Thanks ta everyone who's reviewed or otherwise shown their support fer my fic. ^_^ It only helps ta inspire me, it really does. I love feedback, love it ta death. ^_^
Ah yes, and if anyone is interested, my fanart fer this fic can be found at Shattered, my Cid and Vincent shrine at www.cidvin-shattered.cjb.net. And if anyone is readin Zorn and Thorn's companion fic fer this, fanart I've done fer that is at http://members.tripod.com/~Zarla_S/ZornThorn.html. In case ya wanna see how I visualize a lotta da peeps in this. ^_^
Again, thanks fer yer support, and don't worry, this fic won't be endin fer a very, VERY long time. ^_^
The three companions sat on the bench for a while, just enjoying the warm night air and afterglow of such a happy and fun-filled time. Vincent started as he suddenly remembered something.
"Highwind, what happened to your crutches?"
Cid blinked for a few moments, then he shrugged carelessly and waved a hand in someone's general direction. "Eh, I don't need no #$^#in' crutches, I'm fine..."
Vincent glanced down at Cid's feet, which were hidden from view by his shoes. He felt some misgivings and stared at Cid intently. "Are you sure? Because the nurse said..."
"Ah, #$^# what th' nurse said." Cid waved again. "M'feet are fine, don't worry 'bout it. They stung a bit yesterday, an' then today..." Cid threw his arms in the air. "Pow! Perfect feet!"
Vincent smiled softly as Reeve began laughing. "Feet don't go 'pow'."
Cid stood, wincing slightly as the customary dizzy spell hit him. He refused to show almost any outward sign of it though, but Vincent could see by his unfocused eyes that he was having difficulty. It passed quickly, and Cid acted as if nothing had happened, putting his hands in his pockets as he smiled at Vincent, leaning back on his heels without any pain. He truly must have felt better to be able to do such a thing.
"#$^#, Vin, you must got some freak-feet or somethin'. How 'bout you, catface, do your feet go POW!?" Cid shouted his last word, garnering some attention from people still leaving the theater.
Reeve rolled his eyes and played along. "Of COURSE, spazbrain, my feet go pow ALL the time. I can barely control it."
Cid smiled broadly and held his arms out, his eyes shining. Vincent noticed the change in his behavior...apparely getting the entire argument out of the way had really taken a lot off of Cid's mind.
"Well c'mon, let's go do somethin' before they go POW again!" Cid shouted once more. Vincent brushed himself off and stood, turning to see if Reeve was following his movements, which he was.
"What do you want to do?"
Cid looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his chin with one finger. "Hmmmm..."
"Let's go back to my room." Reeve volunteered. "I bet Moog'll love company."
"Sounds good to me!" Cid spoke before Vincent opened his mouth and began walking, causing Vincent to shake his head and smile slightly again. "Let's go!"
The weekend passed without much incident, which was a great relief to Cid and Vincent, whose lives had become overly complicated as it was. They spent most of their time in Reeve's room, watching movies and TV and just having a good time. There hadn't been homework for any of them yet, which meant it would probably be the last time they had a worry-free weekend in a while.
Moog joined in with them when they watched TV or played games, so Vincent didn't feel guilty about leaving him out or anything of that nature. Vincent tried to became friends with Moog, who seemed to appreciate his efforts. The large silent boy reminded him so much of Mog and when he asked him about it, Moog shrugged enigmatically. So Vincent let the matter drop.
While there, he found while playing one of Reeve's many video game systems that he had an unnatural talent for shooting games, and his aim was remarkable. He was surprised that he was able to play games at all, considering his left arm, and at first had tried to talk his way out of playing with them, but the rest of them managed to convince him to at least try, and he found that his claw arm wasn't too big of an inconvenience. Vincent wasn't the best player there, Cid and Reeve far surpassing him, but he enjoyed playing with them anyway.
When Vincent did return to his room, Cloud was never there. He would see signs of him, like his bag or books or clothes he had left on the floor, but he never actually saw him. He noted new messages on his answering machine, which were from Cloud's parents. He stopped them once he found out they weren't for him, not wanting to intrude on his privacy, but he had no doubt as to what the calls would be about.
When Sunday came, Vincent and Cid opted to return back to Vincent's room, waving goodbye to Reeve and Moog who were somewhat sorry to see them go. Vincent and Cid hadn't wanted to leave either, having spent such a worry-free time there, but knew they had to at some point.
Once in Vincent's room, Vincent almost automatically turned the TV on, and Cid began to play a cup-and-ball toy he had bought on impulse while the four had been wandering around town. Cid propped himself up on a chair, his feet on Vincent's desk, as he distractedly played with the toy he had bought himself. Vincent flipped to a random channel, not really watching but prefering the background to be filled with noise, no matter what it happened to be.
"Think th' group'll be full of wackos?" Cid asked as Vincent had just settled, the remote resting next to him. Vincent turned to face him.
"Hmm?"
Cid rolled his eyes as if there was no reason on earth that Vincent should have misheard him. "Th' drug group we $^@#in' have to go to. Think it'll be full of crazies?"
Vincent smiled slightly, but tried to hide it. "They aren't crazy."
"Suuuuure they are!" Cid smiled and tossed his hands in the air, disrupting his own game as he gestured extravagantly. "They're aaaaalll crazy. And they're comin' for yoooooouuuu." Cid waved his hands at Vincent in a bizarre way, which caused Vincent to laugh quietly for a few moments, his hand over his mouth.
"They are not, stop that."
"But seriously..." Cid resumed playing his cup and ball game, the previous overzealous expression disappearing into a more natural smile. "Think they'll be crazy?"
Vincent smiled as he changed the channel, not really watching, his voice soft but level. "If you mean, do I think they'll be nice, then I suppose so. I can't say, though, because I don't know anyone else who's going, except Strife."
"Hmmm..." Cid continued playing for a few moments before speaking, his voice lacking the carefree tone it had before. Vincent glanced at him to find him staring at the cup and ball, but not because that was what was focusing his attention. He seemed slightly distracted, no doubt quite worried about what was going to happen the next day. Vincent himself felt worried but decided not to mention it. "Hope they're not crazy."
The ball finally landed in the cup, and Vincent flicked the channel once again, sighing slightly. "I hope so as well, Highwind..."
Cid left earlier that evening, knowing they both had classes the next day, and Vincent went to sleep shortly after that, slipping into a dreamless sleep, something that he was thankful for. He had been growing weary of the constant nightmares that had come night after night.
The next day found him standing in the center of his room early in the morning, staring at a slip of paper held with his metallic claw, pinpoint tips holding onto the slip of paper with practiced skill. The other hand was held to his lips as he mumbled to himself. "Arrowny said that class was being moved to eight in the morning...but my schedule says that it's later this afternoon..."
Vincent was tired and he didn't want to go to his class, but he shouldered his bag in annoyance and sighed. "Doesn't hurt to check..."
As he walked back to his desk to get his walkman, he chanced a glance over at Cloud's side of the room, finding the blonde still asleep. He must have come in some time last night. He felt a slight tinge of jealousy that Cloud didn't have to get up at such an ungodly hour to go to such an annoying class.
Shrugging, Vincent put the walkman into one of his large pockets and put his headphones on, turning up the volume as he left his room, closing the door behind him. He tried to keep his thoughts away from what he'd have to deal with later tonight, and decided that he was going to focus more on the day itself then what was going to come.
Thankfully, he had left his overly heavy and bulky toolkit at the Art building, so he wouldn't have to drag that along with him as he walked the distance from his dorm to the class. With the music on, the time went quickly, and he opened the door to his classroom, greeted by the sight of no one there.
Giving a very long, deep sigh, Vincent turned on the dormant lights and found a desk near the corner, complete with easel, which he headed for immediately. He dropped his backpack and leaned back, regaining his breath as he stared around the deserted room.
He didn't see any signs of any other people...no backpacks or papers or anything...maybe he HAD been wrong, and the class really WAS later on this afternoon...
Well, considering he didn't have anything else to go to in the morning, he decided it wouldn't hurt to wait for a while. Maybe he was just early.
He pulled his sketchbook from his backpack and let his pencil wander, mostly creating characters from Cid's stories that seemed to have taken up a great part of his mind. He leaned his head against his hand, music playing in his ears, as he drew small skeletal figures around the page, performing various activities. He smiled as he could recognize Cid rendered in his style singing, along with Reeve, with his thin pointed ears and whiplike tail. He smiled at his drawings for once, remembering what Highwind had said what seemed like so long ago, that his drawings were really good. He liked how his drawings were coming out, the proportions and the shading, the style and the like. He was actually pleased with his work for once, and that gave him a nice feeling.
He chanced a glance upward and found that several people had entered the room while he had been unaware, leaving their materials and the like around them. Vincent watched them for a few moments, recognizing the girl known as Rinoa among them. He sat in silence for a few moments, not sure of whether or not he should take off his headphones or turn his music off, then decided to leave them on until Relm herself showed up.
He changed his position in the chair so that he could draw and see the rest of the room at the same time and continued to let his pencil wander as more people filed into the room.
He noticed several figures that resembled people he had seen in the talent show and he smiled. In particular the skeletal but small figures in the corner, both with matching jester hats set above thin faces. He wondered what Zorn and Thorn were doing, as he had not seen them since the show last Friday.
He paused in the middle of a drawing of Mog, expanding to fill the piece of paper with thin, delicate fingers and the perfect capture of motion in the middle of his dance, as he noticed Relm walking in, her hair still tied back with the bandanna she had been wearing originally. Sighing imperceptibly, he turned the volume on his headphones down, then finally stopped his music, turning his eyes towards her.
"Thank you for dealing with the schedule change so well." She placed her materials on her desk, and Vincent turned his attention back to his sketchbook, theorizing that if he could hear her, he didn't need to see her. "It was rather unplanned, but I'm glad everyone was able to handle it...Vincent."
Vincent jerked as he heard his name called, turning his head in her direction rapidly. She was staring at him with an displeased look on her face.
"I would like to have your full attention, if that's alright with you."
Vincent sighed softly and turned in his seat until he was seated properly, putting his pad of paper back onto the desk.
"Ahem..." She cleared her throat, her eyes still boring into him. Vincent continued to stare at her quizzically. If she wanted him to do something, then why didn't she just say so? Everyone in the class was staring at him at this point, and some of them wore the same expression she was wearing. Vincent felt very uncomfortable, glad he had decided to wear a long-sleeved shirt that would be able to hide his metallic claw. He tugged at his sleeve distractedly, waiting for her to say something. Her voice was tired.
"Vincent, would you please show me enough respect to at least take off your headphones?"
Vincent started, suddenly remembering the small things in his ears, and his hand flew upwards, knocking the headphones onto his shoulders, the cord snaking around his neck. She stared at him with mild displeasure for a few moments, then turned to the rest of the class. Vincent noted that some of the other students looked just as offended as he did, and he began to feel slightly angry. He wasn't directly interrupting THEM, was he? They had no right to be upset at him.
"Now that that's been taken care of, I'd like to give you all your latest project."
Vincent hoped it would be more interesting then the first one he had got, which was to draw three pictures in a book that had been provided for the class. With another start, he realized that he had not done the pictures, and he turned to his backpack, pulling the book out from its depths and grabbing his pencil, wondering if she would notice him drawing furiously.
Luckily for him, at the moment she seemed somewhat distracted with speaking to the rest of the class. He drew quickly, not even bothering to erase as the skeletal form a demon took shape on the piece of paper, wings expanding above it, blocking out the rest of the white. Vincent didn't bother to try and shade it completely, scribbling over it to indicate darkness quickly as he turned the page.
"We will be focusing on the idea of black and white for a while. I'm going to set up a series of objects in the center of the room that you will study." She gestured to a corner, where several objects were stored. "Using your charcoals, you will draw the objects with as much contrast as possible."
Vincent finished a sketch of one of Cid's characters, turning the page once again. His drawings were getting big and sharp, points ending and overlapping in his haste. He hated having to rush like this, but he had no other choice.
"If you're all paying attention..."
Her voice caused his pencil to go faster. He noted with a sharp stab of annoyance a large error he had made, but he didn't have the time to go back and correct it. Finishing quickly, he fairly slammed the book shut as he looked upwards, noting Relm's and the rest of the class's eyes on him. Feeling awkward, he slid the book back into his backpack, trying to feign nonchalance.
"We may begin. I need some volunteers to help me move the objects around..."
Several people stood, and Relm began to direct them to pick up various objects, setting them up in the center of the room. Vincent watched quietly, but he caught the people helping shooting him glances. Vincent again felt somewhat angry. Were they upset because he wasn't helping? It was obvious there were enough people to perform the task required without his help. He crossed his arms, refusing to feel guilty for something he didn't need to do anyway.
Eventually, the construct in the center of the room resembled a platform of sorts made of cubes that had only edges, no substance between the lines that defined them. Draped across several of these skeleton cubes were sheets of fabric of varied textures, and there were various light sources attached to cubes, providing the thing in the center of the room with several contradicting forms of light.
Vincent stared at it for a moment, sighing as he looked at the incredible amount of detail that he'd have to put into it.
"Get some paper out of your portfolio, there should be some in there." Relm was doing small touchups on the pile of cubes in the center of the room. "Your charcoal should be in your box."
Vincent sighed and stood, going to where he had stored his portfolio and his toolbox. He had stored them in one of the lockers nearby, using one of the locks he had brought from home. He unlocked the locker, grabbed the two bulky objects, and returned to his seat, pulling out the sheet of paper and setting it up on the easel. He then opened his box, finding almost all the supplies inside jumbled from the harsh treatment they had had getting to the art building in general. He searched through it until he found a small box containing four charcoal sticks.
"The sticks are in the box according to their hardness." Relm pointed out as she sat back down. "The softer the charcoal, the broader and softer the stroke. It goes softest, soft, hard, hardest."
Vincent pulled the small set of sticks out, staring at them in mild confusion. There was no identifying marks on the sticks, just simply four identical chunks of charcoal, lined up in a row with no kind of marks or labels. Shrugging, Vincent picked the first one he saw and put the rest in his box, lifting his hand towards the paper he had set up.
The charcoal stick slipped from his fingers, falling towards the floor. Vincent grabbed for it quickly, but it slipped past his grasp and hit the floor with a loud crack, fracturing into three different pieces. He glanced up to notice Relm staring at him with disapproval, and he quickly gathered the broken pieces, putting the smaller chunks back in his box, thus leaving him with one about half the size as it was previously.
"Remember to be careful with your supplies, class. They're your best friend when it comes to art." Relm shot a glance at him as she spoke, and she wasn't the only one. Vincent sighed deeply and felt a sharp rise in cynicism rising in him to deal with his unhappiness. Wisely deciding that it would be better to keep it inside, he began to work, sketching out the cubes with quick, broken strokes.
He outlined where the cubes would go, then where the drapery would go over them. Noting a mistake, he nearly flipped the charcoal piece over in an attempt to erase it before he realized it had no eraser. He turned towards Relm, who was watching his progress with a steadily increasing frown. She spoke before he even ventured to ask. "There should be a piece of chamois in your boxes that will let you erase or blend your work."
Vincent turned to his box, finding the fabric easily. It was smooth and felt nice on his skin, but he quickly rubbed at the mistake he had made, finding to his dismay that it only blurred. Annoyed, but not sure of what else to do, he simply worked around it, continuing to block out the structure carefully.
"Remember, in order to have the correct proportions for your work to sight." Relm took a pencil from her desk, holding it up as an example. Vincent watched with confusion as she closed one eye and held the pencil out at arms length, exactly as he had seen every stereotypical caricature of an artist do. "Use the length of the pencil to gauge how long a line is, and what angle it goes at."
Everyone else in the class immediately began to do so, but Vincent found the entire process somewhat unnecessary. He could see how long a line was from where he was fine, without closing his eyes and looking stupid. Noting everyone staring at him, however, he sighed and acquiesced, holding out his right hand at an awkward angle, crossing it over his chest in order to sight correctly.
"No, Vincent." Hearing his name again made him wince, wondering what he had done wrong this time. "You have to use the hand closest to your subject."
Vincent rolled his eyes to himself and sighed, pushing his sleeve over his claw, holding onto the charcoal stick so that the metal was completely hidden, holding it out and pretending to sight before returning it back to his side. She noted his odd behavior, but thankfully decided not to comment on it.
Vincent, having blocked in the majority of the picture, began to shade it as well. This became rather engrossing for him, and he worked and blurred as best he could, trying to get the textures correct. The drapery proved to cause the most trouble for him, absolutely refusing to look anything like any cloth he had ever seen. He was getting frustrated, and he tried not to take it out on his drawing, although he noted his fingers turning an dark shade of black from his extended exposure to the charcoal stick. He even tried using the other sticks, but he had lost track of which way went soft and which way went soft, so he randomly chose one and tried it. They all seemed to work the same to him, and he began to wonder whether or not he was just unobservant or he just couldn't tell the difference.
The time in the class this way passed quickly, Relm occasionally walking around and giving advice to people who were still trying to set the angles of the cubes right. Vincent began to wonder if maybe he was going too fast, or maybe he had done it wrong. No one else was as far along as he was...
He was beginning to hope that maybe he'd get through the rest of the class without incident, but he was never so lucky. Near the end of class, he was kneeling in close, smudging and working hard in order to make the fabric appear more real, and he felt a presence near him. He jumped as Relm held up a hand.
"It's only me."
Vincent nodded and, not sure of what he should do, leaned back so that she could see what he had done so far. She studied his work for a while, not saying anything. Vincent began to hope that maybe he had completed the assignment successfully, but she began to speak before his hopes could truly even take flight.
"This line here..." She pointed at one of the edges of the cubes near the corner. "It's somewhat crooked...did you sight it?"
Vincent felt a huge sigh want to escape him, but refused to let it out. His response sounded more cynical and sarcastic then he originally intended. He didn't feel like saying that he hadn't done it, so opted for the easy way out. "Of course I sighted it."
"This line here..." She pointed at another area of the work. "It's also kind of crooked. I'm confused as to where your light source is here..." She pointed at another area. "It's very confusing. There's a great deal of black and grey, but I don't see enough white. You need to have more contrast."
Vincent stared at his work with distaste. He had gotten tired of working on this thing when he had put down his first line, and now he had to keep working on it? And how was he supposed to make more white areas? This was charcoal, and he had learned the hard way that it was almost impossible to make a white area white again once the black had been rubbed against it. He sighed imperceptibly, wondering how long until the class would be over.
"This line here is too sharp as well...it IS fabric, it needs to be softer. Not so angular." She gestured towards the work. "You've got to show a little more dedication to your work."
Vincent narrowed his eyes, disgust filling him. How could he be dedicated to something he didn't care about? He was planning on throwing away this horrific piece of "art" as soon as the day was over. She turned to the rest of the class, holding her arms out wide.
"The projects will be due on Wednesday, so be sure to finish them by then. See you then."
The rest of the students packed up their belongings, Vincent among them, glad that the class was finally over.
When he went to the sink to wash the black away from his fingers, he found it wouldn't come off. Severely annoyed, he was forced to roll his long sleeves up above the metal attached to his arm, revealing the entire golden metallic claw, something he hated. He rubbed at his fingers as best he could with his ineffectual claws, glad the metal was waterproof, but the black stayed. He rubbed some soap on it and continued to scrub, not wanting any traces of his art class to follow him, wanting to forget the aggravating part of his day as fast as possible.
He noted someone behind him, and he turned slightly, seeing the familiar blue and black that indicated the girl Rinoa. She had her hands behind her back, and she was looking over Vincent's shoulder with interest, watching his movements without saying anything.
Vincent did not have the patience for this.
"What are you staring at?" His voice was venemous and low. Rinoa didn't seem to notice or care, pointing with clean fingers at his metallic claw. Instead of the normal embarrassment and shame he felt when his deformity was mentioned, Vincent only felt hatred.
"Where'd you get that?"
"I'd rather not talk about it." Vincent's reply was very short, and he returned his attention back to his hand, which was turning somewhat red from all the rubbing it had endured, but kept the black stains. He was getting more frustrated and more upset with each moment, and was just hoping that Rinoa would take the hint and leave him alone.
"Is it symbolic or something?"
Vincent stopped for a moment to stare at her in utter disbelief. She looked genuinely curious, her arms back behind her back. She was leaning forward, eyes blinking at him in fascination. "I mean, does it stand for something? Like your unity with some country that's suffering or something? Or does it stand for something that happened to you or for how you feel? I'm just curious, it looks like you spent a lot of time on it. It's really nice."
Vincent stared at her in complete silence for several moments, unbelieving, as the expression in his eyes changed from bewilderment to fury in a few moments. He shook his hand and claw dry, not wanting to bother with drying them with a paper towel, and walked away without a word, fuming.
"Hey, wait! I just want to know! Come on!" Rinoa called after him, but Vincent ignored her, moving towards his desk and grabbing his backpack in one angry motion, swinging it onto his back.
He had forgotten that his backpack was open.
He heard the crash, but more then that he knew it was coming from the sudden shift in weight when he had felt the bag hit his back. His books struck his easel forcefully, knocking it and all the things that had been resting on it to the ground with a clatter, papers flying everywhere. There was a pause, then Vincent turned slowly, putting his backpack down with deliberate motions and slowly, mechanically, began to pick up the spilt pieces of paper, his body trembling with his attempts to control his emotions.
He had never felt so angry or so frustrated, but he struggled to clear his mind, trying to keep himself under control. This was hardly the time or place to have an emotional outburst. He slid his sketchbook back into his backpack, along with the book that he was required to draw in for this class. He slowly moved around the room, picking up the papers with quick snatching motions, noting that either everyone had left, or no one felt like helping him.
He felt so furious, so angry. He crumpled one of his papers in his claw, trying to vent in some way. He felt a strong pain coming from his back, and he could not believe his terrible luck. Not only did he have to deal with this, his back had begun to hurt for no apparent reason.
He continued to walk around the room, picking up the pieces of paper that had fallen, adding them to the pile that was building in his arms. He made his way slowly back to his backpack, stuffing the papers in without any pretense of care. He would sort it all out later when he wasn't so upset.
He felt something tap his side and he whirled around, breathing quickly, muscles tensed, his body screaming at him to do something to relieve his tension.
Rinoa was holding out some of the books he had missed, still looking oblivious. She smiled at him. "I could have told you that was going to happen you know."
Vincent narrowed his eyes into slits as he fairly tore the books from her grasp, thrusting them into his backpack with a furious motion, ignoring the crumpling sound from the papers that he had placed so haphazardly inside. He refused to speak, counting within his mind in an effort to keep himself under control.
Ten...nine...
Rinoa busied herself setting Vincent's easel back up on it's legs, brushing it off carefully before turning back to Vincent, who was pushing the last of his books into his bag.
"Are you going to talk to me?"
Eight...seven...
Vincent tried to keep his breathing regular. His back was aching now, stabbing pains right at his shoulderblades. He had to keep calm, he couldn't blow up here, not now. He had to keep himself under control.
"I just want to know why you're hiding your hand. I mean, is it a symbol of how society ties someone up? You know, takes their freedoms away?" Rinoa leaned over him, her hands again behind her back.
Six...five...
"Or is it like a symbol about how you're distanced from everyone? 'Cause you're really quiet, so that might be it."
Four...three...
He was almost done. He zipped up his bag securely this time and hefted it onto his back, turning away from Rinoa without an answer, trying to keep the rising tide of anger at bay.
"Or maybe is it about your family? Or college?" Rinoa stood, brushing herself off before trying to make eye contact with him again. Vincent was stubbornly refusing to meet eyes with her as he struggled to control his breathing. "Or is it some kind of vampire thing? You know, the whole goth scene and whatever? 'Cause you really look like the type to be into that kind of thing, really..."
Two...one...
"I'm just curious, you know." Vincent walked towards the door with quick, fast steps, his hand already on the doorknob as he could hear her following him, still talking. "You're just so quiet. I just want to talk to you, you know. I mean, anyone who wears a claw as an artists statement must be pretty cool, right? Not to mention I think your drawings were really pretty good. Can I see some-"
Vincent turned for a moment, holding the door open with one hand as he glared at her, struggling to keep his temper. This was enough to stop her for a few seconds, apparently sensing that he was finally going to say something. He held his breath for a few seconds, closed his eyes, and finally spoke.
"Don't talk to me. Ever."
He slammed the door shut, not bothering to see the look on her face, as he stormed down the hallway, his metal claw clenching uncontrollably. He could hear the door opening behind him, and he almost began running, not wanting to deal with her for another moment.
"Meanie!"
He could hear her voice calling after him, and he ignored it, rolling his eyes as he took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down, deciding to head to the dining hall for a snack before heading to his next class, needing a place where he could collect his thoughts after such a horrific experience.