049. Alive
(Part 3 of 3, after Journey and Drown. Happy birthday, Aerith! Heh.)
Aerith Gainsborough had to admit that pain was a welcome change. For having been dead for about three or four years, she couldn't remember which, she was still in pretty decent shape. It would have sucked if she'd woken up a mostly decomposed corpse. This walk was long, though, and her muscles were sore, her head aching from lack of sleep and sustenance going on three days now.
When she'd started, she was only half certain she was going in the right direction. When she found a boat at the edge of the continent, however, the small group of fishermen offered her a ride and she'd accepted, traveling for only about a day before reaching land. Admittedly, she preferred walking, though her temporary companions had offered some much needed interaction with other living humans, and there was no way she was going to swim the whole way.
She didn't really mind the way her thighs and calves ached as she forced herself along toward Midgar. It served as a pleasant reminder that she was very much alive, and once again very mortal. She looked down to watch her own feet meeting the ground with every step, marveling at the way the grass and gravel felt under her weight as she'd been doing every few minutes since she'd come from the Forgotten City.
They had docked near Kalm, and Aerith had gotten a new dress as soon as they'd touched land, thanks to her new fishermen friends, her pink one torn and abused from being in water for so long. The color, too… something just seemed wrong about it, as though it represented falsehoods that she no longer cared to participate in. She'd chosen black. She couldn't honestly say if it was because she was trying to make some sort of statement, or because she simply wanted to blend in a little better. She'd gotten black boots, too, having left her damaged brown ones back by the lake. She'd been barefoot the whole way, but it was okay with her. She wanted to watch the small scratches and abrasions heal.
She'd been much like a curious child, touching everything and wandering the town aimlessly, just admiring every hint of life along the streets. There were so many things she hadn't noticed before, even for having once been a self-proclaimed planet-loving person.
It seemed so absurd that she'd been that way once, a hypocrite in taking all of these small nuances for granted as everyone else did. The way the old, round streetlamps that stood only a foot or two above her let off a soft yellow light, like a string of low hanging harvest moons lining the streets, or the way she discovered that she sort of liked the smell of cigarette smoke as she watched a tall, handsome young man smoke outside of an old house, betraying her previous advocacy of anti-smoking. She liked the way it looked as a tiny puff of smoke formed when he'd take a drag just outside of his mouth, right before he inhaled it back without losing even a sliver of the toxins.
So much life she'd missed, so much fruition and pleasure she'd always talked herself out of for fear of the price she would pay in the end. But she'd paid it, hadn't she? She'd been killed before she'd even lived, and it pissed her off, both at the people responsible and at herself for letting her life slip through her fingers from the beginning.
She'd approached the man outside the house and watched him smoke intently, his steel grey eyes watching her in turn, probably because he thought she was crazy. When she asked to try, he just chuckled and passed the half-smoked cigarette to her.
It hurt. The sensation made her lungs feel tight and she'd coughed, handing the cigarette back to him with a self-deprecating smile. He'd laughed and took another drag, blowing smoke rings into the air, one perfect orb after another, and she was fascinated. She wanted to learn that, too.
She'd demanded the cigarette back and asked him how to do it. He had grinned and sat down on the wood planks of his porch, and offered her lessons in a soft voice as she tried to inhale the fumes without coughing.
Almost a full pack and a slight stomach ache later, she was exhaling smoke rings like pro. She'd thanked him for the lesson and took her leave, the sky darkening into an inky black, but not before she'd gotten a pack of cigarettes to practice with, when she felt a little better, of course, for the walk to Midgar.
It was midday by the time she approached the outskirts of the slums and she paused. This place held many memories for her, some good, but most unpleasant and surreal, as though these things hadn't really happened to her, but to some other pink-clad flower seller.
The thought of the flowers was what pushed her forward, and she walked slowly towards her old church, not really paying any attention to the other people that roamed the streets, though she probably should have. The slums weren't the greatest place for a girl to be walking around alone. It never stopped her before, however, so why should she stop now?
Upon reaching the door, she stared for a long time and sullenly tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. This church was part of someone else's life, and she didn't think she was quite ready to reenter it. She wanted to see her friends, her old stomping grounds, sure… but adjustments would have to be made, and she'd need to get herself accustomed to being here, being alive again.
She had no idea how receptive everyone she used to know would be to her reappearance. She could be welcomed with open arms, or she could be shunned completely. Maybe they wouldn't believe it was really her. Maybe someone would want her dead.
Glancing down, she noticed her hands were trembling, and she swallowed. She'd been mistreating her body quite a lot since she'd come from the lake, and knew she'd have to take it easy until she was up to her old shape. She would need a place to stay.
Grazing over the church door with weary eyes, she shook her head. This wasn't the place for her. Not yet. It seemed like a cop out for some reason, like she was trying to hide under a defense mechanism, a security blanket. This place had been a sanctuary, even as violated as it had been in the past, and she wasn't here to cower and live out the rest of her existence in fear.
Fear was something she wanted to be without completely, and right then she made it her goal. So what was it that she'd feared the most?
Her head turned and she caught sight of the ShinRa building in the distance. It was still being reconstructed, as was most of the city, though a fair portion of it was sufficiently completed.
She smirked. Those were the very people she'd run from time and again, the former powerhouse under President Shinra, now being run by Rufus and his entourage. She'd known from her time in the lifestream that their priorities and agenda had changed, but she couldn't help but wonder just how much. Did anyone really change that much?
One look down at herself, a forgotten cigarette between her fingers that rested beside her black attire, and she chuckled. Maybe.
Well, either way, she couldn't think of anywhere better to find shelter, protection until she was back up to speed with her unpracticed skills, perhaps some help in getting her life started. She wasn't stupid enough to think that it wouldn't be that easy, however. Truly, she couldn't convince herself that Rufus Shinra wasn't still a business man to the core. Exchanges would have to be made. She'd live with that. With her back straight, she made her way through the streets.
The walk was shorter than she remembered. Or maybe the dimensions of the city had changed. She didn't bother to dwell. Lighting a fresh cigarette, she stood before the building, looking up at its height, eyeing the glass elevator as it drifted up and down between floors a few times.
She took a long pull on the cigarette, unaffected as though she'd been smoking her whole life, and trudged forward through the doors.
Immediately one guard perked up, noticing the smell of smoke before anything else, and was about to open his mouth to demand it be extinguished until he saw her face. His mouth just hung open.
Of course everyone knew who she was. AVALANCHE, and what they had done in the Meteor crisis and subsequent events, was widely circulated news, and she'd been most heavily recognized after her death.
Aerith just offered an amused smirk and continued toward the elevator, refusing to back down. She noted the guard moved to stop her but she just held up a hand as she punched the elevator button with her other hand. "Tell the prez I'm comin' to see him."
He just blinked.
What competent security, she thought.
She laughed and stepped into the elevator as the pristinely spotless doors opened. A few stops were made until she got a feel for the layout, and when she finally narrowed down where the president would be located, she was almost through the cigarette.
The doors slid open again and she stepped out into an aisle, a few cubicles lined up on either side, and offices lining the walls, some open, some closed. Either there was no lock on this level, or she'd been granted access from someone that knew she was here. Perhaps the guard, but she doubted he'd risk his job so willingly. Maybe he'd delivered her message.
She drew in a breath and spotted the large, closed door at the end, only assuming that was where Rufus resided.
"Holy fuck!" she heard to her left and she turned to see a familiar redhead looking at her quizzically, evidently having just come from his office. "Living fuckin' dead girl."
Ah, Reno. She remembered him and that mouth of his quite well.
She smirked. "That living fuckin' dead girl has a name."
He stared at her, watching as she brought a mostly smoked cigarette to her lips and take a steady drag, as though not believing exactly what he was hearing and seeing.
And then he laughed with nothing short of genuine and lighthearted amusement, sea green eyes glimmering.
It was then she decided she liked using the word 'fuck'.
