Theft

The Ride


She lurches to the side dangerously, green in the face. It's an awfully unhealthy shade on her. "Can't this thing ride any smoother?" she complains breathlessly.

Cid shoots her with look of curt displeasure. "Don't talk about my Shera like that, brat! She rides smoother than a baby's bottom, so quit your yappin'!"

Yuffie rolls her eyes at the analogy, because it's obviously such a huge lie—why else would she feel like barfing her lunch? She reaches out to grab the railing to steady herself, but the slight careening sensation only makes her want to hurl more. She clasps her stomach. She hates WRO for sending her to faraway places, places that require air travel. It sickens her to the very core, and she curses them terribly for it.

Barret looks a little concerned at the rapidly changing color in her cheeks. "Why don't you go lie down, kid?" he suggests in his deep, gravelly voice. He gets up from his seat and leads her by the shoulder toward the barracks.

"Barret, I need to talk to you," shouts Cid over his shoulder.

"I'll be right there," replies Barret. They reach the hallway leading to the barracks when they both catch sight of Vincent walking out. Barret brightens considerably, rejoicing in the fact that he can avoid having his jacket soiled by Wutai vomit. "Oh, Vincent, Yuffie's feeling a little sick here. Why don't you take her to sit down? Get a bucket while you're at it."

Yuffie musters a feeble look of thanklessness in Barret's direction. Vincent, much to Yuffie's relief, does not comment on the pasty green color her visage has taken on, but merely leads the way to an unoccupied room and opens the door for her. She steps in and gingerly seats herself on the stiff bed. She has to take a moment to keep herself from upchucking because the damn bed still wobbles like she's on some kind of horribly-built ship. By the time she can look up without spilling stomach acid, Vincent has disappeared. She shuts her eyes, and opens them abruptly when she hears tin hit the floor.

Vincent straightens himself after setting the bucket on the floor, his cloak billowing softly against his arm. She's always envied that cloak. She looks at the bucket, then slowly at him. "Thanks, Vinnie."

To her surprise, he seats himself on the chair by the door, instead of leaving. She smiles wanly. Boy, does she appreciate the company. She hates feeling like an invalid all the time—being stuck in a bathroom or some other room, usually with only a toilet bowl or bucket as companionship. As she heaves into the bucket, she thinks that she'll try not to steal Vincent's materia next time the itch strikes her.

She'll go straight for Cid and Barret first.


A/N: School has resumed! Expect updates, if any, to be sporadic and potentially disappointing. Once again, thank you all for leaving such lovely reviews. It really makes my heart soar. Thank you for reading! As always, comments/critique welcomed. Have an unexpectedly wonderful day!