Conversations with Lorelei
Author's note: Wow...people actually reviewed. I'm amazed. My deepest thanks to all that did so; if you hadn't, I likely wouldn't have written this chapter.
That said, this chapter is where things start to get very, very angsty, and Vincent starts telling the stories of how his old friends died. This chapter focuses on the death of Tifa, so if you can't take that, I suggest you don't read this. I mean no offense to any character I kill off; that's just the way the story goes.
Once again, I do not own Final Fantasy VII, and am making no money writing this, so please refrain from suing me. It really wouldn't be worth the trouble.
***
Circle Unbroken
Lorelei awoke to the sound of something pounding on wood, and did not even bother changing out of her flannel pajamas as she sprang from her bed and rushed downstairs, peeking out the front window.
The man who stood on the front porch, impatiently rapping on the door, was undoubtedly the largest the young girl had ever seen. He was easily seven feet tall, and rather overweight; enough so that the buttons of his blue shirt seemed stressed to the point where they might break any second. He wore thick glasses with tarnished silver frames, and his salt-and-pepper hair was noticeably thinning. Lorelei had seen him many times before, but was still startled by the sight of him.
"Lorelei Amanda Calldrick, I know you're in there!" he bellowed in a voice so deep the girl thought she could feel the entire house vibrate, "I saw you stealing a glance out the window like a little blonde prairie dog. Now open this door at once!"
She could only swallow hard and obey, far too intimidated to risk ignoring the man.
"Yes, Mr. Danvers?" she asked, a bit shakily.
"You just got up?" he inquired, seeming to examine her attire with a sour look, "The youngsters in this town get lazier every day!"
"Maybe I was up late cleaning my room," she shrugged, knowing full well that, given her reputation for sloppiness, he would never believe the lie.
"Don't get smart with me, missy!" Danvers roared, shaking a huge, pudgy finger at her, "That always was your problem: no respect for others!"
"I'm very sorry, Postmaster Danvers, Sir," she said in a tone far too polite to be sincere, "But Ian is sick, and I've been up all night taking care of him. I got to bed just half an hour ago, and rushed down so my poor brother wouldn't be bothered by the racket of your knocking."
"You're lying again, girl," he said flatly, narrowing his stormy-gray eyes, "Your brother isn't at home."
"Maybe he went to a doctor."
Danvers growled a few inaudible things under his breath, and took an envelope from the bag that hung at his side.
Lorelei's eyes widened as she looked at the return address; its first line read "New Hill Family Services".
"Return to sender!" she shouted, slamming the door in the postmaster's face, bolting it, and stuffing a rug underneath it to keep him from sliding the envelope under the door.
She hurried about the house, then, pulling all the drapes closed, and turning off all of the lights she had left on the night before. She huddled in a corner of the darkened living room, hugging her knees, and fighting back tears.
She could remember all too well the last envelope that had come from New Hill Family Services. It had been delivered shortly after her mother's death, and had stated that her father had been located, and wished to regain custody of his children. For the first time in her young life, Lorelei had seen her brother Ian look frightened, and had heard him swear, as he tore the letter into pieces and threw them on the fire. Something about their father obviously unnerved Ian, and Lorelei was not about to accept another letter from New Hill.
It was a long while before the sound of Danvers shouting and pounding on the door subsided. Even then, Lorelei moved as quietly and cautiously as she could, as though she feared that he would return if she made the slightest sound.
'He'll be back, though,' she thought with more than a bit of dismay, 'Maybe he'll even bring a locksmith, or something...I have to get out of here, but where could I-'
The girl smiled, ever-so-slightly, as the answer to her question came to mind. She put on a pot of coffee to brew while she dressed, and made a brief attempt at taming the tangled mass of her blonde hair into a ponytail.
She filled her thermos with coffee, but, as she began to reach for her coat, she hesitated a moment.
'I guess the mansion is pretty dangerous,' she thought, 'Especially if Vincent isn't anywhere where he can hear me...'
She opened one of the kitchen drawers, pushing its contents to the back, and lifting out the false bottom. For several moments, she could only stare at the black-handled switchblade that had been hidden there. It belonged to Ian, and Lorelei was actually not supposed to be aware the weapon even existed.
Biting her lip and swallowing hard to steel herself, Lorelei took the knife, and put it in her right pocket. She pulled on her coat, and left the house at a sprint, making every bit of speed she could toward the old mansion.
Ian would just have to understand.
***
The moment the mansion came into view, Lorelei seemed to lose track of the rest of the world. She didn't notice Renate Terrings jeering at her once more, nor did she hear Postmaster Danvers calling out after her. All she could do was run for the old iron gate, shoulder it open, and race on to the door. It would almost certainly be dangerous inside, but at least nothing would dare to follow her inside.
She actually breathed a sigh of relief, as she closed the door behind her, leaning against the doorframe to catch her breath. She slipped a hand into her pocket, checking to see that the blade was still there. She jumped in surprise when she heard a gunshot, and caught the flash of the bullet out of the corner of her eye, as it blasted through one of the mansion's ancient walls.
"I should think, Miss Calldrick, that even your deceased mother should be able to control you well enough to keep you from coming here a second time," said a smooth, cold voice.
"What gives, Vincent?!" Lorelei demanded, still shaking a bit as she looked to the bullet hole less than an inch from her head, "You could've killed me!"
"Yes... I certainly could have," he told her emotionlessly, "Particularly since I was standing directly in front of you, at a fairly close range, and you failed to even notice me. Whatever excuse for a weapon you have in your pocket will do you no good if you are not alert enough to strike before your enemy has slain you."
"Give me a break...I've had a hard day," Lorelei pouted, "I had to hide from the mailman."
Vincent gave her a blank look, and actually scoffed at her.
"If you deliver that excuse to any other creature in this place, you will not only accomplish nothing, but will give it more time to attack. I don't care if you have been running from the devil himself...you are still a fool to come here, and more of one to let yourself be careless within these walls. This place is no safe haven...it is a hell in itself...a nightmare unending, that shall touch with its shadow every soul that dares enter it..."
She blinked at him silently for a few moments, slack-jawed.
"Wow...that was bleak," she said at last, her tone one of amazement, "Did you rehearse it?"
"Your irreverence seems unending."
"What can I say?" the girl shrugged, "I'm a teenager."
He turned away, at that, and began making his way toward a set of stairs.
"If you ever wish to surpass that...leave, or follow me closely...."
She stood stock-still, for a moment, utterly surprised by the strange, cold man's words.
"W-wait!"she called out, running to catch up with him, and wincing at the echoing sound of her steps, where Vincent's seemed no louder than those of a slinking cat, "Did you say what I think you said?!"
He made no reply as he led her through the mansion, down a long spiral staircase Lorelei was almost certain would crumble beneath her feet. If he noticed her at all-which the girl was certain he did, given the racket of her footsteps- he showed no sign of it.
At last, they came to a room that looked much like a library, filled with bookshelves full of tomes that seemed to leer at the young girl, flaunting the fact that any one of them was likely at least a century her elder. It was lit only by several stands of candles, and there was a musty flavor to the air. Vincent turned to her, then, gesturing to an armchair upholstered in wine-colored velvet.
"Sit down..." he told her, waiting for the girl to obey before he continued, "And tell me if there is any possible combination of words that I might string together to convince you to leave and never return."
Lorelei seemed to genuinely ponder his request for several moments, before shaking her head.
"Can't think of any, but then, what do you expect? I mean, I'm a blonde-"
"First," he interrupted, "You will stop making excuses for your shortcomings, particularly excuses that involve stereotypes and are thus more tired and worn than the tiny part of me that struggles to be optimistic. Now tell me the true reason you 'can't think of any'."
"I'm...stubborn, I guess," she replied, "And I'm so sick of the world out there, I don't think anything could get me to go back there a second sooner than I had to."
"...Indeed..." he murmured, his tone unreasonable, "Now, tell me how often you plan to take your life into your hands by coming here to pester me."
"Um...I'd say something in the ballpark of every day. My life is sort of messed up."
"Another excuse?"
"No. My life is messed up, so I want some way to escape it. ...And I'm curious, I guess."
"Show me your weapon."
Lorelei fumbled for the knife in her pocket, blushing a bit brighter with each awkward movement she made as she triggered the blade to spring out. She only managed on her fifth try.
"...pathetic..." Vincent said, as he took up the knife, examining the five-inch blade, and giving the girl an appraising look.
"You don't have to be mean about it," she muttered.
The black-haired man made the blade retract, and tossed the weapon onto her lap.
"Never bring that puny bit of steel here again," he told her, "You have no idea how to draw it, and would only waste precious time in the attempt. You would be better off using your bare hands."
"Because they did me so much good last time," she said, without a drop of sincerity, putting the knife into her pocket once more.
He opened a cabinet, and, after a few moments of rummaging through it, he walked over to her, and placed a small pistol on her lap, a bit of annoyance actually coming to his expression as the girl jumped, looking at the weapon as though a poisonous snake had just been set on her knees.
"Is that thing...loaded?" she asked, her blue eyes wide.
"It would do you little good if it were not," he told her, "And don't recoil from it. It is no more monstrous than the knife in your pocket. It is an object. In itself, it is not dangerous. In the hand of someone with no idea how to use it, or those of one who intends to harm the undeserving, it is an abomination. In those of one both skilled and well-meaning...it can be a tool for the greater good...whatever that may be worth."
"B-but...I could kill something with this..." Lorelei stammered.
"That remains to be seen," said Vincent, "You will learn to use it. Until you have proven yourself competent, it will only be borrowed. When I am satisfied with your progress, it will become yours."
She found nothing to say, still looking down at the little gun, her fear slowly fading into curiosity. She tilted her head to the side, brushing a finger along a tiny green orb that seemed to be set into the handle.
"What's this thing, Vincent?"
"Put the gun on the table beside you," he almost snapped, "That is materia; something with far more potential to be dangerous than a bullet...I will not remove it from the weapon, but if you try to use it before I give you permission, I will not allow you to enter this place again."
Lorelei's face blanched as she set the pistol on the top of a small table, awkwardly folding her hands in her lap.
"So...what now?" she asked after several moments of silence.
"...now..." Vincent said, sitting down in a chair across from hers, "We begin to sate your curiosity. Ask me a question you deem significant."
"Okay..."she said, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, "Let's see...you prolly won't let me have too many of these, so I should make it a decent one...I've got it! At the risk of getting an answer that involves me, what's the dumbest thing you've ever heard?"
He bowed his head, and gave the slightest bit of a bitter laugh. Lorelei found the sound to be not at all comforting; indeed, she wondered if she wanted more to run away screaming, or burst into tears.
"...A famous fool," he began, his voice almost imperceptibly wavering, "Coined the phrase ' 'tis better to have loved, and to have lost, than never to have loved at all.' It is the deepest, most offensive fallacy that has ever been spoken. To have the one soul you could truly bind to your own...the single other being that would complete you in every flight of passion, need, affection, support, and whimsy...the one for whom you have been created, and would give your very spirit to protect....to have that one torn away from you is the greatest agony any creature of flesh and mind can ever know. It is the root of the greatest tragedies of this world, increased only by particularly cruel details of guilt, innocence, and coincidence...or by simple, merciless repetition. It is a pain I have known for long years, and one that has not dulled in all the centuries I have lived. Few know it so well as I do...."
He paused, for a moment, and closed his crimson eyes.
"...except, perhaps...for Tifa."
"Tifa?" Lorelei asked, her brow furrowing, "Tifa Lockheart? I think there's a really old statue of her in the middle of town. If it's accurate...I'm jealous of her build."
Vincent gave her a disapproving look, but it faded away to his stoic mask soon enough.
"Yes...Tifa Lockheart...or occasionally, Tifa Strife..."
"Wait a minute, Vincent," Lorelei said, her eyebrows raised, "Just wait a minute. You want me to believe that you actually knew Tifa Lockheart? She lived, like, a zillion years ago! There is no way-"
"It is never a wise thing to tell people what they can and cannot be. Most will know their own history far better than you will."
"But come on!" the girl insisted, "You could maybe be thirty, but there's no way you could be-"
"In three days' time, I will be seven hundred and sixty-five years old.You can accept that, and let me continue, or you can leave."
"A'righties..." Lorelei sighed, "But for the record, I think you're a nutcase."
"You do realize how open to a counter-argument that statement leaves you?"
"Yes, yes...I know. Takes one to know one, and all that."
"And are you finished?"
"Like a thousand-gil rocking chair."
"To continue...May I assume that you have read something of the great endeavor that made Tifa Lockheart a legend?"
"No. I have spent my entire life living in a really big glass jar with only one airhole in the lid," she told him, rolling her eyes, "Of course I've read about it. It never said anything about you, though. There was a lot about some Ancient girl who got killed, and a megalomaniac who should have been dead, and Tifa, and some guy named Cloud. I think he was supposed to be important, but he seemed pretty boring, so I skipped over a lot of the stuff about him."
"Then you know of the feelings between Cloud and the Aeris, the Ancient?"
"I know people speculated about that one a lot," the girl shrugged, "But historians have an annoying little habit of always answering every question with 'maybe', so they can't be proven wrong."
Vincent nodded, and sighed softly.
"I did, indeed, travel with Cloud, and all the rest...I had my own score to settle with one of their enemies. Life had already taught me to keep my distance from people, however, and so I said very little. I spoke only rarely, usually only when it was absolutely necessary. Ironically, it was that very thing that made all of them find their way closer to me. I was the one who would never interrupt the story of another, the one they could trust with all of their secrets, for who would I possibly tell? And so, I became the diary of all those lost souls, the one who would keep the memory of their sorrows. The pain they felt would live on in me, long after the last of them perished, their nightmares melding with my own...and you will be the only other who knows. The tales I can tell you do not end well. In truth, few stories do, for the only true ending is death, if that proves to be an ending at all. You would be wise to stop me, and spare yourself the burden of knowing these secrets..."
"Honestly...do you practice being that depressing?" Lorelei asked, seeming genuinely amazed. Her look turned sheepish as Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Er...I don't mind knowing. Go on."
"Very well..."he said, closing his eyes once more, "Cloud thought of Aeris as his true love...or at least, a large part of him did. Her death was a terrible blow to him, but, while he fought to avenge her, he could sublimate his pain...I understood that well enough. Still, the fight had to end. As any man who is not wise enough to give up hope, Cloud was not content to be alone, in the aftermath of the struggle, and Tifa was more than willing to be with him. Just as Cloud loved Aeris, Tifa loved Cloud, though perhaps that is an understatement of Tifa's devotion.
"It was only a short time, before the two were married...at first, it went well. They made a home for themselves in this very town, where both of them had been born and raised. Our adventure had provided us all with money enough to live comfortably for quite some time, and so they did. Both seemed happy enough...happiness serves little purpose, save to add a stronger sting to the sorrow that follows it.
"Cloud could not forget Aeris. Even in Tifa's arms, his thoughts often drifted to the emerald-eyed Cetra...He called for her in his sleep, mistook her name for that of his wife at the most inopportune times, and, now and then, found he could not hold back his tears at the thought of her loss.
"Loyalty is a rare thing, in this world. Many try with all their might to be loyal, and still fail miserably. Tifa endured. Despite every action Cloud took, regardless of how it hurt her, never once did she hold it against him, and never once did her eyes wander. Her dedication was undying, and to this day, I cannot quite decide if that made her a genius, or a fool. Even when Cloud began to go on pilgrimages to the City of the Ancients, even when he became obsessed with finding a way to bring Aeris back to him, Tifa stayed by his side.
"Cloud knew what he was doing, and knew that it was wrong to treat Tifa the way he did. After two years of marriage, he divorced her, trying to save her from himself. She did not stand in his way. Less than a year later, loneliness took hold of him again, and, despite his best intentions, he asked Tifa to take him back. She welcomed him with open arms. Cloud still could not banish his obsession with Aeris...and so the cycle began anew. In the five years that followed, the two were separated five times, and divorced three. Cloud always begged for Tifa's forgiveness, and always, she gave it.
"Two months after their final wedding, Tifa discovered she was with child. Cloud tried to be overjoyed at the news, but in truth, he could scarcely stand it. A part of him honestly loved Tifa, but so, too, did a part of him love Aeris. He was a torn man, and the notion of Tifa having his child seemed to make his decision for him. Of all the things Cloud Strife hated, the first and foremost was not being in complete control of his own life. He left Tifa three months later, without notice. He did not contact her, or any of us, again until it was too late.
"Another of our comrades, Barret Wallace, and his own adoptive daughter Marlene, moved to Nibleheim to help care for Tifa. The two had been close friends for many years, but even such familiar company was not enough to heal the blow of Cloud's disappearance. Tifa blamed herself, and, day by day, her inner strength seemed to fade. No more was she strong, dependable woman we had come to know; the heart of our group, the one who cared for us all with a nurturing devotion unrivaled. When Cloud abandoned Tifa and their child, he destroyed Tifa'spirit.
"The child, Naomi Strife, was born a full two months late. She was a healthy child, but it seemed almost as though any vitality she had, had been taken directly from her mother. Tifa's own health quickly diminished, and an illness had claimed her life before her daughter's first birthday. Tifa Lockheart, the warrior who had survived battling countless and powerful foes, fell, ingloriously, to sickness. Her loyalty had been repaid with betrayal.
"Soon after her death, Cloud returned to Nibleheim, intending to raise his daughter. Before long, he disappeared once more, and, when he returned several years later, Naomi forgave him, just as her mother had. Cloud's every betrayal was forgiven. So, too, was it always repeated. The circle ended only with Cloud's life, becoming a terrible spiral, ever adding more salt to the wounds of those involved.
"Cloud had lost Aeris once. Tifa lost Cloud time and again. The pain both carried has not flown, but lingers on in memory. It grows only slightly, now, but I cannot forget it. It has become a part of my own sorrow. The pain lost love can bring has no end, even in death.... The circle is forever unbroken."
It was several minutes after Vincent finished before Lorelei could find any reply.
"...so what happened to Naomi, and Cloud?" she asked at length.
"...a tale for another day..." Vincent murmured, "The telling of this one alone has wearied me... Come; you can take your first lesson in firearms, and then be on your way. I have little doubt you will return..."
***
The sun had set, by the time Lorelei made her way home. She was tired, and more than a bit hungry; Vincent had allowed for no breaks in the lesson, despite his claim that he, himself, was nearly exhausted. He had also insisted that her only targets be the ghosts and monsters that inhabited the mansion, telling her that few targets she would encounter would actually be still. Out of thirty shots she had taken that day, only two had hit their mark.
She had a feeling it would be a long while before the little pistol now in a holster at her belt would be considered hers.
Vincent's story, too, began to tug at her mind, raising a thousand questions she did not wish to know the answers to. Could Ian really be capable of abandoning her? Could she forgive her own father, as Naomi had forgiven Cloud? If she could, would that be the right or wrong choice?
Yet, even as she began to rummage through the cupboards in search of dinner, she had to admit that there was one thing she was certain of.
She would go back to the mansion, if only to show Vincent that his melancholy tales and grueling lessons were not enough to defeat her.
Author's note: Wow...people actually reviewed. I'm amazed. My deepest thanks to all that did so; if you hadn't, I likely wouldn't have written this chapter.
That said, this chapter is where things start to get very, very angsty, and Vincent starts telling the stories of how his old friends died. This chapter focuses on the death of Tifa, so if you can't take that, I suggest you don't read this. I mean no offense to any character I kill off; that's just the way the story goes.
Once again, I do not own Final Fantasy VII, and am making no money writing this, so please refrain from suing me. It really wouldn't be worth the trouble.
***
Circle Unbroken
Lorelei awoke to the sound of something pounding on wood, and did not even bother changing out of her flannel pajamas as she sprang from her bed and rushed downstairs, peeking out the front window.
The man who stood on the front porch, impatiently rapping on the door, was undoubtedly the largest the young girl had ever seen. He was easily seven feet tall, and rather overweight; enough so that the buttons of his blue shirt seemed stressed to the point where they might break any second. He wore thick glasses with tarnished silver frames, and his salt-and-pepper hair was noticeably thinning. Lorelei had seen him many times before, but was still startled by the sight of him.
"Lorelei Amanda Calldrick, I know you're in there!" he bellowed in a voice so deep the girl thought she could feel the entire house vibrate, "I saw you stealing a glance out the window like a little blonde prairie dog. Now open this door at once!"
She could only swallow hard and obey, far too intimidated to risk ignoring the man.
"Yes, Mr. Danvers?" she asked, a bit shakily.
"You just got up?" he inquired, seeming to examine her attire with a sour look, "The youngsters in this town get lazier every day!"
"Maybe I was up late cleaning my room," she shrugged, knowing full well that, given her reputation for sloppiness, he would never believe the lie.
"Don't get smart with me, missy!" Danvers roared, shaking a huge, pudgy finger at her, "That always was your problem: no respect for others!"
"I'm very sorry, Postmaster Danvers, Sir," she said in a tone far too polite to be sincere, "But Ian is sick, and I've been up all night taking care of him. I got to bed just half an hour ago, and rushed down so my poor brother wouldn't be bothered by the racket of your knocking."
"You're lying again, girl," he said flatly, narrowing his stormy-gray eyes, "Your brother isn't at home."
"Maybe he went to a doctor."
Danvers growled a few inaudible things under his breath, and took an envelope from the bag that hung at his side.
Lorelei's eyes widened as she looked at the return address; its first line read "New Hill Family Services".
"Return to sender!" she shouted, slamming the door in the postmaster's face, bolting it, and stuffing a rug underneath it to keep him from sliding the envelope under the door.
She hurried about the house, then, pulling all the drapes closed, and turning off all of the lights she had left on the night before. She huddled in a corner of the darkened living room, hugging her knees, and fighting back tears.
She could remember all too well the last envelope that had come from New Hill Family Services. It had been delivered shortly after her mother's death, and had stated that her father had been located, and wished to regain custody of his children. For the first time in her young life, Lorelei had seen her brother Ian look frightened, and had heard him swear, as he tore the letter into pieces and threw them on the fire. Something about their father obviously unnerved Ian, and Lorelei was not about to accept another letter from New Hill.
It was a long while before the sound of Danvers shouting and pounding on the door subsided. Even then, Lorelei moved as quietly and cautiously as she could, as though she feared that he would return if she made the slightest sound.
'He'll be back, though,' she thought with more than a bit of dismay, 'Maybe he'll even bring a locksmith, or something...I have to get out of here, but where could I-'
The girl smiled, ever-so-slightly, as the answer to her question came to mind. She put on a pot of coffee to brew while she dressed, and made a brief attempt at taming the tangled mass of her blonde hair into a ponytail.
She filled her thermos with coffee, but, as she began to reach for her coat, she hesitated a moment.
'I guess the mansion is pretty dangerous,' she thought, 'Especially if Vincent isn't anywhere where he can hear me...'
She opened one of the kitchen drawers, pushing its contents to the back, and lifting out the false bottom. For several moments, she could only stare at the black-handled switchblade that had been hidden there. It belonged to Ian, and Lorelei was actually not supposed to be aware the weapon even existed.
Biting her lip and swallowing hard to steel herself, Lorelei took the knife, and put it in her right pocket. She pulled on her coat, and left the house at a sprint, making every bit of speed she could toward the old mansion.
Ian would just have to understand.
***
The moment the mansion came into view, Lorelei seemed to lose track of the rest of the world. She didn't notice Renate Terrings jeering at her once more, nor did she hear Postmaster Danvers calling out after her. All she could do was run for the old iron gate, shoulder it open, and race on to the door. It would almost certainly be dangerous inside, but at least nothing would dare to follow her inside.
She actually breathed a sigh of relief, as she closed the door behind her, leaning against the doorframe to catch her breath. She slipped a hand into her pocket, checking to see that the blade was still there. She jumped in surprise when she heard a gunshot, and caught the flash of the bullet out of the corner of her eye, as it blasted through one of the mansion's ancient walls.
"I should think, Miss Calldrick, that even your deceased mother should be able to control you well enough to keep you from coming here a second time," said a smooth, cold voice.
"What gives, Vincent?!" Lorelei demanded, still shaking a bit as she looked to the bullet hole less than an inch from her head, "You could've killed me!"
"Yes... I certainly could have," he told her emotionlessly, "Particularly since I was standing directly in front of you, at a fairly close range, and you failed to even notice me. Whatever excuse for a weapon you have in your pocket will do you no good if you are not alert enough to strike before your enemy has slain you."
"Give me a break...I've had a hard day," Lorelei pouted, "I had to hide from the mailman."
Vincent gave her a blank look, and actually scoffed at her.
"If you deliver that excuse to any other creature in this place, you will not only accomplish nothing, but will give it more time to attack. I don't care if you have been running from the devil himself...you are still a fool to come here, and more of one to let yourself be careless within these walls. This place is no safe haven...it is a hell in itself...a nightmare unending, that shall touch with its shadow every soul that dares enter it..."
She blinked at him silently for a few moments, slack-jawed.
"Wow...that was bleak," she said at last, her tone one of amazement, "Did you rehearse it?"
"Your irreverence seems unending."
"What can I say?" the girl shrugged, "I'm a teenager."
He turned away, at that, and began making his way toward a set of stairs.
"If you ever wish to surpass that...leave, or follow me closely...."
She stood stock-still, for a moment, utterly surprised by the strange, cold man's words.
"W-wait!"she called out, running to catch up with him, and wincing at the echoing sound of her steps, where Vincent's seemed no louder than those of a slinking cat, "Did you say what I think you said?!"
He made no reply as he led her through the mansion, down a long spiral staircase Lorelei was almost certain would crumble beneath her feet. If he noticed her at all-which the girl was certain he did, given the racket of her footsteps- he showed no sign of it.
At last, they came to a room that looked much like a library, filled with bookshelves full of tomes that seemed to leer at the young girl, flaunting the fact that any one of them was likely at least a century her elder. It was lit only by several stands of candles, and there was a musty flavor to the air. Vincent turned to her, then, gesturing to an armchair upholstered in wine-colored velvet.
"Sit down..." he told her, waiting for the girl to obey before he continued, "And tell me if there is any possible combination of words that I might string together to convince you to leave and never return."
Lorelei seemed to genuinely ponder his request for several moments, before shaking her head.
"Can't think of any, but then, what do you expect? I mean, I'm a blonde-"
"First," he interrupted, "You will stop making excuses for your shortcomings, particularly excuses that involve stereotypes and are thus more tired and worn than the tiny part of me that struggles to be optimistic. Now tell me the true reason you 'can't think of any'."
"I'm...stubborn, I guess," she replied, "And I'm so sick of the world out there, I don't think anything could get me to go back there a second sooner than I had to."
"...Indeed..." he murmured, his tone unreasonable, "Now, tell me how often you plan to take your life into your hands by coming here to pester me."
"Um...I'd say something in the ballpark of every day. My life is sort of messed up."
"Another excuse?"
"No. My life is messed up, so I want some way to escape it. ...And I'm curious, I guess."
"Show me your weapon."
Lorelei fumbled for the knife in her pocket, blushing a bit brighter with each awkward movement she made as she triggered the blade to spring out. She only managed on her fifth try.
"...pathetic..." Vincent said, as he took up the knife, examining the five-inch blade, and giving the girl an appraising look.
"You don't have to be mean about it," she muttered.
The black-haired man made the blade retract, and tossed the weapon onto her lap.
"Never bring that puny bit of steel here again," he told her, "You have no idea how to draw it, and would only waste precious time in the attempt. You would be better off using your bare hands."
"Because they did me so much good last time," she said, without a drop of sincerity, putting the knife into her pocket once more.
He opened a cabinet, and, after a few moments of rummaging through it, he walked over to her, and placed a small pistol on her lap, a bit of annoyance actually coming to his expression as the girl jumped, looking at the weapon as though a poisonous snake had just been set on her knees.
"Is that thing...loaded?" she asked, her blue eyes wide.
"It would do you little good if it were not," he told her, "And don't recoil from it. It is no more monstrous than the knife in your pocket. It is an object. In itself, it is not dangerous. In the hand of someone with no idea how to use it, or those of one who intends to harm the undeserving, it is an abomination. In those of one both skilled and well-meaning...it can be a tool for the greater good...whatever that may be worth."
"B-but...I could kill something with this..." Lorelei stammered.
"That remains to be seen," said Vincent, "You will learn to use it. Until you have proven yourself competent, it will only be borrowed. When I am satisfied with your progress, it will become yours."
She found nothing to say, still looking down at the little gun, her fear slowly fading into curiosity. She tilted her head to the side, brushing a finger along a tiny green orb that seemed to be set into the handle.
"What's this thing, Vincent?"
"Put the gun on the table beside you," he almost snapped, "That is materia; something with far more potential to be dangerous than a bullet...I will not remove it from the weapon, but if you try to use it before I give you permission, I will not allow you to enter this place again."
Lorelei's face blanched as she set the pistol on the top of a small table, awkwardly folding her hands in her lap.
"So...what now?" she asked after several moments of silence.
"...now..." Vincent said, sitting down in a chair across from hers, "We begin to sate your curiosity. Ask me a question you deem significant."
"Okay..."she said, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully, "Let's see...you prolly won't let me have too many of these, so I should make it a decent one...I've got it! At the risk of getting an answer that involves me, what's the dumbest thing you've ever heard?"
He bowed his head, and gave the slightest bit of a bitter laugh. Lorelei found the sound to be not at all comforting; indeed, she wondered if she wanted more to run away screaming, or burst into tears.
"...A famous fool," he began, his voice almost imperceptibly wavering, "Coined the phrase ' 'tis better to have loved, and to have lost, than never to have loved at all.' It is the deepest, most offensive fallacy that has ever been spoken. To have the one soul you could truly bind to your own...the single other being that would complete you in every flight of passion, need, affection, support, and whimsy...the one for whom you have been created, and would give your very spirit to protect....to have that one torn away from you is the greatest agony any creature of flesh and mind can ever know. It is the root of the greatest tragedies of this world, increased only by particularly cruel details of guilt, innocence, and coincidence...or by simple, merciless repetition. It is a pain I have known for long years, and one that has not dulled in all the centuries I have lived. Few know it so well as I do...."
He paused, for a moment, and closed his crimson eyes.
"...except, perhaps...for Tifa."
"Tifa?" Lorelei asked, her brow furrowing, "Tifa Lockheart? I think there's a really old statue of her in the middle of town. If it's accurate...I'm jealous of her build."
Vincent gave her a disapproving look, but it faded away to his stoic mask soon enough.
"Yes...Tifa Lockheart...or occasionally, Tifa Strife..."
"Wait a minute, Vincent," Lorelei said, her eyebrows raised, "Just wait a minute. You want me to believe that you actually knew Tifa Lockheart? She lived, like, a zillion years ago! There is no way-"
"It is never a wise thing to tell people what they can and cannot be. Most will know their own history far better than you will."
"But come on!" the girl insisted, "You could maybe be thirty, but there's no way you could be-"
"In three days' time, I will be seven hundred and sixty-five years old.You can accept that, and let me continue, or you can leave."
"A'righties..." Lorelei sighed, "But for the record, I think you're a nutcase."
"You do realize how open to a counter-argument that statement leaves you?"
"Yes, yes...I know. Takes one to know one, and all that."
"And are you finished?"
"Like a thousand-gil rocking chair."
"To continue...May I assume that you have read something of the great endeavor that made Tifa Lockheart a legend?"
"No. I have spent my entire life living in a really big glass jar with only one airhole in the lid," she told him, rolling her eyes, "Of course I've read about it. It never said anything about you, though. There was a lot about some Ancient girl who got killed, and a megalomaniac who should have been dead, and Tifa, and some guy named Cloud. I think he was supposed to be important, but he seemed pretty boring, so I skipped over a lot of the stuff about him."
"Then you know of the feelings between Cloud and the Aeris, the Ancient?"
"I know people speculated about that one a lot," the girl shrugged, "But historians have an annoying little habit of always answering every question with 'maybe', so they can't be proven wrong."
Vincent nodded, and sighed softly.
"I did, indeed, travel with Cloud, and all the rest...I had my own score to settle with one of their enemies. Life had already taught me to keep my distance from people, however, and so I said very little. I spoke only rarely, usually only when it was absolutely necessary. Ironically, it was that very thing that made all of them find their way closer to me. I was the one who would never interrupt the story of another, the one they could trust with all of their secrets, for who would I possibly tell? And so, I became the diary of all those lost souls, the one who would keep the memory of their sorrows. The pain they felt would live on in me, long after the last of them perished, their nightmares melding with my own...and you will be the only other who knows. The tales I can tell you do not end well. In truth, few stories do, for the only true ending is death, if that proves to be an ending at all. You would be wise to stop me, and spare yourself the burden of knowing these secrets..."
"Honestly...do you practice being that depressing?" Lorelei asked, seeming genuinely amazed. Her look turned sheepish as Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Er...I don't mind knowing. Go on."
"Very well..."he said, closing his eyes once more, "Cloud thought of Aeris as his true love...or at least, a large part of him did. Her death was a terrible blow to him, but, while he fought to avenge her, he could sublimate his pain...I understood that well enough. Still, the fight had to end. As any man who is not wise enough to give up hope, Cloud was not content to be alone, in the aftermath of the struggle, and Tifa was more than willing to be with him. Just as Cloud loved Aeris, Tifa loved Cloud, though perhaps that is an understatement of Tifa's devotion.
"It was only a short time, before the two were married...at first, it went well. They made a home for themselves in this very town, where both of them had been born and raised. Our adventure had provided us all with money enough to live comfortably for quite some time, and so they did. Both seemed happy enough...happiness serves little purpose, save to add a stronger sting to the sorrow that follows it.
"Cloud could not forget Aeris. Even in Tifa's arms, his thoughts often drifted to the emerald-eyed Cetra...He called for her in his sleep, mistook her name for that of his wife at the most inopportune times, and, now and then, found he could not hold back his tears at the thought of her loss.
"Loyalty is a rare thing, in this world. Many try with all their might to be loyal, and still fail miserably. Tifa endured. Despite every action Cloud took, regardless of how it hurt her, never once did she hold it against him, and never once did her eyes wander. Her dedication was undying, and to this day, I cannot quite decide if that made her a genius, or a fool. Even when Cloud began to go on pilgrimages to the City of the Ancients, even when he became obsessed with finding a way to bring Aeris back to him, Tifa stayed by his side.
"Cloud knew what he was doing, and knew that it was wrong to treat Tifa the way he did. After two years of marriage, he divorced her, trying to save her from himself. She did not stand in his way. Less than a year later, loneliness took hold of him again, and, despite his best intentions, he asked Tifa to take him back. She welcomed him with open arms. Cloud still could not banish his obsession with Aeris...and so the cycle began anew. In the five years that followed, the two were separated five times, and divorced three. Cloud always begged for Tifa's forgiveness, and always, she gave it.
"Two months after their final wedding, Tifa discovered she was with child. Cloud tried to be overjoyed at the news, but in truth, he could scarcely stand it. A part of him honestly loved Tifa, but so, too, did a part of him love Aeris. He was a torn man, and the notion of Tifa having his child seemed to make his decision for him. Of all the things Cloud Strife hated, the first and foremost was not being in complete control of his own life. He left Tifa three months later, without notice. He did not contact her, or any of us, again until it was too late.
"Another of our comrades, Barret Wallace, and his own adoptive daughter Marlene, moved to Nibleheim to help care for Tifa. The two had been close friends for many years, but even such familiar company was not enough to heal the blow of Cloud's disappearance. Tifa blamed herself, and, day by day, her inner strength seemed to fade. No more was she strong, dependable woman we had come to know; the heart of our group, the one who cared for us all with a nurturing devotion unrivaled. When Cloud abandoned Tifa and their child, he destroyed Tifa'spirit.
"The child, Naomi Strife, was born a full two months late. She was a healthy child, but it seemed almost as though any vitality she had, had been taken directly from her mother. Tifa's own health quickly diminished, and an illness had claimed her life before her daughter's first birthday. Tifa Lockheart, the warrior who had survived battling countless and powerful foes, fell, ingloriously, to sickness. Her loyalty had been repaid with betrayal.
"Soon after her death, Cloud returned to Nibleheim, intending to raise his daughter. Before long, he disappeared once more, and, when he returned several years later, Naomi forgave him, just as her mother had. Cloud's every betrayal was forgiven. So, too, was it always repeated. The circle ended only with Cloud's life, becoming a terrible spiral, ever adding more salt to the wounds of those involved.
"Cloud had lost Aeris once. Tifa lost Cloud time and again. The pain both carried has not flown, but lingers on in memory. It grows only slightly, now, but I cannot forget it. It has become a part of my own sorrow. The pain lost love can bring has no end, even in death.... The circle is forever unbroken."
It was several minutes after Vincent finished before Lorelei could find any reply.
"...so what happened to Naomi, and Cloud?" she asked at length.
"...a tale for another day..." Vincent murmured, "The telling of this one alone has wearied me... Come; you can take your first lesson in firearms, and then be on your way. I have little doubt you will return..."
***
The sun had set, by the time Lorelei made her way home. She was tired, and more than a bit hungry; Vincent had allowed for no breaks in the lesson, despite his claim that he, himself, was nearly exhausted. He had also insisted that her only targets be the ghosts and monsters that inhabited the mansion, telling her that few targets she would encounter would actually be still. Out of thirty shots she had taken that day, only two had hit their mark.
She had a feeling it would be a long while before the little pistol now in a holster at her belt would be considered hers.
Vincent's story, too, began to tug at her mind, raising a thousand questions she did not wish to know the answers to. Could Ian really be capable of abandoning her? Could she forgive her own father, as Naomi had forgiven Cloud? If she could, would that be the right or wrong choice?
Yet, even as she began to rummage through the cupboards in search of dinner, she had to admit that there was one thing she was certain of.
She would go back to the mansion, if only to show Vincent that his melancholy tales and grueling lessons were not enough to defeat her.