Disclaimer:
I would absolutely love to own Final Fantasy VII and Vincent Valentine, but I don't, so I've got to make do with a little fanfic instead.
FF7, Vincent Valentine and everything else that's got to do with the FF7 world belongs to SquareSoft and not me.
Hear that? NOT ME!!!
By QueenQeeko.
Flesh, Blood + Titanium.
Chapter 3 – Interpreting What I've Forgotten.
Clean cool water is one of my favorite creations on this planet, for it is a rejuvenating cleanser of the body. I take generous swallows from my water bottle, and then lean back against the wall to look over my work for today.
Every wall has been scrubbed down with chlorine solutions to remove the mold and scum from the wallpaper. Yes, every wall. My nose is apparently somewhat sensitive, and eliminating any cause of a disgusting odor is on my top priorities list. Thus, it was time the filth was expelled. I do admit my error of adding too much chlorine to the hot water bucket when I very first started; I had choked for a decent few minutes after I got a strong whiff of the powerful fumes. Now, another day, another operation completed.
When I had first come here three months ago, my first objective was to attack one of the bedrooms for the night. The next day I moved to the kitchen. That in itself provided days of cleaning for me. I needed both a bedroom and a kitchen in working order before I could live here and operate properly, and my progress since that time is obvious. Having cleaned every window in the building once a fortnight from the moment I started living here, I have at least enabled myself light into every room.
My next task was to restore power, and this took little effort except from locating the fuse box. From there I removed cobwebs and spiders, forcibly ejected monsters from the building, revived furniture, and swept floors. For any normal household this would be a fairly simple inventory of chores, but due to years of being uncared for, an entire mansion became a mission. Today my remaining work demonstrates a close is drawing nearer. I just wonder what I will do with my spare time after this though.
The three months of renovating and rearranging has bestowed me a chance to place my thoughts on my activities, rather than on any other issues. I am at one of those stages again where I sit back and start thinking again, and I think I'll start depressing myself further. That does not necessarily insinuate I have been neither cheerful nor miserable during these past few months, but really, besides being thankful for life, I cannot successfully locate a motive to be jovial. However, I will take consequences of action as I go along, for one cannot plan their lives with productively and make it so. One can plan one's entire life but then one only has limited control over it.
So where will I proceed to when my labor is completed? I've already deliberated about that question a great deal. Am I worried life will become boring? No, more over that the boredom will be replaced with painful insights into the past. Well, I'll have to decide soon. Right now, I believe I have earned myself a reasonable evening off. And I will now go and clean up. I rise from where I am sitting on the floor and as I exit this room with the beaten up safe in the corner I pull my paint splattered T-shirt over my head and flick my hair back. I am sporting my red bandana still, for I found it irritating when ebony locks repeatedly fell into my eyes as I toiled.
Reaching the large bathroom of this mansion I fling my shirt onto the floor for I don't really care for now where it ends up. I strip down from the rest of my clothes as well, hanging my bandana over a chair beside the ancient bathtub. I would not accept getting it dirty for it is one of my sentimentally important articles of clothing. Having re-established the plumbing I now have a healthy supply of fresh mountain spring water that this town has plentiful quantities of. Stepping under the strong jet of warm water in the shower I almost feel as though I could get drunk from the refreshing and soothing sensation of it pulsing against my shoulder blades.
Relaxing under the stream takes very little time, and then I mechanically begin to wash myself free of the grime I have acquired while abolishing it from the building. I can't help but notice as I do every time I'm in here that the water makes a regular 'ping pang plunk' sound on my claw. The metal of the artificial arm has never shown signs of rust in the thirty odd years I've possessed it, therefore I've never bothered concerning myself with protecting it from any element. Although of course I would much prefer my real arm, but I've come to accept that I will never retrieve it.
And now I soak my head under the gushing water, letting it flow through the long locks of black silk. My hair has always been surprisingly easy to care for, and I take pride in knowing at least it isn't a crime taking pleasure from the sensation of water saturating my scalp.
Once I finally emerge from the shower I whip my heavy wet mane around behind my shoulders and take a towel from the towel rack. I dry my face and my body, not make an effort with my hair just yet, as miniature rivers running down my back does not bother me in the slightest. I wrap the towel around my waist after a while and depart for the main bedroom, taking my bandana with me and kicking my work clothes aside. Having obtained a large sum of gil throughout my adventures with AVALANCHE, purchasing new possessions has been an easy assignment. I have new clothes and can procure groceries from the local stores whenever need be.
My wardrobe is neatly packed with numerous different articles of clothing and I pick and choose without much thought, happy enough to wear anything comfortable. My selection ends up consisting of dark blue jeans, and a long sleeve shirt. Underwear is a given.
As I pull on my denims I begin to let my thoughts drift again, as these last three months have been a very uncommon change of pace for me. In all honesty, I've felt at peace on many temporary accounts, yet somehow that feels wrong at the same time. I sigh. Yes, I have been forgetting myself a lot lately. I am still weary, as though thirty-year-old burdens are still alive. Starting a new life is practically what I'm doing, when I could very easi-
I am cut off from that last thought as I hear a faint knocking.
There is someone at my front door. Knowing fully well that it takes time to answer the door considering the distance from door to bedroom, I race out immediately without my shirt and with the towel still draped around my shoulders. I reach the door handle and pull it open, revealing a woman with long brown hair who was just turning to leave.
"Tifa?" I am a little surprised to find her here on my doorstep right now. I didn't think that I would be seeing anyone from AVALANCHE for a good year's time. Still, I am not complaining, for at least I received my first preference in visitors. Nothing has changed about her in the last three months, although her choice of attire has. She is wearing a long maroon skirt and a pristine white blouse. I have never mulled over the image of Tifa in high heels, and yet I am seeing it. She takes the dark sunglasses away from her face and smiles.
"Hello, Vincent," she says, "I was about to leave, thinking you weren't home."
"Yes, I'm sorry about that," I answer, "that tends to happen frequently here." I step back and gesture with my hand to come inside, and Tifa gracefully proceeds indoors. I cannot help but let my gaze follow her footsteps in those shoes. Very much so this is a refined side of Tifa I had yet to encounter, and it is very charming. A nice touch to the superb person she already is.
"Did I catch you at a bad time?" she asks. I raise an eyebrow at her question as I close the door, not entirely sure what she means. As my friend points to the top of my head I realize that my appearance is what she's referring to.
"Oh, no, I have just taken a shower." Now I'm left wondering again as she bites the arm of her sunglasses and giggles.
"I didn't think you were the kind to answer the door without finding a shirt first, considering the modest impression you gave me, but I guess you learn something new every day. Under those layers of clothes you hid a nice body."
I'm glad I don't have a mirror, for I am very sure my face is glowing as red as my cape and bandana. I cough uncomfortably and find an interesting stitch on the rug to stare at.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Vincent!" Tifa exclaims suddenly, and I look back up in uncertainty. "I didn't mean to offend you! I just thought…err that you…uh… oh, I'm sorry!"
"No, no it's alright Tifa," I say, trying to dissuade further awkwardness, "I probably shouldn't have, it's more than likely a rude thing to do." She breathes a sigh of relief and I do internally too. Why haven't I invited her to sit down yet?
"Pardon me, Tifa. Come sit down, I haven't seen you in a long time." It's true, I haven't, although I thought it were going to be longer. She smiles that sweet smile and nods, following me towards a new lounge chair and coffee table I positioned before the raised landing. I excuse myself there, and go in search of my shirt.
So, idiocy strikes again in yours truly. I could have handled all of that much more efficiently I'm sure. What a fool she must think me to be now. I must take care with my words from now on. I toss my towel to the floor, throw my shirt over my head and go back to my friend whom is currently digging around in her purse for something, but she ceases that when she becomes aware of my return. She smiles again and I pause.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Tifa?" I ask upon my arrival. She responds by rising from her seat and replying, "I would love one."
"No, please, sit. I'll go fix it," I say as she goes to follow me. Tifa laughs and shakes her head.
"You are such a gentleman," she says, and pursues me anyway. I assume she's offering me a compliment so I won't argue for now. As I enter my large humble kitchen I automatically set the kettle to boil and take out two china cups. The teabags are then placed in them, and I soon realize that Tifa has been watching me very closely for the minute and a half I have been in here.
"So how have things been since we all broke up?" she asks, and I sit down beside her on the kitchen bar stools and run a hand through my still wet hair.
"Not much besides cleaning, as you can see," I say, gesturing all around.
"You've done an excellent job, Vincent. It actually feels like a home and not a nightmare fortress," Tifa says, glancing back and forth with awe. "It's amazing how you've transformed it."
"Thank you," I answer, "I couldn't leave it the way it was previously; no one would want to see me." At this she laughs again, a rather musical sound.
"That's a little harsh on yourself, Vincent! I'm not visiting you because of the house!" I smile back at her, and ask a question of my own.
"And what of you, Tifa?" I press on. "Where has life led you these past three months?" I am filled with concern as Tifa bites her lip and casts her gaze upon the floor, so quickly deflated of her happiness. I sit and watch her for a full minute in mute scrutiny, ignoring the whistling kettle right up to where its button releases and it ceases to boil further.
"Tifa? What is the matter?" I am beginning to feel that familiar feeling that I've done something terribly wrong. But before I can ask again, Tifa speaks.
"I got into a fight with Cloud a week ago, and I stormed out," she says with a sigh. I am unsure what to say, although fortunately Tifa saves me the pressure as she continues.
"I was stupid and disrespectful, Vincent, but I couldn't go along like that any more," she says.
"Like what?" I ask. Tifa gives me a sad smile and drops her gaze again.
"I couldn't continue sitting around while Cloud still mourns Aerith. Cloud…can't make up his mind," Tifa says slowly. "He told me that he does love me, but he still gets that faraway look for Aerith and I know he misses her. You probably wouldn't have noticed him doing that." How wrong she is. Little does Tifa know that I kept a very close eye on everyone in AVALANCHE for ludicrous amounts of time. I am very aware of Cloud's behavior, and for a long period I've worried for Tifa's feelings on that matter.
"I said some things I shouldn't have… and Cloud got very angry with me," she continues, drifting off again.
"What did he do?" I ask immediately.
"He slapped me across the face and said I was speaking ill of the dead, and said he didn't want to hear anyone talk about Aerith that way," Tifa says, sighing. "He's right though, I shouldn't have said the things about Aerith the way I did just because I was jealous."
Any respect I had for Cloud has instantly gone out the window.
"He hit you?" I growl, and Tifa doesn't respond. "Tifa, don't you let him get away with that."
"Oh, I didn't. I said he obviously lied when he said he loved me because apparently I was only filling a space he really wanted Aerith in, and then I left."
"I'm pleased you did," I say, suppressed anger evident in my voice, I'm sure. I place my hand on her shoulder and tell her firmly, "Tifa, promise me you won't let him do those things to you. I don't want you to be harmed in any way." Instantly a sad smile spreads over her face, and Tifa leans over and embraces me. In turn I wrap my arms tightly around her as well, breathing in the scent of her hair and wishing no more pain to her.
"Thanks, Vincent," she says, and then she leans back, smiling that sweet smile. "How about that tea?"
"Ah, yes," I say, and I rise to pour the water. Perhaps it's just me, or maybe I somehow saw this coming. Whatever the case, the next time I see Cloud he better hope he's altered his attitude.
"Milk?" I ask, and Tifa shakes her head clear from a daydream.
"Yes, thank you," she answers, and I pour a splash of milk into her cup as I extract the teabags and discard them into the sink. Returning to Tifa's side I place her cup and saucer on the bench by her delicate hand. As she takes her cup with a dulcet "Thank you," I watch her dainty fingers carefully. One would have thought that under those tattered combat gloves Tifa always wore that her hands surely would have donned several calluses and scars, although yet again I notice things that are not only unexpected but also rather intriguing as well as appealing. Clear of injury and deformities, scars and cuts absent.
"You don't take milk, Vincent?"
"Hmm?" I glance at Tifa and then back at my tea cup as Tifa sits looking at it as well, "Oh, milk. No, I prefer my tea with a lack of dairy."
"Okay," Tifa murmurs, "interesting."
"Is it?"
"All little quirks and mannerisms are. Just little pieces that make you, well, you." She says this last part with a smile. I nod thoughtfully, and take another sip of my apparently milkless tea. Somewhat interesting that Tifa can cause one to think about little things that one wouldn't normally spare a millisecond of thoughtfulness to. With tea, for instance, I kind of just do it automatically, as we all do with several actions when we are on autopilot. However, after my short session on thinking, I find I fail to see what is so interesting about avoiding milk.
"Oh dear…" I hear Tifa murmur, and then she rises from her seat with her soft dark eyes upon the silver watch around her petite wrist. "Vincent, I have to go now, my house is being reopened for me."
Now, here I am, being at one of those perfect times to be at a loss as to what I should say, ending up saying, "I see." A marvelous reply if I do say so myself, but not for this situation. How Tifa reflects on this answer I have no idea, but I feel a little reprieve as she smiles and hugs me, tight enough that soon my relief turns into air requirement.
"I'll come see you again tomorrow, okay?" Tifa says as she leans back, and I wait for a suitable moment to draw in a breath without appearing rude. I find my chance as she turns around to locate her handbag and do so as silently as I can.
"Take care, Tifa," I say to her as we make our way to the front door.
"You too," she replies with that lovely smile, "bye." Tifa then begins to head down my garden path. I watch her from the door as she opens the gate and exits the property. I wait until she has disappeared into the growing town that is Nibelheim before I turn and retreat mutely back into the manor. I find myself back at the kitchen, looking out the window as I place both of the teacups into the sink and fill the basin with water. I leave it filled and once the tap is shut off, I make my way to my room. I think I actually feel somewhat content. I had no idea that my friend would be showing up in town, more over come and see me of all people before her house has even been opened. Then I feel a silly smirk cross my lips. How stupid of me. This is Tifa, of course she would do that exact thing. That's how she is.
Throwing myself onto my bed I sigh and stare at the ceiling. I worry about that young woman. I really do. She's an incurable optimist, and yet she carries a great deal on her mind that she shouldn't. Essentially, now I wonder slightly about her behavior. Surely Tifa is not normally quite so open so quickly with her problems. Considering her high opinion of Cloud, or what I would hope to be a previous opinion, I would ordinarily pick Tifa to keep that particular type of event to herself. I wonder why she spoke so soon? And to me first of all people.
I sigh. I guess I'll have to learn to interpret what I've forgotten. Thirty years in the basement coffin has obviously impaired my social analysis on those I know.
Next Chapter – These Days Of Appreciation.
~QueenQeeko.