Author's Note: Random piece of poetry-inspired stuff, the title of which holds no connection to the contents whatsoever, but can be traced back to the fact it's a Nirvana B-side I've recently become infatuated with. The poem I've used belongs to a semi-friend of mine, though I've made a few changes to the thing. All I know him by is Nathan, and I really wish I could track the kid down again, because he's one of the best slammers I've seen. Also partly inspired by Scarr C.'s A Divorce and JessAngel's Café Noir. Easily two of the best pieces of fanfiction in existence; go read them immediately. ( This stuff signifies the poem. )
MARIGOLD
When someone wants to "drown their sorrows," they go to a dingy bar with endless taps and a bartender who, at least once, will tell them they've had enough. One didn't drown their sorrows at a coffee shop on Open Mic Night, over poetry by women who turned feminist after their husbands left them and men with multiple lovers to make up for the fact their ex-wives turned butch after they divorced. Reno's sorrows weren't being drowned. They were being exploited.
Yuffie Kisaragi sat across from him by way of a freak accident. The Grounds, downtown Junon's most popular coffee shop, was overflowing with flourishing poets and a capella singers all waiting anxiously for their turn on the stage. Reno had been left their by Rude, called to an emergency mission right in the middle of their restaraunt-hopping night, and the ninja had dropped into the vacated seat shortly thereafter. "They're doubling-up," were the first words between the two since they'd tried to kill each other a year back.
Staring down into a cappuccino, he supposed she could have done worse.
She held a latté and was impatiently awaiting a cinnamon bun and the next poet. Yuffie had gotten into the Open Mic scene a few months back, and had even gone so far as to perform some of her own a few times here at The Grounds. Tonight, her friend from Wutai was going to finally give it a try. She'd promised to be there, but the Turk was unexpected.
"So how's life been treating you?" she asked, left leg crossed over her right and her foot bobbing mechanically. The Wutain straightened up, looked for a barista who might be bringing her sticky delight, and found none.
He shrugged, stirring his drink with a toothpick he'd gotten at the bar-b-que pit he and Rude had just come from. He sucked the cappuccino out of the stick before saying, "All downhill since Rufus died. Broke my foot jumping out of the way of a truck just as the job was slowing down, so I lost pay, which nearly had me homeless for six months. Rude, he lost a hand in an accident with some chemicals in a lab we shot up. And hell, don't even get me started on Laney."
The cinnamon roll had arrived by now,and she was picking it apart and eating it in small, sugary pieces. "Why, what happened to her?"
Reno was quiet for a long moment, and Yuffie knew what he was going to say. "Dead," he muttered finally. "Unfortunately. Remember that truck that almost tagged me?" She nodded and he cleared his throat. "Not everybody can jump as fast as I can. It turns out they were some no-name terrorist group from the slums -- pretty fuckin' familiar, huh? They got her and never did anything else." He popped a knuckle nervously. "I guess the fact Rude actually hauled himself onto their hood while they were going fifty scared 'em shitless."
She chewed thoughtfully, knowing she wouldn't be able to enjoy the night's events if they talked about this for much longer. She gave him a grin that would have melted ice and said, "But they're gone and you've got your health now, so cheer up and enjoy the poetry."
Someone somewhere must have been listening, because the café erupted into applause for a few seconds and quieted as the next took his place at the mic. He was the example of how not to look if you're reading poetry: yellow-rimmed sunglasses, a speed-metal band T-shirt, jeans that looked like they'd seen the war, and he looked nervous as hell. "The Stoner Hall is down the street!" someone screamed, and the poet fidgeted with the mic stand.
Reno scoffed, finally looking up. "Looks like a fuckin' burnout, doesn't he?"
Yuffie chewed her lip. Hopefully Burman's poem would make up for his lame fashion sense. She hadn't been able to persuade him into letting her hear it beforehand, so she wasn't quite sure what condition his pride would leave this place in.
Burman coughed slightly, adjusting the mic one last time before leaning in close to it. "Umm. . .obviously, I've never been here before." He licked his lips and a few laughs made themselves known around the coffee shop. "My name's Burman, and I came all the way from Wutai just to do this." Someone called out that he was wasting a perfectly good Saturday night and he chuckled. "I'll be gone soon, don't worry. This's called Midgarian Illusions."
The Turk sat back in his chair, preparing for the worst. The coffee was good, but some of these people were ridiculous. 'If he sucks as bad as he looks, I'm leaving.'
( Whenever people take a picture of me, )
( I smile. )
( This is a trend found anywhere from poverty-wrecked Corel to )
( Midgar. )
Yuffie turned back to Reno to gauge his reaction and found herself being watched. Certainly the redhead knew this was the guy she had been waiting for and just wanted to see what his biggest fan thought of it. In actuality, it was too early to be able to tell anything about it yet, but at least he wasn't slathering the metaphors like syrup on waffles. She smirked, shrugged, popped in another bite of cinnamon roll, and turned around.
She found herself being watched again, this time by Burman.
( She may )
( Be biting her bottom lip, trying to forget that her next meal may not come. )
( But )
( I don't know if it's the lens or the flash, )
( But everytime she sees it her face is transformed into a smile that )
( Radiates thousands of miles onto my bedroom wall. )
( As soon as the lens starts to focus on her, )
( She smiles. )
Burman licked his lips.
Reno stirred his drink some more, half-listening to what was going on on the stage. The mention of his current state had killed any good mood he might have been in, what with the fact his best friend was off getting shot at and could only half-defend himself and the fact his other best friends were no more. He looked around at all the people who had suddenly found Burman more interesting than before and felt horribly out of place; not just here, but in his very own life.
( And for the first time, she looks hot. )
( But this is the problem with Midgarianized beauty. )
( Everyone wants a girl with no problems. )
( But, )
( Just as you can't eliminate friction completely, )
( You can't walk through the journey of life without at least one issue. )
The princess of Wutai was transfixed. If someone had been coming up behind her with a knife, she would have had no idea, even with all the ninja training. She knew there was some deeper meaning to this poem, but even at face value, it had captured them all. She stopped caring about Reno's reaction for a moment and bathed in the fact she knew the poet.
( So just like her counterfeit smile, )
( My attraction was fabricated through lies I watched on TV and in movies. )
( But these untrue gestures are suffocating us. )
( By not allowing us to show the truth, )
( We are forced to deal with the pain alone. )
( And now, )
( We are like the majority of choking victims )
( Who are found dead )
( In the bathroom. )
Reno watched the back of her head as she turned toward him, an awed look on her face until she noticed how little this was getting to him. She finished off her cinnamon roll, wiped her hands with a napkin, and leaned toward him, close to the table. "Why can't you lighten up and enjoy this kind of thing for a second?" she whispered, expressing turning to one of irritation. "Do you think you're too good for this type of thing?"
"I'm not in the mood," he replied shortly, sipping a bit of his drink.
( But, whenever people take a picture of me, )
( I smile. )
( I see so many people drown in what we see as the raging waters of indifference, )
( But in reality, )
( It's those placid waters of ignorance that claim the most lives. )
( Whenever people start to cry, )
( They're judged as weak. )
( But when I see a tear shed, I marvel at their strength. )
( Because, for the first time, they're being honest. )
( No matter how we judge their pain, )
( They are saying that it hurts. )
She growled, seriously irritated now. Maybe she'd gotten a bit too far into poetry and how much emotion and work was behind a piece, or maybe she was just trying to protect her friend's work, but the fact Reno was blowing this off like a day at the races was grating violently on her nerves. Any more of this and she might have to knock some sense into the redhead. She turned back around with a smile, worried when she saw Burman had been watching her.
( But the last time I cried )
( Was in sixth grade. )
( It took a death of a friend to bring tears to these eyes, )
( But it takes a lot less to bring me pain. )
( Our culture believes in the philosophy that looks and emotions are intertwined, )
( But just like when you put a boquet of flowers over the stain on the tablecloth when the guests come over, )
( Whenever people take a picture of me, )
( I smile. )
The ninja glanced over her shoulder and saw the same bored, sorrowful expression on her table companion's face. Suddenly she felt something let go inside of her. "I'm not gonna sit here and miss this to bitch at you, Reno. If you wanna wallow in your depression, you go right ahead, but know that you're never going to move on if you don't fucking try. I've been there, trust me."
Reno lurched forward onto the table. "You have no idea what it is to be in my position!" he hissed.
( Throwing a homegrown lie over the pain I feel, so when the guests get to see inside, )
( I can give them the illusion of )
( Perfection. )
( But this is because so much of what Midgar is, is based on sight, and blind first impressions. )
( Why every white gangster is a wannabe black, and every black businessman is a wannabe white, )
( But these half-seconds judgements destroy the efforts of millions who are trying to take a stand. )
"Sure I do, Reno! I lost people, you know that; hell, you've probably been behind one or two of my friends' deaths!" Yuffie's hand hit the table so hard that a few people broke from their daze to cough at her. She apologized silently and glared daggers across the table. "But I've moved on and forgiven you. Don't cry over spilled milk, when life gives you lemons, all that shit. So you tell me just one reason you can't pick up and move on right now, 'cause if you can't, I've been there and I can."
( People who are saying there is more to a person than their appearance, )
( That if you look inside their soul, there is an unending expanse )
( Of love, )
( Life, )
( And meaning. )
( But then why do we hide our true selves? )
( Hiding our emotions between fake laughs and smiles. )
( Calling it individuality when we change our hairstyles. )
"You're standing in a house. You've been told to kill everyone inside, otherwise they're going to kill you. You're faced with a mother and her two infant children. Tell me, Yuffie, which one do you shoot first in order to sleep a little bit better at night than if you'd shot another?" He sat back and gave her some space to think up her answer.
Somewhere in that ramble, Yuffie's veins had turned to ice. "Reno," she whispered, much more quietly than before. "Reno. . .how could I do that? That's. . .that's horrible. . ." Tears welled in her eyes at the very thought, and suddenly she was furious, turning around to enjoy the rest of the performance. He had to be lying; he was just thinking up the worst thing he could to win the argument. She wasn't going to rise to the bait.
( I say )
( We put an end to all these counterfeit smiles, )
( And if we do that, )
( We end all those deceptive still memories )
( Compelling us to forget the truth in exchange for an illusion of perfection. )
Reno smiled, but there was no happiness in it. He stood up quietly, taking his coat in one hand and the bill in the other, slightly wrapped around his half-finished beverage. He saluted her weakly, and crept across the café like a trained assassin should. She couldn't understand; that was one thing he could definitely move on from and forgive. No one could understand unless they'd been faced with a situation like that.
He'd had to; it was part of being accepted into the lifestyle.
He'd killed his wife first.
( So )
( I'm )
( Going )
( To )
( Stop, )
( Because I'm sick of living life as a lie. )
( So next time people take a picture of me, )
( I'm gonna cry. )
Even as the entire audience in The Grounds stood up, he was slipping out the door into the night on a swagger. He was aiming for the bar.
Sorrows sink like rocks in brandy.