There’s a young girl perusing the contents of a junkyard, looking for scraps of anything viable for a weapon upgrade. She’s small but, she sticks out like a sore thumb. Literally, she’s a tiny speck of a person in a yellow jumper that would be a shirt on anyone of average height and brown hair curled up in a way that could only defy gravity. Really, nobody knew how she got it to curl up like that day-in-and-out but there she was, bounding around the junkyard with relentless energy. She’s been told to be careful and not trip as a boot goes flying through the air.
“Squaaaaaaaall,” the girl calls to a silent young man with his arms crossed over his chest. “Can you bring my boot?”
“Selphie, please,” Squall sighed as he picked up the brown boot and brought it back to the brunette whose green eyes were sparkling with mischief. “We’re here –”
“–For work. I know,” Selphie interrupted with a playful grin when her eyes settled on something that was not for customizing weapons.
The object was covered in rust and was easily half of the height of the perky brunette who pulled her boot back on and went barrelling toward the object with reckless abandon. As she skids to a halt near the object, she hauled it out of the debris with little issue and cheers delightfully as she hauls the object onto her shoulder and settles her hands on the forward grip and trigger. The playful grin on her face was now transforming into an impish grin as she looks over at Squall.
“Look,” she calls over to her friend as he rolled his eyes. “Can I keep it?”
Squall glowers at the perky brunette before he marched over to her with the intent of taking the weapon from her.
“I promise that I’ll take good care of it and only use it when dealing with Seifer,” she continues in a playful tone laced with more than a fair bit of dark humour.
Squall kept a brisk pace before standing in front of Selphie and looking down at her with a stormy glare. He holds a leather-clad hand out in front of him as the perky brunette shook her head.
“I’m not giving it up,” she protested as Squall placed his free hand on the front of the object. “I never get to play with bazookas.”
“For good reason,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Selphie, give me the bazooka.”
“Why?” She asked in a cute tone. She wasn’t intending to give it up without a fight.
“Because you’re not trained for using ballistic weapons,” Squall responded practically.
Selphie made a noise imitating a buzzer and smiled sweetly at her leader. “I completed that course back at Trabia.”
Squall shook his head in exasperation. Of course, she completed a course on using ballistic weapons. “You’re too small to use one that big.”
“Then…” she began to bargain. “If I give you this one, you’ll let me find one that’s more suited to my size?”
The two continue the back-and-forth of silly banter before the leader decides that he’s had enough of her games for one day. The childish banter had gone long enough even though it only lasts a few minutes.
“Selphie, please,” Squall said with a tone of finality. “Give me the bazooka.”
Selphie’s lower lip juts out into a pout as she reluctantly surrendered the weapon.