Sorry if this one seems a bit disjointed, I wrote most of it today. I really should move away from my computer sometimes... Oh well. I couldn't write most of the last two days, long story, so here's this part, slightly longer than normal. This is building up to something, obviously. But what?
Hee hee.
This chapter features the many personalities of Lightning, an increasing mystery, and Dajh being bad at math.
After the longer reunion was over, most people began to trickle out of the house. Lightning was the first to leave, mentioning something about a previous engagement, leaving soon after Hope. Serah and Snow took the same bike as Lightning to leave. Soon it was just Sazh and Dajh remaining, standing just outside the house.
"Where's Choco?" Vanille bounced up to them, watching the Farron/Villiers family depart.
"The stables," Dajh shrugged a reply, "Thought we'd let him rest after yesterday."
"You've got stables?" Vanille tilted her head, talking to the father and son as Fang wandered around in the house.
"Sure, how else would people look after chocobos? Well, actually we just use our garden, with a straw bed. It works. Besides, we give him his favourite greens."
"I still think he prefers my hair," Sazh added, joking
"You can feel free to try and get him in there," Dajh chuckled, "You might struggle a bit now."
"You mad? Remember when we had to train him out of that?" Sazh replied, acting dramatically shocked
"Ha, yeah," Dajh chuckled turning back to Vanille, "When Choco was about this big," Dajh held his arms about half a metre apart, height-wise, "We had to train him for a weeks to stop him jumping in dad's hair every chance he got."
"Wish I could've been there," Vanille giggled, hiding the sadness her remark inspired
"You can see the photos," Sazh interjected, "We downloaded them onto Bhakti."
"Ooh!" Vanille squealed, jumping, in response.
A few moments passed, as Fang ran out, to the front of the house. As she approached, a Sylph, not the one who lived with them, appeared with a flash, outlined for a moment by the distant crystal of Cocoon. The Sylph span on the spots, sending tiny bits of glitter falling, spiralling down, before they twinkled out.
"I just wanted to see ya," the Sylph bobbed on the spot, looking at Fang.
"Yeah, great," Fang muttered to herself, "Do you mind telling me who you are? We never heard of you back on Gran Pulse."
"This is Gran Pulse," the Sylph sighed, descending, "We weren't really public figures back then, like we are now. Besides, we only really became major once you'd become crystallized."
"How does that work?" Fang shrugged dismissively, turning away from the fal'Cie.
"It just does," the Sylph responded, vanishing with a flash quickly.
"Great," Fang sighed, "Hey, Sazh!" she turned again, from within the house, "You feel like giving me a guide to the new Bhakti?"
"Sure," the old man nodded, walking in through the doorway.
Fang watched the dark skinned man ascend the stairs. The black haired Gran Pulsian darted over to Vanille quickly, "You wanted to talk to Dajh?" she whispered to Vanille, "Now's your chance," Fang gave a quick smile, giving Vanille a quick peck on the cheek, before following Sazh.
For her part, Vanille was surprised; she'd only mentioned her desire to speak, to apologize to Dajh, when they'd just woken up, and that was a few hours ago. She hadn't expected Fang to remember it for this long, but then again, what did she expect?
"Hey, Dajh," Vanille caught the attention of Sazh's son.
"Yeah?" he turned, looking away from his father
"I," Vanille began, hesitating, "I wanted to say sorry."
"Sorry? For what, this time?"
"For before," Vanille frowned, not sure what to say, "It's because of us, because of me, that you became a l'Cie."
"That?" Dajh laughed, "Just forget it, that was years ago."
"Not for me."
"Was for me, and if you're meant to be apologizing to me, then it's my view that counts. Don't worry, I forgave you the day you saved Cocoon. I think Lightning put it pretty well: you don't have to be sorry for a thing, you could've done whatever you wanted, but in the end, you saved Cocoon."
"Thanks," Vanille smiled
"Any time. Is that all?"
"Of course, Katz," she added the last word playfully
"Call me Dajh, please. Oh, unless we're in public. Obviously, we don't want people to know who we really are: half of them would think we're liars, half of them would se the press on us, and the other half would mob us."
"That's three halves," Vanille counted them off on her fingers
"Three is better than two," he shrugged, "By the way, was Fang telling the truth, about you never hearing of the Sylph?"
"Mm," Vanille nodded. "It's strange. We used to know a lot about the fal'Cie."
"Not enough," Dajh shrugged, "Don't look at me, I'm no Sylph expert. No one is really, except for, maybe, the Sylph themselves. Hey, you've got one living here, ask it, or him, or her. Whatever pronoun you want to use."
"He's not here," Vanille flapped her arms
"Call him," Dajh shrugged, "That Sylph always listen. It's kind of unnerving, even when he isn't here, he always knows what you said, watch," Dajh turned to face the grounds in front of the house: "Sylph!" he shouted.
A few seconds passed in silence. Then, responding to the call, their native Sylph flashed into existence, twirling on the spot. It floated closer to Vanille, peering at her face. Leavings fluttering, it withdrew, shaking something off. A few crimson sparks, seemingly of electricity, fell of its minute frame, each speck of energy barely a centimetre long.
"You," it squeaked, "Almost forgot. Anyway, you called?"
"Yep," Dajh nodded, "Vanille's got a question."
"Right," the Sylph turned, hovering over to the redhead. "Ask away."
"Just curious," Vanille shrugged, "We never heard of you in Oerba, before all this, but we knew every fal'Cie on Gran Pulse in the old days."
"You want to know why? Easy," the Sylph muttered in a sing-song voice, before its voice deepened, to an almost human, male, tone, "The Sylph are not fal'Cie."
"Huh?" Vanille frowned, instinctively stepping back
"What?" the Sylph squeaked, "It's because we generally hid from humans, we used to be shy, besides, there didn't used to be too many of us."
"But you just said you weren't fal'Cie," Vanille pointed out
"No I didn't," the Sylph bobbed nervously on the spot, "Are you ok?" it flew closer to Vanille's face.
"I'm fine," Vanille murmured, confused
"She's right, you know," Dajh supplied, "You just said the Sylph weren't fal'Cie."
"You're strange," the Sylph giggled, somersaulting backwards in midair. "I know what I said," the Sylph squeaked on, deep voice long since fled. With that, the Sylph hovered sideways, circling Vanille for a moment, before vanishing in a flash. A few threads of black fabric fell, the hair of the doll it had incinerated not long ago.
The fibres scattered on the ground, before, almost as an afterthought, flashing and being brought along by the Sylph.
X
"Glad you went after all?" Hope sat the opposite side of the desk to Lightning, who was once again wearing her hood.
"Kind of," the hooded woman murmured. She'd come straight here from Fang and Vanille's house, driving the velocycle, stopping just to drop off Snow and Serah. "Aren't you meant to be with Asura?"
"I was," Hope replied, "She had to leave though, a client called."
"Client? What's her job this time?"
"Jewellery designer. Where'd you think I got the gifts for Fang and Vanille? I found the materials and made the design, she created the brooch and bracelet."
"She's pretty handy with gemstones," Lightning gave a rare compliment
"She's handy at a lot of things."
"Too much information, Hope," Lightning sighed, permitting herself a brief smile
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Besides, aren't you meant to be calling me Babil when we're in anywhere at all public?"
"Suppose so, but you really could've picked a better name," she retorted, "Is Babil even a real name?"
"Is 'Lightning'?" Hope/Babil chuckled, "Wait, did you say you were glad to see Fang and Vanille?"
"Mm, yeah. I'd almost forgotten what they were like."
"I wish I could record that," Hope chuckled, "Lightning Farron admitting she was wrong, it doesn't happen often."
"Watch it Baby," she pronounced the word bab-e, mocking his name. "I've lived in this hood so long, I was afraid of being rid of it, even for a second. It's like becoming Lightning, instead, I became Freya, withdrawn. I didn't want them to see me, not after how much I'd changed. I just didn't know how easy was to change back, back into Lightning, even back into Claire."
"Does that mean we can call you Claire now?" Hope made light of the remark
"Don't even think it," was the retort, spoken barely a split second after Hope's joke.
With that, Lightning, or Freya, or even Claire, reached across, to pull a computer screen up out of the desk in front of her. With a few taps, a keyboard appeared at the base of the screen.
"What are you doing this time?" Hope asked, banter aside
"Looking someone up," she replied, distracted, "You reminded me of someone, he pulled my hood down, recognized me. He said he was a journalist, I wanted to see if he told anyone."
Hope nodded, happy to sit back and watch the hooded lady tap away at the computer. Observant, he watched as the hood moved, as Lightning frowned. Then, a gasp later, Lightning looked up.
"It's happened again." she said
"What's happened?" Hope asked, frowning
"The journalist was called Proté, Snow took his name. He's turned up in the news just once since yesterday."
"A story?"
"No, well, yes, but not one of his."
"I don't understand."
"He's been killed. The reports think it's suicide; he locked himself in a room from the inside, and set something on fire. He suffocated."
"Right, two questions," Hope sighed, leaning forwards, "One, why do you sound so sceptical about it being suicide? Two, what do you mean 'again'?"
"Good questions," Lightning nodded approvingly, "Just ask if you want to join the GC."
"You've been asking me that for the last five hundred years. It's not going to happen. You were saying…" Hope gestured for her to speak
"Fine," she nodded, "One. If this is the same Proté, and the Guardian Corps unit assigned to the case were right, then something odd's happening. They identified the paper set aflame as a mixture of heavily inked paper, and photo paper, and if it is Proté, then the photos would have to be those of us, back through time. The ones he showed me. Next, suffocation by fire is hardly the easiest, peaceful manner of suicide, and I've been on plenty of those cases to know. Also, the door was locked from the inside, but the GC unit never found any keys in the room." Lightning panted as she finished the explanation, counting each bit of evidence off on her fingers.
"You're good, Sergeant Farron" Hope chuckled, "Where does that leave us?"
"It leaves us with a man who showed no inclination of suicide, killing himself in an unorthodox manner, destroying quiet possibly his greatest chance at fame, while being able to walk through walls."
"Why are things never easy for us?" Hope laughed despite the seriousness of the situation, "Anyway, you still haven't told me why you said 'again'."
"That much is easy," Lightning began, "Have you been listening to the news lately?"
"Yeah."
"Remember the disappearances reported, mostly of people in the government?"
"How could I forget?" Hope shivered slightly, "Whole rooms vanishing for hours, before being returned as ash. What's this got to do with Proté?"
"I take it back: you wouldn't be much good in the Corps," Lightning started counting off on her fingers again, "First, the Corps doesn't deal with seemingly magical killings often, once a year if at all. Proté and the disappearances happened in the same week. Second, the same trick would account for both mysteries: some way to warp around, in the case of Proté, to move the keys from one side of the door to the other. In the other case, some way to move the room or building to a hot location, and then back. Third and final, the choice of victims."
"You're like a different person when you're on a case," Hope observed, sitting back, almost afraid
"I'll take that as a compliment," the businesslike Sergeant Farron noted, "Every victim has known who we are. Proté found out the truth by examining the photos of us from the past five hundred years, and the government victims who vanished were either the ones who gave us new identities each time we awoke, or ones who were close enough to us to suspect something."
"So…" Hope prompted
"You tell me," Lightning kicked back, watching Hope.
"Are you really trying to recruit em again?" Hope sighed, "Fine."
He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. From beneath her hood, Lightning watched the man, thoughts in a blur. She'd drawn her own conclusions, but while she was thinking, she needed to occupy Hope, maybe he could see something new. Besides, she wanted to get him in the mood for an investigation before she showed him the new news reports open on her computer screen.
Hope's words earlier had struck a chord: she was like a different person when she worked. Sometimes, it scared her. There were so many aspects to her, that she sometimes lost track: the aloof Lightning, the caring Claire, the distant Freya, the obsessive Sergeant Farron…
"Well," Hope began, "I'd have said whoever was doing this, was trying to make people suspicious of us, except they killed everyone who knew, who'd notice their connection to us? It's almost like whoever or whatever did this was trying to protect us."
"Full marks for Private Estheim," Lightning muttered dryly, "Now take a look at this."
Hope rolled his eyes, before looking at the news stories Lightning was pointing to.
"Two, very similar, murders," Lightning began, "Like the government killings, the contents of a room turned to ash, with a person inside it. The person was Roxy, remember her? She was one of the two who helped extract Fang and Vanille. Next is an apparent suicide, a woman who jumped off a building. The problem is, the injuries are consistent with falling from twice the height as the buildings either side of her allow. It's Sheri, the person who actually helped extract Fang and Vanille."
"You think it's the same person?" Hope breathed out slowly.
"It has to be," Lightning murmured, before standing up.
"Where are you going now?" Hope got up to follow
"Stay there Babil," Lightning stuck a hand out, "You're not in the GC, as you keep saying, you can't come. You can help though: I'm going to try and be reassigned to these supposed suicide cases."
"Yes ma'am," Hope gave a mock salute.