Where is my head, where are my bones
A batch of FFVII drabbles for the meme. I'm trying to group them roughly by fandom, which is why you'll be getting spammed by me. Also, I cheat. A lot. If you ask me for a pairing or a focus on a particular character, it is highly likely I'll end up twisting it for my own purposes. I'm quite sorry.
mercuriosity got the shortest drabble before, so I wrote her a long one to go with it. Only that ended up not being about what she asked for at all.
"I'm sorry," Cloud said, arms crossed defensively over his chest. There was a rosy bite mark right above his left nipple. "It was really dark, and I'd had a couple drinks. And you have to admit, you guys dress a lot alike."
Vincent scowled and toed the red coat that was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Its owner didn’t even have the decency to look abashed, let alone stop stroking Cloud's thigh. Privately, Vincent thought that he was far more well preserved despite his age than this interloper.
"At least I have two eyes," he muttered, and holstered his gun before climbing on.
***
Becoming friends with Zack was one of the most hazardous things he had ever undertaken. It meant being social. It meant having to learn actual personal facts, some unnervingly familiar, about the other man. It meant having to divulge personal facts about himself. It meant having to admit he wasn't sure of some of those facts, like his own birthday. It meant having to fend off offers to hack into the laboratory computer system to find out. It meant nights of alcohol intended to console him about his lack of birthday, whereupon Zack always ended up far more drunk. It meant receiving stolen combat choppers for his then arbitrarily determined birthday. It meant bailing Zack out of the brig afterwards.
It meant the horrible mystery of having to figure out how to give birthday presents in return.
"Here," Sephiroth said, walked into the last dregs of the party, and thrust the package at him without ceremony. "This is for you. Despite the fact that you are a walking disciplinary hearing."
"I hope it's outrageously expensive," Zack said happily. "Would you like ice cream or a stripper with your cake? Cloud, go get him a piece of cake and sit on his lap."
There were still witnesses so he refused both cake and company, the latter with more reluctance than the former, and watched Zack demolish the wrapping paper and various fripperies. He hadn’t ever thought about gifts having to be wrapped before Zack. It seemed somewhat pointless to include things like ribbons or tags, knowing that they were only going to end up flapping from Zack's genitalia at the end of the night.
"Score! Motorcycle jacket!" Zack wrapped the leather jacket around his shoulders. "Hey. Twins!"
"Don't," he warned Zack, but the other man bounded over and gave him a thoroughly embarrassing embrace. It was only with judicious application of force that he could keep Zack from straddling his lap, although Zack did kiss him on both cheeks, sloppy and affectionate and his breath redolent with illegally smuggled alcohol.
Sephiroth allowed himself to be plied with the alcohol as he waited for the party to end. At one point, he even let himself relax into the couch and watch Zack herd the rest of the guests out the door, some on their feet and some not. Cloud fell asleep in an armchair, and Zack tied the ribbon into his hair and took a picture.
Birthdays. Zack loved them, loved giving as much as receiving. If he looked around this apartment, he could become dizzy with the memories of unconditional gifts both material and immaterial. He had never experienced that before, the simplicity of something given with no expectations attached except hopes for his own pleasure. Not until Zack, and later, Cloud.
He'd never thought to give anything in return before. He hadn't known. How could he have known? No one had ever told him.
Cloud yawned, and he could hear Zack's footsteps coming back. He blinked, and shifted to remind himself where he was. Outside, he could hear a clock striking three, and Zack's birthday was hours gone. The necessary deed was gone for another year, although he knew Zack wouldn't hold it against him if he chose to never honor the obligation, on birthdays or ever. Zack was just like that.
The next day, Sephiroth bought him the bike to match the jacket.
***
"All right, Mr. Tseng. One more test and then this interview will be over."
Vincent Valentine leaned back in his chair and smiled deliberately, slowly.
"How many alcoholic shots can you do in thirty seconds?"
***
He was in hell.
The room was small and close and stank of human fluids and despair. He was squatting in a position he could not hold, trying to attain a goal he could not reach. He couldn't feel his legs. He was holding two guns out in front of him, stiff armed. They were loaded.
One of the dark-clad figures in the room broke away from the mass surrounding the latest recruit to collapse, and approached him.
"How are you feeling, Tseng?" Vincent asked seriously, with nothing in his voice other than mild politeness. There was nothing to indicate that for the last three hours he had been doing his level best to break Tseng and the five other Turk recruits on both physical and mental levels.
Tseng swallowed convulsively. "Fine, sir."
"You're lying, of course," Vincent said. "No one's fine in your particular position. You have a nightstick lodged between your thighs and your calves as you squat. It is cutting off the circulation to your popliteal artery. You'll probably faint soon. Your subclavian arteries are suffering as well. I'm sure you're not fine at all."
"No, sir. Yes, sir."
"Loosen your knees, Tseng," Vincent said helpfully, "or you'll find yourself fainting a-- is it second or third time? I apologize; I've been watching McCleary over there instead of you. Loosen your knees but keep a grip on the pole. Yes. Your back could straighten up a bit more. Square your elbows against your chest. Good. Very good. Deep breaths now. Don't drop those guns. God help you if you drop those guns. Now remember, I'm sure you hate every one of us bastards in this room right now and are thinking about the possibility that you could jump up and shoot us all before we took you down. That's natural. You wouldn't even be here if I didn't think you were considering that. But each of us were in your position once, and we all had the same thoughts, and we all regretted the day we even considered trying to become Turks with every part of our abused and fucked-up bodies. It's worth it, I assure you. This is nothing personal, it's just the way we figure out who can be a Turk and who can't. It's the system. If you pass the rest of the tests, then you and I will go out and have a beer together later this week. Won't that be fun?"
He stopped. Tseng's hands trembled and he said nothing. His whole body was beginning to tremble.
Vincent cocked his head and looked at him. "Tseng?"
"I'm not going to kill myself, sir."
Vincent smiled gently. "You'll make a good Turk, Tseng. I might even pay for your beer. I'll leave you to it now."
Tseng's vision began to blur. The trembling had spread all over him, but he held onto his guns. The last thing he saw before the floor came rushing up to meet him was Vincent's retreating figure. The last thing he thought was that there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be that.
When he woke up, he was still in hell. Strangely enough, he was happy.
***
On to the next batch.
mercuriosity got the shortest drabble before, so I wrote her a long one to go with it. Only that ended up not being about what she asked for at all.
"I'm sorry," Cloud said, arms crossed defensively over his chest. There was a rosy bite mark right above his left nipple. "It was really dark, and I'd had a couple drinks. And you have to admit, you guys dress a lot alike."
Vincent scowled and toed the red coat that was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Its owner didn’t even have the decency to look abashed, let alone stop stroking Cloud's thigh. Privately, Vincent thought that he was far more well preserved despite his age than this interloper.
"At least I have two eyes," he muttered, and holstered his gun before climbing on.
***
Becoming friends with Zack was one of the most hazardous things he had ever undertaken. It meant being social. It meant having to learn actual personal facts, some unnervingly familiar, about the other man. It meant having to divulge personal facts about himself. It meant having to admit he wasn't sure of some of those facts, like his own birthday. It meant having to fend off offers to hack into the laboratory computer system to find out. It meant nights of alcohol intended to console him about his lack of birthday, whereupon Zack always ended up far more drunk. It meant receiving stolen combat choppers for his then arbitrarily determined birthday. It meant bailing Zack out of the brig afterwards.
It meant the horrible mystery of having to figure out how to give birthday presents in return.
"Here," Sephiroth said, walked into the last dregs of the party, and thrust the package at him without ceremony. "This is for you. Despite the fact that you are a walking disciplinary hearing."
"I hope it's outrageously expensive," Zack said happily. "Would you like ice cream or a stripper with your cake? Cloud, go get him a piece of cake and sit on his lap."
There were still witnesses so he refused both cake and company, the latter with more reluctance than the former, and watched Zack demolish the wrapping paper and various fripperies. He hadn’t ever thought about gifts having to be wrapped before Zack. It seemed somewhat pointless to include things like ribbons or tags, knowing that they were only going to end up flapping from Zack's genitalia at the end of the night.
"Score! Motorcycle jacket!" Zack wrapped the leather jacket around his shoulders. "Hey. Twins!"
"Don't," he warned Zack, but the other man bounded over and gave him a thoroughly embarrassing embrace. It was only with judicious application of force that he could keep Zack from straddling his lap, although Zack did kiss him on both cheeks, sloppy and affectionate and his breath redolent with illegally smuggled alcohol.
Sephiroth allowed himself to be plied with the alcohol as he waited for the party to end. At one point, he even let himself relax into the couch and watch Zack herd the rest of the guests out the door, some on their feet and some not. Cloud fell asleep in an armchair, and Zack tied the ribbon into his hair and took a picture.
Birthdays. Zack loved them, loved giving as much as receiving. If he looked around this apartment, he could become dizzy with the memories of unconditional gifts both material and immaterial. He had never experienced that before, the simplicity of something given with no expectations attached except hopes for his own pleasure. Not until Zack, and later, Cloud.
He'd never thought to give anything in return before. He hadn't known. How could he have known? No one had ever told him.
Cloud yawned, and he could hear Zack's footsteps coming back. He blinked, and shifted to remind himself where he was. Outside, he could hear a clock striking three, and Zack's birthday was hours gone. The necessary deed was gone for another year, although he knew Zack wouldn't hold it against him if he chose to never honor the obligation, on birthdays or ever. Zack was just like that.
The next day, Sephiroth bought him the bike to match the jacket.
***
"All right, Mr. Tseng. One more test and then this interview will be over."
Vincent Valentine leaned back in his chair and smiled deliberately, slowly.
"How many alcoholic shots can you do in thirty seconds?"
***
He was in hell.
The room was small and close and stank of human fluids and despair. He was squatting in a position he could not hold, trying to attain a goal he could not reach. He couldn't feel his legs. He was holding two guns out in front of him, stiff armed. They were loaded.
One of the dark-clad figures in the room broke away from the mass surrounding the latest recruit to collapse, and approached him.
"How are you feeling, Tseng?" Vincent asked seriously, with nothing in his voice other than mild politeness. There was nothing to indicate that for the last three hours he had been doing his level best to break Tseng and the five other Turk recruits on both physical and mental levels.
Tseng swallowed convulsively. "Fine, sir."
"You're lying, of course," Vincent said. "No one's fine in your particular position. You have a nightstick lodged between your thighs and your calves as you squat. It is cutting off the circulation to your popliteal artery. You'll probably faint soon. Your subclavian arteries are suffering as well. I'm sure you're not fine at all."
"No, sir. Yes, sir."
"Loosen your knees, Tseng," Vincent said helpfully, "or you'll find yourself fainting a-- is it second or third time? I apologize; I've been watching McCleary over there instead of you. Loosen your knees but keep a grip on the pole. Yes. Your back could straighten up a bit more. Square your elbows against your chest. Good. Very good. Deep breaths now. Don't drop those guns. God help you if you drop those guns. Now remember, I'm sure you hate every one of us bastards in this room right now and are thinking about the possibility that you could jump up and shoot us all before we took you down. That's natural. You wouldn't even be here if I didn't think you were considering that. But each of us were in your position once, and we all had the same thoughts, and we all regretted the day we even considered trying to become Turks with every part of our abused and fucked-up bodies. It's worth it, I assure you. This is nothing personal, it's just the way we figure out who can be a Turk and who can't. It's the system. If you pass the rest of the tests, then you and I will go out and have a beer together later this week. Won't that be fun?"
He stopped. Tseng's hands trembled and he said nothing. His whole body was beginning to tremble.
Vincent cocked his head and looked at him. "Tseng?"
"I'm not going to kill myself, sir."
Vincent smiled gently. "You'll make a good Turk, Tseng. I might even pay for your beer. I'll leave you to it now."
Tseng's vision began to blur. The trembling had spread all over him, but he held onto his guns. The last thing he saw before the floor came rushing up to meet him was Vincent's retreating figure. The last thing he thought was that there was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be that.
When he woke up, he was still in hell. Strangely enough, he was happy.
***
On to the next batch.