I now have an LJ (at Weng Hong's urging).
timesuchasthis.livejournal.com
Thursday, February 4, 2010
New School (not really but), New Faces
Thank God for my OG and class. They're really a lot better than I expected! Thanks guys (and girls)
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Friday, January 22, 2010
God He Reigns.
To God be the glory, honour and power for ever and ever.
Romans 1:16-17
I am not ashamed of the gospel, becuase it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."
Romans 1:16-17
I am not ashamed of the gospel, becuase it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."
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.
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