Monsters in the Slums
Cissnei drinks alone in a Slums bar. Someplace dark and gritty with patrons that look like terrorists, murderers, and rapists. She's out of uniform because if anyone sees Turks' blue here they would forget their own differences in an instant alliance of convenience. She sits at the bar, back to the room, hands clasped around her whiskey glass. Occasionally she takes small sips, savoring the burn of the hard liquor.
Reno likes bars where the girls wear too much perfume and lipstick. That matches most of the women here, but Reno also likes his girls clean, with freshly soaped skin and dry-cleaned silk dresses. Cissnei thinks it has to do with his raising in the slums. Tonight he's at the Goblin Bar, probably already seven drinks past drunk.
Rude doesn't care where he drinks. A shot is a shot is a shot. But he drinks with Reno and Reno drinks at the Goblin Bar when he's in Midgar. He doesn't drink in this little hellhole Cissnei visits after missions.
Of all the slums, Sector Four is the worst. People don't live in Four – they exist to prey on each other and anyone pathetic enough to trespass on the filthy streets. When she's tired, Cissnei goes to Four. It's a place she can be completely anonymous. She doesn't have a name here and no one cares.
The whiskey in her glass is cheap, but the bartender charges her as if it were the finest liquor available on the Planet. In reality there's too much water and ice stealing the edge. The place smells of piss and shit. In the corner, some poor fool is decomposing, body stripped clean of valuables, blood drying.
She's been off duty for three hours.
The first time she came here was after torturing and killing a young girl. Not because the girl knew anything. The interrogation had been carried out by Director Veld and was of the girl's father. He'd caved before the girl died, but Veld gave the kill-order anyway. Cissnei drank until she couldn't remember the look on the father's face as he held his daughter's body.
The bar is always noisy – people talking too loud about unsavory topics. Cissnei blocks the words for the most part, letting them fall around her ears like soothing white noise. She's trained herself to listen for certain conversations though. Namely ones that affect her safety.
Tonight a voice filters through. She recognizes the voice and knows it means danger for her and everyone else in ShinRa: the deserter, Genesis Rhapsodes. She narrows her eyes at the amber liquor in her glass, the corner of her mouth curling up in irritation. She isn't here to work!
She tips the glass back, swallowing more of the alcohol than advisable, then signals the bartender for another. He slouches over and pours until her glass is full to the rim. He doesn't make eye contact or say anything. She puts her gil on the table and he snatches it away, fleeing to the other side of the bar. He probably suspects what she is.
Genesis approaches to her left, slipping into the empty barstool beside her. "You seem familiar to me."
Cissnei rubs her forehead in frustration. "I'm off duty, so what does that matter?"
He twists his entire body to stare at her openly. Cissnei doesn't look away from her drink. She's never fought this target before. But she's lost to him once and had to be rescued like a damsel from a fairy tale. Only her hero hadn't delivered true love's first kiss and they didn't live happily ever after. She takes a sip.
"You almost look like a vapid secretary. Did you work on the SOLDIER floor?"
Cissnei takes a large drink. Why is he forcing this issue right now?
"Or perhaps with administration? Did I see you while visiting plump and greedy bastards?"
She feels a shift from a couple people sitting near her. They're cluing into the conversation. She finally turns to look at him. "I'm off duty," she says. "That means I want to be left alone and have no interest in you."
Genesis scoffs. "Once you join ShinRa the only true "off duty" is death." He looks older and more worn than the Copy she once fought in Sector 8. His eyes are still brilliant blue orbs infused with mako. She's never been this close to him before. In his eyes she sees fire burning.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes." She blinks slowly, then skewers on him with her best blank stare. "What do you want?"
"Honestly?" He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. He must see something overtly disgusting because he wrinkles his nose and shifts his drink. Cissnei doesn't want to think about what is above their heads. She takes another drink, watching him contemplate her question. She's hadn't meant to provoke a philosophical debate, but if she were on duty she would prompt him. Psychological profiles helped the Turks control certain elements within ShinRa – and it helped control a select few outside. But she's off duty so she decides it is time to go and focuses on finishing her drink.
"I want the Gift of the Goddess."
Cissnei swallows back most of her irritation. He wants that? "You already have it," she says with a sneer. She slips from her barstool, eyes sweeping the bar. A few people are too interested in her. They'll follow her into the streets. She'll probably have to kill them before she can come and drink here again. But not tonight. Tonight she'll just avoid them. Tonight she'll go to a liquor store above-the-Plate and buy enough alcohol to kill the Midgar Zolom. Then she'll drink it all and let herself fall into oblivion within the safe little cocoon of her closet.
Genesis follows her from the bar. "You don't know what the Gift of the Goddess is," he says, voice serious.
"From LOVELESS?"
"Yes. The Fifth Act is lost, so we cannot know what it is." He reaches for her wrist, motion augmented by SOLDIER enhancements.
Over a decade of training kicks in and she moves her hand.
His eyes narrow. "Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter. I'm off duty." She turns and runs. It's a stupid response but if there's a fight, she doesn't want it in Four. Maybe he won't follow her. She never hears any signs of pursuit. By the time she reaches her apartment she's sure she was followed though. She momentarily debates just returning to headquarters. Genesis won't follow her there. Instead she shoves her key into the lock, twisting sharply.
The deadbolt makes a dull noise. She jerks open the door. She steps inside and the door starts to swing shut. Before it is completely closed, a gloved hand catches the edge, widening the opening to reveal a tired, tired man.
Cissnei scowls.
Genesis forces a smile in response and strolls into her apartment. He glances around, taking in the sparse furnishings. There is a black sofa made of soft leather. Black walnut coffee table. Her TV is mounted on the wall, silver and silent. The sheen of dust on the screen hints at the value of the set to the young ShinRa employee. Genesis sinks onto the couch, rotating his shoulders back. "Nice place."
She runs a hand through her hair. "Really? You gonna go with that?"
"Go with what? We were having a conversation about LOVELESS. I like to indulge in debates about the meaning of the Gift."
Cissnei sets her bag of booze on the coffee table. "There is no debate for me. I know what it is and you cannot change my mind." He watches her slip the dark grey trench coat off and hang it in a wall closet. She's wearing an azure blue tee shirt and black jeans. He thinks she looks rather casual, nothing like the primped girls he's spent so much time around. He still can't place where he's seen her before, but he allows himself to enjoy her hourglass figure and the way her jeans hug her hips.
She retrieves two coffee cups from the kitchen. The cups amuse him right away. The first one is pale blue with a tonberry on it. Bright green letters proclaim I ALWAYS HOLD A GRUDGE. He can certainly relate with that. The other has a large white bird that almost looks like a phoenix. Silvery letters say WINGS ARE FREEDOM. He feels the single black wing moving beneath his skin. It hurts when it comes out, but he's learned to stop it.
"What do you want to drink?"
"Who are you?"
"You're from Banora, right? So you probably like Dumbapple wine. I think I have a quarter bottle in the liquor cabinet. She gestures to the corner of the room. The cabinet is impressive, stretching four feet wide and five feet tall. Colored bottles are carefully arranged and mostly empty.
"That's fine," Genesis says.
She pours him a half glass and then fixes herself a Long Island Ice Tea, adding a smidge of Banora White wine for flavor. She settles onto the floor by the coffee table. He brushes his hand through her coppery hair. She stiffens in surprise. "What are you playing at?"
"I just wanted you to reinitiate the conversation. I'm Genesis Rhapsodes."
Dodging introductions with him is pretty much impossible. "Cissnei of the Turks."
Genesis leans back, sipping his wine. If he's surprised she's with the Department of Administrative Research, he doesn't show it. "What is the Gift of the Goddess, Cissnei of the Turks?"
"Freedom."
"I am not free."
"You look free to me," she says. She looks at him then. He can't help but notice that no emotion shows in her hazel eyes. "I've seen . . . your wings."
"I only have one," he says. "One winged monster."
"Monster? Yes, but it's not the wing that makes you a monster, Commander. Your actions brand you monster." Her lips curve into a sad smile. "Monster is as monster does."
It's Genesis's turn to scoff at her. "What would you know about monsters, Turk?"
"Turks are monsters," she says, smile turning wolfish before fading into a careful frown. "Best not forget that if you want to beat ShinRa. Of course, I'm not certain you want to beat ShinRa. And I know that you can't pull it off, so whatever." She sips her alcohol from her coffee cup.
"So you are a monster and I'm a monster."
Cissnei nods. "I'd rather be a monster with wings than what I am."
"At least you have your body. It doesn't betray you like mine. At least you have your friends in Administrative Research. At least –"
Cissnei pushes herself from the floor onto the couch. "Turks don't have friends or families. We just have work and liquor." She molds her body against his. His breath catches. It's been too long. Her shampoo smells faintly of strawberries.
He breathes deeply. "Is that why you were in the Sector Four slums?"
"I go there after bad missions."
"Oh? What bad mission were you on?"
"Tonight wasn't real mission. I just . . . well, I just lost a friend. No, not really. I didn't lose a friend. I suppose he'll always be my friend. I lost a lover. My prince charming found a flower princess to share his life with." She empties her mug and pours some cheap liquor into it.
Genesis wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against him, his laughter echoing off the cream colored walls. "You're drinking to unrequited love tonight, Turk?"
"Yes." She looks up at him, and then moves a hand to caress his face. The skin is rough in patches, but when her thumb brushes across his lips, they are as soft as she imagined they would be. "You're drinking to lost lives tonight too. Even if you don't know it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Angeal Hewley was killed yesterday. At first I thought it might be another ShinRa line, but judging by the look on his face it's real."
Genesis's grip around her tightens. "What do you mean?"
"Drink your liquor. I'm not at liberty to tell you Company secrets. You should know better than to ask. Let's talk about fairy tells, no? About LOVELESS or the Cessna."
"Cessna?"
She gestures to the white winged creature on her coffee mug. "When I was a child, I was not loved. My father used to beat me. He'd lock me up for days at a time. I used to stare at the night sky through the cracks in the wall and dream of escape." She licks her lips, wondering why she's telling him this. Probably because it doesn't matter. She's not that child anymore.
"When did you escape?"
"Never. I'm just as trapped now as I was then. Then a Cessna attacked the town. Cessna use Holy Magic and White Fire. Everything burned. Everyone died. Except me. I was surrounded by fire, but it never touched me. The house burned around me. Everyone screamed and screamed and screamed."
"A summon," Genesis surmised.
She nodded. "I found it while playing in a stream near home. A pretty red stone. When he hit me, I felt it getting hotter. Then the Cessna destroyed everything. ShinRa came. Found me in the wreckage and took me with them. They finished raising me."
"My parents experimented on me –"
"I'm not interested in your life story, Commander. I've read the report on you a couple of times. When I'm working, I'm tasked with tracking you down and – if possible – taking you out."
"I see," he says, bemused. "So Cissnei . . . that's derived from the Cessna summon. What's your real name then?"
"It's lost." She hangs her head. "I forgot my name. Forgot where I came from. All I remember from home is father beating me and the screams of the people I burned to death. The real terrible part is that I . . . I don't care about those innocent people I murdered. All I wanted was to be free. That's why I'm a monster. Monster is as monster does."
Silence descends. Genesis drinks his wine. Cissnei fixes another drink. Then starts drinking straight from the bottle. Genesis starts quoting LOVELESS, his voice infusing sorrow and regret and hope into every line.
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honor remains
The arrow has left the bow of the goddess
Cissnei almost cries. She used to dream of a fairy tale ending to her life. That shining prince on the white chocobo. She dreamed of palaces and tiaras. She got the slums and blood, death, and torture. No honor in that. Just work. She's good at her job most of the time. Likes her co-workers. They are as close to a real family as she will ever have.
Genesis presses his lips against hers. "My soul," he whispered. "Corrupted by vengeance." Cissnei tastes like dumbapples and whiskey, but under that is a hint of vanilla. He kisses her again, tongue slipping into her mouth.
The girl from the Turks stifles a curse and kisses him back. She usually doesn't take anyone home – especially those who are against the Company as firmly as Genesis Rhapsodes. But his lips are like Ambrosia. He deepens the kiss, kisses her until she can't breathe and he can't breathe. And both of them are panting, caught in a moment they never planned, never imagined. A fleeting moment where neither is alone.
"My bedroom . . ." Cissnei whispers.
Genesis nods slightly, eyes unfocused. He wants to carry her, but fears his body will not endure that effort. So he drags himself from her couch and follows her, watching the sway to her hips. She strips unabashedly as he follows. Her back is marred with hard white lines of scar tissue. Some are really old and look like the bite of a belt. Most are more recent: knife and gun and spear wounds. There are wings of black ink on her shoulders.
She turns, unclasping her bra. "My wings are corrupted," she says. I always wanted them to be white, but didn't feel like that was right."
Scars decorate her collarbone, dance down her stomach. But even with the scars, she is beautiful to him. A beautiful monster.
He is not so fortunate. His shoulder, where the sword ripped the flesh, has been an open, festering wound for longer than he can remember. He keeps it wrapped in constantly dirtied bandages. They wrap around his chest. The skin is dead, dying, and sickly. He doesn't want to touch her soft flesh.
Cissnei takes his coat from him. Forces his shirt from his body. Her expression is fathomless as his ruined chest is revealed. "Let me see what you feel," he begs. "Or lie with your eyes. Give me some emotion, sweet monster."
She meets his gaze. "I've seen worse. I promise I'll be gentle."
Of that he has no doubt. They make love slowly, each taking care with the other's body. Cissnei takes care because he is dying and in never-ending pain. Genesis takes care because SOLDIER enhancements give so much extra strength and endurance that a careless thrust of his hips could crush her.
When it's finished, she lingers in his arms, body molded to him. "Are you afraid?" she asks. "Afraid of dying?"
"No. Not of dying. I'm afraid . . . of living like this."
Cissnei cocks her head. "In the bed of a Turk? That frightens you?"
"Not dying frightens me. I can live like this forever. My body falling apart but never failing. It's been two years since the symptoms started. The pain worsens. My body worsens. But I honestly thought I would be dead by now. The fates are cruel . . . "
She kisses his hand. "Fate has nothing to do with it. If you ever get sick of it, I'll end it for you. Quietly."
"You're too kind," he says. "How will you kill me? Will you use your Cessna, Cissnei? Will you burn the Degradation out of my body and free my soul?"
She is silent. He feels her nod though.
"A tempting offer, Turk." He disentangles from her arms. "But one I can't accept." He is standing beside the bed now. For a second, his hair appears to be auburn instead of degraded white. "I am a monster after all. And I want to see the world burn with me." He leans down, kissing her. "But not you. You can't be touched by my flames." He turns to leave.
Cissnei watches him go, the taste of his lips like heedy perfume assaulting her senses. She listens to him dress, listens to him leave. She drags the sheets around her body and steps into the street. It is littered with black feathers. She kneels, picking up a single feather. Inside she locks the door and unlocks the liquor cabinet. The night is young and maybe she'll be able to drink enough alcohol to forget him forever.