.M.A.Y.D.A.Y.
-Save
.Land to Air.
.Air to Sky.
.Sky to Space.
.C.i.d. .H.i.g.h.w.i.n.d.
(Characters and counterparts copyrighted to Squaresoft.)
(http://highwind.nu - Hopefully soon to come.)
(Rated R. Yaoi and sexual innuendoes for those who seek them. Cid x Vincent. Heavy cursing (Cid's involved, there has to be), mild violence. Intro's pretty clean. Possible "citrus" in later chapers/additions. Uncensored. Any omitted sex scenes will be uploaded elsewhere and linked. Edited versions will be uploaded here as dilute lemonjuice (I made a funny). Angst, depression, themes of suicide and drug refrences. I am not advocating the use of drugs.)
"Mayday: Broken Bronco," - Save
"Fuck."
It was an adequate description of the situation. Vincent Valentine, Death Penalty in hand, was once again listening to the scratchy recording of Cid Highwind's last words. Pale knuckles whitened further as they tensed upon the weapon's cold metal; he felt a heat within his own body, building. How dare they. He could feel Chaos growing, and was confused: how could his limit be reached through silent white rage alone? Yet he knew the reason. The pain he felt building inside of him burn and stung worse than any materia's power, any weapon's bite. And it continued to build, nearly breaking before he managed to take a hold of it. This silent rage would be taken out slowly, or it would explode without warning upon whomever was unlucky enough to release it.. Rising to his feet, Vincent Valentine left the control room of the Highwind, and flowed silently to the upper deck. Placing his weapon back into it's holster, both claw and hand clutched the railing before him desperately, his crimson eyes tightly shut as he once more struggled to surpress his inner demons. Chaos could not be released. Not here. Not now. As he calmed yet again, the mocking voice of that cursed demon invaded his head, and he reluctantly began to dwell on the problem at hand once more. I have sinned again.
The so-called "situation" was this: Cid, desperate for a moment's respite after the final battle, had repaired the Tiny Bronco and temorarily left the team. It was no big deal; most of the party had separated for the time being, each seeking for what they had fought for yet again, to see if they had succeeded, to see if it still existed. Only then would they know if they really had won. Still, Cid hardly had anything. His weapon, the Venus Gospel; his airship, the Highwind; his ever-present pack of cigarettes. He had mastered the air, and flown to space. His dream had been a reality. What was left now? Rocket Town? Hardly... He had payed his debt to Shera after realizing his mistake, and they had parted with hardly a word. Shinra No. 26, the rocket, his rocket, was gone. His dream was gone. He had lived through it, what else was there now? He had fought off these thoughts for as long as he could, spending his time repairing the Tiny Bronco and managing the Highwind, sharing his space with the one man he could tolerate: Vincent Valentine.
Vincent was much the same as he was: he had no one, he had nothing. His home was a coffin that he would not return to, his dream was buried beneath years of Shinra's lies. Cid and Vincent had become close. Though Vincent hardly spoke, Cid knew he listened. That was all he needed. Someone to listen to him, to not argue when he cursed, to understand the pain he hid. The latter wasn't even discussed; somehow, Vincent just knew. They were so different, yet so alike. Even without words Vincent felt Cid's pain, understood it and felt it as well. But this mutual understanding wasn't good enough for Cid Highwind.
He broke. Cid Highwind broke.
It was a silent, shattering fissure that no one could sense. No one bothered to notice when his cigarette habit picked up even further, only Vincent could identify the distress his friend was in. Cid had nothing at all, and he knew it. He wasn't Vincent, he couldn't blame it on himself and find peace in being locked up in a tomb for all eternity. He couldn't remain silent, channeling his rage into the task at hand. He was an uncontrolable force to be wary of, and when the weight of the nothingness fell upon him, for once he wasn't strong enough to stay standing. Only Vincent was aware of his departure, and he knew well enough not to stop his friend. The man would have to find his own way. He strode aboard the Tiny Bronco, cursing wildly all the way, and spat a gruff farewell towards Vincent as he set the small plane along. All Vincent could do was nod gently; he had no words to speak, no actions to do, and by the time he thought of what should be said, the Bronco was already a dot in the distance. He'd missed his chance. Again.
Of course Cid would return. He simply had nothing to believe in any longer. As they had all done previously, he had left to find something that had been previously unknown to him. This time, rather than it being a cause for fighting, it was a reason for living. With nothing left, and no importance, where was the point in going on? Vincent understood this. He had felt the same. Upon joining Cloud's team, he had found a temporary purpose. They all had. For the Planet, for their friends, for relatives or loved ones. For Cid. And upon Sephiroth's defeat, Vincent's reason for life had not retreated; Cid still lived. And though he was undead, Vincent found in Cid a reason not to return to his coffin and sleep. But Cid...
He was hard on himself. True, he was hard on everyone, but underneath the cocky demeanor he was twice as demanding of himself. He pushed himself to the limits to achieve something, and he thrived on hope. What kept him alive was his own mission; his desire to travel to space. Then, it was completed. His dream was gone. The following days went by far to fast for it to be noticed, and yet it ate away at him the whole time. A sudden nothingness. He grew closer to Vincent in those days, depending on him, struggling to find in him the hope he craved. But he was uncomfortable with his feelings, and once again drew away. No one noticed but Vincent. Cid forced himself into believing that he had nothing to live for; his dream was destroyed, he was afraid of his love life. He was afraid of himself.
Vincent had been the one to suggest that he take a short break, try to find a purpose again. Knowing the truth in his words, Cid had taken the advice, and had finished up the Tiny Bronco's repairs before leaving, with only Vincent there to wave him off. He knew Cid would return. Emotions had to be confronted at some point, and he would realize his own goals and come back. He had to.
Then came the news of the crash.
Shera had brought it to them, the dented and scarred black box, each side emblazoned with the letter "H" and a rocket. Each of them knew it on sight, and sat in frigid silence as she told them the story, or as much of it as she knew. Cid had arrived in Rocket Town, a week or so after he had originally left the Highwind. He had told her he had figured himself out, and wouldn't be returning to Rocket Town for a while. He had other plans, someone he had to see. She had informed him that she could handle the town in his absence, as she had been doing previously, and for once he did not curse or chide her. She also found the courage to mention that she did not love him. Indeed, she had always been afraid that his cold gestures were simply his crazy way of flirting, and it releaved her to know that he did not feel that way. The someone he had to see, he said, was someone he could find love in. She had nodded, and waved a farewell as he boarded the Tiny Bronco and started up the engines once more.
She had gone to the launch pad to watch his departure. Though he was hard on her, they had a special friendship, and she felt obligated to watch what might be his final flight from Rocket Town. Or perhaps, she had recalled, something had called her there. Something had made her climb up the supports and wave a teary goodbye to her friend, something compelled her to stare into the sky until the Bronco was no more than a tiny speck along the horizon's expanse. Whatever the reason, she was the only one who saw. The bright flash of light, the blue flares, the small puff of smoke as something mechanical exploded on a distant mountain side. Then there was nothing. Smoke still rose from the impact point, but nothing was in the air. No attacker, no Tiny Bronco, no Cid.
It was only Shera who saw, and it was only Shera who had gone to the wreckage. Twisted shardes of pink and peach metal had still been aflame, huge spires of smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Cid's sky... She had sifted through all of it, alone, digging through the rubble to rescue her friend, or worse, to find what remained of him. Shera came up empty handed. He couldn't have ejected, all the equipment seemed to be in order, nothing was missing. The whole tale she had retold to Cloud's team and, though her voice betrayed her, she struggled to leave them with some sense of hope. She could hardly account for the burned bits of parachute and upholstery, as these were long gone, and it was possible that some had been missing. She failed to mention that she had not seen a parachute or any sort of device fall from the plane, nor did she include the details of the horribly mangled Bronco; it was quite obvious that it had been utterly destroyed upon impact. But Cid's body had not been found, and each team member could sense the pain and lingering hope throughout the room. But only one was truely pained.
Vincent was the first to leave the room. Gliding forward, striding gracefully as always, his face seemed to take on a more somber look, moreso than it normally held. The metal crafted to represent a lost hand gripped the handle of the large box, while the flesh of his right hoisted it upwards. He carried the small recording device with ease, bringing it towards the control room. No one dared to follow or argue with the dark man. They would hear the tape in good time.
And now, upon the deck of the Highwind, Vincent relived the horrible moment in which he opened the box and listened to the gruff recording. He recalled his friend's final words with ease, hearing every scratching word, wincing at every biting tone. He panted heavily, as the voice became more real, and Chaos played it yet again in his own mind.
"Good ta' finally leave this shit. Headin' back to my fuckin' Highwind, better a plane than this piece of shit... Could never rightly fix it," Cid's voice was clear in his head, and Vincent could almost picture the chain of events as they happened. "Can't believe Vinnie was right. Sendin' me off to 'find myself' and that shit... Fuck, he was right, damnit." The pilot continued to speak to himself, unaware that the black device was picking up every word, not knowing that these few senteces would be his last. He was probably lighting a cigarette, Vincent thought, unaware that something was wrong. An explosion sounded; there was a whirring, and Cid spoke once more. "What the fuck?! What in shit's name was that?" Then there was static and noise, each screaching to a halt as the sound of a collision overtook them. Vincent had hoped that Cid would have gone peacefully, but Chaos swiftily chided him with a harsh reminder of the pain Cid must have been in. A scream shattered the recording, piercing Vincent's mind, and the grating words sounded forced, as though the being uttering them could hardly speak. "Vinnie... fuck it... Highwind... mayday, damnit, mayday.." Vincent clutched the railing as the last few words trailed through his mind, echoing. Chaos grew. Cid's voice returned, just as harsh, though the words seemed wet, blocked by liquid, choked.
"Damn, Vin... goin' down... Mayd-"
The final explosion of the Tiny Bronco resounded through Vincent's head, his friend's voice sounding terrified and alone before being finally cut off. With the last word uttered, Vincent released his mind just as Chaos' claws released their holds on the railing, and the beast gained altitude before leaving the pilotless Highwind behind.
(To be continued. I'm actively working on this... Review if you wish, tell me if I should continue writing it. It's far from done. And try to ignore the spelling errors, I had to type the whole thing up in WordPad. Blech. )
-Save.
-Save
.Land to Air.
.Air to Sky.
.Sky to Space.
.C.i.d. .H.i.g.h.w.i.n.d.
(Characters and counterparts copyrighted to Squaresoft.)
(http://highwind.nu - Hopefully soon to come.)
(Rated R. Yaoi and sexual innuendoes for those who seek them. Cid x Vincent. Heavy cursing (Cid's involved, there has to be), mild violence. Intro's pretty clean. Possible "citrus" in later chapers/additions. Uncensored. Any omitted sex scenes will be uploaded elsewhere and linked. Edited versions will be uploaded here as dilute lemonjuice (I made a funny). Angst, depression, themes of suicide and drug refrences. I am not advocating the use of drugs.)
"Mayday: Broken Bronco," - Save
"Fuck."
It was an adequate description of the situation. Vincent Valentine, Death Penalty in hand, was once again listening to the scratchy recording of Cid Highwind's last words. Pale knuckles whitened further as they tensed upon the weapon's cold metal; he felt a heat within his own body, building. How dare they. He could feel Chaos growing, and was confused: how could his limit be reached through silent white rage alone? Yet he knew the reason. The pain he felt building inside of him burn and stung worse than any materia's power, any weapon's bite. And it continued to build, nearly breaking before he managed to take a hold of it. This silent rage would be taken out slowly, or it would explode without warning upon whomever was unlucky enough to release it.. Rising to his feet, Vincent Valentine left the control room of the Highwind, and flowed silently to the upper deck. Placing his weapon back into it's holster, both claw and hand clutched the railing before him desperately, his crimson eyes tightly shut as he once more struggled to surpress his inner demons. Chaos could not be released. Not here. Not now. As he calmed yet again, the mocking voice of that cursed demon invaded his head, and he reluctantly began to dwell on the problem at hand once more. I have sinned again.
The so-called "situation" was this: Cid, desperate for a moment's respite after the final battle, had repaired the Tiny Bronco and temorarily left the team. It was no big deal; most of the party had separated for the time being, each seeking for what they had fought for yet again, to see if they had succeeded, to see if it still existed. Only then would they know if they really had won. Still, Cid hardly had anything. His weapon, the Venus Gospel; his airship, the Highwind; his ever-present pack of cigarettes. He had mastered the air, and flown to space. His dream had been a reality. What was left now? Rocket Town? Hardly... He had payed his debt to Shera after realizing his mistake, and they had parted with hardly a word. Shinra No. 26, the rocket, his rocket, was gone. His dream was gone. He had lived through it, what else was there now? He had fought off these thoughts for as long as he could, spending his time repairing the Tiny Bronco and managing the Highwind, sharing his space with the one man he could tolerate: Vincent Valentine.
Vincent was much the same as he was: he had no one, he had nothing. His home was a coffin that he would not return to, his dream was buried beneath years of Shinra's lies. Cid and Vincent had become close. Though Vincent hardly spoke, Cid knew he listened. That was all he needed. Someone to listen to him, to not argue when he cursed, to understand the pain he hid. The latter wasn't even discussed; somehow, Vincent just knew. They were so different, yet so alike. Even without words Vincent felt Cid's pain, understood it and felt it as well. But this mutual understanding wasn't good enough for Cid Highwind.
He broke. Cid Highwind broke.
It was a silent, shattering fissure that no one could sense. No one bothered to notice when his cigarette habit picked up even further, only Vincent could identify the distress his friend was in. Cid had nothing at all, and he knew it. He wasn't Vincent, he couldn't blame it on himself and find peace in being locked up in a tomb for all eternity. He couldn't remain silent, channeling his rage into the task at hand. He was an uncontrolable force to be wary of, and when the weight of the nothingness fell upon him, for once he wasn't strong enough to stay standing. Only Vincent was aware of his departure, and he knew well enough not to stop his friend. The man would have to find his own way. He strode aboard the Tiny Bronco, cursing wildly all the way, and spat a gruff farewell towards Vincent as he set the small plane along. All Vincent could do was nod gently; he had no words to speak, no actions to do, and by the time he thought of what should be said, the Bronco was already a dot in the distance. He'd missed his chance. Again.
Of course Cid would return. He simply had nothing to believe in any longer. As they had all done previously, he had left to find something that had been previously unknown to him. This time, rather than it being a cause for fighting, it was a reason for living. With nothing left, and no importance, where was the point in going on? Vincent understood this. He had felt the same. Upon joining Cloud's team, he had found a temporary purpose. They all had. For the Planet, for their friends, for relatives or loved ones. For Cid. And upon Sephiroth's defeat, Vincent's reason for life had not retreated; Cid still lived. And though he was undead, Vincent found in Cid a reason not to return to his coffin and sleep. But Cid...
He was hard on himself. True, he was hard on everyone, but underneath the cocky demeanor he was twice as demanding of himself. He pushed himself to the limits to achieve something, and he thrived on hope. What kept him alive was his own mission; his desire to travel to space. Then, it was completed. His dream was gone. The following days went by far to fast for it to be noticed, and yet it ate away at him the whole time. A sudden nothingness. He grew closer to Vincent in those days, depending on him, struggling to find in him the hope he craved. But he was uncomfortable with his feelings, and once again drew away. No one noticed but Vincent. Cid forced himself into believing that he had nothing to live for; his dream was destroyed, he was afraid of his love life. He was afraid of himself.
Vincent had been the one to suggest that he take a short break, try to find a purpose again. Knowing the truth in his words, Cid had taken the advice, and had finished up the Tiny Bronco's repairs before leaving, with only Vincent there to wave him off. He knew Cid would return. Emotions had to be confronted at some point, and he would realize his own goals and come back. He had to.
Then came the news of the crash.
Shera had brought it to them, the dented and scarred black box, each side emblazoned with the letter "H" and a rocket. Each of them knew it on sight, and sat in frigid silence as she told them the story, or as much of it as she knew. Cid had arrived in Rocket Town, a week or so after he had originally left the Highwind. He had told her he had figured himself out, and wouldn't be returning to Rocket Town for a while. He had other plans, someone he had to see. She had informed him that she could handle the town in his absence, as she had been doing previously, and for once he did not curse or chide her. She also found the courage to mention that she did not love him. Indeed, she had always been afraid that his cold gestures were simply his crazy way of flirting, and it releaved her to know that he did not feel that way. The someone he had to see, he said, was someone he could find love in. She had nodded, and waved a farewell as he boarded the Tiny Bronco and started up the engines once more.
She had gone to the launch pad to watch his departure. Though he was hard on her, they had a special friendship, and she felt obligated to watch what might be his final flight from Rocket Town. Or perhaps, she had recalled, something had called her there. Something had made her climb up the supports and wave a teary goodbye to her friend, something compelled her to stare into the sky until the Bronco was no more than a tiny speck along the horizon's expanse. Whatever the reason, she was the only one who saw. The bright flash of light, the blue flares, the small puff of smoke as something mechanical exploded on a distant mountain side. Then there was nothing. Smoke still rose from the impact point, but nothing was in the air. No attacker, no Tiny Bronco, no Cid.
It was only Shera who saw, and it was only Shera who had gone to the wreckage. Twisted shardes of pink and peach metal had still been aflame, huge spires of smoke curling up into the darkening sky. Cid's sky... She had sifted through all of it, alone, digging through the rubble to rescue her friend, or worse, to find what remained of him. Shera came up empty handed. He couldn't have ejected, all the equipment seemed to be in order, nothing was missing. The whole tale she had retold to Cloud's team and, though her voice betrayed her, she struggled to leave them with some sense of hope. She could hardly account for the burned bits of parachute and upholstery, as these were long gone, and it was possible that some had been missing. She failed to mention that she had not seen a parachute or any sort of device fall from the plane, nor did she include the details of the horribly mangled Bronco; it was quite obvious that it had been utterly destroyed upon impact. But Cid's body had not been found, and each team member could sense the pain and lingering hope throughout the room. But only one was truely pained.
Vincent was the first to leave the room. Gliding forward, striding gracefully as always, his face seemed to take on a more somber look, moreso than it normally held. The metal crafted to represent a lost hand gripped the handle of the large box, while the flesh of his right hoisted it upwards. He carried the small recording device with ease, bringing it towards the control room. No one dared to follow or argue with the dark man. They would hear the tape in good time.
And now, upon the deck of the Highwind, Vincent relived the horrible moment in which he opened the box and listened to the gruff recording. He recalled his friend's final words with ease, hearing every scratching word, wincing at every biting tone. He panted heavily, as the voice became more real, and Chaos played it yet again in his own mind.
"Good ta' finally leave this shit. Headin' back to my fuckin' Highwind, better a plane than this piece of shit... Could never rightly fix it," Cid's voice was clear in his head, and Vincent could almost picture the chain of events as they happened. "Can't believe Vinnie was right. Sendin' me off to 'find myself' and that shit... Fuck, he was right, damnit." The pilot continued to speak to himself, unaware that the black device was picking up every word, not knowing that these few senteces would be his last. He was probably lighting a cigarette, Vincent thought, unaware that something was wrong. An explosion sounded; there was a whirring, and Cid spoke once more. "What the fuck?! What in shit's name was that?" Then there was static and noise, each screaching to a halt as the sound of a collision overtook them. Vincent had hoped that Cid would have gone peacefully, but Chaos swiftily chided him with a harsh reminder of the pain Cid must have been in. A scream shattered the recording, piercing Vincent's mind, and the grating words sounded forced, as though the being uttering them could hardly speak. "Vinnie... fuck it... Highwind... mayday, damnit, mayday.." Vincent clutched the railing as the last few words trailed through his mind, echoing. Chaos grew. Cid's voice returned, just as harsh, though the words seemed wet, blocked by liquid, choked.
"Damn, Vin... goin' down... Mayd-"
The final explosion of the Tiny Bronco resounded through Vincent's head, his friend's voice sounding terrified and alone before being finally cut off. With the last word uttered, Vincent released his mind just as Chaos' claws released their holds on the railing, and the beast gained altitude before leaving the pilotless Highwind behind.
(To be continued. I'm actively working on this... Review if you wish, tell me if I should continue writing it. It's far from done. And try to ignore the spelling errors, I had to type the whole thing up in WordPad. Blech. )
-Save.