He was probably the most interesting thing to hit this backwater hick town in ages, Zack realized.
The next town they stopped in was an odd little place with the unlikely moniker of Emmie's Last Chance. It was even smaller than Jerome: little more than a farming community with a number of homemade, copper and steel stills half-hidden by silos and barns. They pulled over next to a field full of round hay bales taller than the truck, and parked on the side of the crummy road that led directly into the town.
Zack adjusted his dark glasses, nudging them higher on his nose. He and Sephiroth both used them whenever they went into a village or town. The sunglasses were a necessity to hide his mako eyes, though he suspected no one in such a tiny hick town would recognize what they really meant. At least the day was bright enough that no one would question the shades.
He wondered about the settlement's weird name. Who was Emmie, and why was this place her last chance? He was sure the story behind it all would be fascinating.
Sephiroth waited in the truck with Angeal while Zack walked into the village square and went shopping. They'd both agreed (they'd all three agreed? Sephiroth had given Angeal a vote. By his silence, Angeal abstained, but Sephiroth maintained the decision was unanimous) that glow-in-the-dark red hair like Reno's would be every bit as conspicuous as Sephiroth's natural silver-gray color, and look ridiculous, besides.
Now Zack was hunting for hair dye that was a lot browner. Sephiroth—and Angeal, supposedly—had decided on brunet, but for reasons known only to himself Sephiroth chose to wait with Angeal and let Zack pick out the exact color.
Probably wanted to talk to Angeal without another set of ears listening in. Zack figured Sephiroth was plotting world domination again.
He grimaced, remembering Angeal's tasteless, unfunny joke about wanting world domination. It seemed almost appropriate that Sephiroth was discussing that very topic with him during those nightly monologues.
It was probably for the best that Zack buy the hair dye. He knew more about socially acceptable appearances around normal people, and had a better idea of what looked natural and what might get unwanted attention. He also was a lot less conspicuous, no matter how many hats Sephiroth wore to hide his hair. No doubt Sephiroth had considered those reasons, and probably many more, when he'd sent Zack into the town.
Besides, how hard would it be to find brown dye? How many shades of brown could there be to choose from in such a tiny place? It should be a foolproof task.
Zack entered a sort of general store that sold a variety of items: food, soap, makeup, assorted toiletries, kitchen supplies, bedding, dated electronics, even clothing and small furniture. He found a small selection of hair dye near the drugs and shampoo.
He peered below the edge of his sunglasses to try to gage the true colors of the dyes on display. There was no bright red, thank the Planet, but likewise there wasn't any auburn, either. Just one box of pure black that screamed "I'm fake!", three shades of brown (thank goodness he'd been right and there wasn't a huge selection), and fifteen of blond.
Zack hadn't noticed an unusually large number of blonds walking around the little town. He wondered who purchased the stuff. Curious, he picked up one box promising hair the color of yellow chocobo feathers and checked the date.
Ah. This particular box had expired over two years ago. He shrugged, not terribly surprised. That was small town life. He'd grown up in one. He knew the score. Both the yellow dye and the small town choices reminded him of his new trooper friend, Cloud. Cloud's hair was this very same shade of blond. Would he ever see Cloud again? Or Kunsel? Or any of his other friends?
That thought made him sigh. There was every possibility that he'd next see Cloud or Kunsel as part of a team sent to hunt him down. Just another depressing reality in the clusterfuck his life had become.
A thirtyish woman with curly, flat black hair came over to peruse the packages of coloring. She picked up the box of "I'm fake!" black.
What a surprise, Zack thought cynically. Her own hair color matched it perfectly.
She peered at the box of blond dye in his hands, not even attempting to be subtle. "Nice choice. You'd look good as a blond," she commented impishly, apparently intent on making small talk.
Zack imagined himself sporting "chocobo yellow" hair like Cloud's, grimaced, and hastily replaced the box on the shelf.
"I haven't seen you around before," the woman said, probing but polite.
He was probably the most interesting thing to hit this backwater town in ages, Zack realized. No wonder she was curious.
"Just passing through," he mumbled. His fingers twitched over the boxes of brown dye. One was dull and mousy. Stupid. Who'd want to dye their hair that color? A random thought occurred to him. "Hey, you lived here long?"
The woman uttered a self-deprecating laugh. "All my life, I'm afraid. Why?"
Yup, she was bored and Zack figured he was actually the highlight of her day. She'd probably gossip about him for weeks. He needed to keep the chitchat minimal on his part, give out no real information. "I was just wondering about this place's name."
"Emmie's Last Chance?"
"Yeah, what's that all about?" Get her talking about the town's history—yeah, that was a good plan. A great plan. That way, she wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions of him. He kept his eyes on the hair coloring. The picture on the box next to "Dull, Mousy Brown" showed a deeper and richer chestnut. It reminded him of Aerith's hair. He imagined running his fingers along the twisted ponytail she usually sported, and suppressed another sad sigh.
"Oh, now there's a story," the woman said with another laugh. "Poor, old Emmie!"
"What happened?"
"You wouldn't believe it! I guess she wasn't old at the time, but back then it was the craziest thing. What a hoot!"
A squeak of cart wheels, and then man's voice broke in, "Hey, Joan, what's up?"
"The stranger here wants to know how the town got its name."
"Hah, that's quite a story. Poor Emmie. I was a kid back then, but boy, it's like it all happened just yesterday." The man was much older than Joan. He looked to be in his early seventies. His gray hair clashed with his lime-green utility apron. He gave Zack a once-over. "And who might you be?"
"Name's Mike," Zack said easily. He stuck out his hand. "As I told Joan here, I'm just passing through. Pleased to meet you, Mister—?"
The man gave his hand a firm shake, saying, "Ain't no Misters here. I'm Nelson, the owner of this general store." He gestured to the cart, which held a jumbled collection of merchandise. Mostly soap, shampoo, conditioner, brushes, home perms, and other grooming products. "Got a new shipment in. Biggest selection in town."
"That it is," said Joan. She flipped her own, unnaturally black curls. "Best stuff outside Midgar, I bet."
Zack prudently kept his mouth shut, offering instead a bland smile.
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Joannie," Nelson said, winking at Zack. "For a lot of this stuff, it's the only selection in town." He bent to start restocking his shelves.
"C'mon, Nelson," Joan protested, "don't sell your store short."
"Have you ever even been as far as Junon or Kalm? I know you've never been to Midgar."
"Well, no," she admitted. She turned her eyes on Zack. "What about you? Been to Junon or Midgar?"
"Sorry, never been to either," Zack lied cheerfully.
"Going to Midgar for work?" Nelson asked. "Lots of people go there, dreaming of fame and fortune. I don't recommend it, son. I've heard it's a nasty place. Most folks return home sooner or later."
"Nope, not me. I'm heading to Rocket Town, actually. Wanna see Number 26 and all that other cool space stuff for myself! Maybe I can get a job there, too. I'd be a janitor if it meant I could work near the rocket."
"Kids," Nelson said, shaking his head. He rearranged the hair conditioner, shoving the newer bottles to the back. "Always looking for excitement and the next big thing. At least you're not heading for a meat grinder like Midgar."
The bell at the front rang, and the door burst open amidst a great deal of chatter and giggling as six kids barged in. All teenagers. Several of them wore cheap knockoffs of designer sunglasses—probably to look "cool." Zack thought not one of them could be older than fourteen or fifteen.
"Looks like you've got more customers, Nelson," Joan observed.
"Just a few kids," he replied. "They'll look and talk and goof around, but I bet they won't buy more than a few candy bars or bags of chips and some soda."
"A sale's a sale."
"True, that," Nelson said as the band of teenagers broke up and started wandering around the store, calling to one another to look at the various treasures they found.
The shop was getting entirely too crowded for Zack's tastes. He was supposed to stay under the radar, and now he'd chatted with two adults and was almost surrounded by a bunch of kids.
Kids? Since when did he start thinking of teens only two or three years younger than him as "just kids?" He had aged beyond his years since Genesis and Angeal had deserted from Shin-Ra and...and what had come after...
"I'll take this one," he said to Nelson as he snatched up a random box of brown hair dye. He was suddenly desperate to get out of the town.
"Doesn't seem like your color," Nelson observed, but willingly led him to the cash register.
Zack was just getting back into the truck when he realized he'd never learned how the town of Emmie's Last Chance had gotten its name.