"I don't care what you're doing, so much as the idiotic way you're
doing it..."
--Vincent Valentine
Nocturnes and Nightmares: A autobiography by Vincent Valentine
(An interview with Vincent Valentine conducted and re-written by Phoenix Down)
Part Two
Blues in the lowlands
This is the beginning of a nightmare.
Your back. I didn't think that you would return. I suppose that means that you are interested in what I have to say. I suppose that in that I should continue where I left off. Now… where was I?… My father, you say? Oh yes. Thank you.
He was dead. My father was dead. I stood beside him, in that quiet hospital room in Midgar, and saw that he was dead.
I did not look at all like my mother. I looked like him. Black, wired short hair, eyes the color of the blood in the setting sun, and olive skin palled with a pale tint.
But now, he was colder than I, and his skin was quickly becoming like wax, and the nurses came in to cover him with a sheet, say, "I'm sorry, oh god, I'm sorry, kid." and wheel him away.
I still stood in that empty room after they took him out. I'm not sure why.
I'm sorry. I told you in the first part that the last I saw my father was a while ago, I meant alive. The last I saw… SAW him was in that hospital room.
I'm not sure where my mother was then. I THINK I heard her sobbing out in the hall underneath the buzz of florescent lights. That hum that they make… it seemed as if they were the only angles that we had with us as my father passed.
He was shot on the job. He was a Turk. I did tell you that already.
We went home. We went to the funeral on a sunny day where the clouds were thick, white, and lumpy.
My mother hadn't changed since he died. She still carried on with dinner parties every night and sleeping during the day. Not doing the dishes, or things that, according to my cousin, Raphael, mothers do. That much is… true. She is not, nor ever was or will be, a mother.
During the days that passed, I found myself becoming more and more empty in the wake of my fathers death. No, I was not popular in school. Samael and I were friends and enemies, but I slowly found no malevolent joy in ruining the kickball game. I simply did nothing. Not even my schoolwork.
~
Samael and I sat beside each other on a silent, pensive recess. His strong, long fingers curled around a kickball, idly fingering it as he stared out, watching the other adolescences laugh, play, fight, and talk.
"Whats going on in that deep, dark, mind of yours, Vince?"
"Hm." I grunted, coiling my arms around my knees and lowering my chin. "Nothin' much. He wasn't much of a father, you know? My dad."
Sam said nothing at first in reply.
"Sorry…" He simply said.
"You know, it seems like… seems, like there is nothing for me here. Anymore. Maybe I should just leave."
Sam laughed uneasily and looked at me with a spark of humor.
"Don't go, man, your being overly dramatic. So, your old mans dead, get on with your life, you know, you got school, and everythin'."
"But I just don't want to stay HERE."
"So…" Samael started as he bounced the kickball.
"Then go. I mean, if you really want to. So, where would you go, then? Out of the city, out of Midgar, where?"
"Yes, probably. No, I don't know. I don't think it matters."
"Yeah, it does. Where would you go? Everything's in Midgar. Everything that's anything, anyway."
I sighed.
Sam stood up.
"Listen, Vince, you gotta cheer up, man, want to come and play a game of kickball?"
"No." I said flatly. He pretended that he was about to throw the kickball into my face, but I didn't move. I didn't care.
"Fine, then, sulk all you want. I'm going to play kickball."
His back turned to me, and I could feel my eyes boil. They burned as tears churned, as my face turned a hard pink. And I cried. And I cried. And I cried.
A small hand touched my shoulder, and someone sat down beside me. I did not look up from my folded arms and bend up knees. I didn't want, whomever it was, to see my countenance lined with tears, folds from my shirtsleeves, snot, and my swollen beat red eyes.
"Vince, you ok?"
"I'm fine." my muted voice mumbled into my arms.
Whomever it was still sat there.
"Want to go play kickball?"
"NO for FUCKS SAKE, Sam! I don't want to play kickball, ok? My father JUST died, ok, GOD-oh. Sorry." I looked up while rubbing the salt away from my eyes to see Delilah, a fellow classmate who I never truly knew anything about besiding that she was always especially gentle, and overly softhearted for her own good.
"Sorry about your dad."
"Yeah, thanks."
~
Delilah… I'm sorry, I don't remember her very well. Except I remember her BEING there. What she looked like…? She was not very attractive, but not unattractive either, simply not memorable. She had short, very short brown hair, and was built flat-chested and never dressed particularly well. We did get along, not many DIDN'T like her. But she didn't have many friends either. I remember her laugh being particularly loud.
~
"Uhm, will you be ok, then, if I go?"
"Yeah. Fine." I grunted. She nudged herself closer to me and laid her hand upon my arm.
"Hope you feel better." She whispered before she ran and left.
~
That was it. That was the last time I was ever at school before I went back and joined the Turks. But that was later, MUCH later. I very much so regret dropping out of school. Truly… heh, truly I have no education beyond eighth or ninth grade. I think that I hide it well. Now, I do read. Perhaps that is why people take my intelligence for more than what it is.
That night I went home and packed my things. I stole a stash of gill from my mother who kept it in her snuffbox, and went upon my way.
When I first left it didn't seem that I was going anywhere seriously. I honestly thought that I would come to my senses in a couple of house and be home before dark. But before I realized what I was doing, I was into the slums of Midgar underneath the plate, never to return and see the light of the real sun for a few years to come.
I think… I think that my head hurts, and I need to rest. If you wish to hear more, why don't you come down here tomorrow?
Maybe I'll have more stories for you then.
Maybe I won't.
doing it..."
--Vincent Valentine
Nocturnes and Nightmares: A autobiography by Vincent Valentine
(An interview with Vincent Valentine conducted and re-written by Phoenix Down)
Part Two
Blues in the lowlands
This is the beginning of a nightmare.
Your back. I didn't think that you would return. I suppose that means that you are interested in what I have to say. I suppose that in that I should continue where I left off. Now… where was I?… My father, you say? Oh yes. Thank you.
He was dead. My father was dead. I stood beside him, in that quiet hospital room in Midgar, and saw that he was dead.
I did not look at all like my mother. I looked like him. Black, wired short hair, eyes the color of the blood in the setting sun, and olive skin palled with a pale tint.
But now, he was colder than I, and his skin was quickly becoming like wax, and the nurses came in to cover him with a sheet, say, "I'm sorry, oh god, I'm sorry, kid." and wheel him away.
I still stood in that empty room after they took him out. I'm not sure why.
I'm sorry. I told you in the first part that the last I saw my father was a while ago, I meant alive. The last I saw… SAW him was in that hospital room.
I'm not sure where my mother was then. I THINK I heard her sobbing out in the hall underneath the buzz of florescent lights. That hum that they make… it seemed as if they were the only angles that we had with us as my father passed.
He was shot on the job. He was a Turk. I did tell you that already.
We went home. We went to the funeral on a sunny day where the clouds were thick, white, and lumpy.
My mother hadn't changed since he died. She still carried on with dinner parties every night and sleeping during the day. Not doing the dishes, or things that, according to my cousin, Raphael, mothers do. That much is… true. She is not, nor ever was or will be, a mother.
During the days that passed, I found myself becoming more and more empty in the wake of my fathers death. No, I was not popular in school. Samael and I were friends and enemies, but I slowly found no malevolent joy in ruining the kickball game. I simply did nothing. Not even my schoolwork.
~
Samael and I sat beside each other on a silent, pensive recess. His strong, long fingers curled around a kickball, idly fingering it as he stared out, watching the other adolescences laugh, play, fight, and talk.
"Whats going on in that deep, dark, mind of yours, Vince?"
"Hm." I grunted, coiling my arms around my knees and lowering my chin. "Nothin' much. He wasn't much of a father, you know? My dad."
Sam said nothing at first in reply.
"Sorry…" He simply said.
"You know, it seems like… seems, like there is nothing for me here. Anymore. Maybe I should just leave."
Sam laughed uneasily and looked at me with a spark of humor.
"Don't go, man, your being overly dramatic. So, your old mans dead, get on with your life, you know, you got school, and everythin'."
"But I just don't want to stay HERE."
"So…" Samael started as he bounced the kickball.
"Then go. I mean, if you really want to. So, where would you go, then? Out of the city, out of Midgar, where?"
"Yes, probably. No, I don't know. I don't think it matters."
"Yeah, it does. Where would you go? Everything's in Midgar. Everything that's anything, anyway."
I sighed.
Sam stood up.
"Listen, Vince, you gotta cheer up, man, want to come and play a game of kickball?"
"No." I said flatly. He pretended that he was about to throw the kickball into my face, but I didn't move. I didn't care.
"Fine, then, sulk all you want. I'm going to play kickball."
His back turned to me, and I could feel my eyes boil. They burned as tears churned, as my face turned a hard pink. And I cried. And I cried. And I cried.
A small hand touched my shoulder, and someone sat down beside me. I did not look up from my folded arms and bend up knees. I didn't want, whomever it was, to see my countenance lined with tears, folds from my shirtsleeves, snot, and my swollen beat red eyes.
"Vince, you ok?"
"I'm fine." my muted voice mumbled into my arms.
Whomever it was still sat there.
"Want to go play kickball?"
"NO for FUCKS SAKE, Sam! I don't want to play kickball, ok? My father JUST died, ok, GOD-oh. Sorry." I looked up while rubbing the salt away from my eyes to see Delilah, a fellow classmate who I never truly knew anything about besiding that she was always especially gentle, and overly softhearted for her own good.
"Sorry about your dad."
"Yeah, thanks."
~
Delilah… I'm sorry, I don't remember her very well. Except I remember her BEING there. What she looked like…? She was not very attractive, but not unattractive either, simply not memorable. She had short, very short brown hair, and was built flat-chested and never dressed particularly well. We did get along, not many DIDN'T like her. But she didn't have many friends either. I remember her laugh being particularly loud.
~
"Uhm, will you be ok, then, if I go?"
"Yeah. Fine." I grunted. She nudged herself closer to me and laid her hand upon my arm.
"Hope you feel better." She whispered before she ran and left.
~
That was it. That was the last time I was ever at school before I went back and joined the Turks. But that was later, MUCH later. I very much so regret dropping out of school. Truly… heh, truly I have no education beyond eighth or ninth grade. I think that I hide it well. Now, I do read. Perhaps that is why people take my intelligence for more than what it is.
That night I went home and packed my things. I stole a stash of gill from my mother who kept it in her snuffbox, and went upon my way.
When I first left it didn't seem that I was going anywhere seriously. I honestly thought that I would come to my senses in a couple of house and be home before dark. But before I realized what I was doing, I was into the slums of Midgar underneath the plate, never to return and see the light of the real sun for a few years to come.
I think… I think that my head hurts, and I need to rest. If you wish to hear more, why don't you come down here tomorrow?
Maybe I'll have more stories for you then.
Maybe I won't.
