Final Fantasy VIII, GF/Squall, compatibility (1/3)
She's slow at first, and it surprises him. Sharp ice is a quick cut, there and gone faster than Shiva arrives. The fragmented moments as she fills his mind are graceful, are beautiful—
The world looks crisper, brighter. Every noise reverberates; he feels every thread of his shirt.
All the while, she's a clear mountain pond in his mind. She throbs larger and larger even while his skull feels smaller and smaller.
—and take too long. It's not until her flow and his ebb meet in the middle, a soul too large for a body that's critically small, that she appears.
And when she appears, Squall's not watching his Guardian Force. Instead, he sees the shapely curve of her calf. Sees her long nails and slender wrists, the sweep of her throat.
She breaks her prison, showers the plain with snow and ice, like sparkling dust clouds. He watches the swell of her breasts, the way her muscles shift as she moves. Sunlight skitters along the blue of her skin, but the lurid color only makes her seem more real to him.
The summon ends; the battle's his. She turns to face him. Her arched eyebrow is knowing, but the distance in her eyes and the way she's set her mouth looks sad, or disappointed. It's as if she's saying not only that she knows him, but that she knows what he wants.
He doesn't want to care about this fleeting moment. She's a presence in his mind, a means to an end. Junction Shiva, use magic. But she's a piece of his mind now, too.
She only gives him a last, lingering silent look, then vanishes in a wisp of steam. Squall takes a deep breath to fight off the adrenaline jitters, then looks at the flash-frosted field full of Caterchipillar corpses.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. Junctioning is complicated.
***
She was slow at first, but she's getting faster. With every passing day, she becomes a bit more active in his mind. She never behaves like a second personality, but he can still feel her presence. She has nothing to say, but she's aware.
It's still not fast enough. He wants to waste as little time as possible in the Fire Cavern.
So he spends an afternoon wandering the beaches, pulling Blizzard from Fastitocalons. She seems startled every time he reaches for her in order to draw, but when they touch the spell's cool sharpness, he hears a wintry chuckle.
He draws Blizzard until his fingers feel numb and his teeth chatter. The ocean licks at his boots, the breeze plays with hair slicked by salt-spray and sweat, and he managed to get sand in his gloves. But the irritating grit of sand around the base of his thumb pales in comparison to the burning chill that sets in despite the sun heating up his jacket and pants. His body shudders every time he breathes in.
Squall stands absolutely still for a moment, then turns around. It's a long hike back to the Roger Dincht Memorial Highway. He only needs an easy uphill walk to get away from the beach, but before the road there's a grassy hill-and-valley meadow. Garden and Balamb Town alternate maintanance to make sure monsters can't hide in the grass, but Bite Bugs won't be discouraged by anything short of scorched earth tactics—employed with napalm and kept up for weeks on end.
He pushes his way through, dispatching Bite Bugs with a casual sweep of his belt knife. He pulls Scan from them as they twitch but before they go still. All the while, the sun presses down on him. Mulling over his stolen Blizzards, rolling them around so they're cool in his mouth, doesn't help.
By the road, he finally stops moving. He crouches in the tiny shade of the tallest grass he can find.
The spells don't seem as cold or sharp now that he's sitting by the asphalt. The heat and bright light dull the spells.
Shiva stirs again. He catches a hint of exasperation before she shifts and he jolts, lurching half out of the crouch. It's a headache like brain freeze and the sensation of water sliding around in the bottom of a bowl all at once—
—But the spells are sharper, are colder than they were when he drew them, and he hears her chuckle again. It's the low, smooth sound of the wind playing amongst snowdrifts. And then she's silent again. Pleased, but waiting.
What she's waiting for, he's not sure. He doesn't want to know.