An Afternoon Ride
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Written on a seafood run over the weekend, because I didn't really like my last Vincentric fic. So, over a bowl of gumbo I came up with this part of his journey to who he is later on in some of my fics.
Well I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame
If you've never stared off into the distance then your life is a shame
And though I'll never forget your face sometimes I can't remember my name—Counting Crows, Mrs. Potter's Lullaby
They burst out of the tunnel near the Old Midgar construction, long abandoned now, and down the old seaside causeway. It was a perfect route for cyclists such as they, racing their way down the back road to the Costa del Sol ferry.
If anyone paid notice, which they wouldn't, they might make note of the motorcycle and it's driver bearing resemblance to those having some part in the salvation of the world, twice. The man riding behind was less recognizable, only having saved the planet once and his trademark crimson cloak having fallen into dust shortly thereafter, but both preferred the anonymity of back highways and the brotherhood of the road.
Not that they were up to anything.
Ever.
They met at the back bar of Blue Gill and ordered, simple fare for simple place. The weather was colder than it had been at Cloud's last visit, and so he and Vincent ordered the spicy seafood soup for which the restaurant was famous, and two mugs of stout beer. Vincent took his hair down from it's riding bandana and shook it loose.
"You'll regret that."
"Whatever. Leaving it tied up makes it itch." The wind was a little stiff that afternoon and cool. He almost missed his cloak, but it wasn't that cold. No, what he missed was a portable hiding place.
No one could hide forever, apparently.
"This is where Reno and I scared the straight lady." Vincent snorted. "No, we weren't doing anything! We were just sitting right out there, drinking!"
"With you two that might be enough. Still, no pleasing some people, I suppose."
"Would you take Rude here and scare straight people if you hooked up?"
"Gods, I wish I'd never told you I thought he was hot."
"No because I will never, ever let you live it down. Ever." Oh well, it was better than Reno ever finding out, and at least he could trust Cloud to keep the deep, dark secret that his sense of humor wasn't the only thing to wake up recently. Ah, libido. You could have stayed in the coffin, for all the good you do me. Cloud drank some beer and kicked at Vincent's ankle good-naturedly. "And he's not my type but I have to admit, he does fill out a wifebeater."
Their food arrived, providing a welcome distraction, and if he were entertaining the mental image Cloud provided, he would throw himself into the alligator infested waters before he gave any indication of such. He broke open the loaf of bread and stuffed a corner of it down into the stew to soak up some of the savory juices, and opened his mouth to take a spoon piled high with stewed seafood.
And the wind blew a chunk of his hair directly into it.
"Oh hells." He pulled his hair, liberally smeared with spit and crab-juice, out of his mouth and glared at a laughing Cloud. He supposed he deserved it for ignoring his friend's warning, but balls, it was a nice day and he wanted to take his hair down.
He sighed and pulled it back again so he could eat. "Not a word from you." The two men were silent except for the tearing of breadcrust and the clinking of spoons for a time until Cloud broke the quiet.
"So when do you start your job?"
"Tomorrow. This is my last, great break of freedom. Gods, I never thought I'd have an actual job again, but I'm kind of looking forward to it."
"What made you get a real job? Your little freelancing gig with Reeve, and occasionally the Turks...I thought that was going well enough." Cloud paused to pick out a shrimp by the tail and chew around it, and wash it down with a hearty sip of beer. He looked up to see Vincent studiously examining a fishing boat.
"Another tale for another time. I did, however, have to call Reeve before I left this morning to find out if there was ah, mandatory urinalysis for this position. He asked why? I said, because Cloud and I wanted to go riding down the old causeway today."
"And..."
"You could just hear him going through his rolodex of grownup answers. I hope you two aren't going to be operating motor vehicles on intoxicating chemicals, or when are you crazy kids going to grow up, or...finally he just sighed and said 'Vince, if anyone pissed in a cup around here, do you seriously think Yuffie would still be working for me?'"
Cloud choked on a bit of rice and Vincent motioned to the bartender for a refill.
"Speaking of, where do you want to stop? Liz's old place?"
"Why break tradition?"
Everyone went to Liz's to smoke dope. They went there to buy it too, and live bait, and beer. The best home brew and home made whiskey on the continent, and you couldn't get better weed.
That was before Meteor.
Nothing was left of it, save the bottom half of the brick pillars so they could see where it once stood. No one knew what happened to Liz, a giant tattooed pillar of a woman herself, whether she survived or not, but by unspoken agreement no one rebuilt the place either.
But everyone came here to smoke dope, stepping by the hundreds over the ruined back porch of the old bar as though the door were still there.
Vincent rolled the joint deftly with his claw and licked the paper, handing it with the bag back to Cloud and letting him light it.
"So why did you..."
"No. Too sober."
"You are no fun." But he said it in the halting, squeaky tone of someone holding it in, and passed it to Vincent.
A group of fishermen pulled up, announced by their sputtering motor and the smell of diesel, and claimed their own corner of the abandoned bar; Cloud and Vincent nodded in greeting and watched, for a time, as the boats ran their business up and down the coast and the sun glinted on the waves.
"All right, I'll tell you." He relit the joint and took a hefty hit with a look that said, this is going to take a while. "You know how I get when I get...bored."
"Morose? Depressive? Moody?"
"No. Since all of you threatened to kick my ass if I kept getting morose and depressive." He blew out the smoke. "Moody."
"Despondent? Possessed? I'm running out of adjectives, Vin."
He rolled his eyes. "I get into things. Trouble. So...I was in WRO headquarters."
"This is getting good."
"No, it's getting bad. Anyway, Reeve sent me somewhere, I forget, anyway, the secretary that makes the ID badges was away from her desk."
"No."
"So I made one! I didn't fake records. Well I would have but somebody wouldn't pick up their phone. Anyway, because I couldn't fake the mag strip, I got busted after a few weeks when someone swiped it and some humorless hag called Reeve and he got pissed. I mean, like he usually doesn't get. I was actually surprised."
"So, his solution was to give you a real job."
"His quote was, it worked for Yuffie."
"Now, that's an endorsement." Cloud snorted around the smoke that came out his nose and Vincent tried to frame it in a picture, in his mind, the overgrown weediness of the place and the falling bricks and the sound of the boats and the cicadas, and the late sunlight and his friend's smile through the smoke. There was something important here, that his fuzzy mind tried to pick from the day, from the weekend, about the ruin of the world and things growing through the bricks, and the fact that years ago Cloud had been a morose crazy fuck too but now he was pretty happy and sort of functional. But soon he'd probably chalk it up to beer and smoke and being stoned and tired. He sobered up fast—so did Cloud, it was an occupational hazard of mako—so whatever point his brain was trying to make, it would be gone by the time he found himself near it, like a mirage.
Then again, it really might be all idiotic and stoned-brain-stuff.
"Well, I'm getting around on a company car for now, even though I don't actually work there, and he's letting me stay with him until I get an apartment which will be soon because his cat hates me. The real one, I mean. And...he's letting me keep my old ID badge, he just activated it, which I think is pretty funny really. Honestly though? He's doing so much for me I'm wondering if I qualify as a dependent on his tax return."
"Nothing wrong with taking help from friends when you need it. And to start over, you need it. I did once. What is your job, anyway?"
"Head of Event Security."
"Probably be good if you washed the smoke out of your hair."
Vincent leaned back against the wheel of Fenrir and laughed. Cloud gave him a hand up, and they stepped carefully over the weeds to go home.