When he reached the Esthar Airstation - the largest airport in Esthar City, and regrettably the only well-publicized one - Gwynt was practically rubbing his hands in glee. There were aircraft of all sizes and descriptions here, from windborne gliders to the space-worthy Ragnarok class and above. His hands practically twitched for the controls. In ships like that he could go anywhere. Even better, he could go there really really quickly - much faster than he could safely force the winds to carry him alone.

A young woman seated at a desk - probably his age, though she wouldn't know it - noticed his staring, and asked, "May I help you?"

Gwynt glanced over at her, but wasn't inclined to spare her much of his attention. Not when there were airships to study. "I want to fly them," he said to answer her question.

"What, all of them?" asked the girl, laughing. "I hope you have a lot of time on your hands."

Gwynt ignored her teasing. He would fly as many different kinds as he could, as many different kinds as he needed to until he built one of his own, a plane exactly suited to his own gifts and abilities and needs. "Where do I go, to learn to fly them?" he asked, sparing her only enough attention to hear her answer. People were doing things to the airships. He wanted to know what, and why, and whether he needed to know how.

"So you want to be a student?" replied the girl, and there was an easyness to her words - as though she wasn't the least bit surprised, but not all that interested. "Well, you could start by checking in at the Esthar lottery building. Flying isn't exactly a cheap vocation to take up, and you don't have the look of a noble. The wind'll hold the aircraft up, but what holds the pilot up is money."

That got his attention, stole the half-smile from his face. "I will do whatever I have to do," he said flatly. "I will fly them."

"And do what with them, exactly?" she asked, in a tone that said this was not an idle question.

Gwynt blinked. "Fly them," he repeated. "All the time. Anywhere." What else did you do with an airplane?

"You mean for a living? Or for fun?" Again, there was something in her tone that said he should answer her - and moreover, that the wrong answer might cost him.

"Either. Both. Just so I fly."

The girl smiled again, more warmly this time. "I see. Well - in that case, you can join a workstudy program we have. You might be able work the Airstation as a lineboy, learn your trade from the bottom up - more or less literally. It doesn't pay much, but you can transfer as much of your salary as you like into lessons. I'm not sure what openings we have, honestly."

Gwynt dismissed the question of pay. "I can take care of myself. Who do I talk to to get started?"

The girl was taken aback by his abruptness, and apparently fighting down laughter over his casual attitude towards money. "I suppose you can head down to the field...no, wait. I'll get someone to go with you. They aren't too keen on newbies wandering around clueless."

Having the phrase 'clueless newbie' aimed at him did not make Gwynt like the girl - and it stung even more because despite his work with the ship and his power it was true. He narrowed dark eyes at her, and said, "Just who are you, anyway?"

"Oh, me?" laughed the girl. "Glad you finally noticed me. I'm Beth, and I'm in about the same boat you want to be in - only my work is indoors. I'm in the workstudy program too. I handle the front desk and the radio. Come on, I'll get you started - but I can't hang around, I have my own job to do."

Gwynt learned why he was such a source of amusement to Beth in very short order. Since she had to get back to her own work, she simply grabbed his arm and dragged him behind her - causing Gwynt no small amount of embarrassment.

He would have put his foot down - in a literal, stopping sense, as with his strength that was no problem - but he conceded to himself that at least for the present he required guidance. It rankled badly that this slip of a girl could be so confident in an arena he wanted very much to consider his, and his alone. So he forced himself not to resist as she dragged him along behind her, and simply promised himself that there would be payback later.

She let go of him when she reached a plain grey door - and to his mild surprise opened it by shoving against it with her shoulder. She walked through, and he heard her footsteps echo as he followed her.

On the other side was a vast, cavernous space - large enough to have its own air currents. Gwynt's eyes were drawn upwards, to the girders and trusses that held up the roof.  There were hawks up there, and the tail of one large jet nearly reached that ceiling.  Most of the space, however, was empty air.  Various aircraft were scattered across the floor like a giant's set of toys, some bunched up and nearly touching each other, others standing alone.  Several were tended by people in gray and faded blue uniforms and rolling toolcarts.  Some aircraft were obviously missing parts, or had damaged parts, while others were whole to the eye.  The floor was concrete, stained here and there in the past with various fluids but surprisingly clean - no standing puddles, no scattered debris. Even disassembled parts were laid neatly on tarps next to the planes and helicopters.  The din hit him next - drills, rivet guns, compressed air hoses, people arguing, yelling, dropping things.  And, of course, the scent of fuel and other volatiles.

"I'll introduce you to Kakeru - he runs the maintenance hangar and supervises the linemen," said Beth, raising her voice over the noise. "You can talk to him about the job.  I gotta get back to mine. Hey, Kakeru!"

One of the mechanics pointed with the end of a power screwdriver.  "He's in the office, Beth.  Not in a good mood."

"What now?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"To hear him tell it, Chijin used #5 grit to wash a windshield."

Beth sighed. "Let's see how things are," she told Gwynt. "Maybe you'll wind up cooling your jets in the pilot's louge until this blows over, maybe it's not so bad."

Kakeru turned out to be a middle-aged man in overalls with the sort of frown lines that have become permanent.  A young kid stood petrified in a 12 x 12 x 12 box of cheap plastic siding that, apparently, defined the "office" in this huge building. Kakeru was yelling and gesturing in a manner that could lead an observer to believe a beating would shortly occur, but Gwynt noticed that the movements were both fluid and controlled - almost like Zell's in one of his hyper fits - and that told him all he needed to know. Kakeru was threatening, intending to scare, but not intending to cause physical harm.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Kakeru bellowed. "Oh, wait, that's the problem - you weren't thinking. You were told your first damn day here you only use the lint-free towels on the windshields and only with Odine's aviation plexi cleaner. I know you can read.  What the fuck does it say on this can?"

The kid - who had to be Chijin - was so terrified the only reply he could make was an incoherent squeak.

"What does it say?"

Chijin tried again, and actually got a few almost intelligible words out.

"That's right. Not for use on aircraft. You used this abrasive shit we use to scour the goddamn toilets on Mr. Monomochi's airplane. On the pilot's side, yet.  And you used some piece of shit rag you just picked up off the floor, a rag so foul my ex-wife wouldn't use it to scrub out the trash cans, with Hyne only knows what sort of grit in it, which is now embedded in the plexi of Mr. Monomochi's oh-so-expensive airplane! Do you know what this means, Chijin?"

More squeaks, one of them ending on a half-sob.

"That's right, you are going to pay for Mr. Monomochi's new windshield, which is going to be quite a trick since you are also fucking fired you good for nothing shit. Now get your ass out of my hangar."

Kakeru punctuated this speech by throwing an extended finger towards the door. Which was when he finally noticed Beth, who had grabbed Gwynt's arm again and was trying to pull him away, and Gwynt himself.

Kakeru's expression clearly said as if I haven't got enough idiots around here, here comes you. "Who the fuck are you and what do you want?"

Gwynt raised his eyes to Kakeru's in a steady stare, nervy of the man's evident power but damned if he was going to admit to it.  "I was going to ask if you have a job opening for lineboy."

"Do you know anything about airplanes?" The tone implied he would be very surprised if the answer was 'yes'.

"I know you only use aviation plexi cleaner and clean, lint-free towels on aviation plexi." Gwynt forced the corner of his lips to not curl up.

"Oh, a wise guy, huh? Can't do much worse than this -- I told you to get your ass out of here, scum!"

Chijin, who had paused in the hope that Gwynt might represent a reprieve, scurried out the door. Beth followed, evidently having decided that Gwynt was on his own now.

Kakeru looked Gwynt up and down, appraisingly. For once Gwynt didn't bristle at the implied 'short trip', as Kakeru himself wasn't exactly tall. "Alright, we'll see how you work out. I'll get one of the not-so-incompetent lineboys to show you around."

Which was exactly what happened. Kakeru called in a lineboy called Steve - more a 'lineman' than a 'lineboy' as he was easily in his thirties - who quickly agreed to show Gwynt around. He seemed to be holding back a laugh over something, and Gwynt quickly guessed what it was; Steve was over six feet tall and therefore Gwynt spent the rest of the day at a half-jog, following him around. He felt like a total fool for about ten minutes - exactly as long as it took for Steve to start showing him what it was he was to be doing.

If he had been enchanted by the sight of the aircraft from the observation window in the Airstation's main building, it blossomed into a full-blown obsessive love affair as he walked the hangar floor. The very first time he touched a hand to the smooth frame of an airplane, he completely forgot everything else but the hangar and the giant steel creatures nested within it.

Steve was ruthless but detailed, and quickly showed Gwynt the basics of his job - moving aircraft on the ground via towcars, fueling the aircraft and the types of fuels used, safety equipment...after a few hours Gwynt was positively coated with the various life-giving fluids that made the different aircraft function. Not that he minded, except to make a mental note to get more clothes at some point. He was also, of course, shown how to clean the craft properly, and where the materials to do so were stored - given his entrance at Chijin's heels, Steve was particularly careful on this point. At the end of the day, Steve assigned him a radio and a frequency, and was shown how to use it. It was a fairly plain model, so learning its use wasn't difficult.

And all the while Steve and anyone else in sight tossed instructions and news and insults in about equal proportion to each other. Gwynt was, if anything, outclassed. These people, he understood. They were proud like SeeDs were proud, only they didn't have a damn thing to prove to anyone but themselves. They weren't in it for money or glory or anything but the positive need to be in the sky. They treated him like the kid he looked to be, but there was a sort of watchfulness to it - something that said it was a test, and they were laying bets among themselves as to whether his love of the sky would win out over the work he'd have to do to get there.

Gwynt grinned. He hoped they laid long odds against him, because it'd just mean that much more cash when the certificate was in his hands.

They really were like SeeD. Superior. Flying was a lifestyle that could and did kill the stupid or the overenthusiastic, and yet all he had to do was watch them in the air to know that they were fond of pushing the boundaries - seeing how far they could safely go. And the best part of it was, it didn't involve leaving behind a field of corpses or taking any orders. It was pure competition - against yourself, against other pilots, against the wind and sky.

Well, then. He'd got one down already. Two to go.

"Hey, do I ever have to fix these things, or do I just wash 'em?" he asked at one point.

"You just do what I showed ya," said Steve quickly. "You go pokin' around the innards of these things and you'll be out on your ear, with a nice big bootprint on your ass. We got union people to fix 'em, 'cause if an airplane engine quits you got a lot more to worry about than if your car engine quits and you need a tow. Why, you got some mechanical genius stuffed in your shirt somewhere?"

"It just seemed like a good thing to know," he said. "I want to know how to fix them as well as how to fly them."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, I know. You wanna be the God of the Little Blue Plane, right. I hope you weren't planning on sleeping anytime this millenium, and I hope your lottery winnings hold out too. One thing at a time!" He considered his short new companion for a while, then shrugged. "You'll make it or you won't. None o' my business. If you can fix mechanical shit, go ahead and talk to the union guys when you have a few minutes' free time, and they'll see what you can do. Be nice to 'em. If they let you tinker, they take personal responsibility for your work."

Gwynt filed that away for future reference. Where he planned on flying, there weren't going to be support staff. He'd have to know his craft inside and out. If it meant a little sucking up, he could probably do that.

His innate strength turned out to be quite a mixed blessing. Aircraft could be quite fragile in certain places, and even an ungifted child could damage them. Gwynt had to be doubly cautious so as not to damage anything inadvertently, though Steve helped by pointing out where the strong places were. Even when cleaning the planes it was far too easy to damage something - as the tirade he'd witnessed earlier on proved. The things might look like solid buildings, but they could break like bird wings if he wasn't cautious.

Gwynt was even more careful to make sure he never made the same mistake twice. There was an incredible number of things to learn and keep track of, but each thing memorized brought him one step closer to the sky. There could not be a greater incentive. Unless, perhaps, it was facing down Kakeru if he should slip up - but even there, it wasn't Kakeru's rage that worried him. It was Kakeru's authority to get him kicked out of the Airstation. As long as he didn't screw up, Kakeru would not be a problem.

With all the new information to absorb, Gwynt didn't notice the time until Steve laughed and asked if Gwynt was intent on working all night. He didn't understand the question until he thought to check his watch - it was ten o'clock at night, and things were definitely shutting down for the amateur crowd. Steve took Gwynt back to Kakeru's office at that point. He looked to be sorting through some work orders.

"How'd he do?" he asked, without looking up.

"Did okay. No problems," said Steve, offhandedly. "Picked up everything pretty well."

Kakeru looked up then, and considered Gwynt again. "Well, you didn't damage anything, and you didn't break anything," he said. "Which for a complete newbie is pretty good - especially since you learn fast. Think you can do it alone tomorrow?"

Gwynt was tempted to say 'yes', but if he did and screwed something up...well, he wasn't sure what the penalty was around here for screwing up hundreds of thousands worth of Gil in aircraft equipment, but he could bet it wouldn't be a slap on the wrist. On the other hand, he was damned if he was going to admit to anything less than complete ability, even if it meant memorizing rules and techniques all night. He slanted a look at Kakeru, and with complete seriousness said, "I'll leave that decision up to you. Do you think I'm ready?"

Kakeru nodded and chuckled to himself. "I thought you were a proud one," he said. "Well, you'll fit in here just fine, as long as you can keep your hands to yourself anyway. Nobody's really out to start a fight here, not when they could be flying. Just remember it's all wind and piss and let it slide. I'll keep an eye on your work for another day or two, just to make sure you'll do all right - and then we'll see. Go on home now, lad. Workshift starts at dawn tomorrow morning."

It was only after the Airstation's lights were a dim glow behind him that Gwynt began to feel tired. And more than a little empty; he'd never been so utterly enthralled in his life as when he'd walked in the hangar and seen all those aircraft, and thought of flying them. Thought of what he could do with them, with the wind at his beck and call. No course of study under his father or Rinoa, no combat practice with Zell, had made him feel quite so alive as just the mere thought of having one of those machines under his control, in his domain, with nothing else for miles around.

Well, one thing was certain. He'd have to find a different place to stay. He needed to be near the Airstation, needed to see the patterns of landing and takeoff and the kinds of craft that were favored. It would make his personal flying trickier to do, but the knowledge would be useful and helpful. He needed to be close to the aircraft. It was so basic a drive he didn't even question it - it was simply a fact that must be dealt with. Be near them, touch them, work with them...yes.

If it weren't for the fact that SeeD regarded planes primarily as combat machines with transport capability, he might have thought twice about staying away from SeeD. After all, they did have a Ragnarok class vessel, and half the pilots at the Airstation knew about Selphie Tilmitt. But Gwynt knew that a life of taking orders from some halfwitted nincompoop behind a desk would drive him utterly crazy, so he abandoned that idea. He needed to be his own boss, and SeeD took a dim view of cadets with that approach to life. Seifer in particular would probably take a very dim view of it, especially since he'd tried that approach himself and it hadn't worked out at all.

He trudged through the more or less empty streets of Esthar, watching half-full floaters going by overhead with a small degree of contempt. Honestly, the distances weren't that far. Was everyone in this town against going anywhere under their own power? How on earth had they managed when the Lunar Cry wrecked the floater-ways? A power outage would cripple this city.

That made Gwynt ponder the possibilities of getting Taran here on a visit. Nobody could short stuff out like Taran. Of course, his softhearted brother would probably feel guilty about it, but still - it would be interesting to see how people managed without their precious Ways for a few weeks. Probably the whole city would lose ten pounds.

The streets were not free of gangs, though. Gwynt noticed after a while that he was being followed, and simply chose a handy lamp post to lean against. No point in leading whoever it was all the way back to his apartment, after all. "Come on out," he said, somewhat bored. "I know you're following me. Don't waste my time." He might as well get this over with - it was going to be a routine until the locals learned that just because he was alone and short, it didn't mean he was helpless.

"Big words, shrimp," said a tall, silver-haired boy as he came out of the shadows. Others soon followed, apparently trying to look menacing. Gwynt didn't move.

"Don't call me shrimp," he said flatly -knowing what effect it would have. One of the reasons he hated people was that so many of them were so boringly predictable.

The silver-haired boy, evidently the leader, swung a length of steel pipe. "I'll call you whate-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence, because Gwynt exploded into motion. One spin-kick knocked the pipe out of the boy's hands, and a solid punch cracked a few ribs and literally took his breath away. That, of course, got the others involved, but with no better success. Soon the whole motley group was writhing on the ground, gasping for breath.

"I'd tell you to call me 'sir'," snapped Gwynt at the downed group, "except that you're too pathetic for me to waste my time on. I don't care where the hell you go, but go away and leave me alone. I do not have the fucking patience to waste my time on you twice." And with that he continued on his way, not even bothering to see whether his downed foes were awake enough to understand him.

People were so moronically, incredibly stupid sometimes. The gang noticed a small man walking around alone and unconcerned late at night, and instead of pausing for ten seconds to consider why that might be so, they instead leaped to the conclusion that here was an easy mark. Served the twits right for getting the snot beaten out of them - maybe next time they'd try firing the brain cells first. It really made you wonder about the future of the species, it really did. Gwynt wondered how the morons who'd fathered such children had survived the Lunar Cry that had landed around here twenty odd years ago. He reached his building without further incident, and after making sure he was unobserved, called the wind once more.

He didn't have fine control when he 'flew' like this. He could make the wind carry him in a particular direction, but if he tried to change that direction - say, from 'up' to 'east' - he lost quite a lot of height in the process. This close to the ground, he'd hit the ground before changing direction, so Gwynt opted instead to simply land on the roof. From the rooftop stairwell it was only a few floors down to his level - much better than climbing up some sixty-odd flights. The use of his power to carry him was tiring, though - very tiring on top of the day he'd had. It actually took less power to use the wind to push a ship than it did to make the wind carry him - human beings not being the most aerodynamic creatures on the planet. He might think about creating a really sturdy umbrella, though - something for the wind to catch on to, that he could carry around without attracting more than a glance or two. Or maybe a cloak that attached to his shirt collar...

He leaned against the building's facade, that doubled as a water catch for rain, and caught his breath. Hyne, he was tired. He'd really have to remember to look for a closer building to the Airstation tomorrow - if he could pry himself away from the airfield long enough to do the looking. He tilted his head back and called a light breeze - just enough to blow his hair away from his neck and back, just enough to cool him. The stars were dim, here in light-polluted Esthar, but he found he didn't mind much. He knew they were still there, waiting for him. He'd scrub and tow and bow and scrape, do whatever he had to to get his flying lessons. He'd get certified to fly the Ragnaroks, and see the stars up close and personal. Taran had a whole love affair going with the stars as little decorative points of light. Gwynt's interest was based on the simple fact that they were a long way away.

He shifted position, and found his shoulders were bruised. Damn morons. Like he didn't have enough to do that would wear him out, he had to prove that short men weren't easier targets to the local street toughs as well. At least his travel gear was good and sturdy cloth, not easily ripped or cut. It wasn't very good-looking though, and it was worse now with the oil and grease on it. He'd have to save up at some point to get clothes more appropriate to a city dweller. Something that marked him as a local, so as to be more invisible when walking to and from work.

Money was going to be a bitch. He wouldn't be paid in cash for his lineboy work - all that cash would go for flight lessons. He could stay in this building for free, but that still left basic necessities of food and clothing. The best that he could think of right now was monster-hunting when bad weather closed down the Airstation to non-commercial flight.

Maybe chocobo racing? It was competition of a sort, and he was certainly short enough at five foot five to have a shot at it. Hell, among chocobo jockeys he'd practically be a giant. Still - any time spent earning money was not time spent around planes or flying, and he resented the necessity. Perhaps he could persuade Nodwydd or the twins to forward him some cash - after all, one of the things he'd be using that pilot's license for would be hauling family around without getting caught by SeeD.

The idea of owing his family for anything rankled pretty badly, but on the other hand once he had that license they'd be owing him far more than he would owe them in getting there. He'd be completely indispensable.

Nodwydd first. Noddy was always willing to be helpful, and chances were high he had a better paying job than anything the twins could come up with. On the other hand, the twins had access to Ellone - and Ellone had spent a good portion of her life in Esthar, and had inherited positively obscene amounts of cash, both from Laguna and from Squall's unused SeeD savings.

Surely Gwynt could get a bit of his own father's savings, right? In a good cause?

Bah. Begging was begging no matter who it was from. Scowling, Gwynt pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to the stairwell. First things first - and the very first thing was getting some sleep. A bare floor behind a locked door would have to do.