"What are you doing?" A short brunette in a lab coat stood at the door of the Rocket Town garage, looking in on what appeared to be a silver-haired man with a huge sword on his back. She put her hands on her hips as the figure whirled around, sending silver powder everywhere.

"Fuck it, Shera. Can't you see I'm working?" came the answer from behind the puff of dust. Cid Highwind coughed as he accidentally inhaled some of the flakes.

She carefully made her way over to Cid, avoiding various half-finished projects and tools scattered all over the floor. "I see the Halloween costume is coming along…"

Cid grabbed a rag off the work table and rubbed at his face, annoyed. "Goddamn 'costumes required' party." Shera bit her lip as she stubbed her toe on a large tool box. Great timing, since she was going to say something decidedly not nice to her housemate.

"Well, she didn't make you dress up like Sephiroth. Certainly not that, given Cloud's…"

"Eh, screw Spike; if he's got issues, he shouldn't have fuckin' suggested I dress up as a goddamn Village Person."

"I thought it was Tifa."

"Oh whoever-the-hell's idea it was. They don't like it, they can leave." Shera elected not to remind Cid that the party was going to be on HIS airship, and there would be very few options as to departure.

Cid tossed the rag aside and peered down into a barrel of powdered metal alloys. "I was sure this would work on oily hair…I mean it does a good job sopping the stuff up in here when I spill…eh, fuck that shit."

Shera put a hand to her forehead as she watched Cid puff around the worktable. Irritated, he plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit up, face completely silver. Shera's mind conjured a vision of the Tin Woodsman from the Wizard of Oz gone horribly, horribly wrong. A perverted, chainsmoking, foul-mouthed Tin Man.

"The hell's yer problem, Shera?"

"Cid, I'll go into town and get you a wig," Shera said as she started extricate herself from the death trap that was the garage.

The pilot's eyes sparked. "I didn't fuck up my hair permanently, you goddamn busybody."

Ignoring the last of Cid's venom, Shera continued her way out nonchalantly. "Not for your regular hair, that will be fine….I hope," she added thoughtfully. As Cid started to sputter, she continued. "I'll get a long grey one for your costume so you don't torture yourself or your mechanic supplies any further. Could you scrounge up some glue while I'm gone?" Shera turned to look at him from the door.

Taking a series of short, violent drags from the cigarette, Cid kicked at a pile of tools at his feet. "Ah fuck it, Shera, why don't you go look for it, since you're so damn smart and – " He looked up at her. Shera stood unmoved and unimpressed. The gal had grown a backbone while he was gone. "Never mind. Thanks, Shera." He turned away and started to play with bits and bobs on the table. Once her footsteps had gone out of his range of hearing, he starting mumbling to himself. "Motherfuckin' women's lib. Fuck that 1970s bullshit…" He straightened up momentarily and bellowed out the door. "AND GET ME SOME GODDAMN TEA WHEN YOU COME BACK, WOUDJA!?"

"No it's not noticeable."

"Are you sure? Ain't going out looking like something I pulled out of the goddamn drain last week. And by the way, get a fucking haircut, woman; I found a fucking horror show down there. Are they gonna see the glue?"

"No, there's no glue line, and yes, Cid, I'm sure it looks fine, for the last time."

Cid stood, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. "Jesus Christ, Shera, don't be so fucking persnickety." There Cid stood, his Sephiroth costume a good six inches too short, five or ten years too old, and fifteen pounds too paunchy to be the general. "Hot damn, I look good."

Shera straightened the sword once more before stepping back to look at her handiwork. "You look surprisingly good, Cid, for a dead megalomaniac with an Oedipus complex who was formerly a ShinRa general."

"Whose ass I also kicked up and down that godforsaken crater, thank you. So if white-hair's got a problem with my portrayal, he can come back and fuckin' tell me himself." Cid took his eyes away from the mirror and put them on Shera. "Ya really think I look good?"

"Excellent, Captain." She clasped her hands behind her back and smiled at Cid. He held her gaze for a moment before…

"Don't do cute, Shera. It's really fucking creepy." With that, he shook out a cigarette and was about to light up when Shera's hand quickly took it out of his hand. "Hey! What -?"

"That wig is rented. Take care of it and bring it back intact without it smelling like an ashtray or else you'll have to pay for it to be cleaned or replaced." With that, Shera confiscated the rest of the pack, placing them into one of the many pockets of her lab coat. "Have a nice night at the party, Cid!" she called gaily as she left the room.

Cid leered at her retreating back and then turned his attention back toward the mirror again. "She thinks she's my fuckin' mother or something. Jesus Christ, the guy I'm play acting has enough of that goddamn shit floating around without me adding more to it." Cid's eyes temporarily lighted upon the sword that was strapped to his back. "Maybe I should hack her head off and carrying it around tonight…"

Cid mused over that thought for a few moments before wriggling his nose at it and walking away from the mirror. "She'd probably come back and haunt my sorry ass, shrieking, 'It's rented! You shouldn't have gotten blood on it! Ciiiiiiiiiid! Why did you get blood all over the wig, Captain? Now you'll have to pay for its cleaning!' Shera, I chopped yer fuckin' head off, for Christ's sake, and yer worryin' about the wig? 'I put down a deposit on it, you owe my sixty-five gil.' Sixty-five gil? Where the hell'd you buy this thing?" Cid stomped down the stairs. "SHERA! I'm GOING!"

Her faint voice echoed from the kitchen and he went the door, mumbling as he went. "She'd be waving her arms around and making the china float all over the goddamn house. Not to mention I'd have to learn how to make tea. That's a fucking problem right there…."

Far later that night, the Highwind touched down on the airfield. Two figures quietly slid down the outside ladder and tip-toed into the garage. "Thanks," one grunted as he turned on the light in the garage.

"It is of nothing," replied his companion, who was dressed as a cowboy that night. His long legs stepped over the mounds of discarded parts and puddles of grease with ease in absolute silence.

"Well, I've got something here, godammit." Cid kicked a red toolbox aside and pushed a wheel board out of the way, clattering as it went. "Move it, you fucking spook. What the hell is dribbling down my ear?"

The cowboy, dressed in red and black, abruptly pulled a stool away from the work table, sending up a clatter. "JESUS, Vince, you're going to wake up Shera, and she's gonna come in here like a fuckin' dingbat out of hell." Vincent silently pointed down at the stool. Cid harrumphed and sat. "I ain't some bitch you order around…my legs are tired from lugging around this shitty sword all damn night. I wanna sit down."

Vincent nodded slightly as he peered at Cid's head. He turned the overhead light of the work table on and stood poised to poke at his friend's head carefully with his gauntlet hand. "OW OW OW! You motherfu—"

"Cid, I haven't even touched your head yet." Vincent waved his hand in front of Cid's face. The pilot scowled at him and crossed his arms. Vincent felt a slight tug at the sides of his mouth. This was going to be interesting. "Now, I know that ammonia or acid could corrode or-"

"NO fucking ammonia. Makes me think of some shitty quack's office. Open a window."

Vincent's long arm reached over, unlatched the window and gently pushed it outward. The night breeze drifted in, dissipating the smell of the garage and Cid's wig. "Same quack that told you to give up smoking and lose a few pounds?"

"Damn straight that was the same bastard."

Vincent sighed a bit and continued to examine the state of the scalp before him.

Or at least he tried to. Cid banged his fist against the work table. "God-fucking-dammit-all-to-hell! How the FUCK did you convince me to put this shit on?"

"I had no part in your decisions. I —"

"KNEW I shouldn't have listened, fucking crazy ass motherfucker's shit was weird as hell lookin'on HIM, looks downright fuckin' STUPID on me." Cid shoved his hand into a box of greasy nuts and bolts and started running his fingers through them. It seemed to have a tranquilizing effect. Vincent could not help but compare his actions to that of a person manipulating Chinese meditation balls.

That didn't last long. "And you, you fucking vamp!" Cid wrenched his hand out of the box, spraying metal everywhere to point at the cowboy. Vincent carefully dodged this and continued his silent appraisal. "You got off so goddamn easy. Swear to God, yer gonna be wearin' one of Tifa's get-ups next Halloween for this shit, you fuckin' jackass. SWEAR TO GOD."

Vincent remained silent in thought. If he were Cid, what would he use to apply a wig…?

"...Twisted motherfucker, you WOULD get a kick out of that, wouldn't you?" Cid leered up at the stoic man standing next to him. He reached into the box again and pulled out a battle-weary pack of cigarettes. He shook one out as he continued. "Oh hell yeah I am. Tifa's gonna LOVE hearin' that you've been wantin' to get into her panties for a whi-fucker, the hell was that for?!"

Cid's eyes flashed angrily as Vincent swiftly confiscated the cigarettes. "Since when were you and Shera fucking kissing cousins?" Vincent did not respond. "Fine...goddamn spook. I'll just tell Spike instead. HEY!" Cid's eyes widened in horror as Vincent he tossed the cigarettes into an oil pan that was precariously balanced on a long-deceased vacuum cleaner. "Gimme back my cigs! Motherfucker!"

"I don't think you want them back now." Vincent turned around to shift through one of Cid's numerous chests of supplies.

"..Goddamn motherfuckin' corpse thinks he can take MY goddamn cigs, I'll show HIM. Let's see how funny he thinks this shit is when he wakes up FUCKING BALD TOMORROW." Vincent didn't even flinch. Cid tried again. "WITH this goddamn cheap ass piece of shit wig on his goddamn head." Still no sign of life. "Motherfucker."

How the hell did he get into this mess?

Right.

Boobs. Always had it in for him.

Tifa had decided on this cutesy Halloween party. Of course, she wanted it themed, so she decided on the 1970s. She went as post-Sonny Cher while Yuffie had eagerly become a roller derby girl. Cid distantly recalled Tifa asking him to be part of this little "Village People" re-enactment. She'd drafted Spike as the Indian (after he refused), Barrett as the Sailor, Reno as the Construction Worker, and Rude as the Biker. Red XIII got in on the act as the cop – he had a surprisingly good singing voice. Cid's response to being the Cowboy as a second offer:"Hell fuckin' no."

Tifa had smiled and said it would be OK. Sorry, but Cid Highwind didn't do queer cult bands, and not on his airship for a Halloween party. Later, Cid damn near clutched his chest when he heard what Vincent had said in response to her plea. "Well. Try anything once." Fuckin' A. The spook was full of surprises.

The party, which was sort of hazy due to one too many shots of Wutaiian saki, wasn't that big of a deal. Those five ran around looking as like a miniature gay pride parade, and Yuffie skated around trying to check people to the ground. Once she bounced off a few people, she took to taking pictures of them in all of their glory.

Cid remembered Spike saying something like, "This is so humiliating" as he looked absolutely miserable in his warpaint.

Vampy, who never seemed perturbed by anything, had remarked "It will be even more so when Yuffie publishes those photos on the internet."

Cid had to give the brat credit for that one. As he had turned to address her, he caught sight of Rude trying to sneak a cigarette out of his pack on a table across the room. "Heh, way to go, short-stuff-and HEY!" It was kind of cool how big his eyes got when Cid's sword went 'clank' across his wrists while Cid was standing a good 10 feet away. "Back the fuck off the cigs, Baldy. You want one, fuckin' ask."

At some point later on that night, Cid had noticed that his wallet was missing. There was only one logical course of action: to stand up in the middle of the bar and bellow "Son of a BITCH, that little shit stole my goddamn wallet! HEY, GET BACK HERE YA FUCKIN' BRAT!" Yuffie had been off like a shot toward the door, and Cid was waddling behind her, hair flowing in the breeze as he waved a huge-ass sword.

From his peripheral vision, Cid had noticed that Barret had finally looked up from his poker game with the waiters long enough to say, "Foo' motherfucker ain't gonna catch her like that."

However, the sword had won the day, and Cid got his wallet back. And he put it in his back pocket.

Somehow, though, he thought this wig thing was going to be harder than catching that straggly little rugrat. He angrily blew a piece of it out of his face. "Goddamn, no wonder that bastard went bugshit crazy; this goddamn hair's enough to drive me up the fuckin' wall." Cid reached up and gave the wig an experimental yank. "SHIT. Easy to remove glue, my bony white ass! Hey, Vinnie, help me out here."

Vincent turned around to face Cid. He hadn't been able to come up with an immediate solution. "How?"

"I dunno, with yer fuckin' claw or something!" Vincent took a step toward him and Cid hastily waved him off. " ...Actually, wait, no, don't do that."

As Vincent stepped back from Cid, his eye caught sight of a tube of something. Using his marksmen's eyes, he determined it to be….. "Cid, what kind of glue did you use for this wig?" He braced himself for the response.

"Industrial. Why?"

Even with preparation, Vincent could not prevent his head bowing slightly and his hand reaching up to cover his face. Oh good grief.

Cid protested. "Hey, it was on sale for ten gil! Can't pass that up!"

Vincent looked behind him before carefully perching upon a clean spot on the work bench. "You do realize that the glue you used has enough bonding strength and adhesive capacity to hold the Tiny Bronco together in one drop, don't you?"

Cid narrowed his eyes at him. "What are ya sayin', my baby needs to be fixed up?" He shook a finger at Vincent. "Don't talk shit about my plane, goddammit."

"Cid, focus."

"Well, fang-boy, what's yer diagnosis?" Cid leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Other than the wig cutting off circulation to your brain –"

"HEY!" Cid tried to stand up, but the wig had managed to get itself snagged on something on the table already. He crashed back down onto his chair. "Motherfuckin—agh. Alright. Remind me to never, EVER, let any of my kids get long hair. Ever. Shoot me if I do, alright?"

Vincent continued his previous sentence. "—I believe that you've used enough glue to cement your head to the bottom of the Highwind while in flight."

Cid snorted. "Heh. Maybe that's why Spike's hair's so upright. Can't do that shit naturally...can he?" Cid stopped for a moment. "Wait. Did I mention something about kids?"

Vincent smirked. "Yes. Shera will be most pleased."

Cid burst into laughter. "Shera? Hah! Yeah fuckin' right." The laughter dissipated quickly in the silence. "Fuck…Maybe the glue's seeping into my brain. Can glue do that?" Cid poked worriedly at his head, mumbling, "Shera…give me a break, what the fuck….I.."

Once again, Vincent found a reason to cover his face with his hands. However, there was a small part of him wondering just how many brain cells had been massacred in the application of this silver monstrosity, not to mention how many would have to give their lives to get it off.

"Goddammit" Cid tilted his head to the side and yanked on the wig again. "Who the fuck's idea was this anyway?"

"Yours."

"Was NOT. I don't remember agreein' to shit."

"You refused to submit to the embarrassing idea put forth by Tifa. Embarrassing, but non-disfiguring."

Cid snorted. "Village People's overdone, and I wouldn't be caught dead wearin' a goddamn cowboy outfit. Guess it don't matter for you, you're already dead."

Vincent responded with a pointed stare as adjusted his hat. He'd actually grown to like the thing.

"Better dead than stuck looking like the former number one enemy of the world."

"Who said shit about forever? And this wasn't my goddamn idea! ...Unless I was drunk, and then-well, if I'm drunk, ya shouldn't be listenin' to me anyway."

Vincent sighed for the umpteenth time that night. "Do you want me to get the scissors?"

Cid nodded. "And some glue solvent. And goggles. And more cigarettes. Oh, and painkillers too, this shit's gonna hurt like a bitch." He twitched slightly just thinking about it.

A branch snapped outside. Cid didn't pay it any mind; it was probably an animal romping in the bushes. Vincent's acute hearing, on the other hand, determined it to be a roughly one-hundred-fifteen pound creature on two legs with smallish feet treading over top of the mulch pile in the backyard. His hand instinctively crossed over to his shoulder holster as he peered through the open window.

Cid, on the other hand, had only noticed that Vincent's attention was elsewhere and had seized the opportunity to reclaim his cigarettes and light up. At the exact moment that Cid's thumb slid over the flint wheel on the lighter, Vincent's night vision picked up on exactly what it was that was prowling. He sighed and turned his attention back toward – "Cid!"

Cid, in annoyance, turned toward Vincent and the window, lighter still lit. "Whaaat?"

FLASH!

In reaction to the sudden surge of light from the camera, Cid instinctively threw his hands up, the lighter igniting his wig. "Motherfucker! What the hell - "

Yuffie's cackle was heard as the camera continued to click away, capturing "Highwind's Inferno" for posterity. Vincent looked on mild shock, eyes large. "It's apparently flammable."

"It's the goddamn brat hiding in the bushes. Fucking shoot her, Vince, she's trespassing on my property!" Cid stood up and leaned toward the window, and the flames on his head licked the ceiling of the garage. "YOU BETTER GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS RUNNING, YUFFIE! That skirt's trespassing AND she stowed away on the Highwind. I'm gonna press charges."

"Uh, Cid, I believe you should rearrange your priorities." Vincent started to look around the room hastily for something to put out the fire.

"Aw, goddammit, I dropped my cig!" Oblivious, Cid looked in disdain at the floor.

"Can you tell me where the nearest fire extinguisher is?" Vincent walked the length of the garage, scanning the wall for the mechanism.

"Bitch is going to post that on the internet too. Goddammit." Disgruntled, Cid stood with his hands on his hips as the wig blazed on.

Vincent allowed himself a short, clipped laugh at the insanity of the situation. "I think I might want a copy of that shot."

The light figuratively went on in Cid's head at last. "FUCK! My goddamn head's on fire! Shit!" He started to pull on the wig, trying to get it away from him without burning his hands. Vincent's rarely heard laughter echoed over the crackling of the fire. "Stop laughing, ya fuckin' stick, and help me!"

"Fire extinguisher?" Vincent persisted in his request as he popped the trunk of one of the old cars. Given its condition, Cid had to have something lying around….right?

"Fuckin – OW MOTHERFUCKER – good-for-nothin' spook!"

Vincent hoisted himself over the side of a decrepit biplane and searched the cockpit hastily. "This isn't helping you."

"Well no shit, Sherlock!" Cid sat back down in the stool, hoping that the lack of movement would slow the conflagration somewhat. "Get the fuck over here and help me!"

Vincent hopped off the plane, his eye catching on a drop cloth covering the broken wings of the machine. In one fluid movement, he grabbed the cloth and threw it over Cid with his right hand and began to beat on the fire (and Cid's head) with his claw.

Muffled by the cover, Cid squawked indignantly. "See why ya became a goddamned Turk; Turks don't need fuckin' brains – OW!" Vincent allowed himself to become a bit heavy-handed.

"Just making sure you're safe."

"Yeah, beatin' someone over the head with a goddamn metal appendage is really gonna ensure that. Goddamn vampire." Vincent allowed himself a small wind-up as he continued to put out the fire. THUNK. "OW!"

"Recall your science. Fire needs air to survive. Take away air, fire goes away." Vincent cautiously peeled off the drop cloth. "All right. The fire is out."

"So's my skull." Cid rubbed the side of his head, a bit dizzy.

Noting that Cid was still a bit stunned, Vincent picked up a pair of scissors from the work bench, wiped them on his jeans, hoping to start before the pilot completely mangled himself. "Ready, Chief?"

Cid grunted and replied, "Eh, fuck it, why wouldn't I be? Just got burned, glued on, and humiliated by that goddamn two-timing stowaway brat, so sure, why not?" Vincent moved toward him and carefully started to snip away at the disaster lodged on Cid's head. "Just don't get the skin. What's left of it, anyway."

Vincent carefully attempted to comply with Cid's request, but he eventually realized that the locations where the wig had been tacked down would—

Suddenly, the main light of the garage flickered on. "What's going on- Cid! The light gleamed off the figure's eyeglasses for a moment until she came into the light.

"Aw goddammit now what?" Vincent removed the scissors just in time for Cid to spin in his chair to look at the newcomer.

Shera rushed over to gawp at the sight before her. "What -?"

Vincent crossed his arms, dangling the scissors from the tips of his fingers. "I take it you didn't supervise his glue purchase, did you?" Simultaneously, Cid bluffed, "Lost a bet, don't ask." He scowled at Valentine.

Shera's looked at Vincent, then at Cid, then back to Vincent. "Hello, Mr. Valentine. Care for tea?"

"Yes, please."

"That sounds really good right about now….and maybe some gauze while you're at it." Cid's temperament had taken a decidedly docile turn after being lit on fire and concussed repeatedly by Vincent's claw. "Oh, Vampy, painkillers?"

Vincent shook his head. "I don't think it would be wise to add any more chemicals to this vicinity." Shera shook her head too, and headed back to the house to put the kettle on.

Cid grumbled. "Hrmph, good point. Cigs?"

"No more open flames. Want me to finish up?"

"Right, yeah." After a few minutes of an absurdly still Cid, Vincent saw him twitch a bit and start to pat himself down. "Hey, where's my lighter?!" He frantically turned out his hidden pockets. "What the—where hell's my goddamn wallet!?"

Vincent leaned back to perch himself on the work table. "I thought we established that Yuffie stole it."

"But I got it back. Shit. Ah, wait, got it." Cid frown as he fished out a much thinner wallet than anticipated. It felt different too. "GODDAMMT!" He shoved the ID holder in Vincent's face. "This is Spike's! And it's got no money in it."

Vincent stifled a laugh and Cid took a second look at the driver's license. "Holy, shit, that's not a flattering shot," he snorted. "But now I know what to get him for his birthday."

"Oh?"

"Blow that shit up and wrap it in a big pink bow. Maybe even frame it. Put it right on the front deck of the Highwind, so everyone can see it." Cid snickered. He gestured to Vincent to get back to work on the wig.

Complying, Vincent smirked. "I'm sure we all know what to get you."

The pilot scowled. "Say wigs and I'll kick your ass, spook."

Carefully moving around to the back of Cid's head, Vincent continued, "They'd be in a variety of styles and shapes. We'd even have one custom made with a cigarette holder...and we WILL get you that if you don't stop MOVING."

"Scuse me if I can't sit still. Can't focus on anything if I don't got my cigs. I won't even light it."

"Fine." Vincent reached back and pulled a pack out of his own back pocket. Cid noted that the Vamp smoked kings. Vincent shook a cigarette half-way out of the pack and offered it to Cid.

Yanking it out with his teeth, Cig carefully gnawed on the end a bit to get the taste. "Thanks. You gonna have one?"

"Later."

After a few more minutes of snipping and fidgeting, Shera came back in with the tea. With a nod in thanks, Vincent accepted the cup and stood back to survey his work silently.

Cid rubbed his ear. "That last bit wasn't part of the wig, ya blind goddamn bat." Shera firmly placed the cup in his hand, eyes fixed on the man's scalp. Cid followed her line of sight up. "Whhaaaatttt."

"A monk," Vincent proclaimed. Shera's own tea sloshed onto her saucer, and she had to put her cup down to cover her mouth.

Cid spluttered. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"There's a circle of grey around the edges of your head," Valentine said, pointing and tracing the path of Cid's hairline in air with his finger. "With your blond hair in the middle, you seem to be….tonsured. Bald."

"What—I'm not balding or even grey! Too young for that shit, fuck you very much." Cid slammed down the rest of the hot tea angrily.

Shera managed to regain enough of her composure to explain, "It's the wig, Cid. What's left of it and stuck on your head." Finally, the absurdity became too much; Shera's peals of laughter echoed off the ceiling of the garage.

Much to Vincent's surprise, Cid finally looked sheepish. "Yeah, I bet I do look ridiculous." He rubbed the back of his head. "How long you think til it all falls off?"

Vincent shrugged. "Few weeks? Sooner if you wash nightly."

Shera produced a compact mirror from her lab coat. Which for some reason, she was still wearing in the dead of night. Vincent quietly realized that she was waiting up for the Captain. And Cid, even though he'd been in a terrible temper all night, seemed to relax after Shera laughed at him, calling him out for what he was.

Maybe the relationship wasn't as toxic as Vincent thought it was.

"Thanks for the tea." Cid took the mirror from her and angled it to get a good look at the damage. "Eh, not total shit. I mean, it blends in half-decent, so it just looks like I got the shit shocked out of me by something. But the fake part doesn't look as fake. Where'd you learn to cut hair like that, Vinnie? You don't seem like the hairdresser type…."

Cid stopped himself as he cast a glance at his friend in the fabulous cowboy outfit. "Then again….."

"Turk stuff." Vincent shrugged. That was the canned answer for any question Vincent felt disinclined to answer.

"Grow a sense of humour, will ya? Ain't nothing wrong with a guy who knows his way around with a pair of scissors, especially in this dumbass situation I got myself into. Shit, I wouldn't trust Spike with this."

Shera murmured, "I don't think he would know a pair by sight."

Cid cackled. "Good one. Vince, you gonna light up or what? I know I'm a hazard zone."

Vincent walked a few purposeful steps away from the former site of Highwind's Inferno and lit up a cigarette of his own, the smoke puffing out elegantly in streams, whisping upward and through the open window.

"How'd the party go otherwise?" Shera managed to gracefully arrange herself on a vacant workbench, looking as settled as she could be at o'dark thirty with a cup of tea precariously balanced on her knee.

"Shera, I have no fucking idea who talked me into it anyway." Cid flicked a dangling piee of burnt grey plastic from his head. Great, he was gonna look like he had dandruff to boot.

"As I recall, you decided not to take part in Tifa's Village People ensemble and dreamed up Sephiroth on your own."

Cid blinked. "I came up with Sephiroth? Man, I must have been hammered when I came up with that shit. I mean, if the wig was that much trouble, I can't imagine how the real deal must have been for the big guy himself."

Vincent and Shera helplessly shrugged, almost in unison. Shera offered, cautiously, "Well, it wasn't that bad…it's just the glue you used…"

"Bah, long hair's for hippies and psychos. And you, Spooky."

Vincent silently lifted his cowboy off his head and placed it on the workbench, shaking out his long hair. "Thank you for classing me by myself."

Cid smirked. "Well, dead guy doesn't go into either category, y'see. Much less dead assassins. Or formerly dead or whatever the hell it is you are."

Shera gently slapped Cid on the shoulder. "Don't say that! It's not nice."

"Truth hurts, can't help that." Cid tenderly reached up to scratch his scalp. "Of course, so do burn marks. They itch like hell too." Cid gnawed on the cigarette again. Man, if it wasn't the itching, the not smoking would kill him.

"Well….?" Shera prompted. "How did it go?"

Vincent cast a glance at Cid that spoke volumes.

Cid surrendered. "Ok, I admit, I pissed everyone off, nearly made Spike go catatonic, and made Yuffie cry. It was great." Cid thoughtfully tilted his head. "Tifa looked at me as if she wanted to gut me and swing my intestines from the rafters. It was kinda hot."

Shera sat back, directing her next question to Vincent. "So how did that Village People idea go anyway? I only heard Cid's side of the shameful event."

Vincent rolled his shoulders, settling back into the plaid shirt. "Barrett was most insistent upon being the sailor…"

"He would be," muttered Cid.

"And Tifa thought I would look charming as a cowboy, once Cid turned her down." Vincent paused as Cid gagged. Once the theatrics were over, Vincent continued. "Reno wanted the construction worker so he wouldn't have to shave and shower beforehand."

"Red's secretly a pop star or some shit now, kids love furries these days, so he got the lead singer cop bit. And Cueball wanted the leather hat to cover his goddamn shiny head," Cid finished, referring to Rude.

Vincent paused, considering whether to throw the fact out there or not. "And he already owned all the leather…"

Cid make a face as if something vile had died in front of him. "Ugh." He shuddered. "There's an image I'm gonna take to my grave."

Shera nodded, "So Cloud was the odd man out and had to be the Indian."

"Chocobo Head didn't need a headdress," Vincent answered. Cid choked on air and started to laugh and cough. Shera, caught off guard, laughed as well.

"Goddamn, Vince, you do have a sense of humour. It just has to be lured out with cigarettes. And a gallon of saki, goddamn man. You got a hollow leg? Or a hollow arm? Cid choked out as he wiped the corners of his eyes, pointing at Vincent's claw, which was mostly covered by the plaid shirt.

Vincent shrugged. "Turk stuff."

Cid shook his head. "You're no fun, Valentine, you'll never get laid for another thirty years. But yeah, Cloud looked dumb as fuck."

"Only matched by Yuffie in her roller derby garb." Vincent was no prude, but Yuffie's outfit was far too old for her and showed off everything she didn't have.

Cid, apparently having the same thought, shook his head. "God, don't remind me. But hey, Teef's costume was pretty nice. Gotta hand it to her, she knows how to flaunt what the good Lord gave her. Generously."

Vincent made a noncommittal grunt. Cid shot Shera a look. "Cher was into high-end couture. Perfectly in character."

Cid leaned forward. "Yeah, but I wouldn't have thought you were big on fashion, Vinnie."

Cid swore he saw Vincent's eyes spark and a smirk came over his face. "I wasn't."

"Just big on the chicks that wore it, eh?"

"One or two. They were my age back then."

"Uh huh. One or two. So what would make you now, older than dirt?"

"58."

Cid rolled his eyes. "You REALLY need to tell one of yer demon friends to regurgitate a sense of humor for ya, or something." Cid scratched his head again. "Man, this really fuckin' itches. Lesson learned, no fucking glue on wigs anymore. Or ever. Duct tape, from here on out. I know how to get that off."

Suddenly, FLASH.

"What the-fuck –" As Cid rubbed his eyes in response to the bright light, Yuffie's laughter entered his ears.

"Hey, Brother Cid! I think you missed the sermon."

"Oh goddammit." Cid looked around him, trying to find something to throw. Settling on a wrench, he heaved it past Vincent and out the open window.

"Nice pitch, Chief." Vincent finished his cigarette and snuffed it out with his whetted finger and thumb.

Cid hollered out the window, "Get the fuck off my property, ya goddamned fork-tongued harpy."

"Still got your wallet, ya old fart!"

That was it. "Motherfucker. Shera, where's my spear? The sword's too heavy."

"No pointy objects tonight. You've drunk too much…."

Cid let out a rather coarse string expletives, even for him, as he hoisted himself up and shucked off his long floaty cloak. "I'm going run her ass down and murder her."

"How about some tea instead, Captain?"

"Can I throw it on her and burn her?"

"Waste of good tea."

"Yeah, yer right when yer right." Still, he paced around by the window. "I want to kick her boney ass to next Saturday."

Vincent leaned back against the wall. "She's harmless."

Cid shook his head and scoffed. "Bullshit. She stole my wallet, made me break a sweat in the Sephiroth get-up, and is probably gonna post those pictures of us all over the internet and make you look like a gay cowboy hooker. She AIN'T harmless." He ran a hand back through his hair, carefully. "That said, I gotta admit, I liked the costume. It's leather but….. hey, I feel like a badass. Gotta be a secure man to wear leather and get away with it."

"Especially with the assless chaps."

"WHAT?!" Shera and Cid blurted out in unison. There was a profoundly awkward moment as Vincent stared at them, confused, then leaned around to look at Cid, then wordlessly pointed "MOTHER OF FUCK, THAT'S how she stole my wallet!"

Shera's eyes went saucer-like. "She cut the seat of the pants right off you….taking the entire back pocket. And Cid, you should have told me you needed new underwear."

The dingy white shorts shone through in contrast to the rest of Cid's black outfit. "You…you didn't know? Or notice?" Vincent said slowly. "You have a drinking problem."

"NOT A FUCKING WORD VALENTINE. YOU LET ME WANDER AROUND WITH MY ASS HANGING OUT. AND YOU PROBABLY LIKED IT, YOU PERV."

"Well, the jacket probably hid it," Shera offered hastily. "Vincent's just very observant, plus he had to help you back to the house…." She cast the gunman a frantic, 'help me out here' look. The vein in Cid's forehead was starting to bulge, he'd gone purple with rage, and his left eye was beginning to twitch.

A snap of a twig outside finally set the man in motion. Highwind's Inferno had reignited internally. In a fell swoop, Cid grabbed the black duster coat for his costume, grabbed the sword (which magically had grown lighter in his desire to impale Yuffie with it), and charged out the door of the garage. "BITCH, YOUR ASS IS DEAD."

Vincent and Shera looked at each other, wide-eyed and frozen. Between the two of them: no fucking idea as to how to corral the insanely angry Cid without harming others or levelling Rocket Town itself.

"You goddamn miserable spindly ass brat! When I get a hold of you—"

Cid took a moment to jog back and stick his head back into the garage and scream at Vincent. "HARMLESS MY ASS. SHUT THE FUCK UP VAMPY." Then he tore back out to chase down the ninja.

"My God, he's hit top speed already." Shera peered out the window at the figure that was waddling so fast, he was practically bouncing down the road at high velocity. Yuffie, in her shock (and possibly laughing her ass off), struggled to keep ahead of him.

"And they're off. Kisaragi takes a sharp right around the tree, and Highwind seems discombobulated. And screaming the entire way," Vincent put on his best radio announcer impression.

This gave Shera a fit of the giggles. "Turk stuff?"

He nodded. "Turk stuff.

She decided to play ball with the lanky assassin. "You would think being a pilot would help his sense of direction, Vincent." She started to dig around in her lab coat for something.

"Not here, apparently."

Vaguely, they could hear Cid bellowing at the ninja, with 'fuck' being every other word.

"She's gone UNDER the plane. Highwind still giving chase," noted Vincent.

"And flapping in the breeze the entire way." Victorious, Shera had pulled out a flask.

Vincent's eyes lit up. "Shera, you really are prepared for everything."

"After tonight, and in anticipation of having to deal with you three tomorrow, I deserve a nip." She took a quick slug and then offered it to him.

He warmly accepted it and raised it to her in a silent toast and took a polite sip. "I think I may have enough material to laugh myself to sleep for the next thirty years. Annnnnd down round the bend and over the car," he began to narrate again, passing the whiskey back to the bespectacled woman beside him.

"Oh, but it looks like Kisaragi has gotten tangled in the seatbelt – oh wait, she's free, but Highwind has gained critical ground by her mistake, and by cutting down on wind resistance."

"And dignity," supplied Vincent, as Cid shucked the flapping coat covering his now-assless chaps.

"Goddammit you brat!"

Shera took another drink. "She freed herself quickly to her credit – sign of youth and keen athleticism."

"Some things that are evidently NOT on Cid's side, as he has a near miss with the gear shift."

That prompted a burst of obscenity never before heard and probably impossible to improve upon in this mortal coil. However, the shock finally kicked Cid's brain on, and standing on the roof of the car, he threw the long sword like a javelin, neatly nailing Yuffie's collar to the wall of the house.

There was a moment of absolute stillness.

Shera tilted the flask to the ceiling. "I don't think he could have done that sober," she edged out.

Vincent shook his head, and then winced as Yuffie let out a pathetic wail. "Vinnniiiiieee!"

"He ain't coming for ya, punk." Cid angrily stalked toward the house.

"VIINIIIEE SAVE ME. ASSLESS MONK CID'S GONE CRAZY!"

The lights flickered on in a few bays on the Highwind, and the rest of the party began to reawaken. Vincent let out an audible sigh. "Anything left in that flask, Shera?"

"All yours, sugar." Vincent caught his jaw before it completely hit the floor and managed to accept the whiskey as Shera glided past him to stand outside. "Imma watch the fireworks."

Vincent stood alone for a moment in the garage, then downed the remains of Shera's stash and headed outside.

Small, party-sized pandemonium was breaking out as the rest of the Halloween party attendees were spilling out of the Highwind, neatly placing themselves between Cid and the trapped Yuffie. Some were still in their costumes, others…not so much.

Barret, still in full uniform, caught side of Cid angrily strutting toward Yuffie. "What the hell, Cid, your ass is hanging out!" he snorted.

"Fucking thanks, Kojac."

Barrett sneered at him, "Hey, now, I shaved my head by choice. Looks like you didn't."

Cid spun on his heel, eyes wild. "You. After I kill her, you and me, mano a mano, you fucking overgrown marshmallow."

"Yeah, all right, Highwind. This marshmallow gonna blast your butt so it looks like Swiss cheese. Hell, improvement from the cottage cheese you got goin' on."

Cid struck what he thought was a heroic pose. "You wished you looked this good in leather at 40!"

A whimper from Yuffie re-directed his attention again "This isn't fun anymore!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Cid and Barrett hollered at her in unison.

Bleary-eyed, Tifa emerged from below decks in a terrycloth bathrobe, the remains of her cat-eyes and mascara making her look like a raccoon. She squinted at Cid's dingy drawers. "Are those duckies on your boxers?"

Cloud came behind her, spikes still at full mast. "Babe, that's not a question anyone wants answered unless it's 'yes, totally duckies.'"

Cid had the grace to blush. "What the hell are you lookin' at me for? You got your own meatbag to oogle over there."

"FUCK YES TITS!" Reno had climbed to the top of the Highwind's railings, hoisting a bottle of something dark and powerful, and was barely keeping his balance. Rude tried to look casual as he attempted to keep his direct superior from breaking his neck or losing the rest of his clothes.

"I DO NOT HAVE—"

"Fuck, not you, tubby. Barely Legal over there got loose." Reno drunkenly gestured with his bottle hand, as Rude attempted to hoist his pants back over his hip bones.

Vincent glanced at the door. Oh, for fuck's sake, Yuffie had wiggled out of her shirt and left it flapping in the breeze on the side of the house…..

"My parents taught me to wear proper underwear, like a fucking lady, you sick asshole." Yuffie, to her credit did have another layer of clothing on. Not a lot, but she was doing better than Cid at the present moment. Also to her credit, she'd managed to get up the tree that grew alongside Casa Highwind, offering a number of escape routes to the tiny ninja. If she was sober enough to land on the roof without breaking a leg, that was.

Tifa fished a camera out of her bathrobe pocket. "I knew I had a reason to grab this before I came out tonight. I may not remember this party, but the cameras will!" She gestured to Cloud and Vincent. "Cowboys and Indian theme photo! I don't remember if I got a good shot at the party."

The two men warily moved toward each other, aware that Cid was now attempting to climb the tree and kill Yuffie, while she chucked apples at him. Barrett, meanwhile, was on the ground and picking up the good ones for a pie for Marlene, when he got home.

click captured the completely unenthused Vincent and Cloud, with Yuffie flipping Cid off as he returned fire with an apple.

"Fucking brat, c'mere!" Cid lunged, and he actually caught Yuffie by the sneaker.

"Ahhh shit." With a flex of her ankle, Yuffie kick-flipped off the tree back onto the ground. "Hell, yeah, hail to queen, stuck the landing – with one shoe!"

"WOOOHOOO!" Reno flailed a bit from his perch.

Cid dropped from the tree, landed on his ass (OWGODFUCKDAMMIT), and charged at Yuffie. As Tifa wobbled in her slippers, she managed to take another picture as Cid and Yuffie plowed into Cloud and Vincent. "Goddamit, Spike, get the hell off me. How do you weigh so goddamn much? Is it the hair?"

"Dude, you are not the one to talk about hair right now," Cloud replied as he easily got up and backed away from the disaster.

Once all the limbs were untangled, Cid, in his chaps, sat proudly on the pants thief. "Vinnie, shoot me." Yuffie peered up at the towering gunman from her pathetic position. "If you've had any positive feelings toward me, just shoot me."

Vincent remained stoic. This was a trap. If he shot her, he liked her, but if he didn't shoot her, she'd just keep talking.

Cid picked up on it. "Shit, that's a Catch-22 if I ever saw one."

"You're mean."

"Kid, you stole my pants and my wallet. Being sat on and having Vampy break your heart is the least I'm gonna do with your punk ass motherfucker self."

Shera teetered through the leaves with Cid's duster. She carefully fished out Cloud's wallet and handed it to him, gingerly. "Here's your wallet back. She switched them when she had to give them back at the party."

Cloud blinked. "What?" He felt around his pants and fished out "….Barrett's wallet?"

"You sure it ain't mine?" Cid asked.

"No, his has Bad Motherfucker stitched on it. See?" Cloud held it up. He pocketed his own wallet, then hesitated. "You guys didn't look in it, did you?"

Cid, Vincent, and Shera shared a look. "No, why would we?" "Naw, why the hell would I?" "No, not at all."

A beat of silence. "Just blame the brat, ok? Makes life easy." Another beat. "Shera, can ya get me some pants? My ass is freezing, and Yuffie here is too scrawny to be a butt warmer."

"My BUTT!" Reno spun around on the railing, and Rude lost his grip on the back of his pants.

Vincent face-palmed. This was Turk stuff these days?

Despite her compromised air supply underneath Cid, Yuffie managed to let out a wolf whistle. Cid beamed with pride. "I taught her that." Then he flicked her ear, hard. "But I didn't teach you to steal pants or any of this blackmail shit. But here's a lesson." Cid snapped his fingers at Tifa. "Photo please."

"Noooo….I'm going to be a laughing stock with Assless Chaps Sephiroth Monk Cid sitting on me!"

"Bingo."

click

Somehow, none of the pictures made it to the internet.

Cid's hair had such a hard time regrowing around the fringes after that incident. Shera thought it may have had something to do with the industrial solvent killing some of the skin and follicles. Cid just thought it was because Sephiroth's vengeful fucking spirit didn't like his attempt at mocking him. The bastard.

For a brief moment, a few months later, he thought maybe Aerith wouldn't have been so vengeful if he'd- Then he shook his head and immediately began chugging down tea in the vain hope of washing away that horrid, horrid image of him in a pink dress and curls. Sephiroth's wig was bad enough; he was NOT going to spend more time curling another.

And then there was the whole dress thing.

And his lack of hips. At least Strife's skinny ass could pull a dress off if he really wanted. He'd look like a hideous monster escaped from a fashion department store. And again, he shook his head free of the image, half-heartedly wondering if Shera had spiked his tea. He wouldn't put it past her after last Halloween.