Conversations with Lorelei
Chapter 6- Prodigal Father
Author's Note: Well, it's finally happened. I'm actually more than half-done with this fic. My thanks to all the wonderful people who continue to read and review; your comments both encourage me to continue this story, and give me an idea of what I need to clear up in the next chapters. Also keep in mind that I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have, just go ahead and e-mail me.
Now, I have a bit of what translates to good news for you. Looking ahead, my financial situation threatens to get rather sticky in the next couple of years. In order to remain capable of paying for college and food, I'm going to have to start jumping into the fray and trying to get some of my original work published. I will not, however, abandon such faithful readers as yourselves. So, I'm going to make every effort to into finish this story; my goal is to complete it by the end of January, sequel and all.
This chapter will focus on Cloud's death, and also wrap up Naomi's part in the story. Likewise, it will include an event that it seems a lot of you have been waiting for. So please enjoy, and thanks again!
Lorelei sat sullenly on the steps in front of her house, looking at the snow piled up knee-deep on the lawn. It had been three days since she had set foot in the Shinra mansion, and those three days had been something less than the best of her life. The money she had made on her first--and likely last--adventure, which she had figured would last for a month if she was careful, was gone. Her father had helped himself to it to remedy the fact that there had been no liquor in the house, and wasn't, it seemed, the sort of man who would stand for his daughter talking back to him.
She stretched the right sleeve of the blue bomber jacket she wore and took up a handful of the snow, pressing it against a still-sore black eye. The left sleeve of the jacket had been all but destroyed in the battle with the creature that had killed her brother, and she had cut off the last ribbons of it the night before. Still, she wasn't too cold, for she hadn't quite dared to remove her bandages, unsure of whether her arm would be fully healed. It had gone from being numb to stinging, but the pain, like everything else she seemed to be feeling, was dull. There hadn't been any food left for the past two days, and with her father, whose name was apparently Donovan, passed-out on the sofa after drinking his breakfast again, there wasn't an answer forthcoming from him. She stared out at the street, watching it even though nothing and no one went by, trying to piece together what she should do, but feeling as though her mind was covered in a haze.
Everything was too hard to grasp. Her brother's death, her banishment from the mansion, her father's return, and now the sudden lack of any resources. The girl was desperate, true, but she doubted her abilities as a thief. She found herself reaching to the side of her belt, and looking to her hip, shocked at the fact that the pistol wasn't there. That shock hadn't yet faded, seemed to be the one thing she could feel with any real clarity. If she'd had the gun, she would have gone out to the mountains regardless of the danger, but without it…
"Well, that settles that," she muttered, walking around to the back yard.
The girl looked to her dilapidated fence, made from unfinished wooden slats, the item that had been the next on her brother's list of things to repair. She paused for only a moment before walking forward, and was surprised at just how easily it was to pull one of those slats from the rail, at how easy it was to ignore the slivers invading her hand. She supposed it was the one advantage of the sudden detached feeling her entire life had taken on, and so she walked steadily, though without a spring in her step, toward the Shinra mansion.
More than a few of the townspeople whispered to each other at the sight of the large board that sported a few protruding nails that she rested against her right shoulder.
"Goddamn you, Vincent Valentine, I want my gun back!"
It was the first time the blonde girl had dared to shout within the walls of the mansion, and she had a hard time regretting it when the echoing cry drew a few specters. She hardly paid them any mind, none of her usual rush of adrenaline coming into play as the battle began. It was a long and tedious one; beating the ghosts away with a board was apparently not quite as effective as shooting them, but what injuries she gained, she hardly noticed. When it was through, she stood in the entryway a few more moments, hearing nothing but a roar somewhere within the mansion's corridors.
"Have it your way, then…" she said, almost darkly, making her way down the stairs, idly swatting away the bats that crossed her path. She wasn't quite sure why she went almost immediately to the room in which Vincent had laid her in a coffin, supposedly as punishment for her stupidity, but at any rate, it wasn't an uninteresting place to go.
On any other day, Lorelei Calldrick likely would have fainted at the sight of what looked for all the world to be a crimson-black, winged demon that wouldn't have been capable of leaving the room without breaking the doorway. This time, she could only scoff and shake her head.
"A demon?" she asked, seeming bored with having to ask the question, "So I'm in Hell now? Well isn't that just dandy. Have a nice day."
The girl did what was likely the most foolish thing possible, then, and simply turned away, not paying attention to the ground beneath her feet, only glancing about the basement, trying to find where her former mentor might have put the pistol he lent her. She didn't seem to notice the faint rumbling slightly in front of her, and indeed she didn't until her foot hit something a bit higher than it should have, and that rumbling seemed to shake her bones, to cause a tremor in every part of her body that drove bone against muscle and organ, and she fell onto her back on the normal stone of the floor behind her. It was anything but a graceful fall, the girl landing in just the right way to suddenly throw all of her weight onto her still-bandaged left arm.
Some of the haze, the dullness she had felt creep over all her feelings, physical and otherwise, vanished in that moment. She felt suddenly as though her blood were shifting, boiling, and roiling about within her veins, a sudden splitting pain in her head; her ears began to ring, she felt her throat constrict, her eyes begin to burn…
And then, ever-so-faintly, a wave of something cool sweeping over her, and she looked down in time to notice her brother's ring on its chain around her neck, its dull green stone and tarnished band seeming, for a moment, to shine as though they were new. She could still do little more than writhe on the ground, feeling as though her life was slipping away, and rather unexpectedly actually afraid of death in spite of all that had happened. As the demon somehow, inexplicably made its way out of the door to hover over her, she moved desperately, weakly tapping the board against the demon a few times before defeatedly letting it clatter to the floor.
"Well…shit," she sighed, turning her head to look at her makeshift weapon, a bit of a breathless rasp in her voice as she found herself coughing up a bit of blood, "And I'm screwed-up enough to be coughing up blood for the second time this week. Kickass. So much for that bright idea. Sorry, Mr. Fence-board, I didn't mean for it to end like this. Yeah…that sounded like the most pathetic over-dramatic bullshit in the world. I'll probably go to Hell just for saying it…God…dammit…"
Though it could have simply been a hallucination brought on by a fading life, the demon seemed to tilt its head, as though her words were supremely puzzling.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" the girl irritably asked, "Can't you like, put your ultra-special demon badass claws to work on my sorry self and speed this up? I'm in pain, here…"
It was hard for the girl to tell just what was going on, her vision beginning to blur, seeming to superimpose a more familiar figure upon that of the demon, the two images seeming to flash from one to the next, and felt something take hold of the back of her jacket and pull her up to a sitting position, and an open vial being pressed to her lips. She drank its contents, not noticing the taste, finding herself suddenly being carried, set down in a coffin and feeling the pain slowly recede even as her strength returned.
"So I've been stupid again?" she asked at last, blinking as her vision focused to reveal the figure of Vincent as the one beside her, though what she could see of his face looked paler than usual, and he seemed somewhat out-of breath.
"…must you even ask, Miss Calldrick?" he inquired, his voice as even as ever.
"I want my gun back," she said simply, bluntly, "Give it to me, and I'll leave."
The gunman looked ever-so-slightly taken aback by either her words or her tone, and he did not speak for a moment.
"…you are not yourself, Miss Calldrick, and I am not surprised. That attack…might have done a great many unpleasant things to you, were it not for the protection your brother's ring seemed to offer…"
"You really think that's all I'm mad about!" she demanded, "After you just kicked me out of this place and gave up on me for Lord knows what kind of reason, and took away everything you'd been teaching me? You think I'm only pissed about today when you just send me away in a heartbeat, after making me think you finally trusted me enough to tell me about yourself instead of giving me some sort of bleak history lesson? Who the hell ever told you you could do crap like that!"
"And who, pray tell, gave you the impression that it was acceptable to speak to others in this manner?" he asked coolly.
"I don't care if this is acceptable or not! You said that when I got good enough with the Quicksilver, it would be mine, and I have, so give it back to me!"
Glaring, the girl sat up, making her way out of the coffin and standing, despite feeling more than a little light-headed.
"I'm not as stupid as you always say I am, Vincent," she told him, "I wasn't stupid to come here again, and I wasn't stupid to come here in the first place, it was what I had to do, and I did it, and if you think that makes me stupid, then it makes everyone alive stupid, including you. The bottom line is that if I want to have any chance of making it in this world, I need that gun, so cough it up already!"
"…it is not in your best interest to speak this way…"
"Yes it is! You told me to adapt, and that's what I'm trying to do! I've always done what you told me to, and look where that's gotten me. You just kick me out at the drop of a hat. I don't expect you to want me around anymore, and maybe it's just the fact that I'm too much of a damned optimist, but I don't think you want me to die. If you did, you wouldn't've sent me home with food on your birthday, and don't you deny it, because I doubt it was the work of magic fairies or something. Well, I'm out of food again, and I'm willing to do what I have to to get the money for it myself, but I need the Quicksilver to do that!"
"Sit down, Miss Calldrick…" he said smoothly, his voice still as sterile as could be, as he made a gesture to the coffin once more, "A moment ago, you were nearly dead…in fact, I am surprised you are not… and these hysterics will not help you in the least."
"Goddamn it, have you heard a single word I just said! I'm--the hell!"
The girl lurched back as she caught the object he threw to her, surprised at its weight, and even more surprised to note that it was the textbook she had worked from during their journey.
"Sit down, Miss Calldrick…" he repeated, idly tossing her the notebook and pen as well.
Lorelei didn't quite manage to catch it all, and in fact ending up lying on the floor, the three objects scattered around her, and the coffin knocked over onto its side.
The black-haired man, to his credit, did not so much as turn around, instead making his way out of the room.
"I will be back shortly…you have a great deal of work to complete, so I suggest you begin…"
"Oh…kay," the blonde girl muttered, sitting up and straightening out the room, but electing to sit on the floor, "I guess we're pretending nothing ever happened. That's…convenient."
With a little sigh, knowing better than to argue her points further, she opened the book and did as she was told.
Though the gunman had promised to return soon, nearly two hours passed before he came back to the room, carrying a tray with a plate, a bowl, and a steaming cup upon it, all in his plain bone-china, setting it beside the girl.
"Give me your work…" he instructed her, taking her notebook and pausing a moment before sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, beginning to check her answers against those in the smaller book once more, "…and regardless of how long it has been since your last meal, eat slowly…"
It took a great deal of willpower to do as he said, but somehow Lorelei managed, setting the tray down when she finished.
"Thanks," she said, giving a smile that was just a bit timid, "The soup tasted a little weird, but other than that everything was fine."
"It likely tasted odd to you because the broth is one quarter cooked gin…" he casually explained, making another red checkmark with a bit of a flourish, "And 'tact' is not a word contained in your vocabulary, is it, Miss Calldrick?"
"Gin! Um…the hell? Are you trying to get me to pass out or something, Vincent?"
"It has been cooked, so the alcohol is no longer potent," he told her, not looking up from his task, "Although…perhaps next time I should remedy that, as the result you've suggested would be…conducive to keeping this place relatively peaceful…"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm too loud. So what the heck ever possessed you to put gin in soup?"
"Necessity…is the mother of invention…"
"I'm not even going to try to comprehend that," the girl said, blinking.
"That is likely for the best…while your grasp of the quadratic equation is more firm than I expected it would be, you have not displayed a knack for putting two and two together…"
"You seem much less cool now that I've heard you tell a bad math joke."
Vincent didn't favor her words with a response, handing her book and notebook back to her.
Lorelei's blue eyes skimmed over the paper, widening in surprise.
"Kyeah!" she exclaimed, "I only got three wrong!"
"Surprisingly…that is the case," he relented, nodding, "Though your handwriting could use a great deal of improvement…"
The girl chewed on the cap of the her pen for a moment, looking over the problems she had missed, and slapping her forehead.
"Oh, duh!" she cried, with a strange tone of triumph, her hand all but flying across the page for but a few moments before she practically skipped across the room to hand the paper to Vincent, "There, you can check these again."
The man regarded her for a moment, and then simply nodded.
"…well done. Your choice of an educational institution may not be as misguided as I originally believed…"
Her eyes widened once more, and she took a step back, confusion finding its way onto her expression.
"You didn't even look at them."
"…I did not have to…"
A smile touched Lorelei's lips as she walked back over to her place, drinking down the very last sip of the now-lukewarm tea. She had, in her lifetime, been aware that she had very little to be proud of, and this small success made it easier to forget that there was simply no way she could ever afford to attend the Institute.
"Now then…" Vincent began, as calmly as ever, "It has been some time since last you heard of Naomi Strife; fortunately, as patience is not your strong suit, you will no longer have to practice that virtue."
The blonde girl sat at attention, then, waiting for him to go on, surprised when he simply raised an eyebrow.
"What!" she demanded, confused, "Are you just trying to make me squirm right after saying I don't have to be patient anymore?"
"…I was waiting for you to interrupt…"
Lorelei gave him a look that rather resembled that of a wet cat.
"You seem to be in a poor mood, Miss Calldrick…" he remarked, coolly as ever, "I have seldom seen you so…"
When she offered him nothing but another glare, he offered a bit of a noncommittal shrug, closing his eyes for a moment.
"What Naomi Strife did…would shock nearly anyone. At eight years old, she killed Marlene, who had been as a sister to her…sealing her surrogate father's fate. Those of my old comrades who were yet alive--Cloud among them-- wished to find her, in hopes of discerning what had caused her to act. They wished to 'help' her, though it is hard to say what they thought they could possibly do…I…"
Lorelei's brow furrowed at his sudden pause. She was accustomed to his manner of speech, of the way he let his statements trail slowly away to nothing before he began the next, but now he broke off at an entirely unusual point. She noticed his eyes were on her, seeming to study her black eye, his expression more unreadable than ever.
"Wh-what? I'm fine…" she stammered, a shiver running through her, "And it's not like you care, right? I'm just the annoying little--Vincent, come on! What's up? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"…You will not like what I have to tell you…" he murmured, his voice still even, though there was a strange undertone of intensity in his voice, "…when this story is through, you will have every right to leave this place, never to return, taking the Quicksilver with you…but until I have finished, you must remain, nor should you disregard the tale…Do you understand, Lorelei…?"
"Um, no, I actually have know idea what the-"
"Swear it, Lorelei!"
The words were not shouted, but nevertheless, they jarred her, especially paired with the fact that he called her by her first name, as happened so rarely. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped; she could scarcely have been more frightened if he had fixed one of his icy glares upon her.
"Alright, I promise," she said meekly, picking a few balls of lint off of her sweatshirt purely as an excuse to avert her eyes.
He nodded, at that, seeming to fully regain what composure he had lost, his voice cool as ever when he spoke once more.
"I believed that there was no hope for Naomi. It is…difficult enough to recover from becoming a killer…some find it more possible than others. But one who, as a child, can commit such an act, one whose hands are stained so early with innocent blood…will find that that stain sinks in too deeply, and can never fade, much less be washed away. Death…killing…they do not appall me, for they have long been close companions of mine…Even the loss of innocence, if there is a purpose behind it, is a thing I can meet with indifference. But such senseless ruination of character…such degeneration so early…is a thing even one so full of sin as myself must deplore…On Naomi's part, as well as her father's. A child drawn to such lengths…needs a guide to reach that deep level of Hell…
"I knew where Naomi Strife hid. I had known for a long while…lost souls have a certain sense for one another…and it was the only place she could have gone to evade sight so long. I knew, before Barret's body was cold, where that demon child had fled. I did not tell my old comrades. For five years, they searched, and when at last they saw the obvious…only then did I agree to go with them. I was needed in that search; I had seldom felt so certain about my actions…Certainty is something we are not often meant to feel, and so it must be heeded when it truly shows its face.
"I saw it all too clearly, reflected in the light of Cloud's eyes. You've heard little of Mako energy, I imagine, but there were some men treated with it, in bygone days…Cloud was among them…it gave his eyes an eerie glow, but that is not the light of which I speak. No…In Cloud's gaze, I saw the same subtle madness so many men wear in their own time. It is the look of the loving zealot, who would cast all the world into a fire for but the chance to hold those he loves…to make amends for all his daily failures, for all that has been found wanting in his character…It is the look of a man who hunts a holy grail he will never find, for even if the object of his affection is made his, he has deified it so that the true thing can not hope to satisfy him. That fire in the eyes, that very embodiment of passion and devotion, is a thing that disfigures the soul beyond repair. Cloud Strife…wore it more often than most. A part of me wonders if that wicked flame ever truly died in him after he laid Aeris to rest…it had always been there when he searched for her, more intense, doubtless more scarring each time. It burned now white-hot, and the sight of it…told me he could not return from the place where his daughter lurked anything but a broken madman with a heart of ashes.
"And so we went up into the mines, which had not yet been reopened…she had chosen one of those solitary places for herself, and it was there we found Naomi Strife, a thirteen-year-old girl, but more beast than human in her tattered, filthy clothes, with a wild look in her eye, rough-handed and half-starved with scars innumerable, even if one only counted those on her skin. She could hardly speak, when they questioned her; words had so long been strangers to her tongue, her sentences childish, her voice gravelly as an old man's. Yet my companions…Yuffie Kisagiri, Nanaki, whom the history books call Red XIII, and Cloud Strife…seemed not to notice that a change had occurred. They coaxed the girl-beast to them, and how her sire apologized, how he confessed, how close he held her to him…
"But still I saw the maniac gleam in his eyes, and one far more frightening, one even more wild, one entirely without reason in hers. There was an old half-rusted blade in her hand, but its edge was still keen, and I saw her angle it so that but a thrust of the wrist would bring it home in her weeping father's back. She had not changed. She was no more than a monster, though Yuffie and Nanaki were too blinded by what they thought was success to see it. They had drawn her out, yes…but to what end? So many wild creatures are timid, and skitter away when men approach, killing only when they must…and so had Naomi been. My old comrades had taken away that fear of men, and now there was a lust for blood and vengeance in her eyes, a desire to repay the world at large for her own suffering. Though I could not blame her, there was only one logical way to respond. Cloud had his back to me, and Naomi was so small he blocked her completely, but…He was a broken man long before that day…And so I did what had to be done.
"I killed them both with a single bullet. Through his heart, and her forehead. …and then I left. My two remaining comrades did not speak to me for a long while…but I am certain that what I did was right. …Strife…it was a fitting name. Cloud and his daughter caused so much pain to so many undeserving souls…that their deaths were necessary to stem the tears. Tifa…Marlene…Barret…All lost to that sire and whelp I slew. I am a man without pity, Miss Calldrick…but not a man without a conscience. For the good of the world…those two had to die. I offer no further justification, and you may judge me as you will…but understand that some deaths are necessary…that some must die so that others may live…"
He paused a moment, then, one eyebrow arching up at the sober-faced girl with her bandaged arm. Wordlessly, he stood and tossed her the pistol, and she caught it easily, placing it in the holster at her belt, her expression, for once, as enigmatic as his own.
"I was…surprised to be unburdened by your interruptions, Miss Calldrick…" he murmured, "Have you, for once, nothing to say?"
Lorelei stood, then, shaking her head.
"Wouldn't that be the answer to your prayers?"
"…Miss Calldrick?"
His voice was still even, as though his interest in her reaction were still purely academic, as though anything she did or said in that moment was meaningless to him. Still, though it might have been a mirage, Lorelei thought she felt the slightest bit of a flinch from him when she met his eyes.
"I don't know," was all she said, forcing her voice to stay even, "I'll tell you if I come back, but I've got a lot to do right now."
He simply nodded, but then, as she made her way toward the door, he caught her by the shoulder, turning her to face him once more. His gaze focused for a moment on her black eye, and he clicked off the safety of the gun in its holster at her belt.
"Remember what I have said, Lorelei…"
"Remembering what you said doesn't mean I agree with it," she said, shaking her head again, making her way out of the mansion once more once he relinquished his grip on her shoulder.
She slipped quietly into the house, for her father was still asleep, taking a cloth napkin and her brother's switchblade from a kitchen drawer and making her way out once more. She walked in the direction of the mansion, but passed it by, heading for the mountains and solitude.