Aeris sighted along the line of candles she had set up on the scorched and blackened wooden floorboards of the church. She concentrated briefly on the first and ignited the wick. The easy part. Gently she flexed her fingers and the second candle's wick ignited; the first's extinguished. She sighed. Not how it should go.
Her latest idea was to bounce the flames along a run of candles, the flame flicking from one candle to the next. She'd had the idea for some time she realised after she'd seen the garish signs flicking on and off in places like Wall Market; the flicker of one light bulb pulsing a fraction out of sync with its neighbour to create the sensation of motion. She wanted to do the same kind of thing with the candles.
She could mimic the effect easily enough, but wrong, odd, noticeable and strange. It would, she suspected, look merely mechanical instead of truly impossible. The flicking fire was less achievable and she hoped someone would later ask her about tiny hairs strung between the candles and tiny charges to produce the first flame. And she would smile and nod and give the impression they alone had figured out how she had done the trick – never realising Aeris' equipment contained no such additions.
At nine Aeris saw her first fire dancer. The girl was twice her age; she'd spread a coat on the ground in front of her as she'd performed her routine. Aeris was entranced as the girl flicked fire through the air, carving shapes from movement and visual after-burn. She twirled, whipping flames around her, her costume a deep red curving in the air behind her limbs. She had added her own gil to the donations from passers-by, looking carefully at the props now extinguished, clustered behind the girl as she ended her routine and counted her earnings.
Aeris never plucked up the courage to speak to the dancer; she never learned her name – her fate unknown and long lost within the city. But Aeris could see the short-comings in the performance, see how to perform the same moves with an additional flourish, and how to use her own personal skills to augment and produce something stunning.
Eleven years later and she had so many props now. The clubs and staff she juggled and twirled; flicking them through the air, never entirely concerned if she caught the right end. She'd gotten so fast no one noticed when she did slip – and if anyone did, her lack of later injury required no explanation of how she coped.
She carved graceful, beautiful arcs of fire in the air with her poi, whirling the chains in sync in the air around her, winding streams of fire and sparks falling all around her. Known locally as The Fire Dancer after a later stage of her acts; opening with juggling before moving onto arcing shapes with the poi, breathing flames onto each prop as need be and eating them afterwards.
All delightful and familiar to the crowds she could attract when performing. She walked on blisteringly hot coals with ease, but they'd seen others do similar; though not usually taking as long and while juggling.
Aeris had earned her nick-name from the dancing; she drew the crowds in with the easy tricks, the ones they'd seen before. Maybe slightly more spectacular, maybe slightly riskier than any other performer was willing to try, but what captured imaginations was her dancing. Stopping for only to click the small tape-player on, she would move to the rhythm, combining all of her previous skills with new ones as she whipped flames all around her, onto her arms, and occasionally - to spectacular applause - her hair, transforming her auburn hair into cascading waves of yellow fire after she'd teased her ribbon and its cargo from her braid. The reaction was so spectacular she tried to resist doing it; too often and it would seem easy, mechanical, boring.
Her slinky, shimmering red dress wove through the air with the flames, blending her clothes with the flaming paths of swooping mundane fire, and her own magical manifestations. It had remained worthwhile taking the slightly clumsy, cramped minutes to change from her jacket and sun-dress into her performance outfit in the cramped confines of a public toilet before beginning her performances.
There was a second dance she could do though; one she'd only tried once in the privacy of her bedroom – and for only one person: Zack. Her boyfriend. Well, former boyfriend. Five long years now since they had last spoken.
She could still remember the day she met him; an above plate performance of whirling fire, and quiet applause. The open air above Midgar no longer held the same near paralysing fear as her mother engineered their escape from Shinra's clutches. It had not been an easy fear to overcome; she'd grown far too comforted by the metallic ceiling above her. But she heard of others who went up onto the plate – to work, to visit or explore. People younger and older had no fear of the open air, and gradually Aeris felt the same should be true for her too. But to give up a fear as deeply held was not easy, and she built gradually up to stepping out onto the upper plates.
At first she sought out the gaps in the plate, stepping carefully forward until she aligned with the open space, always staying close to some structure she could cling to in case - as she secretly feared - the ground would lose its grip on her and she would fall upwards and helpless into the blue. It had never happened, and she grew bolder about coming out from the cover of the plates and, thoroughly pleased, took a train to the upper surface. She stared up at the sky, her feet still solidly on the ground and tried to remember the fear. As it stood now, the sky held a fascination, part of a larger, vaster world it seemed so wrong to hide from.
The audience on the night she met Zack had not been as generous as on other occasions, but meeting him- Worth it. She'd initially recoiled as the SOLDIER approached, the mako eyes instantly giving away his nature and role within the Shinra company. She rapidly put the stave between them and ignited the tip. That distracted him; few had the attachment to fire she did, no one would ignore flames in front of their eyes. She'd asked carefully, suspiciously what he wanted, not trusting his word, not yet, as he praised her performance.
Zack gushed. He'd never seen anything like it, and was curious how she was doing it. Professional secrets she'd retorted tightly. It could be him feeling her out, trying to see if she was the girl who had escaped all those years ago.
Why bother though? Tseng knew full well who she was and indeed where she lived.
Materia was the SOLDIER's first guess at her secret. She allowed more of a smile and denied it, turning her hands to show she held no glowing orbs. The SOLDIER was thoughtful and ran his eyes over her props as the crowd dispersed; she kept a careful eye on her donations. There was always a chance this SOLDIER was one of a pair waiting to distract her before stealing away her slim earnings. His gaze eventually met back at her eyes again and she stared back. Maybe life was better with some mysteries he said after holding her gaze. Then he smiled. It was infectious and she smiled back at him.
Everything sprang from there. He asked where she would be performing next, a question she couldn't entirely answer; so much decided by whim, the feel of a crowd and the buzz of the area. He was slightly crestfallen, but promised to stop by if she performed up on the plates again. Here was good he said. Here she had a good chance of seeing him again - if she wanted to naturally. He dropped some gil in with the rest of the donations and with a smile and a wave he strolled away.
There was something different about him. The next night she performed in the same spot; the tips were good and not like she was hoping to catch the eye of the black-haired SOLDIER again. Foolish; poor tips last time. The SOLDIER was the lure drawing her back to the same place. Sure enough he was there again. She learnt his name; Zack Fair. She demurred to let him know her own name and Zack never missing a beat praising her on her performance. She went back the next night. This time he offered her a date.
She'd grown used to him now, her guard still there but tempered by the enthusiastic and friendly SOLDIER. A fun date, Zack easy-going and simple to talk to. She was cagey on her past, where she lived and Zack didn't blink. He steered smoothly past the conversation dead-ends and taboo subjects to ask questions about her performances, how she chose her music, where her props came from. He made little suggestions and critiqued her displays.
Some ideas she took on board; never having had the chance to have a third person truly review her dances and she liked the ideas. Others she ignored, preferring to keep the deeply personal choices despite the comments, but agreed to another date without stopping to think. Next date was her first kiss and Zack astonished by the warmth of her skin, drawing her closer into his arms as the upper plate temperature began to fall.
More dates followed, the pair growing closer and gradually more intimate. Until she waited, craftily, carefully, for Mom's absence on an errand and invited the purple-eyed boy back to her house.
She'd wanted to seduce him, go further but at the same time she wanted to make it as memorable as possible – hitting on the idea of using her flames in a slightly different way to before. She guided him into her house and pushed him back onto her bed, his eyes wide with anticipation and a little worry. She gestured at him to stay still as she used a different piece of music, something slower, sensual, possibly the soundtrack to some romantic show; she didn't care what it was, she needed something to move to. She'd been to Wall Market and seen the woman flaunting and using their bodies to entice, and she'd wanted to try the same – but for him.
She'd teased and danced, fingers opening buttons and exposing with the bare flesh beneath, slowly removing her jacket, her dress. She brought the fire in; as she discarded her bra, before Zack had a chance to see beneath, she coiled a band of fire around her chest – his eyes widening at her daring. As her underwear dropped to the floor she coiled another band across her thighs and teased the ribbon from her hair and ignited the strands. Still she moved and danced, watching his delighted face as she continued to tease him, the flames on her body growing gradually smaller, exposing more and more skin.
And everything went so wrong. She'd always avoided playing with fire in the house; she had absolute control over it, but there was always the tiny, annoying risk something would go wrong. Outside was better, and in the church was better still as no one could watch her there. The flames from her hair brushed against the curtains as she flicked her hair in response to a beat; she didn't notice, she was far too involved to be fully aware of her surroundings and Zack had fixed all his attention on her.
The first whiffs of smoke revealed what had happened and it was almost too late; the curtains engulfed in flames, the ceiling scorched, Zack panicked at what had happened. She dropped her flames and began scrabbling for clothes, Zack asked worriedly if they had a fire extinguisher - yes, downstairs in the kitchen - and he ran to get it as she hurriedly dressed, trying to draw the flames back, but she was too distracted with the worry of the damage, the unmistakable smell of smoke now sweeping though the house, the mood-killer she'd managed to achieve.
Zack returned with the extinguisher and doused the curtains liberally. Zack mused, deciding they needed a way to cover this up. He pushed open the window them, and begun swiping at the ceiling with a cloth before concluding they needed paint.
That day was a bust. They opened all the windows in the house; Midgar air was not exactly fresh, but at least the house did not stink of burning. Zack went out on quick errands to buy air freshener, paint, new curtains and something she could claimed to have botched cooking; they might not entirely hide the smokey smell, but they could at least provide an alternate explanation.
A meat pie left in the oven as the two of them kept a careful eye on it to ensure provided the excuse they needed. Zack won a lot of points. Never complained once, always helpful and eager to cover up this incident; she felt grateful, but disappointed her plans came to nothing. They could try again though and this time without any kind of fancy display.
To her dismay she would never seen Zack alive again; he shipped out on a mission the next day, promising to return as soon as he could. Five years ago. She'd rationalised as she'd had to; he must have found someone else out there on his mission, maybe married her, settled down and had kids. Or was it a her? Maybe he had found a him instead? She had no leads, no idea where he had lived before.
She wasn't sure where he had lived within Midgar; she had not been eager to draw any more of Shinra's attention. She smiled at the thought; because of course, dating a member of SOLDIER, their elite fighting force, kept the company's attention away from her.
But it wasn't as if they had no idea where she was or how she was coping; Tseng the initial proof, along with his dark-suited assistants – the Turks as she had eventually learned their moniker. They watched and she'd noticed they tended to get twitchy if she ever had reason to go near the outer wall of the city; her warders allowed her to rove all she wanted inside this larger prison, but to actually leave was another matter altogether. They were rarely around on her trips to the upper plates however.
An Upper plate audience usually paid better compared to a slum audience – the people up there actually had spare money to give to the girl who danced with fire. But money made no difference to the attitudes of some of her audience; there was a sense of judgement in the eyes of many she tried so hard to ignore.
The barely whispered mutterings of personal slurs and estimations of her love life dogged her, comments on her neckline, the fit of her dress or the height the skirt could lift as she danced. These audiences reached their conclusions by no more information seeing her step gracefully through arcing flames and weave sparks in time to the music, appreciating neither the co-ordination required to spin and weave the fiery props as she did or the hours she had practised her dances.
She performed on the upper plates the previous night; the night of the explosion. It had caught her off-guard, as she stood outside Goblin's Bar, slowly drawing in a crowd with a few simpler gimmicky tricks, making sure she had their attention before beginning one of her more elaborate routines. The Sector Eight crowd always seemed appreciative of her performances – far more contrasted with some of the neighbouring residential plates, especially the vast tract of Shinra housing comprising most of Sector Seven.
Juggling had given way to the arcing flames of the poi, which had given way to her staff, whirling fire around her as she began her first dance. She wove her trickery and her natural gift with flames into her performance, augmenting her long practised routine with flourishes and images. She flared delicate firery roses from her staff as it twirled through the air and scattered flaming rose petals out above the crowd; the tiny flames vanishing well before they could connect with the crowd.
She'd flicked the staff down behind her with a practised flick of her wrist, shooting the flames from ends up into the air in high arcs as she began her main dance. Today she decided to do the trick with her hair as she swept flames along her arms.
And the explosion hit. She could barely process what happened as the ground swept out from under her. An awful sense of horror in the pit of her stomach as her brain tried to put events together; could those last two flames have caused this?
She landed awkwardly as people screamed around her and began running; the air filled with the whistling of falling debris. A secondary explosion sounded, flaring the sector momentarily with light. The edge of the city, well out of range of her casually thrown fireballs. The reactor was burning. Her guilt vanished; this was through no fault of her own. Something else had caused this incident. The stink of raw mako hit her like a wave, unusual above plate.
The reactor was on fire, badly damaged and leaking poisonous substances. The streets crowded by panicky idiots, the air filled with cloying particles and falling debris. She had to get out of here. She needed to get home; to try and perform at this time was futile, dangerous. She rapidly gathered her props together, tucking them neatly into the wicker basket she carried and began walking quickly towards the station.
She caught the unmistakable glow of mako eyes. Almost unwillingly she stared at the man walking along the street towards her. SOLDIER- What had happened? She called out to him as he approached, blinking in surprise at the flames still flickering across her props; she'd forgotten to fully extinguish them. She concentrated and the flames vanished before they could damage the wicker. She asked him what had happened; the man oddly cagey, trying to hide his emotions. A bomb at the reactor he eventually admitted.
He'd advised her to try and get out of the Sector and questions died on her lips as he darted away into the confused mass of people still panicked over the explosion. She stared after him, cursing the lost opportunity to maybe find out Zack's fate; a SOLDIER had a chance of knowing, right? Maybe she'd see this SOLDIER again? Unlikely in a city of this size - unless she came up here again and waited as she had for Zack.
She smiled as she walked, realising she was seriously considering doing the same thing she had for Zack, waiting on this new SOLDIER to run into her again. No matter what had happened with Zack, she still cared for him and did want to know ultimately where he was now. Though the blond SOLDIER was pretty cute. She shook her head, wondering at her thoughts and hurried towards the station and home.
Two days since. She had returned the next night to look for the SOLDIER from outside the damaged Goblin's Bar, in amongst all the debris. She gave only a small simplistic performance partly because of a lack of potential audience members, and partly so she could break off easily if she did see him again. It had admittedly been a long-shot but she wasn't prepared to give up quickly. There was always tonight after all, and Sector Eight seemed to always have SOLDIERS.
The sound of an explosion drew her attention upwards. Where there was explosions there was fire, and she could never help the strange need to glimpse the flames. Debris rained down onto the roof like the rare rainfall into the sector.
Something heavy smashed through the roof. It crashed to the floor and shattered the floorboards, throwing a plume of splinters and dust up into the air. She started as the air cleared. Against all odds the same blond haired SOLDIER lay awkwardly on the destroyed floor.
The delight in seeing him rapidly changed to melancholy, certain he could not live after the fall; he must have dropped from the plate above. To her amazement he abruptly drew in a breath, murmuring something as his head shifted to a more comfortable position. It was as if he was sleeping. She smiled; SOLDIERs were as tough as the rumours suggested. She crossed to his prostrate form to see if she could rouse him.