My Vietnam
7 August 2014
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This is a FFVII fic by klepto_maniac0. I own no concepts and no characters except the ones you've never heard of, which means they're ones I've made. I freely admit I will take liberties with the FFVII canon because this is an alternate universe fic (in case you haven't figured that out already.) That's why some details are different, some events are ignored, and some people don't exist or act in a different capacity. Ain't fanfic fun?
"My Vietnam" (henceforth shortened to MYV) is a continuation of "Put Your Lights On" (PYLO), but it is not necessary to have read PYLO before reading this story. Whenever PYLO-specific events are referenced, the pertinent chapter will be indexed in the author's note.
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Mama was a lunatic, yes
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Seishi still lived in the small house across the Blue Lotus's "lake". This late in the spring, the sweet tea olive trees that shaded the entire structure were in full bloom, nearly hiding the house from sight. Apricot-scented breezes covered the smell of decay for most people, but reminders of her impending death were everywhere for Seishi; the house was dark because too much light hurt her eyes, there was a basket in every room for soiled bandages, and there was Continental furniture in certain places because being higher off the ground made it easier for Yoko and Tsukiko to pick her up and carry her. Normally Seishi didn't care about any of this, but the day Toriko was due to arrive, she replaced the Continental furniture with Wutaiese, hid all the bandage baskets, and made the lights as bright as she could stand without her one eye watering. When she was done, Seishi sat on the veranda of her small house, swatched in a black-and-purple susohiki whose embroidered train covered her useless, dangling legs.
"What do I say? What do I do?"
Seishi was still surprised that Toriko had consented to come, but she'd always been such a dutiful child. Seishi hoped the Continents hadn't spoiled that aspect of her.
"Well, even if they did, she's still my daughter."
There was a deep, nameless hunger clawing at her chest these days, an appetite for Toriko so great that it frightened her. Seishi wanted to see her daughter. She had no idea why, nor any idea of what she would do once Toriko was actually there. Half-formed notions came and went, no more permanent than her recollection of events from day to day. Seishi knew she was losing her mind, but she wasn't terribly frightened by it. There was much she wanted to forget, and forgetting how to dress herself was a small price to pay for the loss of nightmares featuring glowing-eyed demons doing unspeakable things.
Besides, she had handmaidens to help her, at least for now.
Yoko and Tsukiko were displeased by Toriko's incumbent arrival. They never said as much to her, but Seishi could see their eyes go tight whenever Toriko's name came up. Silly ducks. They loved her more than their dead mothers, but to Seishi they had only ever been servants. They were not replacements for Toriko, despite being her same age and looking much like her when she'd first picked them off the street. Yoko was plumper than Toriko now, in a way that people would find appealing-bordering-on-overripe later in life. Tsukiko was always going to be very short, but her proportions were well enough that she'd look more like a woman than a small child.
"I wonder what my daughter will look like many years from now..."
Nanashi and Toriko arrived in the evening, shadowed by a tall man wearing sunglasses. Seishi remembered Rude, though he wore a dark gray hoodie and dark pants; apparently he was undercover, to an extent. He stayed back a respectful distance from Nanashi and Toriko as they rounded the lake to approach. Seishi looked past Nanashi, her one good eye only for her daughter. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
Toriko was of average height now, but the length of her stride hinted at an unfeminine tallness later; she would be taller than Seishi, nearly of a height to look her late father in the eye. She walked like Nanashi, all muscle and no grace except when she thought about it. Even far away, her gray-green eyes glowed like the Demon's, sending an unconscious chill of fear though Seishi's chest that made her breath come short. She controlled it by breathing deep, scooping the fear from the pit of her stomach and exhaling it out through her nose.
"My daughter. Mine. Mine."
Toriko was dressed like a Continental in dark, slim-fitting pants with pockets on the sides of the legs and a short, structured coat that had a military feel. The hilts of the Shusaku swords bobbed at her hips, which made Seishi smile a bit. She'd estimated correctly; Toriko was finally tall enough to use the blades, though she wouldn't remain this height for long.
The closer Toriko came, the more awkward Seishi felt. When her daughter came to stand before her, her thoughts seemed to stall.
"You've gotten so tall without me."
"I've been eating well," said Toriko.
Seishi blinked, unaware she'd spoken aloud. To cover her lapse, Seishi nodded at Nanashi, who bowed and disappeared into the shadows. Rude hung around like a bad odor until Toriko dismissed him with a similar head nod, though he only moved a few steps back.
"Now where are my handmaidens... Hiding somewhere near, no doubt. I'm sure they want to get a good look at her."
"Yoko, Tsukiko," Seishi called softly. Two soft footfalls came behind her almost instantly, resolving into soft shuffles of silk. They had been very near indeed.
"Yes, milady?" They chorused.
"See to Nanashi and our...male guest, over there."
"Yes, milady."
They left, but Seishi heard the reluctance in their footsteps. Tsukiko walked past Seishi to get to Rude, which meant she had to pass by Toriko. Seishi did not miss the downward flick of her daughter's glowing eyes as Tsukiko probably shot her a jealous glance.
"What a bother," said Toriko, speaking in Junonese.
"She feels threatened by you," said Seishi back in the same language.
Toriko cocked her head, regarding her mother with considering eyes. "I don't see why," said Toriko in del Solian. "She's not anything close to competition for me."
Seishi nearly laughed. They had done this often when Toriko was a child, cycling through the languages Seishi knew and had taught to her. It was a handy way to communicate in a world that was less than friendly. Seishi hadn't thought that Toriko would remain fluent, but then again she had gone to a very prestigious school.
"Well, don't disabuse them of that notion," said Seishi in Modeian. "If they fall into despair, they'll be less useful to me."
"You could dismiss them," said Toriko in the same language. Abruptly switching to Wutaiese, she said, "I intend to stay with you until..."
Seishi watched her daughter's face closely. There was the lowering of the gaze she remembered well. But that head tilt to avoid the unpleasant, that was distinctly her father's motion.
"Come here," said Seishi. "You're standing in the dark."
Toriko walked to her and sat by her on the veranda. Seishi lifted her hands to her daughter's cheeks and studied her face.
"Your eyes have become very green," said Seishi, fascinated and repelled by the unnatural glow. Not reflective like a cat's eyes, they were definitely more like a SOLDIER's. Seishi looked hard into her daughter's gaze and saw a subtle thinning at the bottom of her pupil. There was an oil lamp nearby. Seishi picked it up and held it up by Toriko's face. Toriko remained still, though her eyes flicked to the side with the flame. Seishi saw her pupils narrow vertically. Just like her father's had. She exhaled and set the lantern down.
It wasn't enough just to see. Seishi gently brushed and patted the curves of Toriko's face, feeling the growing definition of her jaw and the rising prominence of her cheekbones. When she had a better idea of how Toriko would look after she was gone, Seishi picked up her daughter's left hand.
"Why do you wear these?" She asked, plucking at the leather half-glove over Toriko's palm.
"They give me better traction when I fight," said Toriko.
"Are you so threatened, that you're ready to fight all the time?"
"I was taught to be prepared."
Seishi probed the muscles and bones of Toriko's hand. As a child she'd been soft, but now touching her was like touching a wolf, all muscle and deadly intent that waited quietly until the right moment. Seishi tugged on the glove but Toriko lifted her hand away.
"Let me comb your hair, Mother."
Seishi turned. Toriko reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the decorative combs that Seishi had sent her years ago, but the red-and-gold kushi looked pathetically small in her black-clad palm. Nevertheless Toriko ran the carved wooden teeth through Seishi's hair, which was still long enough to pool on the veranda behind her. If Toriko noticed it was more gray than black, she didn't say a word. Once she was finished combing, Toriko silently began to braid.
"Such a light touch she has," Seishi thought. "No one's been able to braid my hair for years without pulling some of it out."
"You must be hungry," said Seishi. "What do you want to eat?"
"I'm not hungry," said Toriko. "But I'll make us some tea and snacks if you like."
It was not right. But Seishi had no idea what more she wanted from their interaction, as Toriko finished the braid and got up. What else did mothers and daughters talk about? More importantly, what did she want to talk about?
"Toriko..."
"Yes, Mother?"
"Are you happy?"
"..."
Seishi looked up. All she saw was her daughter's back, for a moment forbidding despite her age and frame.
"Generally yes," said Toriko. "Right now it's hard."
"You can stay here."
"There's nothing for me here, Mother."
"I've willed you the Blue Lotus," said Seishi. "You will be independently wealthy."
"And would I run the place?"
Seishi scoffed. "Don't be silly. You don't know anything about the business."
She saw the tension drain from Toriko's body. "Oh good," said the girl. "I was afraid I might have to argue with you about that. Sensei said something about me taking over."
"Only in name," said Seishi. "And you'd approve certain requests and things."
"How would we explain that? No one knows about our connection."
"That's your problem," said Seishi flippantly. "I'll be dead."
Toriko turned sharply, her face creased with dismay and suppressed anger. Seishi was stunned by the rawness of her expression. Even as a child, Toriko rarely showed how she was feeling.
"Surely you won't miss me that much," said Seishi quietly, lowering her eyes. "We separated so long ago. You're a completely different person now."
"Whose fault is that?" Toriko asked bitterly. As Seishi lifted her head in surprise, Toriko said, "As long as we're being honest."
"I did what was best," said Seishi, not sure where the change in tone had come from.
"You gave me away without ever asking me if I wanted to go," said Toriko, the light from her eyes starting to flicker. Seishi fought against remembered fear. "I never said anything to you because I knew you wouldn't listen."
Seishi opened her mouth and then closed it. Tersely she shook her head. "You are correct," she said stiffly. "I would not have." She looked at Toriko and asked, "Have you truly been keeping that to yourself all this time? The last time we met, you said you understood."
"But I never said I liked it," said Toriko.
"And you think I did?"
"No. Maybe."
The word stung like a hornet. "Maybe?"
Toriko gestured around her. "You've done very well without me, Mother. You're rich, cared for, you have influence—"
"I'm sorry, would you rather I have died?" Seishi asked, the numb shock turning slowly to anger.
"Of course not, Mother!"
"What are you trying to say, then?"
"I don't know!" Toriko burst out. Shaking her head, she said, "I can't stand hearing you talk about how you're going to die, when you were the one who made sure we had so little time together."
"You think I wanted us apart?" asked Seishi, fighting to maintain control. Anger was literally poison to her ruined body right now, but she couldn't stop herself. "Sending you away was the hardest thing I've ever done, especially considering who I was sending you to. I did ask you to come back, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten," said Toriko, her eyes literally flashing. Like latent lightning they crackled as she said, "You wanted me back when it was easy for you."
"Easy?" Seishi repeated. Staring at her only child like she'd lost her mind, she said deliberately, "Have you forgotten our lives back then, Toriko? Hungry—no, starving, all the time. Sores from wounds we couldn't pay to have treated. I lay down with whoever could pay so YOU could eat, and you think that was easy for me?"
Seishi compulsively struck the veranda, ignoring the sick pop of her thin skin breaking. She saw Toriko gasp and the flash of horror on her face spurred Seishi on. "I am your mother, Toriko! And I made the choice that was the best for you, because you were too young to know what that was! So yes, I sent you away, and I'm not sorry! And when I could do better by you, I wanted you back, and I am not sorry about that either! If I'd let sentiment stop me, you almost certainly would have been forced into whoring, and I would have killed you myself before I let that happen!"
Too much. She was too angry. Seishi tried to hold her breath, but the coughing came, cracking through her body in rales that felt like her organs were tearing to bits. Blood spattered over the veranda.
"I'm sorry," Toriko gasped, dashing to her. "I'm sorry, Mother. Please stop. This isn't good for you."
"You think I'm doing this on purpose too?" Seishi thought furiously.
"No, no, of course you're not," said Toriko, awkwardly touching her shoulders and her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just... I don't... I won't say anymore. I'll behave, I promise, just don't die. Please."
And then Toriko started crying. But even as she cried, she held Seishi's shoulders, keeping her upright as the horrible coughing passed. Seishi forced herself to calm down. Toriko never cried aloud, never when anyone could see. Even as a very small child, she would turn her face to the corner and weep silently into the wall. When she had the strength, Seishi lifted her arms and hugged her daughter.
"I had no idea that it hurt you so much," said Seishi when she could breathe again. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's my fault," said Toriko, shuddering. "I said horrible things. It wasn't fair."
"Many things are unfair," said Seishi. "But it wasn't untrue. I'd rather hear this than a thousand lies about fine you are with everything."
"Most of the time I am fine," Toriko said, lifting her head. "But... I think something's wrong with me, Mother. I feel so much intensely than I normally do."
"My darling, you're at that age," said Seishi, looking at her. "It's to be expected."
Toriko started laughing. Seishi stroked her hair with her non-injured hand, feeling something warm and maternal pushing out the dying anger. A bit of strength seemed to come back into her body.
"Let's go to sleep, Tori-chan," said Seishi. "We'll have lots of time to talk tomorrow."
Toriko sniffed and nodded. Without being asked, she picked up Seishi and carried her down the hall to her room. With the greatest of care, she helped Seishi out of her pointlessly heavy kimono and into her comfortable sleeping robe, changing her bandages along the way. Afterward they laid down on the futon and fell asleep, foreheads touching, as though the years had never come between them. It was the best Seishi had slept in a long time.
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a/n: The trees around Seishi's house are sweet tea olives, also known as kwai fah. The smell of this flower is what gave Hong Kong its name, because the apricot-like scent fills the air and makes the land truly a fragrant harbor (heung gong). I adore this smell. Someday I'm going to cultivate a nice little indoor kwai fah tree like my grandfather and have my house smell wonderful all the time.
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I've been sitting on the original draft of this chapter for about three weeks and only tonight did I realize what was missing. There wasn't any conflict in the original draft, just this peculiar tepid uneasiness that didn't make sense for the amount of time left. So then I wrote another draft, which was so overdramatic that I lost sleep over it. Now we have only 200% more crying and screaming, with a side of deliberate obliviousness in the face of awful circumstances.
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