Conversations with Lorelei
Chapter 4- Heart of Icarus
A/N: My thanks, once more, to all those who review, and convince me that it's worthwhile to continue this despite my insane college schedule. (And what has our intrepid authoress learned after her first semester of college? Not to take nineteen credits. Yes, I said nineteen. I am a bloody moron.)
This chapter will give the tale of Cid's death, and will be followed by chapters on Lucretia (sort of), Cloud, RedXIII, and Yuffie, finishing with an epilogue. What I would like to know from those of you who have been following the series is whether you'd like to see chapters on anyone else. Some people may ask why I don't yet plan a chapter on Aeris, and the answer is pretty much because she was already dead by the end of the game, and I don't think she was quite as important to Vincent as Lucretia was. If asked by several people, I will do a chapter on her, and I'm willing to consider chapters for other characters, as well. I would prefer that those suggestions come in sooner rather than later, as the only place I could logically put them, given my future plans for the story, is before Cloud's part. You can either give your suggestions in your reviews, or e-mail them to ) with the subject "Lorelei's Mailbag". Corny as this sounds, this subject is designed to help me tell your message from the thousand spam-tastic pieces of junk I get every day.
Also, as added incentive for those who seem to like this story, if, by the time it is complete, it has over sixty reviews, I'll write a sequel. (With the ending I've planned…you just may want it.) So tell your friends to read and review!
With all of that said, please enjoy.
"God…damn…stupid sun…" Lorelei groaned, groggily bringing her arm up over her eyes as the pure, golden light of morning streamed through the drapes she had left open, "It's October; you should be shunning us, by now. It should be cold, gray, drizzly, and otherwise befitting of making normal people unhappy!"
She imagined, for a moment, that the traces of light that cheerfully lit the room were something specifically intended to spite her. After all, years ago, Ian had found that the best way to awaken his sister was to use a small mirror to reflect the rays of the sun so they would be perfectly aligned to assault the sleeping girl's eyes. For a full five minutes, she tossed about, trying to find some way to dodge the insistent light, until she finally gave up, and forced herself to get off of the armchair she had fallen asleep in the night before, and walk, stiff-legged, to the kitchen. It was mostly by chance that, as she made her way to the refrigerator, the little calendar on the wall caught her eye.
"Okay, I'm crazy…" she concluded, scratching her head and staring at the space that she had marked with yellow highlighter and red crayon, "It is both October, and Friday the thirteenth. And oddly enough, either I or an evil twin I don't know about who has my exact handwriting has marked it as Valentine's Day. This can't be a good sign."
She went on with her preparations, then, putting on a pot of coffee in hopes of gaining some semblance of consciousness, but it was only as she was rummaging through the cupboard to remind herself of what meager supplies she had purchased the day before that memory struck her. The girl moved back to the calendar, then, determined to look at the day she had marked--
"Ouch!" she exclaimed, promptly hitting her head on the cupboard's open door before changing course, "Yeah, that was smooth."
She looked at the calendar more closely, now; and saw the little mark she had left on Tuesday, the tenth. That was the day she had first heard one of Vincent's stories, the day when he had disclosed his age, and told her it was soon to change.
"I'll be damned," she murmured, "It's his birthday. Well, there's just one thing for it, then…"
Lorelei couldn't quite tell whether the look in Vincent's eyes was one of shock or annoyance.
"…what is the meaning of this…?" he asked, his tone unnervingly even.
"It's a birthday cake," she smiled, nodding to the vaguely-circular mass on the plate she had set on the table. It was covered, rather unevenly, with pink icing, an altogether ridiculous amount of multi-colored sprinkles laying here and there on the top, "I made it."
"I…can tell…" he murmured, eying it warily, as though believing it might attack him at any moment, "…why is it pink?"
"Well, I was going to make the frosting red, but I didn't have enough food coloring," she cheerily shrugged.
"…and why have you done this?"
"Well, duh," she said, rolling her eyes, "When you told me Tifa's story, you said your birthday was in three days, so that's today. I may not be very smart, but I've got a handle on basic math most of the time."
The gunman offered no reply, merely staring at the sugary mass.
Lorelei awkwardly shifted her feet, silence reigning for a long while. She had expected his reaction to be a bit easier to read, for better or worse.
"Um…you should have a piece," she said at last, amazed at just how much she sounded like a child.
"Miss Calldrick…" he said, and for once, she got the impression that the black-haired man was having difficulty finding words for what he wanted to say, "You are truly…impossible."
"Really?" she asked with a smile, "In what sense of the word?"
"…all of them…"
"Thanks," the girl laughed.
"And what," he asked, his voice perfectly even, "Makes you think I meant that as a compliment?"
"'cause," she replied, her look more than a little smug, "If you meant it as an insult, it wouldn't've taken you so long to figure out how to say it."
Again, he offered her only an inarticulate silence as reply, and the girl was left to anxiously tug at the end of her matted ponytail. Even when Vincent crossed the room, taking a key from a pocket inside his scarlet coat and unlocking a cabinet, she had no inkling of what to expect.
She could not have been more surprised when he set two undecorated, bone-china plates on the table, placing a long kitchen knife between them. Had he seemed one bit less intimidating than usual, the girl thought, she would have been forced to hug him. Even his cold, severe look, however, could not stop her from jumping up and down, for a few moments.
"…are you quite finished?"
"Yup, she replied, anything but calmly. The girl reached for the knife, then, pausing when her host quietly cleared his throat.
"Given the…expertise… you have previously shown regarding blades…perhaps it would be less of a risk for me to do this."
"Fair 'nough," Lorelei relented, taking a little half-step back, though her smile didn't even begin to fade.
When a slice had been placed on each china plate, it took Lorelei several moments to realize that Vincent's crimson eyes were focused on her.
"…well?" he inquired, gesturing to the plate and tarnished fork set beside it.
"You should be the one going first," she told him, "It's your birthday, not mine."
"I assure you, Miss Calldrick…ceremony has nothing to do with this…"
"And do I even want to ask what does?"
The black-haired man seemed to pause for a moment, once more, turning so she could no longer meet his eyes.
"Pragmatism…" he replied, his tone as effortlessly ambiguous as always, "Upon consideration of our discussion yesterday, it occurs to me that… you may be trying to poison me…"
"'kay," she answered simply, taking a bit of it, and then looking to him expectantly.
He favored her with another unreadable look before speaking.
"Turn away," he said calmly.
"Um…the hell?" she asked, blinking confusedly at him.
"Do as I say," was the only reply he offered, his tone stern and cold as ever.
"I'd say I'm just humoring you because it's your birthday, but now that I think about it, most of what you do when you're not acting like you're part of a gothic novel involves ordering me around, so…"
"Just turn around…"
She complied with his order, scraping the frosting off of her own piece. She always saved it for last.
"Hey, Vincent," she began after several moments' silence, "I have a question."
"And I have found few methods to keep you from speaking when you wish to, Miss Calldrick."
"Why do you keep your mouth covered all the time? I mean, I figure it's partially to keep people from being able to tell what you feel, except that you had it covered before I came here, and I don't see why you'd care if the ghosts-"
"…Enough…"
"Right," she said, with a little disappointed sigh. The girl's curiosity seemed to catch up with her, then, and she looked over her shoulder. The sheer chill of the glare she received made her turn away again immediately, and take a step away.
"…I suppose you anticipate another story like the rest…" the gunman said at last, setting an empty plate down on the table.
"I guess," she told him, her tone a bit on the wary side, not letting herself seriously consider moving an inch from her spot, "But only if you want."
"Well," he continued, his voice becoming ever-so-slightly muffled halfway through his statement, as he fastened his high collar once more, "I…cannot oblige. I have, until now, told you of sickness, of uprising, of suicide and despair…but the next of my old comrades did not die as those others did. He showed no weakness, no desire for martyrdom, no need of escape…he died as no other could, even in the same circumstances…"
"Wow," the girl said, raising her eyebrows, no longer able to maintain her caution. She turned around to give the gunman a look that seemed born of both worry and amazement. "Are you feeling okay, Vincent? Because for you, that was downright fluffy-sugary-chipper."
"Once again, your choice of words is both unique and entirely ludicrous."
"Well sorry," she said, "But seriously…that little lead-in was nowhere near your usual gloomy, angst-filled intros."
"If I am at all unwell, Miss Calldrick, the only probable cause is your culinary skills or lack thereof."
"Hey, hey! I may not be a five-star chef, but my cooking does NOT turn people insane. I mean, come on, I've been cooking for my brother and me for the last two years!"
Vincent said nothing, merely looking to her with one arched eyebrow.
"Okay," she muttered, "Bad example…"
"May I continue?"
"Please do. Talking really doesn't do me much good, nope…"
"I assume that history has not fallen so low as to forget the name Cid Highwind?"
"You kidding?" the girl scoffed, "There's like…four towns named after him, and I've wanted to go to Highwind Institute of Technology like…my whole life! He was the only guy in history that ever got into space!"
"Others were with him…" the black-haired man said, his shoulders moving in the slightest hint of a shrug, "But…I am glad the historians pay little heed to that. Cid deserves the credit, as the others were there from simple coincidence…"
"Saving the world together is 'simple coincidence'?" the girl asked, "Puts a whole new perspective on all those stories about couples meeting at summer camp."
Vincent did not reply to her statement, merely waiting for her to finish before continuing.
"In the course of our journey, we learned that there was a plan to use the old rocket, the rusting icon of Cid's dream, to destroy the last falling star the Planet would ever wish upon…I trust you know the rest of the story, or at least its basics?"
"Yeah," Lorelei nodded, "Everyone like…went to get a bunch of materia that was strapped to the rocket, because that one big corporation was trying to use it to blow up a huge meteor some psychopathic alien was going to throw at the Planet- I saw a painting of that guy, once, and except for the weird bangs, he didn't look much like an alien…kinda hot, though- and anyway, they ended up getting stuck on the rocket, and they managed to not get blown up, and damn I should've paid better attention when I was reading that book instead of just looking at the schematics and stuff."
"That…is sufficient…" Vincent told her, "You can, perhaps, become more acquainted with the details later…that you know of the incident is enough.
"In the years after our battle with Sephiroth, it became clear to many of us that the height of our glory had come and gone. Most accepted that, even took active steps to lead a quiet life…we had seen what costs such glory could entail. I reserve judgment in most cases of worth…but I will say that we who tried to fade into the background were certainly the cowards of the bunch… myself, in particular. I did all I could to melt into the shadows and be lost in the dust of the past, emerging only rarely, and then only when called…For that, I have my reasons.
"Cid, however, was not content to close his chapter in history. Though he had to start from scratch, though mako energy was gone and the Planet entered an era of technological decline…he was determined to be among the stars once more. He had help, at first…youths eager to gain bragging rights of their own, thinking they would ride to fame on his coat-tails. But as the years passed with no clear progress, fewer and fewer were willing to attach themselves to what seemed a hopeless dream, particularly as Cid's share of the money we had gained in our venture dwindled, and he was able to pay less and less. Finally, only Shera, the most faithful of his assistants, remained to aid him. The work came nearly to a standstill, and all we who were left believed that his efforts were futile. I personally did nothing, thinking that realization, despair, and at last resignation would all come in their natural season, and I knew well enough that some things are better left to nature. Some of the others offered him comfort or even assistance, hoping to persuade him, gradually, to let go of too high an aim.
"Their efforts were defeated by his determination, one and all. As the years passed, Cid continued his work, his dedication-or perhaps desperation- seeming to grow every time he was told he should stop. In this world's history, there are no shortage of stubborn fools…men will often cling to something hopeless, sometimes simply to avoid admitting they were wrong… seldom, however, do they achieve their hopeless dreams. Cid finished a second rocket, one that seemed better than the first. Even Shera, a woman insistent upon checking things time and again, could find no flaw in it. He invited all we who were left to watch the launch, and, the lot of us astounded, we went.
"The sun was at just the wrong angle, that day, its glare assaulting my eyes, making them sting as I watched my old comrade ascend into the sky, and so I did not notice, at first, that disaster was about to strike. It was many moments before I saw a patch of metal at the rocket's side seem to fold in on itself; I noticed it only as Shera shouted into the radio for Cid to eject, but he gave no response just then, and before my eyes the rocket began to shake apart, and then it was all aflame, crimson and blue flashes trying with all there might to rival the brightness of the sun. I could almost imagine, as the contraption tore itself apart in last reaches of the skies, that I could see an old bomber jacket set alight. And still the sun beamed down, as though trying to use its power to shield my eyes from the truth of the situation, the knowledge that one of my former companions had died. It needn't have bothered.
"I did not join the others in their weeping. In truth…for one of very few times in my life…I felt compelled to smile. For Cid Highwind had died in a blaze of glory, the last communication he gave, cracked with static though it was, was a cry of victory. He had known the pleasure of touching the sky once more, of coming close enough to touch the sun, and the wax of his wings be damned. He had proven the lot of us wrong, had let his tenacity and pride allow him to take hold of a hopeless dream, if only for a moment. He burned himself into the memory of this world, allowing none to ignore him, refusing to be forgotten… He truly died without regret, and that is a thing I do not believe had ever been achieved before…nor will it again."
The room was silent, then, a thing that made Vincent arch an eyebrow, as he looked to the girl, who seemed to be far deeper in thought than was her custom to even attempt.
"…Miss Calldrick?"
Lorelei shook her head as though to clear it, a smile on her lips.
"Looks like you're capable of having friends after all," she grinned, "Even if you do just admire them for being everything you think you're not."
The black-haired man's eyes narrowed just slightly, and he simply regarded her with a slightly-irritated gaze for several moments, before gesturing to the plates and forks still laying on the table.
"…I do not believe I wish to teach today…" he told her, "…Wash those upstairs, and then leave them by the top of the stairway."
"What about the knife?" the girl asked, "Shouldn't I just get that done, too?"
"Have I not made it clear how I feel about you coming into contact with sharp objects…?"
"You trust me to go upstairs with all the ghosts and stuff all by myself, but you don't trust me to not accidentally slit my wrists while washing a knife?"
"…enough," he murmured simply.
"Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll see you tomorrow. Happy birthday, Mr. Sunshine."
She left the room quickly, then, certain that his reaction to the unlikely nickname would not be a favorable one, and not quite wanting him to see her jaunty smile.
Lorelei walked home that night wondering why the box she carried seemed so heavy. She had found it by the stairs, when she placed the clean dishes there, her name written on the top in a far more elaborate script than she would have expected from Vincent.
"Damn it…" she muttered, nearly dropping the box for about the seventh time, "Okay, this is the box I brought the cake in, so it prob'ly has the rest of the cake, but it should not be this heavy. Unless my cooking's decided to throw the law of conservation of mass all to hell, this makes no sense at all."
When she arrived at her house at last, the sun was at the perfect angle to glint off of the front window, making her squint and grope blindly for the doorknob, managing, in the process, to both open the door and drop the box on her foot.
After several minutes of glaring at the brightly-lit sky and demanding to know why she had been created to be clumsy, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her and never once seeing the envelope nailed to her door, the logo of New Hill Family Services stamped upon it.
"Alright," she said, wincing with every step she took and finally sliding the box toward the kitchen, "Time to see what strange new compound I've created…"
She lifted the flaps of the box, her eyes widening at what she saw.
No trace of the cake was left within it, but rather a stack of canned food and a little tin jug of still-cold milk at the bottom, a small bag of rice, cooked and salted beef wrapped in a parcel of waxed paper, an apple and two oranges laid along the top.
The girl could only bite her lip and smile.