a man at all! He is a mutant Geezard! Yeah, bad breath and all!“
She paused to catch her breath, adrenaline coursing hot in her veins, and surveyed the trembling, crying crowd before her. Their fear touched a nerve, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, get up, you numbskulls! These are just blanks! It was the only way I could get your attention.” As they slowly rose, she continued. "Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Seifer Almasy is a stinkin’, overgrown Geezard who wants everything for himself. And what do we do but give it to him? No more! I’m calling for a boycott of Hyperion! Who’s with me?“
Silence.
"I said, who’s with me?”
From the back of the room, someone called her crazy, and the insult rippled through the crowd, picking up unpleasant modifiers and exchanging them as quickly for more revolting ones. Selphie raised her gun and fired three more shots, but was met only with laughter. She’d revealed her hand, and in so doing, relinquished her power.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Would she ever learn?
“I’m with you!” Irvine shouted, shoving people aside and scrambling into the DJ booth. He took the microphone from her. "I stand with Selphie Tilmitt!“ he declared, as Hyperion security closed in on them. "I stand with –” his last words died in the noise of the raucous crowd as the sound system was cut. He greeted security with a sheepish grin and handed the microphone back to the DJ.
Selphie, meanwhile, felt her energy fade. Defeated, she dropped the gun and offered no resistance as a security guard pulled her arms behind her back and slapped a pair of cold handcuffs on her wrists. She allowed herself to be led through the jeering crowd, pelted with food and splashed with champagne, squinting in the flash of hundreds of cameras, and wishing for the world that she had never left Trabia.
Chapter 14: Contrition
Quistis heard Rinoa and her friends approaching before they knocked on the door. Shaking away the last of her drowsiness, she answered, and immediately threw Rinoa a quizzical look. Rinoa had arrived dressed to impress, in a short ivory dress and matching high heels. Emmy and Rosalie wore similarly stylish outfits. Each of them carried several plastic grocery bags, and Emmy balanced a tray of cookies across her arms. Rinoa's smile faded as she took in Quistis' sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, and she demanded to know why Quistis wasn't dressed.
"You said we were staying in," Quistis replied, stepping aside and letting them into her apartment.
"We are, but it's still a party." Rinoa took her bags into the kitchen and began unloading food and drinks. "Now, go put on something sparkly and daring."
"I haven't got anything sparkly and daring. Besides, who are you hoping to impress? I hope you haven't invited anyone else."
"Of course not. We're dressing up for ourselves. It's New Year's Eve, a time to celebrate, and that means celebrating everything that we are. Everything we can be! It means letting yourself look and feel good, for once!"
"For once?" Quistis glared at her, but as Rinoa carried on preparing the refreshments, she retreated to her bedroom to find something suitable to wear to a party in her own home.
She slid hangers along the rod in her closet and sighed. She was happy with her wardrobe, but she didn't own many dressy pieces, and she was certain those she did would be dismissed as boring. Wondering why Rinoa felt the need to overdramatize the holiday, she nonetheless selected a cap-sleeve dress in a deep wine color and, feeling supremely silly, put it on. With a high neckline, and falling to just above the knee, it was hardly daring, but with the right necklace, she might almost achieve sparkly. She hastily swept up her hair and pinned it in place, added a touch of makeup, and presented herself to the ladies in the kitchen.
Emmy and Rosalie clapped, while Rinoa gave her a critical once-over.
"That'll do, I guess," she said. "Now, come on and help us. We need to get this party started!"
By nine o'clock, they had already gone through one trayful of various finger foods, a few drinks, and one horrendously-acted romantic movie. Quistis lounged on the couch, her body warm and languid, her thoughts gliding slowly through the fog of alcohol, and watched her friends take the selection of the next movie far more seriously than they should. Emmy glanced up and noticed the clock.
"I guess Selphie's party is in full swing right now," she said.
"Oh, Emmy, don't bring her up," Rosalie protested, running a hand through her short dark hair as she considered the movies in front of her. "We're supposed to be having fun."
"I am. But I couldn't help wondering what's going on at the Hyperion right now."
"Chaos and debauchery, most likely," Rinoa said.
Quistis laughed. "Debauchery? Selphie?"
"Hey, you never know. We never thought she'd ditch us for the rich and beautiful set, either."
"'Ditch' sounds so bad. She simply chose to have a different kind of party for New Year's. It's her right."
"A party without us. Hence, ditched."
"She's not obligated to invite us to anything." An uneasy feeling crept into Quistis' chest, spawned by a dark thought that, had her mind been working properly, she would have immediately caught and shoved back down. "It's not like any of us viewed her as a friend when she arrived."
"Hey, I had a very good reason to be suspicious of her! A gun-crazy lady from the sticks who suddenly has all this money from an ethically murky business set off all kinds of red flags in my head."
"I'll admit, she kind of scared me at first," Emmy said. "She was so loud, so energetic. I was worried she might not be all there." She smiled and turned to Quistis. "But I don't know what you feel bad about. You were so nice to her from the beginning."
"Because of the money," Quistis admitted, the words bitter in her mouth. "I wanted Selphie's patronage because she could help sustain Qake. I never expected to become friends with her. Just her money." She ran a finger along the rim of her glass. "I'm no better than Seifer."
"Whoa, hey!" Rinoa held up her hand. "Don't say that! Don't you ever compare yourself to that slimeball! You're worlds better than him, better than he'll ever be!"
"But we operate by the same principle. Money."
"No. No-no-no-no-no. Alcohol is supposed to make you happy, Quistis, not drag you down. Come on, snap out of it! This is a party, and you're ruining it."
Quistis said nothing, guilt weighing heavy on her heart, smothering whatever words might form.
"Maybe she needs a refill," Rosalie offered.
"No," Rinoa said, rising from the floor and sitting next to Quistis, "she needs to get her mind off of this stuff. Rosalie, start up another movie; I don't care which one. We need to laugh again."
As the opening credits played over a cheery pop tune, Rinoa watched Quistis carefully, shifting with every change in her expression, as if in anticipation of an action that might be detrimental to herself or her party guests. At Rinoa's subtle cue, Emmy and Rosalie began their evisceration of the current movie, an undercurrent of anxiety in their laughter.
What was she doing? The thought finally pushed its way to the surface in Quistis' mind. She blinked and looked around at her friends, at their worried expressions, at their valiant attempts to keep the mood light, and she silently cursed at herself. She sighed and shook her head, then gave Rinoa a weak smile.
"You're right," she said. "This is a party, and we need to laugh again. We can't let Selphie ruin this, especially when she's not even here."
"That's the spirit! You're going to be fine. We all are." Rinoa looked to the other two ladies, and they nodded enthusiastically.
"Hey, I know," Emmy said, raising her glass. "Let's toast Selphie away! To Ms. Tilmitt and whatever she's doing right now, I hope she has fun! We'll have our own!"
"I'll drink to that," Rosalie said, and downed the remaining contents of her glass.
Quistis was contemplating her own empty glass when Rinoa snatched it from her hand. "Not you," she said. "We don't need you getting all dour again." She handed her a cookie. "Here, toast with this, instead."
Quistis looked at the cookie and laughed, louder and longer than the absurdity of the situation warranted. She apologized to her friends and shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch, to better join in on the commentary and alternative dialogue they inflicted on the movie. During a dimly-lit intimate scene, she made an off-color comment that earned her shrieks of laughter from the other ladies, and a throw pillow to her face.
"Quistis, that is filthy!" Rinoa said, errant giggles bubbling through her voice. She winked. "Glad to know you're human."
They took a break from watching movies to count down the final seconds of the year, then refreshed their snacks and drinks and resumed, laughing and teasing and eventually falling victim to drowsiness, one by one.
* * *
Quistis awoke under the gentle weight of a blanket, and frowned. Somehow, there were blankets. She couldn't remember if she had brought some out, or if her friends had taken it upon themselves to locate them. If it was the latter, she hoped none of them had found anything too incriminating in her bedroom, but judging from the state they'd all been in the night before, she doubted they would remember if they had.
She sat up, and groaned as a wave of dizziness swept over her and a dull ache throbbed in her head. When her vision steadied, she surveyed the aftermath of the party. Empty plates and glasses littered her living room floor, pushed aside to provide sleeping spaces for her friends. Rosalie was propped up against the couch, the top of her head all that was visible from within her blanket cocoon. Rinoa and Emmy were stretched out in front of the TV, a curiously large pile of crumpled tissues between them.
Quistis glanced at the clock and noticed that it was well past ten. She hadn't slept so late in years. She stretched her limbs and rose carefully, not quite trusting her legs yet, then walked into the kitchen as quietly as she could, to begin brewing a pot of coffee.
Rinoa was the first to respond, shuffling in from the living room wrapped in a blanket, her hair mussed and her makeup smeared. "Mornin'," she mumbled. "Happy New Year."
Quistis returned the greeting. "How long did you an Emmy manage to last?" she asked.
"It was … after five, I think. Maybe almost six."
"Wow. I admire your endurance. So, what's the story behind the tissues?"
"Oh, you saw that? Heh. After you and Rosalie fell asleep, the commentary kind of died down. We didn't mean to, but me and Emmy both got really into the movie we were watching, and it was so sad. And happy. But sad, for us."
"I see. Sounds complicated." She poured a cup of coffee for each of them. Rinoa held hers close and inhaled the aroma.
"No, it was because of the guy in the movie. He was so attentive, so there. I said I wished Squall would take a little more initiative, and Emmy kept crying that the guy she likes never looks at her the way the guy in the movie looked at his girlfriend." Rinoa leaned close and dropped her voice to a whisper. "She kept saying 'Zell.' Is that really who she likes?"
Quistis nodded and grinned. "I suppose you can't account for the variety of taste in this world."
"No kidding."
Quistis and Rinoa were washing the plates and glasses when Rosalie stumbled into the kitchen and asked for coffee, followed by Emmy about a half an hour later. When they had all been sufficiently reanimated, they began tidying up the apartment. They hadn't gotten far into the task when Quistis' phone rang. She answered, still giggling at something Rinoa had said.
"Hello, this is Agent Bennard from SafeSense Alarm Company," the caller said. "May I speak to Quistis Trepe?"
"Speaking." Quistis' smile faded and her stomach turned, and she felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead.
"Ms. Trepe, our system indicates that the alarm at Quake – er, Qake, has been triggered, and I am calling to confirm whether this is an actual emergency or a false trigger."
"N-no, it's real. I haven't been to Qake at all today."
"Thank you for that information, Ms. Trepe. I will notify the authorities right away." The agent hung up before Quistis could say any more.
Her fear must have been apparent, because the other women stopped chattering and looked at her.
"Quistis?" Emmy said. "Is something the matter?"
"It's Qake." Quistis stared at her phone, not wanting to believe this was really happening. "Someone's broken in."
* * *
The waiting was torture. Quistis sat on the couch, watching her phone, while her friends made nervous small talk around her. The joviality of the holiday had evaporated the moment she told them of the situation, and a sense of uncertainty and doom descended on the apartment. She had called the Dollet Police Department to confirm that officers were on the scene, and asked to be notified of any developments.
It had been almost an hour.
When, at last, the phone rang, she answered it quickly, breathless.
"Ms. Trepe, this is Officer Leonhart," Squall said. "I'm on the scene of the break-in, and I am calling to provide the update you requested."
"Yes, go on." Quistis could hear Nida talking in the background.
"Ms. Trepe, it appears that the suspect gained entry to the business by breaking the glass in the front door, and now they have barricaded themselves inside." There was a slight scuffling sound and a grunt from Nida. "The suspect is unarmed, and, as far as we can tell, not a threat to themselves or others. However, they refuse to surrender until their conditions are met."
"Just tell her!" Nida shouted.
"Just tell me what?" Quistis asked. "What are the suspect's conditions?"
"The suspect demands to speak with you immediately," Squall said, followed by more scuffling sounds, a few mild curses, and Nida's voice.
"Ms. Trepe?" Nida said, having apparently wrested the phone away from Squall. "Officer Leonhart's information is correct, but he has neglected to mention that our suspect is Selphie Tilmitt. She wants to talk to you right away. Like Officer Leonhart said, she's unarmed and appears to be non-threatening, so could you please come to the bakery?"
Quistis jaw fell slack. Selphie? What was she doing at Qake? Why had she broken in? And why in the world did she want to speak with Quistis now?
"Appearances can be deceiving, officer," Quistis finally said. "Can't you apprehend her first?'
"Uh … we can't get to her. She's barricaded herself behind a maze of tables and chairs. Any time we make a move, she scoots all over the place!"
That sounded like normal Selphie behavior. Quistis sighed. "Very well. I'll be there within the half-hour."
"Oh, thank you, Ms. Trepe, thank you so mu—"
She hung up on a groveling Nida, then turned to her friends and shook her head. "It's Selphie," she said. "She broke into Qake and is demanding to speak with me. The police, including your dear boyfriend –" she pointed at Rinoa – "say they can't catch her. Incompetent."
"Hey!" Rinoa stood up straight, prepared to defend Squall, but her curiosity took over. "So, are you going to talk with her?"
"I have to. Otherwise, this standoff could drag on for days."
"I'm coming, too!"
"Rinoa, you're only going to be a distraction to Squall."
"So? You already said he was incompetent."
"Fine." Quistis looked at Emmy and Rosalie. "Feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I shouldn't be gone long, and there's some food in the refrigerator."
"Don't worry about us," Emmy said, while Rosalie saluted. "We'll finish tidying up. You go get Selphie out of the bakery!"
Quistis cleaned up and changed into comfortable clothes, while Rinoa tried to set her hair and makeup to rights. She picked along the cobblestones behind Quistis, and began complaining of foot pain and twisted ankles less than two blocks from the apartment. Quistis ignored her, and as soon as they came within sight of the bakery, Rinoa's foot pain seemed to magically disappear as she ran toward Squall. They were already talking quietly with each other when Quistis approached the door to Qake.
"Thanks for coming," Nida said, then turned toward the bakery. "Ms. Tilmitt, we have met your request. Ms. Trepe is out here now."
Selphie popped up from behind a table, her hair disheveled and tracks of dried mascara running down her cheeks. "Quisty?" she said. "Quisty, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!"
Quistis nodded at Nida, then entered the bakery, climbing over chairs and upturned tables to reach Selphie. As she got nearer, she became aware of an unpleasant odor, like strong alcohol and old food, and discovered it was coming from Selphie, whose entire person was splattered with all manner of mysterious substances.
"Quisty," Selphie continued wailing, "you gotta forgive me! Please! I wasn't turning my back on you! Please, Quisty, plee-ee-eease!"
"Selphie, settle down." Quistis sat in a chair far enough from Selphie to allow the stench to dissipate somewhat. "What in the world happened to you? Why did you break into my shop?"
"I needed to talk to you, right away, and I – I realized that I don't have your number, or your address, only those for Qake. So I came here, and I saw it was closed … but I needed to talk to you, so bad, I thought that maybe, if I set off the alarm, you'd come, but then it was only stupid Nida and grumpy Squall, so then I told them I wouldn't leave until –"
"You wanted to speak with me, so you figured that breaking and entering was the best method?"
"… Well, yeah. How else was I gonna get your attention?"
Quistis groaned and pressed her palms to her eyes. "Maybe this would make more sense if we started from the beginning. Looking at you, I'm guessing you had quite a night."
"Uh-huh."
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
"I don't know if you'll believe me. But it's all true!"
"I'll try. Go on."
Selphie told her everything, barely pausing to catch her breath. She told her about meeting Wimbly Donner at the Battle of the Bands, about meeting twice with Seifer, and how he'd twisted her idea to his liking, about trying to make the party as ridiculous as possible, and finally, about trying to incite a boycott of Hyperion and lead everybody back to Qake.
"I thought it would work. I really, really did," she finished, her voice hitching at the end.
Quistis said nothing. She was still trying to comprehend what Selphie had told her, still trying to process Selphie's irrational, serpentine train of thought that centered on nothing more than helping her. While Quistis had doubted and cursed, Selphie had thought only of her and her bakery. The guilt that had plagued her briefly the night before returned, and she bowed her head.
"Thank you, Selphie, for everything you've done, or tried to do," she said. "But I'm the one who should apologize. When you first came to Dollet, I was eager to have you as a customer, not out of friendship – not then – but because you had the kind of money to keep Qake running." She glanced up, at Selphie's confused expression. "I never expected us to become friends, so when we did, I just swept my earlier ambitions aside, and hoped they'd never come up again. However, you've been so good to me, and to the rest of Dollet, that I don't feel it's right to keep that information from you. Simply put, I feel like I don't deserve as dedicated a friend as you."
"Oh, Quisty …"
"I'm very willing to forgive you, now that I know the whole truth, but it's only fair that you know my whole truth before deciding whether you want my forgiveness at all."
Selphie stared at her for a few minutes, her eyes welling up. Then, a grin spread across her face and she flung herself toward Quistis, pulling her into a hug. "Quisty! Of course I want your forgiveness! And you have mine! We all do things we aren't proud of, and I understand where you were coming from back then. What's important is that we're all on the same page going forward."
Quistis smiled and returned the hug, trying her best not to inhale too deeply. "Thank you, Selphie," she said. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart." She pulled away and held Selphie at arms' length. "I do have one more question, though: how did you end up like this?"
Selphie glanced down at her dress, as if she'd forgotten the mess there. "After security caught me, they led me through the crowd, and let's just say people weren't very happy with me. There's hors d'oeuvres, champagne, some cake – nowhere near as good as yours – and … I don't know what this spot is." She pulled the fabric to her nose and sniffed, then shrugged.
"Selphie, that's horrible! What did security do?"
"Well, since I fired a gun –" she held up her hands at Quistis' horrified expression – "they were blanks! It still counted as reckless discharge of a firearm. Then there was disturbing the peace, attempt to incite a riot – I think that one's a little over-the-top – and disorderly conduct. They brought me to the police station here, and I bailed myself out this morning."
"Wasn't Irvine with you?"
"Yeah, but all he did was shout a little. Security gave him a talking-to, and he turned tail and ran back to Deling. He's not exactly brave."
"No, he's not."
"Oh, and I forgot the best part! Because me and Irvy were so raucous, we've both been banned from the Hyperion. For life."
"How is that the best part?"
Selphie smiled. "This is one heiress' money they'll never, ever see again! Well, except for what I owe them for last night."
Quistis laughed. "So, you really stuck it to Seifer, then!"
"Sure did! He'll survive, though. Unfortunately."
"Let's not focus on him. What about you? You look – and smell – like you could use a shower. And have you slept at all?"
Selphie shook her head. "I haven't been home. Security dumped me here, and my car's still at the hotel."
"We can send someone to pick it up later, if you want."
"The valet's got the keys. I still have the ticket … somewhere …" She rummaged through her clutch.
"In that case, come to my apartment. You can clean yourself up and get some rest, and we have plenty of food left over from last night."
"Quisty, no. I can't do that, not after what I've put you through. Not after what I did to your shop! I'll pay for that, by the way."
Quistis nodded. "Yes, you will. And you'll clean the shop before tomorrow's morning crowd comes in, too. That's why I'm not going to press charges."
"Fair enough. But I still can't accept your offer."
"It's not an offer, it's an order." She took Selphie by the arm and helped her out of the shop. Once outside, she explained the situation to Nida, and he volunteered to call an emergency repair service for Qake, to board up the door for the day, at least. She explained Selphie's story again, to a horrified Rinoa, who reluctantly bid Squall farewell to help escort Selphie back to the apartment. After one more round of explanations, Selphie showered and ate, then, wearing a pair of Quistis' pajamas, which were far too long for her, crawled under a pile of blankets and went straight to sleep.
* * *
"Come on, Quisty! It'll be so much fun!" Selphie bounced at the counter, several pages detailing her latest project spread across it. "Rinnie's having a workshop of her own, even that Edea lady is showing people how to read cards and mix herbs for teas and stuff. You have to have a cake-decorating workshop!"
Quistis looked over Selphie's plan for a neighborhood festival. "As tempting as it is to join in the festivities, I don't know if I can manage running the bakery and hosting a workshop, especially if it's full of children."
"It won't be just you! You've got Emmy, and … wait, I don't think Zell would be a great choice … but that decorator lady you hired, what's her name, Darla? She's got kids; she'd probably love this."
"You have a point. I'll ask them."
"Booyaka! This'll be the best festival Dollet has seen, and a great way to kick off my new service!"
"Service?"
Selphie chuckled mischievously, then put a folder on the counter and slid it toward Quistis. Opening it, Quistis saw a stack of paperwork she recognized from several years ago, now filled in with Selphie's details. She skimmed the first page, already smiling, and stopped when she came to the line, "Selphie Tilmitt, d.b.a. Booyaka! Party Services." She looked up at Selphie's ecstatic grin.
"Congratulations," she said.
"Thanks! I figured that if someone like Wimbly could do this, it shouldn't be too hard for me. It's a good way to put my money to use. I can plan parties for people who aren't afraid of having fun, and keep business here in Dollet, at the same time. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner!"
"So, do you have an opening date?"
"A few months from now. I've already leased that empty suite near the corner, and I'm working on contracting vendors right now. So, I'm thinking, around mid-April. That's why I want to have this festival then, as a kind of grand opening event, and a celebration of springtime, of course."
"It sounds like a lot of fun."
"You bet it'll be! And it'll really bring in business to the shops here." Selphie frowned. "There's only one problem …"
"What's that?"
"You won't have hot chocolate cupcakes by then, will you?"
Quistis shook her head, and Selphie was quiet for a moment.
"All the more reason to enjoy them now," she said finally. "Okay, Quisty, gimme a whole dozen!"
Chapter 15: Resurgence
Quistis dropped at handful of tiny fondant tanks into a small box, and placed the box behind the display case. Then, she took over the cash register duties from Zell and began greeting customers, both familiar and new, as they wandered into Qake from the festival outside.
Selphie’s first festival had been a modest success, and she immediately made it a monthly occurrence, sponsored by Booyaka! Party Services and featuring a different charity each month, to which a portion of all festival proceeds were donated. The event gradually caught on, first with local families, then with tourists, and finally, with other curious locals who said they’d simply never had a reason to visit the neighborhood before. Quite a few of them became regular patrons of the downtown businesses, and their word-of-mouth advertising brought in even more.
The festivals themselves were fun and lively, creating a sense of community among the locals, and drew enough of a crowd to provide a degree of anonymity for anyone who might desire it.
During the June festival, Quistis was returning to the register from checking in on the workshops when she noticed a large, tanned man standing just inside the door. He was dressed head-to-toe in clothes that looked as though they’d come from the gift shop at the harbor, including an oversized straw hat with the price tag still attached, and dark sunglasses. He refused to remove the glasses, even indoors, and carefully picked his way to the display case. As he got closer, Quistis recognized him, and smiled.
“Hello, Raijin,” she said. "Are you finally going to try a cupcake?“
"Raijin? I ain’t Raijin,” the man responded. “I-I’m a tourist, ya know? Wearin’ tourist clothes, doin’ touristy things … ya know?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Yeah, this morning I went, uh, fishing. Caught a real big one! Then, I, uh, I went shopping, ya know? Gotta buy new stuff. And I turned my phone off, ‘cause Fu is always buggin’ me and – gah!” Realizing he’d given himself away, he pulled off his sunglasses, and Quistis saw genuine fear in his eyes.
“You won’t tell Seifer, will you?” he asked. “He’d be real mad if he knew I was comin’ here, ya know? But I just gotta try one of those cupcakes! They look so good.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Quistis said, and watched his shoulders relax. "Now, which flavor would you like? Strawberry’s pretty popular right now –"
“Naw, but it’s pink!”
“We also have orange-chocolate, and, another popular flavor, Tropical Breeze.”
“Ooh, that one sounds good! I’ll take it.”
“For here, or to go?”
“To go! I can’t get caught here, especially eatin’ something so fluffy.” He snorted. “Got a reputation to keep, ya know?”
Quistis stared at his ridiculous outfit, and at the price tag dangling beside his right ear, and fought to suppress a giggle. She swallowed hard and nodded solemnly. "I know,“ she said, and boxed up his cupcake. He paid for it hastily, tugging bills from the wad he pulled out of his pocket, and spilling coins on the floor. He ignored the coins and took his cupcake, then slid on his sunglasses and crept toward the door.
"Enjoy your cupcake,” Quistis called after him, “and come back soon!”
“Uh … yeah, sure, ya know?” he said, then exited Qake and hugged the side of the building until he was swept into the crowd.
He did return, each month during the festival, and Quistis decided to reward his loyalty by indulging a request he’d made months before. When he first saw her put a miniscule military tank made of fondant on top of his chosen cupcake, his eyes lit up, and he promptly purchased half a dozen more. He even engaged her in conversation, and let slip a few details about Hyperion’s new direction in the process.
Seifer had closed down sixty percent of Hyperion’s retail space and converted it into something Raijin called a “Day-and-Nightclub and Ultra Lounge,” complete with private rooms, an indoor pool, and nonstop live entertainment.
“Yeah, he said someone like him shouldn’t even be competin’ with shops like these, ya know? It’s beneath him. Said he should be doin’ something bigger, something nobody else is doin’ ya know? It’s just Seifer bein’ Seifer.”
“Interesting,” Quistis said, hoping to draw more information from her customer.
“But even though we’re not competin’ with you guys no more, Seifer still doesn’t like you, and he’d be real mad if he knew I was buying cupcakes from you. So, keep quiet, ya know?” He watched each cupcake make the journey from display case to box, and licked his lips.
“You can count on me!” Quistis handed him his order.
He left that day, beaming, clutching the cupcake box to his chest and elbowing others out of his way as he made a quick, excited escape.
Now, Quistis served customers bundled up against the November chill, and watched the crowd outside wander and mingle: children with painted faces holding balloons, their parents running after them with half-eaten hot dogs; a group of men standing on the sidewalk near the bakery, talking and laughing with one another; a young woman perusing the blown-glass figurines at a vendor’s stand. Quistis had heard, from older residents, that this is what the downtown area had looked like every day. She hadn’t had a chance to experience that – as long as she could remember, businesses in Dollet had been scattered throughout the town, and downtown was a relic only for nosy tourists to stroll through – and she was glad that Selphie’s festivals could bring it back, if only for one day each month.
It felt warm and comfortable, and, if she allowed herself to be dramatic, magical. Life returned to downtown, and with it, business, and hope. She had to thank Selphie for all of it.
The only person Quistis knew with enough influence and income to successfully stage large public events on a regular basis, Selphie had dedicated herself to revitalizing downtown Dollet. Her own business was slowly gaining traction, as she worked hard to convince people that she was capable of planning more than children’s birthday parties. She steered her clients toward local businesses for their party needs – to Qake, for desserts; to Sant'Angelo Books and other shops for gifts and decorations and flowers; to the Hotel Dollet for event space – and worked with contracted vendors to procure anything they might not be able to find in town. Her future secured by her personal wealth, Selphie was not afraid to take whatever professional risks necessary to build a company and brand true to her singular vision.
And that vision was going to be on full display next weekend, at the annual Battle of the Bands. Selphie had made sure to get her order in early this year, and stopped by daily to check on the progress of the fondant details. Today was no exception.
“Tiny little speakers,” she squealed. "They’re so adorable! Ooh, and the microphone stand is too cute!“ She gushed over the other decorations shown her, then asked about lights.
"We can do battery-operated lights,” Quistis told her, “and hide the battery compartment behind the cake, beneath a few layers of fondant. It will still be accessible, in case the batteries need to be replaced, but it won’t be obvious.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you! I’ll finally have a cake worthy of the event. Speaking of, you’ll stay through the whole thing, right? There are some neato bands I’d like for you to hear!”
“I’ll try. Unfortunately, that’s something I can’t decide until the day of the event.”
“I understand. Fingers crossed, though.” She turned toward the corner of the bakery sectioned off for workshops. "And how’s everything here, today?“
"Fine. Emmy and Darla are alternating duties as workshop facilitator, and the children that have come through so far have been surprisingly well-behaved.” Quistis smiled. "Not to mention, talented. I may have some strong competition in ten or fifteen years.“
"Or some totally awesome employees! Bright side, Quistis; stay on the bright side.”
Quistis started as the bell above the door jingled wildly, and Rinoa stomped into Qake, glitter in her hair, paint on her face, and an empty cardboard box in her hand.
“Can you believe it?” she said, waving the box. "The little monsters cleaned me out! 'One cupcake,’ I told them, 'Only one.’ So what do they do? They grab as many as they can! Even when I thought I’d restored order, that Galdan brat claimed half a dozen for himself by sticking his finger right through them. Quistis, help me!“
"I can get you another batch of cupcakes,” Quistis offered, taking the box from her, “but I can’t do anything about the children.”
“Yes. Yes, you can!” Rinoa followed her to the counter, a crazed gleam in her eyes. “You have Darla. Send her to the bookstore, please, at least for the next workshop! I’ll pay you. I’ll pay her, in cash. Please!”
“Rinoa, my employees are not for rent.” Quistis couldn’t suppress a grin as she began selecting a variety of cupcakes for Rinoa’s order. "But you can ask her for tips.“ When Zell came to the front with a tray of fresh cupcakes, she asked him to call Darla. He cast a questioning glance at Rinoa, then, seeing her distress, smirked and did as he was told.
"She really should be asking Squall for tips,” he said, as he watched Rinoa and Darla talk at a table, Rinoa scribbling notes on a napkin. "He knows how to keep the peace.“
"Can you imagine what he’d be like at a children’s workshop, though?” Quistis said. “I’ve never even seen him interact with a child.”
“He’d probably just arrest 'em all.”
“Now, that’s something I’d like to get for Taiga Chick,” Selphie said. "'Local cop meets his match…es … and they’re all half his height!’ People would love it, I’m sure. Squall would be an instant celebrity!“
"And your instant enemy,” Quistis reminded her. "He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who enjoys attention.“
"Yeah, you’re right. You’d think going out with Rinnie would’ve changed him. I really don’t understand how they get along in the first place.”
“I think it’s that whole 'opposites attract’ thing,” said Zell, spinning slowly on the stool behind the register. "Rinoa’s so loud and pushy, and Squall’s so quiet and stubborn. I guess they balance each other out.“
"Ever thought of who might balance you out, Zell?”
“Huh? Uh … no, not at all! My opposite would have to be really quiet, I guess, and like quiet things like reading and stuff, and …” he blushed. "… Oh.“
"Oh, what? Do someone just come to mind?”
“No! Nobody! Shut up, Selphie, and leave me alone!” He scrambled off the stool and back into the kitchen.
“A-ha! I think I touched a nerve!”
Quistis nodded. “Now, we just have to wait a few years until he grows up enough to admit it.” She and Selphie laughed.
They laughed even harder when Emmy came out of the kitchen wearing a perplexed expression. “Zell’s acting really weird,” she said. "His face was all red, and he wouldn’t even look at me. He just ran out the back door, saying it’s time for his break. But he just had lunch! Is he all right?“
"Don’t worry, Em, he’ll be fine!” Selphie gave her a thumbs-up and a wink, then excused herself and headed back to the festivities outside. Raijin sidled in, wrapped in a long coat, a hat pulled low over his eyes, escaping Selphie’s notice. Quistis greeted him cheerfully, putting a new lid on the cupcake box, while Rinoa mulled over her child-wrangling notes and Emmy reached for the box of tanks.
Life had definitely returned to downtown. Noisy, hectic, confusing life.
Warm, beautiful, magical life.
* * *
Quistis was looking forward to a quiet Saturday. Still recuperating from the Battle of the Bands, she hoped to get started on some decorations for Irvine’s birthday cake for his surprise party the following weekend. Zell had taken the week off to visit his family in Balamb, and apparently took his boisterousness along, because even after Emmy arrived, the kitchen at Qake remained quiet, sounds of work interrupted only sporadically by soft conversation.
“This year has been crazy,” Emmy said, pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven. “I’ve never worked so hard in my life!”
“Success doesn’t maintain itself,” Quistis reminded her.
“Oh, I’m not complaining! It’s been a lot of fun making cakes for all the events, and hosting workshops, and meeting so many new customers. Besides, I think I’m getting a little bit of muscle from all the mixing and lifting and stuff.” She flexed her arm.
Quistis chuckled. “It’s okay to admit to being tired, too. I know I am. Hopefully, though, if our business keeps up, I should be able to hire another full-time employee at the beginning of next year. That’ll make things so much easier around here.”
“Definitely.” Emmy began melting chocolate as the cupcakes cooled. "What would you like for the Berry Spice today? Flourishes or butterflies?“
"Butterflies. We get more children on the weekend, and they seem to gravitate toward things they recognize.”
“All right. Butterflies, coming up!”
As they stocked the display case, Quistis noticed that a thick fog still hung over the town. The wet cobblestones reflected what little of the streetlights broke through, and gave the outdoors a dreary atmosphere that made Qake feel warm and cozy by comparison. Quistis fought off a bout of drowsiness and joked about it with Emmy, then finished her preparations and opened the shop.
She had just flipped over the sign on the door and was heading back to the register, when the bell tinkled behind her. She tensed, her limbs going hot with adrenaline, and turned to see a man in a jacket and knit cap standing just inside the door, stamping the moisture from his boots onto the mat inside. Fears of a robbery flashed through her mind, and she suddenly wished she carried her knife in the pocket of her apron. As she was debating whether to retreat to the counter or confront the man, he pulled off his cap and gave her a sheepish grin.
His expression calmed her, and she took a moment to study him. He was good-looking, with dark hair and eyes, and features that were vaguely distinct from those common in Dollet. Realizing she was staring, Quistis cleared her throat and smiled.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” he replied. "You are open, right?“ He spoke with an accent that Quistis couldn’t place, one more measured and open than that spoken in Dollet.
"Oh, yes! I’m sorry for the confusion. We’re simply not used to having customers right away.”
“Clearly.” The man nodded toward the kitchen, where Emmy stood in the doorway, a white-knuckled grip on a rolling pin. She looked to Quistis for instruction, and at Quistis’ nod, returned to the kitchen, but not before waggling her eyebrows mischievously.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” the man went on. "Let me assure you that I do not make a habit of skulking around businesses, waiting for them to open.“ He smiled, and Quistis felt a warm fluttering in her chest. "I was simply out for a walk, and saw you flip the sign. I’m usually not even awake at this hour, but my body’s still on Esthar time, apparently.”
Esthar. That explained a lot.
“I’ve never met anyone from Esthar,” Quistis said. "What brings you to Dollet?“
"Work. I’ve been hired as a researcher at the Dollet Natural History Museum. I specialize in lunarzoology.”
“Lunarzoology. Lunar creatures … those that come down with the Lunar Cry, correct?”
“Yes.” He looked surprised. "You’re the first person I don’t work with that I haven’t had to clarify that for.“
Quistis shrugged. "It was easy enough to understand. The Lunar Cry phenomenon is covered in basic education here in Dollet.”
“But you remembered. Most people forget about things like that immediately, especially since it’s been so long since it was relevant to them.”
“What made you want to study this subject, if I may ask?” Why was she asking so many questions? Quistis silently chided herself for her nosiness, but justified it by the rarity of visitors from the other side of the world to her little bakery.
“Well …” he put his cap in his pocket. "Let’s just say that, during the last war, Esthar developed some technology that made the study of lunar creatures extremely relevant to us again. That, and simple curiosity, on my part. I’m sure you’ve seen drawings of what these creatures looked like; they were things right out of my twelve-year-old imagination. How could I not want to find out more about them?“
Quistis laughed. "Inspiration comes from unlikely sources, I suppose.”
“Definitely. Take yourself, for another instance. I’m assuming you’re the baker here, so what made you want to bake?”
Quistis felt her cheeks grow warm. She hadn’t expected a question in return. Usually, customers were just happy to be listened to. They talked, bought, and left. For the past three years, that had been the natural order of Quistis’ world, and this man’s disruption of that pattern was jarring.
“I … I guess I just had a knack for it.”
“A knack.” He looked around the bakery, then walked to the display case. Quistis went behind the counter and watched him study the cupcake selections. “No, this isn’t just a 'knack.’ You enjoy it, don’t you?”
“Yes. I … well, I love it. Ugh, that sounds so dramatic. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Why would you apologize for loving what you do?”
Quistis thought about his question for a moment, then, deciding she was under no obligation to satisfy a stranger’s curiosity, she straightened and tried to reclaim a shred of professionalism. "Will you be making a purchase this morning, or are you just here to kill time until you get tired?“
He raised his eyebrows at her sudden change in tone, then relaxed and read the menu. "I’ll take a cupcake and a coffee, please.”
“All right. Which flavor?”
“Which do you recommend?”
She stared at him, and he grinned. Perhaps it was a cultural difference. Maybe Estharians asked each other questions all the time, even in the simplest situations. They were said to be intelligent and innovative on average; maybe this is how they became that way. If that was the case, Quistis wondered whether it might be disrespectful to not indulge his inquisitiveness.
“Out of today’s offerings, I would like to suggest the Berry Spice, but –”
“But what?”
She pointed to the Berry Spice cupcake. "It has pink frosting and a chocolate butterfly.“
"So?”
It was Quistis’ turn to smile. "It’s usually not very popular with my male customers.“
"It’s just a cupcake. My identity isn’t so fragile as to be upended by a cupcake. Besides, it looks delicious.”
“Trust me, it is delicious.” Quistis blinked, uncertain where that burst of confidence had come from. "For here, or to go?“
"For here,” he said, then awkwardly extended his hand above the display case. "I’m Argider, by the way.“
Quistis shook his hand and introduced herself.
He repeated her name, then glanced at the menu again. "So, that’s where it comes from.”
“What?”
“The name of the bakery. Clever.”
“Narcissistic.”
“Proud. I think that’s a fair middle ground, right?”
“I suppose it is.” She handed him his cupcake, and he took a seat at the table nearest the counter. When she came around with his coffee, he tried the cupcake and immediately complimented her on it. She laughed and thanked him, and they settled into a conversation, trading questions about each other, their respective homelands, and their chosen careers. Argider spoke at length about his research and the position he’d been hired for, his eyes bright with excitement, then caught himself.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. "This must be incredibly boring to you.“
"Not at all. It’s a nice change of pace from what my other customers talk about. And I understand how easy it is to get carried away about something you enjoy; I could go on and on about baking.”
“I’d ask you to, but I’m afraid I’ve monopolized quite a bit of your time already.”
Quistis looked around the empty bakery. "Don’t worry, there isn’t that much to do right now. Until more customers come in, I’d be happy to –" She stopped short as movement outside the window caught her eye. Rinoa had arrived, and was fumbling to secure Angelo’s leash to the wrought-iron planter by the door. Why was she here so early on a Saturday?
Argider glanced out the window, then back to Quistis. "You were saying?“
"I’m sorry. I guess my ode to baking will have to wait.”
He laughed. "And I guess I’d better be going, and let you get back to work.“ They both rose from the table. "Thanks for the welcome, and the cupcake. It really was delicious. You just got yourself another regular customer.”
“Thank you. I’m very glad you enjoyed it.” She paused and bit her lip, hesitant to let him go, even with Rinoa right outside. "And if you have any more questions about Dollet,“ she continued, "don’t hesitate to ask. I might not always know the answer, but I can direct you to someone who can help. And I’d be more than happy to recommend businesses or points of interest.”
“I’d like that. I’ll definitely take you up on your offer. Have a nice day, Quistis.” He walked away slowly, glancing over his shoulder with a smile, then exited Qake, holding the door open for Rinoa and greeting her in passing.
Rinoa watched him walk down the block, then scurried to Quistis, her eyes wide and a silly grin on her lips. “Who was that?” she asked. “He’s dreamy!”
“A new customer,” Quistis said, trying to act nonchalant and failing. "He just moved here from Esthar for work.“
"Ooh. So, do I get any more details?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I can tell you more,” Emmy piped up, coming out of the kitchen wearing an impish smile. Upon catching Quistis’ glare, however, she sobered and shook her head. "But out of loyalty to my employer, I will remain silent on the matter.“
"Neither of you are any fun. Whatever. I’ll bet Quistis will be talking soon enough, though, because from what I saw, that guy seemed to like more than just the cupcakes here.”
Quistis felt the color rise in her cheeks, but said nothing and busied herself with clearing the table. Rinoa chuckled and moved to the display case.
“So,” she said, “what’s today’s special?”
“Triple chocolate with caramel drizzle,” Quistis answered, eager to change the subject.
“Sounds decadent. I’ll take two, and a large coffee. I’m gonna need the energy. Watts called out sick, and Rosalie can’t come in until the afternoon, so it’s Rinoa to the rescue, today.”
“Who are you rescuing? It’s your own shop.” Quistis joined Emmy behind the counter.
“Myself. You’ve done the same thing, plenty of times. We just don’t get recognition for it.” She sighed, then leaned over the counter. "Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong, but Saturday is Pupcake Day, isn’t it?“
"It is. And today’s flavor is peanut butter and banana.”
“That’s Angelo’s favorite!” Rinoa turned toward the window and repeated the flavor of the treat, then launched into a litany of baby talk and pet names. Angelo, unable to hear her through the glass, nonetheless caught her enthusiasm, and stood on her hind legs to paw at the window. An elderly man walking past waved to Rinoa as well, before realizing that Angelo was the intended recipient of her attention. Embarrassed, he winced, hunched his shoulders, and slunk away.
Quistis and Emmy laughed. Rinoa pretended not to notice.
“Look,” she said to Quistis. "Look at how happy Angelo is, how happy you make her! This is because of you – well, technically, it’s because of me, for bugging you to make pupcakes, but I’ll let you have half the credit.“
"Your generosity humbles me,” Quistis deadpanned, before they all broke into another round of laughter. Rinoa took her cupcakes and coffee and left, raising Angelo’s paw to wave at Quistis through the window before heading to the bookstore. Quistis assumed her usual post at the register, and Emmy at the coffee urn, as the morning crowd began to trickle in. The first rays of sun broke through the fog, enveloping the town in a golden glow. A new day was starting, and it was time to begin again.
Begin again. Less than a year ago, those words were laced with drudgery and uncertainty, a defiant response to the challenges that seemed to build upon each other. Now, however, they took on a different tone in Quistis’ mind, one of hope and contentment, and spoke of the opportunity to make this day better than those that had come before it. They spoke of the resilience to weather setbacks, and the confidence to forge ahead. And, just like the daybreak she witnessed every morning from her shop, she now moved forward without fear.
Darkness is fleeting, she realized, and with the return of the light, we begin again.
🍰 The End 🍰
