Scene:  Balamb Garden Atrium; Balamb Garden Training Rooms.
Characters:  Farrell Tennan and Irvine Kinneas
Plot:  Just Farrell and Irvine sparring, goofing off, and tossing around affectionate insults.





All this talk about past has made Farrell think about his own. So much could have happened during those few lost years, yet he remembers nothing about it. One thing that really gets to him is the damn necklace he's wearing. For some odd reason, he's compelled to keep it on and he has no clue why. Pulling it away from his chest, he looks at the letters engraved on the pendant at the end and sighs.

Farrell isn't the only one left with a bit of jewelry to hint at his past. Irvine, however, resists the urge to mimick his friend. His fingers twitch, but he keeps them off the pendant around his neck. Instead, he asks, "What's that?"

      Farrell looks over at Irvine as if he forgot he was there, and quickly pulls his tanktop away from his body, putting the necklace underneath it. "It's nothing.." Hmm.
Er, ok. Irvine lifts an eyebrow, this time it's fully visible as there is no hat brim to cover it. He doesn't persue the question, figuring Farrell would tell him if he really wanted to. "Sure... so..." he tries to come up with something... anything but talk about the fight yesterday or Selphie.

       Farrell stops dead in his tracks, turning to face the cowboy walking alongside him. "Alright, you wanna know what it is?" He pulls the chain back out from underneath his shirt, holding it so Irvine can get a look at it. His mood seems to have changed drastically. "I don't know what it is.." he begins as he lightly smacks the side of his head, a gesture of stupidity. "..All I know is that I don't wanna take the damn thing off. Every time I try, I just get some sort of odd feeling about me..." Sighing, he grumbles as he says "I just don't know." An accurate assumption would be that it gets on his mind all the time and that this may be the first time he's tried to figure it out in someone else's presence.

Irvine reaches out, taking the pendant between his fingers to halt its rhythmic swaying back and forth as Farrell holds it out. He hmms, squinting at the lettering. "Were you an orphan? A heritage thing maybe?" Oh he wouldn't know about that at all, now would he.

Farrell waves his arm in the air beside him in frustration. "I really don't know.. the whole thing is getting on my nerves to tell you the truth. FT is obvious, " he says as he points to his initials engraved on it. "But as far as DE goes.." he shrugs. Irvine must not have noticed the letters at first glance.. or not given it any though.

Irvine lets the pendant drop again and shrugs his shoulders, "I haven't got a clue, Farrell." If there's any significance toward the cowboy himself, he hasn't picked up the clue phone about it yet. And neither has his player. ;)

    Don't worry.. this player doesn't completely know, himself. :) Anyway, sighing again, Farrell tucks the pendant back under his shirt and starts to walk again. With it out of view, he should be able to start talking about other things. "Any thought on where we're headed yet?" he says to Irvine, hoping for something to take his mind off his past.

     Hmm.. practice.. that's a good idea. Looking over at his buddy with mischievous eyes, Farrell can't help but ask Irvine a somewhat relevant question. "I've noticed that your weapon of choice is a gun.. but what happens if you don't have it with you? Would you fight hand-to-hand?" What's he getting at?
"I wouldn't exactly have a choice," He doesn't have it now, after all, it's back in its case in his room. He lifts an eyebrow, "Why...."

Farrell looks around innocently and says in an almost higher-than-thou tone of voice: "Oh, I was just wondering what you'd say to a quick sparring match.. you know, just to test your skills on a fighting master such as myself." He grins, tightening his fists in front of him several times.

Irvine smirks, folding his arms over his chest, "I'd say you'd kick my butt." However, he gets a mischievious look in his eyes. "Ok, tell you what, I'll spar with you, but after we're done, you get to try a little target practice with me." If he has to be humiliated, the least he can do is get a little ego back.

Farrell brings his hand to his chin, audibly pondering the whole thing with a few hmms here and there. "Deal" he says finally, holding out the same hand for him to shake. "Let's find an appropriate spot to do it, though so we don't hurt anyone else in the making."

Irvine shakes Farrell's hand, grinning like a madman. "Training rooms then, ole buddy ole pal." At least the threat of a T-Rexaur this time isn't as intimidating. He turns back toward the dorms, intent on getting his gun. There's no way he's letting Farrell out of this little deal. Besides, when's the last time the two of them did something like this?
Uh, actually that'd be the night Farrell died. Irvine pauses a moment as he realizes that.

    Farrell realizes it as well, but as much as he'd like to turn it down he has to face it sooner or later, right? Staring off into space, he wipes his hands on his pants as they've started to feel a little clammy. From the memory? Yep. Closing his eyes, he shakes it off and looks over at Irvine. "Kay, I'll be waiting at the entrance to the training area, then." Not inside it, mind you.. just at the entrance.

Irvine glances over his shoulder, giving Farrell a reassuring smile. "I'll be there, gun in hand." Just like last time.

Farrell nods and starts walking off in said direction.

(Off to the Training rooms.)   

        Farrell is by the entrance to the training center, warming up a bit in a fashion that Zell can be seen doing more often than any normal person would. There's really no need for it. Anyway, he executes a few jabs and uppercuts into the air as a typical warmup. He's removed his outer shirt for the sake of keeping it clean and out of the way.. it'd only be a problem during the sparring session.

Entering the scene soon after Farrell's warm up, Irvine carries the shotgun that's been more like his right arm on more then one occasion. He shrugs the coat off his shoulders, folding it onto the ground, then rests the precious gun atop it. Lord forbid it be left on the dust, it might get a little dirt on it! Turning, he doesn't bother warming up, he knows he's gonna get whupped.

       Farrell smirks at Irvine's care for his gun. But hey, he can't blame him. Everyone has something that they find to be the most valuable thing they own and they'll do anything to keep it from getting too damaged. Bringing his hands to his back, Farrell leans back as far as humanly possible, stretching the muscles out a bit. "Ready? We should probably make sure not to slam each other too hard" he adds with a grin.

"Just... not the face, ok?" Irvine grins, taking on the best fighting pose he can. What did Emlee say once about his street fighting and brawling abilities? OH yeah: Irvine's about as likely to win a fist fight as he is to suddenly turn into a woman. Ouch.

      Farrell smiles after completing his preparation. "Yeah, you always were the prettyboy." Getting into a stance, he teeters slightly in a front to back motion and gestures for Irvine to come at him. "Don't be afraid to try, though." Afraid? Irvine? Heh...

The Prettyboy grins, not sure he's going to take this seriously until the fight actually begins. It's gonna hurt, but a little pain shouldn't be... too bad, right? "Sure I am, how do you think I get the girls..." he heaves forward, taking aim for Farrell's shoulder to get things rolling.

Farrell twirls around at the lunge, jabbing his partner in the shoulder on his way around. Not hard, but just to note that there was something wrong in the approach. "All the girls, eh? That's pretty funny." Standing in a set position again, Farrell's grin widens. He'll also get into it as soon as things pick up. He wants to taunt a little first.

Irvine comes to a halt, spinning around to consider his approach. He grins, shrugs, "There's only one I want for sure. Can I help it if the others just naturally flock to me?" He swings again, and it's really bad. If the girls saw this they'd just be laughing.

Not a problem for Farrell, though. They're just getting started. Blocking the swing, he grabs ahold of Irvine's arm and uses his other hand to swing at his face.. stopping inches away and releasing his grasp. "Naturally flock. Ha! It's probably because there's nobody else."

Eyes wide in surprise, Irvine releases a sigh of relief as Farrell just backs off again, taking a moment to let his racing heart calm down. Sheesh this is humiliating, but he'll get his revenge. He snorts at the retort, "Oh sure, or you're just jealous. I still remember Suza liked me better then you." That was a low blow from five years ago. He tries to swing past Farrell's guard again, aiming for the chest area this time.

      Farrell -barely- catches that one before his partner's fist connects with his chest, almost getting lost in the thought. "That was a long time ago.." he says as he actually starts moving around. Sidestepping, he starts to slowly circle around Irvine, concentrating on every little thing he can. The thought of just tackling the cowboy comes to his mind, but that's not very fair.

Fairness? Since when did anyone fight fair from the old crowd back at Galbadia? Of course, the thought hasn't occured to Irvine and would be a hilarious surprise. He's too busy being smugly happy with himself for actually getting a hit in on Farrell.

Farrell takes his turn now, faking an uppercut just to make Irvine flinch, and following up with a jab toward his chest. He almost slides in during his approach; it didn't even look like he stepped in at all. "I don't get jealous."

The feint works, Irvine wincing away from the uppercut, only to get a solid *thud* against his chest, knocking him back slightly. He oofs, rubbing his ribs a moment. "Right... ok, have you proved your point yet or do you need to beat me a little more to your satisfaction?"

      Farrell chuckles. "Hey, we just got started. I won't be satisfied until you get a hit in." Awaiting Irvine's next move, he starts to circle again. Just like a cat with a mouse.

"In that case, we might be here a few days," Irvine snorts, fully admitting he sucks when it comes to brawling. Instead of just swinging wildly this time, he takes a moment to watch Farrell, then takes a chance, swinging downward toward his side.

       Farrell dodges this one, too with almost catlike reflexes. Chuckling, he pesters Irvine a bit. "Come on, man.. you've gotta try and catch me when I'm off guard." He grins, putting both hands behind his back; overconfident and feeling rather good about himself to worry about Irvine getting a hit in. "Like now" he adds.

Ok, now he's being mocked. Irvine pauses, then dives right in, just trying to get a hit in on Farrell period. No holds barred, just one jab right after the other. If this doesn't work, well, he's out of ideas.

      Farrell says "Hey!" as he brings his hands back in front of him, blocking a few jabs, catching the rest on his arms and wherever they happen to hit. "Okay, okay!" he calls out, protecting his body with his forearms placed in front of it. They're being blocked, but obviously Irvine has the upper hand as the last few hits connect nicely. He's laughing by now, but disappointed that he let himself be blinded by his ignorance.

Irvine chuckles, backing off finally with a smug grin on his face as Farrell calls 'Uncle'. "Gotcha finally. My turn yet or are you still trying to knock me on my rear or something?"

Farrell, still chuckling slightly, shrugs at the question and returns with. "You can give up if you like, I don't mind. There's gotta be someone else I can spar with that's not afraid of me."

Irvine snorts, deciding enough's enough. He rubs at his chest, knowing he'll have a bruise, but it was all worth it. Nothing like male bonding time, you know? He heads toward his things, picking up the gun and the coat. "My turn."

Farrell wipes off any beads of sweat with a gloved hand that started to gather at his hairline. Nothing major, though as they hardly did anything. Glancing at the gun, he wonders if that's the same one... "Great.. you're gonna make me walk out 50 paces so you can have target practice, aren't you?"

Irvine grins, shrugging the coat over his shoulders. He's got to be crazy, that sparring match had to leave him at least slightly warm, and that coat must be made for the dead of winter. "Sure.... just keep walking..." He aims forefinger and middle finger clasped together, the thumb pressed back against his palm. 'Bang'.

Farrell loses his smile and looks at Irvine with mock judgement. "That's not funny" he says, not being able to avoid laughing after a brief moments silence. "Seriously.."

"Be careful with this, it's my baby," Irvine says as he holds the gun out to Farrell. Obviously, he intends for Farrell to begin this second round of testosterone tossing. Pointing to a series of leafy trees in the distance, about thirty feet away. "See if you can hit any of the leaves over there. They're not too small."

Farrell hesitantly takes the gun from Irvine's hand and inspects it for a moment. He can't say he's ever used one before. Holding it up to eye level he takes aim holding the dumb thing wrong. For starters. Trying to steady himself, he makes a mental note to himself that he needs to relax. "This is rediculous," he mutters.

Irvine merely watches, wincing a little at how the gun is held, but reminds himself it's not going to hurt it. He hopes. He tries not to laugh, or smile too much. Revenge is sweet.

Farrell continues to hold the gun sloppily and aims, grumbling every once and a while as he fumbles about for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he lines up the sights and pulls the trigger...

Several leaves explode as the shot sloppily reaches its destination, little bits of greenery floating through the air to the ground. Irvine tsks, holding a hand out for the gun. "Not bad. You hit something at least."

     Farrell fehs and hands the gun back to Irvine. "I don't like guns anyway.." he says with a frown. "My hands are my weapons.. as you so nicely found out." His grin returns with that statement.

Irvine smirks at Farrell, "So did my chest." He crouches down, bringing the gun up to eye level as he takes a few moments to carefully aim at something off in the distance. Finger on the trigger, he sits there, still as a rock. Finally, the finger twitches, the gun sounding as he fires. It jerks his shoulder slightly, but this is something he's used to.
Far off in the distance, a single splat is heard, and then some kind of bulbuous fruit tumbles down the side of a larger tree, striking the ground. It's at least twice as far away as the foliage he had Farrell shoot at, and about the size of a small apple.

Farrell looks off into the distance, at first unable to see what he fired at until he notices the fruit. Sneering as he looks down at Irvine, he says "Show off" as he pushes into him, trying to knock him over.

Irvine laughs, still crouched down on the ground. He falls over easily enough, holding the precious gun up so it doesn't hit the ground. Still snickering, he says, "Hey, at least I didn't hit you in the chest."

Farrell waves Irvine off, "Yeah, whatever.." Grumbling, he looks around for his shirt.. he forgot where he put it. "You know you only did that to show off," he says as with his back turned.

Irvine pulls himself to his feet, dusting himself off in a few distinct places. "So did you, pal." He's still amused, and happy for once. After yesterday, this is a pleasant day. "Hey, Farrell? Thanks."