Chapter 3: Language Barrier

"It's loudest when no one speaks. There's one thing in the whole world that humans are better at than any other species, and it's shutting everything else up."

—Erda Tinning, Head of PR, Shinra Manufacturing Works

I am disappointed in you. You let these creatures dig up my insides and use them to decorate cakes and siding. You participate in debauchery, egging them on in this madness. Soon, there will be nothing left of me, and when there is nothing left of me, you can be sure—

Erda smacked down her empty sake glass, licked her lips, and stared out the cafe window at a vendor in a blue hat, hocking long strips of Adamantaimai flesh. Maybe that's what she needed: something bloody and sticky to knock the talk out of Gaea.

She thought it might be quieter here, away from the energy pooling around the sore in Icicle. As luck would have it, a pole existed in Wutai as well. The Planet's energy massed there, forcing trees through solid rock like pickaxes. Sake became the next best thing. It would leave her nice and lubricated for her meeting with the gods of the Pagoda.

Erda hoped she stumbled. She hoped she remembered their faces afterward-not for any practical purpose beyond reliving false affront.

She pretended to stare at the tank full of Kulloshi—bottom feeder fish with pushed in snouts that didn't look pretty enough to be put on display—as a man in white taffeta—yes, taffeta, something only women wore in Icicle—traipsed his way up the walk. The bell chimed as the door opened. A portly hostess rustled forward and nearly ripped the man's shoes off, she bent so low to kiss them. He shifted his weight, and the wood creaked. Erda managed to get a clear shot of his backside out her peripheral when the shift strained his leggings.

Not bad. Really.

"Lord Qufu." The hostess bowed again. "Would you care for a table?"

Qufu scanned the room. Erda hoped he caught the doilies with Gifu's face stenciled on them that hung so proudly from the ceiling! What better way to profess undying devotion to one's country than with doilies? He would not recognize Erda, and she felt curious how long it might take him to realize who represented the liaison from Shinra. For one thing, she did not wear red. Her business suit blended in with the wood.

Architecture in Wutai had a certain elegance. Lord Gifu advocated building for efficiency over adornment. The town, outside, appeared bleak but for the occasional lotus. Across the ponds, Wutai had a reputation for atmosphere, religious worship, and strong roots. Gifu could have capitalized on this, but he did not want to sacrifice production for tourism. Erda admired him, the architects who built ranch houses over skyscrapers, waiters who remembered to shake and warm her sake, and whoever strung those Hanadama Pearl necklaces they imported to E Street back North.

"Ms. Tinning?"

Erda grunted as Qufu approached and poured herself another cup of sake. She downed it with both hands.

Sour. Needs heat.

"I am Lord Qufu, the Foreign Trade Minister under Lord Gifu."

Bourbon. That certainly had heat. Perhaps Erda could get herself a nice snifter. She had heard Mideel is known for its whiskey, but she hoped that did not preclude good bourbon distilleries in the capital of Wutai. Often, she found that they did not go hand in hand.

Erda raised a finger and beckoned the waiter.

"He sent me here because I have reviewed your terms."

"Did His Lordship review them?" Erda did not bother to look up as the waiter, upon recognizing Erda's companion, nearly dropped his clipboard in the struggle to reach her table.

Finally, some actual service in this place.

"I—" Qufu started.

Erda addressed the waiter. "Yes, you, could I get a glass of Cordine? Yes, that's fine."

Even without looking up, Erda could tell Qufu had shifted his weight again. "Ms. Tinning—"

"Oh, Chao's Blessing, sit down."

Qufu pursed his lips, and Tinning got a good look at his face for the first time. Tan on his cheeks drew thick lines down to his chin. For a Minister, he managed to find his way outside often. Poor thing.

"I would rather not," he said.

Erda leaned forward and raised her brow. The table she sat at wobbled. "Have you come to meet me and negotiate terms over lunch, or haven't you?"

"That's just it, Miss Tinning, I haven't. Lord Gifu sent me to tell you he finds your terms beyond negotiation. He feels insulted and asks that you return to Icicle."

Erda fell back into her chair, feigning outrage with a scowl. She expected this, of course.

At that moment, the waiter returned, sporting a tin tray with a yellow label bottle of Cordine Bourbon and a small glass. He poured her drink with a shaking hand.

"Thank you, and would you mind an extra glass for my friend? Leave the bottle, please."

"Don't bother," Qufu began. "I'm—"

"Please," Erda repeated to the waiter.

The waiter took any excuse he could to scuttle back to the kitchen.

Erda returned her attention to Qufu. He remained standing over her table, his arms crossed.

"Sit," she said. "The drink is my treat."

Reluctantly, Qufu pulled out the chair across from Erda. The legs groaned against the wood. As soon as he sat down, he recrossed his arms. Erda thought him rather humorous. He kept his scowl so well. Perhaps she could get a copy of him fashioned of pewter for her desk. He would make a charming paperweight.

"Now," Erda said, leaning forward once more. She braced her hands against the table. The cool of the dead wood bit her fingers. "I will tell you a secret. I also have a boss."

Qufu met her gaze and did not take outward offense. She would give him that. "I know."

"Do you?" Erda took a swig from her bourbon and let the heat burn down her throat. Her lips felt numb a moment, then warm as the blood returned. The taste was awful, but she only cared for the heat. "Seeing as our situations are similar, your refusal to answer my offer without a counter or an explanation almost ensures that I'm out of a job. Through, shall we say, no fault of my own. Only an unreasonable employer who would shuttle his employees around the world on a freighter with hordes of underfed stray cats, boxes of scrap metal, and insults to fling at esteemed dignitaries. What would you say had Lord Gifu been the crazy one?"

"My brother—"

"Your brother?" Erda licked her lips. "Now I can see why you're so upset. If someone would bandy around with my brother's dignity, I would think I'd be at least as put off."

"You have a brother?"

"Of course," Erda said. "Why wouldn't I have a brother?"

Aside from the fact that she didn't.

"The background check your company forwarded said you haven't listed a next of kin."

Erda still remembered the arrival of The Calamity, the dark-skinned man rising from the crater who kissed Lista's mother on the cheek and slowly let his poison seep into the ground. Erda's parents came down with consumption; their skin flaked off in thick chunks.

"I'm-estranged from my family. That doesn't mean, of course, that I wouldn't take it upon myself to defend my brother's honor. Does it?"

Qufu swallowed.

Erda gripped the edge of the table with her empty hand and let the wood bite harder. "Just give me a chance to get a full report to my employer. After all, it isn't my offer on the table; it's his."

It was her offer, but it was for Jonathan Shinra's benefit. Half lies could be a sort of liscensial freedom.

"I don't think that's practical."

Erda Tinning leaned even further forward so that she could smell Qufu's breath. He smelled of eel. He had already had lunch. She felt cheated somehow.

"Will you make a lady beg, My Lord?"

Of course, this question of sexual distinction would not translate to the culture of Wutai, where men wore taffeta.

Qufu cleared his throat. "I will speak with my brother on this." He stood, and Erda thought it might simply be to recreate the gap between the two of them.

Erda slid from the table and grabbed her glass and the bottle of bourbon. At that moment, the waiter returned and nearly dropped the extra glass he had fetched for Lord Qufu.

Just as disgruntled as the waiter, Qufu crossed his arms. "I advise you return to your hotel, Ms. Tinning."

She slipped the glass from the waiter's hands and wrangled her hip in his general direction. "You'll find a 500 gil note in my pocket. Yes, yes that's it. Don't be shy."

As the waiter took his pay from Erda's front pocket, his cheeks stained red, Qufu began striding purposefully toward the door.

"Thank you very much. Lovely service. Yes, yes." Erda blew a tuft of hair that had fallen into her eyes—she would need to adjust her bun—and trotted after Qufu, still holding the bourbon and the two glasses tinkling in her right hand.

"Ms. Tinning—"

"Nonsense, I'm coming with you. I believe we've discovered that my appeals are slightly more effective, wouldn't you say?" As she walked, Tinning attempted to refill her glass of bourbon, sloshing some onto the ground.

Qufu chewed his lip and pretended not to watch her, but she caught a nearly black iris darting her way. She wondered if people with irises indistinguishable from their pupils saw the world a bit more darkly than others. Maybe it was like never having to buy sunglasses. She thought about asking, but she didn't want to push too hard. Even she had some restraint.

You have none. You have no restraint whatsoever. You are just like the rest of them, leaking your confections on me, tilling my land, and slowly letting me die.

Gaea had always been a real charmer. Tongue. Like. Champagne. Erda poured her a few more drops of bourbon, drawing a dotted smile from spilled liquor in the clay of Wutai.

As Erda began to guzzle bourbon from the bottle in a true display of class, she let her eyes rove. The official banner of Wutai displayed a red Leviathan stitched on white. Though built practically, usually in squares with staunch wood beams in all four corners, no patriot could resist the red garnish, often snaking around the gutters. The citizens of Wutai believed Leviathan shed rain through clouds in the sky in order to protect his people from evil with fog and chill. Perhaps gutters existed for when Leviathan got confused and believed the people of Wutai were under attack from the foundations of their own homes.

Speaking of fog, a sprinkle of it appeared across Erda's vision quite suddenly. She decided to recap her bottle of bourbon.

When Qufu and Erda approached the Great Pagoda, the texture of Wutai changed completely. Everything appeared to be made of blown stone-that is, as if one could use the blown glass technique to create smooth, winding stone structures. A fountain of Leviathan sat in the square, wrapped around a globe and streaming water from its mouth over Northern Continent. That was a depiction Erda could get behind: a god who spat upon the world.

The Pagoda itself remained a relic of the old, airy, spiritually inspired Wutai. Perhaps the capital building alone was to blame for Wutai's continued staunch reputation. Walls of paper, slanted wooden staircases, and sprawling filigree stretching like arms from the roof. Qufu shuffled nervously at the entrance, as if Erda might attempt to burst through the door before he thought of a proper explanation for her presence. To her credit, she leaned against the wall and remained silent a moment, marveling at how something that appeared to be made of paper could sustain her. After all, the drinking certainly packed in the calories.

When Qufu finally knocked upon the front door, Erda heard scrambling follow immediately, then several thuds as if someone had fallen rather than run down the stairs. A smack, then the wobbling of something heavy. A high pitched grunt.

"Lord Godo, please allow the secretary—"

The door swung open, and a boy nearly fell out of the foyer and down another set of stairs. Erda liked him immediately.

"Uncle Qufu," the boy said, all hair no face. His smile shrunk into a period at the end of an unsaid sentence when he spotted Erda. "Who is she?"

"The liaison from Shinra." Lord Qufu acknowledged the boy with a mere flicker of his gaze, then strained to look through the opening to the Pagoda.

"I thought Pops said Shinra was a den of wrinkled old men using sticks to toss weak sparks."

Ramuh, Leviathan's ancient enemy. Erda felt proud that her offer had inspired such a belittling comparison. She found it rather apt, imagining Jonathan Shinra and the flare at the end of his fat cigar.

"It's become difficult to send her away."

"Why? Just tell her to scram. Seems like a lush to me anyway."

Erda beamed. "Is this the heir?"

Qufu chewed the inside of his cheeks. "He is."

"Not much in the way of deference."

"He'll learn it."

"Who said he needs to?" Erda fingered the cap to her bottle of bourbon and stared at the boy. He stared back unflinchingly. "There's a reason you can find 'sham' in the word 'shame.'"

"That may be the language of your people," Qufu said, "but it isn't ours."

Erda decided that, should she correct him, they might send her back to Icicle in a crate marked "Organic Sample."

"Godo, would you fetch Lisel?"

"Why should I? I can announce you."

"You shouldn't have to."

"But I'm here, Old Man." Godo huffed. "I never get to do anything."

Was he serious? Erda stared at the dark Cordine, watching it swill and spin through the glass. How old was this boy—twelve? She wondered if the barricade of royalty functioned as a time freeze. A boy does not get exposed to anything contrary. He never grows up. She wondered what Gifu might be like, sitting in a high chair, shaking his rattle, and chewing tea leaves. That could make her plans more difficult. Logic was a predictable adversary. Irrational children made terrifying opponents.

"Lisel," Qufu insisted, "please."

Godo's chin dropped. He chipped at the floor with a bare foot and spun back in the direction from which he had come.

The decor of the foyer had an understated lavishness to it. Sure, bare floors spoke of a lack of possessions, but they also suggested time and freedom to keep them clean, to keep dust from the corners and surfaces slick. Erda never had time or enough Sno to keep her house clean. Spotless floors could be luxuries just as much as gold-trimmed satin love seats.

In moments, Lisel, a rotund woman with something of a mustache, tottered downstairs and beckoned the two of them to follow her. Erda barely paid attention to what she said or to her gestures as she followed the incline with her eyes. Each floor had the same sense of deserted luxury. As if the Pagoda were a museum instead of a capital building. No one lived here; any business conducted left only ghost traces with an altogether elevated sense of importance. If someone bled, the floors were re-paneled. The gods of the Pagoda, about whom many songs and stories had been spun, were only phantoms. She would soon encounter one of them.

Lord Gifu sat cross-legged in the center of the top floor in an overly-ceremonial beaded robe with Leviathan embroidered around the collar. He kept his hands folded in the sleeves and cultivated a long, pointed beard. It suddenly seemed to Erda that Gifu himself must represent the last relic of the old stories, as stolid as the carving of Da Chao on the mountain face. The boy, Godo, sat behind him, staring at his fists folded in his lap. He said nothing, but Erda caught him biting his lower lip.

"Lord Qufu," said Lisel, swinging her arm over-zealously, "and Miss Erda Tinning of Shinra Manufacturing Works."

Lord Gifu gave no indication that he felt surprised to see her. "Thank you, Lisel."

Lisel bowed low and retreated back through the doorway.

"Miss Tinning," Lord Gifu cleared his throat. "Please tell me. What may I do for you?"

Without any introduction or request, Erda plopped down across from Lord Gifu, leaving a foot to separate them. She placed the bottle of liquor in the center of the space. "Your country," she said, "makes terrible bourbon."

Lord Qufu cleared his throat. Gifu waited for her to continue.

"And that's just fine. No one comes to Wutai for bourbon, do they? They go to Mideel for Mideech Whiskey, yes, but they never come to Wutai for bourbon. If a customer wants the good stuff, you can import it. That will make the price higher for your customers, but as long as they're willing to buy it, there's no problem."

Lord Gifu, guessing the direction of the discussion, returned her conversation. "The price difference in the offer you have given us for the Drake Weapons accounts for more than export fees. Your company charges Gold less for the same product, and we don't trade with those who claim neutrality and favor our enemy."

"Who said that I was talking about export fees on weaponry? I was merely opening with that to point out that Drake Weapons are absolutely not like bourbon or whiskey. You can't afford the cheap stuff."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't afford to buy cheap weapons in this war, Lord Gifu—can I drop the title? Is your Lordliness implied?"

"Miss Tinning—"

"Because if it's just the same to you, I'd prefer to call you Gifu, or just Fu even, but that might trouble your brother, Qufu."

Lord Gifu licked his lips and said nothing, guessing correctly that she would continue to change the subject if he insisted upon speaking.

"I understand that you have yet to even see a Drake Weapon, but I'm sure you have been in communication with someone in the Wild Lands, else you would not have petitioned Shinra Manufacturing Works for their use. I can assure you, as can this man, that without them, you will lose."

"We will lose anyway," Gifu said. "Consider the price. If you charge us more, we can afford fewer of these miracles, and Gold has had a head start in snatching up the required resources for them to function. As we are already behind in this war, thanks to your pre-existing agreement with our enemy, we are sure to lose. We would rather fall with dignity."

"Is that what you will tell parentless children? There's a difference between decimation and loss."

"Children are strong in this country."

Erda's vision flickered to Godo in the corner. He had not stirred. "Are they?"

Gifu followed her eyes. As he turned to look at his son as well, the beads hanging from his sleeves stirred, drawing tail-biting snakes in the air as they dangled.

"Lord Godo, do you feel you are strong?" Erda asked.

"I'm not a child," Lord Godo insisted.

"The question stands."

Godo looked nervously to his father, who nodded.

"I think so."

"In your strong opinion," Erda continued, tilting the bottle of bourbon along the rim on the floor and listening to the groan of the glass, "is your father giving up too easily?"

Qufu opened his mouth to speak, but Gifu silenced him with a finger.

"Yes," Godo said. "He's being a dolt. He doesn't know anything. If he has a problem with your price, he should argue with it instead of sending you away. I heard all kinds of stories about Wild Lands! Giant birds and Leviathan is there. If the Drake Weapons are strong enough to fight Leviathan himself, we get them. Right?"

The rest of the room grew silent. The cleanliness of the top floor seemed to stifle, bringing heat with it. Or perhaps it was the bourbon.

"What if such an opinion made you weak?" Erda asked at last.

Godo's chin fell. "I'm not weak."

"If it did, just the same?"

"Then I'd be weak."

Erda let go of the bottle of Cordine. It groaned on the wood, spinning on its rim less and less until it came to a stop standing once more directly between Erda and Lord Gifu.

"If you thought you were fighting a battle you could not win," Erda said, "you would already have surrendered."

Lord Gifu gave a small smile, but otherwise did not move. Wutai's style of martial arts, Erda knew, had the philosophy of keeping complete muscle control: always knowing what your hands, what your arms, what your head is doing at any moment and being able to force a specific movement. Erda didn't think she could manage that; she was an ant, not a hive.

"And if you're stupid enough to think you can win without Shinra-"

"Please get out," Gifu said.

"Excuse me?" Erda lifted her bottle of Cordine and unscrewed the cap.

"I said, 'please leave my country,'" Lord Gifu repeated. "I did you the courtesy of listening to your arguments, and now I would like you to leave. Regardless of whether or not you think of yourselves in this way, you have cast your lot in with my enemy. I have no need of any allies of Gold Nation on my shores."

"If I would sell you Drake Weapons at a higher price"—Erda recapped her drink—"I would sell you defective Drake Weapons at a higher price."

"Then you understand."

"Lord Gifu," Erda said—and when she did, she feigned boredom—"I assure you, Shinra Manufacturing Works is only in the business of making money."

"That is precisely why I cannot trust you, Miss Tinning. You see, we are in the business of fighting wars. If your company realizes it, it will be more successful."

Erda beamed and extended her hand.

Gifu did not take it.

"Very well, Lord Gifu. I have only one simple request, in that case."

"If it will get you to leave," Lord Qufu said, "we will be happy to oblige."

Erda grinned wider still. Lord Qufu had dropped his deference.

"I would like Lord Godo to give me a tour of Da Chao."

"Miss Tinning—"

Lord Gifu cut his brother off. "I do not have an objection. As long as you are gone by nightfall. Lord Godo knows his way around the terrain, and it would do him some good to see the face of Da Chao."

Lord Qufu fumed. Lord Godo stared fixedly at his feet.

Erda still had not lowered her shaking hand.

Rough, thick-soled boots on dirt always gave Erda the same aching sense as eating hard candy with gel centers. She swallowed quickly to avoid the too-sweet syrup in the center and choked on it. If she just took off her boots, she could field the condemnation for the sense of salve, the cooling on the bristled pads of her toes. As Erda and Godo climbed Da Chao, the Sun wriggled free from its perch in the sky, leaving shuddering splatters over wiry bonsais. Shadows lengthened under Da Chao's lips so that his face became as serious and self-righteous as Qufu's.

"My father is unhappy with me." Godo kicked at a stone. It skittered along the walk and tumbled down the face of the mountain.

"That much is clear," Erda said, "but I find his choice of punishment odd."

"It isn't a punishment." Godo rolled his eyes. "If I see you beside the face of God, your arguments will seem small."

I know you hear me, Erda. Stop pretending you don't.

"Lovely!" By this point, Erda had lost her bottle of Cordine; she doubted the keepers of the mountain would look kindly upon this bout of absentmindedness. She still had one of the glasses, however, and she raised it, empty, toward the decaying sunlight. "That is precisely the sort of elegant nothing I need to win negotiations."

They continued along the stomach of the mountain, treading steadily over brittle branches toward the god's palm.

"Why is Shinra asking my pops to pay more for the Drake Weapons than Gold?"

"Because, that way, he won't pay for them."

Why aren't you—

Godo flushed, his eyes narrowing. "So you are siding with Gold, and you don't want Wutai to have them."

"It has nothing to do with that." Erda waved the glass dismissively. "It's merely a basic mathematical principle. There's no real maximum price your father will pay for the Drake Weapons. If I ask for an amount just a little bit more than shipping plus the price Gold is paying, that will still seem reasonable, since the true amount of shipping and preparation is unclear. As such, any price he accepts, it is safe to assume that we could have charged him just a little bit more, and we're losing possible potential profit. The only solution is to demand a price so outrageous he'll never accept."

"That's stupid."

"Indeed." Erda raised her glass to her lips only to find it empty. She frowned and lowered it again.

"So why do anything?"

"My dear boy," Erda said, sighing, "your father doesn't want the Drake Weapons. If he did, he would have paid. No matter what we asked, he would have paid, even if he had to sell the mountain upon which we're standing. If I had asked him for a price less than what Gold is paying, he would have accepted it and regretted it. Your father is right; Wutai is going to lose this war. It is the mere unfortunate result of the fact that Gold bought the Drake Weapons from us first. They have gained too much ground. Lord Gifu is attempting to hold his forces for as long as he can and minimize his losses. If he buys the Drake Weapons now, at any price, the war will last longer. He will lose more men and possibly more land as the fighting continues."

"I don't think that's—"

"It is."

Godo chewed his lip thoughtfully and continued to lead Erda up the incline of Da Chao while the Planet's whining thrummed in her ears. At length, he paused and turned to her. "Why do you care?"

They had reached the palm of Da Chao. The top of the Pagoda barely pierced the sunset, leaking orange over the remains of Linking Logs Wutai. Branches jutted out from trees, matted like ill-groomed bandersnatches. Erda reached for tiny needles, and the stub of a branch flaked off in her palm.

"It is in the best interest of Shinra Manufacturing Works that Wutai stay strong in the future."

"What makes you think my pops would buy your weapons even then?"

"Because he's smart. You should listen to him."

Godo crossed his arms. "I think he's a fool to just roll over like this. There has to be something we can do."

Erda guffawed. She remembered when The Calamity came. It got one foot in the door to their world, cut her people off from each other and The Planet, gave them their own thoughts: just that much was enough. The ones who rolled over became human and built giant empires capable of catching the sky! The ones who fought and clung to the voice of their old consciousness then downed bourbon to quiet that same voice now.

"Pride," Erda said, "is fake. Man's greatest strength is his ability to feel free when he should be embarrassed. If you can't manage that, pray you will never find yourself in a situation similar to your father's."

Lord Godo shuffled his feet. He made nets over his hands with his sleeves and stared back the way they had come. It was clear he thought her a fool and had grown bored of her lecturing. "Are you ready to go back yet? You have to be gone by the time it's dark, right?"

Erda shook her head. "I'll stay a while, but please feel free to return. Don't worry. I assure you I can find my way home." She raised the empty glass after Godo as he skipped down the mountain.

That left Erda alone with the face of Da Chao. Then there was no putting it off any longer.

Erda had thought it would be easier to stand up to The Planet if she could use a face as a front. It made Her human, like Shinra, like Lord Qufu; Erda could easily make a fool of herself in front of humans.

"I've left you behind," Erda told The Planet. "If you will ask something of me, ask it of Ifalna instead. I'm not human. I'll never be human, but you might as well think of me as one."

As always, The Planet ignored her pleas.

It's coming again. I need you.

Erda ignored The Planet in turn.

Please review if you have a moment. I'm working diligently on a rewrite of Chapter 3, but I thought I'd throw this up in the mean time.