Prompt - Ends
Title: Aging
Characters: Shelke Rui, Hojo
A/N: AU; Post-Parameter RPG.
Aging was inexplicable to her, his in particular. He'd been some kind of childish nightmare for so much her life - a boogeyman of sorts she didn't know how to grow out of - and the aging process seemed entirely too human for a creature like him. Parts of her thought he would stay gaunt, grinning, and fifty forever, just as Vincent Valentine was perpetually prime. Other parts of her recognised the way he shuffled rather than walked, the grey fanning out from his temples. He was nearly ninety now, and she was still nine.
Age was inexplicable in that it seemed parabolic - grow old enough and you start becoming young again. They kept him under 24 hour surveillance of course, and sometimes she saw him jibing the unfortunate young thing on duty, being genuinely amused by their immature professionalism. Sometimes, he invited them to tea (which they always turned down) and games of chess (which they inevitably lost) as if he was a gracious host instead of a well-guarded prisoner. The new generation that had learned his name from history books thought he was ridiculous, an old man only loosely connected to his past atrocities by paper files and word of mouth. It would be impossible to convey to these people just how terrifying Hojo had been at the height of his power... but he really wasn't dangerous, anymore.
Shelke often wondered what would happen years, decades, centuries down the track, when he and everybody else was dead. She tried hard not to, but one look at Vincent was enough to send the edgy anxiety trickling back. Perhaps a millenium later, she and Vincent would be the only people left in the entire world, while Hojo had long become ashes and oblivion. It wasn't fair, to think her disposition meant she could live forever without really having lived a day. She imagined protruberant veins and flakey skin, laugh lines, frown lines, grandchildren. Holding someone else's hand, maybe. She imagined lying down and self-acceptance. No, it really wasn't fair at all.
It was human nature to be enamoured by things you couldn't have, and Shelke was fascinated by age. It made men of monsters... and Hojo seemed so content now as a bumbling old fool.
Still, all the raised eyebrows when she volunteered for some of the 'babysitting' shifts really should've been expected. Half of them thought she still had Stockholm Syndrome, and the other half probably just thought she was insane (the reality was likely a combination of both - at least, it used to be). Vincent made no comment at all, which was slightly disappointing. Shelke would've welcomed another opportunity to defend herself against the projection of Lucrecia she still saw constantly in his eyes. Vincent wasn't just stuck in an age, he was stuck in a mindframe, and she wondered if that was his coping mechanism. Shelke chased the passing of time and Vincent simply pretended it didn't exist. In the longrun, which one was more effective? Which was worse? And who, really, could say?
Certainly not Hojo, who was responsible for this entire mess but too old and blase to care. He opened the door for Shelke as if he had expected her to come back all along, and perhaps he did. They had spent rather a lot of time together, after all, without actually meaning to, and one thing Shelke had learned while with him was that as time went on, familiarity became everything. Not intimacy or even understanding - just familiarity.
"I've come to watch you die," she said, putting down her bag beside the sofa in his living room because in reality she'd taken all the babysitting shifts and was moving in, not moving on. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Just a short visit, then." When he smiled - genuinely now, because he'd become young again in old age and very easily amused - the wrinkles piled against his cheeks. "Would you like some tea while you wait, little miss?"
Characters: Shelke Rui, Hojo
A/N: AU; Post-Parameter RPG.
Aging was inexplicable to her, his in particular. He'd been some kind of childish nightmare for so much her life - a boogeyman of sorts she didn't know how to grow out of - and the aging process seemed entirely too human for a creature like him. Parts of her thought he would stay gaunt, grinning, and fifty forever, just as Vincent Valentine was perpetually prime. Other parts of her recognised the way he shuffled rather than walked, the grey fanning out from his temples. He was nearly ninety now, and she was still nine.
Age was inexplicable in that it seemed parabolic - grow old enough and you start becoming young again. They kept him under 24 hour surveillance of course, and sometimes she saw him jibing the unfortunate young thing on duty, being genuinely amused by their immature professionalism. Sometimes, he invited them to tea (which they always turned down) and games of chess (which they inevitably lost) as if he was a gracious host instead of a well-guarded prisoner. The new generation that had learned his name from history books thought he was ridiculous, an old man only loosely connected to his past atrocities by paper files and word of mouth. It would be impossible to convey to these people just how terrifying Hojo had been at the height of his power... but he really wasn't dangerous, anymore.
Shelke often wondered what would happen years, decades, centuries down the track, when he and everybody else was dead. She tried hard not to, but one look at Vincent was enough to send the edgy anxiety trickling back. Perhaps a millenium later, she and Vincent would be the only people left in the entire world, while Hojo had long become ashes and oblivion. It wasn't fair, to think her disposition meant she could live forever without really having lived a day. She imagined protruberant veins and flakey skin, laugh lines, frown lines, grandchildren. Holding someone else's hand, maybe. She imagined lying down and self-acceptance. No, it really wasn't fair at all.
It was human nature to be enamoured by things you couldn't have, and Shelke was fascinated by age. It made men of monsters... and Hojo seemed so content now as a bumbling old fool.
Still, all the raised eyebrows when she volunteered for some of the 'babysitting' shifts really should've been expected. Half of them thought she still had Stockholm Syndrome, and the other half probably just thought she was insane (the reality was likely a combination of both - at least, it used to be). Vincent made no comment at all, which was slightly disappointing. Shelke would've welcomed another opportunity to defend herself against the projection of Lucrecia she still saw constantly in his eyes. Vincent wasn't just stuck in an age, he was stuck in a mindframe, and she wondered if that was his coping mechanism. Shelke chased the passing of time and Vincent simply pretended it didn't exist. In the longrun, which one was more effective? Which was worse? And who, really, could say?
Certainly not Hojo, who was responsible for this entire mess but too old and blase to care. He opened the door for Shelke as if he had expected her to come back all along, and perhaps he did. They had spent rather a lot of time together, after all, without actually meaning to, and one thing Shelke had learned while with him was that as time went on, familiarity became everything. Not intimacy or even understanding - just familiarity.
"I've come to watch you die," she said, putting down her bag beside the sofa in his living room because in reality she'd taken all the babysitting shifts and was moving in, not moving on. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Just a short visit, then." When he smiled - genuinely now, because he'd become young again in old age and very easily amused - the wrinkles piled against his cheeks. "Would you like some tea while you wait, little miss?"