to polish radiant stars
-irishais-
If there has been one constant in Rinoa Heartilly's life, it would have to be shoes. She has closets brimming over with them (closets because living with a millionaire SeeD commander comes with perks); she has them in every hue, every cut, every heel-height and every brand. She is excited about a shoe-organizer for her birthday because it means that stilettos and pumps and boots aren't all jumbled together anymore. She doesn't even mind when Squall mumbles a complaint or seven when he realizes that inside the box is about eighty different little pieces, and that they have to make a trip out to the hardware store because it didn't come with screws.
The sun-bright yellow flats that she is wearing today keep her mind off of the other things, the fact that she still can't quite figure out how she got back. How Time Compression stopped and reversed, and spat them all back out into flower fields and SeeD dances. She leaves the store with a box of wedge-heels, done in autumn reds and oranges, because there are gaping holes in her memory, polished to a black, black shine like her long boots that she's only worn twice.
--there is nothing there.
Rinoa brings home a pair of heavy black work boots for her boyfriend, with supporting insoles and no unnecessary buckles or belts, slip-proof treads that are guaranteed to leave no mark. They promise an easy-to-clean surface, just in case he'll ever need to scrub off dirt or blood, the red dust of a desert's sand or the gray of an empty expanse.