Tram
Monday, 2:24 pm
"...And that was Calling All Ancients by Tram! Coming up next we have Alien Atomos Farm with Smooth Crimin..."
The radio was cut off by Cloud Strife who flipped it off with a sigh. Shaking his head, he poked at the offending machine almost absently. His spiky blonde hair flopped over slightly, unusually limp thanks to the oppressive humidity of the day. His bright blue eyes stared rather vacantly into space, obviously reminiscing about something that he held very dear. When Vincent walked in and saw him, he immediately recognized the symptoms. Brushing a strand of dark hair away from his face, Vincent silently contemplated Cloud's odd fixation. It had started a few months after Sephiroth and Meteor, just when everyone had finally thought things were going to settle down. He'd begun to stare off into the distance a lot, and when he spoke to people it was always about one thing, and one thing only. Tifa, trying to be sympathetic, had said it was because Cloud still missed Aeris. Vincent had privately decided that it was because Cloud was an obsessive idiot. But whatever the reason, the unimaginable had come to pass. Cloud had become a fan boy.
"Vincent...?"
"...Yes, Cloud?"
"Why can't they play Tram all the time? I mean, they're obviously the coolest band ever. Who needs other music when they can just listen to Tram all day every day?"
"..."
Turning his back on the star struck ex-SOLDIER, Vincent made his way over towards the large front window. On Tifa's insistence he'd been staying with Cloud in the man's small Midgar residence because "you need to open up more, Vinny." Largely, however, he just spent his days polishing his rifle, reading a book, or doing Cloud's shopping. His blond host didn't seem inclined to do much except moon over that radio and chat on the Tram official message boards. He owned all the official merchandise and his room was plastered with posters bearing the smirking face of the lead singer and matching self-satisfied grins from the other members. No, there was no talking to Cloud these days unless you wanted to hear a torrential downpour about how the bass player said this, or the drummer said that. Well, perhaps Cloud was the most fitting companion for Vincent. His conversation was so empty-headed that staying with him was like being back at the mansion, only with more noise. Besides, he was certain that this was part of his punishment for his sins.
Peering out the window, Vincent grimaced slightly. It was still raining. With a heavy sigh, he turned to go back to his room to get his umbrella. Cloud's was off limits due to the fact that it had the word 'Tram' scrawled across it in large black printed letters, so Vincent made do. He remembered rather clearly how he'd had to go out in a downpour to acquire an umbrella he could use, and then found that the shopping center was closed and the one stand around only had yellow chocobo patterned umbrellas for sale. He'd bought a new one since then, having learned from his mistake. Stepping through the doorway, he made for the closet. Vincent noted with detachment that the Tram mania had even spilled over into here. Opening the closet, he had to avoid the carefully pressed blue suit that Cloud had bought and then never worn, and the bottles of red hair dye that tried to dive-bomb him from the top shelf. Yes, in the early days Cloud had attempted to dye his hair to match the obnoxious, albeit natural, shade of the lead singer's. All the AVALANCHE members recalled the violent greeny- purple mess that Cloud had sported so proudly the next day. Vincent tried to suppress a shudder.
Finally locating his umbrella under a pile of Tram collectibles, Vincent grabbed it, slid the closet closed once more and headed again for the door. As he reentered the kitchen, he saw without surprise that Cloud was still sitting there. However, upon closer inspection, the twenty two year old was now staring at a snapshot instead of the table surface. A typically goofy grin was spread across his face, and it looked like he was deep in a daydream. Vincent hated to interrupt him, as it meant he would inevitably talk, but he felt that Cloud might become confused and disoriented if he inexplicably found there was no one to babble to. Clearing his throat, Vincent tried to capture Cloud's attention. When that didn't work, he resorted to speech.
"Ahem... Cloud?"
"Huh... what?" After Cloud's eyes had focused, Vincent tried again.
"Cloud, I must go out to replenish our supply of Frosted Flakes. I will return within the hour."
Vincent cringed slightly, waiting for the inevitable 'They're Grreeaattt!' comment, but to his growing surprise, it never came. Instead, Cloud just returned to staring dreamily at the photo. Vincent had a pretty good idea which picture it was. Several months ago, Cloud had insisted on making a trip to Wutai by chocobo to go see Tram perform live. He'd returned dazed, delirious, and happy, clutching a color photograph of the band that had been signed by all of the members. It was his prize possession, and Vincent knew the damn thing all too well. Cloud loved to randomly thrust in front of people's faces and proclaim how great it was. Vincent even had the position and handwriting of every signature memorized. From left to right they went: Reno, Rude, Elena, Yuffie the Great, and Red XIII. After joining the band, Nanaki had reverted to the name Red XIII, claiming that it sounded far cooler. Now, sitting there, Cloud's eyes never left the photo.
"Hey, Vince. What kind of wedding ring do you think Yuffie would like?"
"..."
"Diamond, of course, but should I get a big one or a huge one? And what color wedding dress should I get her do you think? I bet she looks good in pink."
Vincent sighed again. It was fast becoming his trademark. He tried valiantly to ignore the headache he felt coming on.
"...Cloud, you know that Yuffie is engaged."
Ignoring him entirely, Cloud rambled on. Once started there was no stopping him. He required no audience really; he could probably talk for hours to an empty house and never realize, or care.
"I've thought of some good names for our children, or at least the first four. I want to call the girl Yvette, but I know that Yuffie will hold out for Calliope so I thought we could compromise and call her Yvalliope, or Frank..."
Thanks to weeks of practice, Vincent tuned him out. He did not, however, manage to slip away before the photograph caught his eye. He fought it; fought as hard as he was able, but he found his eyes dragged towards the upper right hand corner. A petite blonde woman stared out at him with a grin from ear to ear, flashing the peace sign. Despite all his wishes to the contrary, Vincent found himself instantly spellbound, captivated by the picture even though he knew perfectly well it was just stiff paper and colored ink ...Besides, he knew all these people. He could not possibly be fixating on people whom he'd spent months around... could he? No. That would put him in the same boat as Cloud, and if there was one thing the dark gunman truly clung to it was that he would never be like Cloud. Vincent shook his head. Although Vincent had never enjoyed the supermarket – being pushed around and trampled by women twice his size was not what he considered a restful afternoon – he tried to remember that this was valuable time he was wasting. He knew all too well what that Place was like when five o'clock came around. And yet... Those brown eyes and that obnoxious grin seemed to pull him in. At times like this he even started to forget about the darkness to which his soul had been eternally damned. He began to realize that he was not a tragedy queen (or king), in fact he was really not so different from Cloud... maybe he could even get to like the man. No, that was crossing the line. It was this horrifying thought that snapped Vincent out of it, effectively saving him.
Quickly making his way to the door, Vincent stopped only to open the closet door and pull out his black boots. He slipped them on, bent on making a hurried escape. Although he severely doubted that any good could come of ritual summonings, he was fairly convinced that the entire band must be pure evil. There was nothing else that explained the strange happenings around here of late. He had been feeling not quite himself lately, and although normally the most composed person in the world he was beginning to be a little afraid. It was so small that no one else would possibly detect it, but Vincent, being who he was, had noticed. Every time he heard or saw something involving Tram a tiny spark lit up at the back of his mind. When he saw the girl Elena's face he could almost begin to forget his terrible sin and Lucrecia. Shaking his head, he thought of all the screaming fans that appeared every time Reno sauntered onto a stage with his ridiculously low pants and his brazen grin. There was no possible way he could ever become one of their ilk.
With a last somber glance, Vincent shut the closet and stepped over to the door. The way their songs had of making him feel almost happy... True evil indeed. His inner demons tormented him and would do so until the day he had been absolved of his crime. Music could never sooth the savage beast in this case. Assuring himself that this was the simple truth Vincent absently pulled a crumpled, glossy poster out of his pocket. He stared at the winking picture of Elena with the faintest hint of a smile, before replacing almost unconsciously. Hah. He would never succumb. They would never get him.
Wednesday, 9:59am
Cloud looked up at the clock. Well, it was close enough. With a grin that couldn't conceal the excitement lurking beneath, Cloud dove for the phone. The news had been all over the radio this morning, although the announcement had come far too late to make it into the paper. It was a pity really; Cloud would have loved to see the headlines. Still smiling from ear to ear, he grabbed his little black address book and began to leaf furiously through it. Although some of the others would have heard already, he had to make sure everyone knew. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity that he wouldn't miss for anything in the world. Feeling his heart pounding, Cloud punched in the first string of numbers.
"...Hello, Tifa?"
"Hey Cloud! What's up?"
"You totally won't believe what I just heard!"
"...This isn't another one of those peanut commercials, is it?"
"Oh come on, Tifa! It's WAY more important than that!"
"You don't mean..."
"Yes I do! Tram is coming to town!"
"OH MY GOD!"
Tifa's scream echoed through her own house, which was across town from Cloud's own. If the new Midgar had been only a slightly smaller place Cloud would've been able to hear her had he opened one of his windows. Holding the earpiece away from him slightly to prevent imminent deafness, he smiled madly.
He'd spent his share of the gil on Tram's first CD, and although everyone had been skeptical at first he'd slowly won them over one by one. Tifa had been one of the first to see the Most Awesome Band of All Time's merits, and had joined the Light Side early on. And while Cloud was of course President of the fan club, Tifa was secretary and treasurer. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, Cloud lifted the receiver back up.
"You okay now Tifa?"
"Yeah... hold on. Just gotta catch my breath."
"On the radio they said that they were going to be here on Friday, at AVALANCHE stadium. The doors open at seven sharp! Tickets can be reserved in advance at 294-474-2734-3745-2900."
While normally Cloud wasn't that good with numbers, he had an amazingly good memory when it came to certain things.
"I can't believe it! I have to call everyone and tell them!"
"Okay! I'll call Barret and Cid, and you can take care of getting the word out to all the club members, k?"
"Gotcha! I guess Reeve already knows since he's hosting it."
"I think we should all meet early Friday to get ready for the concert together. I mean, there's so much to do!"
"Good idea! I'll get right on it. Talk to ya later, Cloud!"
"Bye, Teef!"
Cloud beamed happily. Tifa was still his best friend, and he couldn't wait to tell her all about his latest plans. She was still jealous about Cloud's newfound love for Yuffie, but she only suffered occasional bouts of murderous rage. Since she'd started seeing a therapist for her anger management issues, Cloud found her a whole lot more fun to be around. He could talk to her about Tram for days on end, and she barely ever scratched him anymore.
The others would be just as excited too. Barret had originally just put up with the wave of Tram fanaticism to humor Marlene, but after listening to Cloud's 'Drops of Lifestream' play on a never ending loop for a week straight he had started to listen to what Cloud had to say. Cid hadn't been an easy one to win over; actually he'd thrown Cloud's CD player over the side of the Highwind. Shera had insisted that he apologize and buy Cloud a new one, but Cid's resulting nervous breakdown had limited their ability to work on him. After he'd started taking the prescribed medications, though, he'd suddenly become a lot happier. To Cloud it was just another example of the miracles Tram could work.
Cloud frowned slightly at the thought of Vincent however. He was the only member of AVALANCHE other than the ones actually in the band that had held out this long. Cloud simply could not imagine why anyone would choose to live life without Tram. The idea seemed ludicrous to him. With a small shrug, Cloud decided that his shadowy companion defied all logic or understanding. Cloud had even begun to suspect that the man listened to, shudder, rap.
In the room across from the one where Cloud sat, Vincent was thinking. He had heard it all since Cloud never bothered to lower his voice. Of course this concert held nothing whatsoever to interest him, and yet... he was intrigued. While he would never consider setting foot in such a public spectacle, he wondered, slightly amused, what the local pre-show would involve. He would only be observing, or course, this was none of his concern. It would doubtless prove comical to watch his comrades demean themselves thus. As long as he did not have to take part, it would be an entertaining way to pass an afternoon.
Completely ignorant of any and all other goings on, Cloud reached for the phone once again. It was going to be a morning full of disbelieving screams, panic attacks and probably more than a few excitement-induced concussions. In short, he couldn't wait.
Thursday, 4:18 pm
The four o'clock train had arrived in the station right on time. No one on board was aware of the mob that they were about to be hit by at several dozen miles per hour. The doors whizzed open, and those at the front began to descend. It only took several milliseconds before they became aware of the huge throng that stood just below them, poised to trample any who got in the way.
The frenzied stamping of feet and the proudly defiant blond-haired man at the front of the line inspired terror in even the most valiant of hearts. The businessmen quailed from their already well-packed standing places, and several people forced open the emergency exit door in their terror before falling onto the tracks. One particular man in an expensive suit, tie and hat flung up his brief case with a cry of 'Vive la resistance!' before throwing himself on top of the waiting crowd that stepped out of the way just in time to let him knock himself out of the pavement.
Cloud Strife raised his hand, flanked by Tifa and Barret on one side and Cid and Marlene on the other. The mob went quiet for a second. Cloud turned around and flashed them a self-important smile before turning back. He cleared his throat.
"We know that Tram is in there! The paper said so and it knows everything! Let them out now or we will be forced to find them and escort them to safety ourselves!"
Silence echoed back from the train, accompanied by many blank stares. Cloud sighed quietly and shared a sad glance with Tifa. When he turned back, his eyes glinted ever so slightly with a manic gleam he had made his own. Several people on the train moved further back into the space that wasn't there. Cloud raised his hand again.
"On the count of three! ...One! ...Two! ...Five! Charge!"
"Three sir, three!"
"Er... right. Charge!"
And so they did. In historical terms, the charge of the Tram-fan club can only be compared to such heroic and misguided attempts as the Last Charge of the Light Brigade. Every member rushed forward with a passionate cry, each willing to give his or her life to be able to touch their favorite band member's shoe.
The crush failed, as many charges on filled trains will, but the fan club remained undaunted. With Barret's help, Cloud climbed on top of a nearby train car and waved wildly with his arms. Seeing their great leader in such a position of nobility, a hush fell over the rabid fans. Cloud continued to hop up and down until all eyes were one him.
"Friends! Nobles! Countrymen! Lend me your ears!" He tugged at his ear to demonstrate. "Now, we're gonna take this train apart piece by piece until we find where they're keeping Tram! Come on, guys!"
And once again, the mob rushed forward, this time only to be checked by a loud sound from above. Instantly, all eyes turned to the sky.
High above, the whir of propellers roared through the sky. Vincent watched, intrigued, from his vantage point on a building several hundred feet up. He'd been unable to keep away, assuring himself he merely wanted to see his friends make complete idiots out of themselves. It seemed logical, so he watched as the silver helicopter flashed in the sun, dropping altitude quickly. On it, painted in bright black and gold letters was 'Tram'.
As the helicopter dropped, Cloud watched open mouthed as his idol came into view. Leaning out the side of the helicopter, Reno grinned shamelessly. His smile widened even more when about fifty percent of the audience, most of them female, fainted dead away. Picking up a mega phone from the floor, he raised it to his mouth.
"'Yo Midgar! What's up!?" The roar was deafening. "Sorry guys! 'Fraid we missed the train so we had to catch a different way up here. We didn't want to miss this, 'cause everyone knows Midgar knows how to ROCK!"
The screams and cheers broke the sound barrier. And then the helicopter was pulling away with a winking Reno, and the other members gathered around him as the copter rose. Elena waved, as did Rude (in miniature), Red XIII dangled a paw off the edge, and Yuffie blew a kiss.
From down below, Cloud blew one back and sighed happily. The vacant look in his eyes would have told any observers that if he died now, he'd be a happy, happy man. However, there were none to notice because, to a man (and woman), every person in the crowd was staring up with the exact same look on their face. Swinging down from his window ledge perch nearer the ground, Vincent shook his head and sighed.
He wondered vaguely as he walked away whether or not this was the 'society' he was supposed to be trying to rejoin, and if so, why.
Friday, 9:02 am
Vincent was not a happy person. He would have been content with staying quietly in his room until the frenzied mob had left, but it was not to be. They spilled over even into there, and standing space was not cheap to rent. He noted, annoyed, as several teenage girls downstairs absently spilled some kind of orange beverage all over his carpet. It may have been Cloud's house, but Vincent Valentine had long ago discovered that with his friends, if he wanted something done he had to do it himself.
The fan club had descended upon the house at about seven, waking Vincent and telling him all he needed to know about the day. Already there had been heated declarations of allegiance to Tram and unsurprisingly the music had been thumping away downstairs for a good two hours now. Vincent felt the headache just waiting to pounce on him when he least expected it, and he mentally growled at it. He'd fled the downstairs when a nervous young man who resembled Cloud a great deal had seen fit to be quite violently ill in Vincent's potted fern.
Still, the upstairs was not much better. For now he stood in the shadows of the hallway, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. There was some kind of evil gathering going on in Cloud's room, and various people could be seen entering and leaving. The notable part was that no matter how odd they looked going in, they still managed to look stranger coming out. Vincent had no doubt that Cloud was the undoubtedly the clothes and makeup artist behind this.
"Tiiiffffaaaaa! You can't use the rouge unless we really need it! You have to choose colors that will show up under the black light!"
"Sorry Cloud! I've got it now!"
Vincent listened, and cursed his enhanced senses. If Hojo deserved to burn in hell before, now it was personal. Absently, Vincent tried to ignore the pounding starting up at the back of his head, and glanced out the window. Down below, two large white trucks appeared at the end of Cloud's driveway. Vincent watched, half-interested, half-dreading as several men got out and came towards the house. He lived here now, so he supposed he'd have to sign for whatever it was while Cloud was otherwise occupied. Excellent.
Moving carefully to avoid touching as many people as possible, Vincent reached the stairs just in time to hear the doorbell ring. There was a ragged cheer from below, and someone turned the music up. Vincent rubbed at his temples and descended into the chaos below.
He refused to look around as he moved towards the door, not wanting to register what his living room looked like now. It did not matter. He had served his sentence by now, surely. They had no reason to keep him locked in this madness any longer. He was 'adapted', surely anyone could tell just by looking at him. He occasionally wore burgundy instead of crimson now.
The doorbell rang again, impatiently, and Vincent went over to answer it. He was just in time, as when he swung open the door the man was just starting back down the walkway. He looked up at Vincent, and returned slowly back with a clipboard and pen, looking less than amused.
"You a Mr. Strife?"
"No. But I will sign for it. I am currently sharing this residence and Mr. Strife is otherwise occupied."
The man handed him the clipboard and the pen, looking non-plussed.
"Thanks. That explains a lot."
Before Vincent had time to ask just exactly what that meant, the man waved to another standing in front of the truck. Instantly, several more were heading Vincent's way carrying boxes easily half their size. They didn't ask what to do with them, and Vincent stood aside to let them pass, figuring it was easier than asking.
There were a total of ten boxes that got piled into the front hallway, and as the deliverymen left, a crowd was gathering. By the time Vincent shut the door, one of the boxes was already being broken, and to a person, Cloud's Horde shrieked. The girl doing the unpacking held up a bright orange shirt that looked like it wouldn't fit on Marlene and was covered by a large purple smiley face. There were many sudden moves for the boxes, but the girl fought them back.
"Wait, wait everyone! We have to bring these up to Cloud! Cloud will take care of it!"
A unanimous shout went up, and one by one the boxes were hoisted up the stairs and taken into Cloud's room with much ceremony. Wondering if it would still be a sin to shoot himself right now, Vincent followed the throng out of sheer morbid curiosity. In the background, Tram played incessantly, and Vincent failed to notice as he climbed the stairs after the cheering groupies that he was humming along to all the songs.
Friday, 3:00pm
It was getting too much to bear. He didn't think he could take it much longer. Vincent had already contemplated throwing himself out the window, but he figured that the fall wouldn't kill him. Worse, it would put him in the front yard where the Tram barbecue was currently going on. Maybe if he made it to the street... No, they'd catch him before he made it two steps. Then he'd be forced to join in one of their sing-alongs, or, worse, eat a (shudder) hot dog. No, it wasn't worth it.
Perhaps there was another way. Maybe if he gave himself to Cloud's crew, they'd kill him out of mercy. Doubtful, but perhaps it was his best shot. He should have made a run for it earlier, before it was too late. Hindsight was such a wonderful, non-fangirl cluttered thing. There wasn't even any alcohol to ease the pain, as Cloud had decreed that anyone who attended the concert without complete use of their screaming and jumping faculties was to be excommunicated and lynched on sight.
But sometimes, between the pain, he wondered... What were Cloud, Tifa, Barret, Marlene and Cid up to in there anyway? He hadn't seen them for a while, and he was rapidly growing more curious, and more afraid. And afraid of the fact that he was curious. Not good, not good, not good. Still, he wanted to know, and if the only way to find out was personal sacrifice, well, it's not like he wasn't ready to kill himself using only a pair of rubber boots and the Tram CD (after all, if you're going, take them with you) already.
Cautiously, he stood and let his cape swirl around his feet for dramatic effect. He would never allow himself to fall into the clutches of the Tram cult, or anything like that. His attention was merited simply because of the unusual circumstances, and the opportunity to laugh silently at his so-called 'friends'. He had been a fool to abandon his coffin for revenge. The vicious cycle simply never ended. Now he was practically honor- bound to kill Cloud to avenge his suffering. And even if honor didn't care that much, at this point Vincent could think up some very amusing things to do to his spiky-haired comrade either way.
No, just a small look. It couldn't do any harm. Surely Cloud and Tifa would understand that he meant purely to mock them and that this was in no way a conciliatory gesture. Definitely not. He had not lost. He would see what ridiculous antics they were up to, and then he would live happily, knowing that even if the world was taken over by sheep (or Cloud) tomorrow, there was always something lower to sink to.
Slowly, carefully, he inched open the door. Light poured out, and Vincent squinted to make out the vague forms of Tifa, Cloud and Cid hunched over someone. Tifa was using eyeliner, that he could tell. They were mumbling something inane as well, but it mattered not to Vincent. All he needed was another half an inch, and then he could see...
Appropriately, it was then that he tripped on his cape and fell head first into the room. Everyone looked up, including Barret who was apparently the one who'd been being operated on. Vincent had to admit, the dark lines really brought out his eyes.
Cloud was the first to stand.
"Vincent! I thought you'd never come!" He smiled a huge smile. "Don't worry, buddy! I knew you couldn't stay away."
"W-what!? No-"
But even as Vincent protested, Cloud dragged him over to the chair, where Barret made room for him. Forcing Vincent into sitting, Cloud studied him critically while Tifa held him down. Finally, he smiled again.
"Soooo... Who's your favorite?"
"I have no idea what you mean..."
"Aw, Vince, don't lie. Come on now. Who's your favorite?"
Vincent was about to protest when he was stopped by Cloud's ridiculous puppy-dog smile. With the hair, it reminded him eerily of a sad cactus. If there were few things in life that Vincent was not immune too, one of them was sad cactus'. He crossed his eyes and glared darkly at the one he despised most in the world.
"...Elena.."
Cloud's smile widened, and he leaned forward.
"What's that? I couldn't here you, I'm afraid."
"... ... ..."
"Vincent..."
"Fine! Elena!"
Cloud giggled, as did Tifa and Cid. It was then that Vincent truly knew what evil he'd gotten himself into. Cloud raised a hand to his lips before giving Vincent another critical look-over. Vincent's death glare would have killed someone more perceptive.
"What are you doing?"
"Well, we have to do your make-up, and hair, and clothes..."
"WHAT!?"
"Well, we have to get you ready for the concert! You really should have come earlier, Vince. This is gonna take a lot of work."
"You do not seriously believe that I will..."
"Ooh! I have just the thing!" Cloud winked broadly at Tifa who began to laugh hysterically.
Cloud rifled through one of the boxes before producing a pair of jeans and what looked vaguely like a black shirt. First he held up the jeans.
"Ultra low-cut!"
"No. No. NO!"
"Wait 'til you see this... It's too perfect. I swear this shirt was made just for you, Vince!"
The 'shirt' he held up was far from Vincent's idea of 'perfect'. In fact, he wasn't certain it met the qualification for 'shirt'. It was black, alright, but that was its only redeeming feature. It only had one sleeve for one thing, and the bottom looked like it had been ripped clean off. It was so short that he if he raised his arms he was fairly certain it would strangle him. Perhaps so much the better.
"You expect me to wear that?"
"Yup. You have a nice figure, Vince. You should show it off more! In this, Elena will HAVE to fall for you!"
"Do you have more horrors to inflict on me?"
"Well, we'll have to do something about your hair. I mean, come on! It's so... so..."
"Not dictated by popular culture?"
"Mm... I was gonna go for 'scary-goth-coffin-man', but sure!"
Vincent turned his glare on Cid, who was smoking happily in the background.
"And what about you? Do you have a hand in this nefarious business?"
Cid raised his hands in defense, his usual pilot goggles still sitting on the top of his head.
"Woah, $#, man. You're $%'n lucky. You should see what Spike 'ere's got me wearin'. It don't even have any of 'em cool ripps on 'em."
Vincent sighed. And then remembered.
Slowly, he pulled out the picture in his pocket. It slid out easily, unfolding to reveal the picture of the winking blond guitarist. For a moment he just stared at it. Cloud watched, his grin growing wider by the second.
"So?"
After hesitating a moment, Vincent replied without taking his eyes off the picture.
"Do what you will."
Cloud's smile was almost evil now, and his eyes glinted as he moved in for the kill.