Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
A terrible fanfic was written once; a terrible fanfic that had one genuinely interesting facet to it: namely, that instead of taking the Final Fantasy VII characters and putting them in a high school drama, it took the idea of a high school drama and ported it into Final Fantasy VII.
Seeing this interesting idea done badly made me sad. So sad, in fact, that I wanted to write my own fic, using that idea, and do it right. After some agonizing over the ethics of the thing, I decided fuck it. Why not. Let's do this. All fic is derivative anyway.
And while we're at it, why not see if the central relationship of said progenitor fic – namely, Sephiroth/Original Female Character – is redeemable as well. It should be safe. After all, I don't actually like that character terribly much, and apparently he actually had a personality once upon a time, so let's see what may be done.
And that's how we got here.
Alas for the lulz of my horrified onlookers, the fic which inspired this work of questionable literary merit is no longer available online. But a thorough sporking may be located at lian-hua. livejournal. com.
Good night, and good luck.
Hands on keyboard. Deep breath.
She can do this.
Just tell the story.
She begins to type.
It was raining the day I arrived; I remember that, because it almost never rained in Midgar. But it was raining that day, a hot rain that smelled of sulphur, and the wind blew it sideways against the buildings and my body, carrying the scent of the dying ocean…
The school loomed ahead, three stories of glass and steel designed to mirror and complement the power of the ShinRa building that served as the spoke in Midgar's glittering, smog-shrouded wheel. It wasn't a pretty building; but then again, power wasn't pretty. It didn't need to be.
Acantha swallowed and blinked the rain from her eyes.
The taxi sped off behind her. She drew herself up, comforted by the weight of the knives on her wrists and the pistol on her hip, and walked down the path to the entrance. Nothing green could grow wild in Midgar, so the path was lined with copper and bronze and colored glass wrought in abstract mimicry of flowering shrubs. Streetlights thrust from the barren concrete at regular intervals, aping the organic and shedding light instead of flower petals. The streetlights never went out in Midgar; otherwise, the city would be lost in perpetual twilight.
Her luggage wheeled gently across the path behind her. She tightened her grip on her handle and pulled the case closer to herself, shivering slightly at the oily feel of the polluted rain on her skin.
The doors slid open at her approach. Inside the building was bright and dry and warm, far more welcoming then the apocalyptic weather. She stepped in, feeling like a refugee, and approached the front desk.
"Excuse me," she said quietly. The secretary looked up and put on a shopkeeper's smile.
"How can I help you?"
"Um, my name is Acantha Halloran. I'm a transfer student."
"Just a moment." He typed quickly into his computer. "May I see your ID?"
She handed it over. He looked at it, then at her, then at whatever was displayed on his screen. Then he nodded and handed it back.
"Arriving early, I see."
"Yes. I – I wanted the extra day. They said that would be okay…"
His smile deepened into something almost real. "It's no problem. Let me just call someone to escort you to the security check, and after that we'll get you settled in the dorms."
"Security check?"
"Standard procedure. It's just a blood test, to confirm your identity and check for any dangerous biological agents." He was already reaching for the phone. "There's been some trouble lately with AVALANCHE, so some extra security is called for. You'll get used to it; happens every time they make a fuss."
"I see," she said, and rocked back on her heels. In less than a minute, a uniformed guard appeared and ushered her to a side room. He pricked her finger; she winced and sucked on it while he deposited the lancet in a slot next to the testing chair. A few minutes later, some lights blinked green and he nodded. A hidden bell went ding, and a plastic ID card bounced out of a dispenser in the wall next to the lancet slot.
"All clear. Welcome to the Academy, Ms. Halloran." He presented her with the card. "This is your temporary pass. You're cleared for the dorm, mess hall, commissary, and the gym. Tomorrow, during orientation, we'll record your biometrics and give you access to the rest of the student areas."
"Alright." She stood. "Can I go to the dorms now? I'd like to unpack."
"Of course." He nodded. "Let me show you where they are."
He took her out of the side room and down a glassed-in corridor that opened from the back of the lobby. Outside, the rain had become a storm, and she saw lightning flash, but didn't hear any thunder responding. The rain hit the glass with heavy, dead splatters.
A few yards ahead, the corridor split into three branches. The guard gestured to the right-hand branch. "That leads to the academic building. Ahead takes you to the practicum, where you'll be doing most of your physical and survival training. We're going to the left – dorms, commissary, mess, and the gym. Students aren't allowed in the practicum outside of classes and personal training – too much delicate equipment – so the dorms have their own gym. You're expected to make use of it."
He had to raise his voice slightly to speak over the rain as he led her down the left-hand path. Acantha nodded, glancing briefly at him. He ignored her.
They came to a set of double doors. He nodded at her, and then at the palm/card reader next to the entrance. "Try out that pass, now."
She slid it through and the reader's light blinked green. The doors slid open, and they walked through to another hallway.
"Mess and commissary's on the left, gym's on the right. There's four floors of dorms, one for each year. You're on the second, with the rest of the sophomores. Elevator's right this way."
The ride up was silent. She couldn't tell if the guard was naturally recalcitrant or simply uninterested, but either way she was grateful that he didn't seem to expect any response to his tour guide routine.
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open.
"Here we are. You're in room 220; down the hall, hang a right, last on the left. Shall I leave you here?"
He was impatient, then; he'd been pulled off a different duty to play escort, and he wanted to get back. Acantha shook her head.
"No, I'm okay. 220?"
"Yes. Orientation is tomorrow at 0800."
She nodded and stepped out of the elevator. It closed behind her.
And that was that. She knew, now, how the insects that infiltrated beehives felt; alien and triumphant and terrified. It didn't seem right, for things to be this easy. There should have been more. But there wasn't, of course, because she was exactly who she appeared to be. Just a transfer student. All her poison was tucked away inside her, where no blood test could find it.
She started down the beige hallway, feeling the beginnings of a headache. The dorm was quiet; she guessed that the other residential students were off enjoying the last day of freedom before the semester. That suited her fine. She needed this time, this silence to compose herself and prepare for what was coming, for the long days of lying ahead of her.
She could do this. She had to. There wasn't a better choice.
Uncle…
Somewhere in this city was the clue she needed, the piece of the puzzle that would lead her to the faceless person or thing that had snatched up her uncle and shoved him in its sack. Somewhere in ShinRa. She had to remember that, and stay focused.
Acantha shoved her hair out of her face and marched down the hall, doubletime.
Her room was small, about ten by ten feet, with a single window overlooking the sector's skyline. The wall between it and the next sector snaked away into the distance, rising in the rain like a leviathan. Lights in muted jewel tones gleamed steadily through the smoke and the roiling clouds.
She closed the blinds.
Acantha's stomach growled as she finished piling the last of her clothes into the dresser. She'd been too nervous to eat on the train from Kalm to Midgar, and now it was catching up with her. And it would be good to get to the mess early, before anyone else came trickling in. She could eat and be up in her room before anyone noticed. She'd finish unpacking the rest of her things – her books and her kit and her photos of home – after she'd eaten. The box with the rest of her weapons would probably have arrived from the train station by then, too.
Yes. Sound plan.
She left her room and made her way down to the mess hall. They were only just starting to transition from lunch into dinner, and there wasn't much. She took a bowl of soup and a few bread rolls and sat down in a far corner where she could watch the doors and windows. She ate quickly and neatly, tearing the rolls and dipping them in the soup.
Her meal was only halfway done when three other students entered the mess hall, laughing and chatting and shucking rain-sodden coats. Acantha froze, roll halfway to her mouth, then forced herself to keep eating. The three were obviously close, wrapped in their own world, and they might not even notice her lurking in the corner.
There were two boys and a girl. The girl was tall and busty, with long brown hair and a certain exasperated air about her as she watched the boys wrestle. The taller one had spiky black hair, and had caught the other one in a headlock to administer a noogie. The smaller boy shoved at his friend's arms, and eventually wiggled out of his grip and punched him hard in the shoulder. His hair was as spiky as his friend's, but wheat-blond instead of black. Acantha wondered if they were brothers. They certainly acted like it.
The girl intervened at that point, stepping between them and shoving them towards the food. They went, laughing, and she laughed with them.
Acantha busied herself with her meal, hoping they wouldn't come over. But she saw them move towards her out of the corner of her eye and sighed inwardly, bracing herself.
"Hi!" the girl said, cheerfully. Acantha looked up. "I haven't seen you before! Are you new?"
Acantha swallowed. "Transfer student," she said quietly.
"Really? What year?"
"Sophomore."
"Me too! I'm Tifa." She extended her hand and Acantha shook it once, nodding slightly. "This is Zack," she gestured to the black-haired boy, "and this is Cloud." He was the blond. "What's your name?"
"Acantha."
"Nice to meet you! Can we join you?"
"…sure," she said, not seeing a way out of the conversation. "Um. I might not be the best company, though."
"Long trip?" Zack asked as they all sat down. Acantha nodded. "Where are you from?"
"Mideel."
"Never heard of it."
"Most people haven't. We don't even have a reactor."
"Where is it?"
"South. On an island." She lowered her head and finished off the last roll. Zack grinned and elbowed Cloud.
"Hey, you and Tifa aren't the biggest hicks in school anymore. Piece of luck there, huh?"
"Speak for yourself," Cloud said mildly, biting into his sandwich. "At least Nibelheim doesn't sound like a cat coughing up a hairball."
"Oi!"
Tifa smothered a giggle. "Cut it out, you two. Me and Cloud are both from Nibelheim – it's on the Western continent, in the mountains. He's a sophomore, too," she explained, turning to Acantha.
"I'm a junior," Zack said, swallowing a bite a pasta. "I'm from Gongaga. Another Western boy, only I'm more south and desert. So just how south is Mideel?"
"Tropical."
"Aw, man, I'm jealous." He pouted slightly. "Gongaga gets some brutal winters. I hate the cold."
"When did you get in?" Tifa added, taking a drink. Acantha noted, with some amusement, that she was drinking chocolate milk.
"Hour and a half ago, maybe."
"You must be exhausted!"
Acantha nodded.
"Are you always this talkative?" Cloud asked. There was a smile hiding in his pale blue eyes. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Yes."
Zack snorted milk and started coughing. "I like you! Man, it's great to have more country folk around."
"Oh, stop, Zack, you make it sound like we're a different species…"
"What made you decide on the Academy?" Cloud asked Acantha, as Tifa and Zack fell into friendly bickering.
"I… wanted to be useful." It had taken her a while to decide on a believable reason that didn't draw too much attention to her. And 'useful' had the advantage of being not precisely a lie, as long as no one thought to ask who she wanted to be useful to. "There's not much to do in Mideel," she added. "If you're a boy, you grow up to be a fisherman. If you're a girl, you grow up and marry a boy. I wanted to – do something else with my life."
And that was also true. That would always be true. She had never wanted to be part of ShinRa, exactly, but she had never wanted to marry and settle and never leave the island, either. The world was so much bigger than Mideel. Uncle had told her stories, sitting on the beach with his arm around her and watching the tide slide out. Stories of mountains and dragons and deep caves, cities terrible and wonderful, wide oceans and statues carved from living rock overlooking a cherry blossom sea. Of a man who dreamed of touching the stars and built a thousand metal machines to carry him there; of places where the raw life of the planet welled up from the cracks in her skin and left magical jewels shining in its wake; of another man in a dry desert canyon who charted the pulses and tides of the planet's breath, who spoke to her and knew her by name…
Her vision was blurring.
"You okay?" Cloud asked, and Acantha scrubbed quickly at her eyes.
"…I guess I'm a little tired." Her soup was almost done, and she wasn't hungry anymore. She stood up.
"I'm going to go back and get some sleep. It's been a long day for me."
"Alright," Tifa said. "Sleep well."
"See ya tomorrow," Zack added.
"Good night," she said, and left.
Her family photos were where she'd left them, in the album in the bottom of her suitcase. Acantha stared at them for a long moment, then turned away.
Next to her dresser was a combined desk and work table with a gun rack hanging over it, as she'd asked for. Her box of weapons had also arrived, and she took an automatic inventory as she unpacked. Rifle, shotgun, revolvers both snub-nosed and standard. Pistols of the auto and semi-auto kind. A sniper stand and scope, various other accessories, and her repair kit. All present and accounted for, and carefully checked over for travel damage before being stowed away safely in their proper place.
She sat down at the workspace and opened her kit. Rummaged through to the bottom, and felt for the switch. A thin, carefully concealed drawer popped out. Inside was a single datastick. She pulled it out and held it to the light.
Everything she knew. Every piece of information about her uncle's disappearance she had been able to beg, borrow, buy, or steal, all sitting snug and encrypted in this tiny little 'stick, no bigger than half her smallest finger. The reason she was here…
He had promised. He had promised he would come back. He never, ever broke his promises. She knew perfectly well what the neighbors had said, how they'd shrugged and admitted they never thought he would stay that long in the first place, feckless, reckless son who'd left once already. She knew better.
The 'stick went back in the drawer. The drawer was closed. The kit was put away, and Acantha spread out on top of the bed, still in her traveling clothes.
The rest could wait until morning.