Anachronism
Rachel "D" Winslow
Placing an event, person, item or verbal expression in the wrong historical period
For
KatoriTsubasa
It was barely light outside when I woke up that morning, deep blue shadows filtering through the window pane of my room. It's the best time to be awake and the worst time; best because the sky is so beautiful, and worst because there's nothing to be done that early in the morning, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep with such a pretty distraction. It didn't stop me from trying, though; I curled back into the sheets, the neutral scent of the inn's generic laundry detergent strangely comforting. I stayed like that, staring out the window at the soft cosmos until the blinking red lights next to me reminded me that, after half an hour, I was still awake.
I scrambled out of bed, throwing the sheets in a ball in the center of the mattress out of sheer frustration. It was chilly, so I pulled an oversized sweatshirt out of my pack and yanked it over my head, covering my thin tank top. I thought about putting on my pajama pants, but those things were itchy, and I hated them. My shorts would have to do.
I padded down the carpeted stairway on bare feet, cracking my toes against the steps as I walked. I thought maybe I would go to the kitchen and see if there was any coffee, or maybe rummage around for a packaged muffin or some fruit. The lobby seemed quiet, except for the slight sounds coming from the kitchen. It was probably the attendants, getting the complimentary breakfast underway. I didn't want to walk in there barefoot if there were people working in there, and I figured I could wait a couple more hours to eat with everyone else. Besides, I wasn't really hungry anyways, just bored.
My feet turned on impulse to the sitting area in the lobby, and lo and behold, who should I find sitting there but Mr. Valentine! He was sitting in an old armchair, in front of the window, fiddling with something in his hands, and turning to the sidetable now and then. My mood instantly brightened.
Vincent is always stand-offish when we're with the group, but he's not a bad guy. It's true that he likes his time alone, but sometimes he'll humor me. I could never get him to stop and pay attention to me when we were busy with whatever the task at hand was, but when we got a break, he'd listen and even talk himself. But he wouldn't talk to just anybody. He's quirky like that.
He'd usually shrug Cloud off as a nuisance. Barret, he never got along with very well. Cait he just ignored, and he didn't really talk to Aerith, either. I'd heard him talk to Red about intellectual shit I just can't understand, but nothing personal. The only people I'd ever seen him talk to on an informal level are Cid, Tifa and myself. That's about it, really.
I felt lucky to be included in that circle. Barret was always pointing out how childish I was, and as far as Cloud was concerned, I wasn't even there most of the time. I hardly ever got picked to go on any important trips, but when the day was said and done, I knew I had three people I could always talk to about it. Sure, Cid teased me a lot, and he could actually be pretty mean. But I knew he was only joking. When all was said and done, he'd just pull me into a headlock and muss my hair, and Tifa would buy liquor and fix us drinks, and we'd talk.
But my favorite times were always the times that I could get Vincent alone.
Even though his replies are short, I can tell that there's more to most of what he says. You just have to pay attention. It's in the eyes, really. I think maybe that's why he would talk to me, Cid and Tifa. We're the only ones who really make any effort to try and understand him. In fact, we're the only ones who could ever manage to put everything else that was going on aside and just relax for one minute. We've all got our hangups, but even Vincent, in all his dark glory, can stop thinking about things for one second and have a drink with his friends. I think the fact that we could relax around him brought him out of his brooding a little bit. We're infectious, we three. Cloud and Barret couldn't seem to do that.
I think they missed out.
He was sitting there, long black hair partially covering his face, and he was working on something I couldn't see. One of his knees was up and his ankle was crossed over the other, partially hiding his hands in his lap. His shoulders were relaxed, as far as I could tell with that bulky cloak he always had hanging off him, and I knew I'd caught him during his chill time. I bet he'd never call it that, though.
"Hey, don't you know you can't be out here?" I said. "The sun's about to come up. You'll be burned alive!" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The smile was in my voice as I waved my arms around for dramatic effect, but he didn't look up or even say a word. All I could think was, 'Damn. Foot and mouth."
I never was any good at flirting.
But I wasn't about to give up! I lowered my arms from where they were frozen above my head and walked over to where he was sitting, perching my scrawny little ass on the sidetable; ladylike, I know. I watched his human hand cross over his body and reach for the tiny pile of shredded leaves sitting on the dark wood. I wasn't quite sure what it was; the dim lighting was playing tricks on my eyes.
"Is that what I think it is?" I asked, the surprise in my face no secret. His eyebrow lifted as he worked, rolling the bits into the paper in his hands.
"...Probably not." And then I saw it, that little smirk of a smile on his lips.
"Just tobacco?" I grinned.
"Just tobacco," he repeated, his bland monotone a stark contrast with those gorgeous, dancing eyes. I bet he had women walking all over each other just to get to him back in the day.
I pulled my feet up to rest on the edge of the table, hugging my knees to my chest. "You roll your own cigarettes?"
"Mm-hm."
There was silence for a while as he worked, nudging the collection of crumbled leaves with the tip of one clawed digit, the earthy aroma tickling my nose. His face was blank; if I had to guess what he was thinking about, I wouldn't know where to start. He didn't even look like he was really concentrating on what he was doing. If I looked hard enough, I thought I could see a faded splash of freckles on his nose. The growing light outside cast shadows on the leather he wore, and glinted off his metal claw. The sun was rising, and the others would be down soon.
"Um...why?"
He lifted an eyebrow in question, not bothering to waste breath on what he could ask with a small gesture. He knew I was paying attention, because I always picked up on those things.
"I mean," I explained, "why bother? You could, like, buy a whole pack of those and not have to go to all that trouble. Seems silly to me."
He waited a minute before answering, rolling one end up and splitting the paper, and my breath caught in my throat as he ran his tongue over it before rolling the other end. "...They are better this way."
My voice hitched at the beginning of my next question. "...Makes that much difference, huh?" I didn't really believe him, but whatever. He must be right, because three years later, he still does it.
"Yes. Now..." he glanced around, face still expressionless, but I figured he was probably looking for something. He stopped, and then his brow knitted together and he adjusted his sleeve. "Would you see if they have any matches at the front desk?"
I laughed a little. "Ha! Don't bother..."
I pulled a small piece of transparent pink plastic from the pocket of my shorts and handed it to him. I had completely forgotten about it until he'd mentioned needing a light. He lifted his eyebrow again, his bright eyes now meeting mine and boring into me. I swear, I'll never get tired of that.
"Yuffie, you don't smoke."
"I know. It's Cid's," I said, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, but I had trouble hiding my mischievous intentions from 'Mister Mindreader'. Creepy, how he can tell what you're thinking just by looking at you. But then again, I was always an open book.
He took it from me anyways, lighting his cigarette and handing it back to me. His lids drooped slightly at the euphoric intake of smoke as he inhaled. "...Why do you have it?" he asked, smoke streaming casually out of his nose. It's a disgusting habit, but gods, I found that much too sexy for my own good.
"Last night he said I had knobby knees," I replied, a look of mock anger adorning my features.
"I recall." He ashed in the tray that sat on the table. I thought I could hear some humor in his voice, and I was determined to flare it up a bit.
"Well, you know what he's got?" I raised my voice slightly, excited at the future prospect the image conjured in my head. "He's got several nice veins that stick out in his neck when he gets mad. That's what he's got."
And there it was, that tiny smirk. "I take it you're looking forward to this?" And the smile grew as he brought his elbow up to rest on the arm of the chair, cigarette clutched in limp fingers.
"Hey, I didn't go through his stuff." I crossed my arms proudly, now grinning myself from ear to ear. "I pick-pocketed him when we were out walking. If he didn't notice, it's his own damned fault."
Vincent laughed softly as he leaned and ashed again, that wonderful smile hidden by thick lashes and impossibly long hair. That's right, I had him laughing! My day was officially a success, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.
Suddenly, looking at him sitting there, slumped in his chair and breathing in smoke as casually as anyone I've ever seen, I came to appreciate another side of the gunslinger. The world he once knew was dead and gone, and yet he still remained, damaged and broken, but still carrying on in some ways the same as he did before the proverbial carpet was pulled out from underneath him.
He drank with us, played cards with us, and even joked with us from time to time, though his humor was always a bit on the dark side. I've even heard him curse a few times, and I've seen him win a drinking contest against Cid of all people. I think maybe that's how he used to be, a long time ago. When I look back on the image of Vincent lighting that old-fashioned cigarette with Cid's neon pink butane lighter, I think to myself, 'Isn't he the perfect picture of an old world meshing with a new one?'
In that respect, I think he fits the human description in a way that no one before or after him could ever hope to.
I fingered the thick silver band around my thumb before pulling my arms up into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and wrapping them tightly about myself. "So, Vincent..."
"Hmm?" He brought his eyes up to look at me and expectantly held my gaze, not helping my nerves any.
"Um..." I shook my fears away with a jerk of my head, my tousled bangs flying back from my forehead. "Well, I was thinking...maybe you could show me how to do that sometime?"
He ashed again, before stubbing it out. "...Why would you need to learn that?" He leaned back and crossed his arms.
"Well...I don't. I just...thought it might be something we could do." I nearly hit my forehead at the lame words I'd actually let come out of my mouth, but instead I tried to remedy it with a crooked smile.
Vincent's brows relaxed and a tiny smile threatened to cross his face. I could see the amusement that my awkwardness caused in his eyes. Oh, he must have known I'd had a huge crush on him, the way I'd try to use the smallest of opportunities to bond with him, as if I was in any position to get close to, quite possibly, the deadliest assassin in the world, with the exception of Sephiroth.
The anticipation was killing me. "Well...?" I wonder if I looked too hopeful.
"Very well," he said simply. I couldn't tell what expression he wore, because at that moment he leaned forward and rose from his chair, walking toward the stairs, soft leather audibly protesting his movements as he passed by me.
"...Where are you going?" I called.
He called back as he ascended the stairs, not glancing over his shoulder once. "Upstairs. I need to pack some things."
"You'll teach me, right?" Was I over-eager or what? I kept telling myself to shut up, but my mouth wouldn't listen.
He stopped for a minute on the steps and looked back at me. "Ask me tonight."
And then he continued up to his room, without another word, leaving me sitting on the table with my thoughts. I knew I'd remind him when Cid and Tifa went to the store. I pulled my legs to myself and sat cross-legged, thinking about our talk, and looking forward to the end of the day. I'd roll him a cigarette, and he would smoke it; the others would come back, and Cid would join in, and Tifa might bum one off Cid, depending on her mood. And the four of us would sit on the floor of whoever's room we ended up in, or the lobby, or wherever, it didn't matter. Either way, we'd be playing cards and drinking the best damned drinks in the world. Don't know if it was because of Tifa, or if it was because it was easier to enjoy something hard when with friends. Or maybe it was just one friend in particular...
...gods!
If you're wondering whether or not I made an ass out of myself or stuck my foot in my mouth, I can assure you yes on both questions. But you know what? It didn't really matter, because I had fun, and I got to spend time alone with my favorite person in the entire world, even if it was just for a few minutes.
Besides, I had plenty of other nights to redeem myself.
End
Final Fantasy VII and its characters © 1997 Square-Enix Co., Ltd.