If I see one more "smoldering" in reference to eyes, I'm gonna blow my top.
Absolutely ridiculous.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
And yes, here's chapter 5. Even though I haven't updated for a long time. Review please!
Chapter 5
Tifa sat in the hard chair, shifting uncomfortably from time to time. In the bed beside her, Cloud tossed and turned, muttering in his sleep, plagued withby troubled dreams. Wringing a soft towel in a basin of water, Tifa placed the cold compress on his forehead, placing her fingers on his neck to check his temperature once more.
“He’s still burning,” she sighed, the sound fading in to the still night air. No one heard her, nor did she get any response. Turning down the lamp, she settled herself as comfortably as she could in the hard chair, and closed her eyes.
Sleep eluded her; even a peace of mind was hard to come by. Stirring from her seat, she gazed at the familiar lines and contours of his face, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. Her gaze drifted from his face to his arms and hands. They were arms and hands which had saved her life, many times over. Arms and hands that she wished held warmth and safety for her, instead of cold rejection.
When Vincent had found and brought him back, Cloud was semi-conscious, delirious with fever and exhaustion. She had rushed across the room and taken his arm, had helped Vincent support his dead weight. As they stumbled their way up the stairs, Vincent’s gloves, slick with melted snow, had lost their grip on Cloud, and the former SOLDIER would have tumbled down to the landing below, if Tifa had not caught him. In that single moment, with Tifa holding him, Cloud had reached out for her, murmuring her name in fuzzy recognition. In his hazy eyes and fevered touch, she had been certain that beneath his cold indifference to her, he was far from being unmoved. She only wondered why he had chosen to reject her, to keep his emotions locked away in a heart of ice.
She leant back against the head of the chair and let her vision play out across the blank ceiling; the steady rhythm of his breathing carrying her out into the realms of slumber. Tifa snapped awake, cold night air drifting across her face and creeping up the hem of her dress. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking over in Cloud’s direction.
Only to find his bed empty, blanket pushed to the foot of the bed. Startled, she jumped to her feet in a panic, only for her addled brain to register that there shouldn’t be a night breeze in the room. Her eyes fell on the open window, which she had most definitely closed the night before. The window was open, shutter ajar, leaving a space more than big enough to admit a full-grown man. Tifa rushed over to the sill, fearing the worst. She leant over, looking frantically down the street.
But there was nothing to be seen. The night shadows drifted on, heedless to the fear that was choking her. The moon continued to shine, casting the house into deep shadow. Tifa looked up to see a clear sky adorned with the light of stars, hundreds upon thousands of stars.
“It’s a rare night, isn’t it? Not a cloud in the skyto be seen.”
Startled, Tifa almost lost her grip and toppled over the sill. Twisting around, she saw Cloud silhouetted against the white face of the moon, sitting on the flat roof, legs swinging over the edge.
“Come on up.” Cloud looked down and smiled. “It’s not a night to be missed.”
Tifa’s mouth closed, then opened again. She could find nothing to say. There were a million things she could say. She could scold him, ask him to come down from such a dangerous perch. She could worry about him catching a cold sitting in the cold night air, wrapped up in his exhaustion. She could scowl at him, and shake her head disapprovingly . But all she could do was to smile back. The girl in her; not the mother, not the responsible woman; leapt up with an irrepressible joy, clamoring for attention.
Her smile ever widening, she climbed up onto the sill, and swung onto the slats to begin the climb to the roof. Cloud waited for her, completely casual, completely at ease with himself and her. It was at odds with her pounding heart. The girl wondered why she was being asked to join himhe asked her to join him, the mother in her spoke about irresponsibility, and the woman stuttered with wild, irrational hope.
Cloud reached a bare hand down to pull her up beside him, and she grasped it, trusting her weight to his strength. With a heave, he lifted her to the crown of the roof, and they sat companionably together, hips barely touching, her loose hair just grazing his shoulder.
“The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” he murmured. He looked up, utterly relaxed, utterly at peace, gazing at the millions of gleaming lights in the infinite vista above them.
“Yes, they are,” Tifa agreed, and moved closer, daring herself to close the distance between them. She needn’t have feared, for Cloud’s arm looped casually around her shoulder and held her. She leaned against his shoulder, watching the soft glow of stars illuminate the lines of his face.
“Cloud? Do you think the stars can hear us?”
“I think you’ve asked me that question before,” Cloud teased.
“You didn’t answer it.”
“Well, I still don’t know. But what I do know is that we’ve fought hard enough for them. We’ve fought hard enough to deserve a little heaven for ourselves on earth,” Cloud stated, a trifle forceful.
“There’s Seventh Heaven, and it is heaven enough for me,” a warm fuzzy feeling creeping into Tifa as she thought of the children and her friends.
Cloud smiled, and nodded. “I guess so. It’s more than anyone could ask for. “
“Yeah. So much has changed, and yet so much hasn’t. I want so much, and yet I know I shouldn’t. I know I can’t.” Tifa stopped, aware that she might have said too much, afraid that she had opened her heart a sliver too wide.
“Me too. But I'm going to try, and hope for the best.” Cloud bowed his head, casting his features into shadow.
Tifa didn’t respond. Words were not the only thing that told people what another was thinking. It was one more try, and one more failure. The pain of rejection perceived or real, it didn’t matter, it touched her once again. Thrusting her feelings asideway, Tifa changed the subject, a shift so jarring that her voice hurt even her ears.
“What have you got all worked up over that you had to drive yourself so hard?” Tifa asked, peering up into his face, trying to keep the lump from her throat.
“Not telling you. Once I’ve succeeded, you’ll all see.” Cloud smiled. “It’s a surprise.” Cloud’s smile became as luminous as the stars that glittered above them.
“Alright, then. Keep your secrets. There’s can’t be any harm in that, and I trust you. Just keep an eye out for n your own health.” Tifa allowed, relieved that Cloud had simply followed her lead. “And come home to see us more often.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Your best, Cloud?”
“Yes.” Nothing more, nothing less, simply Cloud; for that was just the way he was.
Tifa gave it up with a sigh, content to drop the subject for now.
“You’re cold,” Cloud noticed. “C’mere,” he said, wrapping his arm more tightly around her. Tifa acquiesced. Her white silken shift was indeed quite thin, and the autumn night wind could cut like a knife. Tifa nestled against his side, suffused in their shared warmth.
Moments passed, and she spoke again, slipping syllables into the silence.
“Reminds me of the nights we spent, so many years ago, all together under the stars. With Yuffie, Barret, Vincent, Cid, Red, Cait Sith…” Tifa’s voice trailed off.
“And Aerith.” Cloud put in.
“Yeah.” Tifa was hesitant. Aerith was a sensitive subject around Cloud.
Cloud didn’t seem to notice her reticence. “We’re all here at Seventh Heaven anyway. Except Red and Reeve. Maybe we’ll get them over someday.”
“Someday soon,” Tifa promised.
“Wait for me to get back, will you? I’ve got to go settle somea few things. Then I’ll be back.” Even then, a trace of excitement leaked into Cloud’s tone.
“Going? So fast? But you’re still unwell!” Tifa protested.
“I’ll take better care of myself this time. I promise. I’ll even bring some medicines along! I’ll take a the best Medkit in the whole of Gaia along, if it makes you feel better.”
Tifa sat up, reluctant to let him leave again. “Well, if you’re leaving early, you’ve got to go get some sleep.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay out here a little longer?” Cloud asked.
The words struck her as ironic. They were words that she had uttered before, requests that she had made in the darkest of days.
“We’ll have many more nights to spend talking; many more moments to share. Right now, your health’s more important.
“You’re right. There isn’t anything to worry about. We’ve got time on our hands.” Cloud had a bemused smile upon his face, as if he had expected her response. Yet, a tinge of emotion in his eyes told her that he found their exchange of words as familiar as she did, and shared her regret.
“We’d better go.” Tifa stood up, and began to clamber down the side of the house, afraid that she might change her mind, Cloud’s health a constant yet forced litany in her mind.
Tifa swung herself lithely through the window, landing with a muffled thump on the carpeted floor. Cloud followed, a bit more clumsily, nearly knocking over the shaded lamp which sat on a small table just beside the window.
“Careful.” Tifa murmured, catching the lamp and settling it back in place. “You’d better go clean yourself up. I just washed the sheets before you got back.”
“Sure.” Cloud moved towards a drawer, removing a few clothes before retreating to bathroom, leaving Tifa alone with her thoughts.
She was seated back in her chair wearing a clean nightgown when Cloud returned, wet hair plastered to his head, looking strangely awkward without his customary spikes.
“Your fever’s gone then?” Tifa asked.
“Yeah. It’s gone. I’m fine now,” Cloud reassured, slipping under the covers of his bed. “Well, then, I’m going to rest. Turn off the lamp for me, will you?”
Tifa obliged, standing up to reach over to him and depress the pad just across her. As the room fell into darkness, Tifa lingered over Cloud’s still form, watching him draw in slow, even breaths, watching his shut eyelids flicker.
“Goodnight, Cloud. I’ll see you in the morning.” There was no response. Seized with a sudden daring Tifa leant over and kissed his forehead lightly, breathing in his clean scent, her hair brushing his cheek, reveling in their closeness. Turning away, she lay down in the other bed, and surrendered herself to slumber.
When she awoke the next morning, the bed beside her lay cold and empty, sheets neatly made, with a note lying forlornly on the pillow. Grabbing it, she unfolded the creased paper.
On it, In Cloud’s distinctive small hand, were two words. Slumping back down on the bed, letting the note slide from her senseless fingers, Tifa allowed the bitter tears of loneliness to flow silently down her cheeks.
And help me review! Thanks
Chapter 5
Tifa sat in the hard chair, shifting uncomfortably from time to time. In the bed beside her, Cloud tossed and turned, muttering in his sleep, plagued withby troubled dreams. Wringing a soft towel in a basin of water, Tifa placed the cold compress on his forehead, placing her fingers on his neck to check his temperature once more.
“He’s still burning,” she sighed, the sound fading in to the still night air. No one heard her, nor did she get any response. Turning down the lamp, she settled herself as comfortably as she could in the hard chair, and closed her eyes.
Sleep eluded her; even a peace of mind was hard to come by. Stirring from her seat, she gazed at the familiar lines and contours of his face, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. Her gaze drifted from his face to his arms and hands. They were arms and hands which had saved her life, many times over. Arms and hands that she wished held warmth and safety for her, instead of cold rejection.
When Vincent had found and brought him back, Cloud was semi-conscious, delirious with fever and exhaustion. She had rushed across the room and taken his arm, had helped Vincent support his dead weight. As they stumbled their way up the stairs, Vincent’s gloves, slick with melted snow, had lost their grip on Cloud, and the former SOLDIER would have tumbled down to the landing below, if Tifa had not caught him. In that single moment, with Tifa holding him, Cloud had reached out for her, murmuring her name in fuzzy recognition. In his hazy eyes and fevered touch, she had been certain that beneath his cold indifference to her, he was far from being unmoved. She only wondered why he had chosen to reject her, to keep his emotions locked away in a heart of ice.
She leant back against the head of the chair and let her vision play out across the blank ceiling; the steady rhythm of his breathing carrying her out into the realms of slumber. Tifa snapped awake, cold night air drifting across her face and creeping up the hem of her dress. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking over in Cloud’s direction.
Only to find his bed empty, blanket pushed to the foot of the bed. Startled, she jumped to her feet in a panic, only for her addled brain to register that there shouldn’t be a night breeze in the room. Her eyes fell on the open window, which she had most definitely closed the night before. The window was open, shutter ajar, leaving a space more than big enough to admit a full-grown man. Tifa rushed over to the sill, fearing the worst. She leant over, looking frantically down the street.
But there was nothing to be seen. The night shadows drifted on, heedless to the fear that was choking her. The moon continued to shine, casting the house into deep shadow. Tifa looked up to see a clear sky adorned with the light of stars, hundreds upon thousands of stars.
“It’s a rare night, isn’t it? Not a cloud in the skyto be seen.”
Startled, Tifa almost lost her grip and toppled over the sill. Twisting around, she saw Cloud silhouetted against the white face of the moon, sitting on the flat roof, legs swinging over the edge.
“Come on up.” Cloud looked down and smiled. “It’s not a night to be missed.”
Tifa’s mouth closed, then opened again. She could find nothing to say. There were a million things she could say. She could scold him, ask him to come down from such a dangerous perch. She could worry about him catching a cold sitting in the cold night air, wrapped up in his exhaustion. She could scowl at him, and shake her head disapprovingly . But all she could do was to smile back. The girl in her; not the mother, not the responsible woman; leapt up with an irrepressible joy, clamoring for attention.
Her smile ever widening, she climbed up onto the sill, and swung onto the slats to begin the climb to the roof. Cloud waited for her, completely casual, completely at ease with himself and her. It was at odds with her pounding heart. The girl wondered why she was being asked to join himhe asked her to join him, the mother in her spoke about irresponsibility, and the woman stuttered with wild, irrational hope.
Cloud reached a bare hand down to pull her up beside him, and she grasped it, trusting her weight to his strength. With a heave, he lifted her to the crown of the roof, and they sat companionably together, hips barely touching, her loose hair just grazing his shoulder.
“The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” he murmured. He looked up, utterly relaxed, utterly at peace, gazing at the millions of gleaming lights in the infinite vista above them.
“Yes, they are,” Tifa agreed, and moved closer, daring herself to close the distance between them. She needn’t have feared, for Cloud’s arm looped casually around her shoulder and held her. She leaned against his shoulder, watching the soft glow of stars illuminate the lines of his face.
“Cloud? Do you think the stars can hear us?”
“I think you’ve asked me that question before,” Cloud teased.
“You didn’t answer it.”
“Well, I still don’t know. But what I do know is that we’ve fought hard enough for them. We’ve fought hard enough to deserve a little heaven for ourselves on earth,” Cloud stated, a trifle forceful.
“There’s Seventh Heaven, and it is heaven enough for me,” a warm fuzzy feeling creeping into Tifa as she thought of the children and her friends.
Cloud smiled, and nodded. “I guess so. It’s more than anyone could ask for. “
“Yeah. So much has changed, and yet so much hasn’t. I want so much, and yet I know I shouldn’t. I know I can’t.” Tifa stopped, aware that she might have said too much, afraid that she had opened her heart a sliver too wide.
“Me too. But I'm going to try, and hope for the best.” Cloud bowed his head, casting his features into shadow.
Tifa didn’t respond. Words were not the only thing that told people what another was thinking. It was one more try, and one more failure. The pain of rejection perceived or real, it didn’t matter, it touched her once again. Thrusting her feelings asideway, Tifa changed the subject, a shift so jarring that her voice hurt even her ears.
“What have you got all worked up over that you had to drive yourself so hard?” Tifa asked, peering up into his face, trying to keep the lump from her throat.
“Not telling you. Once I’ve succeeded, you’ll all see.” Cloud smiled. “It’s a surprise.” Cloud’s smile became as luminous as the stars that glittered above them.
“Alright, then. Keep your secrets. There’s can’t be any harm in that, and I trust you. Just keep an eye out for n your own health.” Tifa allowed, relieved that Cloud had simply followed her lead. “And come home to see us more often.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Your best, Cloud?”
“Yes.” Nothing more, nothing less, simply Cloud; for that was just the way he was.
Tifa gave it up with a sigh, content to drop the subject for now.
“You’re cold,” Cloud noticed. “C’mere,” he said, wrapping his arm more tightly around her. Tifa acquiesced. Her white silken shift was indeed quite thin, and the autumn night wind could cut like a knife. Tifa nestled against his side, suffused in their shared warmth.
Moments passed, and she spoke again, slipping syllables into the silence.
“Reminds me of the nights we spent, so many years ago, all together under the stars. With Yuffie, Barret, Vincent, Cid, Red, Cait Sith…” Tifa’s voice trailed off.
“And Aerith.” Cloud put in.
“Yeah.” Tifa was hesitant. Aerith was a sensitive subject around Cloud.
Cloud didn’t seem to notice her reticence. “We’re all here at Seventh Heaven anyway. Except Red and Reeve. Maybe we’ll get them over someday.”
“Someday soon,” Tifa promised.
“Wait for me to get back, will you? I’ve got to go settle somea few things. Then I’ll be back.” Even then, a trace of excitement leaked into Cloud’s tone.
“Going? So fast? But you’re still unwell!” Tifa protested.
“I’ll take better care of myself this time. I promise. I’ll even bring some medicines along! I’ll take a the best Medkit in the whole of Gaia along, if it makes you feel better.”
Tifa sat up, reluctant to let him leave again. “Well, if you’re leaving early, you’ve got to go get some sleep.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay out here a little longer?” Cloud asked.
The words struck her as ironic. They were words that she had uttered before, requests that she had made in the darkest of days.
“We’ll have many more nights to spend talking; many more moments to share. Right now, your health’s more important.
“You’re right. There isn’t anything to worry about. We’ve got time on our hands.” Cloud had a bemused smile upon his face, as if he had expected her response. Yet, a tinge of emotion in his eyes told her that he found their exchange of words as familiar as she did, and shared her regret.
“We’d better go.” Tifa stood up, and began to clamber down the side of the house, afraid that she might change her mind, Cloud’s health a constant yet forced litany in her mind.
Tifa swung herself lithely through the window, landing with a muffled thump on the carpeted floor. Cloud followed, a bit more clumsily, nearly knocking over the shaded lamp which sat on a small table just beside the window.
“Careful.” Tifa murmured, catching the lamp and settling it back in place. “You’d better go clean yourself up. I just washed the sheets before you got back.”
“Sure.” Cloud moved towards a drawer, removing a few clothes before retreating to bathroom, leaving Tifa alone with her thoughts.
She was seated back in her chair wearing a clean nightgown when Cloud returned, wet hair plastered to his head, looking strangely awkward without his customary spikes.
“Your fever’s gone then?” Tifa asked.
“Yeah. It’s gone. I’m fine now,” Cloud reassured, slipping under the covers of his bed. “Well, then, I’m going to rest. Turn off the lamp for me, will you?”
Tifa obliged, standing up to reach over to him and depress the pad just across her. As the room fell into darkness, Tifa lingered over Cloud’s still form, watching him draw in slow, even breaths, watching his shut eyelids flicker.
“Goodnight, Cloud. I’ll see you in the morning.” There was no response. Seized with a sudden daring Tifa leant over and kissed his forehead lightly, breathing in his clean scent, her hair brushing his cheek, reveling in their closeness. Turning away, she lay down in the other bed, and surrendered herself to slumber.
When she awoke the next morning, the bed beside her lay cold and empty, sheets neatly made, with a note lying forlornly on the pillow. Grabbing it, she unfolded the creased paper.
On it, In Cloud’s distinctive small hand, were two words. Slumping back down on the bed, letting the note slide from her senseless fingers, Tifa allowed the bitter tears of loneliness to flow silently down her cheeks.
And help me review! Thanks
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A/N: Honestly, feedback is greatly needed.
Chapter 4
The wind howled, beating flurries of snow onto Shelke’s face. Reining her Chocobo in, she tied her scarf more securely around her mouth and nose. Squinting into the storm, she could barely make out the silhouette of Vincent’s steed ahead of her. The storm surrounded them completely. To the north and the south of her, to the right and the left, all she could make out was the blinding white of wind-driven snow.
Pushing her own mount into a trot, she trotted alongside Vincent, waving a frozen hand in his face to get his attention. Vincent turned slightly, one hand still on the reins, the metal claw on his other hand shielding his face against the scouring wind.
Answering his unspoken query, Shelke gesticulated, miming a map. Vincent simply looked confused. A little put out, Shelke repeated her gestures in words, shouting to make herself heard over the shrieking storm.
“Where are we now? Are we going off course?” Vincent’s response was to simply give her a questioning look, and cup his gloved hand to his ear.
Shelke took special care to enunciate her words this time. “Where are we? How are you going about this search?”
This time, Vincent leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, his low voice surprisingly audible against the brazen howls of the snowstorm. “Trust me. We’re not lost. Chaos knows what he’s doing.” As Vincent drew back, he briefly pressed his lips to her cheek in a chaste kiss, before urging his Chocobo onwards. Even through the frozen scarf, his lips were cool against Shelke’s cheek.
For a moment, Shelke remained motionless; hand on the cheek that he’d kissed, and her half-frozen mind a jumbled snarl of thoughts. Gritting her teeth, she set off again into the wind.
By her estimation it had been about half an hour and five miles later when the chocobo got itself stuck in a snow bank. Under the innocent surface, air had built up in a treacherous pocket, undetectable to anyone exposed to the harsh elements above. Shelke had just been unlucky enough to ride directly over such an air pocket.
Shelke floundered around in the snow, fighting to extricate her chocobo out of the steep basin which they had fallen into. Not for the first time, she cursed her underdeveloped body. Panting, she strained at the chocobo’s halter, trying to guide it step by step over the lip of the snow bowl she found herself in.
It was then that she saw the first wolf. Ordinarily, a wolf, or even a pack of wolves should be of no threat to her, even in the most adverse elements. Just that the wolf she had seen was not one of the local grey wolves that had roamed the region for centuries. Instead, the animal she’d seen was a relatively new species. A species that was no more a work of nature than she. A species so dangerous that Shelke sprang out of the pit, settling into a combat stance, and paid no further mind to her chocobo still encumbered by the pit behind her.
Shelke’s gaze roamed the darkness around her, eyes peeled for any sign of the wolf which had disappeared as melting snow would have from the edge of her vision. Briefly, she considered contacting Vincent, hand inching to her phone secured in her inner breast pocket. However, that thought was lost to the storm when it attacked.
It sprang towards her, a dark blur against the heavy snowfall, fangs bared. In a smooth motion, Shelke drew one of her katanas, but only had time enough to twist her body awkwardly to the left and bring her weapon in her right hand into the line of attack. The jaws of the beast closed around her blade, nearly wrenching it from her grasp.
In the next heartbeat, Shelke activated the mako unit embedded in her combat vest, and her katana glowed orange as plasma sheathed it. Mouth badly burned by her glowing blade, the wolf released her weapon, rearing back onto its hind legs, howling its pain. Shelke whirled to the side, keeping her center of gravity low, slipping out of the reach of the wolf’s sharp fangs, her weapon held aloft diagonally across her upper body in a high guard.
The injury dealt by the hot plasma clearly did not faze the wolf as it recovered quickly to point its muzzle back at Shelke, snarling as it paced towards her. Shelke waited, not wanting to make the first move.
Impatiently, the wolf sprang again, and this time, she was ready. Pivoting on her right foot, Shelke swung out and away from the lunging attack and brought her blade down, two-handed, on the vulnerable neck of the wolf before spinning away again.
Shelke came to a stop, blade back on guard, staring at the eyes of her adversary. Her katana had done its work; a long weeping scar now gashed its ugly way across the wolf’s neck; only its natural armour had prevented it from decapitation.
The wolf circled her, more warily this time, glowing green eyes fixed on her blade, a low growl resonating from its throat. It attacked again, its powerful limbs propelling its jaws towards Shelke’s right ankle. Shelke backed off, blade slashing downwards, hoping to take its head off.
Then, it changed its direction, hind legs pushing off the ground to attack her exposed side. Shelke stumbled back in surprise, almost losing her balance on the treacherous snow. Her boots scrabbled for purchase on the packed frozen snow on the ground as she fought to remain upright, bringing her weapon around to fend off the attacking wolf. She barely made it, the sharp fangs grazing her upper arm before she could get back on guard.
Again and again the wolf lunged, again and again she faded to the left and the right, as agile as a hare, nipping at the wolf’s flanks. Ducking to the side, Shelke laid blow after blow against the armoured hide of the wolf, the crackling of her plasma blade upon contact clearly audible even above the vociferous wind. Slowly but surely, her attacks were taking its toll, streaks of blood and fluid leaking out of the numerous shallow cuts on the animal.
Then, one stroke finally penetrated the beast’s thick hide, spilling muscle and sinew out onto the blood-tracked snow. The wolf stumbled, no longer able to keep its footing. In one graceful, sleek motion, Shelke drew her plasma blade across the animal’s throat, spilling its life out onto the white snow in a rush of crimson.
Straightening up and breathing hard, she wiped the near-frozen perspiration from her face. Blade held loosely at her side, hissing in the falling snow, Shelke reached into her combat vest to deactivate it. Turning back to her chocobo, she stumbled, her muscles suddenly seizing up.
Shelke strained to keep her trembling limbs under control, cursing the unlucky timing of the attack. She took one step, and another, before losing the battle with her balance, pitching headfirst into the snow.
Just before she hit the unyielding surface, a pair of strong hands caught her, gently lifting her up into a sitting position. Still too weak to even lift a hand, Shelke could only stare blankly ahead, the world a incomprehensible blur before a sharp pain in her right arm pierced through the haze.
Blinking rapidly, Shelke turned her head to see Vincent supporting her with one gloved hand, the other still holding a syringe bearing traces of a green liquid.
“Are you alright? We forgot to give you your daily dose. I can’t believe I forgot,” his words came out in a rush most uncharacteristic of the staunch ex-Turk. Breaking their eye contact, he turned his gaze to regard the instrument in his hand.
“We’ve got more important things to worry about.” Shelke pushed off the ground, shrugging off Vincent’s supporting hand. “Let’s get moving.” As expected, his worried gaze lingered on her, unwilling to brush of her mishap so easily.
With an irritated frown Shelke moved away from him. “Let’s get moving,” she repeated herself. “The faster we find Cloud, the faster we get out of his storm, and the faster you can stop worrying about me.” Dropping the matter, Vincent nodded briefly before striding off to the other bird standing patiently off to the side. As they continued along their way, Vincent stayed close to her, periodically checking his PHS, sharp eyes roving the shadows around them. Shelke too, kept a hand close to her weapon.
The howls of the wolves, not just one but many, could be distinctly heard over the howls of the storm. They were getting close. Evidently, the single wolf she had killed had a pack. A pack now out for revenge. Struck by a sudden urgency greater than before, Shelke urged her chocobo onwards.
At long last, the planes and angles of a motorcycle less alien that her surroundings appeared. Covered in snow, it was barely recognizable. Rushing forwards, Vincent slid off the back of his chocobo, and hurried towards the still, unmoving form that lay just under the motorcycle’s carriage. Tying her chocobo to a nearby rock outcropping, Shelke jogged over to them.
A shiver ran through Shelke as she looked down on Cloud’s body, standing behind Vincent’s shoulder who knelt on the snow by Cloud’s side. Vincent had laid him out on his back, and was now busily checking Cloud’s body for any sort of injury. Not taking his eyes off Cloud, Vincent bit out, “Shelke. Help us check Fenrir, will you?”
Swiftly, Shelke ran a critical eye over the vehicle. There was no major structural damage, and the fuel gauges were nowhere near the red. Clearing out the exhaust intakes and control surfaces of the snow that had clogged them, Shelke turned back to Vincent. “We’re in the clear. I can’t find anything wrong with it. Fenrir’s ready to go.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Fenrir. There’s something wrong with Cloud. I can’t find any injuries, nor can I find anything that might be the cause of his raging fever.” Taking an extra cloak out of his pack, Vincent made to wrap it around Cloud’s unconscious form.
“Let’s get moving. The wolves are getting close.” Picking up Cloud as if he weighed nothing, Vincent strapped him to pillion seat of the bike. “Know how to drive?”
“Yeah, I learnt it in my years in Deepground.” Shelke was still edgy about her years spent in service to the lost SOLDIER cabal.
“Great. You ride that bike and get Cloud back quick, and I’ll drive both chocobos. I’ll see you in Seventh Heaven.” Suiting his words to action, Vincent jumped astride one chocobo, and holding the other’s halter, started in Edge’s general direction.
“You just want me to get back first don’t you? I don’t need you coddling me!” Shelke called after him. Her voice was lost in the wind, and if Vincent heard it, he gave no response.
With a sigh, Shelke revved the engine and sped past him, tires squealing in the deep snow. Cloud needed her more than Vincent did. And anyway, if she didn’t trust him to keep himself safe, who could she trust?
~
Hours later, Shelke sat, elbows on the table in front of her, hands tightly grasping a glass of the finest Whyren’s Reserve. Time seemed to move as slowly as the time good liquor took to age, and that was forever. She couldn’t help worrying, even if the storm had died down. Vincent was still out there, hampered by an extra chocobo, and possibly chased by a vicious pack of mako wolves.
She swirled her liquid in her glass, watching the dim light glint off the golden flecks that lined its surface. A shadow fell across her glass, turning those golden flecks into mere bubbles and foam.
“I’ve closed the bar. Cloud’s sick, so I’ll have my hands full already.” Tifa slid into the seat beside Shelke, wiping her hands on the hem of her skirt.
“Mm-hmm.” Realizing her response wasn’t the show of solidarity and support Tifa needed, Shelke cast her mind around for something better to say.
Tifa beat the scattered thoughts back from the plains of Midgar as she said, a little too quickly. “I guess you’re worried enough about Vincent. You don’t need me adding to your burden.”
“No, no. It’s I that’s too preoccupied. I should’ve been helping you attend to Cloud instead of…”
“It’s fine,” Tifa cut in. “I was able to manage quite well. And anyway, what’s that you’re drinking?” Tifa made to remove the glass from Shelke’s grasp.
“You can’t drink! You may be twenty years old but your body still can’t take such liquor. You have to take care of yourself. I understand possessing the body of a child may be a hassle at times, but you have to remember these things!”
“There’s no need to worry, Tifa. As I was saying just now, save your energy for Cloud. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been pumping drugs into me on a daily basis. This is nothing.” Shelke indicated the glass.
“How’s Cloud, by the way,” Shelke asked, taking her drink back from Tifa’s relenting fingers, trying to sound concerned.
“He’s sick, high fever, chills and the like. I’ve checked him over. I’m no healer, but if it was up to be to guess, I’d say his sickness was brought around by extreme exhaustion. He should’ve known better than to abuse his body like that.” Tifa’s response was far longer than Shelke would’ve thought.
“Exhausted? Why? He hasn’t been doing anything strenuous has he? He’s just been running the deliveries.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’d better get some sleep so that I can be awake enough in the morning to mind the kids.”
“Maybe I’ll help you look after them in the morning. You get can get your rest, and then focus on getting that blond spike-head well. Would that be okay?” Shelke’s tone was uncertain; she’d never done anything sisterly before; not for Shalua, not for anyone. Best to start now, she told herself. Anyway, it was the least that she could do to repay Tifa and Avalanche’s hospitality.
Seeing the hesitation written on Tifa’s face, Shelke quickly added, “It’s really fine. Really.” She forced a smile onto her face.
“I guess so. Thanks so much, Shelke. I’ll go up to bed, then. Call me if you need anything.” Tifa’s smile seemed completely genuine, in contrast to her own wooden grimace.
Shelke tried to smile again, and nodded. “Good night.” Returning Shelke’s greeting, Tifa turned towards the stairs. Draining the last dregs of wine from her glass, Shelke ambled towards the sink. Her hands were still covered in soap suds and grasping a scouring brush when the door opened, and in stumbled Vincent, looking as tired and as windswept as she’d ever seen him.
She vaulted over the sink and rushed over to him, hugging him tightly, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other tracing his lines of his face.
“Careful.” Vincent winced. “My ribs are a little sore.”
“I don’t care. You’re finally back. What took you so long?” Shelke didn’t let go, but loosened her grip, just a little.
“Some wolves, a cranky chocobo. Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at her in return, his hand coming to caress the now shoulder-length red tresses Shelke wore. “Just,” Vincent wiped the suds off his face with his other sleeve, “you could’ve washed your hands.”
Shelke looked up, a reproach forming on her lips. “Oh come on, a little soap won’t…” But the rest of her sentence was forgotten as Vincent reached down to claim her lips with his own.
It was a little while later when he whispered a ticklish “won’t what?” in her ear. Reaching up to kiss him again, Shelke decided that it no longer mattered.
Chapter 4
The wind howled, beating flurries of snow onto Shelke’s face. Reining her Chocobo in, she tied her scarf more securely around her mouth and nose. Squinting into the storm, she could barely make out the silhouette of Vincent’s steed ahead of her. The storm surrounded them completely. To the north and the south of her, to the right and the left, all she could make out was the blinding white of wind-driven snow.
Pushing her own mount into a trot, she trotted alongside Vincent, waving a frozen hand in his face to get his attention. Vincent turned slightly, one hand still on the reins, the metal claw on his other hand shielding his face against the scouring wind.
Answering his unspoken query, Shelke gesticulated, miming a map. Vincent simply looked confused. A little put out, Shelke repeated her gestures in words, shouting to make herself heard over the shrieking storm.
“Where are we now? Are we going off course?” Vincent’s response was to simply give her a questioning look, and cup his gloved hand to his ear.
Shelke took special care to enunciate her words this time. “Where are we? How are you going about this search?”
This time, Vincent leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, his low voice surprisingly audible against the brazen howls of the snowstorm. “Trust me. We’re not lost. Chaos knows what he’s doing.” As Vincent drew back, he briefly pressed his lips to her cheek in a chaste kiss, before urging his Chocobo onwards. Even through the frozen scarf, his lips were cool against Shelke’s cheek.
For a moment, Shelke remained motionless; hand on the cheek that he’d kissed, and her half-frozen mind a jumbled snarl of thoughts. Gritting her teeth, she set off again into the wind.
By her estimation it had been about half an hour and five miles later when the chocobo got itself stuck in a snow bank. Under the innocent surface, air had built up in a treacherous pocket, undetectable to anyone exposed to the harsh elements above. Shelke had just been unlucky enough to ride directly over such an air pocket.
Shelke floundered around in the snow, fighting to extricate her chocobo out of the steep basin which they had fallen into. Not for the first time, she cursed her underdeveloped body. Panting, she strained at the chocobo’s halter, trying to guide it step by step over the lip of the snow bowl she found herself in.
It was then that she saw the first wolf. Ordinarily, a wolf, or even a pack of wolves should be of no threat to her, even in the most adverse elements. Just that the wolf she had seen was not one of the local grey wolves that had roamed the region for centuries. Instead, the animal she’d seen was a relatively new species. A species that was no more a work of nature than she. A species so dangerous that Shelke sprang out of the pit, settling into a combat stance, and paid no further mind to her chocobo still encumbered by the pit behind her.
Shelke’s gaze roamed the darkness around her, eyes peeled for any sign of the wolf which had disappeared as melting snow would have from the edge of her vision. Briefly, she considered contacting Vincent, hand inching to her phone secured in her inner breast pocket. However, that thought was lost to the storm when it attacked.
It sprang towards her, a dark blur against the heavy snowfall, fangs bared. In a smooth motion, Shelke drew one of her katanas, but only had time enough to twist her body awkwardly to the left and bring her weapon in her right hand into the line of attack. The jaws of the beast closed around her blade, nearly wrenching it from her grasp.
In the next heartbeat, Shelke activated the mako unit embedded in her combat vest, and her katana glowed orange as plasma sheathed it. Mouth badly burned by her glowing blade, the wolf released her weapon, rearing back onto its hind legs, howling its pain. Shelke whirled to the side, keeping her center of gravity low, slipping out of the reach of the wolf’s sharp fangs, her weapon held aloft diagonally across her upper body in a high guard.
The injury dealt by the hot plasma clearly did not faze the wolf as it recovered quickly to point its muzzle back at Shelke, snarling as it paced towards her. Shelke waited, not wanting to make the first move.
Impatiently, the wolf sprang again, and this time, she was ready. Pivoting on her right foot, Shelke swung out and away from the lunging attack and brought her blade down, two-handed, on the vulnerable neck of the wolf before spinning away again.
Shelke came to a stop, blade back on guard, staring at the eyes of her adversary. Her katana had done its work; a long weeping scar now gashed its ugly way across the wolf’s neck; only its natural armour had prevented it from decapitation.
The wolf circled her, more warily this time, glowing green eyes fixed on her blade, a low growl resonating from its throat. It attacked again, its powerful limbs propelling its jaws towards Shelke’s right ankle. Shelke backed off, blade slashing downwards, hoping to take its head off.
Then, it changed its direction, hind legs pushing off the ground to attack her exposed side. Shelke stumbled back in surprise, almost losing her balance on the treacherous snow. Her boots scrabbled for purchase on the packed frozen snow on the ground as she fought to remain upright, bringing her weapon around to fend off the attacking wolf. She barely made it, the sharp fangs grazing her upper arm before she could get back on guard.
Again and again the wolf lunged, again and again she faded to the left and the right, as agile as a hare, nipping at the wolf’s flanks. Ducking to the side, Shelke laid blow after blow against the armoured hide of the wolf, the crackling of her plasma blade upon contact clearly audible even above the vociferous wind. Slowly but surely, her attacks were taking its toll, streaks of blood and fluid leaking out of the numerous shallow cuts on the animal.
Then, one stroke finally penetrated the beast’s thick hide, spilling muscle and sinew out onto the blood-tracked snow. The wolf stumbled, no longer able to keep its footing. In one graceful, sleek motion, Shelke drew her plasma blade across the animal’s throat, spilling its life out onto the white snow in a rush of crimson.
Straightening up and breathing hard, she wiped the near-frozen perspiration from her face. Blade held loosely at her side, hissing in the falling snow, Shelke reached into her combat vest to deactivate it. Turning back to her chocobo, she stumbled, her muscles suddenly seizing up.
Shelke strained to keep her trembling limbs under control, cursing the unlucky timing of the attack. She took one step, and another, before losing the battle with her balance, pitching headfirst into the snow.
Just before she hit the unyielding surface, a pair of strong hands caught her, gently lifting her up into a sitting position. Still too weak to even lift a hand, Shelke could only stare blankly ahead, the world a incomprehensible blur before a sharp pain in her right arm pierced through the haze.
Blinking rapidly, Shelke turned her head to see Vincent supporting her with one gloved hand, the other still holding a syringe bearing traces of a green liquid.
“Are you alright? We forgot to give you your daily dose. I can’t believe I forgot,” his words came out in a rush most uncharacteristic of the staunch ex-Turk. Breaking their eye contact, he turned his gaze to regard the instrument in his hand.
“We’ve got more important things to worry about.” Shelke pushed off the ground, shrugging off Vincent’s supporting hand. “Let’s get moving.” As expected, his worried gaze lingered on her, unwilling to brush of her mishap so easily.
With an irritated frown Shelke moved away from him. “Let’s get moving,” she repeated herself. “The faster we find Cloud, the faster we get out of his storm, and the faster you can stop worrying about me.” Dropping the matter, Vincent nodded briefly before striding off to the other bird standing patiently off to the side. As they continued along their way, Vincent stayed close to her, periodically checking his PHS, sharp eyes roving the shadows around them. Shelke too, kept a hand close to her weapon.
The howls of the wolves, not just one but many, could be distinctly heard over the howls of the storm. They were getting close. Evidently, the single wolf she had killed had a pack. A pack now out for revenge. Struck by a sudden urgency greater than before, Shelke urged her chocobo onwards.
At long last, the planes and angles of a motorcycle less alien that her surroundings appeared. Covered in snow, it was barely recognizable. Rushing forwards, Vincent slid off the back of his chocobo, and hurried towards the still, unmoving form that lay just under the motorcycle’s carriage. Tying her chocobo to a nearby rock outcropping, Shelke jogged over to them.
A shiver ran through Shelke as she looked down on Cloud’s body, standing behind Vincent’s shoulder who knelt on the snow by Cloud’s side. Vincent had laid him out on his back, and was now busily checking Cloud’s body for any sort of injury. Not taking his eyes off Cloud, Vincent bit out, “Shelke. Help us check Fenrir, will you?”
Swiftly, Shelke ran a critical eye over the vehicle. There was no major structural damage, and the fuel gauges were nowhere near the red. Clearing out the exhaust intakes and control surfaces of the snow that had clogged them, Shelke turned back to Vincent. “We’re in the clear. I can’t find anything wrong with it. Fenrir’s ready to go.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Fenrir. There’s something wrong with Cloud. I can’t find any injuries, nor can I find anything that might be the cause of his raging fever.” Taking an extra cloak out of his pack, Vincent made to wrap it around Cloud’s unconscious form.
“Let’s get moving. The wolves are getting close.” Picking up Cloud as if he weighed nothing, Vincent strapped him to pillion seat of the bike. “Know how to drive?”
“Yeah, I learnt it in my years in Deepground.” Shelke was still edgy about her years spent in service to the lost SOLDIER cabal.
“Great. You ride that bike and get Cloud back quick, and I’ll drive both chocobos. I’ll see you in Seventh Heaven.” Suiting his words to action, Vincent jumped astride one chocobo, and holding the other’s halter, started in Edge’s general direction.
“You just want me to get back first don’t you? I don’t need you coddling me!” Shelke called after him. Her voice was lost in the wind, and if Vincent heard it, he gave no response.
With a sigh, Shelke revved the engine and sped past him, tires squealing in the deep snow. Cloud needed her more than Vincent did. And anyway, if she didn’t trust him to keep himself safe, who could she trust?
~
Hours later, Shelke sat, elbows on the table in front of her, hands tightly grasping a glass of the finest Whyren’s Reserve. Time seemed to move as slowly as the time good liquor took to age, and that was forever. She couldn’t help worrying, even if the storm had died down. Vincent was still out there, hampered by an extra chocobo, and possibly chased by a vicious pack of mako wolves.
She swirled her liquid in her glass, watching the dim light glint off the golden flecks that lined its surface. A shadow fell across her glass, turning those golden flecks into mere bubbles and foam.
“I’ve closed the bar. Cloud’s sick, so I’ll have my hands full already.” Tifa slid into the seat beside Shelke, wiping her hands on the hem of her skirt.
“Mm-hmm.” Realizing her response wasn’t the show of solidarity and support Tifa needed, Shelke cast her mind around for something better to say.
Tifa beat the scattered thoughts back from the plains of Midgar as she said, a little too quickly. “I guess you’re worried enough about Vincent. You don’t need me adding to your burden.”
“No, no. It’s I that’s too preoccupied. I should’ve been helping you attend to Cloud instead of…”
“It’s fine,” Tifa cut in. “I was able to manage quite well. And anyway, what’s that you’re drinking?” Tifa made to remove the glass from Shelke’s grasp.
“You can’t drink! You may be twenty years old but your body still can’t take such liquor. You have to take care of yourself. I understand possessing the body of a child may be a hassle at times, but you have to remember these things!”
“There’s no need to worry, Tifa. As I was saying just now, save your energy for Cloud. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been pumping drugs into me on a daily basis. This is nothing.” Shelke indicated the glass.
“How’s Cloud, by the way,” Shelke asked, taking her drink back from Tifa’s relenting fingers, trying to sound concerned.
“He’s sick, high fever, chills and the like. I’ve checked him over. I’m no healer, but if it was up to be to guess, I’d say his sickness was brought around by extreme exhaustion. He should’ve known better than to abuse his body like that.” Tifa’s response was far longer than Shelke would’ve thought.
“Exhausted? Why? He hasn’t been doing anything strenuous has he? He’s just been running the deliveries.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’d better get some sleep so that I can be awake enough in the morning to mind the kids.”
“Maybe I’ll help you look after them in the morning. You get can get your rest, and then focus on getting that blond spike-head well. Would that be okay?” Shelke’s tone was uncertain; she’d never done anything sisterly before; not for Shalua, not for anyone. Best to start now, she told herself. Anyway, it was the least that she could do to repay Tifa and Avalanche’s hospitality.
Seeing the hesitation written on Tifa’s face, Shelke quickly added, “It’s really fine. Really.” She forced a smile onto her face.
“I guess so. Thanks so much, Shelke. I’ll go up to bed, then. Call me if you need anything.” Tifa’s smile seemed completely genuine, in contrast to her own wooden grimace.
Shelke tried to smile again, and nodded. “Good night.” Returning Shelke’s greeting, Tifa turned towards the stairs. Draining the last dregs of wine from her glass, Shelke ambled towards the sink. Her hands were still covered in soap suds and grasping a scouring brush when the door opened, and in stumbled Vincent, looking as tired and as windswept as she’d ever seen him.
She vaulted over the sink and rushed over to him, hugging him tightly, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other tracing his lines of his face.
“Careful.” Vincent winced. “My ribs are a little sore.”
“I don’t care. You’re finally back. What took you so long?” Shelke didn’t let go, but loosened her grip, just a little.
“Some wolves, a cranky chocobo. Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at her in return, his hand coming to caress the now shoulder-length red tresses Shelke wore. “Just,” Vincent wiped the suds off his face with his other sleeve, “you could’ve washed your hands.”
Shelke looked up, a reproach forming on her lips. “Oh come on, a little soap won’t…” But the rest of her sentence was forgotten as Vincent reached down to claim her lips with his own.
It was a little while later when he whispered a ticklish “won’t what?” in her ear. Reaching up to kiss him again, Shelke decided that it no longer mattered.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Disclaimer: Not my characters or universe, just one mediocre follow-up storyline.
A/N: Unbeta-ed, excuse my tenses and other errors. COMPLETE
Chapter 3
She winced at the emotions expressed in the pair of eyes just across her. Or rather, the lack of an emotion. Though they sat mere feet away from each other, the gap between them felt eons wide. She opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue, but failed to utter a single syllable.
Swallowing hard, she tried again, forcing a smile onto her face. “I see you haven’t forgotten,” she said, gesturing to the red ribbon which lay beside them. “It’s nice to know my friends still remember me." She hoped that she was remembered fondly.
One look at the face of the woman sitting against the wall should have been enough to know that her attempt at making peace had backfired. The bitter words that crashed into her ears more than confirmed her suspicions.
“Of course you appreciated me wearing it. It brought him right into your bed, didn’t it?”
They both recoiled, one shocked at what has slipped past her lips and the other shocked at what she has just heard.
“It’s Cloud’s own choice. I didn’t force him.” She retorted in indignation. “And for the record, I’ve barely touched him.” She straightened up, staring straight ahead. It was clear that the other woman did not believe her words. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if she believed it herself.
“I’m sorry,” the other woman offered, drawing her knees up to her chest, rocking silently on the tiled floor. “I know you haven't. You're not like that.”
“I’m sorry, too." It was all she could say in response.
People said that words said in anger were truthful words. She wondered if this was true. An awkward silence settled over them.Aerith didn’t know why she had come here today. She didn’t know what she had aimed to accomplish by her visit. Maybe she’d been selfish enough to try to convince herself that her trysts weren’t harming anyone but themselves. Maybe she’d been worried enough about Tifa to come and see how she was holding up.
Holding up. Those two words already tell you that something’s wrong. You’re the most pathetic Cetra Gaia has ever seen. Aerith’s berating of herself was cut short as Tifa stood abruptly to her feet.“If there’s nothing else, I would appreciate if you’d go back to where you came from so I can take a bath. I need to start breakfast soon,” said Tifa brusquely.
Stung by Tifa’s casual dismissal, Aerith stuttered in response.“I could wait for when you’re done...”Tifa turned around to face her. “Wait for me? Whatever for?”
For once, she was glad she didn’t blush anymore.Aerith found herself grasping for words. “I… I thought we could catch up with each other. Talk to each other. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
Tifa turned back to the shower to check the water, hair spilling across her shoulder, obscuring her face. “Well, you picked the wrong time. I’m busy right now. I’m sorry.”
Her tone was curt, but Aerith heard something else in it. Something that made her walking over to Tifa’s side, muster enough will to become corporeal, and to lay a hand on her friend’s shoulder.“I..,” she hesitates, searching for the words. “I just want you to know that I still think of you as my best friend, even you don’t think so anymore.” Words spilled past Aerith’s lips as she fought to express her emotions. “I wish I didn’t keep hurting you. I wish that…” Aerith’s voice caught in her throat.
Tifa turned to face her, something shimmering in her eyes.“I’ll... I’ll talk to you later. Okay?” Tifa’s voice is softer, more vulnerable than it had ever been throughout the entire conversation. Without waiting for an answer, Tifa stepped into the cubicle, drawing the shower curtain behind her.Aerith stepped back, letting herself fade away from human sight. She could wait. They were all worth waiting for, she told herself.
They are all worth as much as he is.
~
She sat cross legged on the edge of Denzel’s bed, eyes listlessly tracing the chequered pattern of the quilt. Gazing around the dull-coloured room, she smiled wistfully at the childish drawings that littered the drab room, chipped toys that lay under the drawers and cabinets. A lone square of colour on his bedside table caught her eye.
Bending down over the tiny dresser, she peered at the faces captured in the photo. The jubilant members of AVALANCHE, victorious after the Geostigma crisis, smiled up at her. Aerith felt as if her breath should catch in her chest.
The joyful countenances in the photo were in stark contrast to the brooding atmosphere that now blanketed Seventh Heaven. Especially his. After Cloud had defeated Sephiroth’s Remnants, he’d seemed more open, more at peace with himself. He’d been able to form a connection with Denzel and Marlene, been able to play the role of a big brother, a father, even. He had been able to give them the childhood which he himself never really had. He had seemed close to locking his past away. But ghosts of the past never really leave those whom they used to haunt, and Cloud had slipped back into their grasp.
Aerith heard the door across the hall creak open, the velvet tread of soft boots across the warping wooden planks. Tifa was headed down the stairs, leaving her the only soul awake on the second floor of Seventh Heaven.
She didn’t want a confrontation. She believed neither of them did. They both needed time to think; time to straighten out their tangled thoughts. Voices drifted up from bar, and Aerith strained to listen.
“You okay?” Barret, predictably, was asking after Tifa.
Aerith couldn’t hear Tifa’s softer tones, and slipped down through the floor, hoping to hear news of Cloud.
“I don’t need your concern, Barret.” Tifa glanced at her watch as she pulled mugs and bottles out onto the bartop.
“Would you help me wake Marlene? I’m running late this morning.”
The big man inched towards the stairs, still facing Tifa, obviously rather unwilling to leave the matter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Aerith winced again, expecting an explosion.
“I’m fine, Barret.” Tifa’s reply was surprisingly calm. “If I’ve anything to say, I’ll tell you later, not now. The walls have ears.”
“All the better that the children are still sleeping, then, if it isn’t fit for their ears. It is Cloud, isn’t it? What’s he done to you this time?” Barret was showing an emotional depth Aerith had never seen before.
“He’s done nothing. And I wasn’t talking about the children. I was talking about some other people who just insist on staying around.”
Aerith barely noticed the confused expression on Barret’s face, so shocked she was at the vitriol in Tifa’s normally gentle voice.
“It’s not your fault, Barret. I’m not angry with you. Just help me wake the kids up, alright?” Tifa attempted a smile.
Aerith didn’t hear Tifa’s words, but instead slipped out the door. Seventh Heaven had become too painful a place for ghosts to haunt. A pity Cloud didn’t stay at home more often; the ghosts he carried would soon be exorcised, she reflected bitterly. Weaving between the people on the street, she ran for the familiarity of the Midgar slums.
The Sector 7 plate had been brought down by the AVALANCHE terrorists on the night she met him. He’d fallen right through the roof. Both her boyfriends had, and through them both, she’d taken hold of her birthright.
She moved unerringly toward her destination, undaunted by numerous dangers the ruins of Midgar held for the living. They could not harm her. The piles of wreckage lay around her, rusted and corroded, twisted by immense force. A gothic building built in the ages past loomed suddenly out of the fog, its intact infrastructure at odds with the destruction that surrounded it. Stopping outside the doors of the Sector 7 church, Aerith hesitated.
Aerith laid a hand on the familiar walls, running her fingers over the grooves and cracks of the door, almost able to feel the rough, weathered wood under her fingertips. She hoped being here would help her find some measure of peace and mind, as it had done for her so many times in the past.
It had since been desecrated, first by Turks, then by remnants, before being sanctified by her healing rain. It now held a pool of clear pristine water, around which grew flowers of pure white and iridescent yellow. It was a place where Aerith felt at home. Pushing the doors open, Aerith slipped through the old wooden pews, skirting piles of debris and fallen pillars only half visible through the mist until she reached the edge of the flower bed. Silently, she moved among the flowers, running an ethereal palm across the delicate petals, which swirled at her touch, as if caught by a gentle breeze.
Around her, soaring rafters and beams of wood painstakingly carved by artisans long forgotten stretched to the skies, held up by majestic stone pillars. The wall to the left had been blown apart in the days of the Geostigma crisis, and already, her flowers were creeping up the ruins and out into the ruins of Midgar. The first rays of sunlight shone through the massive break in the wall, dimmed by the fog which hung heavily even over the surface of the water.
Aerith halted at the edge of the pool. An urge caught her suddenly, and she gathered her will to her, coalescing into a visible, nearly tangible body. Stepping into the water, Aerith waded out into the lake, shattering its smooth glass surface. The fog swirled around her, enveloping her in its embrace. The almost-sensation of the frigid water on her skin, the almost-feeling of the water-laden dress against her body was exquisite, and for once, Aerith could pretend that she was human again. She could pretend she was alive.
Aerith came to a stop in the centre of the pool, in front of the polished Buster Sword entombed in its shrine of flowers. Staring at the blade, tracing its minute crevices, pale scratches, keen edge and clean sheen, she could not stop her mind from wandering away into the hours, days and weeks long submerged by the endless tides of time.
In front of Aerith, the waters lay as still as molten glass, distorting wavelengths of light into the alpha, beta, gamma, and the countless other frequencies she could not sense. The lights danced across her perfect reflection on the water’s surface, creating shimmering ripples that flowed through her to touch the aged wood and stone behind.
The voice caught her unawares, but it was not unfamiliar to her. It whispered through the microscopic cracks in the plaster of the walls, through the rays of light filtering down into the church, weaving through the sparkling motes of dust in the air.
“You are troubled, child.” Instinctively, the Cetra knew it was the planet who was speaking to her. Then, the glass surface in front of her broke, and her reflection rose out of the water, taking an ethereal shape. Impossibly, this mirror image of Aerith rose to its feet, walking on the water’s surface to stand before her.
Startled at the familiar visage now looking her straight in the face, Aerith took a step back, stumbling as only a ghost could stumble; shocked, horrified, and even repulsed by the form the planet had chose to take. Even so, her conscience whispered to her that she should feel honoured, that the planet had chosen to exalt her so, using Aerith’s mortal image in all the planet’s immortal glory.
“I’m not.” Aerith turned away from the planet’s avatar, shoulders hunched, feeling as if something in her chest should be hammering away, but instead feeling only an empty void.
“It is the price you pay for lingering in the world of men,” the planet’s voice, like her image, was identical to Aerith’s own. The avatar moved around her so they could stand face to face, light trickling off its form as water would have trickled off any other person.
“And it’s a price I’m willing to pay. In fact, it’s no price at all!” Aerith snapped in reply, averting her eyes from that of the planet’s avatar. Though those brown eyes matched hers, they were somehow more beautiful, yet more terrifying than her own. “There’s nothing you can say that can make me change my mind.” Aerith ran her hands through her hair in frustration, wisps of brown hair escaping the pink ribbon she perpetually wore, even in death.
The planet’s voice became softer, “Even you can see that your presence here is destructive. You are wise beyond your years, and have carried such burdens that none should ever have to bear.”
“I won’t believe that, I’ve earned at least the right to self-delusion.” Aerith laughed bitterly. “He’s happy now. More peaceful that he’s ever been.”
“You know what you say is not true. He isn’t getting better because of you. He’s getting worse. You’re pulling him down. And you’re unbalancing nature, by being here. The laws that you are bound to are not changed, and neither have you been released from them. You must cease your childishness.”
“You have not the right to judge me! You were the one who called me to this duty. You were the one that made me take this path. Now, I’ve done all that you asked. I’ve done my duty – and more! Can’t you just leave me alone? Leave us alone?” Aerith’s vehement voice rang out, echoing around the aged stone columns. Her voice sounded harsh, far too harsh as compared to the avatar’s lilting tones.
“Our duty never leaves us. And you must not step off the path you have chosen. I believe that even if I had not called you, you would have still stepped up to save them all. That strength is in you. That strength will allow you to leave this mortal world behind, and join your waiting mother." The woman glided around her, stepping primly off the water’s surface and settling herself on one of the old wooden pews.
“And I do have the right to judge you.” The planet fixed her stern gaze upon Aerith, and the girl quailed slightly under it, taking a step further back into the water. “Especially when it concerns the lives of all that live on the planet,” the double of Aerith continued. “Your lingering here is disruptive.” The planet’s accusation was incongruous with its gentle tone.
“It isn’t!” Aerith folded her arms across her chest.
“You cannot deny it.” The planet stated forcefully. A hint of impatience had crept into its voice.
Aerith turned her back to the avatar, arms still stubbornly folded. A fierce passion burned in her chest where there was none before. “I don’t want to hear you anymore. I’ll stay here as long as I want. I’ve already sacrificed so much. I won’t give them up.” Aerith attempted to straighten her clothes and hair in an attempt to remain dignified. Her mind whirled with the red-hot flame of rebellion. No one had ever defied the planet before.
Aerith strode to the door, hair askew in the morning breeze. “I’m not going to listen anymore. When I feel it’s time to go, I’ll leave.”
“You are on a road that leads only to pain. And not only for yourself. I will not stand by and see you wreck all that you have helped me save.” The planet rose to her feet, not a hair out of place, her carriage both stately and elegant.
“And look at you. Your insistence on dwelling here has left you bereft of your radiance, bereft of your dignity. You do not shine as your kin do.” The planet’s admonishments fell on deaf ears.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Aerith stalked off into the ruins of Midgar, leaving the avatar behind. The planet didn’t follow.
She didn’t really understand what she was doing either. A little voice whispered her that she should remove herself from this world, that what she was doing was hurting others. After all, she was already a constant witness to Tifa’s pain. But all she knew was only the ever-present longing that enveloped her; its clamor drowning out all rationality. Hurrying through the rapidly dissipating fog, Aerith left her once sanctuary more troubled than when she’d entered it.
A/N: And the third chapter! Tell me how it is, and point out my errors. I'm sure there are quite a few.
A/N: Unbeta-ed, excuse my tenses and other errors. COMPLETE
Chapter 3
She winced at the emotions expressed in the pair of eyes just across her. Or rather, the lack of an emotion. Though they sat mere feet away from each other, the gap between them felt eons wide. She opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue, but failed to utter a single syllable.
Swallowing hard, she tried again, forcing a smile onto her face. “I see you haven’t forgotten,” she said, gesturing to the red ribbon which lay beside them. “It’s nice to know my friends still remember me." She hoped that she was remembered fondly.
One look at the face of the woman sitting against the wall should have been enough to know that her attempt at making peace had backfired. The bitter words that crashed into her ears more than confirmed her suspicions.
“Of course you appreciated me wearing it. It brought him right into your bed, didn’t it?”
They both recoiled, one shocked at what has slipped past her lips and the other shocked at what she has just heard.
“It’s Cloud’s own choice. I didn’t force him.” She retorted in indignation. “And for the record, I’ve barely touched him.” She straightened up, staring straight ahead. It was clear that the other woman did not believe her words. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if she believed it herself.
“I’m sorry,” the other woman offered, drawing her knees up to her chest, rocking silently on the tiled floor. “I know you haven't. You're not like that.”
“I’m sorry, too." It was all she could say in response.
People said that words said in anger were truthful words. She wondered if this was true. An awkward silence settled over them.Aerith didn’t know why she had come here today. She didn’t know what she had aimed to accomplish by her visit. Maybe she’d been selfish enough to try to convince herself that her trysts weren’t harming anyone but themselves. Maybe she’d been worried enough about Tifa to come and see how she was holding up.
Holding up. Those two words already tell you that something’s wrong. You’re the most pathetic Cetra Gaia has ever seen. Aerith’s berating of herself was cut short as Tifa stood abruptly to her feet.“If there’s nothing else, I would appreciate if you’d go back to where you came from so I can take a bath. I need to start breakfast soon,” said Tifa brusquely.
Stung by Tifa’s casual dismissal, Aerith stuttered in response.“I could wait for when you’re done...”Tifa turned around to face her. “Wait for me? Whatever for?”
For once, she was glad she didn’t blush anymore.Aerith found herself grasping for words. “I… I thought we could catch up with each other. Talk to each other. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
Tifa turned back to the shower to check the water, hair spilling across her shoulder, obscuring her face. “Well, you picked the wrong time. I’m busy right now. I’m sorry.”
Her tone was curt, but Aerith heard something else in it. Something that made her walking over to Tifa’s side, muster enough will to become corporeal, and to lay a hand on her friend’s shoulder.“I..,” she hesitates, searching for the words. “I just want you to know that I still think of you as my best friend, even you don’t think so anymore.” Words spilled past Aerith’s lips as she fought to express her emotions. “I wish I didn’t keep hurting you. I wish that…” Aerith’s voice caught in her throat.
Tifa turned to face her, something shimmering in her eyes.“I’ll... I’ll talk to you later. Okay?” Tifa’s voice is softer, more vulnerable than it had ever been throughout the entire conversation. Without waiting for an answer, Tifa stepped into the cubicle, drawing the shower curtain behind her.Aerith stepped back, letting herself fade away from human sight. She could wait. They were all worth waiting for, she told herself.
They are all worth as much as he is.
~
She sat cross legged on the edge of Denzel’s bed, eyes listlessly tracing the chequered pattern of the quilt. Gazing around the dull-coloured room, she smiled wistfully at the childish drawings that littered the drab room, chipped toys that lay under the drawers and cabinets. A lone square of colour on his bedside table caught her eye.
Bending down over the tiny dresser, she peered at the faces captured in the photo. The jubilant members of AVALANCHE, victorious after the Geostigma crisis, smiled up at her. Aerith felt as if her breath should catch in her chest.
The joyful countenances in the photo were in stark contrast to the brooding atmosphere that now blanketed Seventh Heaven. Especially his. After Cloud had defeated Sephiroth’s Remnants, he’d seemed more open, more at peace with himself. He’d been able to form a connection with Denzel and Marlene, been able to play the role of a big brother, a father, even. He had been able to give them the childhood which he himself never really had. He had seemed close to locking his past away. But ghosts of the past never really leave those whom they used to haunt, and Cloud had slipped back into their grasp.
Aerith heard the door across the hall creak open, the velvet tread of soft boots across the warping wooden planks. Tifa was headed down the stairs, leaving her the only soul awake on the second floor of Seventh Heaven.
She didn’t want a confrontation. She believed neither of them did. They both needed time to think; time to straighten out their tangled thoughts. Voices drifted up from bar, and Aerith strained to listen.
“You okay?” Barret, predictably, was asking after Tifa.
Aerith couldn’t hear Tifa’s softer tones, and slipped down through the floor, hoping to hear news of Cloud.
“I don’t need your concern, Barret.” Tifa glanced at her watch as she pulled mugs and bottles out onto the bartop.
“Would you help me wake Marlene? I’m running late this morning.”
The big man inched towards the stairs, still facing Tifa, obviously rather unwilling to leave the matter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Aerith winced again, expecting an explosion.
“I’m fine, Barret.” Tifa’s reply was surprisingly calm. “If I’ve anything to say, I’ll tell you later, not now. The walls have ears.”
“All the better that the children are still sleeping, then, if it isn’t fit for their ears. It is Cloud, isn’t it? What’s he done to you this time?” Barret was showing an emotional depth Aerith had never seen before.
“He’s done nothing. And I wasn’t talking about the children. I was talking about some other people who just insist on staying around.”
Aerith barely noticed the confused expression on Barret’s face, so shocked she was at the vitriol in Tifa’s normally gentle voice.
“It’s not your fault, Barret. I’m not angry with you. Just help me wake the kids up, alright?” Tifa attempted a smile.
Aerith didn’t hear Tifa’s words, but instead slipped out the door. Seventh Heaven had become too painful a place for ghosts to haunt. A pity Cloud didn’t stay at home more often; the ghosts he carried would soon be exorcised, she reflected bitterly. Weaving between the people on the street, she ran for the familiarity of the Midgar slums.
The Sector 7 plate had been brought down by the AVALANCHE terrorists on the night she met him. He’d fallen right through the roof. Both her boyfriends had, and through them both, she’d taken hold of her birthright.
She moved unerringly toward her destination, undaunted by numerous dangers the ruins of Midgar held for the living. They could not harm her. The piles of wreckage lay around her, rusted and corroded, twisted by immense force. A gothic building built in the ages past loomed suddenly out of the fog, its intact infrastructure at odds with the destruction that surrounded it. Stopping outside the doors of the Sector 7 church, Aerith hesitated.
Aerith laid a hand on the familiar walls, running her fingers over the grooves and cracks of the door, almost able to feel the rough, weathered wood under her fingertips. She hoped being here would help her find some measure of peace and mind, as it had done for her so many times in the past.
It had since been desecrated, first by Turks, then by remnants, before being sanctified by her healing rain. It now held a pool of clear pristine water, around which grew flowers of pure white and iridescent yellow. It was a place where Aerith felt at home. Pushing the doors open, Aerith slipped through the old wooden pews, skirting piles of debris and fallen pillars only half visible through the mist until she reached the edge of the flower bed. Silently, she moved among the flowers, running an ethereal palm across the delicate petals, which swirled at her touch, as if caught by a gentle breeze.
Around her, soaring rafters and beams of wood painstakingly carved by artisans long forgotten stretched to the skies, held up by majestic stone pillars. The wall to the left had been blown apart in the days of the Geostigma crisis, and already, her flowers were creeping up the ruins and out into the ruins of Midgar. The first rays of sunlight shone through the massive break in the wall, dimmed by the fog which hung heavily even over the surface of the water.
Aerith halted at the edge of the pool. An urge caught her suddenly, and she gathered her will to her, coalescing into a visible, nearly tangible body. Stepping into the water, Aerith waded out into the lake, shattering its smooth glass surface. The fog swirled around her, enveloping her in its embrace. The almost-sensation of the frigid water on her skin, the almost-feeling of the water-laden dress against her body was exquisite, and for once, Aerith could pretend that she was human again. She could pretend she was alive.
Aerith came to a stop in the centre of the pool, in front of the polished Buster Sword entombed in its shrine of flowers. Staring at the blade, tracing its minute crevices, pale scratches, keen edge and clean sheen, she could not stop her mind from wandering away into the hours, days and weeks long submerged by the endless tides of time.
In front of Aerith, the waters lay as still as molten glass, distorting wavelengths of light into the alpha, beta, gamma, and the countless other frequencies she could not sense. The lights danced across her perfect reflection on the water’s surface, creating shimmering ripples that flowed through her to touch the aged wood and stone behind.
The voice caught her unawares, but it was not unfamiliar to her. It whispered through the microscopic cracks in the plaster of the walls, through the rays of light filtering down into the church, weaving through the sparkling motes of dust in the air.
“You are troubled, child.” Instinctively, the Cetra knew it was the planet who was speaking to her. Then, the glass surface in front of her broke, and her reflection rose out of the water, taking an ethereal shape. Impossibly, this mirror image of Aerith rose to its feet, walking on the water’s surface to stand before her.
Startled at the familiar visage now looking her straight in the face, Aerith took a step back, stumbling as only a ghost could stumble; shocked, horrified, and even repulsed by the form the planet had chose to take. Even so, her conscience whispered to her that she should feel honoured, that the planet had chosen to exalt her so, using Aerith’s mortal image in all the planet’s immortal glory.
“I’m not.” Aerith turned away from the planet’s avatar, shoulders hunched, feeling as if something in her chest should be hammering away, but instead feeling only an empty void.
“It is the price you pay for lingering in the world of men,” the planet’s voice, like her image, was identical to Aerith’s own. The avatar moved around her so they could stand face to face, light trickling off its form as water would have trickled off any other person.
“And it’s a price I’m willing to pay. In fact, it’s no price at all!” Aerith snapped in reply, averting her eyes from that of the planet’s avatar. Though those brown eyes matched hers, they were somehow more beautiful, yet more terrifying than her own. “There’s nothing you can say that can make me change my mind.” Aerith ran her hands through her hair in frustration, wisps of brown hair escaping the pink ribbon she perpetually wore, even in death.
The planet’s voice became softer, “Even you can see that your presence here is destructive. You are wise beyond your years, and have carried such burdens that none should ever have to bear.”
“I won’t believe that, I’ve earned at least the right to self-delusion.” Aerith laughed bitterly. “He’s happy now. More peaceful that he’s ever been.”
“You know what you say is not true. He isn’t getting better because of you. He’s getting worse. You’re pulling him down. And you’re unbalancing nature, by being here. The laws that you are bound to are not changed, and neither have you been released from them. You must cease your childishness.”
“You have not the right to judge me! You were the one who called me to this duty. You were the one that made me take this path. Now, I’ve done all that you asked. I’ve done my duty – and more! Can’t you just leave me alone? Leave us alone?” Aerith’s vehement voice rang out, echoing around the aged stone columns. Her voice sounded harsh, far too harsh as compared to the avatar’s lilting tones.
“Our duty never leaves us. And you must not step off the path you have chosen. I believe that even if I had not called you, you would have still stepped up to save them all. That strength is in you. That strength will allow you to leave this mortal world behind, and join your waiting mother." The woman glided around her, stepping primly off the water’s surface and settling herself on one of the old wooden pews.
“And I do have the right to judge you.” The planet fixed her stern gaze upon Aerith, and the girl quailed slightly under it, taking a step further back into the water. “Especially when it concerns the lives of all that live on the planet,” the double of Aerith continued. “Your lingering here is disruptive.” The planet’s accusation was incongruous with its gentle tone.
“It isn’t!” Aerith folded her arms across her chest.
“You cannot deny it.” The planet stated forcefully. A hint of impatience had crept into its voice.
Aerith turned her back to the avatar, arms still stubbornly folded. A fierce passion burned in her chest where there was none before. “I don’t want to hear you anymore. I’ll stay here as long as I want. I’ve already sacrificed so much. I won’t give them up.” Aerith attempted to straighten her clothes and hair in an attempt to remain dignified. Her mind whirled with the red-hot flame of rebellion. No one had ever defied the planet before.
Aerith strode to the door, hair askew in the morning breeze. “I’m not going to listen anymore. When I feel it’s time to go, I’ll leave.”
“You are on a road that leads only to pain. And not only for yourself. I will not stand by and see you wreck all that you have helped me save.” The planet rose to her feet, not a hair out of place, her carriage both stately and elegant.
“And look at you. Your insistence on dwelling here has left you bereft of your radiance, bereft of your dignity. You do not shine as your kin do.” The planet’s admonishments fell on deaf ears.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Aerith stalked off into the ruins of Midgar, leaving the avatar behind. The planet didn’t follow.
She didn’t really understand what she was doing either. A little voice whispered her that she should remove herself from this world, that what she was doing was hurting others. After all, she was already a constant witness to Tifa’s pain. But all she knew was only the ever-present longing that enveloped her; its clamor drowning out all rationality. Hurrying through the rapidly dissipating fog, Aerith left her once sanctuary more troubled than when she’d entered it.
A/N: And the third chapter! Tell me how it is, and point out my errors. I'm sure there are quite a few.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A/N: Updated with Chapter Two COMPLETE. And uh, unbeta-ed. Hope it isn't too bad.
Chapter 2
A soft buzzing interrupted their silent conversation. The girl ignored it, burrowing her face deeper into his neck. He ignored it too, choosing instead to tighten his arms around her. The buzzing stopped, and silence resumed its haunting song.
She loved being here in his arms; being able taste the wonderful emotions of peace and acceptance rolling off him. She’d never felt accepted by anyone, neither had she felt understood. With Deepground, she’d been sent on countless missions which were executed to exquisite perfection.All she had gained from her superiors was a hollow sense of achievement. But with this strange man, with a dark past and an uncertain future, living in the here and now was a joy she could scarcely take in.
All these emotions were still new to her. Feeling joy, anger, sadness and a myriad rainbow of other sensations still came as a surprise. She revelled in the things her once unfeeling heart could now experience.
And the best of it all was her love for the man holding her. A man possessed with a WEAPON, and the curse of immortal life. She couldn’t quite be sure that the deep abiding affection she felt was in fact her own. But it didn’t really matter. Not to her. The love and affection she felt was not going to mellow anytime soon, if at all, and for all the purposes of their relationship, it was enough.
The vibrations started up again, interrupting her thoughts. The girl opened her eyes and peered down into the red folds of his voluminous cloak. The phone definitely was ringing, and Vincent definitely wasn’t moving to answer it.
His choice, she thought. Shutting her eyes against the setting sun, and resting her cheek on his warm shoulder, she returned to the silence of their love-making.
Of course, not quite love-making, not as how one would think it. Still, it served the same purpose as love-making would in any other normal couple. But they weren’t normal, she thought. Not by a long shot. And the upside was that they could go on for hours where others could not. Her mouth curved into a smirk.
The caller certainly lacked neither determination nor persistence, she noted with no small amount of irritation. He or she was definitely unfazed by Vincent’s continued indifference to the ringing of his phone. The red-haired girl sat up unwillingly, peering into his face.
Unblinkingly, he stared into the reflections of the white monolithic trees on the calm azure surface of lake that lapped at his boots. She rolled her eyes. He had probably been waxing all philosophical inside his head; she was sure, oblivious to the insistent call of the piece of circuitry in his cloak pocket.
She nudged him, hoping to elicit a response. None was given. Not that she expected anything more. Letting out a frustrated sigh at the hint of a smile coming onto his face, she threw up her hands.
“All right, I’ll get it,” she stated. Reaching over him, she retrieved his phone and flipped it open.
“Vincent! Won’t you ever pick up your phone?” Barret’s worried voice blared out through the receiver.
She winced, holding the phone away from her ear.
“I’m not Vincent,” she replied.
“Could you put me through to him? He’s there, isn’t he?” Barret’s rough drawl took on a slightly forced tone, cold suspicion leaking from his voice. The child within her recoiled, retreating away. Her rational thought receded away, phone dropping from her frozen fingers.
She did not see Vincent snap his hand out to catch the phone a foot from the ground. She did not hear Vincent mutter a few quick words to Barret before slapping the phone shut. For blood roared in her ears; the only sound she could hear the pounding of her own heart.
Waves of emotion washed over her, each one radically different, from hurt, anger and resentment, to even a sense of resignation; the fact that she simply deserved such treatment. The world around her dissolved into a morass of impersonal colours. The urge to shut down emotionally and the urge to let her emotions run wild warred within her. Within her, The Transparent and the Scientist fought the girl Vincent loved.
But she felt the firm touch of Vincent’s hand on her shoulder. She held on to it like a lifeline, her only anchor in her emotional storm. She focused all her mental strength upon that steady, warm weight on the blade of her left shoulder as Vincent strove against the feelings that threatened to rip her of her identity.
“Shelke.” One monosyllabic word cut through whirlwind that was smothering her.
Slowly, the world coalesced into distinct shapes, the blur of colours in front of her eyes resolving into the face of her partner. Taking deep gasping breaths, Shelke grasped for her sanity, reining in her racing thoughts and emotions.
Vincent gathered her small frame into his arms. She hugged him back tightly, pouring out her love for him into the embrace, willing him to understand through her actions what her voice could not express. Looking into his eyes, she knew he understood.
“You’re getting better Shelke. It’s slow, but you’ll get there,” his slow, deep voice whispered in her ear, his flesh hand tracing circles on her back.
“Just…just hold me for a minute."
So they sat, motionless, his metal hand flashing blood-red in the dying sun.
~
The leaves above them rustled in the evening breeze, sending the last of the spring flowers down into the dirt. A black-haired man reclined in the grass, a red-haired girl curled up on the black chest of his bodysuit.
“So, what did Barret want?” Shelke absent-mindedly twirled a wisp of Vincent’s hair, fingers tracing his forehead.
“Cloud’s missing, apparently. It’s already night in Edge.”
“Really. And you’re supposed to find him?” Shelke shifted her weight of his chest, standing to her feet.
“Yeah.”
“And are you going to? I don’t want you to go.” Shelke knows she’s being selfish.
“Yes. But you’re coming with me. We could use your help.” Vincent stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Shelke broke into a wide smile. “Of course I’ll come along! Where do we start?”
“Now that where you come in handy, love,” crouching down, Vincent knelt face to face with her. “Think you can do a Synaptic Net Dive?”
Shelke hesitated, old fears rushing to her mind. Her abilities reminded her of years best forgotten. Reminded her of the person she once was. Reminded her of the mistakes she made.
“If you’re okay with it, that is. You could help make this search a lot easier. It’s not your abilities who determine who you are. It’s what you make of them.” Sensing her distress, Vincent placed a gloved hand on her cheek.
“Anyway, there’s a storm coming up here. It's probably already hit Edge. That’s probably what’s got them all worried about him.”
“I’ll do it.” Shelke’s voice shook slightly, she did not want to let Avalanche down, let him down.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be getting the chocobos ready. Be back in a minute.” With a smile, Vincent handed her his phone and strode off into the trees.
Sitting down, Shelke pulled her utility vest to her, and removed the Worldwide Network interface from it. With swift, practiced moves, she hooked it up to the power supply in her vest. However, her movements became less confident as she rigged it up to be able to access the network using the connection from Vincent’s phone. Shelke was still reluctant to execute the SND, but she figured that doing this, helping AVALANCHE find Cloud, she might increase her standing in their eyes. Encouraged by that thought, Shelke took a deep breath, and placed the neural device on her head.
Images roared past her as she dived deep into the Worldwide Network, seeking information on Cloud’s whereabouts. She checked the communication records of all the cell phones in Gaia, checked the transactions of the few stations that sold the type of fuel needed to power the motorcycle Fenrir, even checked the ferry records of Junon and other ports. Nothing.
Frustrated, she dived into millions of terabytes of data, searching for any sign of Cloud’s whereabouts. Her efforts went unrewarded. Taking apart lines of binary code, she slipped through the countless firewalls, her mind working at speeds beyond even a super computer as she searched for any mention of him in recent missives or transactions.
Her efforts were fruitless. Defeated, she sat back and considered her options, all the while staying on the move, on the alert for the numerous security programmes that policed the network. Then all of a sudden, she was caught.
Her cyber body was frozen, suspended within the network, unable to move; unable to counteract whatever that was holding her. In panic, she activated whatever fail-safes she could think of. Nothing worked. In fact, the entire network seemed to have stalled. Time seemed to stand still around her; the streams of data and code, the electronic signals that the network ran on were as frozen as she was. She was indefinitely trapped in a state of limbo.
Then, she heard a voice. Which was technically and mechanically impossible. Her cyber ‘body’ was made up of lines of complex organic code. She couldn’t speak while doing a network dive; much less hear another’s voice. Neither could the lines of binary code around her.
The voice was oddly distorted, but she was positive that she had heard it somewhere before. Despite her surprise at this strange occurrence, she was even more surprised at what she heard.
“I’m sorry that I had to stop you like this. I really hope it doesn’t hurt. I’ve never done anything like this before,” the voice rippled and ebbed, flowing through her non-existent aural nerves.
Shelke was even more insulted now. She, the consummate hacker, one of the most deadly pieces of code on the Worldwide Network had been incapacitated by a complete novice.
She attempted to speak, only to find that she still was unable to do so. The voice continued, seemingly oblivious to her struggles.
“You’re looking for Cloud, aren’t you?” The voice became oddly tender upon mentioning Cloud, Shelke noticed. “He’s somewhere in near that Chocobo farm southeast of Kalm. I’m not actually too sure of his exact location. His PHS isn’t too much of a help, because of all the interference from the snowstorm he’s in.”
“Actually, he’s in trouble. He’s stranded as his motorcycle gave out in the storm.” Like she couldn’t make that logical leap for herself; had she been able to, Shelke would have huffed in indignation.
“So, please get AVALANCHE all organized and find him, he might get frostbitten if you don’t hurry. I really hope you and Vincent find him quick…” the voice took on a worried note.
“Thanks!” The voice was fading away. “You might be hearing from me again. It was nice to meet you, though. Never thought anyone could soften Vincent up….” The voice trailed off into the infinite depths of the Worldwide Network.
Shelke found that she could move again. In desperate attempt to uncover the owner of the ‘voice’, she cast her data-crawlers out in a wide net, searching for any sign of the mysterious entity who had accosted her. She found absolutely nothing.
In frustration, she took out her anger on a couple of World Regenesis Organisation cyber watchdogs before pulling her mind out of the Worldwide Network. She stomped over to Vincent, hurling his phone at him, which to her disappointment, he caught with ease. She yanked at the reins of her Chocobo, which warked in protest of her rough treatment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vincent raise an eyebrow at her brusque behavior. However, he chose to reserve his comments, a small smile playing on his lips instead. Wise of him, she thought. Leaping into the saddle, Shelke took off, leaving Vincent behind in a cloud of dust.
In a high-rise office hundreds of miles away, Reeve Tuesti received an urgent missive from the Chief of his Security Department concerning the breaching of the company’s firewall.
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Chapter 2
A soft buzzing interrupted their silent conversation. The girl ignored it, burrowing her face deeper into his neck. He ignored it too, choosing instead to tighten his arms around her. The buzzing stopped, and silence resumed its haunting song.
She loved being here in his arms; being able taste the wonderful emotions of peace and acceptance rolling off him. She’d never felt accepted by anyone, neither had she felt understood. With Deepground, she’d been sent on countless missions which were executed to exquisite perfection.All she had gained from her superiors was a hollow sense of achievement. But with this strange man, with a dark past and an uncertain future, living in the here and now was a joy she could scarcely take in.
All these emotions were still new to her. Feeling joy, anger, sadness and a myriad rainbow of other sensations still came as a surprise. She revelled in the things her once unfeeling heart could now experience.
And the best of it all was her love for the man holding her. A man possessed with a WEAPON, and the curse of immortal life. She couldn’t quite be sure that the deep abiding affection she felt was in fact her own. But it didn’t really matter. Not to her. The love and affection she felt was not going to mellow anytime soon, if at all, and for all the purposes of their relationship, it was enough.
The vibrations started up again, interrupting her thoughts. The girl opened her eyes and peered down into the red folds of his voluminous cloak. The phone definitely was ringing, and Vincent definitely wasn’t moving to answer it.
His choice, she thought. Shutting her eyes against the setting sun, and resting her cheek on his warm shoulder, she returned to the silence of their love-making.
Of course, not quite love-making, not as how one would think it. Still, it served the same purpose as love-making would in any other normal couple. But they weren’t normal, she thought. Not by a long shot. And the upside was that they could go on for hours where others could not. Her mouth curved into a smirk.
The caller certainly lacked neither determination nor persistence, she noted with no small amount of irritation. He or she was definitely unfazed by Vincent’s continued indifference to the ringing of his phone. The red-haired girl sat up unwillingly, peering into his face.
Unblinkingly, he stared into the reflections of the white monolithic trees on the calm azure surface of lake that lapped at his boots. She rolled her eyes. He had probably been waxing all philosophical inside his head; she was sure, oblivious to the insistent call of the piece of circuitry in his cloak pocket.
She nudged him, hoping to elicit a response. None was given. Not that she expected anything more. Letting out a frustrated sigh at the hint of a smile coming onto his face, she threw up her hands.
“All right, I’ll get it,” she stated. Reaching over him, she retrieved his phone and flipped it open.
“Vincent! Won’t you ever pick up your phone?” Barret’s worried voice blared out through the receiver.
She winced, holding the phone away from her ear.
“I’m not Vincent,” she replied.
“Could you put me through to him? He’s there, isn’t he?” Barret’s rough drawl took on a slightly forced tone, cold suspicion leaking from his voice. The child within her recoiled, retreating away. Her rational thought receded away, phone dropping from her frozen fingers.
She did not see Vincent snap his hand out to catch the phone a foot from the ground. She did not hear Vincent mutter a few quick words to Barret before slapping the phone shut. For blood roared in her ears; the only sound she could hear the pounding of her own heart.
Waves of emotion washed over her, each one radically different, from hurt, anger and resentment, to even a sense of resignation; the fact that she simply deserved such treatment. The world around her dissolved into a morass of impersonal colours. The urge to shut down emotionally and the urge to let her emotions run wild warred within her. Within her, The Transparent and the Scientist fought the girl Vincent loved.
But she felt the firm touch of Vincent’s hand on her shoulder. She held on to it like a lifeline, her only anchor in her emotional storm. She focused all her mental strength upon that steady, warm weight on the blade of her left shoulder as Vincent strove against the feelings that threatened to rip her of her identity.
“Shelke.” One monosyllabic word cut through whirlwind that was smothering her.
Slowly, the world coalesced into distinct shapes, the blur of colours in front of her eyes resolving into the face of her partner. Taking deep gasping breaths, Shelke grasped for her sanity, reining in her racing thoughts and emotions.
Vincent gathered her small frame into his arms. She hugged him back tightly, pouring out her love for him into the embrace, willing him to understand through her actions what her voice could not express. Looking into his eyes, she knew he understood.
“You’re getting better Shelke. It’s slow, but you’ll get there,” his slow, deep voice whispered in her ear, his flesh hand tracing circles on her back.
“Just…just hold me for a minute."
So they sat, motionless, his metal hand flashing blood-red in the dying sun.
~
The leaves above them rustled in the evening breeze, sending the last of the spring flowers down into the dirt. A black-haired man reclined in the grass, a red-haired girl curled up on the black chest of his bodysuit.
“So, what did Barret want?” Shelke absent-mindedly twirled a wisp of Vincent’s hair, fingers tracing his forehead.
“Cloud’s missing, apparently. It’s already night in Edge.”
“Really. And you’re supposed to find him?” Shelke shifted her weight of his chest, standing to her feet.
“Yeah.”
“And are you going to? I don’t want you to go.” Shelke knows she’s being selfish.
“Yes. But you’re coming with me. We could use your help.” Vincent stood and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Shelke broke into a wide smile. “Of course I’ll come along! Where do we start?”
“Now that where you come in handy, love,” crouching down, Vincent knelt face to face with her. “Think you can do a Synaptic Net Dive?”
Shelke hesitated, old fears rushing to her mind. Her abilities reminded her of years best forgotten. Reminded her of the person she once was. Reminded her of the mistakes she made.
“If you’re okay with it, that is. You could help make this search a lot easier. It’s not your abilities who determine who you are. It’s what you make of them.” Sensing her distress, Vincent placed a gloved hand on her cheek.
“Anyway, there’s a storm coming up here. It's probably already hit Edge. That’s probably what’s got them all worried about him.”
“I’ll do it.” Shelke’s voice shook slightly, she did not want to let Avalanche down, let him down.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be getting the chocobos ready. Be back in a minute.” With a smile, Vincent handed her his phone and strode off into the trees.
Sitting down, Shelke pulled her utility vest to her, and removed the Worldwide Network interface from it. With swift, practiced moves, she hooked it up to the power supply in her vest. However, her movements became less confident as she rigged it up to be able to access the network using the connection from Vincent’s phone. Shelke was still reluctant to execute the SND, but she figured that doing this, helping AVALANCHE find Cloud, she might increase her standing in their eyes. Encouraged by that thought, Shelke took a deep breath, and placed the neural device on her head.
Images roared past her as she dived deep into the Worldwide Network, seeking information on Cloud’s whereabouts. She checked the communication records of all the cell phones in Gaia, checked the transactions of the few stations that sold the type of fuel needed to power the motorcycle Fenrir, even checked the ferry records of Junon and other ports. Nothing.
Frustrated, she dived into millions of terabytes of data, searching for any sign of Cloud’s whereabouts. Her efforts went unrewarded. Taking apart lines of binary code, she slipped through the countless firewalls, her mind working at speeds beyond even a super computer as she searched for any mention of him in recent missives or transactions.
Her efforts were fruitless. Defeated, she sat back and considered her options, all the while staying on the move, on the alert for the numerous security programmes that policed the network. Then all of a sudden, she was caught.
Her cyber body was frozen, suspended within the network, unable to move; unable to counteract whatever that was holding her. In panic, she activated whatever fail-safes she could think of. Nothing worked. In fact, the entire network seemed to have stalled. Time seemed to stand still around her; the streams of data and code, the electronic signals that the network ran on were as frozen as she was. She was indefinitely trapped in a state of limbo.
Then, she heard a voice. Which was technically and mechanically impossible. Her cyber ‘body’ was made up of lines of complex organic code. She couldn’t speak while doing a network dive; much less hear another’s voice. Neither could the lines of binary code around her.
The voice was oddly distorted, but she was positive that she had heard it somewhere before. Despite her surprise at this strange occurrence, she was even more surprised at what she heard.
“I’m sorry that I had to stop you like this. I really hope it doesn’t hurt. I’ve never done anything like this before,” the voice rippled and ebbed, flowing through her non-existent aural nerves.
Shelke was even more insulted now. She, the consummate hacker, one of the most deadly pieces of code on the Worldwide Network had been incapacitated by a complete novice.
She attempted to speak, only to find that she still was unable to do so. The voice continued, seemingly oblivious to her struggles.
“You’re looking for Cloud, aren’t you?” The voice became oddly tender upon mentioning Cloud, Shelke noticed. “He’s somewhere in near that Chocobo farm southeast of Kalm. I’m not actually too sure of his exact location. His PHS isn’t too much of a help, because of all the interference from the snowstorm he’s in.”
“Actually, he’s in trouble. He’s stranded as his motorcycle gave out in the storm.” Like she couldn’t make that logical leap for herself; had she been able to, Shelke would have huffed in indignation.
“So, please get AVALANCHE all organized and find him, he might get frostbitten if you don’t hurry. I really hope you and Vincent find him quick…” the voice took on a worried note.
“Thanks!” The voice was fading away. “You might be hearing from me again. It was nice to meet you, though. Never thought anyone could soften Vincent up….” The voice trailed off into the infinite depths of the Worldwide Network.
Shelke found that she could move again. In desperate attempt to uncover the owner of the ‘voice’, she cast her data-crawlers out in a wide net, searching for any sign of the mysterious entity who had accosted her. She found absolutely nothing.
In frustration, she took out her anger on a couple of World Regenesis Organisation cyber watchdogs before pulling her mind out of the Worldwide Network. She stomped over to Vincent, hurling his phone at him, which to her disappointment, he caught with ease. She yanked at the reins of her Chocobo, which warked in protest of her rough treatment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vincent raise an eyebrow at her brusque behavior. However, he chose to reserve his comments, a small smile playing on his lips instead. Wise of him, she thought. Leaping into the saddle, Shelke took off, leaving Vincent behind in a cloud of dust.
In a high-rise office hundreds of miles away, Reeve Tuesti received an urgent missive from the Chief of his Security Department concerning the breaching of the company’s firewall.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
A Break from Geography
A/N: Trying different characters in an vignette. Hope it's nice. Geog's really heavy going. And yeah, none of this is mine. The characters, the storyline, and the quotes are all not mine.
~
"Categorization has sped since the improvements were announced, but there are many hurdles. The indexing of sentient species may have irreversible effects on the surviving insentient species. We will have extinction events and irreparable environmental harm on at least 18 worlds. Current projections estimate post-archival cataclysm on as many as 31 worlds. The paucity of sentience has been a blessing in this regard."
The costs are high, he thinks. They're always high. He and his race play a high-stakes game with the mind lurking in the darkness for the future of the universe. Just that while he's playing big and blind, his opponent can see every single card on the table. The odds are stacked against him. All he can do is hope that fate deals him a favourable hand. He stands on the flagship's bridge, waiting for the enemy's move.
~
"Would that it were my choice. I have committed to this course because it's the right thing to do. We no longer have the manpower or material to excise remedial measures at a planetary level. I certainly can't justify using the [transit measure] to save my own skin when there are still so many innocents to protect and index."
He looks down at her missive. He wishes he had her resolve. He wishes he could be as noble as she is. He wishes she was here with him. But she's refused every transport she's sent. He can't understand why she has to put herself in danger on planets so far away, when she can just as easily administrate the indexing efforts from the safety of their stronghold.
And the danger is growing. Despite the fleet's best efforts, they continue to be outmanuvered, outnumbered, outfought. Already, they've pulled back and left billions to the parasite. Billions more to swell the parasite's ranks. Billions more than stand between him and her. Already, she's nearly cut off.
But there's still a chance. The Maginot Sphere is the best defense the fleet's come up with yet, and Medicant Bias could turn the tide of the war. Medicant Bias could cripple the parasite where it hurts the most.
An ancient text recites, "Kill the head and the body will follow." Medicant Bias will do just that. He'd better. He's their only chance to save their way of life. Medicant Bias is the only chance to save her. She won't return otherwise.
~
In the depths of night, he lies awake, watching the stars high above him. The bed is cold and empty without her, and he yearns for her touch. It's been decades since he last held her in his arms. Decades since he's whispered his love in her ear.
He recalls their youth, the hours spent in the sun of worlds long burned to a cinder by the relentless enemy. The hours they used to spend in the sunlit flower fields, in the dappled light of forest clearings. He, a promising cadet in the best military academy civilisation had to offer, and she, a brilliant student in medical school.
Now, they're lovers separated by eons filled with supernova and dark matter, a gap too far for even the bridges of proverbial birds from Heaven to cover. He's the one shouldering the immense burden of the galaxy's defence, while she ensures the future of a million innocents at the expense of their own.
He should hate her for leaving him behind. Hate for for disobeying his direct order. No one disobeys him, even on the pain of death. There's thousands of willing, eligible women clamoring for the attention of the famous Didact, the much vaunted bastion of strength against the parasite. But he doesn't. It's her inner beauty that draws him, the same beauty that gives her the strength to resist his call.
In the end, he can't bear to forcibly remove her. He loves and respects her too much for that. It's her choice to make, and his lot to drown in the separation's sorrow.
~
"We have no time to spare, Didact. Every vessel we can fill, we send to the Ark. I dare not cease the mission. Not now, not until I've done all I can. Each one of these souls is finite and precious. And I'm so close. Close to saving them all."
Even now, she refuses him the comfort her usage of his real name would provide, choosing to address him by his title. Rationally, he knows what she's doing. She's distancing herself from him, trying not to distract him from his duties. But his heart and soul cry out across the spiral nebulae to her. He wishes she wouldn't hurt herself just to try to spare him some pain. It wouldn't work anyway.
She's close to saving them. But the parasite's even closer to victory.
And in all his years, even before he'd even known of her existence, he's never felt further away from her.
~
Bleh. Continue later.
~
"Categorization has sped since the improvements were announced, but there are many hurdles. The indexing of sentient species may have irreversible effects on the surviving insentient species. We will have extinction events and irreparable environmental harm on at least 18 worlds. Current projections estimate post-archival cataclysm on as many as 31 worlds. The paucity of sentience has been a blessing in this regard."
The costs are high, he thinks. They're always high. He and his race play a high-stakes game with the mind lurking in the darkness for the future of the universe. Just that while he's playing big and blind, his opponent can see every single card on the table. The odds are stacked against him. All he can do is hope that fate deals him a favourable hand. He stands on the flagship's bridge, waiting for the enemy's move.
~
"Would that it were my choice. I have committed to this course because it's the right thing to do. We no longer have the manpower or material to excise remedial measures at a planetary level. I certainly can't justify using the [transit measure] to save my own skin when there are still so many innocents to protect and index."
He looks down at her missive. He wishes he had her resolve. He wishes he could be as noble as she is. He wishes she was here with him. But she's refused every transport she's sent. He can't understand why she has to put herself in danger on planets so far away, when she can just as easily administrate the indexing efforts from the safety of their stronghold.
And the danger is growing. Despite the fleet's best efforts, they continue to be outmanuvered, outnumbered, outfought. Already, they've pulled back and left billions to the parasite. Billions more to swell the parasite's ranks. Billions more than stand between him and her. Already, she's nearly cut off.
But there's still a chance. The Maginot Sphere is the best defense the fleet's come up with yet, and Medicant Bias could turn the tide of the war. Medicant Bias could cripple the parasite where it hurts the most.
An ancient text recites, "Kill the head and the body will follow." Medicant Bias will do just that. He'd better. He's their only chance to save their way of life. Medicant Bias is the only chance to save her. She won't return otherwise.
~
In the depths of night, he lies awake, watching the stars high above him. The bed is cold and empty without her, and he yearns for her touch. It's been decades since he last held her in his arms. Decades since he's whispered his love in her ear.
He recalls their youth, the hours spent in the sun of worlds long burned to a cinder by the relentless enemy. The hours they used to spend in the sunlit flower fields, in the dappled light of forest clearings. He, a promising cadet in the best military academy civilisation had to offer, and she, a brilliant student in medical school.
Now, they're lovers separated by eons filled with supernova and dark matter, a gap too far for even the bridges of proverbial birds from Heaven to cover. He's the one shouldering the immense burden of the galaxy's defence, while she ensures the future of a million innocents at the expense of their own.
He should hate her for leaving him behind. Hate for for disobeying his direct order. No one disobeys him, even on the pain of death. There's thousands of willing, eligible women clamoring for the attention of the famous Didact, the much vaunted bastion of strength against the parasite. But he doesn't. It's her inner beauty that draws him, the same beauty that gives her the strength to resist his call.
In the end, he can't bear to forcibly remove her. He loves and respects her too much for that. It's her choice to make, and his lot to drown in the separation's sorrow.
~
"We have no time to spare, Didact. Every vessel we can fill, we send to the Ark. I dare not cease the mission. Not now, not until I've done all I can. Each one of these souls is finite and precious. And I'm so close. Close to saving them all."
Even now, she refuses him the comfort her usage of his real name would provide, choosing to address him by his title. Rationally, he knows what she's doing. She's distancing herself from him, trying not to distract him from his duties. But his heart and soul cry out across the spiral nebulae to her. He wishes she wouldn't hurt herself just to try to spare him some pain. It wouldn't work anyway.
She's close to saving them. But the parasite's even closer to victory.
And in all his years, even before he'd even known of her existence, he's never felt further away from her.
~
Bleh. Continue later.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
A/N: For the record, the last time I tried writing in this style, it was so forced and stilted that I almost died after reading it just now. For those who have read my Star Wars NaNoWriMo about two years ago, you should know.
A/N: This is probably the final form. I can't think of much else on my own. Need your feedback. =)
Chapter One
She wrings the dishwater from the rag and straightens up. Two glasses, still half-full of bitter, stand forlornly on the table in the corner. The table's former occupants stagger to the door, letting themselves out into the night. The storm howls in through the open door, snow and sleet scudding in waves across the cracked wooden floor as frigid air swirls into the smoky, musky interior of Seventh Heaven. The screen door slaps closed again against the glacial temperatures of Edge's harsh winter.
He's out, somewhere, in that freezing hell.
Rag in one hand, the other tucking a raven curtain of hair behind her ears, she moves over to the seats they recently vacated . Mechanically, she wipes the splintered wood of the tabletop before walking back to the counter. The glasses clink together when she sets them down into the sink.
She's always been good at this. Mixing up cocktails, pouring out draughts of beer and other liquors have always come naturally to her. She finds comfort in her constant, repetitive work. But lately, finding her peace hasn't been so easy.
The bar's empty now. The last of the regulars have left, and Seventh Heaven isn't one of those big, raucous establishments which run around the clock. Giving the room a cursory glance, she picks up a dustpan and broom, and begins to sweep the grime and dirt accumulated on the floor.
She wishes he'd come and scour the layer of accumulated pain off her soul.
When she's done, she sets the cleaning tools back into their cupboard. She powers down the lights, the music, and the various appliances behind the bar. She fingers the dirty calico curtains that frame the two windows looking into the street. They're long due for a wash, she thinks.
If she could wash the guilt from his soul, and the years, prematurely gained, from both their spirits.
The shadows cast by the lights on the street race across her face. She draws the curtains, a little light barely trickling through the gaps to dance upon the barren floor behind her. Keys in hand, she moves to the door.
She stops. She turns back to the bar, picks up a rag, and absent-mindedly begins to polish one of the glasses which line the shelves on the wall behind her. She doesn't want to lock the doors. Not just yet. He's still out there. She doesn't want to lock the doors when he's still on his way home, when Fenrir might just be around the corner. It just doesn't feel right. So she perches herself on the counter, glass in hand. She decides to wait, if only for a little while more.
The smallest hand on the clock has never moved more slowly for her. The silence lies heavily on the aged beams and weathered concrete around her as she sits along in the dark, the hollow shadows of the emptiness around her reflecting those in her heart.
Every once in a while, she gets up, hurrying to the window. She's disappointed every time. The storm shows no signs of abating as she peers through the frosted panes, just as there's no sign of him. She lets the curtain fall back over the window, and resumes her silent vigil. She's already polished half of the glasses on the shelf.
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision startles her from her private thoughts. A heavy step rings out, heard clearly even over the banshee-like howls of wind. Someone's on the patio. No one should be on the patio; not at this time of night, and much less in the raging tempest outside.
At least, not anyone with that heavy a step. A silhouette is cast onto the screen door. It isn’t him. He isn’t that tall, nor does he have the sheer bulk of the man about to open the door.
She slips off the counter, landing in a crouch. Her muscles tense, and her mind races through the myriad possibilities. She knows that no one in the neighbourhood would be so presumptuous as to attempt a robbery on her. The last one that tried could barely crawl away when she was finished with him. Coincidentally, he was also the first to try. Her fingers tighten around the glass she holds.
Then the door opens, and a man bearing a deeply tanned face enters. Snow is heavily crusted on the shoulders of his jacket.
“Barret!” She exclaims, as she relaxes and moves forwards, shaking her head in disbelief. “What in the world? Look at the time!”
The man known to Avalanche as Barret pulls off his hood, revealing closely shaven black hair. He turns around, shrugging off his leather jacket, and gives her a wide grin.
“And look at you! You’re practically frozen.” Setting down the glass and rag on the counter, she takes his coat from him, and drapes it across the chair in front of the heater.
“You said you’d get here in the morning. Well, it is technically morning, but…”
Barret cuts her off with another wide grin of his and a careless wave of his hand, as he slaps on the light. The servos in his machine arm whine as he gestures towards her.
“Can’t I get home early to see my best girl?”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Your best girl is sound asleep upstairs with that plush chocobo of hers. She doesn’t need her big, brave papa to brave the harshest storm in all of Gaia just so he can get himself and that non-existent brain of his frozen.”
He laughs along with her, holding his hands above the heater. “I thought to give her a surprise, y’see. So she can wake up in the morning to her papa right beside her.”
“Well, she’d wake up crying if she knew her papa was lying frozen somewhere in the wilderness,” she retorts.
“Aw, give it a rest, Tifa. I’m here, ain’t I?” The big man waves her off. “Marlene will be over the moon when she sees me. Nothing doin’.” Barret sneaks a glance up the stairs.
The woman named Tifa slugs him on the arm, hard.
“What was that for?” He raises his gleaming metal arm in mock threat.
“Don’t you dare, Barret Wallace. I know what you’re thinking. Marlene needs her sleep. You are not to go wake her up. “ She waves a disapproving finger in his face.
Grinning like a kid caught sneaking candy from the kitchen, he raises both his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. She needs her sleep, “ he concedes. “But it seems that you don’t…”
“And there’s nothing you can do about that.” Tifa places her hands on her hips.
“Are you sure?” Barret waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Tifa laughs. Raising her eyebrows, she gives him a stern glare. She’s glad for his company, this night. At least, her mind won’t have the chance to run away from her.
“Not like I’d dare to do anything, Spikey’ll have me for lunch,” he continues rambling on, bending over to look under the bar. His words pierce a sensitive spot in her soul. How Tifa wishes that he would indeed have Barret for lunch if he tried anything. Not that Barret would, but she’s not even sure what his reaction would be. Maybe he wouldn’t even care…
“….any more of that scotch? “
Tifa doesn’t respond, unwilling trapped in her thoughts, a prisoner inside her head.
“Maybe it’s not just me that’s got my brain frozen,” Barret mutters. He waves the near empty bottle in front of Tifa’s face.
She starts in surprise, leaping to her feet. “Wha..? Oh yeah, more scotch.” She goes to the bar and begins rummaging through the dusty bottles.
“Tifa? You feeling okay?” Barret leans on the counter, a concerned expression on his face.
She doesn’t want his concern. She doesn’t need his concern, she tells herself.
“I’m just tired, Barret. I’ll be going to bed. Enjoy your drink.” She shoves the bottle she’s found into his hand, and turns away, heading for the stairs.
Tifa can imagine his shocked expression. But she doesn’t want to see it. She takes the stairs two at a time, and races for the safety for her room, hoping to avoid the inevitable question chasing her up the staircase.
“He’s not back, is he?” Barret’s questions echoes through the house.
But she’s already slamming the door on it, shutting it out. She turns the lock harder than she should, and the iron knob breaks off in her. She hurls it across the room, and throws herself across her bed, hot tears leaking from her eyes.
Damn it. Damn it to Sephiroth’s accursed grave.
Barret’s caught on to her again. Tifa knows he’ll be hovering around her for the next few days, treating her as if she were fragile spun glass. She hates it. She isn’t weak. She’s a fighter. She’s a martial artist, for Gaia’s sake. She’s supposed to be strong.
Just that even the hardest materials on earth have their weaknesses. Even diamonds have shatter-points. One gentle tap and a jewel that can withstand thousands of tons of pressure will just shatter into so many pieces. And he’s her weakness. She hates weakness. But she loves him.
So with just one fleeting touch on her Cloud-shaped shatterpoint, the unbreakable diamond that is Tifa Lockhart crumbles to pieces.
~
Tifa wakes with a start, her heart pounding from a dream barely remembered. Feeling her way around in the dark, she flicks the light on.
By the dim light of the single bulb on the ceiling, she examines the salty tracks her tears have left on her face in the tiny mirror on the dressing table. She really hates crying. Especially the horrible hangover it gives her. Tifa Lockhart never does things halfway. There’s no such thing as a small cry for her. Either she keeps a stiff upper lip, or breaks down completely. Her brow furrows in frustration. She’s already late, and has less than an hour to herself before she has to start breakfast.
Tying her hair back in a loose ponytail, Tifa grabs her usual attire – white blouse, black vest and skirt, and heads for the bathroom, closing her door quietly behind her.
She stops just outside Denzel’s room. She looks in at the typical messy room of a boy just entering his teenage years. No sign of him stirring; he’s probably still killing Midgar Zoloms in his dreams. She smiles fondly as she continues down the shadowed corridor.
There’s no sound from Marlene’s room, and surprisingly, no sign of Barret either. He’s probably in Seventh Heaven’s only bathroom. He’d never pass up a chance to cradle his sleeping daughter.
Her suspicions are confirmed when she sees the light on in the bathroom. Despite herself, she sighs. She’s no wish to see him, for he’s sure to ask questions; questions that would cause her no small amount of discomfort. Not to mention she desperately wants her bath, for she’s covered in the yesterday’s dirt and nursing a pounding headache that she hopes the hot water can relieve. So it is with great surprise – and no small amount of irritation that Tifa finds the bathroom door wide open, lights on, but no one inside.
Strangely, she finds this disquieting, even though it’s not a rare occurrence for Denzel or Marlene to have a midnight tryst with the bathroom. She’s told the kids countless times to switch off the lights when they’re done with their business. She shakes her head, planning to give those two a stern reminder at breakfast. Electricity is still expensive, oil being relatively new technology.
Entering the small bathroom, Tifa sets her clothes down on the stool at the side and switches on the heater. Locking the door behind her and releasing her hair, she throws the white hairband carelessly on her pile of discarded outer clothing before carefully untying the red ribbon she wears on her left arm. Setting the ribbon down on her clean clothes, she reaches into the shower to switch the water on.
It’ll be a while before the water’s warm enough, time enough to wash her face and brush her teeth. Turning to the washbasin, Tifa looks up to see her reflection in the old mirror above the sink.
And claps her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming….
A/N: I think that this style of writing isn't sustainable.
As in. You can't write 20 000 words worth of it. At least I won't be able to. It's already getting repetitive. Hence, the two posts previous will be combined into a prologue.
And before you decide to read Chapter 1, let's just keep in mind that it's going to be quite horrible.
So here you go. My combined prologue.
Prologue
As in. You can't write 20 000 words worth of it. At least I won't be able to. It's already getting repetitive. Hence, the two posts previous will be combined into a prologue.
And before you decide to read Chapter 1, let's just keep in mind that it's going to be quite horrible.
So here you go. My combined prologue.
Prologue
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor the storyline.
He guns the engine and opens the throttle, leaving her behind. He can't, won't stop running. Moving is the only place where he can find a semblance of peace. Staying is too hard. Staying means looking at her. Staying means hurting her. He doesn't want to look into her eyes and see her infinite patience and love. Infinite patience and love that he doesn't deserve, that wields the knife of guilt which tears his already broken heart into microscopic shreds. Love that he can neither accept nor reciprocate. Not now. He isn't ready. So he runs.
It's easy to forget, when the winds are rushing by his ear, when he's got the throaty rumble of his motorcycle underneath him. It's easy to forget the things that he's done. Easy to forget the things that he hasn't done. Easy to forget the people he's let down. Either way, what has been done and what hasn't been done are things that he will not forgive himself for. So as he runs, Guilt and Sorrow raise their shroud from him, if only for a while.
Running isn't the only place where he can find solace. She can't stay for long. Neither can he, for she never lets him. She tells him that he shouldn't keep coming back, that it's unhealthy. But for all she says, he knows that she can't stay away either. She needs him, he thinks, just as he needs her. So they sit together in fields of gold, whiling away time in hours of golden sunshine.
She doesn't need to say anything, or do anything, he thinks. She just has to be, for her presence is a balm for his shattered soul. He's been ravaged by war, and the scars aren't quite healing. Everyday he returns here to wait for her. With her comes blessed bliss and pure, unadulterated happiness. She's happy too, when she's with him. When she looks up at him, her eyes radiate joy; her entire body exudes her happiness. He exalts in the life she exhales and drowns in a sea of contentment.
What he can't quite understand is why she always leaves. Even though it hurts her, she still turns away.
"I'm like a drug to you", she tells him. "You're addicted to me. And it's killing you. And it's killing her." She turns away, a shadow falling across her face.
But he doesn't see what's wrong with being addicted to iridescent and innocent light. He doesn't let himself see what's wrong. Even when he knows, deep down, there is truth in her words.
He reaches for her, pleading. He tells her that she is all he needs, all he ever wanted. She raises her eyes to the horizon. The day hesistates between the light and the dark; the sun's dying rays trace the curve of her neck.
"Go back. It isn't right for you to be here with me. Your home is with them. They need you. She needs you." She keeps her back turned.
"You need her." He doesn't need to see her face to know that she's crying.
So she leaves, fading into the breeze, chased by the last of the blood-red shimmers. He remains where he is, breathing in her flowery scent. He'll be back tomorrow, just as he knows that she will.
~
She turns away from him. He thinks she doesn't want to let him see her tears. But she turns for her own sake. She can't bear to leave. Just looking at him makes her yearn to stay. Makes her yearn to comfort him. Makes her yearn that she had been a little more selfish that day. She blames herself for the broken man that sits behind her. But what's done is done.
She tells him what she knows is right. She tells him to go back. She knows he hears with his ears, but deafens his heart.
She has to leave, she knows. The longer she stays, the more he'll hurt when her rationality overpowers her bleeding heart. The longer her best friend will have to lie awake in bed waiting for the sound of Fenrir's engine.
She lets herself go, returning back to the Promised Land.
It's so hard. She knows that she is his Promised Land, and she can't take that promise away from him. He's already lost so much. So has she. In his rare smiles, she finds all that could have been.
They say it's easy to be detached when you're up here. They're definitely wrong. Sharp irony pierces her through. It's weird, she thinks, being able to find the strength of will to lay down her life, but unable to muster the will to simply resist him. Down on the planet, she has leagues and leagues of distance to put between her and him. But from up here, she's but a split second away from him, no matter where he is. She sees his suffering clearly, and she just can't look away.
Everyday, he waits for her. Everyday, she goes to him. When they meet, it's like a joining of souls, a conflagration of love unfulfilled. And when they part, they both hurt a little more. It's a cycle that she is unwilling to, unable to stop. Yet she knows that she must, for his sake, and for the sake of the woman and young boy waiting in Seventh Heaven. The young boy whom she sent to him. The woman who was - is her best friend.
She wonders how is it that they have come to this. How is it that they're just so screwed up. Screwed up together. She, the gentle flower girl, and he, the cold mercenary. How she has to be the one to stand against the darkness that threatens him, just like he defended her a lifetime ago. She cries for him, lets tears trace down her cheeks for the loss of the shrewd, yet innocent infantryman he was; for the loss of her bodyguard and protector. She cries at the bitterness of roles reversed.
She'll be the burning brand in his darkest night. Her heart won't allow her to do anything less. But she knows that he can't go on this way. Neither can those who are waiting for him. She loves them too. But maybe, she just loves him more.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Disclaimer: I don't own them; they aren't mine. Just playing around in Square Enix's sandbox
She turns away from him. He thinks she doesn't want to let him see her tears. But she turns for her own sake. She can't bear to leave. Just looking at him makes her yearn to stay. Makes her yearn to comfort him. Makes her yearn that she had been a little more selfish that day. She blames herself for the broken man that sits behind her. But what's done is done.
She tells him what she knows is right. She tells him to go back. She knows he hears with his ears, but deafens his heart.
She has to leave, she knows. The longer she stays, the more he'll hurt when her rationality overpowers her bleeding heart. The longer her best friend will have to lie awake in bed waiting for the sound of Fenrir's engine.
She lets herself go, returning back to the Promised Land.
She turns away from him. He thinks she doesn't want to let him see her tears. But she turns for her own sake. She can't bear to leave. Just looking at him makes her yearn to stay. Makes her yearn to comfort him. Makes her yearn that she had been a little more selfish that day. She blames herself for the broken man that sits behind her. But what's done is done.
She tells him what she knows is right. She tells him to go back. She knows he hears with his ears, but deafens his heart.
She has to leave, she knows. The longer she stays, the more he'll hurt when her rationality overpowers her bleeding heart. The longer her best friend will have to lie awake in bed waiting for the sound of Fenrir's engine.
She lets herself go, returning back to the Promised Land.
It's so hard. She knows that she is his Promised Land, and she can't take that promise away from him. He's already lost so much. So has she. In his rare smiles, she finds all that could have been.
They say it's easy to be detached when you're up here. They're definitely wrong. Sharp irony pierces her through. It's weird, she thinks, being able to find the strength of will to lay down her life, but unable to muster the will to simply resist him. Down on the planet, she has leagues and leagues of distance to put between her and him. But from up here, she's but a split second away from him, no matter where he is. She sees his suffering clearly, and she just can't look away.
Everyday, he waits for her. Everyday, she goes to him. When they meet, it's like a joining of souls, a conflagration of love unfulfilled. And when they part, they both hurt a little more. It's a cycle that she is unwilling to, unable to stop. Yet she knows that she must, for his sake, and for the sake of the woman and young boy waiting in Seventh Heaven. The young boy whom she sent to him. The woman who was - is her best friend.
She wonders how is it that they have come to this. How is it that they're just so screwed up. Screwed up together. She, the gentle flower girl, and he, the cold mercenary. How she has to be the one to stand against the darkness that threatens him, just like he defended her a lifetime ago. She cries for him, lets tears trace down her cheeks for the loss of the shrewd, yet innocent infantryman he was; for the loss of her bodyguard and protector. She cries at the bitterness of roles reversed.
She'll be the burning brand in his darkest night. Her heart wouldn't allow her to do anything less. But she knows that he can't go on this way. Neither can those who are waiting for him. She loves them too. But maybe, she just loves him more.
Note: It's a lot harder writing from her point of view. I think the last paragraph is a problem. Will relook again when I've got the inspiration.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor the storyline.
He guns the engine and opens the throttle, leaving her behind. He can't, won't stop running. Moving is the only place where he can find a semblance of peace. Staying is too hard. Staying means looking at her. Staying means hurting her. He doesn't want to look into her eyes and see her infinite patience and love. Infinite patience and love that he doesn't deserve, that wields the knife of guilt which tears his already broken heart into microscopic shreds. Love that he can neither accept nor reciprocate. Not now. He isn't ready. So he runs.
It's easy to forget, when the winds are rushing by his ear, when he's got the throaty rumble of his motorcycle underneath him. It's easy to forget the things that he's done. Easy to forget the things that he hasn't done. Easy to forget the people he's let down. Either way, what has been done and what hasn't been done are things that he will not forgive himself for. So as he runs, Guilt and Sorrow raise their shroud from him, if only for a while.
Running isn't the only place where he can find solace. She can't stay for long. Neither can he, for she never lets him. She tells him that he shouldn't keep coming back, that it's unhealthy. But for all she says, he knows that she can't stay away either. She needs him, he thinks, just as he needs her. So they sit together in fields of gold, whiling away time in hours of golden sunshine.
She doesn't need to say anything, or do anything, he thinks. She just has to be, for her presence is a balm for his shattered soul. He's been ravaged by war, and the scars aren't quite healing. Everyday he returns here to wait for her. With her comes blessed bliss and pure, unadulterated happiness. She's happy too, when she's with him. When she looks up at him, her eyes radiate joy, her entire body exuding her happiness. He exalts in the life she exhales and drowns in a sea of contentment.
What he can't quite understand is why she always leaves. Even though it hurts her, she still turns away, and tells him to go home. He reaches for her, pleading, telling her that she is all he needs.
"I'm like a drug to you", she tells him. "You're addicted to me. And it's killing you. And it's killing her." She turns away, a shadow falling across her face.
But he doesn't see what's wrong with being addicted to iridescent and innocent light. He doesn't let himself see what's wrong. Even when he knows, deep down, there is truth in her words.
"Go back. It isn't right for you to be here with me. Your home is with them. They need you. She needs you." She keeps her back turned.
"You need her." He doesn't need to see her face to know that she's crying.
So she leaves, fading into the breeze. He remains where he is, breathing in her flowery scent. He'll be back tomorrow, just as he knows that she will.
Note: I know its really horrible. But I was finding work a bit dry, so I've come up with this nonsense.
He guns the engine and opens the throttle, leaving her behind. He can't, won't stop running. Moving is the only place where he can find a semblance of peace. Staying is too hard. Staying means looking at her. Staying means hurting her. He doesn't want to look into her eyes and see her infinite patience and love. Infinite patience and love that he doesn't deserve, that wields the knife of guilt which tears his already broken heart into microscopic shreds. Love that he can neither accept nor reciprocate. Not now. He isn't ready. So he runs.
It's easy to forget, when the winds are rushing by his ear, when he's got the throaty rumble of his motorcycle underneath him. It's easy to forget the things that he's done. Easy to forget the things that he hasn't done. Easy to forget the people he's let down. Either way, what has been done and what hasn't been done are things that he will not forgive himself for. So as he runs, Guilt and Sorrow raise their shroud from him, if only for a while.
Running isn't the only place where he can find solace. She can't stay for long. Neither can he, for she never lets him. She tells him that he shouldn't keep coming back, that it's unhealthy. But for all she says, he knows that she can't stay away either. She needs him, he thinks, just as he needs her. So they sit together in fields of gold, whiling away time in hours of golden sunshine.
She doesn't need to say anything, or do anything, he thinks. She just has to be, for her presence is a balm for his shattered soul. He's been ravaged by war, and the scars aren't quite healing. Everyday he returns here to wait for her. With her comes blessed bliss and pure, unadulterated happiness. She's happy too, when she's with him. When she looks up at him, her eyes radiate joy, her entire body exuding her happiness. He exalts in the life she exhales and drowns in a sea of contentment.
What he can't quite understand is why she always leaves. Even though it hurts her, she still turns away, and tells him to go home. He reaches for her, pleading, telling her that she is all he needs.
"I'm like a drug to you", she tells him. "You're addicted to me. And it's killing you. And it's killing her." She turns away, a shadow falling across her face.
But he doesn't see what's wrong with being addicted to iridescent and innocent light. He doesn't let himself see what's wrong. Even when he knows, deep down, there is truth in her words.
"Go back. It isn't right for you to be here with me. Your home is with them. They need you. She needs you." She keeps her back turned.
"You need her." He doesn't need to see her face to know that she's crying.
So she leaves, fading into the breeze. He remains where he is, breathing in her flowery scent. He'll be back tomorrow, just as he knows that she will.
Note: I know its really horrible. But I was finding work a bit dry, so I've come up with this nonsense.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Smiling
Just smile. Apparently, it makes you feel better.
You can use the evidence that Kai Tsi was spouting at me during lunch.
Or maybe the fact that chinese is better due to our teacher being unusually cheerful. I hope it continues this way. ><
I've got to be happier with what I have. Which means that I also have to be happy with what I do. Very unhappy today, that means.
But still. Just smile.
Darn.
You can use the evidence that Kai Tsi was spouting at me during lunch.
Or maybe the fact that chinese is better due to our teacher being unusually cheerful. I hope it continues this way. ><
I've got to be happier with what I have. Which means that I also have to be happy with what I do. Very unhappy today, that means.
But still. Just smile.
Darn.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Morass
The only way a day is really screwed up is when you screw it up yourself.
And seriously. Today's the most screwed up day I've had in a long time.
And seriously. Today's the most screwed up day I've had in a long time.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ten Weeks. And the Ghosts of Four Weeks Past
Really, should I take up blogging as a hobby? Laziness is really getting me. Not just in blogging. But in all parts of life. I'm even late for appointments nowadays. Who'd ever think that? I mean, the Joel that used to be half an hour early for everything is gone. Dead and buried.
I'd like to resurrect that past. Not the past of being such a stickler for schedule, but a more uh, on-the-ball attitude.
I mean, the amount of work I've done this holiday is abysmally little. And the amount of fanfic I've read is abysmally lot. I mean, a lot. If I spent half the time I spent on fanfic on mugging bio, I'd probably have read the textbook ten times over. Absolutely ridiculous, I'd say.
But of course. Everyone's slacking off. Everyone says we should take time to relax. But we should also take time to do work too, right? I mean, procrastination just screws you up eventually.
I'd better get my act together in term 3. There's an RInspire issue that needs doing. And ten thousand projects and tests. Absolutely ridiculous.
Ridiculous is becoming my new favourite word. At least for this blog post.
I'm glad I took the time to bond with my friends. And to do things that I hope, make life happier for others. But there never is enough time, is there?
Not to mention I've disappointed my parents again and again. Disappointed myself again and again. I'm not happy with me. But then, who is? Feeling like this is just ridiculous.
Inadequacy is a bad feeling to have.
The ghosts of four weeks past will probably come to haunt me in the next ten weeks. Or maybe, the rest of my life.
Everything is permissble (maybe not everything), but not everything is beneficial. I've got to choose. Wisely.
I hate making decisions. Ridiculous.
P.S. Hope you all are happy with this nice LONG post. ><
I'd like to resurrect that past. Not the past of being such a stickler for schedule, but a more uh, on-the-ball attitude.
I mean, the amount of work I've done this holiday is abysmally little. And the amount of fanfic I've read is abysmally lot. I mean, a lot. If I spent half the time I spent on fanfic on mugging bio, I'd probably have read the textbook ten times over. Absolutely ridiculous, I'd say.
But of course. Everyone's slacking off. Everyone says we should take time to relax. But we should also take time to do work too, right? I mean, procrastination just screws you up eventually.
I'd better get my act together in term 3. There's an RInspire issue that needs doing. And ten thousand projects and tests. Absolutely ridiculous.
Ridiculous is becoming my new favourite word. At least for this blog post.
I'm glad I took the time to bond with my friends. And to do things that I hope, make life happier for others. But there never is enough time, is there?
Not to mention I've disappointed my parents again and again. Disappointed myself again and again. I'm not happy with me. But then, who is? Feeling like this is just ridiculous.
Inadequacy is a bad feeling to have.
The ghosts of four weeks past will probably come to haunt me in the next ten weeks. Or maybe, the rest of my life.
Everything is permissble (maybe not everything), but not everything is beneficial. I've got to choose. Wisely.
I hate making decisions. Ridiculous.
P.S. Hope you all are happy with this nice LONG post. ><
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mood Swings
I am disappointed at myself .
I'm such a hypocrite.
And I wish I could be both sensitive and insensitive at the same time. To different things, of course.
I'm going on a English and Chinese reading spree, but all I'm reading is books that probably won't improve my erudity. If there's such a word. Chick flicks and all. >< At least its fun.
The usual mix of teenage angst, just that I not angsty. I forget things too fast.
Lets go make geog notes.
.
I'm such a hypocrite.
And I wish I could be both sensitive and insensitive at the same time. To different things, of course.
I'm going on a English and Chinese reading spree, but all I'm reading is books that probably won't improve my erudity. If there's such a word. Chick flicks and all. >< At least its fun.
The usual mix of teenage angst, just that I not angsty. I forget things too fast.
Lets go make geog notes.
.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Good and Bad
Good and bad things have happened these past few days.
Firstly, my lack of self-control is still haunting me. Secondly, I almost flunked my math test. Screw it. All my hard work.
But. On the bright side, I ran a 10 min 32 sec 2.4 run. My best timing by far! Thank God. And I played half-court not bad today. Full court game was horrible though. =((
Back to bio.
Firstly, my lack of self-control is still haunting me. Secondly, I almost flunked my math test. Screw it. All my hard work.
But. On the bright side, I ran a 10 min 32 sec 2.4 run. My best timing by far! Thank God. And I played half-court not bad today. Full court game was horrible though. =((
Back to bio.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Rediscover
Talking to old friends still has its fun and it interesting bits.
Refreshing, and encouraging, to talk with people that you can trust. =)
Ah well. Not too bad today.
I don't feel like going school tomorrow.
><
Refreshing, and encouraging, to talk with people that you can trust. =)
Ah well. Not too bad today.
I don't feel like going school tomorrow.
><
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Disappointed.
I'm really disappointed in myself. I keep telling myself that I'll change, but my resolve never really lasts that long. So I end up each day feeling that I'm a great failure.
I need to buck up. I hate hormonal imbalances as well. Immature thoughts are irritating. =(
Right now, I'm not quite busy, but I still managed to screw up several of my tests. Pathetic.
Most of all, I just can't seem to be less self-centered and more attuned to others. I keep saying the wrong things, or not putting what I want to say in the correct manner.
Sad life.
But I must still be thankful. It could be a hell lot worse. Thanks for the patience.
I need to buck up. I hate hormonal imbalances as well. Immature thoughts are irritating. =(
Right now, I'm not quite busy, but I still managed to screw up several of my tests. Pathetic.
Most of all, I just can't seem to be less self-centered and more attuned to others. I keep saying the wrong things, or not putting what I want to say in the correct manner.
Sad life.
But I must still be thankful. It could be a hell lot worse. Thanks for the patience.
Friday, March 20, 2009
March Camp, Class Gathering, and my epic phail at revision
March Camp, to put it simply, was nothing out of the ordinary. We did almost everything by the book, apart from a few new initiatives. We're just glad the guys did enjoy it, and did learn something from it. I myself had several takeaways. We ended the camp on a high, which was horribly destroyed by an extremely unfortunate event. Yeah. Don't even want to THINK about that. But after the camp, I had the energy to play basketball for several hours, and then to eat lunch. Then never sleep until 2am. Think my brain had been kinda fried, that's why so weird, not functioning properly.
Woke up at 12pm the next day, and left for class party. Notice here that i haven't done much work apart from RInspire. Which really, really sucks. Anyway, the party rocked, played mahjong/bridge for about 6-7 hours, had a good pizza dinner, watched some SUPER funny games on the Wii, and also some cool stuff on the ps3. Then I wasted my time waiting for kuss and shao to complete GOW 2 campaign. Which was retarded. But the good point about waiting is that I got my best score ever against Shao. I lost 25-16 in a normal slayer match. Which for me is a great achievement. And then lost 25-23 in a three player match. Which is also good for me. But well. Then left for home.
The point is, without enough sleep, I have been falling asleep so often that I HAVEN'T DONE ANY WORK YET! Fail. Yeah, really fail. Math is giving me many problems, so now I'm off for more work. The highlight of the party was still the mahjong. And that slayer match. And laughing like crazy. Ah well, glad I had fun, at least =)
Woke up at 12pm the next day, and left for class party. Notice here that i haven't done much work apart from RInspire. Which really, really sucks. Anyway, the party rocked, played mahjong/bridge for about 6-7 hours, had a good pizza dinner, watched some SUPER funny games on the Wii, and also some cool stuff on the ps3. Then I wasted my time waiting for kuss and shao to complete GOW 2 campaign. Which was retarded. But the good point about waiting is that I got my best score ever against Shao. I lost 25-16 in a normal slayer match. Which for me is a great achievement. And then lost 25-23 in a three player match. Which is also good for me. But well. Then left for home.
The point is, without enough sleep, I have been falling asleep so often that I HAVEN'T DONE ANY WORK YET! Fail. Yeah, really fail. Math is giving me many problems, so now I'm off for more work. The highlight of the party was still the mahjong. And that slayer match. And laughing like crazy. Ah well, glad I had fun, at least =)
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