"Don't he never do anythin' but brood? He's givin' me the creeps," growled Barret, looking out through the great glass windows of the Highwind bridge to where Vincent sat alone on the deck, his face turned into the rising wind. His dark hair tangled about him like the remains of a nightmare; and as was too often the case, his posture spoke of a silent and crushing despair.
"Leave 'im alone, Cid replied testily from where he stood at the wheel. He's carryin' a lot of weight."
Barret snorted, turning to glare at the pilot. "An' the rest of us ain't?"
"Yeah, we all got a past," Cid replied testily, matching Barret's glare before falling silent. His knuckles were white where he gripped the great wheel. When he continued, there was something in his voice betraying that place beyond pity, his gaze traveling once more to rest upon Vincent. "But him? He's got the whole damn thing; as if just havin' been a Turk wasn't more than enough. If what that Lucrecia woman said is true, he's carryin' the load of every damn thing that's happened since this planet was first thought up…an' the future too. No matter what happens, Vincent can't win." Cid's eyes, suspiciously bright, remained fastened upon the scarlet-cloaked figure huddled against a storm-ridden sky.
"I dunno," Barret replied, chastened. Almost deliberately, his large finger rubbed at a fitting on his gun arm. He fixed a long moment's speculative attention upon Vincent before he turned the same expression to Cid. "I think he just might."