In Junon

The young girl lowered herself into a narrow corner of the street, her dark eyes watchful beneath the black hair scattered across her brow. She rubbed her thin fingers across her thick, grass-colored sweater, swearing something inaudible under her breath. She watched the parade of soldiers in blue uniforms that stampeded in a neat, steady procession through the broad main avenue of Junon. Junon was a hot town; hotter, it seemed, due to the sun's reflection off the huge copper-colored construction of the base, which threw the sea into the color of blood. The afternoon was sultry and stifling, and the girl felt that a little bit of respite from the others was necessary for her. The atmosphere of the stuffy little inn oppressed her, she who liked the freedom of the meadows; and she very soon detached herself from the rest of the party and stole into Junon's narrow streets. At first she found sufficient amusement in running through the dark little stores and examining the goods they offered with great curiousity. But her initial intention to explore the town by herself as quietly as possible was distracted by the afternoon parade.

She eyed the formal, noisy procession with dislike, not particularly impressed by the sight of Shinra's young president, who was stationed in the very midst of it all. After examining him narrowly she decided that he was nothing but a conceited bastard. She knew a lot about conceit, having a great deal of it herself, and she could immediately recognize it in others. And this, she told herself, was the leader of the organization that supported the war that destroyed her home— just some orange-headed son of a bitch. A wave of scorching resentment bubbled inside her for a moment, but she suppressed it with a practical recognition of the present situation.

After a prolonged moment of crouching in the shadowy corner of the street and deliberating over her next movement with discontent, she decided that her first objective would be to escape the immediate turmoil of the crowd. Eyeing her whereabouts, she stole away towards the shops of the town.

She discovered that she could escape the thick crowds by moving between the buildings, and soon she managed her way into a narrow shop that proved somewhat quieter than the others. She found a partial refuge inside the small, poorly-lit space inside the shop's single room, and stationed herself at the entrance, peering into the orange atmosphere of the heavy summer day and warily eyeing the indistinct figures that flowed back and forth across the dense shadow of the gathered populace.

The street parade was dwindling and moving off in the direction of the docks, easing the crowds. She cut a path through street-corners again, certain that she managed to escape the multitudes. But to her great surprise— and intense irritation— she was suddenly caught in an irresistible stream of people that flowed towards the more distant part of the base, all eager to observe the arrival of the new Shinra president. Impelled forward by the tyranny of many moving bodies, she was trapped into going in their direction against her will.

Immensely annoyed, and a little alarmed, she was tempted to attempt a spring to the side and escape; but the thickness of the populace closing around her rendered this an impossible venture. She therefore submitted to her fate the best that she could, walking between an old man at her side, and a younger one at another, while trying to peer over the hatted head of a woman right in front of her. She moved with the crowds in silence for a while, with very little power to ascertain where she was going, and ignored the conversation around her. Then she was roused in surprise when someone addressed her, speaking with a tone of command. "Move smoothly. Don't stumble."

She realized that she almost tripped over a stone and clashed with a body at her side. Quickly recovering, she shot a dark glare at the man who spoke. He was a tall man, his head smooth-shaven to baldness, whom she had not seen besides her before. "I am not stumbling," she snapped disdainfully. "I can't do anything but move with this stupid parade."

"You don't seem happy in the crowd," he commented flatly, sounding indifferent to her manner. "Wish to get away?"

A quick calculation reached a very certain decision. "Sure, yeah!"

He placed his large hand on her arm. "Just follow me. I can get you a place not far from the president."

"I don't want to—" she began, but she was dragged along with him before she could finish her sentence, her thin arm caught between the thick fingers. He made his way through the crowd using the force of his body, effusing a stream of low-spoken, dry warnings that amused the young girl, once she began to attend to them. "Make way— make way— sir, make way— madam, move this way— Miss, stand aside."

Sure enough, the girl soon found herself in a freer space along the side of the street; and, as the man promised, she was in full view of the white car containing the president of Shin-Ra. The car, now stationed on the corner of the street near the base's opening, was surrounded by soldiers. The girl narrowed her eyes. Something caught her attention at once.

"Who are those people?" she asked the man, pointing. "That man with the dark hair, and the blond woman? They don't look like soldiers."
"These are the Turks," answered the man.

Something registered in the girl's mind; a memory. "The Turks," she muttered to herself. "Yeah, I know of them."

The man shot her a sideways glance. "Do you?"

There was no emotion in his voice, but the question was emphatic enough for the girl to shuffle uncomfortably. "Yes— no," she murmured. "It's nothing." She turned away, muttering her discontent over her short stature. "I think that I'll take a better look at those Turks," she told herself. "So—" she looked up, and perceived some metal supports projecting from the side of a building, just below the sill of a window. Her crafty smile appeared, and she turned towards the man. "I can get a better view from up there," she told him. "Watch this."

Jumping up and hanging onto the metal supports, she dangled on them for a moment. Then, with an athletic twist of her body, she lifted herself up to the windowsill and sat upon it with ease. She looked down at the sea of heads below. The window was closed, but luckily the sill was wide enough to allow her a seat. Arranging herself more comfortably, she gazed downwards, and saw that the man was watching her from below.

"What are you?" he asked, his low voice carrying upwards. "A ninja of some sort?"

The girl smiled down at him. "Yes," she replied.

She then turned her attention away, watching the view. She caught a clearer vision of the people around the car— it was actually a collection of two men and one woman. They were distinguished by the possession of identical, dark blue suits, helping her to identify them as belonging to a single unit of service.

Something registered in the girl's mind— an uncomfortable realization. The next moment, she was amazed to see the man who brought her to the place cutting his way through the soldiers, who made way for him with instant obedience. Or perhaps it was not so surprising; because the man wore a blue suit exactly like the ones worn by the Turks.

"Oh damn," she muttered. "That man is one of them; he's a Turk."

The man approached the dark-haired leader and appeared to consult with him for a moment. Then, he turned to her and raised his hand with a gesture of good-bye. She raised her hand, returning it rather uncertainly.

"Good thing that he didn't know I'm with that group of people," she muttered. "I don't think he would've been so nice to me. Especially if he knew how much I hated Shinra."

Somehow, though, the thought amused her.

© Written by Hadas Rose
Final Fantasy VII is © Square, 1997.