Author's Note: Whoo. Feedback. Meaning: Story's not pulled. Thanks for the reviews. Actually, I updated, went to my inbox at TN, and got twelve review notices. It was pretty good for me. So. . .enough of my blabbing. Here goes. ( Turner? A name from Sheldon Sigel's novels? Yes! Owns a law firm in SS? . . .Yeah. . . But he was so cool -- ! )
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 17, 3076
Morning. Dumpster. Sector Seven Alley. 6:19 A.M.
"Midgar is cleaning up. Evicting the unneeded. I promise you, if you go into an alley and mention the name Aeca, they'll all run." - Aeca Rey, Midgar Times
Aah. The feel of my bed. I love waking up, knowing I have at least a bit of padding beneath me if I hit the floor. I roll to the side, try to shut the alarm clock off. I roll out of bed; fall flat on my face from a higher distance than I expected.
About this time, last night comes back to me, and I dash from the alley before the truck aimed to empty the dumpster can crush me.
Shit.
That'll take some getting used to. Hands stuffed in my pockets, one gripping my handgun, I trudge through the ankle-deep snow out into the plaza, where the street light buzzes in the early morning glow of the city. There, of course, is no sun down here, but they installed lights on the Plate to mirror the sun's feel. All except for the heat, it seems to work.
The big clock on the pillar flashes a steady pulse of 6:20 A.M. Five or so hours until work, I guess, so I walk to the nearest restaurant, just thankful for some heat and free coffee to wake myself up. This is the place for people who can't afford real food; they look at you, judge how broke you are, and give you free food. A guy with half an arm left was reported to walk out with lobster one day.
I just get the coffee and a muffin, by choice. I turn from the counter and see Turner Rolan nursing a cup of his own and reading a newspaper laid out on the table.
Turner Rolan has been a good friend of mine since I came to Midgar. We rode the same train my first day here, and had a few chance meetings after that before we accepted the fact we might as well know each other. I sit myself down at his table silently -- he never seems to mind -- and he jabs a finger at the article he's reading. A few quotes from Aeca, the most poular landlord around here, jump off the page at me. About eviction.
"Word travels fast," I mutter, half to myself, before taking a drink out of my cup. A bit cold, but it'll do.
Turner eyes me tiredly. He's a tall, built man with a goatee and a blonde crewcut. He's got to be about six-three when he's standing. He basically owns the Rolan & Miklen firm ontop of the Plate, but his wife owns this place, so he gets a cup of coffee or two for free each morning. He's a lawyer, living about the Plate, but feeling sympathy for the ones below. Today, he's decked out in a grey business suit with a white workshirt and black tie, apparently running solely on caffeine from the way his eyes are so red. He knows the look on my face. "You're one of 'em?"
"Unfortunately."
"Hell." He clicks his tongue, folds the paper, and stuffs it in his briefcase. A firearm glares at me before it shuts again. He's below the Plate; it's legal to shoot muggers down here, if you live up there. "I hope you didn't forget ShinRa rules? Page three, line ninety-seven?"
We had to memorize that damned book. I forgot that section. My head hits the table and a few hairs fall into my coffee. "Page three, line ninety-seven: Anyone without a steady living space, or home, will not be accepted into the company, and any evicted person will be fired." Turner had to read it when he handled one of my cases: I attacked a man on the street when I was drunk. Beat him to death with a steel pipe.
I won, somehow.
Thank God for Turner Rolan and Nimonasa Miklen.
He thumps me on the back of the neck until I sit up. "Look," he says. "I'll try and get something worked out with Old Man ShinRa, and if it all goes to Hell, you could always take a job at the firm."
"I know nothing about law, and you know that, Turner," I remind him.
He smiles a bit. "That's why you have me. You know my number. I've got a case a seven-thirty. Talk to you later."
I give him my thanks and watch him walk out the door, hail a cab, and ride toward the station. I sit there for a few minutes, nodding at people who glance my way, then finished the coffee and leave, back out to the plaza. The snow, which had come down through a few holes in the Plate, had stopped early this morning, it seems.
I made my way out of that restaraunt with a sub sandwich and another coffee, this in a styrofoam cup. It warms my hands up a bit, and I note I blew about twenty minutes sitting in there, but it's still awhile until work; until I'm fired.
ShinRa's getting on my bad side.
"Sir!"
Oh, hell. There's that whiny flower girl from last night again, hurrying up to me with my change in her hand. "Leave me alone." I turn and start off. It's going to be a bad day. I feel I have every right to be cantankerous right now.
She follows. "But, Sir, I'm just wondering. . ."
I stop. She doesn't want to give me my money back. She has a question. I have an ache for questions all the time, for some reason. "What is it?" Still wearing the pissed-off-and-not-willing-to-speak-about-it suit. I'll probably head to Wall Market after this is over with.
"Um. . .well. . .I saw your picture in the papers awhile back. . .it said you work at ShinRa. . ." Get on with it. She buries the toe of her boot in the snow and puts her hands behind her back. "Why. . .were you in the dumpster?"
Woman. . .I let you follow me. . .I gave you my money. . .but you're really pushing your luck. I look around and pick up a discarded front page of today's newspaper, handing it to her and jabbing Aeca's article. "Now, if I may ask a question of my own. . ."
"Sure."
"Are you stalking me?" No use in dragging her along with the small-talk, huh?
Her big, green eyes blinked at me once or twice. She looks a bit nervous as she says, "I. . .I'm always concerned about the homeless people around here. . ."
Hold on. "Homeless people? You mean, you're not?" This is news to me. The way she was selling flowers like that, I thought she needed the gil for clothes.
"Of course not!" she insists, giggling softly. "I live just a ways away. It's just. . .so hard to find real flowers under the Plate, so I'm selling the ones I grow in the church."
"Church?"
"I could show you!" She lights up at this possibility. Apparently, she doesn't have too many visitors. "I. . .I have a lot of extra time. . .and since you'll be around here a lot. . . You could even stay there."
Desperate? Seems to be. She's got that pleading look on her face, though. I always fall for that; so I wave it off. "Yeah, sure, whatever." I turn on my heel and start to the train station; if I'm going to be fired, why not get it over with as early as possible?
"But, Sir, where will I --"
I shove a hand in the air and flick my wrist, not even looking back. "You'll find me!" Like you do every night. I stop at the station for a few moments to toss a few lines back and forth with the ticket lady. She understands my situation; lets me through with a smile and a free ticket.
Melissa's the best attendant the station's had in a long while.
Mills is nowhere in sight as I make my way to the back car again, grabbing the last seat before the train jerks and starts its way up the tracks to the Plate. Mills, of course, won't be coming in until later, though.
I hurry from the station to the building for once when I'm finally there. I flash my ID card and enter the doors, automatically waved through when the metal detector goes off; carrying a gun is nothing new to ShinRa, Incorperated. I punch the 'Up' button for the elevator and the doors slide open moments later.
"Holy shit, Sephiroth, early to work!"
Holy shit, I hate you. Scarlet Chassity, whose position isn't one of the things I know, literally slept her way to the top of ShinRa. Everyone from General 'Gya ha ha' Heidegger to President ShinRa to, as much as I hate to think about it, Professor Hojo. She stares at me from above ruby red lips, a hand on her hip and her red suit clinging tightly to her. She meant for that, I'm sure. Real bitch, she is. "Hello, Scarlet." On your way to your next victim?
She stays in the elevator just to spite me as I get on, even when I press the button and scan my card for the Seventieth floor. "I'm sure it's no secret to you as to why I'm here early."
"You're out of a job!" she sings out. We both hate each other with a passion. She knows everything about everyone. It's how she picks who to seduce next and get her promotions. She'll have to go big to move anywhere else; she's on the high-up ladder rungs now, with Daniel Reeve, Jason Palmer, General Heidegger, and others. And she did them all to get there. "Word spreads quick, Seph. Robert already knows, and so does everyone else. They've got your position up for grabs."
"Uh-huh. And remind me, where were you before you became a secretary here?" The elevator beeps and she stiffens as I start off, lingering enough to hear her yell "Stupid fuck!" at my back before the doors close.
It's not a big surprise; she was a street whore in Junon. And she'll confess to all the hype any day of the week. Robert ShinRa already has my file out when I sit down at his desk. "Sir, is there any way we can work this out?"
His eyes move from the paper he was reading to me, flashing with a bit of surprise. "I really doubt it, but we have your father's number incase we need to contact you," he says. And that's that. He slides the folder at me and shoos me away from his desk after tossing me a bag with enough gil to last me a few weeks inside.
Rule number. . .something: Never stay in President ShinRa's office once dismissed, or he takes something away from you. I stand up immediately, say a soft apology, and walk down the stairs with my things. Scarlet's already entering an office when I get forty floors down. She winks at me before closing the door.
Apparently, you were on your way.
I get outside. Hell. Sleet is falling from the sky faster than a plane in a nosedive, and many people are already shielding theirselves with something. Melissa waves me through the creaking, laughing gate coming onto the train again. Still no gloves, and a short-sleeved shirt, without cover. I give her my coat in exchange for another smile and a quick kiss on the cheek before I'm inside the train.
I have a path from home to work, and I know everyone on the way. It's like a family, all lined up. Dysfunctional some places, ties like shoelaces in others. It's all kind of balanced out, in its own, creepy way. I spend the rest of the day in a cycle of sleep, food, and window shopping until it's time to clock in for the night.
The flower girl is right on time.
She's leading me to the church here in Sector Seven. We spend most of the walk in silence before she speaks up with, "So. . .do you have a name?"
What am I, a fucking dog? "One of three: 'Sephiroth,' 'Sir, you're causing a disturbance,' or 'Who the hell are you?'. Take your pick." Me and my asinine attitude are inseparable. "How 'bout you?" It's a basic shoot-the-breeze topic, like the weather.
She smiles a bit at me. It's oddly warming. "Just Aeris works for me." No sense of humor. "I live a little ways past the business district here. Big house, bigger garden. Just in case you need any help. . ."
"You're sure you're not stalking me?"
She turns around and folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. I think I pissed her off this time. "Look, I'm just trying to help someone who's currently sleeping in a dumpster," emphasis on that last word, "get a bit of heat to his system before he turns into an assicle!" I don't think she was meaning to say 'icicle,' either.
I blink and shove my hands back in my pockets. We stare at each other for a few more minutes, neither budging in our efforts, until she turns back around and starts toward the church again.
I win.
It only takes a few moments before we round the last corner and I step on a piece of stained glass; more, whole pieces stare me down from the windows of the church. One door is ajar, while the other is jagged with what look like stab marks from this distance. The church is actually quite large and nice, if you ignore the broken window and the trashed door, but I have a feeling it's not the best on the inside.
Silently, as if not to disturb the building, she leads the way inside the church. The door creaks when I push it open, but the inside doesn't look all that bad. There are a few rips here and there in the many pew cushions, a few floorboards have been knocked out of place, and there's more broken glass on the sides of the aisles, but one thing, straight ahead, would jump out at anyone: Flowers. And, as far as I can tell, real flowers, which no one ever sees beneath the Plate. Despite the subtle beauty of it, it doesn't exactly look safe.
"You know," I finally speak up to her back, "people would die to know how to grow flowers down here." It's true. Some people head up to the Plate just to see the trees, flowers, and such.
She smiles at me over her shoulder. "I don't know how I do it. It just. . .happens."
For some reason, I believe that. Churches are known to have supernatural powers. "So, if I do accept your strange offer and stay here. . .how much is rent?"
"No rent," she blurts out. "I. . .I'd offer it to everyone if I could, but I think most people around here would gut a person like me for confronting them." That's true. "I'm just glad you're even speaking to me. . ."
Shit, Aeris, you are as pathetic as you look. Too damn soft. "Uh-huh. Well, I guess, since they said there should be more snow tonight, I'll crash here." But only because you don't look like the serial killer type.
She smiles again. We talk a bit more while she goes to attending to her flowers. I tell her a few things about myself; family, old job, connections. I learn from her that she's lived her most of her life, and has been taking care of these flowers for about seven or eight years. Says she had something to do with ShinRa, but she dodges exactly how each time I ask her about it. I decide not to press. She gives me a blanket she keeps here for emergencies and starts out. I don't know why I do this, but. . .
"Aeris."
She turns to me with the universal 'Yeah?' look on her face.
". . ." I know I'll live to regret this. "Thanks."
She smiles again, nods, and walks out the creaking door, leaving me in the darkness and silence of the Sector-Seven-church-turned-temporary-home.
How low can rock-bottom sink?
Silver Rose
by Reno Spiegel
Dante@towernetwork.net
October 17, 3076
Morning. Dumpster. Sector Seven Alley. 6:19 A.M.
"Midgar is cleaning up. Evicting the unneeded. I promise you, if you go into an alley and mention the name Aeca, they'll all run." - Aeca Rey, Midgar Times
Aah. The feel of my bed. I love waking up, knowing I have at least a bit of padding beneath me if I hit the floor. I roll to the side, try to shut the alarm clock off. I roll out of bed; fall flat on my face from a higher distance than I expected.
About this time, last night comes back to me, and I dash from the alley before the truck aimed to empty the dumpster can crush me.
Shit.
That'll take some getting used to. Hands stuffed in my pockets, one gripping my handgun, I trudge through the ankle-deep snow out into the plaza, where the street light buzzes in the early morning glow of the city. There, of course, is no sun down here, but they installed lights on the Plate to mirror the sun's feel. All except for the heat, it seems to work.
The big clock on the pillar flashes a steady pulse of 6:20 A.M. Five or so hours until work, I guess, so I walk to the nearest restaurant, just thankful for some heat and free coffee to wake myself up. This is the place for people who can't afford real food; they look at you, judge how broke you are, and give you free food. A guy with half an arm left was reported to walk out with lobster one day.
I just get the coffee and a muffin, by choice. I turn from the counter and see Turner Rolan nursing a cup of his own and reading a newspaper laid out on the table.
Turner Rolan has been a good friend of mine since I came to Midgar. We rode the same train my first day here, and had a few chance meetings after that before we accepted the fact we might as well know each other. I sit myself down at his table silently -- he never seems to mind -- and he jabs a finger at the article he's reading. A few quotes from Aeca, the most poular landlord around here, jump off the page at me. About eviction.
"Word travels fast," I mutter, half to myself, before taking a drink out of my cup. A bit cold, but it'll do.
Turner eyes me tiredly. He's a tall, built man with a goatee and a blonde crewcut. He's got to be about six-three when he's standing. He basically owns the Rolan & Miklen firm ontop of the Plate, but his wife owns this place, so he gets a cup of coffee or two for free each morning. He's a lawyer, living about the Plate, but feeling sympathy for the ones below. Today, he's decked out in a grey business suit with a white workshirt and black tie, apparently running solely on caffeine from the way his eyes are so red. He knows the look on my face. "You're one of 'em?"
"Unfortunately."
"Hell." He clicks his tongue, folds the paper, and stuffs it in his briefcase. A firearm glares at me before it shuts again. He's below the Plate; it's legal to shoot muggers down here, if you live up there. "I hope you didn't forget ShinRa rules? Page three, line ninety-seven?"
We had to memorize that damned book. I forgot that section. My head hits the table and a few hairs fall into my coffee. "Page three, line ninety-seven: Anyone without a steady living space, or home, will not be accepted into the company, and any evicted person will be fired." Turner had to read it when he handled one of my cases: I attacked a man on the street when I was drunk. Beat him to death with a steel pipe.
I won, somehow.
Thank God for Turner Rolan and Nimonasa Miklen.
He thumps me on the back of the neck until I sit up. "Look," he says. "I'll try and get something worked out with Old Man ShinRa, and if it all goes to Hell, you could always take a job at the firm."
"I know nothing about law, and you know that, Turner," I remind him.
He smiles a bit. "That's why you have me. You know my number. I've got a case a seven-thirty. Talk to you later."
I give him my thanks and watch him walk out the door, hail a cab, and ride toward the station. I sit there for a few minutes, nodding at people who glance my way, then finished the coffee and leave, back out to the plaza. The snow, which had come down through a few holes in the Plate, had stopped early this morning, it seems.
I made my way out of that restaraunt with a sub sandwich and another coffee, this in a styrofoam cup. It warms my hands up a bit, and I note I blew about twenty minutes sitting in there, but it's still awhile until work; until I'm fired.
ShinRa's getting on my bad side.
"Sir!"
Oh, hell. There's that whiny flower girl from last night again, hurrying up to me with my change in her hand. "Leave me alone." I turn and start off. It's going to be a bad day. I feel I have every right to be cantankerous right now.
She follows. "But, Sir, I'm just wondering. . ."
I stop. She doesn't want to give me my money back. She has a question. I have an ache for questions all the time, for some reason. "What is it?" Still wearing the pissed-off-and-not-willing-to-speak-about-it suit. I'll probably head to Wall Market after this is over with.
"Um. . .well. . .I saw your picture in the papers awhile back. . .it said you work at ShinRa. . ." Get on with it. She buries the toe of her boot in the snow and puts her hands behind her back. "Why. . .were you in the dumpster?"
Woman. . .I let you follow me. . .I gave you my money. . .but you're really pushing your luck. I look around and pick up a discarded front page of today's newspaper, handing it to her and jabbing Aeca's article. "Now, if I may ask a question of my own. . ."
"Sure."
"Are you stalking me?" No use in dragging her along with the small-talk, huh?
Her big, green eyes blinked at me once or twice. She looks a bit nervous as she says, "I. . .I'm always concerned about the homeless people around here. . ."
Hold on. "Homeless people? You mean, you're not?" This is news to me. The way she was selling flowers like that, I thought she needed the gil for clothes.
"Of course not!" she insists, giggling softly. "I live just a ways away. It's just. . .so hard to find real flowers under the Plate, so I'm selling the ones I grow in the church."
"Church?"
"I could show you!" She lights up at this possibility. Apparently, she doesn't have too many visitors. "I. . .I have a lot of extra time. . .and since you'll be around here a lot. . . You could even stay there."
Desperate? Seems to be. She's got that pleading look on her face, though. I always fall for that; so I wave it off. "Yeah, sure, whatever." I turn on my heel and start to the train station; if I'm going to be fired, why not get it over with as early as possible?
"But, Sir, where will I --"
I shove a hand in the air and flick my wrist, not even looking back. "You'll find me!" Like you do every night. I stop at the station for a few moments to toss a few lines back and forth with the ticket lady. She understands my situation; lets me through with a smile and a free ticket.
Melissa's the best attendant the station's had in a long while.
Mills is nowhere in sight as I make my way to the back car again, grabbing the last seat before the train jerks and starts its way up the tracks to the Plate. Mills, of course, won't be coming in until later, though.
I hurry from the station to the building for once when I'm finally there. I flash my ID card and enter the doors, automatically waved through when the metal detector goes off; carrying a gun is nothing new to ShinRa, Incorperated. I punch the 'Up' button for the elevator and the doors slide open moments later.
"Holy shit, Sephiroth, early to work!"
Holy shit, I hate you. Scarlet Chassity, whose position isn't one of the things I know, literally slept her way to the top of ShinRa. Everyone from General 'Gya ha ha' Heidegger to President ShinRa to, as much as I hate to think about it, Professor Hojo. She stares at me from above ruby red lips, a hand on her hip and her red suit clinging tightly to her. She meant for that, I'm sure. Real bitch, she is. "Hello, Scarlet." On your way to your next victim?
She stays in the elevator just to spite me as I get on, even when I press the button and scan my card for the Seventieth floor. "I'm sure it's no secret to you as to why I'm here early."
"You're out of a job!" she sings out. We both hate each other with a passion. She knows everything about everyone. It's how she picks who to seduce next and get her promotions. She'll have to go big to move anywhere else; she's on the high-up ladder rungs now, with Daniel Reeve, Jason Palmer, General Heidegger, and others. And she did them all to get there. "Word spreads quick, Seph. Robert already knows, and so does everyone else. They've got your position up for grabs."
"Uh-huh. And remind me, where were you before you became a secretary here?" The elevator beeps and she stiffens as I start off, lingering enough to hear her yell "Stupid fuck!" at my back before the doors close.
It's not a big surprise; she was a street whore in Junon. And she'll confess to all the hype any day of the week. Robert ShinRa already has my file out when I sit down at his desk. "Sir, is there any way we can work this out?"
His eyes move from the paper he was reading to me, flashing with a bit of surprise. "I really doubt it, but we have your father's number incase we need to contact you," he says. And that's that. He slides the folder at me and shoos me away from his desk after tossing me a bag with enough gil to last me a few weeks inside.
Rule number. . .something: Never stay in President ShinRa's office once dismissed, or he takes something away from you. I stand up immediately, say a soft apology, and walk down the stairs with my things. Scarlet's already entering an office when I get forty floors down. She winks at me before closing the door.
Apparently, you were on your way.
I get outside. Hell. Sleet is falling from the sky faster than a plane in a nosedive, and many people are already shielding theirselves with something. Melissa waves me through the creaking, laughing gate coming onto the train again. Still no gloves, and a short-sleeved shirt, without cover. I give her my coat in exchange for another smile and a quick kiss on the cheek before I'm inside the train.
I have a path from home to work, and I know everyone on the way. It's like a family, all lined up. Dysfunctional some places, ties like shoelaces in others. It's all kind of balanced out, in its own, creepy way. I spend the rest of the day in a cycle of sleep, food, and window shopping until it's time to clock in for the night.
The flower girl is right on time.
She's leading me to the church here in Sector Seven. We spend most of the walk in silence before she speaks up with, "So. . .do you have a name?"
What am I, a fucking dog? "One of three: 'Sephiroth,' 'Sir, you're causing a disturbance,' or 'Who the hell are you?'. Take your pick." Me and my asinine attitude are inseparable. "How 'bout you?" It's a basic shoot-the-breeze topic, like the weather.
She smiles a bit at me. It's oddly warming. "Just Aeris works for me." No sense of humor. "I live a little ways past the business district here. Big house, bigger garden. Just in case you need any help. . ."
"You're sure you're not stalking me?"
She turns around and folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. I think I pissed her off this time. "Look, I'm just trying to help someone who's currently sleeping in a dumpster," emphasis on that last word, "get a bit of heat to his system before he turns into an assicle!" I don't think she was meaning to say 'icicle,' either.
I blink and shove my hands back in my pockets. We stare at each other for a few more minutes, neither budging in our efforts, until she turns back around and starts toward the church again.
I win.
It only takes a few moments before we round the last corner and I step on a piece of stained glass; more, whole pieces stare me down from the windows of the church. One door is ajar, while the other is jagged with what look like stab marks from this distance. The church is actually quite large and nice, if you ignore the broken window and the trashed door, but I have a feeling it's not the best on the inside.
Silently, as if not to disturb the building, she leads the way inside the church. The door creaks when I push it open, but the inside doesn't look all that bad. There are a few rips here and there in the many pew cushions, a few floorboards have been knocked out of place, and there's more broken glass on the sides of the aisles, but one thing, straight ahead, would jump out at anyone: Flowers. And, as far as I can tell, real flowers, which no one ever sees beneath the Plate. Despite the subtle beauty of it, it doesn't exactly look safe.
"You know," I finally speak up to her back, "people would die to know how to grow flowers down here." It's true. Some people head up to the Plate just to see the trees, flowers, and such.
She smiles at me over her shoulder. "I don't know how I do it. It just. . .happens."
For some reason, I believe that. Churches are known to have supernatural powers. "So, if I do accept your strange offer and stay here. . .how much is rent?"
"No rent," she blurts out. "I. . .I'd offer it to everyone if I could, but I think most people around here would gut a person like me for confronting them." That's true. "I'm just glad you're even speaking to me. . ."
Shit, Aeris, you are as pathetic as you look. Too damn soft. "Uh-huh. Well, I guess, since they said there should be more snow tonight, I'll crash here." But only because you don't look like the serial killer type.
She smiles again. We talk a bit more while she goes to attending to her flowers. I tell her a few things about myself; family, old job, connections. I learn from her that she's lived her most of her life, and has been taking care of these flowers for about seven or eight years. Says she had something to do with ShinRa, but she dodges exactly how each time I ask her about it. I decide not to press. She gives me a blanket she keeps here for emergencies and starts out. I don't know why I do this, but. . .
"Aeris."
She turns to me with the universal 'Yeah?' look on her face.
". . ." I know I'll live to regret this. "Thanks."
She smiles again, nods, and walks out the creaking door, leaving me in the darkness and silence of the Sector-Seven-church-turned-temporary-home.
How low can rock-bottom sink?