{the conscript}
iii. epilogue
Morning was still dead and decayed when streetlamps traced a flicker of fleeting skin and half-worn shoes. Heels upon dirty cement, clutching fists a smudge of beige as they sliced and carved invisible particles in the air, and she was running. Past the seedy bars and litter-wracked alleys, past outstretched legs that were draped piteously with moody-coloured rags, and out of the mouths of racy lights and bitter lying sex.
The gil was tucked neatly in a pouch around her pumping waist, along with the purloined materia. Yuffie almost smiled, until she realised that there was nothing remotely worth being pleased over.
And Reno was still sound asleep, one arm languidly drifting over muskfilled sheets, with thoughts of a promotion and Yuffie prettily locked in the Shinra cells by dawn cascading over sleep-drenched eyelids.
finis. august.twenthfifth.2002
author's bit.
i know i've been rather pathetic because this story took me two years to complete. a tremendous thank you goes out to all readers who have waited ever-so-nicely for this installation. yuffie may have escaped the turks, but now she has nowhere to go. the next scene heralds office politics and heidegger's wrath on reno in episode iii, knights of a lesser table. (in the meantime, i'll be concentrating on episode i, spider in the looking glass.)