The Genesis of The Beginning part 5 of 7
PG-13 for :: Insane!Vincent, Drunk!Cloud (Why? Who knows.)
Notes: And now, Vincent begins the decent into Insanity. w00t! I am veddy sorry, but I got a Wacom Tablet for Christmas, and I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm an artist, not a writer (Actually, I'm both, I just emote better with art). However, I'll try to make up for lsot time. Sorry to everyone I lied to and said that my chapter would be out sooner. TT.TT
.:.:. It's all fun and games until some divine creature strikes you down with a bolt of lightning. .:.:.
He awakens this morning with a vague feeling of peace. His feelings yesterday of guilt and bitterness had faded with strange dreams, though He's not sure why. He didn't really feel like climbing up out of his warm bed, for he is content and warm and did not feel alone . . .
BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-CRASH!
He jolts out of bed on the first hint of someone out there, but the loud noise has startled him enough that all he accomplishes in doing is falling out of bed tangled in the sheets; he really needs to get back into Turk-trained condition unless he plans to die soon. He felt naked even though he's wearing pants, the possibility of danger making his skin prickle. He hears the door shut -- almost a slam-- and a few stumbling steps. He peeks over the bed to see -
"Cloud?"
Cloud's bright blue eyes are glowing much more than usual, illuminating his face in a soft blue light. They search Vincent out, and only find him when he stands. Cloud stumbles closer and it is then that Vincent finally smells the alcohol heavy on the blond. He flops onto the bed, but stays on the right side. Vincent pauses on this, bemused, but then untangles the sheets from himself, and threw it on the foot of the bed.
"Sorry 'bout the door." Cloud slurs. "An' wakin' you up."
"I was awake." he replies and sits on the edge of the bed, studying the window."Why have you been drinking?"
What is your sorrow, Cloud Strife?
He discards the memory.
"Don' 'member." Cloud mutters, flinging an arm across his eyes. "Can I sleep here?"
As tempting as it is ... "Don't you have a room?" Vincent asks as he turns to look at the intoxicated man on his bed.
Cloud's nose wrinkles as he rolls over to stare up at him. "Don' like it. Feels empty . . . Can I stay?"
"Of course." Vincent answers with a sigh and resigns himself to sitting on the edge of the bed all night staring at the window. Cloud grins strangely at him, and Vincent lets his eyes linger for as long as he feel is safe, but turns quickly when an answering smile begins to tug at his lips.
"Don'."
He blinks and turns back to the source of the request. Cloud's nearly blinding eyes were fixed on him, but his eyes were much more attracted to the movement below his chin. One finger on his right hand is idly alternating between tapping the bed and conducting an erratic song to an invisible and mute orchestra.
"Don't what?" he asks, finally responding.
"Don't hide."
He could only blink. Could Cloud see things so easily? He thought drunks were supposed to be even more oblivious than normal. "Why do you think He's hiding?" he asks, trying to throw him off track.
"Your eyes, as always . . ." he mutters, but Vincent thinks he's starting to drift.
"Windows to the soul." he said softly, recalling the saying. "Then where are my drapes?"
"That's what I see . . ." he answers, and the room falls silent.
"And if . . ." Vincent starts, thinking out loud since the only other occupant is drunk and sleeping besides. "And if I hide from you . . . peering pass those drapes . . . does that mean you can see in?"
Such inane, senseless questions, but questions that plague him into darkness. "Do I trust you to see me peering out ...?"
Vaguely aware of someone tugging insistently at his arm.
"Wha...?"
"Can I trust you?"
"Depends ..."
"On what?"
He sighs, shifting, wanting to go back to sleep. "What the trust is about."
"How about the journey?"
"Yes."
"My life?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"Go to sleep." He answers, and drifts.
Vincent awakes as soon as the sun hits his face, growling lowly and turning from the windows. It is then that he notices that he's chilled. He gropes blindly for the sheets, but fails to find them. At last, he become frustrated enough to search them out by sight, so he sits up and glares around the room.
"What?" he demands in surprise, noting them halfway to the door and appearing to be alive judging by the steady rise and fall. He pauses to think before he does anything rash such as actually fire the gun that has appeared in his hand. Ah, that must be Cloud, judging from the spike of chocobo-yellow hair that suddenly appeared as the pile of cloth moves. He sure didn't make it far before giving up. Vincent knows Cloud will have a hangover, so he stands and draws the curtains on the windows closed.
He eyes the pile of Cloud and covers at his feet for a while before deciding that Cloud will appreciate being on a bed instead of the floor. He scoops both up and carry them to the bed. Cloud's just a little heavier than he seems, because even if he seems frail and thin, he developed quiet a bit of muscle carrying that buster blade around. After a few moment of scrounging around and arranging, he has Cloud cleanly and smoothly covered, a bucket for him to throw up in should he need to do so and a damp washcloth on his forehead, a dish of water and a pitcher of drinking water on the nightstand.
He exits the room in search of food and a shower. Once bathed and fed, he hunts down an apple and heads back to his room. As he opens the door, the sound of the infamous technicolor yawn greets him, and he grimaces. He makes his way over to Cloud; the blond looks absolutely wretched, paler than usual and half-dead. He sets a chair down near the bed and sits down, his movement as quiet as possible to avoid making much noise. Cloud looks at him with pained and dull eyes.
"Good morning." Vincent says, lucky that his voice has always been soft and smooth, thus causing Cloud's pounding head no pain. He picks up the deserted cloth from the pillow near Cloud's ear, using it to clean the blond's face. He discards it himself and pull a new one out of the drawer.
"Sorry." Cloud whispers. Vincent shakes his head slightly.
"You are fine." he say. "Just suffering from a misjudgment in liquid measurements."
"How'd you get in my room?"
One eyebrow arches. Cloud doesn't remember? Typical. "Questions later. Rest." Vincent demands, crossing his arms; this action is always so uncomfortable now since one of his arms wasn't the right size or shape for such actions. Cloud smirks at him, eyes half-closed, and passes out. Vincent glares at him a moment further before sighing and folding in on himself, the dry washcloth dangling from his fingertips. Cloud still looks as though he might still be a little feverish, and so he dips the washcloth in the water and fold it neatly before laying back across Cloud's forehead. He sets the apple on the nightstand and sits back.
Even in his drunken sleep, Cloud looked strong, capable, controlled. his face is full of angular planes; the line of his jaw and chin, the strong unbroken line of his nose, and the faint lines of his cheekbones somehow lent him a surrealistic appearance that is just encouraged by his glowing eyes that failed to be open at this moment. According to Tifa, Cloud's hair didn't used to be quiet as spikey, though she did confirm that Cloud's hair had never exactly been normal either. Genetics emphasized by the makou was the settled upon explanation.
Vincent shifts slightly, slumping further down into his chair. His mind kept circling back to the fact that he had failed to chose a girl, and the man he chose is no feminine man. By some accounts, he would be considered more masculine than Vincent. This though invokes an annoyed if soft growl; he was never mistaken as a girl before and he doesn't plan on becoming effeminate now, either. Yet the fact remained that Cloud Strife is the one he has chosen to lo-
Cowardice sets in again. He can't even bring himself to say it. His claw clenches in his lap, scrapping against itself. He is lucky he has no flesh there or it would have been shredded. It hurt him that he is a coward. He is trying to stop, but it is very hard, a tough fight. As a matter of fact, right now he wants to flee, but he can not; that would only encourage the cowardice, right?
He uses one slightly elongated canine to bite through his own tongue and hisses softly as blood floods his mouth. Self destruction . . . he should stop this also. He pauses for a second, thinking as he sucks the blood from the wound. Maybe cowardice is not the main problem. A growing feeling of alarm spreads through him as this thought grows. Maybe cowardice is only a small bit of the problem . . . a manifestation of a bigger, more important problem.
Cowardice is self-defeating . . . self-destruction.
He tries to stop cowardice, and he rends and tears his own flesh.
His problem isn't cowardice . . . It is self-destruction!
Cowardice is self-destruction, mutilation is self-destruction. This choosing of people to love that he couldn't have is self-destruction. His face flushes red with realization, fear and anger swirling through me. He has to stop this, has to stop practicing these things . . . has to stop lo- . . . caring for Cloud. Has to- has to - . . . so much work involved in stopping this vicious circle. Besides, something worked at him. He wants to stop this self-destruction, but for some reason, he resists accepting that he had to stop his feelings for Cloud. He looks down at hungover blond in his bed, feeling his emotions rebel (He dares not say 'heart'). Yet confusion fills him; is this a true feeling, or merely himself begging for more punishment -- more pain -- more destruction of self -- more masochistic matyring -- more, more, moremoremore?
Cloud frowns slightly and turns in his sleep, and without thought, Vincent's hand reaches out for his face to reassure him. Half-way there, he stutters the movement, his face paling dramatically, and reaches instead for the washcloth. He dips it into the bowl and wrings out the extra water. He turns back to Cloud and lays it on his neck.
He somehow manage to feel emotionally detached even though his action seem caring. He stands and walks to the window, cracking the curtains open slightly to peer outside. The sun has yet to rise too high in the sky, and most of the town is still asleep. He hear stirring on the bed and turn to see Cloud sitting up. His eyes are back to normal, though he still seems a little sore. Vincent knew almost instinctively that in a few moments, Cloud would be as if he'd never gotten drunk -- the SOLDIER training would be sure to fix any handicaps.
"There is a shower down the hall." Vincent says. Cloud jumps slightly and winces.
"Vincent?"
"Yes."
Cloud looks around. "Wait . . . This isn't my room . . . What am I doing in your room?"
He's completely bewildered; Vincent decides that the look doesn't quite fit on Cloud's face because it makes him look far too young . . . maybe fifteen. He dislikes Cloud looking young because Vincent knows it isn't true. It is a temporary lie that he could recognize so easily. He remembered too easily the old look in those eyes, the tired dullness.
"You were drunk."
"..." Cloud is silent, and Vincent is quick to see the red rising in his face.
"You didn't make a fool of yourself." He says in answer to an unasked question. Cloud looks confused for a moment, but then turns to climb gingerly out of the bed.
"What do you want to do today?" he asks as he meanders from the room. Vincent took this as a sign to follow.
"Do?" He asks, hoping for further explanation.
Cloud glances over his shoulder at the man as he enters his room. "Yeah. There isn't anything to do for the group, and we must rest up, right?"
"Of course.".
"Then what shall we do?"
Vincent blinks. His eyes idly follow Cloud around the room, but he ponders this question. "What is there to do in this village?"
"Not much." Cloud mutters as he finds the searched for towel. He throws it over his shoulder along with the change of clothing he had picked. "Why don't you think about it while I shower?"
Vincent doesn't answer, just watching as Cloud walked out the door. The truth is, he does not want to stop caring for Cloud. He knows he has no lacking of people who cared about Cloud, but there is something about the situation that told him that the blond is holding back from them . . . though why? He blinks as he realizes that he's somehow disappeared into the shadows of the common room. The sharp clean smell of soap strikes Vincent before he sees Cloud descending the stairs. He is clean, hair damp, clean clothes a bright blue. He blinks those mako-scorched eyes, looking around the room, but before he finds Vincent, Aeris runs forward, grabbing his arm.
"Cloud! Lets go walking!" she bubbles, and he only scratches his head as she drags him off, making no effort to escape.
A sharp pain lances Vincent, bitterness welling in his throat, a bad taste in his mouth. Resentment swells and he feels short of murderous.
He savors these sensations.
.:.:.TBC.:.:.
Out takes:
Drapes
"Windows to the soul." he says softly, recalling the saying. "Then where are my drapes?"
Justi: ... n.n I burned my drapes . . . Oooooh! Pretty fire!
Trust
Vincent sighs, shifting, wanting to go back to sleep. "What the trust is about."
"How about the journey?"
"Yes."
"My life?"
"Fuck no, asshole." Vincent says, sits up, and shoots him in the head. "That's what you get when you don't let me sleep."
Justi: ... (sigh)
Wake up
He awake as soon as the sun hits my face, growling lowly and turning from the windows. It is then that He notice that He's chilled. He grope blindly for the sheets, and find a warm body instead. He sit up and blink.
"Wow, you sure now how to wake up a guy." Cloud said, blinking at my hand.
" ... we're not going there ... "
"Darn!"
Justi: ... ... ... ... I'm a pervert!
Sheets
He pause to think before He do anything rash such as actually fire the gun that had appeared in my hands.
... Wait, no, screw it! If He pause, They might get me! NOOO! (shoots at sheets)
Cloud: X.x (tumbles out of the sheets, remarkably unharmed)
Vincent: ... (blink) .... (blink) ... Baka. (shoots Cloud)
Emme: -.- ... you are in lurv with him, you dork.
Vincent: ... (blink) ... ... ... NOOOO! WHAT HAVE I DONE?! (mope-mope angst-angst)
Justi: Aw ... dat so sad ... (uses psychedelic author powers to bring Cloud back)
Vincent: ...
Cloud: O.O
Vincent: ... .... ... ... (shoots Cloud) NOOOOO! WHY DID YOU DIE?! (angst-angst
Justi: ... baka ...
Meep! (yes, Justi is I!) Well, these out-takes were actually written a while ago, which may explain why they may/may-not sound different than the others.
Ugh. I never knew how hard it would be to write in present tense (dies). For any wondering why Cloud seemed to be asking Vincent out on a date -- he wasn't. I don't know why it came out that way. As I said before, now Vincent really kinda loses his grip on reality. He has a shaky hold at best at this moment, but ... well --- I can't wait to post the next chapter, if that gives you an idea! Also, no I do not hate Aeris. I just used her to move the plot along because I can.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed and told me to lighten up. I really needed that, and needed to get a grip on myself (cuz we all hate it when authors start bitching about their stuff). Thank you!
I thought I might offer some useful links. I use these to help with my proof-reading (though this is NOT a substitute for proof-reading!!!) because editing and proofreading are so draining for me. One or the other is great, but when you use them in tandem, it works terrifically.
spellcheck;net
m-w;com
Both addresses run with the www attachment, so don't forget that, and they also have a dot instead of a semi-colon. ALSO! when using spellcheck, you can only successfully apply changes to things less than 1000 words. Otherwise, it says its finished and swallows your text.
Please leave a rant after the snide remark!
And may I say you're looking lovely today!