all i need is a miracle

[Kingdom Hearts] [Yuffie, Vincent, Jack Sparrow] [Rated T for Teen] Pirates Sometime (1/1)

Fri, 23 May 2008 18:36:23 GMT

Title: Pirates Sometime
Fandom/Pairing: Kingdom Hearts; Vincent/Yuffie, Jack Sparrow
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < violence, some language
Sumary: A ninja walking into a pirate bar was probably a bad idea. Burnt Offerings universe. Set after "Paris Is Burning."
Notes: If it seems like the story slams too heavily on Jack Sparrow, consider the narrator.

"A ninja's gotta take on pirates sometime, right?"

--Paris Is Burning

It's always a bar of some sort, Vincent decides. Whether it's a bar at the end of the universe or this stinking, filthy rum-hole in a place called "Tortuga," the worst always happens in bars.

He is not jealous.

He just doesn't like it when shady characters flirt with Yuffie.

The pirate means nothing by it. That much is obvious. The man's in his late twenties or early thirties; life on the sea has roughened him enough that one might as well be the other. Yuffie is still smack in the middle of her teens, and not stereotypically attractive.

In short, she's not likely to be this man's type.

Vincent still wants to punch him.

Vincent took one look at the pirate and decided that he didn't like him. He was filthy, he reeked of rum, there was vomit on his shirtcuffs and he had coins in his hair. Obviously a bad influence.

Cid already wanted to kill him. Introducing Yuffie to somebody like this meant the experience would be even more painful. And Cid's response when he simply didn't die would be even more explosive.

"So, you're a Spacer from Radiant Garden?" The man tilted his head, looking at her with lashes so dark they couldn't be natural. Surely no man had access to that genetic lottery. "Are you one of Sora's friends?"

Yuffie took a swig of rum, her mouth wrenching at the taste. She forced a swallow and replied, "Kicked his ass in the Coliseum a couple times, if that's what you're asking."

So that was how they were playing it. Interesting.

Vincent drank from a mug he had to force himself not to wipe clean. The rum burned, at once too sweet and too bitter.

"Now," says Jack Sparrow, making a vague gesture and nearly tipping over his rum, "if I were to say to you, I want to steal the unstealable, what would you say?"

Yuffie gives him one long look. For the space of a moment she is a strange spacefaring ninja biker type, trying so hard to seem tough and not even recognizing where her real strength comes from. "I'd ask why you're blabbing it to some out-of-towner. That's what."

Captain Jack Sparrow laughs, then, because there's nothing else to do but laugh. If he doesn't laugh it off, he loses face, and he can't afford to lose face here. If he really is a captain, he'll never find a crew. Somehow, Vincent doubts that he actually is a captain.

Vincent still wants to punch him.

"So I'm stealing it all on me onesie?"

Port Royal had been beter. Nicer. Fewer pirates, badly in need of a good sword smith, and more order. Also, less vomiting in the streets.

But that selfsame lack of pirates was exactly why Yuffie hadn't liked Port Royal; she'd snuck them onto the next ship bound for Tortuga, and why they weren't in prison or dead was beyound him. Maybe Gummy spacers were common enough around these parts that nobody questioned it. Maybe nobody wanted to mess with the ridiculously large rifle strapped to his back.

"In there?" He didn't actually ask, Are you sure?, but it made its way into his tone.

She noticed it. He could tell because she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She gave him and the tavern and the world at large a serious, threatening glare, as if she were trying to convince them all that she was not in the least nervous. But she didn't convince him and if she convinced herself, he would eat his cloak.

"Yeah, in there."

Against his better judgment, he opened the door for her and followed her in.

"Sounds like you are," Yuffie tells Sparrow, taking another careless drink of rum.

He feels vaguely gratified, and yet his palm itches.

Vincent watches her out of the corner of his eye, wary. The rum he remembers was fairly potent, and this is even stronger. He has no doubt that the alcohol content is quite high. The technology level is such that strong rum is almost the only thing truly safe to drink, especially on a ship.

Jack looks askance at her. "No details at all, then?"

His palm begins to hurt. He looks down at his hand and understands why: he's been digging in with his fingernails. There are little half-moon cuts, all of them bleeding, in the white meat of his hand. As he watches, the cuts heal and vanish.

Yuffie looks at him through her peripheral vision. Whatever she sees sends her into a huge, cat-like yawn. She stretches her arms as high as she can and shudders with it. "Be right back, boys. Play nice."

And with a jaunty wink she's gone.

Vincent grits his teeth.

Captain Jack Sparrow, Professional Irritant, looks over at him and smirks. "You're looking a mite angry, mate. Is she that important to you?"

He's going to crack a tooth if he keeps this up and he knows it, but Jack Sparrow gets under his skin. "You have no idea."

"Let's do it," Yuffie said, cracking her knuckles and staring at the data they'd found on the world. There wasn't much of it; it wasn't a popular place. Even Sora had only been there twice.

Vincent stared at the navigation screen and tried to ignore the sinking feeling.

Ninjas and pirates didn't get along. It was a well-known fact. Yuffie herself had told him that, long, long ago.

This was ony going to end with them in prison. And Yuffie would probaby have a black eye in the end, if not knife or gunshot wounds.

"I think I might," says Jack Sparrow with a mocking gleam in his eye and Vincent has had enough.

No. He's had more than enough of this nonsense. Jack Sparrow is nothing more than a filthy, stinking pirate with a piss-poor personality and worse hygiene. He is obviously incapable of understanding the complicated nature of Vincent's feelings for Yuffie, and that he would dare to mock them has him so furious he doesn't even know until he realizes that he is breathing hard for no apparent reason.

The crunching sound Jack's nose makes as his bare hand comes into contact with it is extremely satisfying.

Vincent ducks his head to avoid Jack's answering blow--surprisingly enough, it would have been a hell of a punch, had it connected--and blinks when somebody else roars and overturns a table.

After that, the pirate bar is breaking bottles, roared cursewords, and broken chairs. Splinters and glass shards and alcohol fill the air.

Despite the fact that he's eyeball-deep in the barfight, Vincent has strong suspicions as to its actual cause. It seems an awful lot like the chaos that follows Yuffie around like a lovestruck puppy. And out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a whirl of short dark hair and tanned skin.

Yuffie's laughter sends a thrill up his spine.

[Kingdom Hearts] [Vincent, Yufife, Irvine] [Rated T for Teen] Paris Burning (1/1)

Fri, 09 May 2008 20:54:44 GMT

Title: Paris Is Burning
Fandom/Pairing: Kingdom Hearts; Vincent/Yuffie, Irvine
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < alcohol, flirtation >
Summary: Vincent, Yuffie, Irvine, and the Wild West Saloon at the end of the universe.
Notes: Because my internal Vincent got all up in arms when Irvine started talking about how lonely being a sniper was.

I'm on your side when nobody is, cause nobody is
Come sit right here and sleep
...We are waiting on a telegram to give us news of the fall
I am sorry to report dear Paris is burning after all

--St. Vincent, "Paris Is Burning"

The saloon has no name; it is simply known as The Saloon. Vincent only knows about it because Yuffie does, because Yuffie listens to the Gummi Radio. He has only brought her here because she asked it; there is not much she could ask for that he would not give, and a trip to a bar at the end of the universe is no exception.

He stares at his mug of frothing beer, kept cold by Blizzard Shards, because it is a better thing to look at than the mice with their own little tankards or the children with paint on their faces (some with feathers in their hair) who are drinking what Vincent strongly suspects to be whiskey.

And because it means he is ignoring the short-haired ninja next to him who is trading smiles and laughter with an auburn-haired man who might have stepped out of a spaghetti western.

Children and mice--Yuffie calls them furries, because Yuffie pays attention to the language of the Gummy spacers--drinking and making merry.

It's a travesty and he wishes they weren't here.

Vincent turns his gaze on the long-suffering bartender, a youngish blonde whose name is probably Louise. She offers him an ironic almost smile and raises an eyebrow.

There is no way to say, "can you please serve that man next to Yuffie some arsenic in his next round" so he simply shakes his head.

He tries so very, very hard not to listen in, but he is keenly aware of every word that passes between the two.

The quintessential cowboy (his name is Irvine, he knows but can't quite begin to care) makes his first mistake, pressing one fist against the bar so he can lean against it. Perhaps he's subconsciously expressing virility; to Vincent, who is watching out of the corner of his blood-remembering eyes, it looks like a subtle attempt at intimidation.

He turns to look at the other man, without standing, and lifts his right eyebrow.

Irvine colours and looks at Yuffie, relaxing into another carefully crafted pose.

This one is less intimidating, but it's still crafted and Vincent still disapproves.

He tries not to think about the sharp, burning stab of jealousy, the tightness in his chest, the way his throat closes every time she smiles for this Irvine Kinneas.

"A dancing song for the little lady," Irvine cries to the pianist, a tiny, dusky-skinned woman with a mop of dark curls. The pianist looks over her shoulder at them, then begins to play something

Yuffie leans back against the bar and reaches for Vincent's mug. He lets her have it. She takes a long pull and makes a face, shaking her head. "I don't dance."

There's something sly in her body language; Vincent is sure that her eyes are glinting, but he can't see them.

"Don't dance? Why, pretty lady, that's a crime."

Vincent can hear the grin in her voice, the same manic Kisaragi grin he spent so many yers missing, as she tells him, perfectly at ease with herself and the world, "Then I guess I'm a criminal."

"I can teach you--"

Vincent reaches over for his mug of beer and notes, with a frisson of satisfaction, that she is giving Irvine Kinneas, Posing Cowboy, a flat look.

Irvine shuts up.

"C'mon, Vince, let's go," she says, standing and giving him a cheerful grin over her shoulder.

Vincent drops a few coins of Munny on the bar as a tip and stands. He shifts just a little, so the barrel of his rifle is more visible over his shoulder.

Irvine spreads his hands, revealing that he is wearing fingerless gloves, then tips his hat and moves to the far end of the bar, where he pesters a younger, cuter barmaid than Louise.

***

Outside the saloon, in the dusty streets of the desert down, while tumbleweeds rattle and the sun blares, Yuffie punches him in the arm, above the gauntlet. "You were totally jealous."

Ever careful of his emotional state, he stiffens and replies, quietly, "I was concerned."

But they both know that is only part of the truth. Yuffie declines to push the issue, however, until they are well within the ship, which Cid helped he and Auron paint and rename as soon as he stopped laughing and Vincent worked up the courage to ask.

"You were way totally jealous," she tells him again as he performs the pre-flight routine for the Sierra.

Vincent adjusts the lift and eases the Gummi Ship into the screaming speed that will send them home within a day.

"I was jealous," he admits after a few moments of quiet.

"'s cause you're dumb," she tells him with utter honesty.

He inclines his head in a gesture she can take for agreement and asks, by way of reply, "Where next?"

"Port Royal," she tells him firmly. "A ninja's gotta take on pirates sometime, right?"

[Vagrant Story] [Neesa, Tieger] [Rated T for Teen] Tears from Empty Sockets (1/1)

Fri, 02 May 2008 18:15:04 GMT

Title: Tears from Empty Sockets
Fandom/Pairing: Vagrant Story; Neesa, Tieger
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < dark themes, implied sexuality >
Summary: Tieger, Neesa, and a smattering of moments from their tragedy.
Notes: For 1sentence, using Themeset Delta.

#01 - Air

In her final moments, she never thought she'd value it so much, this brief, tiny gift that Tieger has given her: the chance to see sunlight, to hope... to breathe.

#02 - Apples

Ashley Riot is not the only man who remembers sunlight and a tree on a low hill--but Tieger's tree is different; Tieger's tree is shared.

#03 - Beginning

"We were but children, then," she softly tells the twilit ruins and does not dare to listen to his reply, lest her heart break.

#04 - Bugs

There are times Tieger wishes Neesa would show some sign of feminine weakness, a fear of insects, a dislike of darkness, anything, but he supposes her roughness, her un-womanliness, is the only fitting counterpoint to Samantha.

#05 - Coffee

His voice is quiet in the darkness of their room ("Wake up...") but she obeys anyway, unthinking ("...Mullenkamp have made their move") and unaware that someday, she'll wish she hadn't.

#06 - Dark

She never feared anything before Lea Monde swallowed her up, before the shadows swallowed them all; Tieger's kiss or the sword's had been the same to her.

#07 - Despair

She wanted to die, but for some reason couldn't find any tears until a sound blew quietly from within the ruins, a low, keening groan in a voice she knew all too well.

#08 - Doors

Exactly where he learned to pick locks (such an unseemly thing for a Knight of the Cross to know), Neesa never asked and he never volunteered; some wounds, even love fears to lance.

#09 - Drink

He watches her, sometimes, with silent dark eyes that say nothing and see everything.

#10 - Duty

Where one went, the other followed--that was the way of it, and even Romeo Guildenstern bent his knee to it, never calling one to his side without calling the other, or at least expecting him.

#11 - Earth

"I've a place to show you," he says, smelling of grass and leaves.

#12 - End

"I told you to come back alive," she told the voice in the ruins, aching to be with him, to end this hideous misery, but instead she sharpened her sword and mentally prepared herself for the walk back to the Blades' camp.

#13 - Fall

His hands, hardened by hard use, scraped against the stone floor beneath him and as he rested his head on the cold, hard ground, he was already numb; he could barely feel his mouth as he breathed, "They say an' a man falls far enough, he feels it no more."

#14 - Fire

In the city proper, the sun is a harsh, unrelenting heat on his back and he is glad he brought extra canteens of water.

#15 - Flexible

"We're not here to bend aught," Grissom told the cultist; had they been with him, they would have seen his blindness, maybe even loved him a little for it.

#16 - Flying

She was the first one to develop the talent, the first one to enjoy the sense of motion--but he felt it with her, she made sure of it.

#17 - Food

"I'll be no-one's meal," she says, swinging her hammer; Tieger watches her, angry and desperate and blood-stained, and loves her a little for it.

#18 - Foot

She's the swifter of the two, light on her feet; when they spar, which is often, she dances around him.

#19 - Grave

Even years later, she still agrees with the bitter sentiment of what were almost her final moments: they all of them, the quick and the dead, deserved a better funeral than the City gave them.

#20 - Green

She finds her voice going sharp as she asks it, thinking of herself and Tieger when they were that young,"You would fight this battle differently?"

#21 - Head

Funny, how the barest space of time comes to mean so very, very much, he thinks as he kisses her (they have not left for the Greylands yet, but they will soon).

#22 - Hollow

They're solid believers in the Saint, neither heathens nor heretics nor fanatics like Grissom or Duane, but for some reason, the thought of marrying strikes them as not only impossible but folly.

#23 - Honor

We must tell them what has happened here, he said and he will not bend in this--in truth, he is offering her a chance to live; it is his final gift to her, worth more to him than aught else he might share, and she loves him for it even as she curses herself for taking it.

#24 - Hope

"I'll wait a while, he may yet return alive," she tells the hollow-eyed woman who stares at her and counts it a miracle that the woman says nothing; in the brightening light of morning, they are but the two edges of a sword, waiting and hoping.

#25 - Light

Neesa still misses, with the burning ache of can this be real?, the way Tieger would snuff the candle with his fingers with a chuckle and a kiss.

#26 - Lost

As has been reported previously, for as many as twelve days following her return, the Lady Neesa could sit silent for hours, unresponding to touch or voice, or perhaps simply uncaring.

#27 - Metal

Tieger has never once confessed to the moment he fell in love with Neesa (but it is this: the sight of her, skin dark and hammer bright, standing beside a splintered practice dummy and laughing at the Knights around her).

#28 - New

He smiles in his last moments, feeling the hard touch of the city's stones or perhaps Grissom's stave, and thinks of the warmth in his lips when first he kissed his partner.

#29 - Old

Even aging--and always afraid--there is an unrelenting dignity to the woman with the eyes that have seen horrors; even now, as she withers alone by her own choice, she is beautiful.

#30 - Peace

"Forever," she tells him in the darkness of their shared room; he sleeps on, undisturbed.

#31 - Poison

She is better with magick than he is; it is she who casts the spell they call "Antidote" and it is she who watches it shudder through him.

#32 - Pretty

His hands are warm on her waist and chest, his steps are slow as he teaches her to dance ("Still beautiful," he tells her when she missteps and she laughs, but they both know he's being honest and they both pretend it's not sentimental).

#33 - Rain

"Why do you like it so much, if you hate the dark," asks the only man she ever tried to love after the shadows swallowed half her sanity and the rest of her soul, as he wraps his arms around her waist; unsurprisingly, she only turns those haunted eyes to him and allows the pattering atop the tin roof to serve as her reply.

#34 - Regret

War is change and she follows suit, it has taught her to kill and flee and strip the dead of their bounty; Lea Monde has taught her to live with shadows of the past--with one shadow in specific, Alive, Tieger! Alive!--like a comfortable mantle on her shoulder.

#35 - Roses

"I know these aren't the ones you like," she tells her private gravesite, staring at the lilac she's laid at the pile of stones, "but I suppose they'll do."

#36 - Secret

She runs her fingers through his hair and marvels at it, unaware he's marveling at hers.

#37 - Snakes

It is only with the emergence of Ashley Riot--which the Inquisitor woman was hard-pressed to convince her to witness--carrying the man she hates above all in his arms, that she learns of the true betrayal; she hisses then, a low strangled sound from between her teeth, and the boy jumps, frightened.

#38 - Snow

Tieger tugs a hand through her hair and chuckles, his eyebrows arched in that loving, teasing fashion, and she knows he is thinking of a child's tale, of a girl with milk-white hair and a heart made of ice.

#39 - Solid

In the privacy of their room, tiny though it is, he pounds his fists against the wood table and she places a hand on his shoulder; "Somewhat blinds him, Neesa; he refuses to see reason, even from me!"

#40 - Spring

He brings her flowers one day, of no reason save he could afford them; she teases him, but they find a beer stein deep enough to hold them and she tends them obsessively for a week.

#41 - Stable

How fitting, that such a simple question ("An' I had ne'er ridden? What then?") could cause such a mess; she quietly vows that she will never again mention those blasted yellow birds and Tieger only laughs.

#42 - Strange

"Neesa, get back!" His voice is a strangled shout and the words are useless because she is already moving backward, away from the knight's corpse; he is the one to fell it, that terrible axe cleaving the poor child's head in twain--and then they are alone in the dim blue light, shuddering with it.

#43 - Summer

The tree, she remembers their tree, green atop the little hill, surrounded by beautiful open sky--she remembers the warm sunlight on their backs as they sparred--she remembers the soft grass beneath them as they finally gave up and sank to the grass; she remembers and she misses it.

#44 - Taboo

Her mother and his more roguish skills are but steps in the dance they never dance; silent questions they refuse to ask or even think.

#45 - Ugly

"You deserved that," she tells him, utterly unsympathetic to his black eye and his broken nose; because it hurts to talk, he doesn't gainsay her.

#46 - War

Three days after that battle and there's still blood under her fingernails, hell, she'd be surprised if she hadn't added to it, but Tieger is still looking over at her with that pole-axed expression that both worries and excites her.

#47 - Water

"Share a sip, will you?" He chides, so she does and he chuckles and kisses her (this stolen moment under the sunlight and in earshot of the river, where the dead do not yet rise, has soaked into her; it will walk right next to her for the rest of her days).

#48 - Welcome

Theirs was always a sharing; she opens her mouth to him at the same time as he opens his to her.

#49 - Winter

"Damn me," he whispers to his fallen brother, whose movements are but pallid whispers in the darkness; somewhere above him, she kneels on the cobblestones and damns his goodness.

#50 - Wood

The haft the practice spear is firm in his hand and he grins, feral, wickedly reaching out to poke her in the side with it, laughing at her startlement.

WIP [FFVII] [Yuffie, Shalua] [Rated T for Teen] Dark at the Heart of It (1/1)

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 21:08:14 GMT

WIP

Title: Dark at the Heart of It
Fandom/Pairing: FFVII; Yuffie, Shalua
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < grief, complexity >
Summary: Vincent has absolutely nothing to do with Yuffie's hatred of Shelke.
Notes: To the tune of "Some torture chamber of the heart"

The ninja's voice is cheerful as she says, "Tifa, I was just calling to say that I'm not going to be able to make Friday dinner today."

"Yuffie, this is the third week you've missed in a row. Tell Reeve I said not to work you to death," Tifa replies with an easy cheer that masks her disquiet.

"This has nothing to do with Reeve," And everything to do with Shelke, Tifa thinks, missing the tail end of Yuffie's excuse.

"If you say so," she says, mentally removing one place setting from the table while she gnaws her lower lip.

"I promise, I'll try and be there next time."

Click.

Tifa hangs up the phone and gnaws on her lower lip some more.

Yuffie does not hate Shelke because of Vincent. It's dumb to hate somebody just because your crush gets along better with them than with you. Really, really dumb. And she doesn't, because Yuffie Kisaragi is not dumb.

Yuffie doesn't hate Shelke because of the fact that she was with the Deepground. Reeve kidnapped Marlene, but she accepted him wholeheartedly into AVALANCHE and is proud to be working for him. He's got a good heart, Reeve, even if he has a tendency to be emo and won't let her have a tranquilizer gun to use on idiot employees. So the fact that Shelke was a Deepground soldier, a member of Tsviet--even if she was disliked--really doesn't bother Yuffie.

Yuffie hates Shelke because of Shalua. Not because Shalua died for Shelke. That's only half of it.

Yuffie hates Shelke because Shalua died for her and Shelke mocked that sacrifice.

"I wish he'd just let me slap her one more time," Yuffie says to herself as she re-reads the final briefing. She let all her paperwork pile up until today, but she's finished it.

Suddenly, her fool-proof plan to avoid Friday dinner doesn't seem so fool-proof anymore.

If she'd just gotten in one more slap--or, even better, a really good right hook--then she could show her face again. She could hold her head high, know that Shelke had gotten the point, and... and...

And it wouldn't hurt so much.

(But it does hurt, it does, the pain is still there right now, her heart is red and throbbing with it. aching for Shalua just as much as it aches for Aerith, for her mother.)

Shalua had what amounted to a military funeral. They buried her with full honours, from the snazzily dressed WRO officers to the mournful wails of trumpets and her hometown's flag folded crisply on her coffin.

Yuffie remembers standing next to Reeve and for once wearing the full WRO non-combatant officer's dress uniform, down to the blue trenchcoat, the buttons all shiny and bright. The black armband on her right arm had been tight, perhaps too tight, but she'd taken comfort in it. It had been like another peron's grip on her, had kept her sane and speaking Standard.

And Shelke had been there too, wearing a black dress Tifa had bought for the occasion. Yuffie can still feel the burn of tears in her eyes as she stared over the coffin at Shelke and Vincent. She'd pretended that Shelke was there not because Vincent was but because Shelke knew her sister deserved her respects.

At least Vincent had taken off that goddamn ridiculous cape and was wearing some real shoes, not those hideous boots.

But the thing that pisses Yuffie off the most about the funeral was that it didn't rain.

Shalua deserved rain.

The phone rings exactly once before somebody picks it up.

"Hello?"

The voice is Shelke's.

Yuffie grinds her teeth together for a moment, fully aware that Shelke can probably hear it. Somehow, she just can't bring herself to care if Shelke knows how much she hates talking to her.

"Can I talk to Tifa, please?" Her voice comes out all wrong, like she's just this side of strangling something, instead of the frostily pleasant sound she was aiming for.

Shelke's voice is as emotionless as ever as she says, "Please wait one moment."

Tifa thinks Shelke is changing, is showing more emotion. Yuffie just can't believe that.

Tifa's voice is weakly hopeful. "Yuffie?"

"Yeah, Teef, I was just calling to let you know that it… looks like I'm going to finish earlier than I'd thought."

Tifa's smile is so audible that Yuffie can practically see it. "Great! I'm glad to hear that. I'll sit you right beside Marlene."

"Sounds good," she says, trying to mean it, but it comes out sounding like I'd rather have a Behemoth rip out my liver and feed it to
me.

"Yuffie," Tifa says, a subtle note of warning in her tone, "once Marlene and Denzel go to bed, we need to talk." The warning is subtle, but Yuffie's heard it enough that it might as well be a shrieking claxon.

"It's about Shelke, isn't it."

"She's so sure you hate her," the older woman murmurs into the phone.

That one sentence brings everything back. The sting of Shelke's skin against her palm, They say it'd take a miracle, the crushing weight of Vincent's hand on her shoulder. The sight of Shalua sleeping in her regeneration chamber, dead in her coffin, dead asleep at her desk with her glasses pushed down low on her nose.

Shalua's closed eyes, never to open again because they say it'd take a miracle, and Shelke's dry eyes, seen over the open coffin at the funeral where it didn't rain.

"Well, she'd be right," she finds herself saying with the casually unsympathetic cruelty of the days before Aerith died.

The last time Yuffie saw Shalua alive, she had been running through what video they had of the Kalm incident with obsessive precision. Reeve had turned to her for analysis, despite the fact that she was "just R&D." He had this funny way of expecting things from people; Yuffie will always remember the way he turned to them and said, "I need the two of you to step up on this. If we're right, it—could get very ugly."

And Shalua had stepped up. That was the kind of person she was.

"I'll be heading into Edge soon," Shalua said, never taking her eyes from the computer monitor and scrolling lines of god-knew-what. Her fingers were a fast, loud blur against the keyboard.

"Have fun with that," she replied, devil-may-care and so unspeakably young, even that late. "And good luck, too, you'll need it."

"Not as likely," Shalua had replied, still not looking away from her computer. "Reeve's sending Vincent Valentine there."

"Ooh, Vincent Valentine," Yuffie cackled, curling her hands around a cup of bad coffee and wishing she had some sugar and cream so she could make it even worse. "Yeah, I'd still be careful, if I was you. Radio silence plus those weird dog people things does not equal happy funtimes."

Shalua gave her an odd look, but Yuffie just shrugged.

"Those dog people are actually people," Shalua said suddenly, eyes alighting on a segment of video.

A few keystrokes later, and the segment of video repeated. More keystrokes, making the video freeze, then zoom, then clarify, then repeat.

"Look at the movement. It's slightly unnatural. Those are human joints, albeit excellently modified. Hojo was a fantastic surgeon, I'll give him that."

Hojo wasn't a fantastic anything, Yuffie didn't say. He was a twisted freak with a god complex whose genetically engineered psycho of a son tried to destroy the world.

Instead, she said, "I see that. You wanna tell me how to kill them faster?"

Shalua smirked and opened her desk drawer, pulling out a ridiculously large gun for such a thin-wristed woman. "I'd say... same as anything else. Two bullets to the back of the head. Or, if you must, three to the front of the head."

Yuffie watched as the other woman stood. She stretched, ran her hands through her hair--glad now that it was so short-- and asked, "Leaving now, I take it?"

"I've determined everything that will be of use to me."

Shalua suddenly seemed a lot taller than she had before. Her posture was picture perfect as she rammed the gun into a holster.

"Don't worry about me," she said, pushing her glasses up off her nose. "I'll see you when all this is over, I guess."

"See you then," Yuffie had said with a wink and a wave.

And then Shalua had walked out the door.

The next time Yuffie saw her, there hadn't been time for any words beyond, "Where's the Commissioner?" and Shalua had called, as she rushed out another door, "I don't know, I need to check on something else."

Three months later, Yuffie still wishes she hadn't let her go.

Yuffie's scooter is bright yellow and looks wrong parked next to Barret's ancient truck, Reeve's awesome Shadowfox, and Cloud's scary bite-your-nose-off bike. Vincent and Shelke take the limited public transportation.

She doesn't bother to lock it up, just rests her helmet and a nifty little flashbang on it. Then she walks up the steps and into the house.

Inside, she hears laughter and suddenly it feels like Aerith is alive again, like she never met Shalua or Shelke, like Sephiroth is still out there but tonight they're here, wherever here is and it has become home. Then she remembers and the weight of the past three years crashes back onto her. She is not sixteen anymore.

She forces herself to walk down the hallway--just a few steps but oh good goddamn do they hurt--and confront the scene that haunts her every time she even thinks about coming here.

In the dining room, the AVALANCHE members who can make it to Edge are sitting at the table, laughing. And Shelke is there with them, with that puzzled, calculating look on her face, trying to deconstruct the evening and figure out exactly what it is they're laughing about. She's got a hell of a puzzle ahead of her; some things, you just can't laugh at without having been through.

"A bear wrapped in a marshmallow, that foo' called me," Barret says with that harsh booming guffaw that takes up all the space in the room. Cloud chuckles and Tifa giggles and suddenly Yuffie aches, aches, aches for Aerith.

"And then I puked on his shoes," she says, smiling brightly and pretending that Shelke isn't there.

"Yuffie!" Marlene and Barret cry at the same time. "Good ta see ya, brat," Barret says--and he really is a bear of a man--"it's only been goddamn ages!"

And then Yuffie is bowled over by an armful of clinging nine-year-old.

"Good to see you too, old man," she says, wishing Cid was around so they could really reminisce.

"Yuffie, we're glad you could come," Tifa says, her voice soft and sweet and happy, at the same time Vincent says, "You seem to be growing a sense of responsibility."

"Despite my best efforts," she says as an answer to both statements and means it—sort of. She blows off the hurt like it's nothing but really she's storing it up for later, when she can leave and lick her wounds and make sure to pile up housework too so she'll really have an excuse not to show up next time.

"Why would you not wish to grow up?" It's Shelke's voice, but Yuffie does a double-take because there's an actual inflection in it.

"Whoah, Shelke, you actually asked that question," she says, grinning as if she doesn't mean anything by it.

Tifa catches her eye and gives her the 'we are not amused' look. It's a quick warning look, something anybody who hadn't been in AVALANCHE would miss. But Yuffie doesn't miss it.

She feels completely free to ignore the question, though. Why should she bother to answer? Anybody who has to ask why Yuffie Kisaragi wouldn't want to grow up just isn't worth answering.

She turns to Tifa with her very best rakish grin and asks, deliberately, "When's dinner?"

She hopes to Leviathan nobody sees the screaming Yuffie shaking her fists. Hopes nobody hears her screaming I want out of here.

The very best memory of Shalua, the memory she would have used in a euglogy, if she had been asked for a eulogy, is the night Shalua told her about Shelke. Not in so many words, of course. Yuffie didn't even know the girl's name.

They were staying up all night, Yuffie because she maybe bought into the idea that sleep was for the weak just a little too much (and besides, Reeve was still in the building, still working, why shouldn't she be?); Shalua because she actually had work to do. Being the head scientist in R&D came with responsibilities out the ass. Yuffie could sympathize. It felt like she was babysitting her operatives constantly.

Around one, Yuffie had left temporarily, found an all-night Wutaian restaurant--more a diner, really, but details, shmetails--and came back with three brown paper bags full of food.

Two bags went upstairs for Reeve. Cartons of noodles and cartons of rice and tubs of soup, two fortune cookies and a box of steamed vegetables were placed at his elbow in a random order. She made sure the cookies would be found last.

"Thank you," he said, sipping at his coffee and not looking away from the papers he was reviewing.

"Not a prob," she said, going back to the lab to fiddle around with her communications system and wake up some of her operatives at an ungodly hour just for a sitrep.

While Yuffie was in the middle of typing in a command that Shalua had taught her, the older woman had looked up and asked, "Is there any way I can hijack that system for a second?"

"Finish your lomein," Yuffie had replied, punching the enter key right in the stomach and watching as three nodes on the map the monitor was displaying lit up blue.

Shalua chuckled but picked up her carton of lomein. "You and feeding people."

"I figure if you science types get reminded to eat, you'll remember to shower and brush your teeth," she cracked automatically. "And use deo."

The look Shalua gave her was one of cool amusement. "I see."

"So, why do you want my satellites, anyway?" Yuffie asked once Shalua had finished off the noodles and she was obligated to relocate.

[KINGDOM HEARTS] [VY] [Rated M] Burnt Offerings (8/?)

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 21:03:46 GMT

WIP!
Title: Burnt Offerings
Fandom/Pairing: Kindgom Hearts; Vincent/Yuffie
Rating: ESRB Rating of M for Mature < violence, plot complexity >
Summary: True heroes don't let petty things like death stop them... and a hero's memories more often return in nightmares than in sweet dreams. [Reincarnation fic.]
Notes: OMG DRUGS.

Chapter Eight: Marijuana Maenads

I went deep
Into my graveyards
Found my ghosts there
They're with me still
—Bishop Allen, "Ghosts Are Good Company"

Take this sinking boat and point it home—
We've still got time
—The Frames, "Falling Slowly"

Beast's Castle: The Gates

Vincent could see it in Auron's posture: the Gummi ship was satisfactory. He said nothing on the matter. This was only the second ship he had ever seen. He did not pretend to have an opinion of it.

He watched as stolen Munny was exchanged for a portfolio containing the correct calibrations and passwords to launch the ship. He watched as the salesman beamed back to his tug ship.

Auron looked over at him and commented, flatly, "Hn."

Vincent stared at the thing. As far as Gummi ships went, he had no idea if it was worth whatever they'd paid. As far as transportation went, he knew he personally would never have considered boarding it unless he had no other choice.

"Too bright a yellow," he said, trying not to look directly at it for too long. The yellow, which was admittedly blinding, wasn't the only thing embarrassing about it.

For one, it had a moogle decal.

For another, the name emblazoned on the ship's sides was The Wyrdhare.

'Wyrd' was certainly apt.

"Hn..." The other man allowed an almost smug sort of scowl as he grunted agreement.

Vincent looked at the amazingly ridiculous little ship. He looked over at Auron. Auron looked back at him.

Through the silent communication lent them by similar personalities and months spent in each other's company, they agreed that the sheer obnoxiousness of the ship's apperance was never to be mentioned again. Any allusions to what an eyesore it was would be ignored.

The Land of Dragons: Imperial Palace

"So he's gone?" Rikku was giving her a concerned look. There was a faint shimmer in the air around her, a shimmer Yuffie had noticed from childhood and had never cared about.

Yuffie stretched, lifting one leg by gripping the ankle and bending so her head nearly touched the other ankle. "He's out of my head, anyway."

Summon me, she remembered and immediately unbent in order to shake her head. "Cissuh sa," she tried to intone, but she didn't have nearly the right vocal cords to imitate that deep voice.

Rikku stared at her as if she'd grown horns and batwings.

"That's what he kept asking. Cissuh sa. Summon me." She looked at the map of the Land of Dragons and then shook her head again. "I think it's time to go back to Radiant Garden."

Rikku looked around and then pumped her fist in the air several times. "This place has been getting kind of boring," she said.

Yuffie nodded. "I know. Just need to arrange a ride home early, and then we'll be able to go torment Squall again."

She stuck her hand in her pocket, fingering the stone, and fought to keep her expression calm. The cool, smooth stone felt less like a stone and more like a snake's scale. She dug it out immediately and stared.

Sure, it had turned blue when Leviathan had gone to live in it, but now it was an irridescent blue green. It was more hexagonal than round, with sharp-looking, serrated edges.

"That's a Charm," Rikku said, the shimmer intensifying in her surprise. "Yuffie, you made a Summon Charm!"

Yuffie stared at it in wonder. She could feel water, could feel ice and scales and a sinuous presence.

"Think I should give this to Sora?" She closed her fingers around the scale at the very thought.

Beast's Castle: The Wyrdhare

The radio emitted a crackling sound, startling Vincent more than he cared to admit. Consulting the manual with eyesight that, thankfully, was no longer grey around the edges, he pressed the button that would access the channel somebody was trying to open.

"This is Yuffie Kisaragi of Radiant Garden, currently in the Land of Dragons, to any Gummi Ships in the area," said a voice he knew all too well, though it sounded slightly older than he rememberedd from the Underworld.

Vincent bit his lip to keep from replying.

"Yuffie Kisaragi at Land of Dragons to any Gummi Ships in the area," she said again, and then muttered, "Come on, people, answer me. I know somebody's out there, I can see an open channel on the display!"

Caught out. As usual. Vincent closed his eyes and took a deep breath, formulating a response.

"Miss Kisaragi, this is Vincent Valentine, currently located at Beast's Castle." And then, because he couldn't stop himself, because he had to know, he asked, "Is something the matter?"

Her voice, when she asked, was sly. "Vincent! I thought you were stuck in the Underworld!"

"I escaped," he told her dryly, suddenly remembering You are an ex-ninja and aching at the memory.

"And you found a Gummi Ship along the way, huh," her voice was dry. "Somebody's resourceful. So, tell me, you think this makes you a Space Pirate?"

Everybody knows ninjas don't get along too well with pirates, Vincent remembered from a lecture she'd given him far too many years ago. He almost wanted to add that, just to see how she would react. But she would think he was 'creepy' if he knew too much too soon. Instead, he replied, "Unlikely."

"Good," she said, voice bright and cheerful. "Hey, you seen Sora around recently?"

"Sixteen days ago, he helped Auron and me escape from the Underworld. Then he left. Why do you ask?"

"Call it curiosity," she replied. After a pause, she added, "I got something he may want to see. Oh well, he'll probably show back up at Radiant Garden, anyway. You, uh, got any room for a passenger on your Gummi Ship?"

Ah, Yuffie. She never changed, did she? He wanted to tell her yes, because he'd watched her die twice, but he thought of what Auron would say on the matter. "For the right price, it can be arranged."

An explosive, teenaged sigh. "All right, all right. How much Munny are we talking, here?"

He wasn't exactly informed on just what the right price would be. The Yuffie he remembered wasn't exactly a generous soul, but AVALANCHE had broken her of her tendency to cheat others. Mostly. Did this Yuffie steal? There was no way of telling. Yet.

"What would you consider a fair price?"

"How 'bout a flat rate? Two hundred Munny?"

It seemed reasonable. Commercial airship rides, before his world had ended, had run between a hundred to a hundred and fifty gil. Why wouldn't a ride on a Gummi Ship be slightly more expensive?

"You have a deal." They needed to leave Beast's Castle, anyway. Even after his recent discussion with Auron, Belle and the Beast had seemed... very hesitant and over-curious. The religious fast and meditation idea weren't going to keep the peace much longer.

"Great," she said. "So you'll take me back to Radiant Garden?"

"We will."

Was he ready to come face-to-face with Yuffie? Vincent wasn't sure. But he would have to face AVALANCHE sooner or later. He was still constantly hungry--Geez, Vince, maybe you should drink somebody's blood, offered the mental construct of Yuffie he'd created to stay sane--but the thirst had gone away and he was beginning to look more like an actual three-dimensional person and less like a collection of skin and bones.

"When can I expect you guys?"

Vincent consulted the owner's manual again and then checked the ship's navigation systems. The maps informed him that the Land of Dragons was perhaps a day's travel away, by the Disney Castle's reckoning.

"Sundown tomorrow, Disney reckoning," he told her.

"I'll watch for you." The words were naive, hopeful, but her tone was anything but.

He knew exactly what she would say if she had a chance to see the Wyrdhare. No, that wasn't true. Nobody could actually predict what Yuffie would say. The only accurate forecast he could make was an eighty percent chance of mockery, partly joking, with intermittent showers of laughter.

He really, really did not need Yuffie Kisaragi laughing at his Gummi Ship. "No need. I'll beam down."

"I'm in the Palace."

Fitting, he thought. It hurt. "I'll find you."

"Then I'll be waiting," she told him and he fought the urge to scoff.

Yuffie Kisaragi didn't wait for anything.

The Land of Dragons: The Palace

"A ride? Really?" Rikku was flitting through the garden, doing loop-de-loops in midair.

Yuffie nodded. "We don't have to wait on Sora and Riku."

The fairy made a beeline for the ninja's shoulder, landing lightly. Her tiny feet dug into the bones of her shoulder.

"You don't like Riku all that much, do you?" Yuffie raised an eyebrow.

[Witch Hunter Robin] [Amon] [Rated M] Consumption (1/1)

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 15:30:15 GMT

Title: Consumption
Fandom/Pairing: Witch Hunter Robin; Amon
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < attraction, murderous thoughts >
Summary: He is haunted by a thousand little things. The real question is, who isn't letting go of whom?
Notes: After "Time to Say Goodbye," before Amon reappears.

Amon isn't getting enough sleep and knows it. He can feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He doesn't even think of doing anything about it; there's nothing to be done. Surveillance needs to be kept up, his gun needs to be cleaned, he has answers to find and injuries to tend to.

He's so tired it sours his stomach and sends him staggering toward the thin, lumpy couch in the seedy little hideaway he's been maintaining for years.

He should stand up.

His body refuses to cooperate.

Amon does not want to close his eyes. He knows what he'll see.

Her face, the confusion at his proximity, the tension of some red, throbbing string pulling at her as he slid the note into her hair.

That one moment. For the first time, physically and mentally near each other. With each other. No wall of professionalism.

He should stand up.

The desperation, the anguish, in her face as the passage slowly closed and she slipped into darkness.

He's starting to see her even without his eyes closed.

At least once a day, he asks himself why he saved her. No. That's not true. At least once a day, he asks himself why he isn't saving her now. Why he isn't stepping in and putting and end to this nonsense.

The memories are consuming him. Or is he consuming them? They're bleeding into his every moment, his every thought, and he welcomes them and hates himself for it.

Her smile.

He should stand up.

He doesn't stand, though. He yields to the inevitable. Curses his weakness. Closes his eyes.

The way she tilts her head when casting her flames.

He should do something. Idle hands, idle thoughts, the devil's workshop--SOLOMON is the devil's workshop, he thinks and then pretends he didn't--he should be doing something. Should be preparing. He has a long way to go.

The sofa is uncomfortable.

He doesn't move.

"You're not going anywhere," he thinks, partly remembering and partly realizing that he should have taken better care of himself.

In the silent darkness of his safehouse, he watches her fall to her knees again. Watches hope and relief and joy swirl across her face as he reaches out to her, takes her away from the intruders.

He can't seem to escape her. Escape his memories of her. Escape his understanding of what he must do. (Will she submit quietly? Will she burn him alive? Will she still be beautiful when the life has left her eyes?)

He's trapped. His own deeds, his past connections, aren't haunting him. They're eating him alive. He can feel their teeth on him.

It's a pain, he realizes, that he doesn't mind.

He blinks and remembers the way her bangs moved as she ran down the stairs, away from the Hunters in her apartment.

He doesn't want to kill her.

He mustn't let her live.

Amon puts his head in his hands and finally comes to a conclusion about what he needs.

More Themes

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 17:40:28 GMT

Bacchus in the Fall
holding back the night
entering the darkness and emerging the better
Nature is not dead mechanism
a seductively darker power
"Fling wide open those dark gates, defiantly / which the whole world skulks past with averted eyes"
"Oh, he's a happy man who hopes / To keep from drowning in this sea of error!"
and Death worries about cab fare
unacknowledged legislators of the world
Death and the Lady
sounding the depths of human nature
the scent of umber on her fingers
spare me a few of your beautiful words
the songs you sing
poet as seer and prophet
under the influence of poetic inspiration
everybody thinks she's joking when she says, "I can make it through the week," but really, she's reassuring herself
hitting on death
maturity in paradox
naked capability
M is for Mirrors you'll stare in forever / N is for Night and Nothing and Never
we live with paradox and mystery
what we call evil as a component of joy
The boy sees; the man hears
fifty years later and it's all still on fire
A lion in her thicket
Trouble waits with greatest patience
Waking up at the start of armageddon
Dying of easy accessibility
In defiance of the night
Finding a strange sort of glory in the feeling of shame
Protect me from what I want
A sense of freedom in surrender
Deep endless blue
An abiding peace
Lingering aching love
Silent still mystery
and in the background, tension
His heartstrings wound taut like a cord, throbbing and red
her heart is a red lump in her chest, quickly beating
where there is fear, the is need
The consecration of loneliness
Virtue is Power
Truth as sword and shield
The waves of your revolution are still rolling over me
Give me my arrows of desire
Grief has its place
I will not be your stepping-stone
I will dig my way into you
Under your skin feels like home
Why is this, your love, so terrifying to me?
They came and conquered with books and smokestacks
This tree is a representative of our god
Tied to the mountain
Perfection is delight
The darker side of our sweet romance
I will build my altar in the fields
"A grief without a pang
void, dark, and drear"
-- Colderidge, Dejection: An Ode
"Hence, viper thoughts, that coul around my mind"
-- Coleridge, Dejection
"Thou Wind that rav'st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree"
-- Coleridge, Dejection
The wayward passion roves
Music swirling atop the waters
To free the hollow heart from pain
A wave parting beneath your power
Something evil looking back at you from beneath the black water
Wounds in your flesh liike fading autumn leaves
My memory strays along other paths
If we can laugh, we can live
The sun's a hammer, the earth's an anvil
His anger is the flint to your sorrow's tinder
Dancing in a garden abloom with the flowers of evil
Midnight light on black ivy
The new moon holding the full moon in its grasp
A fey thing
The speech of mountains thrumming through her feet
We are not beneath you
Stop.
Solitude has become my enemy.
Actually, they're sandhill cranes
Turning gold to jade
Sheltered in the bower of your arms
"I'll sing a sweeter song tomorrow"
-- Theocritus, Idylls
"And close your eyes with holy dread"
-- Coleridge, Kubla Khan
The city stretches beneath them, uncared-for, uncaring
Aching after something wilder
I kept you in a sacred place
Do not call me perfect until I am dead
"Alas, my children, why do you look at me?"
-- Medea
"In a land of sand and ruin and gold"
-- Swinburne, The Triumph of Time
"Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love"
-- Swinburne, Hymn to Proserpine
Proving yourself through vicious words
"And early though the laurel grows / It Withers quicker than the rose"
-- A. E. Housman, To An Athlete Dying Young
"Townsman of a stiller town"
--Housman, To an Athlete
Steel wrapped in silk
Duty is not the end-all be-all
Playing the incorrigible crimnal to your serious lawman; loving her anyway
An impulse toward goodness
The city of shadow forgiving your sins
If you want something, you must be selfish
Whenever I see the birds flying, I feel the need to travel
I am not made of glass and stone
The world is not perfect, I am less perfect than even that
the silence of white marble
in service to the Shining Lady
the grief of the God of Despair washes over you
still silent but ALWAYS moving
Let not the sun set on this dying land
I am tired of tears and laughter
--Swinburne, Garden of Proserpine
everything in your heart and soul given over
the one I love makes me feel so small
Remember how that young couple danced among the white lilies?
Let me love you one last time
I will not be made an oathbreaker
It is enough that I am yours; I refuse to be made your monster
This is my cause: to be a reformer of the world
Evil he may be, but he is better and nobler than you could ever aspire
Think on this: you who commit atrocities and are secure in your Holiness are eviller than we, aware of our damnation, who do not add to our sins
An eternity of agony will be yours
Do you but harm him once, we are enemies
Satisfaction eludes him, ah, it ever flees him
The tidal wave will never be denied
There is no such thing as joy or sorrow
This glory is not yours, it is mine alone
Your hands are beautiful; I will watch them forever
Something has gone awry with the world; I await the one to repair it
Those memorials of past nobility and greatness
And I'm letting myself down by satisfying you
Do it for the living, do it for the dead, do it for the monster under your bed
Through the thunder comes a human voice
And tonight you could truly say, together we're invincible
Only as much of the body as will point to the soul
Take this sinking boat and point it home
Some torture chamber of the heart
Everytime we touch I get this feeling
Love and bullets
We are princes of the universe
Chaos is the truth
The sea of faith is at its ebb
The river's laughter is the ocean's laugher
The river's laughter is the ocean's heartbeat
Ah, love, let us be true to one another, and let us drown together
This shimmering life inside
In denying it, you seek it out
Disconnected from the core of your own being
Looking forward to the loss of self
This my buried life I give to you
In the pursuit of reality we remain unfulfilled
His fantastic story was more real to her than her own life
Let me read your inmost soul
The truth is masked in the depths of the ocean
I believe in god but do not believe in fate
I will be swallowed up
Let not the human voice waken me
I would rather drown than be tied down
"Through the surf and through the swell"
-- The Forsaken Merman
A red-gold throne in the heart of the sea
"Loud prays the priest, shut stands the door"
-- The Forsaken Merman
"And alone live forever the kings of the sea"
-- The Forsaken Merman
They were evil in life and you can't imagine them suffering an improvement by dying
"God, if you get me through this, I'll-- / I'll what?"
--Glen Cook, Passage At Arms
"With its grey sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and scattered dead leaves"
-- James, The Turn of the Screw
in strange places and in high places, at the edges of things
"he threw off intonations as if her were tossing roses"
--The Turn of the Screw
dancing in the streets
The weather there is the same as the weather here--just a bit different
if you haven't gambled for love then you haven't gambled at all
love until the break of day
the only way out is a trip to the grave
as my life ebbs away, I give it to you
interpersonal communication is a nasty little war
Strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring
Come down from that cloud, girl, and leave the world behind
no time for the love you send
seasons change and so do I
have faith or pandemonium
Beauty in the breakdown

An Explanation -- 20 February '08

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 16:58:59 GMT

An Explanation

(This is the story of my desire)

Your skin, pale in the darkness that surrounds you
The hollow of your throat trembling
Your hands white-knuckled
Your chin upraised

My hands on your shoulders
My fingers in your hair
My lips on your smooth cheeks

You are not what the world thinks you are
You are not I am told you should be

There is grace to you
You are steel and silk
Sliding

Trembling,
Moving,
Graceful,
Stiff with cold,
Your hands are beautiful;
I will watch them forever.

Soul Mates -- 4 March '08

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 16:54:07 GMT

Soul Mates

You are a maddening miracle
All alone at midnight
You are a thousand car pile-up with no casualties
Standing and screaming in the streetlights
While I watch them blink
Fizz
Fade in
Fade out
Are you even there?

I clap my hands over my ears as you begin to laugh

Metal grates against metal
Sparks fly
Somewhere, a car falls
Think
Rattle rattle rattle
Boom.
It resounds.

In the darkness, I forget my name.

Should I bring flowers to your funeral?

You are moving toward me
Quickly through the flickering shadows
Your bare pale feet make no sound
On glittering black pavement

(We will not touch)

I raise my hand
A loud noise
I look toward it.
When I look back, you are not there.

We have missed each other once more
Drifted by each other
Only half-knowing

We will not pass each other again.

[Final Fantasy VII] [Elena, the Turks] [Rated T] Mortification of the Inner Flesh (1/1)

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 02:24:44 GMT

Title: Mortification of the Inner Flesh
Fandom/Pairing: Final Fantasy VII; fucked-up Elena/Tseng
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < alcohol, sociopathy, fucked-up Turk bullshit >
Summary: Real Turks drink their problems away. Elena ruminates on the fact that she is not a real Turk.
Notes: ILU Elena. STFU, universe

Mortification of the Flesh
--------

Elena watches Reno downs his fourth bottle of beer. She knows exactly what he's running from, and it isn't guilt.

No, the only one of their merry little party who's running from guilt is her.

Sometimes, if she gets drunk enough, she can scratch her fingernails against the ledge of crazy that Reno lives in. It's like surfacing from a lake and getting your fingertips on the dock, but losing your grip and falling back in.

She wishes she could shed her humanity as easily as Reno does.

Tseng warned her. That's the kicker. Tseng warned her she'd have to die inside in order to be a Turk--that may be why she's in love with him--but she didn't listen and now she's a killer who's in love with a man who by his very nature cannot, will not, love her back. Oh, he'll take herto dinner and he'll sleep with her in his very gentlemanly way, but he he does not and cannot and will not love her back.

Most days, she doesn't mind.

What Reno's running from is the ability to care. He's making noise and fuss and motion because some days, if he doesn't, if he goes still and quiet, he remembers what he does and he almost gives shit.

Rude is much the same. He's bridled up his mouth because he's bridled up his heart but there is no reining in the human soul. You have to crush it. You have to fuck it up until it is irrevocably broken and looks kind of like Reno. But see, unlike Reno, Rude is actually functional. He cares less than she does, but more than Reno does.

That's why he wears sunglasses. He's never the same person with them off as with them on. They're a convenient mask.

He probably blames them for what he does in the course of job.

Elena thinks about this as she drains her third drink.

She's never figured out where Tseng stands. Is he human, like her? Or is he dead, like Reno? He's from Wutai, she knows--which makes her think he's just crazy, and she finds that as endearing as the time he asked her out dinner--but he isn't quite as cold as Reno. Formal is not dead inside. He looks at her, at what she does, with a very alive passion. Not with the grasping need of somebody trying to re-drown his own humanity.

On her fourth, she wishes could get to the top of that lake, find that deck. Haul herself out. Walk along it barefoot and feel the hot concrete under her feet. Walk along and then walk away and never look back.

Reno's shirt is unbuttoned even further. Rude's jacket is gone, hung over the arm of the sofa. She grins, notices that Reno has propped his feet on her coffee table. She takes his shoes off and throws them at the door. They hit that dent in the plaster where Rude once lost his temper (Reno claims it was Rude; fuck if she believes him only she does, a little).

"Dont throw my shoes," Reno bitches

She ignores him, reaches for another beer. Normally it's not her style. But she's getting used to it.

Wordcount: 550

[KINGDOM HEARTS] [VY] [Rated M] Burnt Offerings (7/?)

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 18:36:52 GMT

Title: Burnt Offerings
Fandom/Pairing: Kindgom Hearts; Vincent/Yuffie
Rating: ESRB Rating of M for Mature < violence, plot complexity >
Summary: True heroes don't let petty things like death stop them... and a hero's memories more often return in nightmares than in sweet dreams. [Reincarnation fic.]
Notes: Yes, there are flashbacks. Hush.

Chapter Seven: When Our Distance Causes Silence

My sacrifice is made
Every note and every word you hear
Comes from deep within
—Iced Earth, "Burnt Offerings"

(Roughly two weeks ago)

Olympus Coliseum: The Underworld

"He can help us? You're sure of it?" Vincent gave the undead man a look that might have been dubious. Of course, it wasn't actually dubious, but the expression was about as dubious as Vincent got.

Auron, as usual, smirked. "He likes to meddle."

Vincent didn't criticize the other man's attitude toward the person who could get them out. Auron wasn't an easy man to criticize. Not when they were so much alike. So he ignored what he felt was unfair commentary and asked, instead, "You're sure of this?"

Auron's tone took on an edge. "For the last time, yes."

And they closed the subject. Just like that. Within two days, Sora arrived with a friend in a ridiculous hat. They were participating in one of Hades' new tournaments. By prior arrangement, Auron joined them while Vincent stayed behind and killed Heartless for Munny. (Killing for money—how familiar it was, even if he no longer wore the blue suit.)

After the tournament, the silver-haired companion looked at him with more respect. Vincent didn't particularly care how the boy looked at him. Evidently, even Auron must occasionally stoop to 'meddling.'

"You wanna bust out of here?" The teen asked. He looked about the age Yuffie had been when she joined AVALANCHE.

Vincent nodded.

The boy stared at him for a few long moments, as if to judge his character. Vincent didn't look away. He would not show submission to a child. At least, not to a child who hadn't saved the world with him twice. (And tried a third time, and failed, through no fault of her own.)

At last the boy spoke, thrusting out his hand and saying, "I'm Riku."

"Vincent," he replied, accepting the hand after a moment of hesitation. In his head, Yuffie—classic Yuffie, sixteen-year-old Yuffie—informed Riku that his hat was stupid.

"Nice to meet you! So, where do you want us to drop you off?"

Vincent shrugged a shoulder. "The nearest world in the circuit."

Sora, who had most likely been searching for Auron and was now loudly voicing frustration at Auron's ability to disappear, joined them. "Uh, the Coliseum's right between the Land of Dragons and Beast's Castle."

"The Land of Dragons," said Auron, melting from the shadows in an unsettling trick Vincent had long mastered (ironically, at Cait Sith's insistence).

The Land of Dragons. No. It wasn't an option. It would surely remind him too much of Yuffie. Wutai had called itself exactly that, once. When it had been a mighty empire and not a pitiful smattering of cities.

"Beast's Castle. It sounds… fitting."

In his mind, Galian let out a lonely howl. Vincent wasn't the only one who missed AVALANCHE.

(The Present)

The Land of Dragons: Mountain Village

"No food for three days?" Rikku stared at her, so aghast that she nearly dropped out of the air. She caught herself, though, and beat her wings extra hard to regain altitude. Once she was back up, Yuffie withdrew the hand she'd automatically thrown out to stop her friend's fall.

"And silent meditation on a shiny round rock, to bathe it in our 'spiritual energy.' I know it's all crazy, but it's my best shot." Yuffie shrugged.

Tu oui rydo sa dryd silr? Leviathan asked.

No offense, dude, she thought at him, but I want my brain back.

E fyc omfyc rana.

She snorted. You were not. After all, he hadn't been, right?

But they agreed not to argue. There was no point. She owned the body, so the worst he could do was give her headaches. Which he did occasionally.

E femm ku, ev dryd ec ouin vecr. Pid cissuh sa.

Olympus Coliseum: The Underworld

Riku had grabbed onto his left wrist and was pulling him forward. Every motion brought a jolt of pain along his spine. Moving toward the light was like swimming upstream in a river made of sharpened hooks. Invisible, painful forces were constantly pushing his limbs backward.

The only thing that was spurring him on was AVALANCHE. Yuffie. Cloud. Tifa. Cid. Reeve. Barret. Red. He wanted to see them. Every time he closed his eyes, their faces burned on his eyelids.

He would not give up. He would not give in. He would endure this.

Don't go back to the coffin, Vintard!

He would keep his promise, damn it.

In his mind, Galian roared. His eyes began to burn in that painful sensation that meant they had flooded red. The Wolf wanted out.

Vincent forced his body to surge forward. A step at a time. Faster. Quickly, before the Underworld could pull him back.

And then, the most welcome sensation in years washed over him. Sunlight.

The Land of Dragons: Mountain Village

The sunlight on her face was distracting. Yuffie tried to ignore it and channel heavy philosophical thoughts toward the stone.

She had never felt like a bigger idiot in her life. Wearing the chocobo hoodie in public would have been less embarrassing. Somehow impaling her spleen with a toaster would have made more sense and served a better purpose. And been a tonne less boring. It would have been performance art! She could have called it The Tragedy of the Feminine Role and the Ultimate Futility of the So-Called Sanctity of Marriage (One Performance Only). It would've been great!

This? Not so great. Actually rather dumb.

An imaginary river washed over her. Frah E ku, oui femm nasaspan.

Remember what, she asked, channeling puzzlement and what it felt like to cast Firaga into the stone.

Firaga ec y pyt etay. Blizzaga, oac. Firaga, hu.

Yuffie said nothing in reply, but gave the stone her coldest magic. She hoped it wasn't her imagination that the stone seemed to be drinking it.

Gummi Space: Olympus Coliseum

This was his first time on a Gummi ship, but it seemed grey and uninteresting. The world had gone blurry at the edges. Vincent knew what it meant, but he was too tired to worry. A short hibernation sounded like such a good idea. The mere thought was sweet as sugar.

He knew he should worry about Auron on the ship’s radio, arranging for a Gummi ship to be sent to Beast’s Castle. They barely had 800 Munny between them. How could they buy a Gummi ship?

But Vincent’s cabin—more like a closet, or a niche in a forgotten catacomb—was soft and dark. It would be so much easier and so much more pleasant to ignore everything.

“You guys are buying a Gummi ship?” He heard Sora ask.

But it didn’t matter. Vincent let sweet, velvety sleep claim him.

The Land of Dragons: Mountain River

The river sparkled in the sunlight. It was far warmer here than at the peak, though cool breezes strayed near the river’s banks.

Without hesitation, Yuffie waded in until the water burbled above her knees. She sat crosslegged on the riverbed and smiled at the rush of water past her chin. Strands of her hair lifted and floated in the stream.

She closed her eyes. The river’s pulse beat all around her. She could feel it. It washed over her, surrounded her, filled her.

She was the river because Leviathan was the river.

Somewhere, the ocean pounded itself against the beach in its endless, roaring push-pull. She could feel that, too. Could hear it with the river’s ears. Yearned for it as the river yearned, in a swift wordless churn of going somewhere.

Leviathan roared.

Her mouth opened.

The river rose. Water forced its way down her throat. Leviathan was screaming something unintelligible in her head. She raised a hand, tried to swim. The river didn’t let her.

And, suddenly, the river was a sinuous, powerful form. Horned and scaled and perfect.

He opened his mouth. “Summon me, Kisaragi.”

She wasn’t drowning. Why had she thought she’d been drowning? This was what it felt like to be alive.

“Leviathan, god of Wutai, I summon you!” Was she screaming? Was she thinking? She wasn’t sure.

And the scales were real, the horns solid. He was slick with saltwater, slippery and strong.

She threw back her head and laughed. He was so beautiful.

Gummi Space: Beast’s Castle

“Wake up.”

Vincent startled awake. He jerked, staring at the man who had wakened him. Auron was looking at him with a grim frown.

He fought to keep his temper. Unlike the last time he had awakened from hibernation—had it truly been that long ago?—it wasn’t a losing battle. “Yes, Auron?”

Two bare words were all it took to bring him fully awake: “We’re there.”

Vincent nodded. “I see.”

Brief silence. Vincent shifted where he lay, wondering if Sora or Riku had a hair brush.

“You do the talking.”

Since he had slept for a day and a half, Auron had probably been called upon to socialize with the teenaged boys to whom they were in debt. Somehow, Vincent doubted that Auron had enjoyed that. Youthful people somehow seemed likely to irritate him. Auron wasn’t exactly the most patient of people.

“As you wish.”

“I will see to the delivery of a Gummi ship.”

“Understood.” Vincent stared hard at the other man. They were both observant enough, knew each other well enough, that the stare’s meaning should have been obvious.

Auron remained silent, staring back at him. After several moments, Auron replied, “Most of the money came from Hades’ private chamber. I considered it compensation for my services in trying to kill Cloud.”

Hmph. Theft. Even his friendly affection for Yuffie had not inured him to his dislike of stealing. But in this case, considering what Hades had stolen from them both, he could quite easily overlook such a minor transgression.

Vincent rolled off the bed, wondering why it had ever seemed comfortable. It was little more than a thin mattress pulled onto a hard cot.

They went.

The Land of Dragons: Mountain River

The dragon curled around her, his scales rubbing against her bare thighs. It was a strange, almost scary, moment. She closed her eyes, soaked up the sunlight and the feeling of slick scales against her skin.

The stone in her hand began to freeze, going so cold it burned her hand. She flinched at the pain but focused on Leviathan.

Around them, the world was water. Shimmering blue stretched as far as she could see. She could hear the river’s exultation; the Watergod was alive, the Watergod was risen.

But there was something sad in the way Leviathan looked at her.

He rested his head on top of hers. His scales scratched against her hair.

She closed her eyes.

The weight vanished.

The stone went calm, just a little chill. The river was no longer endless. She couldn’t feel the ocean’s heartbeat.

She looked at the shiny rock in her palm. Curled her fingers around it. Automatically, she lifted her fist behind her head. With just a quick flick of her arm, she could send that rock skipping out into the river. Never see it again. Leviathan would be gone.

She shook her head and tucked the stone into a pocket.

Her shoes made squishing sounds as she walked back to the village.

Beast's Castle: The South Gate

The stark, heavily-wrought iron gate seemed to keep the castle behind it at bay. The castle loomed, looking as if it weren't so much immobile as simply resting. The dark sky that burned above the castle seemed to press against the gates almost as much as the castle did.

Vincent closed his eyes and listened to the forest around him. He heard the heavy, breathing silence of the trees. The distant murmurs of a stream. But near the clearing that led to the castle, there was no sound save his own breathing. An unnatural quiet had descended upon this forest; Vincent somehow doubted it ever left.

He pressed his right hand against the cold metal. The roses wrought into the gate were of beautiful craftsmanship. In the privacy of his mind, he marvelled.

The gate creaked as it swung open. The flagstones of the walk to the courtyard couldn't seep their chill into his feet. For the first time in twenty years, he could feel warm.

The gate creaked again as Auron closed it.

"Quiet," the swordsman said.

Vincent nodded. "Yes."

"You worried?"

He allowed a smirk. "Maybe a little."

Auron snorted, moving forward. For the barest of moments, once they were side by side, Auron placed his hand on Vincent's shoulder.

They stood silently and stared at the castle, with its decrepit beauty and that insolent sky that bore down on them.

But then Auron withdrew his hand and Vincent glided forward. It felt almost as if the shadows were carrying him.

It only took three knocks until the heavy wooden door swung open.