From across the room, he watches the woman behind the bar. She moves gracefully, as if this work she does is an art. He's told her how much he admires the way she does her job, but he's not sure she appreciated it fully.
Slowly but surely, this place is starting to close in on him. It's nowhere near as small a space as his coffin in the Shinra Manor basement, but it's a prison nonetheless. The only thing keeping him sane, he thinks, is the fact that he's got one friend here.
He's almost content to watch her from afar but really, as comfortable as he says he is being alone, he's human -- mostly -- and every once in a while he needs his friends. Here, that means Tifa and ignoring Reno, he takes a surreptitious seat at the far end of the bar.
This is definitely no Costa del Sol. He follows her gaze to the image of light bouncing off the lake's surface.
"I... fly over it sometimes. On clear nights. It's... beautiful." He turns his head up, looks toward the moon. "Sometimes it helps me forget... things."
It feels like such a failing to admit that there are things he wants to forget, but Tifa knows his story as well as anybody and better than most. If she'd been locked in a coffin for thirty years after being killed, mutilated, experimented on, and revived, well... she'd have a few things to forget too.
As it is, she has enough trauma in her past and he doesn't wish his own circumstances on anybody. Tonight, he won't talk about Lucrecia... not while he's out here with Tifa.
Still looking toward the lake, she smiles, but she doesn't glance toward Vincent or expect to see a hint of a smile on his face. He's wearing sadness like he wears that cloak. And even though she knows it's somehow connected to him -- a part of him -- but it's still a little hard to believe it doesn't drive him crazy at times.
How best to describe it? One might as well be asked what it's like to walk or run or smile or count on his fingers and...
Tonight, he's overwhelmed on so many levels and words are less easy for him than usual. Opening his mouth to speak, he thinks the better of it and falls silent again, shaking his head: so many things that ought to normally be possible or at least plausible are simply unattainable for him right now. It's the way he felt when he woke up on Hojo's operating table to find himself transformed: words wouldn't come then and they don't come now, and he knows he couldn't do the concept of free flight justice even if the words were there.
Cautiously, shyly, he turns to Tifa.
"I could... show you better than tell you."
Immediately he regrets making the offer. Not because he has any objections to showing her, but because he's got no right to do so... does he?
Surprised, she turns away from the lake to look his way.
"Could you?"
She's not just asking if he minds -- although she definitely is making sure he doesn't really mind -- but she can hardly believe it'd be possible for him to show her what it's like.
But there's little hiding the hopefulness on her face. She'd love to find out.
It's not something she'll take for granted. She's not sure Vincent's so comfortable with the offer he just made, but she's more than willing if he is.
The one thing he keeps telling himself is that it's a measure of his affection for Tifa that he even thought to make the offer; the only other person he'd even consider doing this with is Lucrecia and she's not here. For a long minute he studies Tifa's face: she's so earnest, so young, so curious. She's his friend, and he doesn't have so very many of those.
By way of answering her question, he nods. "I could. But..." There's always a but in situations like this, isn't there? "...I leave it to you. If you want to, I will. It requires... a certain amount of trust." And that's on both their parts: he hasn't actually flown with anybody before but theoretically, there's no reason he can't. He's strong: the Chaos gene sees to that. He's graceful: that's a skill honed by years of practice. He's capable: the cloak itself taught him how to do this.
Right now, he would greatly appreciate the opportunity to try. He needs to feel that he's useful for something.
It's an entirely different kind of surprise on her face now, and she can't help smiling outright.
What did he think she'd say?
"Of course I trust you."
There's no question. She trusts him implicitly.
He swirled around her once, looking just like an ownerless cloak in the air, and the fact that he apologized for startling her after the fact means that he knew what was going on, was probably in full -- or at least partial -- control, and he remembered doing it once he was plain old Vincent again. So it's not like what happens when he's fighting.
But even if it was, she'd be willing to take the chance.
"All right." He moves so cautiously as he raises the right side of his cloak and with such... reticence wraps it around Tifa. Save for moments of injury he hasn't been this close to anybody in decades but... well... he won't think about that now. This trick -- this flying -- is the one transformation he can control completely. He doesn't lose himself to it like he does to Chaos and the Chaos sub-forms; he does change but he can maintain control.
It's a relief to be able to do it, actually. The only warning he gives Tifa is a nod before he closes his eyes and simply... shifts, becoming an effective and somewhat larger version of his own cloak, tattered but strong. Wrapping around Tifa with thoughts of nothing but flying and flight, he lifts her off the ground and together they soar over the grass, gaining height as they near the lake. As soon as they're by the water's edge he directs them up and up and by the time they're over the center of the lake, they're above treetop level. It's so peaceful up here, so relaxing, so pure: here,
( ... )
She's only self-conscious for the split-second before the cloak is wrapped around her, but that dissolves so quickly in the wake of rising into the air.
And then she's smiling, open-mouthed, and wide-eyed and thrilled as they slice through the air and hover over the lake and then fly nearer to the trees again. It's not as if she's never been flying: she can think Cid for that. But it's almost always been in an airship or on the safety of its deck. It's never been like this, with only the cloud of red cloak around her keeping her up, like she's sprouted wings and lifted off.
She isn't concerned for a moment.
"Vincent--"
She has to speak a little louder, she thinks. It feels like the air and wind want to steal her words.
"--can you hear me?" She doesn't know why he couldn't. "This is amazing!"
Yes, he can hear her; by way of acknowledgement he wraps around her a little more tightly. A hint, a squeeze, a nod: that's all. Directing them down to the shore on the lake's opposite side, he makes sure Tifa's feet are firmly on the ground before, in a clouded flurry of red, he's standing by her side again looking out at the water as if he'd never transformed at all
( ... )
It's so strange, the way he changes, the way he turns back into himself next to her.
Hair and cloak barely looking disturbed.
She can certainly see why he enjoys taking to the sky, and no matter how it's possible, she's so glad that it seems like he can finally enjoy something about what he can become.
Turning into the purple-furred beast and Chaos and his other forms... can't be fun. At first, she imagines it had to be traumatic for him -- it was enough of a shock just for them the first time he changed in front the group -- and it's probably almost a relief that he can never seem to remember much about the time he's spent transformed.
Vincent, for all his tucked-away sadness and guilt, has never been someone who's struck her as self-loathing. Sometimes he seems very confident. In battle, for instance, he's sure of himself, precise, graceful.
He's even shown a little bit of showmanship: she's seen him easily twirl guns large enough to seem unwieldy
( ... )
It's his absolute pleasure to nod in response to her thanks: this is the one thing he knows he can control. The one thing, and his life is such a mess. A contradiction: time spent between waiting and losing control, between remembering everything and remembering nothing. But in this form he neither forgets nor loses control and that... well, it's a blessing, and there are precious few of those to go around these days.
Having Tifa for a friend is another blessing. An even bigger one, really: ultimately, all of them rely on friends and to be able to do fancy transformational tricks is fine, but to have true friends is even better.
"And here we are, on the far side of the lake." He points across its still surface. "Just across from where you first appeared here. That was... quite the surprise."
The barest hint of a smile shows on his face, but it doesn't last so very long. Maybe Tifa will think it was just a trick of the moonlight. But whether or not she does is unimportant, because the truth is that he was surprised to see her that
( ... )
She's pretty sure he just smiled. For about a second but it was there, and she always feels good about being able to make him smile.
Letting out a laugh, she gives him a matter-of-fact grin. "Quite the surprise for you and me both."
She's a little bit hesitant about the decision he leaves her with.
"You don't mind flying me back?"
It'd be a short flight back, but she doesn't want to make him feel like he has to appease her or anything. It's just that... well, how often does she have a chance to fly like that?
Like some giant red eagle, he spreads the wings of the cloak. "If I minded, I... wouldn't have offered." There's just a moment's pause. "Tifa: it's a relief for me to be able to do this." As he did before, he nods and shimmers and shifts and the cloak wraps around her securely, and they don't drift but speed back across the lake at a great clip because... it's... fun. And just before they reach the other side he spirals them up into the air -- because he can -- and sets down again gently at the very top of one of the trees... but only for a moment -- just long enough to take in the view -- and then they're off again, fluttering slowly to the ground.
And again, once Tifa's safe and sound, there's a rustle of red and another shimmer of the space around her and there they are.
Just Tifa and one Vincent Valentine who is... utterly incapable of flight. He's so filled with gratitude for her friendship that this time, he does smile. "Any time you need a... lift." Shy again, he lowers his eyes and studies the grass beneath their feet, but
( ... )
She can't help grinning before he changes form again and raises her into the sky. That's their Vincent, no question: he's not one to make an offer he minds.
By the time they've reached the opposite side of the lake again, her cheeks almost hurt from so much smiling. And his smile is so good to see that she doesn't show any signs of stopping soon.
"I'll keep that in mind."
She glances toward the bar, then looks back at Vincent, putting a hand on his arm. "What if I bought you some berry tea in appreciation?"
His first reaction is no, no no no but... Tifa is so earnest and the offer is so pleasant and really, he's got no good reason to refuse.
"All right." It really has been days and he ought to have something, especially considering he has no casket to crawl into here, nowhere to go to shut the lid on the world in general. And why is it, he wonders, that people are so eager to repeat the past even if it was terrible for them?
"Thank you." Tifa's hand still rests on his arm; he pats it gently with his gauntleted left hand. There's no armor on the underside of his fingers, only leather, and he almost aches to take that off. But he'll wait and do it later.
After he's tested Lucrecia's door one more time, stood guard outside it just in case one more time. He won't return to his own room until he's convinced -- again -- that she's not there.
Slowly but surely, this place is starting to close in on him. It's nowhere near as small a space as his coffin in the Shinra Manor basement, but it's a prison nonetheless. The only thing keeping him sane, he thinks, is the fact that he's got one friend here.
He's almost content to watch her from afar but really, as comfortable as he says he is being alone, he's human -- mostly -- and every once in a while he needs his friends. Here, that means Tifa and ignoring Reno, he takes a surreptitious seat at the far end of the bar.
The shadows are a comfort to him.
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"I... fly over it sometimes. On clear nights. It's... beautiful." He turns his head up, looks toward the moon. "Sometimes it helps me forget... things."
It feels like such a failing to admit that there are things he wants to forget, but Tifa knows his story as well as anybody and better than most. If she'd been locked in a coffin for thirty years after being killed, mutilated, experimented on, and revived, well... she'd have a few things to forget too.
As it is, she has enough trauma in her past and he doesn't wish his own circumstances on anybody. Tonight, he won't talk about Lucrecia... not while he's out here with Tifa.
Enough's enough.
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"You fly almost as much as Cid does."
Still looking toward the lake, she smiles, but she doesn't glance toward Vincent or expect to see a hint of a smile on his face. He's wearing sadness like he wears that cloak. And even though she knows it's somehow connected to him -- a part of him -- but it's still a little hard to believe it doesn't drive him crazy at times.
Her smile fades slowly.
"What's it like, flying the way you do?"
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How best to describe it? One might as well be asked what it's like to walk or run or smile or count on his fingers and...
Tonight, he's overwhelmed on so many levels and words are less easy for him than usual. Opening his mouth to speak, he thinks the better of it and falls silent again, shaking his head: so many things that ought to normally be possible or at least plausible are simply unattainable for him right now. It's the way he felt when he woke up on Hojo's operating table to find himself transformed: words wouldn't come then and they don't come now, and he knows he couldn't do the concept of free flight justice even if the words were there.
Cautiously, shyly, he turns to Tifa.
"I could... show you better than tell you."
Immediately he regrets making the offer. Not because he has any objections to showing her, but because he's got no right to do so... does he?
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"Could you?"
She's not just asking if he minds -- although she definitely is making sure he doesn't really mind -- but she can hardly believe it'd be possible for him to show her what it's like.
But there's little hiding the hopefulness on her face. She'd love to find out.
It's not something she'll take for granted. She's not sure Vincent's so comfortable with the offer he just made, but she's more than willing if he is.
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By way of answering her question, he nods. "I could. But..." There's always a but in situations like this, isn't there? "...I leave it to you. If you want to, I will. It requires... a certain amount of trust." And that's on both their parts: he hasn't actually flown with anybody before but theoretically, there's no reason he can't. He's strong: the Chaos gene sees to that. He's graceful: that's a skill honed by years of practice. He's capable: the cloak itself taught him how to do this.
Right now, he would greatly appreciate the opportunity to try. He needs to feel that he's useful for something.
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What did he think she'd say?
"Of course I trust you."
There's no question. She trusts him implicitly.
He swirled around her once, looking just like an ownerless cloak in the air, and the fact that he apologized for startling her after the fact means that he knew what was going on, was probably in full -- or at least partial -- control, and he remembered doing it once he was plain old Vincent again. So it's not like what happens when he's fighting.
But even if it was, she'd be willing to take the chance.
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It's a relief to be able to do it, actually. The only warning he gives Tifa is a nod before he closes his eyes and simply... shifts, becoming an effective and somewhat larger version of his own cloak, tattered but strong. Wrapping around Tifa with thoughts of nothing but flying and flight, he lifts her off the ground and together they soar over the grass, gaining height as they near the lake. As soon as they're by the water's edge he directs them up and up and by the time they're over the center of the lake, they're above treetop level. It's so peaceful up here, so relaxing, so pure: here, ( ... )
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And then she's smiling, open-mouthed, and wide-eyed and thrilled as they slice through the air and hover over the lake and then fly nearer to the trees again. It's not as if she's never been flying: she can think Cid for that. But it's almost always been in an airship or on the safety of its deck. It's never been like this, with only the cloud of red cloak around her keeping her up, like she's sprouted wings and lifted off.
She isn't concerned for a moment.
"Vincent--"
She has to speak a little louder, she thinks. It feels like the air and wind want to steal her words.
"--can you hear me?" She doesn't know why he couldn't. "This is amazing!"
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Hair and cloak barely looking disturbed.
She can certainly see why he enjoys taking to the sky, and no matter how it's possible, she's so glad that it seems like he can finally enjoy something about what he can become.
Turning into the purple-furred beast and Chaos and his other forms... can't be fun. At first, she imagines it had to be traumatic for him -- it was enough of a shock just for them the first time he changed in front the group -- and it's probably almost a relief that he can never seem to remember much about the time he's spent transformed.
Vincent, for all his tucked-away sadness and guilt, has never been someone who's struck her as self-loathing. Sometimes he seems very confident. In battle, for instance, he's sure of himself, precise, graceful.
He's even shown a little bit of showmanship: she's seen him easily twirl guns large enough to seem unwieldy ( ... )
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Having Tifa for a friend is another blessing. An even bigger one, really: ultimately, all of them rely on friends and to be able to do fancy transformational tricks is fine, but to have true friends is even better.
"And here we are, on the far side of the lake." He points across its still surface. "Just across from where you first appeared here. That was... quite the surprise."
The barest hint of a smile shows on his face, but it doesn't last so very long. Maybe Tifa will think it was just a trick of the moonlight. But whether or not she does is unimportant, because the truth is that he was surprised to see her that ( ... )
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Letting out a laugh, she gives him a matter-of-fact grin. "Quite the surprise for you and me both."
She's a little bit hesitant about the decision he leaves her with.
"You don't mind flying me back?"
It'd be a short flight back, but she doesn't want to make him feel like he has to appease her or anything. It's just that... well, how often does she have a chance to fly like that?
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And again, once Tifa's safe and sound, there's a rustle of red and another shimmer of the space around her and there they are.
Just Tifa and one Vincent Valentine who is... utterly incapable of flight. He's so filled with gratitude for her friendship that this time, he does smile. "Any time you need a... lift." Shy again, he lowers his eyes and studies the grass beneath their feet, but ( ... )
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By the time they've reached the opposite side of the lake again, her cheeks almost hurt from so much smiling. And his smile is so good to see that she doesn't show any signs of stopping soon.
"I'll keep that in mind."
She glances toward the bar, then looks back at Vincent, putting a hand on his arm. "What if I bought you some berry tea in appreciation?"
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"All right." It really has been days and he ought to have something, especially considering he has no casket to crawl into here, nowhere to go to shut the lid on the world in general. And why is it, he wonders, that people are so eager to repeat the past even if it was terrible for them?
"Thank you." Tifa's hand still rests on his arm; he pats it gently with his gauntleted left hand. There's no armor on the underside of his fingers, only leather, and he almost aches to take that off. But he'll wait and do it later.
After he's tested Lucrecia's door one more time, stood guard outside it just in case one more time. He won't return to his own room until he's convinced -- again -- that she's not there.
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