Once Upon an Immortal City
Remembering the girl, leaves me down and lonely...
02: Grey Skies, Mourning
"When I was little, there was a festival we held in the town. It was a spring one, we liked to celebrate the turn of the seasons. It's always important to ring through the changes, especially when you live in farming country and Gaia knows we lived as far into the country as you could get without banjoes making appearances alongside rockers and terrible dentistry. Anyway, it was this festival where we gathered spring flowers and made wreathes for the graves of our departed loved ones. I was making one, for my mother, she'd only just passed away from illness and I was still trying to understand grief. I made one of bluebells and snowdrops, I made it look like a ring of stars to use as a crown. I liked stars.
"That was when I saw him, he looked like he'd been in a few fights again. Back then, it was a badge of honour for him, bruises and scrapes and the disapproving look of the adults. But when we made the long parade of flowers, singing to the spirits of the harvest, trying to draw the attention of those gone into the beyond back to the planet, just for a short while, that I saw him holding his mothers hand, and I think I knew. It wasn't him holding onto her for reassurance, it was the other way around. When we stood by mama's grave and laid the flowers down to clothe the newly emerging grass, my father's hand was heavy on my shoulder. I'd never taken the time to understand him, but just then I knew, this man needed me. This was grief."
Tifa sighed, leaning back in the bar so her shoulders jingled on the upside down spirit bottles, her eyes distant and once again, deeply ringed by shadows, sleepless marks of nights spent looking at the stars she had loved once and praying with a heart made of glass. Aerith sat across the bar on one of the stools, glass in one hand and her basket of flowers tucked by the end of the counter with a jar for money. Tifa smiled sadly, looking somewhere else that Aerith couldn't see, "I wonder how much I needed him too."
"Your father?"
"Yeah, and Cloud too in a way," she chuckled, shaking her head, "But he's dead. Cloud died years ago now in some monstrous experiments the ShinRa did." Her hands found the rag for cleaning the bar quickly, hiding her scarred knuckles among the folds of dirtied linen so she could spare the gentle healer the sight of her anger. "I've learned to live with knowing there aren't second chances in this world. You make a bad mistake and the world just spits you out after chewing you up."
"I don't believe that," Aerith replied, tilting her glass so the ice-cubes clinked.
The look that Tifa gave her was flat and dark, under drawn eyebrows. "Well, some of us don't have the great life you did, you know."
"I guess," Aerith flushed. She wasn't about to talk about her own past, that wasn't the point of these daily talks. Instead she gestured to her own chest, changing the subject with skill rapidly. "How's the wound feeling today?"
"Hmm oh, that ointment you gave me worked incredibly well, it's not feeling tight at all," Tifa patted between her breasts with vigour. The barmaid loved to do anything with feeling, it seemed. Nothing was ever half hearted in the house of Lockhart. "I even managed to get my first decent nights sleep!"
"You're a bad liar," Aerith muttered into her drink, sipping at it.
"What was that?"
"I said, you're looking to hire?" She crooked a finger at the sign propped by the door, blushing a little at her own deception. She felt relatively proud of it, if she had to be pushed to say anything. "Business going well?"
"Yeah!" Tifa smiled, this one was genuine. When it came to her beloved business, Tifa was enthusiastic as Aerith was about flowers and plants. The tinkle of money, the happy smiles of customers, that was what made the barmaid glow with happiness. "I'm hoping to get a part timer in. Plus, having your fresh flowers here draws in extra punters for me. Which, I think, was a brilliant move on my part."
"And it certainly helps my pockets out," she smiled too.
"Saving up for something special?"
Aerith felt at the pocket of her jacket; her latest letter to a dead person rustled there, a guilty pleasure that hooked against her clothing, reminding her that it still existed. That she was still not letting go, not like she was still desperate to convince herself she was doing. That this letter, like all those before it, was the last, stamped and signed for. He was gone, he was... gone for good. She jumped, realising she'd been silent a bit too long and laughed, scrunching her nose up to try and stop tears, "Oh m-my... yes yes. Something absolutely special! I think it's made of a lot of small wishes, big ones just... don't come true..."
"Oh and what are small wishes and big wishes? Aren't they all the same?"
The healer pointed at her basket of flowers, directing Tifa's attention there. "Those flowers, each one is a small wish. People come and buy them, to give their little wishes of hope and affection to others."
"Okay and then what's a big wish to you?"
"A big wish is never going to come true," she chuckled, "Or rather, I already had that wish. It fell out of the sky and said it would give me the sun. I wished for that, with my whole heart. Just that one thing." She pressed a hand against the jacket pocket. Dammit, she was going to cry now. "I... I..."
Tifa's arms were there without warning, wrapping about her thin shoulders. She could feel the tense muscles of the barmaid, used to brawling and training for hours on end. In comparison she felt as fragile as a twig. But Tifa was warm, and the hand that smoothed her hair had practise smoothing the fretful dreams of Marlene, a child who lived over the bar with her adoptive father. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't weak! She was over this, she was so beyond over this!
Cry. Cry for him and you. You aren't over it. Can you ever get over this? -
"I see," Tifa said softly into Aerith's hair, her breath stirring the golden strands, "I'm sorry, for what I said earlier. I didn't know, I'm an idiot."
"I didn't want to tell anyone," Aerith whispered, her voice choked by the razor sharp shards of tears. She clung to the taller, younger woman, shaking as she still tried to fight the sobs that were already running up her spine with sour, salty footsteps. "I loved him, I loved him!"
"I'm sorry," Tifa murmured, "Just cry, just cry now."
Aerith cried.
Dear Zack...
The box was open on his desk, staring at him from the inside lid was her name, written and then carefully carved so it seemed twined with roses and thorns. It was in her beautiful and elegant script. He hadn't touched a single letter since the day he had been given the carved box, instead he just sat and looked at it, imagining her voice. It only spoke those words when he opened the lid, looking into the box at the neatly stacked envelopes. Sometimes, the words seemed to hold a smile and sometimes a kiss, a kiss he would daydream he could feel on his cross shaped scar.
A noise from outside his door made him lean forward and snap the box closed, cutting off the scent of earth and that delicate, gentle voice that tortured his dreams.
"Go away, Reno," he sighed, rubbing at his right eye with fingertips. It was still healing, he needed a damn good materia user to finalise the science, but for now with his lack of 20-20 vision, he preferred to hide it behind an eye-patch. Plus, the silly kid in him reasoned, he looked a bit more like a pirate this way.
The door cracked open and Reno, predictably, craned his head about the doorway, peering into the room and then at Zack. Reno looked like someone had dragged him forcibly out of bed, through a laundrette then through a hedge backwards, then thrown some hair gel at him as a terrible sort of afterthought to the mane of red hair that was loosely held back with a slip of leather.
Zack on the other hand, had closely cut black hair, now long enough to be cut into a short style rather than just hacked off to the scalp. He wore the smooth eye-patch with the symbol of his specialised field, a sigil of Soldier and the typical Turk outfit. Well, somewhat. He wore the tailored suit jacket and pants, but retained his roll neck purple shirt and leather fingerless gloves with those metal sliding plates that he could interchange in and out on the back of his hands. He tapped a finger now against the report on his desk, "What do you want?"
"Hmm just seeing how you're doing, boss sent me," Reno affected a very bored expression, his eyes briefly latching onto the wooden box, then to Zack, "Didn't want you to be getting sidetracked."
It took all of Zack's available willpower to not grind his teeth together, instead, forcing a smile onto his face that did interesting things to the cross shaped scar. "No, I'm settled in just fine."
"Not, you know, distracted?"
"Not at all. I know exactly what is being asked of me, after all." He continued to smile, jaw aching. "I can play a puppet just as well as the rest of them."
"Puppets get their strings broken."
"Redheads get their knees broken if they keep up trying to be intimidating."
"Pfft, I've seen your depth perception right now, Fair. It'd be a miracle if you could make it to touching me, let along knee-capping me."
"Who said anything about close physical contact? I'm still a very adept materia user."
"Wow, a muscle head who knows the right end of a magic spell," Reno sneered a little, but then smiled, "You're alright, Fair."
"You're a real pain in my ass, Reno." Zack sighed, rubbing at his cheek and rolled his eyes, "Seriously, just go away, I don't have it in me to deal with you today."
"Thinking about her?" Reno slid inside, door closing behind him. Hadn't he just told him to go away? That was the precise opposite of what that annoying redhead was doing, let along slouching now into the couch with all the refined grace of a boneless cat on ice.
"Not really." Zack scowled, "Why can't I get Cissnei to deal with? She doesn't make me want to beat my head against the wall and scream as much as you do."
"Hey, I'm a pro, bro," Reno tilted his head back so his expression was unreadable, "We sent her out to Corel anyway, something going down there. So you're stuck with me."
"Awesome."
"I sure am."
Zack sighed. Well, if he was stuck with him, he should probably spend more time trying to understand the annoying redhead. "Say, Reno?"
"Mmm?"
"Will they hold up their end of this deal?"
"It's hard to say, ShinRa does whatever is in it's best interests, you know?" Reno shifted a little, trying to get comfortable on the leather couch. "But, they wouldn't harm her, not really. She's important."
"How important?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, not yet." The man laughed.
"Try me."
"Nah, not today."
Zack glanced again at the carved box. This was all he could do for her right now, this was all he would be able to do for her. What he had done, it was unforgivable. It was the burden he would carry with him forever, a burden he would never share with her. Now, knowing more of the fate of the world as it all came unravelling about him, there was only one option left.
Protect the Ancient, at all costs. No... protect Aerith. He reached out and opened the box lid, peering once again at that carved name and then running his fingers over it. It really had been crafted with patience and superb skill. "Reno," he said.
Silence. He turned his piercing blue eyes to the man laid on his couch, slumped further down and breathing evenly, a hint of a catch in his breath that suggested at a snore to come. Slacking off from work and catching a nap in his room; that was so much like the laid back Reno it was almost criminal. Well, Zack reasoned, there wasn't a whole lot going on at ShinRa HQ these days, and maybe getting in sleep whilst he could was the best Reno could do.
He leaned back in his own chair. "It's a promise," he whispered to himself.
Dear Zack...
"I'm not doing this for anyone," the woman snarled, slamming down her pad, the papers ruffling. Her stare was intense, boring through the dust that floated about them.
Cissnei swallowed but held onto her leg, gripping at the tourniquet with fierce resolve. The wound was deep and jagged and without the expert help of this woman, it was unlikely she would live long. Well, even with it, it didn't look good, but maybe she would gather enough information to be of help to someone. There was something in the face of this woman that tugged at her from the inside, that made her pause and look closely. It wasn't fear or panic; but sadness, desperation.
She knew those emotions well, however cold-hearted she tried to make herself seem. She wasn't a robot, after all.
The woman relented, sighing softly and tugging at her lab coat, "But if I do this, will you tell me where Shelke is?"
"I'll tell you what I know."
"That's a start. You can call me Shalua, if you live," the woman adjusted her glasses in the dim light, "Now lean back and bite on the stick, because I'm not sure how much of this you'll feel before you pass out."
Cissnei bit on the stick. Even after she started to scream, she continued to bite until splinters riddled her mouth.
Dear Zack,
I have twenty-three tiny wishes, but you probably won't remember them all, so I put them all together into one... I'd like to spend more time with you.
Just you.
Aerith.
