. . . Chorophobia . . .

Twelfth Stanza: Cid Highwind

Our noses rub,
each of us pats a stringy lock of hair-
they tell me nothing's gone.
Though I am forty-one,
not forty now, the time I put away
was child's play.

- Robert Lowell Home After Three Months Away

Blue skies. The only thing that Cid Highwind noticed about the Springtime. Wide open blue skies that begged for him to join them. The little whisps of clouds that betrayed which way the wind was blowing...

...But that was all contemplative poetic shit, really. All the clouds really did was remind him that he needed another smoke.

He liked music, that was certain. But he absolutely hated poetry. Something that people who couldn't do a decent day's work in their lives created to lord over the simple people. It was all snobbery and high class flattery.

"Uncle Cid!" Marlene shouted again, standing on her tiptoes, "Why do you always stare at the sky like that?" That child had a question for everything. It was all "why this?" "what are you doing that?"... it would have been annoying if she wasn't so damned genuine about it. She really did want to know.

"'Cause that's where I belong 'lil lady," he replied, for once avoiding the grumbling, "Imma ole bird." She looked at him like he was joking and giggled.

"A bird!" she replied incredulously, "Like a chocobo!" He frowned at that. She was getting too smart for her own good, she was. Comparing him to those stupid ill-tempered excuses for poultry...

"No, the weird old flying kind," Shera answered before he could open his mouth. He would've scowlded at her too, if it weren't for the smile on her face.

Damn... she doesn't really know how beautiful she is, does she?

So it was mushy and careless of him. It was his wife after all; he had the right now to stare at her and think whatever naughty or lovey dovey thoughts that came to mind. Because she had decided to put up with him, even beyond guilt. The guilt had given her a place...

...swallowing his own pride had given her a home.

Soon enough, Marlene was flitting off. Like a butterfly. He couldn't help but equate things with flying creatures; it takes one to know one. Though, there were a few exceptions.

Like Valentine. Shera seemed to understand him better; practically doted on him. Funny sight too. But something in the way he gave her that odd creepy smirk of his at least showed he appreciated it. He had better too; or old Highwind would have words with him.

"Dear, what's going on in that half-addled brain of yours?" Shera said, the humor creasing in the lines of her face. She was so much younger than him, but had seemed to age at about the same rate. At least, in the ways he noticed.

"Nuthin'" he replied and when she raised an eyebrow, "Well... just thinkin' 'bout Vince. The weirdo. Where is he anways?" Shera pointed him in the right direction; she always seemed to have better tabs on what was happening around them. He lead; she backed him up. The perfect pilot and engineering team.

Not that he'd ever tell her that. If she was half as clever as he knew she was; she'd have figured it out for herself.

He saw that Turk first. The quiet one. Shaking Cloud's hand, for some odd reason. And Cloud didn't seem to know the reason either, judging by his puzzled expression. But Cid didn't really care what was going on there. No harm being done, right?

And judging by the proximity to which Vincent was standing, if there was any harm, it would be taken care of quickly. And with Tifa around, that sentiment was doubled.

Eh, right... unless good ole Vinnie's distracted...

He chuckled to himself. So what if Shera and he had been working on those two for a while? It wasn't "out of character" for him to blow things slightly out of proportion and tease... they didn't suspect a thing. Frankly, they both needed a little distraction. Especially when Tifa had called him up that night, asking for a place to stay...

...and a week later, the call from Vincent. Odd thing, how it works out like that.

Shera, the sassy money hoarder she was, owned, and still owns the house those two live in. In fact, she rents out several houses turned apartments. He'd wondered how she'd always come up with the parts he needed all those years... sneaky woman.

"You still worried about him?" Shera asked, the edge of her voice always tipped upwards like a laugh. She really seemed happy now. Maybe he should've done this years ago. But then, the sex probably wouldn't be as good.

He had to keep his prioreties straight.

"Heh, he's a piece o' work, that one," he replied, grinning, "But I think we got the ball rollin'." They couldn't help the evil grins... when they were in on something, they naturally assumed the roles of minor villains. In the grand scheme of things, they were minor characters... people like Cloud and Tifa and Vincent and maybe even Reeve deserved the leading roles. They just naturally fit into patterns of focus.

Being minor characters, though, meant a few sneaky liberties. Like seriously messing with the main characters' lives.

"I think he would shoot you if he knew you set him up like that," she murmured, eyes glittering and catlike. He chuckled. She was wise and knowing for such a knobby-kneed scrawny and positively lovely woman.

But he knew that somewhere it that nightmare infested brain of his, Vincent already figured out that he was up to something. The fact that he hadn't come into his house in the middle of the night with a gun and a 100 kilowatt lamp and his Turk interrogation handbook was at least some hope.

The Turk walked by, with Reeve chattering some mangled nonsense. Maybe amends had been made. Maybe Reeve was doing some damage control. Cid really didn't give a shit. Nothing was blowing up.

"Reno! That's disgusting!"

Well, maybe not yet.

"I didn't mean it like that, Spunk! Well...unless..."

A slap resounded through the air. Two seconds later, Cid and Shera had to hold their sides to keep them from splitting from the force of their laughter.

"50 gil!" Cid gasped out, "One week!" Shera's eyes were tearing, but she shook her head.

"50 gil...two weeks!" she replied, hiccuping.

So what if they were betting on those two? The ninja was about as reliable as a jet engine strapped to lawn chair. Not that he'd ever tried anything like that... And the redhead? Did anyone not see the inevitable trouble just oozing from him?

Besides, he needed to get back some of the gil he'd lost to Tifa in a drinking contest a week ago. Better than telling his wife where the money went anyway.

And seeing her so serene right now... he didn't feel like making her angry. He'd have more fun with that later, for certain. For now, he'd have to keep her distracted. Luckily, the oppurtunity presented itself.

"Barret! Hey, c'mon over 'ere!" he shouted at the man as he made his loop around the outside of the party. The big man came over, with a friendly grin. As he came closer, he noticed an extra accessory hanging from his left arm.

Is that lady Aeris's mom?

He'd only seen her on a couple of occasions, never having been formally introduced. Not that he cared for formal introductions... but he liked to know at least a little about the people he ran into here and there. Common sense, or something like it.

So, he jumped up shook her hand, like any natural clod would do.

"Cid Highwind, ma'am," he said, and gave a quick nod over to Shera, "Mrs. Highwind." Elmyra smiled at the both of them.

"That's Shera Highwind," his forever contrary wife spoke up, elicting a short giggle from the older woman. He knew what he was doing. Half expected her to use the hyphenated form of her name. Maybe he had a greater hold on her than he thought...

"Though I don't quite know why I gave up my name for this burned out old man."

...or not.

Barret and Elmyra slid right into the banter. Sure, the lady was a bit quiet, but she seemed a little comfortable around Shera at least. Especially when Wright came running up and sat on his mother's lap.

It was weird, seeing his family like that. Shera, and Wright... and some of the older set from perhaps the single most delirious experience from his life, sitting around and bullshitting like his younger days. It was always for this type to reminisce. Kinda like war veterans, but somehow both more noble and more haunting than that.

The sky. He was staring at it again. Damn, he had everything now, didn't he?

If only he could wrap it all up in paper and smoke it. Maybe then he'd be willing to let himself slide back into the Lifestream. But that was poetic bullshit.

He still had a daughter to bring into the world.

AN: Let this be said. I adore Cid! Hopefully my interpretation of him is enjoyable! Thanks for the love!