Final Harvest 7: Advent Crops
Cloud inherits his mother's ranch in peaceful Kuponut Valley. AU, strong language (Gee, thanks Cid).
I'm not sure where the plot came from. I was readin something boring, and I guess my disinterested mind just wandered. Hope you enjoy, or suffer, or whatever rocks your boat.
"Ya sure picked a shitawful time ta move inta th' valley, kid!"
"I guess, Mr. Highwind," Cloud nodded weakly, eyes screwed up tight, and leaned into the hot torrent of air rushing in from the window.
"Shit, kid. I toldja ta call me Cid!" He produced a rumpled cigarette from somewhere, and thrust it into his mouth in emphasis. Cloud managed to pry open an eye long enough to watch the delivery man fumble abattered Zippo open, but between the winding, bumpy dirt road, the steering wheel, and the stick shifter, the man gave up in a rainbow of curses. He fumbled the Zippo back into wherever it came from, muttering angrily at the road ahead.
"So what's yer story, kid? Ain't shit out here but damn farms'n'what-have-ya," Cid fingered his stubble thoughtfully. "Well, there's th'village bar, run by, uh... shit... that young'un. She's got a real nice pair o', uh... eyes. Big an' round, like. Kinda... kinda like deer eyes, but mebbe not so blank." He guffawed, and gunned the gas, oblivious to his shuddering passenger. "So come on, kid, what brings ya out to the middle o' nowhere?"
Cloud took a deep breath."My Ma had a ranch out here, but... I don't know. She passed away, and that's all I know." Cloud couldn't be more proud of himself. He managed to spew words from his mouth, instead of vomit. "I'll stay at the ranch until I figure things out, at least."
"Well I'll be... Yer Missus Strife's brat! I heard they done sent you off to th' city when you was real little, but I'll be damned." Suddenly Cid threw the beat-up truck into a hard right, and Cloud's seatbelt locked down mercilessly on his pelvis as his body tried to slide across the hot vinyl benchseat.
"HOLY FUCKNUTS!" Cid jammed both feet on the brake, and Cloud, already hunched over, had an expeditious meeting of his forehead and the dashboard. Everything went white; Technicolor stars danced in his eyes.
"Odin's balls, I nearly wasted some goddamn mutt," Cid finally looked over at Cloud. "Hell, kid, you okay? I didn' mean fer ya ta get brained. We're finally at yer Ma's place, but... ya need me ta drive ya over ta th' Doc's place? T'ain't a problem, ya know..."
"Uh... no, I think I'll be fine, Mr. Highwind. Thanks for the ride." Cloud fingered the growing welt on his forehead as he opened the cab door and gingerly slid out.
"Call me Cid, goddamnit!" Cid turned off the engine, pocketing the keys as he walked to meet Cloud at the tailgate. The younger man waited patiently as Cid manhandled the tailgate open, in a horrible shriek of rust and steel.
Cid let out a long whistle as Cloud hefted his broadsword out of the produce-and-packing-crate-filled truckbed and up onto his back with one hand, and grabbing his canvas rucksack with the other.
"That's sum see-ree-yus bis'nus ya got there, kid. Huntin's s'pose t'be not too bad 'round here, if that's yer thing... it's mostly peaceful-like, but... ya oughta talk to the village's hunter 'bout that kinda stuff," Cid took a long drag, exhaling slowly. "Well, I gotta make a buncha stops'n'shit, so I cain't stick around, but if'n ya need anythin', walk right up that road ta find th' general store. Feller name o' Kinsey... no... Tinsel? Shit, Whateverisname that runs th' store, feller can answer any questions ya might run across. I think he's there most ev'ry day'a th' week, but fuck if I know."
He climbed back into the driver's seat, taking a moment to finally light up the cigarette still clenched between his teeth, before slamming the door shut.
Cloud watched in grateful silence, on the solid earth, as Cid fought the truck; the engine whinnying like a dying horse, before turning over into a a lively, deafening roar.
Cid leaned out the window, eyeing Cloud carefully from spikey blond head to brown booted toe as if they'd just now met.
"Listen up, kid. I reckon I mentioned earlier... that there's a special kind o' trouble in the valley, yeah? If them prissy cityfolk developer asshats come 'round ta harass ya, run an' get that Kensington guy, th' bar owner, or one o' them carpenter fellers to get rid o'them, 'till ya get yer bearings, at least." Cid looked off into the distance, a grimace snaking across his face. "Well, I'll leave ya to it, kid. Good luck!"
"Thank you, Mr. Highwind," the roar of the truck drowned out Cloud's call, as it leapt away. Cloud saw the foul-mouthed driver lean his head out the window just as he made the turn back onto the main country road.
"CALL ME CID, GODDAMNIT!"
When the thunder of Cid's truck faded away, Cloud turned to the ranch.
He checked out every building and bit of rickety fencing. Everything was locked, from the small barn featuring a tired, sagging roof, to the tiny weathered chicken coop. It went unsaid that the small farmhouse was also locked. He searched under the faded straw doormat, and under the conspicuous pile of stones by the door, but found no key. Cloud sighed, and sat on the tiny concrete stoop. His head hung, cradled in his hands.
"Minerva, Ma, what am I supposed to do?"
She'd died without warning; her recent letters had been the same as always, and the subsequent police investigation and autopsy had provided a less than satisfying explanation: unknown cause of death.
He'd drifted apart from her over the years, but she was all the family he'd had left after Dad died.
A tiny wet tongue was lapping at his hands, cool in the late spring heat.
Cloud peeled his hands from his face, to see a muddy, burr-covered beagle pup, all dangly velvet ears, big watery eyes, and long, gangly tail thumping in the dusty dirt.
He reached down, and the puppy wriggled happily under the gentle stroking.
"Well, little guy, I guess I better get over to that general store, or we'll both be roughing it tonight."
To be continued (?!)