The Muse has found the wrench! Turns out it struck one of the support beams, banked a left, hit the lower slope of the wall, struck the floor, skidded about four feet, fell through a crack in the boards, and somehow landed in the main barn's milking goats' water bucket where I never would have looked had it not been for the fact that a group of thunderstorms came through and I was herding goats and a very ornery pony in from the lower grazing field. (Usually they get sent to the milking barn, but I needed them away from electrical equipment because of lightning.) What? You were expecting cows? :P Needless to say, I grabbed the bucket and promptly tipped it over to empty out the old water, dumping said wrench in question promptly upon my foot. That about concludes this month's episode of CSI, Muse Edition. Now that you know where I've been for the past two weeks, (be sure to factor in the replacement of the hydraulic hose to the tractor too and the epic quest for a peach tree--think Lord of the Rings with pitted fruit and lots of Gollum-like stock boys obsessed with tree tethers) hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter. It's not my favorite because I think it moves too slow. The plot will start moving here shortly, promise, and yes, Yuffie is going to get a bigger part in the coming chapters.
Chapter Forty Five - The Paths We Walk
"What is your name?"
The question comes out of nowhere, catching me off guard. After several hours of stiff silence and the constant plodding of my unenthusiastic chocobo at my side, that is probably the last thing I would have ever expected to hear from the man currently walking a little to my left, but within easy range of stepping behind me, gun drawn, if I place one foot wrong.
"Cissnei."
I'm not sure just why I decide to tell him without a fight. I guess it could be attributed to the fact that I really don't want to die out here, at least not in the manner this man is capable of killing me with. Unless you were someone 'important' in the Turks who could be used to obtain the type of information that could be detrimental to the company and its current leadership like Tseng, or even Reno at this point, telling your captor your name was perfectly acceptable behavior.
I can't help but notice the glare I receive from Yuffie at what seems to be over the very idea of Vincent choosing to actually talk to me. If only she knew that this man's motives for me are likely more serious and far darker than she can imagine. The moment we hit Junon, I get to become their scapegoat for whatever 'business' they seem to have there. And that doesn't bode well for me at all, especially since Scarlet has a warrant for my execution within easy reach.
Vincent is far scarier than Scarlet could ever be.
He nods and sets his eyes on the endless stretch of field in front of us. "You're young."
"I'm older than I look." When you're a Turk, age means little more than adding another year to that final date on your tombstone. Most of us in this field never make it past the first three years on the job before 'retirement.'
I'm well into my sixteenth.
"You're still a child."
I'm not sure whether I should be offended or not by the remark. Has he even seen the young woman traveling with him? She's definitely a few years younger than me.
"I grew up a long time ago, Sir." I clutch the chocobo's reins tighter and glance towards the clouds in the sky. They seem a little darker, more foreboding even. And almost tinted with red. I must be losing it.
Vincent pauses, something different in those soulless eyes this time. For the longest time, he says nothing, merely watches me out of the corner of those eyes. I'm not sure just what he's looking at, nor do I really want to. He's entitled to his own actions and so long as those actions don't involve threatening to kill me, I'll tolerate it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me.
"We'll stop for the day over by those hills. It should be evening when we arrive."
I nod in agreement, which earns a disagreeing muttering that sounds a little like petty jealousy and something else I'd rather not repeat if I can help it from our resident ninja.
True to his word, the sun begins sinking behind the horizon about a mile and a half away from the hills he has chosen for an evening camp. And while walking across the prairie has done little for Vincent, the chocobo, and myself, Yuffie on the other hand has done little but complain for the past half of an hour.
"Unless you wish to be attacked by the local wildlife, making camp away from the open fields is an essential to survival."
"But, Vince, there were plenty of other hills closer. It's getting dark."
Vincent merely sighs, or at least I think it might be a sigh, his first real act of humanity in a long time. "Fifteen minutes."
"We'd be there by now if we used the stupid bird," she grumbles like an indignant child.
I think she's offending my bird by calling him stupid. The poor beast looks kind of sad. I reach up and scratch his neck, kind of wanting to tell him that it's okay, he's dumb, not stupid. There is a huge difference.
"It is not our bird to use," Vincent says. "Therefore, we walk."
If I wasn't receiving the death glare before, I sure am now. Vincent steps between us with his eyes set straight ahead to the approaching hills, ending the discussion before it can become one.
Fifteen minutes later finds us at a small canyon-like area of rising stone and uneven grassy knolls offering a tactical place to rest for the evening away from any skyward eyes that may be buzzing around this time of night. A tiny stream trickles through the area, casting a small layer of fog across the ground and dropping the temperature several degrees.
The chocobo stretches his neck downward and plunges his beak into the cold water like a deprived little monster. Vincent gathers a small pile of sticks and retrieves a piece of Fira materia from his belt, setting it ablaze. From this angle, no one will be able to see the blaze.
Without even looking at me, he points to the section of ground at the base of the rock face in a silent command to sit right there and don't move.
I turn the chocobo loose and watch as he trots over to a small patch of tall grass and begins nosing around for greens. So much for trying to break away from the group under the cover of the night. Even if it was possible, there's no doubt in the back of my mind that Vincent is faster than he lets on and running would be a very, very stupid move.
I'm dead either way I look at it though. If Vincent doesn't kill me, Scarlet will. And on the off-chance I make it past those two, there's still AVALANCHE to get through. It doesn't matter if I'm there to help or not, Cissnei doesn't have even a fraction of the immunity Jessie once did.
I grab Rekka and draw the war-battered handkerchief from my pocket to clean it with. Oh, it's not dirty by any means. There's just something about having my weapon in my hands where I can see it that adds a sort of personal shield between me and them. Because when I have my weapon, I'm not helpless. And when I'm not helpless, I'm capable of completing my mission. And if I can complete my mission, I get to go home--alive.
"Where'd you get that piece of junk?" Yuffie asks from across the fire, rearranging what appears to be several pieces of various elemental materia by color and mastery levels. A fira, bolt, and a thunder. Not very impressive for a ninja.
"Earned it," is all I say.
"It's ugly."
"It's not meant to be pretty." I continue wiping the handkerchief over the sharp edge, resisting the urge to say something in response about her own, lesser kept weapon of choice. That silver atrocity has small flecks of rust below its points. They're not very big, but I can still see them. She must either not take very good care of it, or she's one of those people who changes their weapon at will. Either way, the one she carries looks god-awful heavy in comparison to Rekka.
"How many materia slots does it have?" She puts down her piece of thunder materia and peers over the rising flames.
"One."
"That's stupid."
"It's efficient." I run the handkerchief over the small, mastered blizzaga materia at the weapon's center, feeling the cold tingle through the thin fabric against my fingertips.
"You can't do anything with it though."
"Usually I don't have to," I can't help but snipe.
"You're awfully boring for a Turk, you know that?"
I don't even justify that comment with a verbal answer.
Yuffie, sporting a somewhat victorious smirk, leans against the boulder behind her casually. "Probably has no idea how to even use that thing, or the materia equipped to it. My lucky day."
"What was that?" My eyes narrow and I pretend to be inspecting Rekka. I don't want her to know that I understood every damn word of that.
Much to her credit, she not only repeats it, but adds a second series of insulting words that really shouldn't be repeated that go in line with my incredible 'inexperience' in my 'chosen' career field.
Vincent's looking at us now, a fleeting hint of amusement in those cold eyes. We must look like petty children to him. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of knowing that Yuffie is really starting to get on my nerves, I lean Rekka against the base of the rock wall and close my eyes with a sigh.
She's only doing this for spite, I try to remind myself. A few more days of this. I can handle that. Maybe.
I don't know how long it takes for Yuffie to finally tire of her juvenile antics before she finally decides that taunting me is no longer fun, but my best guess is a few long hours, because when I finally decide to look at her again, she's managed to curl up by the fire and Vincent's cloak is covering her body not too unlike a little kid on a camping trip.
Vincent sits nearby, perched upon a fallen log, watching the flames. I can't help but notice the sleep materia concealed within his metal claw…Apparently even his tolerance of the local, excuse me, world's greatest ninja has its limits.
"You're still awake," he says in a stoic tone.
I try to focus on the flames without meeting his eyes. "I don't sleep well."
"Nightmares?"
"If that's what you want to call them." Though the real reason has a little something to do with his presence and the fact that I am not comfortable with the idea of actually sleeping in the presence of the enemy. I'm not even sure this man does sleep. He doesn't look tired at all.
He nods and looks back at the simmering fire. "They never go away."
"No. No they do not."
"How many?" he asks almost in a casual manner.
"Beg pardon?" I'm not exactly sure just what he wants me to say.
"Kills," he says. "How many?"
"That's none of your concern." And it isn't. He doesn't need to know how many people I've killed over my lifetime. Or any of the horrid things I've done.
Instead of pressing the issue like I expect him to though, he continues looking at the fire. After several minutes of nothing but the crackle of the fire devouring the kindling he tosses towards it, he speaks. "Junon is still a poor choice."
"Maybe so, but it's my choice to go there. The sooner, the better."
"You're atoning for something."
Ouch. He's better at reading into things than I originally though.
"Would it matter if I was?" I can't help but challenge in hopes that he gets the hint and backs off. I don't even know why I'm even bothering to talk to him tonight anyway.
"It makes little difference to me," he says. "The road to atonement is a punishing one though."
"I'll take whatever roads I have to at this point. I'm not terribly picky when there are lives on the line."
He glances at me. "Other Turks?"
"No, civilians."
"Turks don't protect civilians."
Oh? And what does he know about Turks? I pick up a small twig and toss it into the flames, watching the bark peel in the heat. "That's not entirely true."
"Shinra doesn't let their watchdogs roam at will. You must either be extremely lucky, or you're skilled."
He's fishing for information. I can tell by the slight change in his voice. I'm a puzzle to him, and he's trying his damnedest to figure me out.
"Chalk it up to experience," I tell him. "I know some tricks Shinra can't even begin to imagine."
"Is that so?" a glint of amusement reflects in his eyes. Maybe it's just the fire playing tricks on me, but it's there. "Just what do you know that they don't?"
"Heh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you the half of it. All you need to know is that I'm far from harmless in Shinra's eyes."
"Just what are you hoping to accomplish in Junon?"
"I'd have to ask you the same."
"Business," is all he says.
"Same."
It's not the answer he's looking for, but it's as good as he's going to get out of me. I've said way too much already. He nods, as if understanding the importance of secrecy. We don't trust each other and that's not about to change any time soon.
"Why did you use Restore?" I can't help but ask, feeling more confident than I probably should be right now. "Nobody's foolish enough to heal a Turk, former or current."
Vincent's eyes surprisingly show no hostility over the question. "You could be useful in the near future."
"You have a lot of high expectations and no ground to put them on."
"That may be so, but it was my choice," his gaze softens for but a second before hardening back into the stern, cold look I've become familiar with. "I have my reasons."
His gaze lingers to Rekka, the flames reflecting across its surface.
"You would be wise to take stock of your materia," he says. "It has a habit of 'vanishing' into thin air without warning."
