Put Your Lights On
9.27.05
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This is a FFVII fic by kleptomaniac0. I own no characters except those you haven't heard of, meaning the ones I've made. Normally I'm adverse to posting something new while I have multiple works in progress, but this OC, the first OC I ever created, has been banging against the walls of my head ever since Advent Children came in out Japan. So I'm letting her out before she drives me crazy.
This will be a lot more unguarded than my other works, meaning it'll be sloppier. I'm writing this to get it out of my head and though I always appreciate reviews and constructive criticism, I probably won't be looking at them until the story's done. Or as done as it's going to get, anyway. Yep. :imagines a mailbox full of flames: Oh well.
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Chapter Nine
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Toriko often dreamed she had a normal family. Her father—Wutaiese, not some white-haired demon—would come home and sweep her up in his arms as she ran to him shrieking with joy. Her mother would follow more sedately, greeting him with a murmured, "Welcome home, darling," and a chaste kiss that would still make Toriko wrinkle her nose with disgust. Then they would eat dinner and Toriko would sit right between her parents, safe and happy in the warm mantle of love and protection they cast over her. Nothing would hurt her and she wouldn't ever regret having been born. She would have been happy.
But four years in Hojo's lab and seven as the disgrace of a former noblewoman made her nervous instead, so Toriko woke up instantly, without swimming through layers of sleepiness. She breathed and smelled something she knew innately was clean, despite having few experiences with such materials—sterile was not really the same thing as clean. And she was lying on something soft too. Opening her eyes, Toriko sat up and looked around.
There was no question as to where she was. The empty sword bracket above her head, as well as the bleak starkness of the room, made it abundantly clear that she was in her father's abode. His sheets and blanket were both white, and Toriko grimaced when she saw the dirty gray of her clothes against them. She slid out of bed and made it as best as she could, sticking the sheets and blanket as best she could under the mattress to make it look smooth and uniform. It was harder than she thought. Lifting the mattress was no problem, but every time she stuck the blankets and sheets underneath it, the covers would bunch and wrinkle. Toriko was trying to make the bed for the third time when she heard the jingle of keys behind her.
"He's home," she thought, dropping the blanket. The idea of facing him froze her stomach with fear. Hojo, horrible though he was, had always been predictable. Was Sephiroth the same way? Would he regret his decision to take her in? Indecision seized her as she agonized over whether to say hello or "go back" to sleep, and she heard the door close.
"I'm home," a familiar male voice called in Wutaiese.
"Welcome back!" Toriko called back, running out of the room. Briefly she remembered her mother's lessons and slowed at once, pacing her steps to be small and ladylike. Keeping her gaze fixed at a point about twenty feet in front of her—so she could see everything, but without looking anyone in the eye—Toriko shuffled into the living room and bowed deeply, her hands on her thighs. Her shaved scalp prickled as Sephiroth's eyes landed on her. Swallowing, Toriko said, "Welcome back... Father."
He scoffed under his breath at her blatant attempt to remind him of their kinship and she heard a soft click; glancing up, her blood chilled as she saw him unsheathe the Masamune. For a moment her heart froze; then it sank into her stomach and Toriko shut her eyes, gritting her teeth.
"It's his prerogative to kill me," she said to herself. "It's his prerogative to correct a mistake."
Toriko only hoped it would be quick.
"Ugh," he said, and Toriko heard something unbuckle, followed by the meaty thump of falling leather. Squeezing one eye open, she saw Sephiroth leaning against the counter, absently rubbing the ache out of his shoulder with one hand as he put the Masamune on the kitchen counter with another. Toriko was impressed at the sight of his unmarked torso; only a peerless swordsman could be without wounds.
"Stand up," he commanded. "You're going to give yourself a backache." Toriko straightened, though she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "And look at me when I talk to you."
"Yes, Father," she said, reluctantly bringing her eyes to meet his. The unholy burning green of them made her flinch a little inside, mostly because she had that same unholiness in her gaze. There was no doubt about it; this was her father.
"Hojo has commanded me to look for you," Sephiroth said, and Toriko blinked. She would have been afraid, but something in his tone of voice seemed to say that he had no intention of following through. She tilted her head instead, looking curiously at him. "He'll never expect you to be here, in my house. It would be best to wait until the furor over your disappearance dies down."
He paused, looking at her expectantly, and Toriko blinked again. Did he think this was good news for her? Yes, he was her father and normally girls would be happy to live with their fathers, but he had no emotional attachment to her, neither she to him, and he reserved the right to kill her or throw her out of the place at any time. She had traded a life of hell for one of fearful uncertainty.
"Then what happens?" She asked.
Sephiroth looked at her, not saying anything for a long time. She sensed him running over a list of options in his head and discarding them at such a blinding pace that she received was a sort of mental blur; she could tell he was thinking rapidly, but not about what.
"I don't know." He said finally. "Would you like to go back to Wutai?"
Wutai. Toriko remembered Wutai. The gilded streets were paved for foreigners and ladies of noble blood dressed gaudy bright, like whores. Honor was strung on the walls like cheap paper, and everyone reeked of rice-made liquid oblivion. She remembered the smell of rotting flesh and her mother's heartbeat.
"No." Toriko said firmly.
Sephiroth's expression tightened imperceptibly in annoyance, but he didn't naysay her choice. "Would you like to go anywhere?"
Was there anyplace that would take her? "No," she said, but her voice was softer.
Sephiroth continued rubbing his shoulder. Apparently four years of inactivity made one a little stiff. "I'm going to cook breakfast," he said, and Toriko blinked in surprise. "Then I'm going to go grocery shopping. Can you stay out of trouble for a few hours?"
"Yes," Toriko said, knowing he didn't mean to sound insulting. Her staying out of trouble was essential to both of their survivals.
Sephiroth picked up his coat and his sword, and Toriko stepped out of his way as he walked down to his room. A few seconds later, he came out in a plain shirt that was gray with wear, like her clothes, and started cooking. Toriko slid into one of the tall stools that faced the kitchen counter, watching as Sephiroth efficiently cooked eggs, sausages, and some vegetables she didn't recognize in a large, flat pan. On impulse she stood up on the stool and reached for one of the cabinets mounted to the wall, pulling the door open to see round, flat plates inside. Taking out two of them, she set them on the counter just as Sephiroth finished cooking and he portioned the food on both plates. He handed her silverware and they began to eat in silence. As Toriko tried to eat in small, graceful bites, she wondered what was more amazing; that Sephiroth cooked, that the food tasted good, or that he was feeding her without being asked to.
He finished before she did and went back to his room, probably to change; he had an appearance to keep up, after all, since big bad heroes weren't supposed to wander through grocery stores in t-shirts and slacks. Toriko cleaned her plate and took his, hopping off the stool to carry them both to the sink. As she put the plates down, it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what to do next.
"Sponge." Came the abrupt instruction. Luckily, he was not annoyed, just informing her brusquely. "Soap. Scrub. Dry them and put them away."
"You sound tired." She commented. It was easier to talk to him when she couldn't see him, when she could only hear his thoughts and emotions. He didn't seem to alien then, so frightening. "Maybe you should sleep instead of going out."
Sephiroth came out of his room, wearing a whiter tee-shirt, khaki-colored pants, and a loose jacket that disguised the development of his arms and shoulders. With his white hair tied back and stuffed under a hat, he looked...weird.
"It's been four years since the war ended, but people still make a fuss if they see me in public," Sephiroth said, seeing Toriko's raised brows. "This makes it a little harder for them to identify me."
"But your eyes," she began, but Sephiroth blinked and Toriko suddenly noticed that instead of their brilliant green, his eyes were a dark, almost opaque shade of brown.
"Colored contact lenses," he explained. "They also take out some of the Mako glow."
"You do all this just to get food?" Toriko exclaimed.
"And other things," he said. Looking Toriko up and down, he said, "I might as well get you some clothes too."
"What?" Toriko stared at him and was vaguely aware of her cheeks beginning to burn.
"Don't burn anything," he warned her as he walked toward the door. "And don't break anything either." And then he was gone, just like that, and left Toriko gaping after him.
"I don't need clothes!" She thought frantically at him.
The reply was instant. "You want to wear lab clothes for the rest of your days?"
"Well, no, but..."
"But what?"
"Why are you being nice to me?"
There was a pause that turned into a silence, and it took Toriko a few long moments to realize that he wasn't going to answer her. Sighing, Toriko took the squishy green object that had caught her attention at the word 'sponge' and began to wash the dishes. Cleaning was a mindless activity, one that allowed her to wonder about Sephiroth's increasingly odd behavior. She had always been led to believe that Sephiroth was a horrible person, but he hadn't made a threatening gesture yet, and she hadn't caught even a hint of hostile energy from him. She tried not to consider the possibility he was a good person.
Two plates did not take long to wash and Toriko wiped her hands on her pants. She had nothing to do now. Toriko considered taking a nap, but she was too awake to do that; she would just lie on the bed, or maybe the floor since she didn't have Sephiroth's leave to be on the bed, and roll around aimlessly, waiting for sleep to take her. Toriko looked down at the floor, vaguely searching it for reference, and noticed that it was dirty.
Toriko blinked. She stared at the floor for a bit longer, wondering if she had become so used to the sterility of her cell that even a little bit of dirt bothered her. She hoped that she just liked to be neat as she opened the cabinets under the sink and lifted out a bucket, cleaning solution, and a fold-up mop. But she had to be honest with herself. Toriko wasn't cleaning entirely out of boredom. A small part of her clung desperately to the idea of 'home', even if 'home' happened to be with a raping maniac, a man who could kill her at any time, and that part of Toriko urged her to be a good daughter. Maybe Sephiroth would keep her. Maybe she wouldn't be thrown away again.
Maybe he'd love her and feel it instead of just saying the words.
Toriko filled up the bucket and began to mop.
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Author's note:
It's very confusing for a child when her mother says, "I love you," but won't touch her; maybe even push her away. Children need lots of reassurance that they're loved. Maybe it's because they see themselves as the grown-ups' dolls, and like dolls, can be discarded as soon as a better model comes along. God knows some of my worst nightmares were like that, and why I still have every stuffed toy I've received since infancy.
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