［lost ninja kids］

&& it's all about the W O R d s , words

words

It wasn't, like, this magical, mystical place. It wasn't a bloody, gory death scene. It was a cave. It was a cave and it was gray and it was boring and there were ants trying to swim and she watched them with dull eyes as they failed. This was so not the way that Yuffie Kisaragi had planned to kick the bucket: in a boring cave with nothing but Olympic insects to hear her magnificent last words. It was such an unoriginal way to die, too.

Oh, you're chained to a rock and now you're being all flooded in. Great. So, what else is new?

Plus, what were these magnificent last words supposed to be? She refused to find out in the next life that her last words were something stupid like, "Um," or, "Oh, no you didn't just tie me up to this rock!" It had to be something out of one of those glorious girl-power stories where the heroine yells out lines of inspirational brilliance before giving her life for her lover in some slow, painful way. Or possibly for her dog. Either way, it was tear jerking.

I mean, really, Yuffie was starting to cry just thinking about it.

Okay, so, actually, that was because the glowing, green water had reached her shivery, pale knees and she couldn't get untied and Goddammit, she didn't want to die! She never got to tell Cid that she loved him best. And she never mastered her Knights of Round. And Godo was going to be pissed with her because she put the empty milk jug back into the fridge again. And she loved him to death too, but she never got the chance to say it. And she just missed them all already. And she was going to die.

And the world was going to be a total bore without her around.

The ninja could have cried out for help, of course.

And then she could have listened to the disappointment again, when no one called back. No one came.

Through blurry eyes and raw hands and aching heart, she watched the watery entrance to her boring, gray cave. And she was going to drown.

How novel.

And she watched the disappointment again, because no one was coming. And also because, once again, her world was falling apart.

Already.

toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!toga!

Vincent Valentine wasn't what you would call a social butterfly. Not exactly. Like, for instance, the place where this story starts: his first call on his first cell phone. Weird place it should start, isn't it? A stone man making a stone fool of himself. Not that he ever admitted it. She admitted it enough for both of them… Just like she always, always did. And just like always; he never, never said anything about it. But that's not the point…

This is the point: It was a sunny day in Nibelheim. Well, actually, no. No, it wasn't. Not exactly.

Apologies.

It was a slightly less dreary day than usual in Nibelheim and Vincent Valentine emerged from the newly built cell phone store with shoes glimmering and cape majestic and eyes looking fierce and ebony hair whipping out around his face. He looked pretty much like he always did, but it was still mucho impressive. Vincent Valentine liked to think of himself as a pretty impressive guy. Well, no. But be did like to think of himself as a sinful guy who would suicide for redemption if he deserved the solace it would bring. But, um, still, he was an impressive guy, so it hardly mattered what he thought.

Monster, monster, yeah, we know, but had he seen a mirror lately? Obviously not. He wasn't in love with himself.

Which was a strange thing.

So, anyway, he strode out of that store, carrying the namesake, a brand spankin' new cell phone with all the fixings. After the whole Reunion fiasco, a little over two months ago, he'd decided that he needed to keep in touch with his friends at least to the barest minimum. They might need him again.

Speak of the devil and he will come back to bite you in the ass. Get ready. It's coming.

Vincent flipped the phone open and carefully dialed in 7 digits with his metal finger, nearly poking a hole through the small, green button used for sending. Then he held the phone to his head and simply looked so majestic that if someone with a camera had been standing nearby, they probably could have taken his picture and sold it to a phone company for advertisements for a pretty penny, let me tell you. He counted three rings before a sweet voice tuned into his ear, "Hello, you've reached Strife Delivery Service! What can I do for you?"

And he counted three beats of silence… …before he said, "Tifa. Come in," much, much louder than he'd most likely ever said anything in his life.

"Uh… hello? Who is this?" the martial artist sounded a trifle confused.

Vincent stayed silent for a second, his version of utter and complete confusion; the surprise was health threatening; and then… "Vincent." Strangely, it wasn't often at all that he said his own name.

Tifa's voice brightened almost immediately. "Oh my… Well, geez. I should have known…Vince! Hi!"

He breathed loudly into the phone.

"Hello."

The gunslinger's fingers twitched in slight annoyance when this made her giggle.

He was in the middle of an elaborate, "Goodb—" when she cut him off with, "Vincent Valentine, you need to get out more often! We've been trying to reach you for a week! Where have you been?" Her tone grew more and more serious. Which, on some level, relieved him. Serious was, obviously, more his style. It wasn't that it made him glad that she didn't sound happy. It was just that he was more on stable ground here.

"Places," he answered cryptically. (Which wasn't surprising, coming from the guy with the crypt.)

She sighed. "I see. Well, things are kind of going crazy around here…" Tifa must have been fiddling with the phone cord or something, because the line got a little fuzzy for a few moments. "Yuffie's gone missing."

Yeowch. Stupid devil.

But that wasn't why something was speeding up in his chest.

He was silent.

"Vincent?"

He breathed into the receiver again.

"We, um… We sort of need you to come down here." She sounded anxious and like she was on the verge of tears all of the sudden. "We're in Wutai, Cloud and I. Cid, Barret, Red and Reeve are coming tomorrow. Yuffie's dad is worried sick. We've been looking everywhere, but we haven't picked up any leads. Her dad was the one that called us—"

"Why do you need me?"

"He said they'd been fighting—as usual, that girl—and she'd run off. People said they'd seen her down by the beach with a couple of strangers—"

"Why do you need me?" he asked again, heavily.

"Because—I can't believ—she's the one that needs you."

"There is nothing I can do to help." On the bright side, it was a step up from two syllables.

"But, Vi—"

"Tifa," he acknowledged, his version of saying 'Shut up, I'm going to go hide in a hole in the ground. Goodbye.' Then Vincent pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the red button with flourish (okay, not really flourish, per say,) almost proud of his first phone call. Almost. But not quite. Because, let's just face it, he was practically a social walrus.

The dark man shook his head and was about to clip the shiny, silver contraption to his belt when it started beeping annoyingly and he felt mildly like he wanted to chuck it at the cell phone salesman's head. That is, he flipped it open and pressed it against his head. "Tifa. I can't help you."

There was a loud whooping laugh on the other end. "Heehee… I aint Tifa, but if I was, whoowee—"

"Cid?"

"Hey, kid! Speakin' of Tifa, she phoned me yer number!" the pilot guffawed into his mouthpiece. "Brat's gone. You're comin', right?" This was Cid's way of saying he was worried as hell about Yuffie and if Vincent didn't get down there in T-minus 10, he was going to find a certain Venus Gospel in some very uncomfortable places.

Vincent took three slow, stiff breaths.

"Vince? You're coming?"

Not exactly.

"There is nothing I can do."

"What're you talking about? All you gotta do is, like, stand around in Wutai for three Goddamn seconds… and then everyone'll be—"

"Goodbye, Cid." Beep.

Vincent had exactly three seconds of peace to gather his thoughts.

Ring. Beep. Ba-Beep. Beep. Ring. Ding. Bee—Flick. Roar.

"HEY! This is Barret, yo! Wha'ss wrong witchu! Cid just tol' me you aint comin' to save the Yuffie-kid!" This man was giving him a great hatred of exclamation points. Vincent tightened his bronze grip on the phone. "Vince! Hey, Vi-ince! Aw, shit! I pressed the wrong button agai—"

"Barret."

Silence. Breathe. Roar.

"VINCE! Hey! You gotta come, foo'! C'mon!"

"There is nothing I can do." Which was probably the most vehement thing he'd said all decade.

Silence. Roar.

"BUT VIN—"

Beep.

Vincent got about as close to sighing as anyone had ever seen him get. He wasn't all that good with words. We've been over this. He had to choose them carefully. Not give anything away. If he'd had no inhibitions, maybe he would have been as talkative as the missing girl herself. But, yeah, right, Vincent was practically married to his inhibitions. So, he wasn't great with words, and when he turned off his phone he could feel them tumbling down off of his shoulders.

In all his refusing to help them find Yuffie, he hadn't really thought about it, honestly. It wasn't that he didn't care about her at all. She was part of AVALANCHE, a group of people he openly considered his friends. But… That wasn't really it. It was more, why should he go? There were already going to be at least six people there. And with him, the more the merrier didn't exactly apply. Merry and Vincent didn't fit into the same equation. He shoved the cell phone over the waistband of his pants and marched unhappily down the street back to 'his' mansion. He usually didn't spend much time there anymore, but a few weeks ago the residents of Nibelheim had volunteered to help him clean it up.

And since they couldn't quite picture him in an apron with a feather duster, they were doing it all for him.

The technical owner of the house was just hanging around for courtesy purposes.

His boots pounded mercilessly into the ground as nearby onlookers stared. At the time, he didn't understand what was making him so angry. In retrospect, he sort of figured it out. Not that he ever admitted it.

Ring. Beep. Ba-Beep.

Vincent froze and looked down menacingly at his cell phone, daring it to keep ringing. There was this budding hatred for the thing in his chest. And, possibly only to irritate him, it took his dare.

Beep. Ring. Ding. Beepily-Beep. Ding—Flip.

With the phone pressed to his ear, all he heard on the other end was breathing. Now, this was his kind of guy.

Vincent breathed back. Then, "Cloud."

Cloud gave a shallow sigh. "Vincent."

Vincent was silent.

Cloud tapped his phone with his finger.

Vincent exhaled. "Fine."

"See you tomorrow." Beep.

…And then, get this, Vincent actually hurried. Not that he was concerned or anything. In fact, Mr. Valentine didn't give a flying bird crap. He was completely unworried. He was fine. He was— Normally, he was a pretty honest man.

And that wasn't the whole truth.

Not exactly.

—

¤ author's note brought to you by s a n d ! it's everywhere! get used to it!
j.blue; Mwahaha! Three Readers, meet Chapter One. Chapter One, meet Three Readers. Chapter One says he likes you. Yep. So, this chapter is kind of OOC!Vinnie, but, he won't be like this the whole story. It was required for the humor. If the humor didn't elude me once again. A very possible thing, you see. Um… reviews will bring good fortunes to your cookies. No, seriously. I have power like that.Fishie wrote the prologue and will be writing next chapter. So, review, and it's possibly possible that she might write faster. Plus the good fortunes for the fortune cookies. That too.
A.W.G.B.H.Q./phish; T-T One flaw-she writes too fast dammit.

Sincerely,
Robert DuKey Incorporated