AN: So, I've been thinking about posting this one for months, but I haven't really wanted to, and now I've decided it's probably best if I do. Please read and review... oh, and I take full creative license on this one
Disclaimer: I do not own final fantasy 7 or any of it's characters, however, I do own Iya.
Vincent sat lounging back in a large white armchair, his black stockinged feet up on his wooden coffee table. He was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen, but already very respected for someone of his age. His usually perfect Turk uniform was now slightly wrinkled and shabby looking. The blazer was thrown over the back of his chair and the tie was loosened from around his neck. His white shirt was untucked and the first three buttons had been undone.
A small sigh escaped his lips as he absently played with an engagement ring. He looked at the diamond, then up at the white wall, and wondered vaguely if any damage would be done if he threw the ring. He settled for putting the ring back into the velvet box and throwing that.
He stood, rising slowly, trying to calm his anger. Although, you couldn't say he was truly mad. More, upset, or sad... confused, unsure. Was there something wrong with him? He didn't think of himself to be particularly ugly, so maybe he was too young. Did she tell him no because she didn't want to mix her personal life and her business. No, that was the cliche line people used when the didn't know how else to turn someone down.
He poured himself a glass of red wine and sipped it slowly while he thought. Vincent had thought Lucrecia liked him, if only a little. All right, so possibly asking for her hand in marriage wasn't the best idea, this early on, but it wasn't necessary for her to rub her relationship with that damned scientist in his face. She could have let him down easily. She could have left out the fact that she was pregnant with his child.
Vincent took another sip of wine, and groaned as she realized it was gone. "I need to go out," He muttered to himself, looking around for his black Turk jacket. He found it on the chair and threw it on, flipping up the collar to shield his face from the imminent storm outside.
He stepped outside and locked the door quickly, fumbling a little in the rain. He walked at a brisk pace down the steps from his top floor apartment down to the parking garage. Vincent Valentine drove a sleek black Porsche Turbo with windows tinted so dark it wasn't technically legal. He sighed softly as he unlocked and got into his car.
"Go out, get away, have some fun," Vincent said to himself as he drove down the crowded road on the upper plate, weaving though the midnight traffic. "Forget about her. She didn't care, so I don't either."
He pulled into the parking lot of a small and crowded bar, and rushed through the rain to be indoors. It was warm inside and smelled like whisky and tequila. The lighting was dim, and a lot of men in suits were there, supposedly having a drink before going home to their wives.
Vincent approached the bar and smiled at the woman behind it, "Zinfandel, please." The barmaid smiled back she poured him his wine. She didn't say anything as she passed Vincent his wine and he took his glass, leaving enough to pay for the drink and a tip, and went to find himself a seat.
He found an empty table near the entrance, where he could watch everything around him and everyone that entered. It was part of his Turk paranoia, always needing to know who was around him. He noticed several different people walk in, none of them too suspicious looking.
After Vincent's third or fourth glass of zinfandel he began thinking it was time to go back to his apartment. Notice, I didn't call it a home. Turks don't have homes, a known fact. A home is somewhere comforting where you go to relax and be at east. Turks are never comfortable, they don't relax and they only time they feel at ease is when they're drunk, or dead.
He looked at the door and then back at his empty glass and decided another glass wouldn't hurt,. As he was about to rise, a young Wutaian woman aproached his table, placing he hands on her thin hips. She was dressed simply in a short black skirt and a white V-neck sweater, with sleeves slightly too long, so they fell to her knuckles. She had short black hair, chocolate brown eyes and a bright smile. "What's a Turk like you doing in a bar like this?"
Vincent merely raised a smug eyebrow in response, "What's a girl like you doing talking to a Turk like me?"
The woman giggled girlishly and sat down in the chair across from Vincent. "Change of pace," She shrugged, "Beats talking to old men with sticks up their asses." She looked at Vincent and smiled, "You never answered my question."
"I had the night off," Vincent replied, then added, "For once." He eyed her skeptically, "How'd you know I was a Turk?"
She just laughed, "Suit, gun, glowing Mako eyes. It wasn't hard to put together. Turks stand out more than you think."
Vincent nodded, then looked down at his empty wine glass, remembering that he had wanted another. "I was going to go get more wine. Would you like something?"
"Between the Sheets," She replied promptly, "Please."
Vincent laughed, "A little forward, aren't we?"
"Is that a problem?" She giggled, "Would you rather I ordered something else?"
"No," Vincent gave a small half smile, "between the sheets is perfectly fine." He waved the bartender over and ordered the drinks, turning back to the young woman when the bartender left. "I never caught your name."
"Iya," She replied, "And you are?"
"Vincent."
She looked at him carefully, almost as if sizing him up. "Vincent," She repeated, "It fits."
"Thank you..." He said awkwardly, "Glad you think so..."
Vincent and Iya sat there talking for a good half an hour before realizing they never got their drinks. Iya looked over at the bartender, seeing that the bar was crowded and he was busy. "We're never going to get our drinks," She said, sounding annoyed.
Vincent sighed, "I have some brandy back at my place, if you're... interested."
Iya smiled and nodded, "Sure why not?"
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The sun streamed in through the French doors in Vincent's bedroom, waking the seeping Turk. He stirred slightly, turning away from the glaring sunlight. He shivered feeling that he was only covered by a thin layer of black silk he used for sheets. Vincent reached around for his comforter blindly, jumping a little when he felt a figure beneath his hand.
As the figure stirred and mumbled his name, the events of the night all came rushing back to him. He smiled softly and kissed her neck, "Iya."
Iya giggled ant turned over to face him. "Vincent," She cupped one of his cheeks with her hand and sighed, "You're soft, and kinda cute. Too bad I can't keep you."
Vincent looked at her, puzzled, "What do you mean, can't keep me?"
"I have to get married tomorrow," Iya replied, "So I can become the queen of Wutai."
Vincent's mouth dropped open. "Why didn't you tell me that?" He asked, a twinge of anger coloring his tone. "That would have been nice to know."
Iya sighed, "Last night wouldn't have happened if I had told you I was the princess of Wutai."
"So, you're a Kisaragi," Vincent said, his anger fading to amusement, "Figures, doesn't it?"
"What's that supposed to mean!?" Iya asked, sitting up and hitting Vincent squarely on his arm. The hit was pretty hard, and might have hurt, if Vincent hadn't been trained not to feel that kind of pain.
The phone rang then, from it's spot in the kitchen. Vincent sighed and got out of bed, grabbing his boxers from their spot on the floor. "Hello?" He asked into the phone after rushing into the kitchen to answer it. "Yes sir, " He replied after a few seconds. "I'm sorry, I slept in... Yes sir... I'll be in within the hour." He hung up the phone and muttered a few things under his breath that sounded much like a sting of profanities.
"What's wrong?" Iya asked, coming out of the bedroom, wearing Vincent's robe.
"I'm late for work," Vincent said softly, "I've never been late for work. "I have to get ready.
"Iya nodded, "Would you like me to leave?"
"Well, I'm sure you need to leave soon. You've got a wedding to be at on the other side of the planet." Vincent went into his room and started getting dressed.
Iya followed and leaned against a wall, scowling at him, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, okay? Get over it."
Vincent laughed as he pulled his pants on, "I'm not mad. I was joking. Honestly, I don't care anymore."
"Well," Iya said, looking around the room for her clothes, "That's good. You shouldn't care." She found most of her clothes in the bedroom, but remembered her sweater was out in the living room.
Vincent himself was dressed by now, and fumbling with his tie. Something hit him as he was putting on his jacket. "You need a ride back to the bar, don't you?"
Iya nodded, pulling on her sweater over her head, "Yeah, if it's not a problem."
"It's on my way," Vincent shrugged. "I can give you a ride if you're ready right now..."
"Yeah, I'm ready," Iya said, buckling her shoe, "Let's go."