Black
It had been three days since the memorable night when I, and a somewhat drunken Yuffie, had been disturbed by my violent sneezes in the middle of the night and unanimously decided to stay up and discuss poetry.
Curiously, the number of messages I received on my cellphone during those three days was exactly three. One was from Tifa, who wondered where the hell I had gone when I was supposed to be trying her cocktail. The second informed me that my name was Mr. Smith, and that I was defaulting on my car payments. It carried on to tell me that if I did not provide payment within one week, they would take measures to ensure I didn't have the audacity to fall behind again. I decided to ignore them.
The third, however, was from Yuffie herself. It was, as per usual with Yuffie's messages, written in some strange and undecipherable codex. Normally, I would have simply deleted it and banished it from my mind; however, after our night-time encounter, I felt obliged to at least make a half-hearted effort to read it.
After around ten minutes of annoying key tapping, I had copied Yuffie's strange hieroglyphics into a message, and added the words, 'Please translate', underneath. Pleased with my work, I sent it to Cloud, sure that he would know what was going on.
The message came back a few minutes later. I stared at it incredulously. Cloud's talent at deciphering codices was even more pronounced than I had hoped. The translated message read:
"Hey Vince. Just to let you know, there's an arts festival being held in Wutai next week. I have to go because my old man is sponsoring it. Wanna come with?
Love, Yuff."
With some difficulty, I sent her a message affirming that I would attend. Of course, I was soon to regret it. I had forgotten one of the first lessons I had learned since being awoken: that Yuffie Kisaragi's middle name was, indeed, Trouble.
-BlackxWhite-
I arrived at the festival with some time left to spare before I was to meet Yuffie. Having the world's greatest pilot as one's personal taxi service was yet another unspoken advantage of being a 'hero'. Wutai was cloaked in vibrant livery and vivid but incomprehensible banners, and the river ran sparkling pink with the fallen blossoms of the trees. Where before had stood a resort town stood a new, proud entity steeped in history and tradition. It was...remarkable.
Almost without realising it, I had begun to walk along the river's bank, the soft marshy ground sucking at my boots. Of course, something so picturesque could not be perfect. The beauty was all in appearance. Outside the whispering utopia that greeted the eyes, women screeched, children screamed and men barked. The mud was still sticky and foul, the air still stank of overpowering pine, and through it all there was a back-beat of unexplainable isolation.
It felt like home.
The tinkling of wind-chimes broke my reverie. Amongst the noise and cacophony of such a festival, a fragile, elfin sound such as that was not often heard. It was almost surreal in the way it simply faded away, not crushed, battered or sullied by the more strident sounds around it. It was like a fairy dancing in the footsteps of giants.
Whether the sound was an omen or not, I cannot say. I have seen and felt too much of the most bitter irony to put my faith in the law of coincidences. Likewise, my life has been irrevocably changed by sheer chance, heedless of design or reason. I feel that neither Fate, nor Chance, can ever fully explain the mysteries of everyday life.
Regardless of any philosophical arguments or conjecture, Yuffie appeared, as if summoned by the bell. She grinned, as she often does, and picked her way through the crowd towards me with alarming grace. As she got closer, her smile seemed to become less like the sweet smile of an angel and more like the mischievous grin of an imp.
It startles me, even now, that I did not figure out her intent until the second she took that last step towards me and placed her hand on my shoulder. Shocked, I made no resistance as she applied the tiny amount of pressure needed to send me soaring into the river behind me. Even as the water- the cold, frigid, teeth-achingly glacial water- accepted me into its crushing embrace, my mind still seemed to have no idea what had happened. I remember wondering, idly, what I was thinking about.
Eventually, however, my mind caught up with the world around it. But not before I had lost precious seconds. My arms were already numb from cold, my mantle already sodden. The metal of my gauntlets, boots and gun was dragging me down to the riverbed, where I might sleep an endless sleep. My body surged into action, grasping in vain at the water for some purchase. I felt a tearing in my chest, the sharp ache of my lungs protesting for oxygen. I had felt the same thing before, under the deep, warm earth. New, panicked power surged through my sodden limbs, and I flailed harder than before.
I have been told that it only took thirty seconds until I broke the surface, my hair dripping and matted like a dog's. I have also been told that I spent the next five minutes alternating between shivering piteously and cursing Yuffie with all the vehemence of a drunken goblin. However, I was told both of these things by Yuffie herself, and I am not inclined to believe either of them. My own memory is blurred, as it always is when I am forced to fight for my life. However, it seemed to me that I was underwater far longer.
This event cast a pall over our evening, to say the least. Sometimes, the same things that provided satisfaction when you were five can provide equal satisfaction in your adult life; this considered, I spent the evening not talking to her. To her credit, Yuffie ignored it admirably, babbling on as if I had been replying in greatest earnestness. She babbled because she knew I would listen, whether I wanted to or not.
She told me of Godo's ever worsening health. She waxed lyrical on her old ninja instructors, of the impish pranks she had played and the merry revenge that they had taken. She told me of Wutaian delicacies, of traditions and culture. Of sunshine, and of technology, and of pets. And each time she paused for breath, her face was flushed from laughter, and from life.
"So, Vinnie. Are you looking forwards to seeing me perform?" she smiled, a devious look in her eye.
"...You're participating?" I asked, intrigued. I had forgotten that I wasn't talking to her. This was precisely what she wanted.
"Oh, yeah. I'm a master ninja of many talents, each as awesome as the last." she laughed.
"Hmph...With an attitude like that, I can only assume that you are not reciting poetry." I replied, noting her deliberately offhand response.
"Would you like me to?" she grinned. "Oh how do I annoy thee? Let me count the ways..."
One thing can be said for Yuffie: she is excellent at multi-tasking. Whilst simultaneously parodying one of the world's most well known verses and bathing in the warm glow of her own ego, she guided us to a set of seats. The chairs were oaken, sturdy and comfortable. I ran my good hand over the knotted wood, and was pleased. Until I realised that we were right next to the stage.
"Yuffie..."
"I know, I know. Being close to the stage is bad for reasons only you understand or care about." she smirked. "Don't worry. You can leave after the third act."
After a period of eight glorious minutes and fifty-one precious seconds where Yuffie's mouth had remained shut, the Wutaian performers filed towards the stage with the same brand of stern professionalism I had possessed as a Turk. As soon as I made the comparison, it soured in the pit of my stomach. They took the stage, looking as though they would keep right on going in their act regardless of interruption. For a moment, I was tempted to change into Galian Beast and watch the reaction.
Yuffie would have actually done it.
The first performance was a five-minute piece of theatre, which I'm sure was very good. I cannot comment on it myself, partially because theatre is not my strength, but more because it was performed entirely in the Wutaian language. I thought about asking Yuffie to translate, and stole a glance sideways to see her face in rapt attention. Her eyes were fixed, and she had bitten her bottom lip gently. I watched discreetly for two of the five minutes, and was astounded by the respect she paid the actors by her attention.
When it was done, there was a short changeover between actors. Yuffie turned to me and whistled.
"Wow, that was a great performance!" she laughed.
"...Was it? What was it about?" I asked, awkwardly.
"Oh, yeah! You don't understand Wutaian...I forgot. Didn't I teach you any?"
"...I am fairly sure you taught me the meaning of a few obscure Wutaian curses so they would be more effective when you yelled them at me." I frowned.
"Eheh...well, I'll tell you what it was about later. It's poetry now." she said sheepishly.
And so it was. The poetry was on the lower side of superb. Once again, having a non-existant grasp of Wutaian language (polite Wutaian language, anyway) somewhat hampered my enjoyment. However, even the language barrier did not detract from the pure lyrical quality of the pieces they recited. It was, to be sure, a beautiful words in a beautiful language, spoken with pride. When it was over- I do not recall how long it took- I turned to Yuffie to comment on my newfound admiration for her native tongue, and found, to my surprise, that she was gone, her seat taken by a rotund middle aged woman in an unholy pink shirt.
For a few seconds, I was worried that Yuffie had simply tired of me, or the poetry, and had gone home. It seemed not unlike her. I was about to ask the portly usurper of her seat if she had any knowledge of Yuffie's whereabouts when I saw movement in the corner of my eye.
It was the ninja, waving at me maniacally from the stage, in stark contrast to the calm professionals standing beside her. She had changed clothes, as had the supporting cast. The professionals wore what Yuffie would later define as a kimono, fashioned in the same colours as the water and the blossoms of the trees.
I could not imagine Yuffie wearing such a thing, and evidently neither could anyone else; her costume was different. Although it was the same in form, colour and pattern, it was cut short at the waist, whereas the others tumbled like fabric waterfalls to the floor. She wore simple black shorts to complete her take on formal wear.
I heard a muted tut from one of her supporting cast- and they were supporting cast, because Yuffie Kisaragi could never be anywhere but the centre of attention. She stopped waving at me and flushed, before assuming her position on stage, her cheeks still tinged red. The others filed behind her, military fashion, but with some other quality I cannot define. I heard Yuffie taking a gasping breath to calm herself, and with a gentle sweep of her leg, she began.
She was dancing. And as a lead dancer, no less. I watched carefully. Where Yuffie led, the other dancers followed; sometimes, they would split off with their own motions and designs, forming one flowing pattern with the other parts of the troupe. It took an open mind and an impressionistic eye to capture it, and some of it was lost on me, but I could see the skill of the troupe.
I will admit that, for a few minutes, Yuffie's performance disappointed me. The other dancers were perfect in motion and form; Yuffie was not. She handled her part competently, but awkwardly, I thought; she had no place at the head of such a skilled group.
The longer I watched, however, the more I began to notice that, whilst the other dancers were perfect, my eyes were drawn easily and naturally to her. They were perfect; she was more. Their movements were flawless; hers were clumsy and forceful. They moved in time; she missed the beat. But all through it, her clumsy movements had a beauty all of their own. Her force was the same as when she was in battle, giving heart and soul to the fight. Her grace was not in perfection, but imperfection. She was black and they were white, a rhapsody of colours giving form and beauty to movement. Perhaps it was a form of poetry after all.
-BlackxWhite-
The festival ended, and so did our rendezvous. I must admit that I saw her in a new light; and that the new light came not from without but within her personality. I had more respect for her.
"So, Vinnie. Who nabbed my seat whilst I was gone?" she asked. I smiled. Graceful dancing aside, Yuffie was still Yuffie.
"...A plump lady who I decided I did not want the acquaintance of." I said. Yuffie broke into giggles.
"Vince, that's harsh! You shouldn't say things like that! It's bad karma!"
"Karma?" I asked. I'd heard of it, but not inquired further.
"Yeah. Basically, every bad thing you put into the world comes back on you." she said. Then she gasped, and looked at me with an expression of worry and mischief. "You're thinking about something all gloomy now, aren't you?"
I smiled. Actually, I was thinking about... "Perhaps."
She grinned and walked on a few steps. I grabbed my chance, and, with a motion as graceful and beautiful as any she had made that day, pushed her into the river.
One week later, the manager of my apartment, Mr. Smith, told us that he needed to put the rents up temporarily as he had defaulted on his new car and was being threatened by his creditors.
Karma. Maybe she has something there.
-BlackxWhite-
End!
Well, once again, this was a monster to write; however, I feel more comfortable with Vincent's viewpoint to Yuffie's. Whenever I see Vincent forced to deal with something that isn't shooting dangerous things in the head, I always get the feeling that he looks ever so slightly bemused. I take the more literary and lyrical aspects of his speech from his last piece of dialogue in the airship on Disc Three of FFVII- the whole 'We must now fight under the earth' thing. He has an eye for a metaphorical. I also got the feeling that his own thoughts are important, and that he's more affected than most by what goes on inside his head, as opposed to what goes on in the outside world.
This chapter is dedicated to all the people who messaged me and told me I should write another chapter. I am, in fact, considering working it into a chaptered fic, if anyone's interested.
Also, I was playing around with separators in this chapter, amid rumours that the ol' three asterixes don't work. I have no idea.
~TheVulpineHero1