Authors Note: Hi! Huzzah - I updated! On with the drabble...
Rating: T (for some censored cursing)
Pairings: Yuffie x Vincent (Yuffie's point'o'view).
Notes: Done very quickly, two days, so I probably have a lot of mistakes in the writing, and the quality isn't that good. But, oh well! Here goes nothing!
Music: MCR - go figure.
Timeline: After Vinnie's fight with Omega and after the reunion that we all know happened.
Drabbletine Summary: Yuffie's personal struggles with a little demon we all know well - and I'm not talking about Chaos.
Disclaimer: The day I publish this drabble and buy Square Enix will be dubbed National Bash-Shelke Day. Until then, I am a nobody. :'( Oh well. I own naught but the computer and the drabble.
Drabbletine (noun); A fluffy(ish) humor-drama-drabble-oneshot about Vincent and Yuffie (and Co.) written by Latte.
The Drabbletines (proper noun); a collection of drabbles/oneshots (fifteen to be exact) that are all universally centered on Vincent and Yuffie. They may be good writing, or they may just be a bit cliché, but they're still... uh... drabbletines (Stretch of the imagination, that one.). O.o;;
...
...
cry me a river;;
Contrary to popular belief, the famous Vincent "John Vincey Adams Family" Valentine does smile. I mean, wow! All I ever expected him to do is mope and snap his fingers twice like the dark M&M's in the Adams Family commercial. But looking over at him now, the firelight reflecting off his gauntlet in little multi-color splashes, he looks… I'm not going to press it. Content.
But he's only smiling at her.
He only everrr smiles at her.
She only ever smiles at him. Gag.
She, the brown-haired, blue-eyed, no-good, dirty-rotten - !
Whoa, Yuffie, keep your cool! You are the Great Ninja after all. Great ninjas do not fuss over silly little things like little robots who just sweep in and captivate the man you've been madly in like with for the past three years.
We're all in 7th Heaven Bar. The bar itself is closed, but we're all curled up in blankets and comforters of some sort. Tifa started a fire (in the fireplace, you nut) for like, the first time. She said she needed the light.
She's actually shaking so hard that Cloud, who is clutching her arm, is shaking too. But that could just be him shaking. Barret is sobbing softly into Cloud's arm and Cid is staring with wide eyes. What am I doing? I'm laughing. Throwing back my shoulders and laughing.
What could cause such a phenomenon?
Horror. Movie. Marathon.
Oh yeah, baby, you know it.
Did you also know that credit cards are pretty resilient?
Yup, they are extremely resilient. Sadly, the heroine in this particular movie (I honestly am not sure I ever even saw the title, but that could've just been me taking micro-naps between blinks) didn't know that, but the bad guy in this movie is pretty devious, so I doubt that would've helped.
Oh, wait, I'm getting off track, aren't I?
So SHE'S curled up in HIS lap, burying her face in his chest. She just peeked up for a second to smile at him before pulling his cape around her.
Oh, if only everyone else could see what a liar she was. She acts like an angel, but demon's closer.
He's smiling back.
Oh, sometimes I hate them both.
But I always love him.
I always loved him. And I know I'm young, so maybe it's not really love love, but it's always reminded me of the way I saw my mom look at my dad. But I was really young back then. Anyway, it's the closest word I have to call it – not like I'm sure it's even love when it's not returned. Not like he knows/fathoms/cares/"would-ever-find-out-in-this-century"s, but when I see her curled up with him, and she's looking up at him as if he's her savior, him looking at her as if she's the angel Lucrecia come back from the dead (which she is, but that doesn't matter) – it makes me sick.
Speaking of sick, I don't know how much longer I want to stay in this room. I swear she'll start kissing him soon – then I might puke.
But, nope. I have to stay here. Because I have to make everyone believe that I'm peachy (which I really should be), and that I don't care if everyone hates me (I'm not saying they do – come on, even I'm not that self-pitying) or if I annoy everyone to death.
I don't know why.
...
Okay, so that's a kind of lie. You see I may lie to everyone else, but in true Awesome Ninja fashion, I must stay true to myself, so... here goes.
I guess I've always figured that I have to be... bouncy. Resilient. Like a credit card, y'know? I need them to keep the little respect they have for me. Which could be none at all. But I mean, think about it: If I started breaking down and being whiny and like a wet noodle everything, what would they think? I'm supposed to be stronger than that – I shouldn't be letting a guy get to me, no matter how awesome or freaking magical this guy is – and trust me, he is pretty fricking magical.
They'd think that I'm even more pathetic that they give me credit for. Or maybe they wouldn't, but I can't risk it.
So if I act like I don't care and that I don't get upset by anything they say or do, (well, anything that Barret or Cid do) then I keep that small amount of respect.
Right?
…Maybe not. I don't know.
Anyway, I'm only running on three expressos and a can of Monster, so I'm too tired to actually think.
Anyway, I'm not supposed to think, am I? I'm supposed to be the youngest, stupidest member of the party.
Wow, that didn't harbor any resentment.
And that didn't harbor any lies.
And that didn't harbor any sarcasm.
And that didn't harbor any intelligence.
And that didn't harbor any stupidity.
And that didn't harbor any lies.
And that didn't harbor any truth.
And that…
Oh.
I've gone insane.
After that amazing realization…
You know, I think it's a real talent. I have this ability to rant long and hard, and never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever…(Uh… oh, shoot. I'm doing it again.) …ever, ever stop.
Wait, the real brat, Shelke, is saying something to him.
Oh, thanks Ms. Hills Have Eyes II, just scream at exactly the right point so I can't hear anything. Or is it the Hills Have Eyes? I can't remember.
What am I doing watching this stupid movie? Stupid movie list: Up next: When The Zolom Comes Out to Play (I swear, that is the actual title), A Night in Nibelheim, Bloody Midgar, Hallow's Eve, and, oh, what's the last one? I forget the title, so I'll call it "Gore-fest."
I swear I think I was out of my mind to ever leave my warm cocoon of blankets upstairs. I don't remember much. All I remember was Tifa shaking me awake, whispering, "Horror movie marathon," then tiptoeing off to the next poor Avalanche member: Vincent, judging from Tifa's yelp. (I think he might've pulled Cerberus on her.) I remember looking at the alarm clock, which flashed in big, annoyed numbers: 72:98 RPM. (I think I was looking at it wrong.) With a sigh, I had pulled my weary body out of its rest, and made coffee. And that had been the beginning to a looonnnggg night…
So ch'yeah. Back to the present…
Wait, is he actually looking ticked off? Jeez, you little brat, you must be real stupid. I mean, going off and deliberately getting him – well, I have no clue if she went and got him deliberately angry, but he sure doesn't look happy.
Or maybe she did.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe so.
Or – maybe I should stop.
Whoa! Vinnie actually stands up, gives Shelkie-poo a death-glare, and stalks off.
Jeez!
I guess it was a one-night fling. (Oh, that's nasty. Brain erase!)
Where'd he stalk off to? No idea. Barret just flung his arms into the air, 'cause he was so afraid of the movie. Can't see a thing. I think Cid might be trying to punch me, I can't tell. Cloud's screaming like a little girl. (I think it's time to go.)
Should I go and talk to him? I mean, if Shelke is so willingly letting go of him...? Nah, I decide. He might bite my head off. Then I'd be a stick figure with no head, and that's even tentupillyionlyiffically unattractive.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait! You know... common sense just told me to not talk to him. So... what should I do? Go talk to him, duh!
So... so, where is he?
No idea.
I get up and stifle my sniggers at the stupidity of the movie. I'll check upstairs first.
You know, I bet Shelke just told him he stank (not that he really does – that corpse smell wore off ages ago), so he gave her an angry look, and went off to Tifa's room to steal her perfume. So that's where I'll look. 'Cause that's so obviously what happened.
...Alright. Fine. Unlikely?
You'betcha. But have I really got any better plan than just wandering randomly around upstairs? Nope. So there you have it.
Hey! Wait. Lookie.
Vinnie's door is open. And he isn't inside. I think I'll go in.
Insane bordering on suicidal?
You'betcha!
But... aww. This is such a letdown! I thought his room would be full of skeletons and whatnot, but it's just a normal room.
No pictures on the desk, nothing in the closet, a neatly made bed – but whoa! Wait! A normal room? Who am I kidding? This is Vincent we're talking about! There has to be something!
I plop down on his bed and look around. There has to be some deep, dark, mysterious... mystery in this room.
Somewhere.
And I am so ready to find it!
I go over to the desk, opening the top drawer.
A picture!
SCORE! - ...!
Oh. It's Lucrecia.
!$(*&)$ that !(#)#(.
Who puts a picture in a drawer?
A picture of good memories and good times?
Hey. Whine-alert. That's what I feel like. A picture in a drawer. And there's no one to take me out of the drawer. Nobody to go poking around to find the desk. Nobody who wants to find the room, even.
Big whoop. I mean, gee, this is all nice and figurative, but –
I hate her! Everything's her fault! If she had never existed, sure, Vinnie'd be an old withered corpse, but he could've lived a happi...er... life!
And even in death, she manages to steal his life and love. He will never get over her, never, ever, ever. And in that same train of thought, I know that all I'll ever be is a distraction and a nuisance. He'll never feel for me half of what he felt for her. Not even a ghost of it – and that's if and only if he could ever even see me that way. I mean... he's how many years my senior? Why on earth would he even bother to think of me like that? Then there's the fact that he never ages. Ack.
Who am I kidding? I'll never even be a person to him. Maybe just an annoying bug, ready to be squished.
Or maybe I'm already squished.
Like, on his nose or something, to be doubly annoying.
Gee, I feel great now...
I wish I could get over him. I mean, trust me, I'm not stupid, however much I act it. I'm nothing special. He is. I know it's hopeless, but he's... just so...
Deep sigh. Distustingly mushy alert. Every time I look in his eyes, I feel like I'm protected. Safe. And I know that he's always got my back, and I've always got his. We're the best of duos on the battlefield. We're just power in motion, covering each other's openings and looking out for each other. It's so fluid, so–so right, that it just hurts to know that this flame I've got for him, this burning want for him to be mine isn't ever going to be anything more than that – a want.
Alright. Fine. I'm in such a sharing mood – I'll let you in on a really big secret. But you really can't tell anyone else, okay? Tifa doesn't even know this, and I tell her everything.
I'm not as... innocent. As naive as everyone thinks I am. And I know that that's what everyone loves about me – my blind innocence, but it isn't there. I've seen a lot of crap. I've done a lot of crap, and people have done a lot of crap to me. I haven't had the sweetest of upbringings. I haven't had the cleanest of getaways, but I'm free now, and that's all that matters – that's all that matters – and maybe I'm not as... untouched as people think I am, but – but –
Oh, great time to start crying!
Buck up, Yuffs!
WAKE UP AND SMELL THE MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS!
Just. STOP. Crying! Come on!
...ugh! Okay, look, I know you're tired, but not now. Now is really not a good time, so get a hold on yourself!
Ugh. Nice, Mrs. Hojo is dotted with tears now.
Joy.
"Yuffie?" his voice is so quiet I almost don't hear him. Almost. Wouldn't it be so much easier if I hadn't heard him?
But no. I drop the picture, ignore the crack of the glass, and turn.
"Vi – oh my G – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to – I'm – the door was ope – I just thought..." I slow down, realizing how stupid I was. I'm in his room. The room of the most freaking private person I've ever met and I'm pawing through his stuff and I'm just thinking it's okay? What the heck! I choke and stutter. "I j-just thought... it... would... be... okay." I end flatly and turn my face away. I don't need him to know I'm crying. "I'm sorry. I'll go now." I mumble with a vague hope of escaping without further embarrassing myself, I push pass him.
"No, wait." He puts his human hand on my arm, "Why are you crying?" And that killed that hope.
I look up at him, biting back more tears. Why does the question "why are you crying?" or "are you okay?" send me over the edge? I mean, after that, it's a tidal wave. So difficult to swallow the lump that forms in my throat, so difficult to breathe.
But.
Not.
This.
Time.
No! I strictly forbid it! "Oh – I-I'm fine." I stutter, and try to continue my not-so-mad dash to es-scaa-pey.
The gentle touch of his hand becomes an equally gentle grasp. "You're not and you know it." He murmurs, quite matter-of-factly and quite un-Vinnie like.
What to do? I can't exactly say, 'it's you and your stupid girlfriend's fault.'
"I-I'm just going through some problems right now. It's okay, just ignore me." I try to combat the urge to keep crying with an attempt sunny grin, chiding myself at the same time. Why am I telling him this? It's not like I need to embarrass myself further.
He gives me a concerned look and slowly lets go of my arm.
"I just... Vinnie, could you do me a favor? A small, itty-bitty favor?" I try to beam, and I think I manage it quite well, through the tears and all.
"Yes?"
"Could you remember to live a little?"
A look of surprise flits momentarily across his face, before he resumes his usual cold-fish exterior.
Oh dear, I think, as a rock plunges into the pit of my stomach, sick and roiling. I told him way too much. He's too perceptive – he's guessing everything right now – I just know it! How I feel about him, how I feel about the brat, how I feel about Lucrecia... laying it all bare. I better get out of here, and quickly, or I might make more of a fool of myself. Which I already have, but I can stop me making a bigger fool of myself.
"Uh, well... bye." I say, my voice even more unsure than myself. With all the appearance of walking (while running), I leave.
Oh God. Kill me before I end up inadvertently killing myself with antics like that.
I make my way back to my room, open the door, embrace the messiness, and fall back onto my bed. All this, and I forgot to ask him why he was angry. I meant to go and be sort of a therapist, and he's the one who ends up asking me 'what's wrong?'. Gee, reversal of roles? Flipping of the tables? I should really stop.
So, completely embarrassing myself in front of Vincent... that's just perfect. And I want to know why he was angry, and if he and Shelke broke up, and if they were ever really together.
Then there are the other questions I want to ask: Why are you still hooked-up on a dead chick? Why don't you ditch the cape and act like the twenty-odd-year-old you look like? Why don't you get a haircut and pretend you're eighteen? Why don't you try to be funny? Why don't you just move on? Why don't you listen to The All-American Rejects' "Move Along"? Why don't you listen to any music? Why are you so old-fashioned? Why do you call yourself dead? Why don't you party with your demons?...
...Why can't I just forget you and find a boyfriend? Why am I still hooked-up on you?
Hah – the ones that never will be answered. Maybe they shouldn't even be answered.
I hear Tifa screaming my name from downstairs; I should probably go and comfort her in her terror.
Buuuut... I'd have to pass Vincent's door. In fact, I'll have to pass his door if I ever want to see the sun again. (My room doesn't have a window. How sick is that?)
Tifa screams for me again, in an annoyed sort of way.
I sigh. Buck up, cowardess. And so I stand and tentatively push my door open.
He won't notice me... right?
Quietly, that's the ticket. Okay, slow down before his door and act like you're just strolling along... don't look in his door – I SAID DON'T LOOK! OHMIWORD! AHH! RED ALERT! OKAY – JUST RUN PAST!
For that second, when our eyes had met... no no, too scary! He probably thinks I'm peeking in or something!
But... he had looked so sad, when I saw him. Like, I dunno, he was being all emotional, like I am now. Maybe he was angry. He probably was, probably 'cause I broke precious Lucrecia's precious face. (Oh, how I have always wanted to do that.) I wanna go and pat him on the back, but I don't think I have the nerve, so I'll go pat Tifa on the back.
...
...
Okay, it's tomorrow. Tomorrow night. Well, it's actually today, because tomorrow never comes. But then, why do people say they'll do things tomorrow? Now I'm confused. If tomorrow never comes, then what if next week and everything else never come, then that means that next year will never come, meaning there is no future, meaning life goes on forever, and that I'm going to be twenty-one today, because there is no future, meaning I can drink.
"Hey, Tifa!" I call and make the bartender raise her head sleepily. "Can you whip me up a margarita?"
"You're under-aaaaaa..." here she pauses for a yawn, "-ge..."
I explain my theory to her.
"Hah... no."
"Gee, everybody's a critic. And if you're sooo tired, go to bed. It's only six o'clock."
"B...barr..." she murmurs, half falling asleep on said object.
"That's what you get for having a horror movie marathon – that was your idea, in fact. And I'll take care of the bar."
Huh, for being so tired, it's amazing how fast she can move when I say I'll do the bar.
This can't be too hard. I see Tifa do it tons of times. Even with the drunk/snooty customers, I can do fine. And it means I can have as many drinks as I want. Tifa is soo illogical when she's dead tired.
But oh! Speak of the devil, a customer.
Jeez, and five minutes later, he's plastered.
How 'bout that?
What Tifa hates about this job is how they hit on you so much. Me, being the ugly stick figure I am, should have no problems with this, so I'm much more suited to this job. Except they don't want to buy alcohol from some stick figure.
Oh well. Tough luck. Deal with it. Pfffbbt, pfft, pbbbt.
I don't make these noises to customers, by the way.
It's a really uneventful shift, and at midnight on the dot, I skip over to the open/closed (open, closed, open, closed...) sign, and flip it to the ever-so-lovable closed. That done, I turn and tiptoe up the stairs, intent on not waking Tifa up. So it's quite difficult when someone grabs my arm. (Not particularly violently, but enough to terrifying the living crap out of me.)
I nearly scream.
"Aiee!"
Okay, more than nearly...
Someone puts a hand over my mouth and turns me around.
Shoot. Crap. Whoops and any other 'oops' word you can think of.
I pry Vinnie's hand off my mouth. "Oh, Vincent." I say calmly, "Hi."
He looks mildly amused. "Hello. Yuffie, I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time."
Vincent, you can have the whole lot of it. "Sure. What's'sup?"
"I just wanted to follow your advice." He replies calmly.
I give him a confused look. Me? Give advice? Nah, I ain't that smart, my look says. Just as I'm about to ask him, he leans forward and kisses me.
Oh no, not just a kiss.
But a kiss.
Defined as tingly-in-your-toes, butterflies-in-your-stomach, goose-bump giving hair-raising, electricity-licious, don't-wanna-stop, stars-in-your-eyes, I-really-mean-it – the list could go on forever.
Whoah! Back up through the definitions...
"But a kiss."
Wanna repeat that last part?
"...a kiss."
One more time?
"kiss."
Whoah...?
He pulls back and looks pleased with his handiwork. (what? A completely shocked and nonplussed me?)
Play it cool, I tell my mind. "Vincent, what was that for?" I ask in a completely shocked and nonplussed way.
"I'm just following your advice." Replies Vincey cheerfully, as he walks back into his room and shuts the door behind him.
But the icing on the cake is the look on Shelke's face as she walks in on the last few seconds of our kiss. Her face is tear-streaked and her eyes are blotchy, like she was crying before she came out.
Dear, darling Shelke, I think you have a few more tears to cry.
...
...
el fin
Not that good, but I like the last line.
Any errors, please inform me. The verb tense was hard to write, so it's all choppy. -shrug- Please inform me of any un-matching verb-forms.
Don't feel sorry for Shelke, we all hate her anyway. Neener-neener-neeener.
I just noticed. This is an interior monologue-ish, actually. I had to write one for English Class and it sucked. I could'a just used this.
ciao
EDIT: May 18th, 2011. Re-haul. Tried to make it better. My apologies.