Saddest thing is I've been workin on this thing fer like, a year now and almost two weeks have gone by fer them. ^_^o ARGH. I need ta speed things up or SOMEthing.
"Why did I ever agree to this..."
Vincent had his face pressed into his crossed arms, feeling nauseous and generally unhappy, his headache increasing in intensity to match the loud voices of others in the room. "I feel sick..."
"Believe me, I am aware of that. I've been aware of it for quite some time." The silken voice from across the table continued to grate on him in some strange way. The pain in his back was present again, directly over his shoulderblades, but he refused to sit up or make any attempt to ease the pain he was sure he was causing himself. "But that's not why I brought you here."
"I want to go to sleep..." Vincent mumbled sulkily, feeling more and more disoriented as minutes passed. He dared not look up in fear that the spinning in his head would worsen. "Why did you bring me here anyway..."
"I know something that I'm fairly sure would interested you." He was not sure what Sephiroth was doing on his side of the table but he was not touching him in any way, which was good. Vincent was not in the mood to be touched. His claw twitched softly underneath the pressure of his head and he sighed deeply, wishing his stomach would settle down and stop causing him so much pain.
"Why did you take me HERE...?" Vincent managed to glance out from the sanctuary of his arms and his hair, but he only caught flashing glimpses of Sephiroth's trenchcoat and momentary glints of his hair. He settled back down quickly, feeling even worse. "It's loud..."
The place that Sephiroth had taken him to was a common hang-out for those at the College who had finished whatever work they had done and wanted to unwind. It was technically a deli, or at least that was what the sign outside proclaimed, but they served other food as well. It had a very homey, inviting atmosphere with warm colors, several pinball machines and a jukebox, none of which were helping Vincent's headache in the least. It was popular mainly because the establishment had long since gotten used to the college students coming and being rowdy, so it was not as frowned upon as it was in other restaurants and stores nearby.
That and the food was really good.
The two of them were situated in a booth near the corner, Vincent huddling close to the wall while Sephiroth sat across from him. Neither of them had ordered anything, and Vincent severely doubted anything would be ordered in the future. That wasn't why he had been brought here.
Vincent could not recall the trip to the deli, but he was sure there had to be one. His memory was getting foggy lately and he wasn't sure when something happened or for how long.
"Oh, that. It's a good cover in case someone would hear us. The information is confidential, you see."
"Then tell me, I want to go to sleep..." Vincent would have drifted off in the deli itself if there hadn't been so much noise. As it was he moved his arms above his head, pressing his forehead into the table, trying to block out more of the noise and soothe the burning pain.
"I know that you're sick, but I'd just like to warn you." Sephiroth paused, as if waiting for Vincent to say something, but then continued. "It's about your friend Cid."
Again he waited for a response, but he didn't get any. All of Vincent's efforts were focused into remembering what Sephiroth was saying, not vomiting, the pain in his head, and the constant sensation of spinning. He repeatedly felt the ground drop from underneath him, and despite what many would believe, he was not getting used to it.
Sephiroth continued, his voice emphasizing strange words. "It's actually not only about Cid, but about your friend Reeve as well. I have been watching them, as you may have guessed, and I know something interesting about them."
"Get a life..." Vincent mumbled darkly from underneath his arms, feeling hostile and angry now that his sickness was taking stronger hold. He did not want to deal with this at the moment and he did not have any patience for Sephiroth's double-talk.
Sephiroth either did not hear him or did not think Vincent's comment was worth a response. Instead he leaned forward, resting his head on his hands, watching Vincent with a calculatingly amused look. The manner around him made it seem as if he had practiced giving this speech, which was somewhat unnerving...at least that would explain why he hadn't responded to Vincent's comment.
"You saw them at the Talent Show." It wasn't a question, rhetorical or otherwise. "And they played that song together in a way of apologizing to you."
Vincent stared at him angrily, wishing he could find words to express his discomfort and intense desire to be anywhere else then where he was at the moment. His frustration and disgust were building steadily, but he could not find the appropriate words and eventually remained quietly in the sanctum of his enfolded arms.
"I already know that." The only words that would come. Sephiroth again, ignored him, still staring with that bizarre, almost predatory air.
"Well, where have they been lately? Have you ever wondered what happens while you're gone? What they do when it's just them..."
At this point Vincent's patience had already worn thin and he began to slide off the table, preparing himself to walk back to his dorm...somehow.
"I'm going back to sleep." He mumbled, almost positive that Sephiroth would be unable to hear him over the increasingly irritating din around him. "Stop stalking me."
"Aren't you the least bit interested?" Sephiroth slid out of his own seat, smoothly moving to Vincent's side and lifting him out of the chair, prompting the dark-haired youth to pull away from angrily and sharply. This was a mistake as Vincent immediately collapsed back into his seat afterwards, moaning and holding his head. Sephiroth again, took this in stride as he stood by where Vincent was now huddled, blocking his only exit. "Doesn't it bother you?"
Vincent was still struggling to keep from throwing up as Sephiroth continued speaking. The pain in his head had increased exponentially as he had stood and now it was, very slowly, beginning to fade. However, almost as if to compensate for the slow relief of his headache, his stomach began to churn and fight against him as well. Unable to say anything in fear of provoking his already volatile body, he only pressed his head back to the table miserably, breathing deeply.
"Doesn't it bother you..." He couldn't see him exactly, but he could tell from the strangely metallic drifting noise on the table and the increase in the volume of Sephiroth's speech that he was leaning in close towards him. "That perhaps Cid and Reeve are a bit more then friends?"
Vincent remained with his head pressed into the table, struggling to ignore Sephiroth and focus only on his body, but the seed of doubt had already taken root. More then friends...?
Sephiroth apparently sensed something in his behavior change as he continued on, his voice only getting steadily more ingratiating and manipulative. "Can you see it...? Instead of being with you, they are now with eachother. Does it surprise you? They are rather good friends, aren't they? And they have walked back with eachother many a time...what happens, Vincent? What do you think...happens?"
He had to breathe, he had to focus on the table, he had to keep his stomach under control and not give in. This could not be possible.
How on earth had he got here? How had he got here? He didn't remember walking, and now he was here, in this loud and painful place, with a stalker who told him that his best friend was cheating on him.
"Best friends don't cheat." His mind corrected him. But still...
Although normally he would have felt sad for some period at losing a friend and then moved on, now he only felt anger. A deep anger directed at Reeve for taking his friend like this. He did not even have any evidence of any transgressions or changes in Cid's behavior, but already he was worried. Only the thought had to be presented, and Vincent had taken it in completely.
What was he going to do? He liked Reeve, he knew that...he knew that, right? Reeve and Vincent were friends, Reeve wouldn't do that to him...he couldn't...not after everything they had done. There had to be something else...
It had to be nothing. Sephiroth had to be lying. He had to forget everything he said, he had to ignore this now strong jealousy within him, rising against the felinoid youth for no real true reason.
No evidence, no condemning testimony excepting Sephiroth, and already he was jealous.
Jealous? Why on earth would he be jealous?
"You see what I mean..." The voice near him again, apparently watching him close enough to sense the changes and patterns in his thought. Vincent struggled again to ignore him, to focus on anything but him and what he was saying. "I just thought I would warn you...you should be careful. After all, they may betray you in some way and I don't want that to happen."
Vincent's voice was small and tired. "I feel sick."
He could feel Sephiroth's hands around his upper arm, strong and unyielding as he drew him out of his closed ball. "I know you do. Let's go back now."
"I #$^# up, catface. I jus' #$#%ed up."
Cid was slumped across a small, short table in Reeve's room, completely smashed. At the moment he had his head resting on his arms and he was staring at the blurring figure of his friend across the table. Reeve was returning the stare, his ears backed, his legs crossed, as he had been for the last few minutes as Cid rambled on almost incoherently. It was only when he had reached his final words that Reeve finally decided to speak up.
"No you didn't. You had no idea that would happen." Reeve shrugged helplessly, not knowing what he should do. He had never had to deal with someone who was drunk and depressed before and he had no idea how to make Cid feel better.
As it was he had a good reason to feel depressed.
"We've just got to trust Vinnie to not do something stupid or anything."
That wasn't reassuring to either of them and Cid pounded a fist on the table somewhat clumsily, almost spilling a half-empty bottle near the edge. "$%&# that, #$^# that $#^#, we got to go find 'em or somethin', got to make sure he's okay..."
Reeve sighed, again feeling rather trapped and helpless in his current situation. How was he supposed to react? He didn't know what to say or what to do. He didn't know Cid that well and he especially did not know Cid drunk. His behavior was confusing and he couldn't find any patterns to follow. He was deathly afraid of saying the wrong thing, but he was even more afraid of saying nothing.
"We checked everywhere, remember? No one's seen him, no one knows where they went. If Seph can really disappear as easy as he makes it look, then they could be anywhere. There's nothing we can do-"
"#$^#!" Cid shouted abruptly, veritably punching the desk as he sat up, staring at Reeve angrily. "#&#$!"
Reeve held up his hands, desperatly trying to placate him, all the while remembering every story and every newscast or TV show that involved drunken people beating those they normally loved. He could feel the fur on his tail rising at the thought and he struggled against the feeling. Cid was his friend, he would never do something like that. He knew he wouldn't...he had to be calm, had to keep Cid calm until...
"Calm down, calm down. I'm sure Vinnie's fine. Really...he looks like he can take care of himself. He could just crunch him to death with that claw or something." Reeve made a comical face, hoping to ease the tension in the room, but Cid had already slumped back down into a depressed heap, refusing to look up. "Really, don't work yourself up over it. There's nothing we can do but trust Vin at this point."
"Mother#$^%er..." Cid mumbled under his breath. Reeve took this as an opportunity to move the half-empty bottle to one side, not wanting it to spill on his carpet. Not only would that be awkward to explain to Moog when he came back, but it would also be potentially incriminating.
He noticed as he moved it the Saltines and bottle of soda they had originally intended to give to Vincent. He was pretty sure at this point Cid had forgotten about it, so he made a mental note to deliver them later.
"Just try and relax, alright?" Reeve sighed softly, his eyes flicking to the TV in the corner. It was on, but neither of them were paying attention. He had hoped when he came in originally it would help dissipate any anger or worry remaining, but it did not work as well as he had hoped. Did not work at all, actually. "You can't focus on this all night, it'll drive you nuts."
"#$^#in..." Cid turned his head towards the television lazily, still slumped across the short table. "#$&#in' don' matter now...#$^#, I should'a been there or somethin'..."
"C'mon, there's nothin you could've done-"
Cid turned on Reeve sharply with another harsh blow to the table, startling him into silence. "Mother#$^$#, no, there HAD to be somethin' I could'a done, I'm not #$%#in' powerless, god#$^# IT!"
Reeve glanced at his tail for only a second to find that all the fur on it had risen, returning his attention back to Cid as he tried to keep his voice calm. "I didn't say that, I didn't mean it like that, honest. You've got to calm down..."
"&#####$%..." Cid let the obscenity linger for a moment before turning back towards the television. "@#@^...this IS all my fault..."
"No it isn't." Reeve mentally tried to count how many times this conversation, or a variant of it, had occured while Cid had been inebriated and found that it was too many to recall. "It'll be fine, alright? We can go check on him tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll be okay. Heck, he might even be feeling better then he was today."
Cid mumbled something incomprehensible but he did not argue with Reeve, who was thankful that the conversation had finally stopped going in circles. He brushed down some of the fur on his tail self-consciously, feeling rather embarrassed that it had gotten out of his control.
A good deal of time went by, both watching the television, before the silence was broken.
"What time is it?" The blonde youth finally asked, and Reeve jerked in surprise, not prepared for the sudden question. He forced his ears upwards, looking for the clock that was usually present.
"Um...hold on..." Reeve stood, making his way to his bed. Finding his alarm clock on the bedstand, he looked at it for a few seconds before glancing back at his friend. Cid remained in the same position he had been in for what seemed like hours, slumped across the table. "It's late...really late. You should probably go back before they lock your dorm up or something..."
"#$^#..." Cid did manage to push himself up, stumbling for a few minutes before having to lean against a wall, a hand to his head. "#$#^, shouldn't'a stood up so fast...$#$^..."
"You okay?" Reeve made his way over to him, finding Cid trying to wave him off in a very general way with his entire arm. "You shouldn't have..."
He felt awkward talking about it. Cid finally moved away from the wall, a bit clumsily and slowly, making his way across the small room with only a few stubbed toes and curses. He finally stopped at the door, leaning against it heavily before he turned towards Reeve, blinking at him for a moment.
"C'mon...I'm not goin' alone, th' #$^#in' Weapons might still be around..."
"Right." Reeve nodded, having already guessed that he would accompany him, and moved to open the door that Cid seemed to be having problems with.
Cid nearly fell out into the hallway after it was opened and Reeve was quick behind him, shutting the door and grabbing him before he could pitch over entirely. Cid reacted in an extremly loose and floppy way, recoiling sharply to Reeve's rather gentle pull and nearly knocking both of them over, before finally finding his feet and standing by himself. Reeve watched him with concern, glad that Cid had asked, albeit indirectly, for him to come.
Eventually the two made their way out, walking across the empty sidewalks of the warm night. Cid looked back and forth constantly, making no secret of searching for his missing dark-haired friend. Reeve was at his side, catching him when he threatened to fall and supporting him when Cid felt like the world was disappearing. It was an ardous and strange trip back to Cid's dorm, but in the end it was fairly uneventful, and Reeve eventually bade him farewell at his door, heading back to his own dorm with a quiet sense of unease.
Vincent had fallen asleep as soon as Sephiroth had left him back in his room, not changing as he collapsed into bed, wishing to erase the unsettling and mentally disturbing things that had happened that evening at the deli. He didn't want to think about it and sleep aided him in this, granting him dreamless rest until, in the morning, his alarm went off.
He rolled over and slammed his metallic claw against it, nearly crushing the clock as he sat upwards, putting his hand to his head for a moment as if to help remember which reality was real. His dream faded instantly and he felt no leftover bad feelings from it, so he assumed it was unimportant.
The more important thing was that he was feeling slightly better now, his stomach finally having ceased its relentless assault against the rest of his body.
Remembering that he had an art class to go to, he sleepily got dressed and looked out the window. As it had been for the past week or so, it looked fairly pleasant outside, so he decided to got with black t-shirt and jeans, with his trenchcoat as protection against the morning winds. He put his walkman in his pocket and began walking, hoping that his stomach would stay calm throughout the day and that the sickness was truly over.
He made it to his class early again and turned on the lights, wondering if perhaps this would become a morning ritual for him. He settled back into his easel in the corner, curling up on his chair and letting his trenchcoat engulf him. He did not feel completely well, weakness and a vague sense of dizziness still plaguing him, and the familiar feel of his coat made him feel safe.
Vincent coughed for a moment, feeling his throat ache in response, and he hoped that his sickness was not migrating into new territory instead of vanishing.
Eventually he dragged his sketchbook out and began drawing again, but his shaky and weak hands made it hard to draw and he felt uninspired. Everything he did draw looked strange or out of proportion, and it bothered him to such an extent that he finally put his book back in his bag, not wanting to draw something he would only hate later.
He watched with mild disinterest as the rest of his classmates slowly filed in, dropping their toolboxes and sitting at their easels with what seemed like sheer determination and focus, more then Vincent ever seemed to have in this class. He noted with annoyance that they still had the cube picture they had to work on, so he stood unsteadily, making his way to his locker with small, shuffling steps to fetch the worthless picture out of his portfolio.
He heard some people whispering around him, but not loud enough so that he could understand what they said. He naturally assumed it was about him, but he had gotten rather used to the whispers and strange looks by this point and did not consider it enough of an annoyance to do something about it.
Seeing others going to work before everyone had arrived, Vincent decided to follow the same path, not wanting to spend more time staring and working on his drawing then necessary.
He hated it already...the angles were all distorted and emphasized, and there was way too much black. He had unfortunately learned that charcoal was quite difficult to get out of paper and once something has been colored black, there was a very little chance of it ever becoming even close to white again. There were smudges all over his drawing and he did not even particularly care.
His subject matter was cubes for god's sake...how on earth could he care enough about that to find some magical way to erase the smudges? The more he stared at his picture the more he hated it, and to further this he happened to look over at some other students work.
He noted their lines were perfect, angles perfect, and they seemed bereft of the smudges that were plaguing Vincent so irritatingly. How did they do it? They weren't allowed to use rulers...Relm said that would be "more natural", although Vincent thought she had no idea what she was talking about. Not only did he feel irritated at his picture, now he also felt it was inadequate.
He was going to fail this class because he couldn't draw cubes. The thought was extremely depressing.
Well, if he was supposed to be learning something from this, he had learned he would never use charcoals again.
He left his music on while he worked at his picture half-heartedly, trying to get it to match some of the more capable students work. Because of the intensely high volume, he did not even notice when Relm stood behind him and examined his work until she tapped his shoulder.
Vincent jumped sharply at her contact, causing him to drop his charcoal stick and shatter it against the floor once again. Angry and embarrassed, he pulled the headphones from his hair and immediately leaned down to pick up the pieces, his music pulled from his hearing just long enough for him to be able to hear the snickers of the other people in his class at his frightened reaction. He coughed as he changed altitudes while Relm spoke as if she thought he was actively listening.
"Ah, Vincent...this is very promising, very promising...however, you need to learn to keep the contrast up high. There should be more white here..." She glanced towards the cubes that had been set up, studying them while Vincent pulled himself back up, stopping his walkman as he did so. "There's far too much black. Remember to use the chamois."
Vincent stared at his picture with hatred, only mentally wondering about what on earth Relm could be talking about. He HAD used his chaomois and it was all black for his efforts. Now he could not even use it on clean paper without it smudging it. Did she have some magical chamois or some method of using it that would make it work?
"It doesn't look like you're sighting either...that's why these angles are all distorted." She indicated the guilty angles. Vincent was inclined to agree with her on the distortion, although he did not see how sighting would have made a difference. "Yes...this definitly needs a lot of work. But it shows a lot of potential."
Vincent stared at the picture with disgust, waiting for her to walk away. He moved to replace his headphones, but her voice interrupted him.
"Oh yes, please don't listen to your music in class. It's disrespectful to everyone."
She walked away with that, leaving Vincent seething under the angry and agreeing stares of his fellow students.
How on earth was his music disrespectful to his other students? He wasn't teaching them and they weren't teaching him. Why on EARTH was that disrespectful?
He angrily, but quietly removed his headphones and set them to one side, staring at his picture with even more hate now that he did not have his music to alter his perception. He began working on it angrily, struggling to erase another smudge of black that had somehow appeared while he wasn't watching.
God, he hated this class.
To Be Continued...