A/N: First FF7 multi right here. A few notes before you start, I don't use FF7 gil or years. I think AC took place in like 210? Nope, I'd rather use real-world years. XD I know, I'm awful. But this is AU, so, you know, gotta expect it. Right, so, jump in.
On Your Mother's Name
One:
"You've got hair made for a convertible, kid."
Yazoo cocked an eyebrow quizzically. The man's silhouette against the fading sunlight was dark and foreboding but his voice was cheerful and rugged, the tones of someone lonely and hungry for conversation. He shifted in the driver's seat and his bobble-head dolls that were attached to the dashboard shifted along with him; vibrated with the unnecessary speed of the small taxi cab.
The back window was rolled down and Yazoo had been leaning his had up against it, letting the wind blast his silvery hair around his cheeks and shoulders. The day had been so hot and stifling but here on the 8-40 in the moments before sunset, it was cooling and invigorating. Yazoo watched the driver for a moment more before rolling the window up half-way and pretending he hadn't heard the comment.
"What?" he asked.
"I said, you got hair made for a convertible. You know. I can just see it," he mused, "all that hair streaming behind ya. Would you like that?"
Yazoo raised a hand to his hair thoughtfully, curling one finger into a tangle of locks. He had never thought about a convertible before and when he did, the image was of some fire-engine red speed-demon rocketing down the highway. That must have been the driver's image, too, because he was rocketing down the highway. Yazoo looked at the speedometer - it was half hidden by the man's arm but the needle was somewhere past eighty.
"It might be all right," the boy hummed, slightly irritated. He wasn't interested in small-talk, he only wanted to get home, wherever that may be this time.
"I'm only sayin'… haven't seen hair like that around here. Normally people, they, you know, kinda keep a low profile." His fingers, large and hairy, drummed on the steering wheel and he was happy because he had finally gotten his aloof passenger to speak. "Buzz cuts!" He ran a hand through shaggy black hair. "Well, except me… but I don't come out to the country much…"
Yazoo stared at the hair wrapped around his finger; it was turning gold in the setting sunlight. "You think I'll stand out?" he wondered aloud.
"Like an elephant among chocobos."
Then, all at once, the sun disappeared behind the hills in the west. The sky seemed to erupt into deep hues of purple and blue; the darkness ran down the moors and covered all the trees and wide pastures. There was some hint of stars in the east and they twinkled faintly and Yazoo suddenly felt as if he had been in the cab for hours; he shifted uneasily in the dingy seat, looking out of the other window. He could see cows lazily grazing in the fields, now dark forms slinking between trees. The last bit of light from over one of the hills shot up, a fierce remembrance of a dying day, and in that light Yazoo saw it: the shadow of a tower.
It caught the boy's eye like some great fish would catch the eye of an old fisherman and in the instant that it jumps out of the sea, alive and wriggling, both the fish and the fisherman know they are meant for one another. He turned to the window, grasping the handle to roll the glass down. A lock of hair that had been resting over his shoulder flew out of the window and the wind was in Yazoo's face, the world fresh and strong, and the tower to his left just over the valley, a thing of great power and life. He heard something in the back of his mind, some low buzzing or humming, and couldn't take his eyes off of it.
He squinted his eyes in the evening light.
"… there? Hey, kid, you all right?"
"Huh," Yazoo sat back and turned to the driver. His eyes were in the rearview mirror, brown and embedded deep into the man's head, charged with the energy of a Red Bull.
"You just got real quiet for a sec. I was talkin' a mile a minute!" He laughed boisterously. "I was just telling you about the castle."
"Castle?"
He jerked his thumb towards the window. The road was winding around the outskirts of another large hill and that tower that rose up over the trees was getting closer and closer as they curved towards it. "Palace of Jenova," he said and placed his hand back on the wheel. Yazoo snuck a glance at the speedometer once again and still couldn't see the needle anywhere below eighty. "It was a pretty big tourist attraction back in the seventies and there're still tours given in the first two floors. But because tourism died out in the late eighties, this place has all but gone to pot. And no one important visits Charm Ridge anymore, 'specially no one from Midgar, so I was saying that your rock-star hair-do sure is gonna give everyone cause for a stare!"
Yazoo shook his head. "I'm not a visitor, I'm a resident."
"Where's your family?"
"I…" He paused, his eyes flickered towards the speedometer again, and then towards the tower that was now just as dark as the sky. "That's none of your business."
"Oh… sorry, kid, didn't mean to pry. It's just…"
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"Just?" Yazoo hummed.
"You're so… pretty," he said.
It was past eighty. Now past ninety, Yazoo was sure. The other cars - or had there really been any other cars? - were all in the dust now and Yazoo wondered if they had passed the off-ramp to his new home. Yazoo was pressed back into the seat and, in the trunk, he could hear his one suitcase thumping around.
There was a strange tone to his laughter as he said, "I've never seen anyone so pretty. Not in the back of my cab."
Yazoo ignored him.
There was a turn made quickly, so quick that they could have crashed into the guardrail and the cab was flying down the right underneath a sign that said Exit 54. Yazoo could see the man's eyes still, even in the veil of the night, and they were tired, so tired, and a little red around the edges.
The streetlights were a welcome change from the darkness of the hills; red and green lights flashed over the head of the taxi and other cars surrounded them. Yazoo rolled the window up when a car rolled up beside him and a young girl, a brunette no older than ten, looked over at him and smiled.
The cab driver said nothing else in the twenty minutes it took them to get down to Pays Boulevard, a small street tucked into the swooping valleys and tight pockets of Charm Ridge. The streetlights were spilling down onto the concrete sidewalks and lit Yazoo's window and the side of his face. He counted off the addresses on the mailboxes they passed and was honestly surprised when they pulled into the driveway of 201 Nowlin Drive.
He had expected, by the way the driver's mood turned so rapidly, that he could be accosted; maybe taken down a quieter street, or in a field, and the driver would turn around to him. But this street wasn't busy, and there were no cars, just a streetlight, shining down on them from above. Yazoo sat calmly, drowsy-eyed but alert and his right hand was positioned to grab the pocket knife in his back pocket.
The engine was still running.
"You're… you're a good looking kid," the driver said. "Your mom'd be proud, I think." He turned around then, twisted in his seat, to get his first full look at his young passenger. Yazoo let himself be taken in, and as tired as he was he held his chin up, his bright green eyes lit with expectance. All the expectance in the world. And it was probably that which finally deterred the man from reaching back in the seat and getting his fingers whacked off. Instead he said, dejectedly, "That'll be fifty-seven twenty-two."
Yazoo reached into his left pocket instead for the money and threw a few twenties at the man. He opened his door and went towards the trunk that the driver unlocked from inside. His suitcase was black and svelte, just enough for some clothes and a toothbrush. As he walked around the side of the car, he found the driver's head poking gently out of the window and he looked up at him with a face cratered and swollen from days and nights of booze. "Hey, just a word of advice. Kids shouldn't travel alone like that, you know? It's not safe. Word to the wise." He rolled his window up quickly and backed out of the driveway hurriedly. The cab swerved and was soon down the road and Yazoo stood watching, a ring of moths like a halo above his head.
The porch light of the house had been turned on, probably a result of the cab pulling away, and Yazoo walked onto the grass, following it up to the red-painted porch. The rest of the house was an off-white that seemed dirty in the dark but was a welcome sight from miles of travel. Before he could knock on the door, it was flung open and a woman's face was there, smiling at him from underneath sagging wrinkles.
"Yazoo, welcome home!"
He managed a small smile. Home… again.
"We're so happy to see you, so happy indeed. Come in, don't stand out there looking lost! You're home now," she crooned to him and took him by the shoulder, chauffeuring him inside the cool house. He suddenly felt as if it weren't summer at all but an impending autumn and visibly shivered.
The door shut behind him and she said to him, "Oh, you'll have to excuse the AC. Old bones like a good jolt of cold, reminds 'em that they are still living."
"It's all right," he hummed, though it wasn't all right at all. He was a naturally cold creature who favored the sun and warmth and could only imagine the rough days ahead. But instead of protesting, he turned to her, her large form in the doorway shrouded in a pink furry robe and said, "I suppose we haven't really been introduced."
"Oh, there's no need for that." She waved at him haughtily. "We're family. I haven't seen you since you were small but you remember your old Aunt Carolina, don't you?"
He nodded mutely.
"Stanley's already gone to bed, but you can meet him in the morning. You must be awful tired, I bet, riding all the way from Midgar. I was worried, you know, who ever heard of a fifteen year old traveling by himself?"
Yazoo had been traveling to live with distant relatives since he was very young and half those times he did not have an escort. He came like a package, a great gift from the gods to needy family members, because for the small bit of trouble of having a teenage houseguest, they would get access to his inheritance. But it was a curse even with the money, he often thought. Because with Yazoo came wealth and comfort and ultimately death. That's why he was here now, in Carolina's living room and unafraid and used to being with strangers. His twice-removed Uncle Gavin had died just two days prior and before him was Grandmother Jade. There was an endless list and that the beginning of that list was… his parents?
His parents, that picture he kept in the back of his mind that was filmed with dust and corroded with forgetfulness.
"Do you want to lay down now?"
Yazoo looked up at the clock that hung over the television set; it was a lighthouse and ticked loudly. It was just after eight and that made him wonder what time Stanley had gone to bed. He nodded however and Carolina motioned for him to follow her down a small and darkened hallway to the left, between the kitchen and the living room. They passed a bathroom and a shut door through which Yazoo's hearing was keen enough to pick up some soft snoring.
His bedroom was the last room on the right. Carolina turned on the light and Yazoo walked in, met with the smell of mothballs. It was simple and neat if not incredibly dusty. Yazoo looked at the dresser top beside him and resisted swiping a finger across the grime.
"Well? I know it's not Windsor Palace but I'm sure you'll be comfortable here. It's the warmest room in the house, you know."
Warmest didn't mean much here, Yazoo thought dourly. He set his suitcase down. "Thank you, aunt," he said.
"No problem," she moved towards the door with a yawn. "Have a good night, Yazoo. And we're so happy to have you with us." The door shut softly behind her.
"Happy," Yazoo whispered to the room. "Happy to have my money."
-
When he was finally able to force himself to sleep in that small, rigid bed, he dreamt of the castle. In his mind, it was still a dark, foreboding thing up against the sweeping sky but instead of being in the cab, he was standing in the middle of a large field, looking out at it. He felt the early evening breezes through his hair, flinging it back over his shoulders and then against his face and up into the air - each lock of hair like a silver leaf on the wind.
The light was fading and in the dark tower, suddenly, there was a light turned in a window. Yazoo squinted in his dreams and though the building was miles away, his eyes brought him a glimpse of someone in the window and they saw each other just before the sun went down. They saw each other in the dark and out of it came a low moan.
Yazoo woke up moaning.
The covers were wrapped around his pale form in some attempt to get warm but he was shivering and sighing, and he opened his eyes on his bedroom door that was flying open.
"Yazoo? Are you okay?"
Carolina seemed petrified, her brown-gray hair frizzed out around her face and her nightgown horribly askew. She lumbered towards him and the bed and sat down beside him, putting her arms around his shoulders. "I heard you whimpering," she cooed.
Yazoo frowned slightly, trying to pull away. "I'm all right," he said and finally wriggled free from her grasp. He looked to his right and out of the window the sun was already up and burning through the crisp pines.
"Bad dreams? I hope the bed wasn't too uncomfortable."
"Mm," he hummed, shaking his head. His shoulders were covered in chill bumps and he leaned his head into the wall, sighing. "I'm all right," he repeated and wished Carolina would leave. She smelled of eggs and bacon fat and he realized she had been making breakfast. He was hungry but the smell made him feel sick.
"Okay then…" She stood up and gave him a faltering smile. Yazoo watched her tiredly. He had seen this too many times; the relative who had their life, their own routine, all together and tried to accommodate another person just for some meager constitution. It was almost pity that he felt, not for Carolina but for himself. His life was on repeat, one overweight aunt after another coming in and out of his life and dropping like flies around him.
She said as she moved for the door, "I made some food. Don't hesitate to come out and say hello - Stanley's up finally and he's just jumping to meet you."
The door shut.
-
Stanley was obviously not jumping for anyone any time soon. He seemed that if he even rose from his seat, he would fall to pieces in a dusty heap on the kitchen floor. His head was oddly-shaped, his ears lopsided which skewed his glasses and he peered at Yazoo over the rims with kind blue eyes. "Good morning," he said, his voice laced with sand and gravel. "Sorry I couldn't greet you last night, but I was just so tired…"
"Aren't we all," Yazoo replied and gave some ghost of a smile that appeased the old man. He would die soon, Yazoo was sure, and maybe even sooner due to his arrival.
On the table there were three places set and Yazoo sat down between his two relatives, feeling awkward even as Carolina piled food onto his plate. "You're so thin," she marveled as she took her seat beside him. "We'll put some meat on you yet, I bet!"
Stanley laughed, a brittle sound. "She's always cooking with fat and grease," he said warmly.
Yazoo paled.
Carolina nodded confidently and began to cut into a slab of bacon as thick as her pinky finger. Yazoo looked down at his plate and was suddenly not at all hungry. He sighed and looked out onto the back porch where a gated fence stood just beyond a small shed and beyond that were the trees and the morning. Yazoo turned back down to his plate, picked at a few items, moved them around distractedly and tuned in like a radio listener to Stanley and Carolina's chipped conversation. They spoke of schools for Yazoo and the new clothes they could get him.
But Yazoo's listening was being interfered with, there was static coming through louder than Carolina's voice.
"Excuse me," he said and stood up abruptly. He was facing the screen door to the backyard and Carolina watched him, startled.
"Yazoo? Where-"
"I'll be back. I want to go for a walk."
"But so early?"
He opened the door. "I'll be back."
"But you're in your pajam-"
The screen door shut behind him. Yazoo wished that had been a lie: he didn't want to come back. He was sick of it. He was sick of the looping, of the same places and same faces and yet, the unfamiliarity of it all. The grass was cool and wet with dew on his bare feet. In the swirl and burst of the morning, he could hear birdsongs and twigs snapping up in the boughs. Yazoo stood out in the middle of the yard and let the low breathing wind rustle his hair and lose pajamas and he closed his eyes.
Breathed in the countryside.
He let himself bathe in the silence, something foreign to someone who had come from Midgar, a city in which there was no natural beauty or peace. It was five minutes before Yazoo opened his eyes and when he did, gaze positioned at the top branches of a tree, he saw a boy sitting there, brave green eyes glistening and short silver hair in the wind. He smiled.
-
To be continued.
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A/N: Well, updates will come with encouragement. I'm in school, so you know how that goes. XD By the way, yeah, I made up Charm Ridge, nothing else would fit my needs. Anyway, thoughts and comments are always welcome.
Review?